Chapter 90
Thankfully the Leaches-all three of them-didn't visit for long. While I changed out of my wet swimwear-which I realized looked utterly ridiculous once I was able to see myself in a full-length mirror-Alex became quite the story teller.
The tale of Alex and Lisette's swimming lesson turned into an epic adventure complete with a near-drowning and the possibility of sea serpents and mermaids, embellished by both children who were alive and well by all accounts. Several times Hermine exclaimed Oh My! While Archie clapped and interjected sounds of surprise.
I shook my head while I listened to their story from the bedroom and rifled through the chest of drawers where Julia had placed most of my clothing. With my swimsuit unbuttoned, I noticed a line of scratches and a deep red mark on my shoulder where Lisette had pulled herself up and clung to me for dear life. It wasn't painful, but I expected the redness would turn into bruises by evening.
"Kire? Are you decent?" Phelan asked. He knocked twice as if the sound of his voice wasn't ample warning of his presence.
I buttoned my trousers and walked to the door, finding him with his shirt open nearly to his bellybutton. "What are you-"
"May I borrow a shirt and trousers?" he asked. "My trousers in particular are in need of being rinsed clean of saltwater and hung out to dry." He waved his hand in the air and wrinkled his nose. "I smell like a bucket of dead fish."
"How pleasant," I replied as I opened the door fully and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he looked around the bedroom.
Phelan was more muscular than I realized. He discarded his shirt in a heap at the foot of the bed beside my swimwear and stood with his hands on his hips while I stared at his sinewy frame. His shoulders were well-muscled, his chest an impressive plane and stomach hard and flat. I imagined the sight of him half-naked would have sent the female Leaches into a blushing frenzy.
Once he noticed me gawking like a fool, he glanced down and then back at me. "I beg your pardon?" he gruffly questioned.
"Nothing," I said. "There are several pairs of trousers in the drawers and shirts hung up in the wardrobe. Take whatever you find most suitable."
Phelan grinned and flexed both biceps in an unnecessary display of his physique. "Sculpture," he said quite proudly.
"Yes, yes," I groused. "Where is Michelangelo when you need him?"
My brother snorted. "That is not what I meant, but I appreciate your words. I've spent the better part of the last six months in rock quarries hauling stones for sculptures. Perhaps next year you would care to accompany me? You could use a little...well, I suppose everything."
"Most amusing. I will clear my schedule so that I may go traipsing through rock quarries with my Adonis of a brother," I said dryly.
He narrowed his eyes and flexed again. "Are you jealous, Kire?"
It was my turn to snort. "Jealous indeed."
In order to prove I was not the least bit jealous, I swiftly threaded my arms through my shirt and buttoned it as fast as I could manage. "Perhaps you would be better suited at the university teaching the history of music."
"I don't know the first thing about the history of music," I answered.
Phelan shook his head and motioned for me to turn around as he stripped from his wet trousers and whistled to himself. "With all of your musical talent, did you ever give lessons? I would imagine your knowledge and command of music is in high demand."
"I gave private lessons once," I said with my back to him.
"That's it?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Who was your student?"
"Alex's birth mother."
Phelan walked around to stand in front of me with his arms crossed over his bare chest and eyes narrowed. He stared at me for a long moment as though attempting to decide if my words were said in jest.
"I see," he said and left it at that.
I blinked at him, surprised that he didn't desire further elaboration on the subject.
"Erik," Phelan said sharply. He picked up his discarded trousers and folded them over his arm.
The unexpected edge to his voice made me stand a little straighter as though I were to be reprimanded for something.
"Did Bjorn do that to you?" he asked before I said a word.
I stared blankly back at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"The scars to your back," he clarified. "Did Bjorn flog you?"
"No," I answered quickly. "And it isn't something I wish to discuss, which I trust you will respect."
To my surprise, Phelan nodded. "As you wish."
My brother finally donned a shirt and we exited the bedroom just as Alex finished telling the rest of his story.
"I am certain I saw a shark!" Alex said, waving his arms about for emphasis. "However, my eyes stung from the water and I didn't get a good look, so it could have been a sea serpent."
"Those are quite popular in this area," Archie agreed, his tone quite serious.
"But mermaids defend the beach!" Lisette said.
