Chapter 95
Once Phelan returned to Brussels, the remainder of our holiday was spent lounging by the water. Lisette had no desire to further her swimming lessons, but Alex was eager to become quite proficient in paddling about the calm water. He made a quite valiant attempt at convincing Bessie to accompany us, but she was by no means a hound meant for water and chose instead to assist Lisette in digging her trenches for a sand castle.
"Did you enjoy your holiday?" Julia asked once we were piled into the carriage and the cottages were in the distance.
"I did, but I miss my bed," Lisette answered.
"I miss Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles," Alex said glumly. "And Aria and Grand-mere."
I highly doubted Madeline would have been pleased being named last on Alex's list and hoped he wouldn't reiterate his sentiment when we returned home.
Traveling back to Paris seemed twice as long and far more exhausting than our travels to Rouen, Tormage and Calais combined despite only one stop overnight in Amiens. Lisette, Alex and Julia spent the majority of the travel day napping smashed up against each other while Bessie sat beside me and stared out the window, her tail wagging and nostrils flared as she sniffed the most curious smells France had to offer.
"Do you know who lives in Amiens?" Lisette whispered in my ear once the carriage made its official last stop for the day.
The footman removed a single trunk from the carriage and hauled it into the quaint inn on the southern tip of the city where we were scheduled to stay for the night.
"By the looks of it, quite a few people," I answered.
Lisette pursed her lips and stared at me. "Are you teasing me?" she asked.
"I apologize for my facetious nature. Who lives in Amiens?"
"Jules Verne," she answered, squeezing my wrist. "The author," she added.
"Is that so?"
Lisette eagerly nodded. "Have you ready any of his stories?"
"There are entire collections of his works in a stack of magazines bak home," I said. "I imagine you've discovered them?"
Lisette eagerly nodded, her eyes lighting up at the very thought of all the stories at her disposal.
Madeline-who was never one to pass up a tremendous deal-had obtained a subscription for the Magazine of Education and Recreation when Alex was still quite small and insisted it was an investment in his future education. In seven years of monthly deliveries, Charles was really the only one in the house who read it consistently, but I had not bothered to cancel our subscription. Now that there was an avid reader in the house, I supposed it would be put to good use.
"Yes," Lisette whispered, her face inches from mine. "I've read all of the magazines. Would you read them again with me for our book club once we're home?"
"It would be my pleasure."
"What would you do if we saw Monsieur Vern here, in Amiens?" she asked, her lips quirking into a smile.
"I would introduce him to you."
Lisette's cheeks reddened. "I would faint with excitement."
"But hopefully not before telling him how much you enjoy his writing."
We left Amiens later than expected the following day-and unfortunately without spotting the famed writer despite wandering the streets while we waited for the inn's stable to prepare our horses.
Our carriage returned us home well after midnight where we were greeted by an overjoyed and emotional Madeline. She practically pulled us from the cab and openly wept as she kissed both Alex and Lisette and thoroughly looked them over.
"Did you have a nice holiday?" she asked as she dried her eyes.
"Yes, Grand-mere," Alex yawned. "May we tell you about it in the morning?"
"Get your rest," Madeline said. "Growing boys and girls need their sleep."
Both children trudged inside once Madeline was satisfied I had returned her grandchildren in acceptable condition, and were closely followed by Julia who wanted to make certain they changed out of their clothes and into pajamas and properly washed up before flopping into bed.
"How long did you stand by the window?" I asked Madeline as the footmen unpacked our trunks and delivered them inside. Bessie, the only one of us who wasn't exhausted, bounded down the street to relieve herself by her favorite tree before she trotted down the cobblestones and into the house.
"Since supper," Madeline admitted once she dried her eyes. She looked at me for the first time, her bottom lip still wobbling, and began to weep once more. "You've been away for so long."
"A little over two weeks," I reminded her. "Hardly worth crying over."
"Allow me my tears," she admonished. "I had hoped your disagreeable nature would wait until morning."
"Never," I assured her.
Madeline shook her head before she pulled me into an embrace fitting for a python and attempted to squeeze the air from my lungs. "I hope you had an enjoyable time, but I'm glad you're home," she said into my chest, oblivious to the smile I couldn't contain.
"It's good to be home." It was good to be missed.
