Ch 112

Apolline raised voice drew the attention of not only the couple standing at the counter, but several people passing by outside, which included a young gendarme who pressed his face to the glass and peered inside. His mustache twitched, eyes narrowed as he stared into the shop.

With a shake of his head, the young public servant thankfully continued on his way, apparently seeing nothing more than a temper tantrum by a young girl in a bakery.

"That is quite enough," Phelan said as he, too, climbed to his feet just as Apolline reached for her plate and held it over her head.

"Apolline Gillis, put the plate down this instant and sit like a proper young lady," my brother commanded.

Anger vibrated through her slight frame. Strands of hair stuck to her blotchy-tear stained face, making her appear like some wildling child plucked from a forest who had no understanding of manners.

"No," she said through her teeth.

"Fine." He stood eye-to-eye with her, his voice was stern but not quite raised, his expression firm but not livid. He studied her a moment before he took his seat and sipped his tea. "Smash the plate if it will make you feel better."

Her gaze darted wildly around the bakery, flitting from one person to the next. I didn't dare take my eyes from her, but I imagined the three people in the small space stared at her with both fascination and horror.

The anger pinched into her features slowly gave way to confusion and at last remorse. Her rigid frame softened and she glanced at the plate above her head through tear-filled eyes as though she could scarcely believe her own actions.

Yet still she remained standing on the chair, a conflicted little girl caught in the turbulence of fear and uncertainty. Watching her stand there, chest heaving and face twisted with malice, it felt as though time paused for an agonizing moment.

The tension broke with the ring of the bell above the door and the chatter of voices in the middle of a conversation.

"You may pick out one item for your father and that is it, understood? He is going to turn into a sugar cane with all of the sweets he consumes."

"Is sugar cane like your cane, only edible?"

I turned my attention to the woman and boy entering, immediately recognizing their voices well before seeing them for myself.

"Grandmere!" Alex shouted. "There's father now! And Uncle Phelan! And a girl standing on a chair!"

My son ran toward us with the grace of a Clydesdale and came to an abrupt stop beside me, bumping the table with his enthusiastic entrance. "Hello, Father. Hello, Uncle Phelan. Hello girl I do not know," he breathlessly blurted out. He politely offered his hand to Apolline, which she refused. "Why are you standing on a chair? You could fall and harm yourself. Father, tell her that she needs to sit before she falls."

"I have already asked, Alex," my brother replied. He sat back, casually sipping his tea as he glanced up at Apolline. "She has declined thus far."

"Did you offer to help her down?"

My brother sniffed. "I did not."

Alex cocked his head to the side and looked Apolline over. "You should get down," he suggested, squeezing behind my chair so that he stood beside Apolline. Again he offered his hand and a gentle smile. "Here, I will help you so that you don't slip and fall onto the table. That would definitely hurt."

Her lips quivered, but at last she lowered the plate, which I took from her trembling grasp, and accepted my son's outstretched hands. He guided her carefully down and gave a dramatic bow once she stood on the floor, his long curls of hair bouncing against his forehead.

"My name is Alexandre Jean Kire, and I am a gentleman," he said as he stood upright.

"My name is–"

Alex gasped, interrupting before she finished speaking. "I know who you are! You're my friend Claude's sister, aren't you?" He grabbed my shoulder and shook me quite enthusiastically. "Father! This is Apolline."

"We are aware, favorite nephew," Phelan said.

"You were friends with my brother?" she asked, her voice high and tight.

"I'm still friends with your brother," Alex answered. He looked at me for confirmation. "I am still Claude's friend, right?"

"Of course," I answered.

From the corner of my eye I saw Madeline still lingering near the door, one hand over the other atop the head of her cane. Everything about her posture indicated that she was evaluating the situation, same as she did her ballet dancers from the wings, silent and observant, waiting until the situation needed her motherly guidance before she intervened. For the life of me I couldn't imagine what she thought as she walked through the door and saw two helpless fools seated on either side of a little girl threatening to smash a plate onto the floor.

"Then he isn't dead?" Apolline asked, her eyes wide and pleading for the truth.