"I'm glad you remember that from our treasure hunt," Archie said.
Everyone was very grateful they had survived, which Gertie Leach said was on account of none other than Phelan, who had allegedly risked life and limb to pluck his niece and nephew from the depths of the ocean. Surrounded by her two cousins, her British accent became more prevalent and Alex made certain to tell her that she sounded like Uncle Charles.
Once the Leaches walked out the front door to their waiting carriage, Julia decided to change clothes in our room while my brother began furiously tugging on his pant leg.
"What on earth are you doing to my trousers?" I impatiently questioned.
"These barely fit," he informed me, clearly aggravated by the width. "I feel as though there is very little blood flow to my lower extremities."
"I could loan you my swimsuit if you'd like."
Phelan scowled at me. "Don't be ridiculous."
The cut was more narrow through the hips, however, the length of my trousers seemed to fit him perfectly, which neither of us wished to acknowledge as it proved we were indeed the same height.
"Are you staying with us all day?" Alex asked. He grinned at my brother, unable to contain his excitement.
"Until my clothes have dried," Phelan answered. "And then I must return home to Conforeit briefly as I intend to watch Gertie's cousin perform in Calais this evening."
"Archie was kind enough to supply tickets for everyone," Julia said as she emerged from our bedroom in a pale yellow skirt and white blouse. "He said we can pick them up at the theater."
Kind wasn't quite how I would have described being subjected to Hermine Leach performing in Calais, but I simply smiled to appease my wife.
"May we build a fort in the sand?" Alex asked. He and Lisette were still in their swim attire, which appeared mostly dry.
"As long as you stay out of the water," I said.
"Thank you, Papa," Lisette said. She smiled and offered a wave before she dashed outside and helped Alex carry their fort building tools, which included two water pails, a gardening spade, and measuring cups Marius and Mario had supplied and ran down toward the edge of the water. I watched through the windows as they stopped a careful distance from the ocean and proceeded to entertain themselves along with Bessie, who was more than willing to dig holes.
"If you're visiting a while longer, I'm going into town with Gertie and Hermine," Julia said.
"I shall watch over your surly husband in your absence," Phelan dryly vowed from the kitchen where he had placed his clothing in the basin to rinse out his clothing.
"Endearingly surly," Julia corrected. "And Lissy will keep an eye on all three of the boys," Julia said with a shake of her finger.
Phelan smirked and finished wringing out his shirt. "A wise decision."
The sky was overcast by the time I removed my mask and sat outside with my brother, who had pinned his clothing and my swim suit to the clothesline. The wind whipping his clothes like a flag in the breeze. The cool air felt refreshing against my arms and face, a sensation I had not enjoyed nearly enough in my lifetime.
I had not given much thought to the pleasure of sitting in the shade on a warm day without one half of my face drenched in sweat, but now that I had allowed myself such a luxury-in the presence of my brother no less-I could think of nothing more satisfying than being ordinary.
"That Leach fellow is quite…entertaining," Phelan said once we were situated.
"As is the rest of the family."
"His cousin seems very nice."
I grunted. "Indeed."
"What is that supposed to mean?" he bristled.
"I am agreeing with you."
"You most certainly are not, little brother."
"Your flirtation was not subtle, elder brother."
Phelan's jaw twitched, his cheeks flushing. "There was no flirtation, I assure you."
I chuckled to myself. "Not at all."
"I am a gentleman engaging in polite conversation."
"Of course."
"But...she is very pretty," he said under his breath.
I shrugged. "I wish you the best."
He turned his attention away from me and stared out at the beach before us where Alex knelt and gathered sand as Lisette stood over him with her hands on her hips and issued directions.
"I do not think Lisette cares for me," he said without meeting my eye.
I followed his gaze. "That isn't true."
"It is. She has not said a word to me since I arrived."
"Lisette is quite reserved with people she doesn't know well," I answered.
"When Alex asked to switch swimming instructors, it was more than merely shyness," Phelan said. "She appeared petrified when I reached toward her."
"For reasons that are her own," I said firmly. "I will not force her into interactions that make her uncomfortable no matter the relation."
Phelan continued to stare straight ahead. His jaw twitched and I thought he might argue or reply defensively, but instead he ran his thumb and forefinger down the length of his beard.