The following morning, I thumbed through an impressive amount of mail, most of which came from the opera house manager Antonio Le Blanc in the form of notes delivered to the house for the first eight days of our holiday. The final one was an apology for his enthusiasm as he had not been made aware of our holiday and had no intention of being such a burden.
"Tell me everything," Madeline insisted after I sent a reply to Le Blanc and informed him I was back in Paris and ready to discuss the performances I was to conduct.
"I suspect, Madame, that my wife has already provided substantial details."
Madeline issued a most pointed look and crossed her arms. "Julia barely said a word."
"Nonsense. You know voices carry in this house." I looked up from the stack of mail I rifled through and raised a brow. "The gossip shared between you, your daughter and my wife over morning coffee and tea is quite scandalous. Is there a person in Paris safe from the three of you?"
Madeline sighed and shook her head. "We aren't that bad." When I didn't immediately reply, she shifted her weight and scowled. "Then at least tell me more about your brother."
"We had an enjoyable time together."
"And?" she pressed.
"What more do you want to know?"
Madeline pressed her lip together, clearly annoyed when I failed to be more forthcoming. "You'll tell me everything over breakfast," she insisted as she marched toward the kitchen and motioned for me to follow. Judging by her tone, I knew there would be no arguing with my adoptive mother.
oOo
A week after my return home from holiday, Madeline, who was a self-appointed mediator, accompanied me to the theater where we were met with Antonio and the young conductor whom I had previously met, Adrian Agard.
Agard hardly looked old enough to be employed by the theater, let alone in his apparent seven year as conductor, but he was well-received by the audience and had quite the following of swooning young ladies from what Madeline told me in the carriage.
"You should see the crowds," Madeline said. "He has revitalized the theater with his selection of operas and other theatrical events."
She made certain to tell me twice that Agard was not simply a genius when it came to his understanding of the audience, but that he was 'dashing', which hardly seemed worthy of mentioning as it had nothing to do with music and was of no interest to me.
"You look very well rested, Monsieur," Adrian said as he greeted us in the sun-lit lobby. His golden hair was longer than the first time I had met him at the reception, his smile rakish and choice of suits bright blue in color as though he was a bird strutting around, desperate to be noticed and admired. "How was your holiday? I trust you had a most magnificent time away from this chaotic city?"
"Enjoyable," I answered.
"And how is Madame Kire?"
"Well."
When I offered no further reply, Adrian set his voracious gaze on Madeline and smiled at her in a way that seemed wholly inappropriate considering their ages. "And Madame Giry, you are an exquisite piece of living art if there ever was one. This lobby needs no further lighting as your exquisite beauty shines brighter than sunlight."
Madeline placed her gloved hand over her heart and giggled like a schoolgirl, which helped drown out my mutter of disapproval at Agard's fawning shamelessly over Madam. "After all these years, your flattery still works on me, Adrian."
The conductor bowed deeply and winked at Madeline when he stood upright. "I am either charming or a scoundrel depending on who you ask-or what you prefer."
Apparently his flirtations were not limited to my wife, and I suspected he was a scoundrel through and through.
We were ushered from the lobby to the manager's office, our every step observed by several maids who stopped in the midst of dusting to curtsy as we passed.
Once we were seated, Antonio handed everyone a sheet of paper with a list of my compositions that didn't appear to be in any particular order.
"What is this?" Madeline asked, looking over the rims of her reading glasses at Antonio. She looked stern and commanding as ever, a woman who could silence twenty dancers with a single look or, as was the case in this situation, send a prestigious manager sputtering for a reply.
"The list I put together," Antonio answered cheerfully. "Of the selections I believe our audience will prefer hearing from Monsieur Kire."
"Prefer?" Adrian and Madeline said incredulously.
Madeline looked down her nose at Antonio. "You took it upon yourself to make this list?"
"I...I suppose Monsieur Agard would be our resident expert," Antonio stammered.
"As opposed to the composer?" Adrian asked.
Antonio's face flushed. He licked his lips and nervously shuffled the papers in his hands. "With all due respect, our beloved and esteemed composer has admitted that he has not attended a performance until this year. I would not think he is...informed on the reactions of our generous and eager patrons."