Alex shook his head. "No, of course not. My father and my uncle saved him last night. My father is also your brother's friend, but I was Claude's friend first. He brought me a painting with snakes that fly! Would you like to see it?" He looked at me briefly as he rambled on. "Father, may Apolline visit our house? She can see my painting and play with Lis and her dolls." He turned back to Apolline. "Do you like dolls? My sister has a dozen of them."

"Perhaps she can pay a visit later," I answered.

"Father said yes," Alex said. His gleeful expression sobered. "Why are you crying? Is it because you thought your brother was dead?"

Apolline's bottom lip wobbled. She nodded, eyes once again flooded with tears.

Alex pursed his lips. He looked around the table, then past us at Madeline and motioned her forward. "Grandmere, may I borrow your frilly handkerchief for my friend Claude's sister?" he asked. "She is very upset."

Madeline swept gracefully across the room and produced a pearl-colored lace handkerchief from her skirt pocket. "Yes, it appears she is quite upset," Madeline replied.

Alex took a step back, appearing quite satisfied with himself for calling upon the most capable person to help in the situation. "My grandmere will make you feel better in no time," he assured Apolline.

"Gentlemen," Madeline said without looking at anyone else but the little girl who had shriveled in despair. Phelan and I immediately stood, offering our seats. "I do believe us ladies will need a moment to collect our thoughts."

OoO

There was no one who excelled at creating calm quite like Madeline Giry. She took my seat and blotted away the tracks of tears on the little girl's face, pausing when the child's emotions got the best of her and she hyperventilated or buried her face in her hands.

I'd seen Madeline comfort many girls in the Opera House, some in front of the rest of the dancers, but more often pulled aside behind the curtain where tears were shed in private. Most often it was her own daughter, who had always been unsure of herself and needed constant reassurance.

Seeing Madeline gently lean toward Apolline made me wonder if this was how I had appeared long ago when she had first approached me, eyes cast down and head bowed in defeat. I could still picture Madeline precisely as she was that day at the traveling fair, an emerald green and brown striped skirt and emerald blouse with abalone buttons. She had been nineteen at the time, but her motherly instincts were strong and I had loved her for it.

"You're Apolline, yes?" Madeline asked. The child nodded. "My name is Madeline Giry."

"Do you know my brother?"

"He has come to supper at my son's house a time or two," she answered. She looked at me and smiled. "That is my son there."

"You don't look old enough to be his mother," Apolline said, her voice a series of squeaks and sniffles.

Madeline offered a wide smile. "I'm not, but I am his mother all the same."

"How can that be?"

"He didn't have a mother, so I chose to be his."

"You adopted him?"

"I suppose I did in a way." Madeline smoothed her skirts and smiled to herself. "He is one of hundreds of children I've cared for over the years."

Apolline met Madeline's eye. "Are you a headmistress?"

"I was the head of the ballet for an opera house here in Paris for many years. And before that, I was a dancer that looked after all of the younger girls in the dormitories whose families lived elsewhere. And now I am a grandmother to four wonderful children." She placed her hand on Alex's shoulder and drew him closer. "This is my first grandson, Alex. His sister, Lisette, is your age. Why don't we get you home, properly fed, and prepared to see your brother? You can make him lunch."

Apolline's features momentarily twisted in malice, her nostrils flared. "I want to see him now."

Madeline carefully folded her handkerchief. "You don't want to bring Claude lunch?"

Confusion flitted through her gaze. Judging by the look on her face, I doubted she'd ever been allowed to make a decision. "I do, but…but…"

"I understand you are anxious to see him for yourself."

Apolline readily nodded.

"Let's brush your hair and wash your face first. You've traveled so far on your own and a young lady deserves to look her best, don't you think? And then once you've had a moment to yourself, we will put something together for your brother and I will take you to him myself."

Apolline touched her face and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, frowning as she did so. "May I brush my own hair?" she asked. "It hurts to brush when it's tangled and other people do it."

Gently Madeline set her hand on top of Apolline's. "I am an expert when it comes to untangling hair, even hair as thick as yours. Has anyone told you how beautiful it is?"

Apolline shook her head, lips quirking into a shy smile at the unexpected compliment.