"Have I done something to offend or frighten my niece?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Good," he said. "And I am pleased you wish to defend her. A father should protect his children and they are both fortunate to have you."
"You have no children?" I questioned.
He turned to stare at me, his gray eyes searching mine. "I find it difficult to believe Valgarde did not say a word to you regarding my failed marriage."
Immediately he turned away from me, his jaw set and eyes hardened. His placid expression turned livid and I immediately regretted my words.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Phelan balled his hand into a fist and shifted in his seat. I thought for certain he would stand and stalk away, but he remained seated.
"Come now, Kire, what did Val say to you about my former wife?"
"He told me not to bring it up," I shamefully admitted.
Phelan grunted. "Of course he did. Well, if Valgarge did not tell you, there was plenty of speculation for months in every French and Belgian newspaper," he angrily added. "My life was laid bare before half of Europe."
"As was mine," I said quietly.
"No," he snapped. "No, the Opera Ghost was the talk of Paris, not you. Your name was not mentioned week after week, month after damnable month. You did not have friends and colleagues cease conversation the moment you walked into a room or abruptly excuse themselves from your presence. You and I are not the same."
My tongue knotted. He was correct; I had not been referred to by my name as no one, aside from Madeline, knew my true identity, which simply led to further speculation of my motives and my origins.
There were rumors that a woman had come forward and said her sister had birthed me in the sewers and that I had been abandoned to dwell in refuse. There were stories that I was truly a dead man resurrected, conjured by some evil entity that roamed the dark places beneath the Opera House.
I read that what was left of the structure had been blessed by priests to keep me from returning, such was the evil surrounding the dreaded Phantom. There were first-hand accounts of the Opera Ghost spotted in various parts of the city, harming women and children and spooking horses. For months, any murder, suicide, or theft was possibly the work of the Phantom. And then, just as quickly as the legend started, the nefarious Phantom disappeared from the papers and was never mentioned again.
Madeline and Meg had attempted to hide the daily newspaper from me, but I'd still managed to read of my wrongdoings. It had been part of my self-induced punishment, a way for me to relive every misstep of how I had lost everything from the only home I had known for most of my life to the only woman I thought would ever love me. Over and over again, Christine's choice was validated. I was a wretched monster. I deserved absolute solitude and agony for as long as I continued to breathe.
"There was a child," Phelan said suddenly. His voice was more calm, but when I looked at him, his face was taut with anger. "Rose. Daphne named her. She had picked out the name before we met."
I sat in silence, not knowing what to say or how to react. We were still very much strangers to one another, our pasts so greatly disconnected that I didn't know the details of my own brother's adult life.
"It was obviously not my child," he said. "Daphne was months into a family state by the time we first met, but I foolishly professed my love for her the first night we met and swore I would raise whatever son or daughter she birthed as my own. We wed several weeks after meeting in a failed attempt to hide her condition."
"That was honorable," I said.
"Foolish," he said. "Mad foolishness and nothing more."
His jaw twitched, nostrils flared. Despite his expression, there was sadness in his voice, a desire for a life and a family he no longer had.
"Rose was not quite five months old when I learned of her true father's identity. There had been talk of Daphne's affairs from the time we were first married, but I was so madly in love with her that I didn't listen to anyone." His gaze flashed toward mine. "Not even when Jean Moreau drunkenly confessed that he was the father of Daphne's child to an entire room full of people. You may remember meeting him. He was at the gallery."
I silently nodded. He was the reason Phelan was advised to stay out of Paris. More of a brother than a friend, my cousin had said to me.
"After Rose was born and friends paid a visit to our home, the rumors grew exponentially. Of course the child looked nothing like me, but there was speculation of who had sired my wife's daughter."
"She didn't tell you the father's identity?" I asked.
"I told her I didn't want to know," Phelan said.
"Why?"
"What difference did it make?" he groused. "Daphne was my wife and I had every intention of making the child my own." He sat back and exhaled. "I suppose it made all the difference in the end, Kire. I returned home early one afternoon after teaching a small class in the park and thought it was a lovely day to take my wife and our daughter out. It was the end of May and the peonies were in bloom. I wanted to cut a few and add them to a vase for Rose's nursery because I thought she would enjoy the scent. I walked in and heard quite amorous sounds coming from our bedroom."