Adrian sat back in his chair casually and crossed one leg over the other. "Madame," he said with a sigh. "Shall I say it or shall you? Oh, but of course it should be you." He wildly gestured before finishing his performance with his head tilted back in disbelief.
"Audiences will be thrilled to hear the music hand-selected and conducted by the composer. Monsieur Kire could lead the orchestra for a simple waltz and walk out of the orchestra pit and the theater would be in a frenzy. Your patrons will be attending to hear what he chooses, not you," Madeline said. Her tone harkened back to the days when she kept dancers in line, her dark skirts sweeping the stage and cane in hand. If I had been slouching from my private box and heard her snap at one of her dancers, I most certainly would have sat upright for fear of being reprimanded next. As it was, I fought the urge to cease fidgeting with the papers I had been handed.
"You insult him," Adrian said under his breath.
"I never intended-"
Adrian sighed heavily again and glanced at me, one side of his mouth raised in a crooked smile. "Forgive our manager's ignorance, Monsieur Kire. Your genius is not lost on me."
The theater manager's eyes bulged, his face a deep shade of crimson. "I do sincerely beg your pardon. Monsieur Kire, you are free to conduct whatever you wish. The programming from this moment on is solely at your discretion. I apologize and hope I have not offended you."
I glanced over the sheet of paper he had handed me before at last meeting Antonio's eye. "I will have ninety minutes worth of music in your hands within two weeks if that is suitable for the musicians and performers."
"Wonderful. You are far too generous, Monsieur."
"There is one last matter to discuss," I said before Antonio climbed to his feet.
"Anything you desire, Monsieur. I am at your service," Antonio assured me.
"I would prefer the dates for the performances to be set in late October as I have prior commitments."
Antonio started to speak, but Madeline shifted in her chair and tugged at her skirts. Without looking in her direction, the theater manager nodded. "We have not yet printed advertising for the fall season. I shall make a note of it and schedule your performances for the last week in October with your blessing."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Madeline look me over in silence, her eyes narrowed. She waited until we were comfortably seated in our carriage home when she pulled off her gloves and fanned herself.
"Why October?" she asked.
"I have been invited by my brother to travel to Denmark in five weeks," I answered. "To meet my maternal grandparents."
Madeline sat in silence across from me for a long moment, her expression initially unreadable before she genuinely smiled and took my hand in hers. "How old are they?"
"Eighty-five," I answered. "According to my brother, in reasonably good health despite their advanced ages."
"Do they know who you are? Have they heard your music? Oh, you must play for them when you meet."
"I've considered bringing my violin."
"Considered?" Madeline asked incredulously. She released my hand in favor of swatting at me. "Do you know who you are?"
I grunted at her response. "You flatter me."
"You have been back a week from your holiday and haven't said a word of pending travel and living grandparents."
I looked away from her. I had told Madeline about Tormage, Calais, my uncle's house in ruin, and the work Phelan did to restore our parents' home, but I had not said a word of my brother's invitation. "I suppose I have not."
"Why not?"
"Because you are my family first," I replied. "And speaking of family members I never knew existed feels like it lessens my gratitude and what you have and continue to do for me."
Madeline looked me over with a frown. "Did you think I would be jealous?"
I turned my attention to the shops and homes we passed and considered her question. "If our places had been exchanged, I would have been disinterested in you finding a long lost cousin and brother," I admitted.
Madeline took my hand in hers and waited until I met her eye before she spoke. "When I first met you all those years ago, you were in mourning," she said. "You grieved the loss of your uncle, but you wished to grieve alone and I did my best not to pressure you into revealing what wounded your heart. But I've known from the very first few days we knew each other what you wanted more than anything else in the world. You wanted a family."
I swallowed and nodded. Of course Madeline Giry knew what I coveted as a lost and unwanted boy, what I had always wanted for as long as I could recall. She had known me better than anyone else had or ever would, perhaps better than I knew myself.
"I will always be your family and you will always be mine, no matter what shall come. I am beyond overjoyed for you," Madeline said. "Truly and sincerely, I am happy you have found more pieces to your puzzle."
Her blessing meant more than she would ever know. "You are the piece in the middle, the most integral part."
Madeline beamed with pride. "Your grandparents will love you, and I cannot wait for you to return home to tell me all about them."