"You remind me so much of my daughter Meg, a shy little blonde thing with beautiful hair." Madeline placed her hand over her heart and sighed. "When she was very small, people would always comment on how she had the most beautiful white blonde hair, but they never realized how much upkeep it was for her to maintain. I have gotten out knots fit to house rats with not so much as a tug to the scalp." She leaned in closer. "The secret is a special cream that makes the comb slide right through and the best part is it makes your hair smell like lilacs. Would you like to try it?"

Apolline's eyes twinkled at the thought. "I've never smelled like lilacs before."

"When I was your age, neither did I, but my son has been kind enough to purchase many nice smelling soaps and perfumes over the years." She glanced at me again and offered a mischievous smile. "He is good to me."

I shook my head at the woman responsible for a check book that never seemed to be balanced thanks to her frivolous purchases. Seeing her there, I was grateful for the headaches and expenses that were rarely accounted for month by month.

The child turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with Madeline's at last. They both stood and Madeline smiled, satisfied with the outcome. "Gentlemen," she said. "We will be returning home to freshen up. You'll keep out of trouble before then?" she teased, arching a brow.

"I've one stop to make at Bloom's," I said.

"Then we will meet you at the doctor's office in an hour," Madeline suggested.

"Grandmere," Alex said, tugging on Madeline's sleeve. "Don't forget the ginger cookies for Mother."

Madeline patted Alex's hand. "Thank you for the reminder. That will make her feel better in no time."

I immediately furrowed my brow. "Feel better? Then she is ill?"

Madeline shook her head. "No, no, not ill."

"Then why is she in need of feeling better?"

Madeline ignored my query and stepped toward Phelan, squinting as she looked at his bruised temple. She shook her head and frowned. "My, my."

"I do beg your pardon, Madame?" Phelan gruffly questioned, appearing quite insulted by the way she examined him.

"I have the perfect salve for that wound," she said. "You need to keep the healing skin covered with a thin layer to promote healing."

"I am headed to my train presently, but appreciate your concern."

Madeline lifted her chin. "You will be at your brother's this afternoon first. Once I've applied the salve you may do as you wish."

"Madame, with all due–"

"Your brother's home," she sternly said. "Have I made myself clear?"

Phelan appeared quite inconvenienced, but at last he slumped his shoulders and conceded. "Yes, Madame," he said.

Satisfied, Madeline gave a nod of approval. She guided the children toward the bakery counter, collecting a bag of breads and other goods before she started to walk out with both children in tow.

At the last moment, Apolline released Madeline's hand and trotted back into the bakery, plucking the drawing of the hamster from the table.

"May I still keep this?" she asked Phelan.

"Of course you may," he answered.

Her cheeks were bright red, but she still smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded in return. "My pleasure."

She dashed back to Madeline's side. "An hour," Madeline sternly reminded us.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my brother smile to himself while muttering, "That woman."

"That woman indeed," I said.

Phelan reached for his suitcase and inhaled. "As much as I appreciate the talents of the great Madame Giry, I am not some child for her to command."

"Child or not, she will be on the train with you if you don't do as she requests," I said. "Or quite possibly on the tracks preventing the train from leaving Paris. The entire city would be wise to bend to her will."

He grunted at my words. "Is this how she orders you about?" he groused. "Insisting that you do as she commands and never taking 'no' as an answer? Quite frankly I don't know how you've tolerated being treated like an infant all of these years."

"I humor her now and then," I answered.

"I suspect you rather enjoy the way she fusses like...like some..."

"Like a concerned mother?" I questioned.

Phelan lowered his gaze, but didn't answer. His features were strained, his gaze oddly distant. Neither of us had a relationship with the woman who birthed us, but Madeline had been a gentle and accepting presence that I had desperately needed in my life. Phelan absently touched his bruised temple and sighed in disgust. "Her concern is misplaced. This is nothing more than a scrape that I am perfectly capable of cleaning on my own," he grumbled.

I shrugged. "There's no reasoning with her," I said as Phelan placed several bank notes on the table. More people walked into the bakery and Elizabeth simply waved as we exited the shop and onto the bustling street. "You may as well stay for supper."