He looked at me then, torn between the betrayal he still felt and the desire to remain enraged.
"They didn't see or hear me walk into the foyer. I don't know why, but rather than enter our bedroom and announce my presence, I walked into Rose's nursery and watched her sleep, and when she woke, I picked her up and rocked her. That was how Daphne discovered I had returned early for the day; her fool of a husband comforting a child that would never be his."
"Did she say anything?"
"She asked why I was home early." Phelan offered a humorless laugh and shook his head. "As if I had decided to return simply to ruin our marriage. Moments later, Jean came to Daphne's side and when I looked at him, I realized Rose was the spitting image of the man, just as everyone else had claimed. He attempted to sputter out some excuse, but I didn't listen to a word he said. I handed Jean his daughter and walked out. Eventually Daphne had most of my belongings sent to Brussels, including the papers for our divorce, which she had already signed. Everything was finalized before Rose was a year old."
"I had no idea."
"No one knows the details. Not even Val."
"I will not say a word," I replied.
Phelan shrugged. "Tell him whatever you wish. I doubt it will change anyone's opinion of the situation. Most tend to believe I abandoned my wife and our child in favor of my bachelor lifestyle."
"You could have publicly denounced such claims."
"I could have," he agreed. "But I did not."
We sat in silence for a long moment, both of us staring out at the beach where Alex and Lisette had created a large mound of sand. They seemed to be discussing their next steps in creating a sand fort, both standing side-by-side; Alex with his arms crossed and Lisette with her hands on her hips. Bessie was on her back, rolling in the sand while she awaited another digging assignment.
"She would be almost three now," Phelan said. It took me a moment to realize he was speaking of Rose. "I wonder sometimes…"
His voice trailed away and I turned to face him, silently willing my brother to continue whatever was on his mind.
"I wonder what she is like," Phelan said. "The sound of her voice, her favorite colors...I wonder if I would recognize her in a park full of children. I doubt I would, but sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I had not returned early that day. Would I still be her father today? I would like to think she would spill paint everywhere and ruin my brushes, but I would not love her any less for her antics."
My throat unexpectedly tightened and I thought of Alex, who had been months old when Christine left him in my care. I wondered what would have become of my gregarious, enthusiastic son if Christine had left him elsewhere or raised him as Raoul's child. It pained me to think of all I would have been denied without Alex in my home.
"I knew nothing of my son until his mother abandoned him," I admitted. "He was a few weeks old when she left him at my door."
Phelan said nothing for a long moment. "His mother is the singer you taught? The one who returned to Paris for the Exposition?"
"Christine Daae," I said. "She passed recently."
"I saw the obituary."
I could not recall the last time I had said Christine's name aloud. I stared at the back of my hand against the wooden armrest of the chair and knew for certain that if I had not been given my son, I would not have found a reason to live. My inspiration had dried up, my desire to eat or leave bed nonexistent and I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and never wake.
"Why did she leave him?" Phelan asked.
I inhaled. "She was not well," I answered.
"He favors her greatly. His hair, the shape of his face."
"And for that I am thankful."
"He favors you as well," my brother pointed out. "The way he gestures and speaks, his expressions and his exceptional intelligence is you. Does anyone know that Alex is her son?"
"A handful of people," I answered. "But he has been and will always be mine."
My brother's expression darkened. "She sang at a couple of galas I attended. Remarkably gifted, but her husband always rushed her out of the parties without a moment spared for mingling. At first I thought it was simply because she was rude, but then there were rumors that she suffered from an unseen affliction and the swift exit was to protect her from scrutiny."
"Her mother died when she was born and her father passed when she was young. She never recovered from the loss," I said.
"You were acquainted from your time at the Opera House?"
"We were. I gave her lessons for years."
"What was she like?"
I took a breath and sat back. I picked up my mask and turned it over in my hand, wishing for a distraction as I spoke of Christine.
"She could talk incessantly about nothing for a full twenty minutes without barely taking a breath and then she could suddenly become enraged and lash out unexpectedly and storm away. Mostly she was quiet and wished to improve her voice and technique."
"She was ill for quite some time?" Phelan asked.
As much as I hated to admit it, I still nodded. "In hindsight I realize the extent of her illness, however, at the time I thought she was simply emotional and that...that I was to blame."
My brother studied me in silence for a moment. "Did Alex ever meet her?"
"Briefly," I said, surprised by our candid conversation and my brother's questions regarding the subject of my son's birth mother. "He met her around the time the Exposition opened, but unfortunately Alex's time with Christine was not what I had hoped for."
"My apologies."
I shook my head. "There is no need. Thankfully Alex has been surrounded by wonderful, caring women since the day he was left with me. And of course he has had Julia, who has been in his life since he was a toddler. He has been thoroughly doted upon."
Phelan frowned, his gaze cast toward some distant point. "Doted upon," he said under his breath. He made no attempt to hide the melancholy in his voice. "What a foreign concept, little brother."
"What was it like?" I asked suddenly. "Before I was born?"
He continued to stare off into the water. "I don't remember," he answered. "Quite honestly, I have few memories of what Bjorn and Gyda were like before you arrived. I would assume Gyda was miserably distant and prone to her usual outbursts and Bjorn a cruel drunk."
"Surely you did not care for yourself at such an early age," I said.
Phelan shrugged. He scratched at the scar on his hand with the nail of his index finger and flexed his fist several times. "There was a woman who fed and tended to me on occasion," he said. "I've no idea her name or why she did it. Perhaps she was Bjorn's mother and I was her grandson. Or perhaps she was simply a lonely woman who desired company."
Despite how my father had treated us, I still longed to know his side of the family; the people who had raised my angry father and my gentle uncle.
"Did she live nearby?"
"No one ever lived nearby," he answered, an edge to his voice. "She had a cart with a pony and she took me with her. I remember the pony was tan with a blonde mane and tail and the cart rattled when it moved. It felt like we traveled for hours and I didn't mind one bit." His eyes narrowed. "Myrna," he said absently. "I remember the name Myrna. That is either the name of the woman or the pony. Regardless, why the interest, little brother?"
"Conversation," I said.
He grunted in response. "Tell me more about the Opera House," he said suddenly.
"In what aspect?"
"The cellar."
My skin prickled despite knowing what my brother would say. "It wasn't like…" Home. "Like the other one, in Conforeit."
"Describe it to me then. Please. What made you decide to settle there of all places."
I sat forward, body rigid and heart racing. "I had escaped the fair," I said, keeping my voice low and eyes averted. "It was the end of another long day of shows and the man who ran the fair had beaten me for the sixth time that day. The cage was unlocked, he stepped inside and…"
My heart stuttered. I wondered if there had been another way, if I had been able to simply shove him aside and run. I wondered if I could have incapacitated him in the same way he left me in a heap every time, if I could have allowed him to live.
But I didn't want him left alive so that he might be able to find me. To drag me back. To beat me worse than he'd ever done before-and he had struck me mercilessly for months. If he had found me again, I knew I would have paid dearly for my actions.
"I killed him," I whispered. "I strangled him right there in the cage without a second of hesitation and then, when I was certain he was dead, I looked up and saw someone staring at me. Rather than scream, she aided in my escape."
I couldn't bear to look Phelan in the eye, to see the horror or disappointment in my brother's gaze when he learned of what I truly was.
"You are speaking of the woman who became your family?"
"Her name is Madeline and she took me to the Opera House and found me a hiding place to wait out the swarms of people searching for me. She provided food, clothing, and fresh linens while I remained out of sight as there were rewards for my capture and it didn't matter if I was delivered dead or alive."
According to one of the posters I had seen months after I had escaped, the gypsies searched for the murderer of a loving family man. They hunted the killer of a God-fearing traveler making an honest living. They sought revenge on the disfigured devil loose on the streets of Paris, a monster if ever there was one.
Never mind that I had been captured, kept starved, and mistreated worse than any other man or animal within the tents. I was without redemption, and I knew if they found me, I would have been ripped limb from limb in the streets for all to witness, one final, memorable show for the ages.
When at last I looked up, I discovered Phelan silently studying me, his gray eyes hardened and nostrils flared. My heart sank, my fears confirmed as I understood the family I desired would always be out of my grasp. My own brother was ashamed of me.
"A cage?" he said before I looked away. "You were confined to a cage?"