"And why would I do that?" he asked. His tone was colder than I expected, his gaze icy now that we were alone. The change in his demeanor startled me as I truly thought by his words at the table that he was no longer angry with me.

"Don't leave like this," I said without looking at him directly.

"Like what?" he impatiently snapped.

"Like we are strangers once more. Like we are meaningless to one another."

"You have already told me what I mean to you."

"Please, Lan–"

"Phelan."

I shook my head, refusing to refer to my brother in such formal fashion. "I am asking you as your younger brother that you stay for supper. If by the end of this evening we cannot make amends then...then I will ask for no more of your time."

He didn't verbally agree, but he nodded and sighed, which was more than I expected.

We walked half a block in complete silence, dodging people hurrying along in all directions, often slipping between us due to the distance between us.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Barely a wink and with a cat stabbing me in the chest with its needle-like claws."

"I apologize. Aria typically sleeps with Lisette."

"That menacing beast has a name? I thought it was a stray that jumped through an open window to further my misery."

"No, she is a member of the household, same as Bessie."

"A dog and a one-eyed cat," he groused.

"You could have placed her in the hall and shut the door," I pointed out.

"True," he agreed. "Although I suppose there is something nice about being stabbed in the chest rather than the back."

My pace slowed enough where I momentarily walked behind him, unsure of the meaning behind his words. It took several moments for him to realize I lagged behind and slow his pace.

"What is wrong with Julia?" he asked once I caught up.

"I've no idea. This morning she was exhausted."

"Perhaps she is simply worried about Claude."

"Perhaps, but her face was quite flushed despite her claims that she isn't sick. And then this morning she told me that she isn't in need of Dr. Khan's services, but Madeline is bringing ginger cookies to settle her stomach."

"Exhaustion and a bit of a sour stomach?"

I nodded.

"No one else is ill?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"And you've no idea the cause behind your wife's malaise?" Phelan arched a brow.

"No. But I assume she doesn't want me to say more as she doesn't want me to worry, which of course makes me worry more."

"You are sending Dr. Khan to see her regardless?"

"I asked him to pay a visit," I answered. "For my own peace of mind."

"I suppose that's a benefit to having a physician friend."

"We aren't friends," I said quickly.

"My mistake for assuming as much."

My breath hitched. "He treated everyone with the same courtesy and jovial nature, no matter how hardened the criminal," I said without looking at him.

I felt him glance at me from the corner of his eye and knew he had questions he wished to ask, inquiries I had no desire to answer. My silence over the years sewed the seeds of nightmares that kept me awake several times a week. I had no idea if communicating the horrors I had experienced would lessen their continued impact, but keeping the memories to myself had done no good.

"The gypsies sold the shah of shahs a man whom they claimed had murdered over two hundred people, ten for each year he had walked the earth. They went so far as to deliver him with his wrists shackled and hands dipped in goat's blood."

Phelan's jaw twitched. "And how many people had he murdered at that point?"

"He took the life of a man who beat him six days a week."

"I would gather that in the eyes of most that doesn't count."

"It counted to him."

"Which would indicate that this individual was far from a hardened criminal lusting for blood."

"He never lusted for blood."

"What did he desire then?"

"To create," I answered. "But no one there would believe that someone so hideous on the outside heard such beautiful music and imagined such fanciful scenes in his mind. They saw a monster."

Every step forward felt heavy and burdensome as though I trudged through mud up to my knees. My skin prickled as I thought of how out of place I had been, how certain I had felt that each day would be my last.

"And that is why he was flogged? Because was not the monster they desired?"

"No," I answered.

"I see," Phelan replied as he opened the shop door and stepped aside for me to answer.

Bloom's Art Supplies occupied a narrow storefront tucked between a dress store and a flower shop. The art shop name was displayed on a small wooden sign that easily went unnoticed to the less creative denizens of Paris as the other signs along the street were much larger and more colorful.

I'd never stepped foot inside as Madeline had placed herself in charge of my affairs, but I had routinely passed the little store that supplied artists throughout Paris with every type of media needed. Many nights I had paused in front of the window, staring past the mannequin whose clothing and accessories became more garish with each season.