It was almost a relief to hear his anger aimed at my living conditions rather than my actions. I stared at my fists, barely able to believe Phelan was more concerned for me than the man whose life I had taken.
"For the shows."
"What type of show?"
I hesitated, unsure of what to say. Quickly I glanced at Alex and Lisette, who were carrying pails of water toward their mound of sand and a trench they had dug. I hadn't noticed them walk near the water.
"You were forced to perform?" Phelan asked.
"No, there was nothing required of me. I was simply there for the crowds to see one last oddity," I explained. My talent was to be ashamed of who I was and I had mastered that well before Garouche found me. "I was struck six times each show with a piece of wood the length of my forearm and shaped like a rolling pin, then my hood was removed and the crowd was encouraged to throw rotting food at me."
My brother's jaw twitched, his eyes cast down so that he stared at my chest. "How many times per day?"
"Six shows a day, six days a week."
"For how long?"
"Ten months." I swallowed.
Phelan looked me in the eye. "Ten months," he echoed. "Of being beaten and humiliated by a man who confined you to a cage for entertainment."
I silently nodded. In the distance, Lisette shrieked with laughter as Bessie stood and shook off the sand clinging to her body while Alex did a somersault. He looked up and caught my eye, which made him grin, clearly pleased that his antics had been seen. He waved and I waved back.
"That is...that is far worse than I imagined. Such a cowardly bastard harming a child deserved death," Phelan said firmly. "Quite frankly I am surprised you didn't kill him earlier."
"I sometimes regret killing him at all."
"You shouldn't. It was an act of self-preservation."
"I-"
"You were twelve and placed into a position few could survive. What could you possibly have done to deserve such harsh treatment? Absolutely nothing and the sooner you come to that realization, the better," he snapped. "You were not at fault."
Phelan's blunt statement and harsh tone took me by surprise. Instinctively I reached for my mask, but my brother scoffed and I withdrew my hand.
"I believed everything they said about me," I replied. Goose flesh rose along my arms. "Every word. Every insult."
"I know you still do. But they were all ignorant fools," my brother said between his teeth. He looked at me and sighed. "I am sincerely proud of you and your accomplishments. We were not meant to be good men and yet you have succeeded," he said, his tone much softer than before. "Bjorn would be livid to see you have thrived."
"We both have done well," I corrected.
Phelan offered a dismissive shrug and nodded toward Lisette, Alex and Bessie. "You've done far better than I have."
"The key to success is owning a dog instead of a bird."
Phelan chuckled to himself. "Is that where I went wrong?"
"Clearly."
He stretched his arms over his head. "Elvira is not so bad, Kire. Perhaps one day you will discover the merits of birds. She is both an inspiration and critic of my work, as vital as a brush in my opinion."
"Did our father know you were a painter?" I asked.
Phelan sat back and crossed one leg over the other, then reconsidered and spread his knees far apart. He gave his pant leg one last tug before apparently giving up. "An unsuccessful painter toiling away for hours, yes. I started some of the paintings from the Fyre exhibit while Bjorn was dying," Phelan said. "He would watch me from his bed and if I caught him staring, he would close his eyes and pretend to sleep."
"Did he ever comment on your work?"
"Bjorn rarely spoke at all. I'm sure he was perfectly capable of holding a conversation, but he chose silence. If there had been means of playing your music for him, I would have made certain he was forced to listen to the same opera all week."
"Forced indeed," I groused.
"Forced to appreciate, of course," Phelan said, making no attempt to hide his amusement. "Speaking of music, did Alex ever hear Christine sing? I know you said their introduction did not go well, but I assume he is aware of her career?"
"Alex has recently become interested in knowing what she sounded like. Fortunately for Alex, Archie was able to find a phonograph cylinder of her singing and had it sent by post to our home. It should be there when we return from holiday."
Phelan grunted. "You own a phonograph? I would not have taken you for the type, little brother."
"Not by choice. Alex purchased it on my behalf from none other than Hermine Leach."
"You seem to know the family quite well."
"Better than I would like," I said under my breath.
Phelan ignored my comment. "Would you put in a good word for your surly brother if I should ask to spend an afternoon with Mademoiselle Leach?"
"I do believe you may qualify for the title of endearingly surly," I said.