There were bins organized onto shelves with hundreds of brushes and paints on the bottom and shelves of blank canvases along the top. To one side were inks, pens, pencils and charcoals and the other supple leather bound books with pages waiting to be filled and sheets of different sizes of paper. There were more mannequins in the back, some of which the shop keeper's employees placed into scandalous and undignified positions at the end of the night, most likely to draw the ire of their employer.

We walked inside, surrounded by the pungent odor of turpentine and the smell of paints that stung my nose. The young woman perched on a stool at the counter glanced up from her drawing: a male nude that she failed to cover before we approached.

Her cheeks turned red immediately and she bowed her head, mumbling an insincere greeting as she pulled out another drawing from beneath the desk of a vase and fruit and hastily began shading a pear.

Phelan paused at the desk and crossed his arms.

"May I be of assistance?" the young lady meekly asked.

"At first glance, your subject is out of proportion," he stated while I made my way toward the boxes of pencils and charcoals and began selecting an array of tools I thought Claude might appreciate. "One arm appears bigger than the other and his legs are too long for his torso."

From the corner of my eye I saw the girl's owlish eyes gaze up in horror. "I–I apologize."

"For what?"

"For an indecent drawing."

Phelan inhaled. "Mademoiselle….?"

"My name is Delphine."

"Mademoiselle Delphine, did I make mention of indecency?"

"No..."

"Precisely. Now hand me your sketchbook."

The girl looked absolutely petrified. She pulled the sketchbook with its dented edges and scratched leather cover out from beneath the vase and fruit drawing and handed it over like a child afraid of being scolded.

"Why are you slumped over like a corpse?" he gruffly questioned without lifting his eyes from the page. "You are making my spine ache simply by looking at you."

Delphine visibly swallowed and pulled herself into a more upright position, which did nothing aside from make her appear as a stiffened corpse with better posture. "Please do not tell Monsieur Bloom."

"Tell him what? That the girl overseeing sales at an art shop is struggling with her own art?" He glanced up, slate eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," she answered.

Phelan glanced over the notebook. "Do you attend the Academy?"

She shook her head and folded her arms. "No, Monsieur. I meet with a small group of artists at a salon on Rue de Carlisle every Thursday evening."

He grunted and flipped through her sketchbook, examining another nude drawing, followed by a sketch of a horse and a portrait of an old woman in a shawl. "Carlisle," he said under his breath. "Pierre Gudois, I gather?" he asked.

"Yes," Delphine answered. "How…how did you know?"

"He was one of my students," Phelan absently answered as he refiled through additional pages, pausing to review each one before continuing through the girl's work. "I recognize him in these sketches as your work drawing faces is quite good. Possibly better than my own if I am being honest."

"Pierre was one of your students?" she asked. "Are you Monsieur Kimmer?"

"I am. Does he speak of me?"

"Fondly."

Phelan snorted. "I find that difficult to believe considering he barely passed my class."

Again Delphine blushed. "He said you were hard on everyone in class, but they were better artists because of it."

"Good. My critiques are not meant to stop artist from creating, but improve their skills."

"I need improvement," the girl glumly said.

"May I add a note or two to the pages?"

"Yes, yes of course," she eagerly replied, handing him her pencil.

I continued to walk through the store unnoticed while Phelan scribbled notes on a few pages and mumbled his suggestions verbally. He held up the book to display another nude of the same gentlemen. "This is by far the best one, but the proportions still need work, as I've noted at the bottom."

The woman readily nodded. "I'm bored with nudes," she said. "I think that is part of the problem."

Phelan handed her the notebook back. "Then by all means draw people will clothes on or whatever strikes the fire in your soul."

She offered a close-lipped smile and a nod. "I appreciate you offering your critique. Truly, it is an honor."

Phelan lifted his chin. "I rue the day when I run out of opinions," he dryly replied. "Tell Pierre I said to keep his clothes on and give the salon a basket of fruit or a rock to sketch. God knows the rock is far more interesting than that fool and his overly-inflated ego."

Delphine snorted with laughter. "I will tell him in not so many words, Monsieur."

I approached the counter with two different packs of pencils, a notebook, bottle of ink, and several packs of loose leaf paper, and set them down.

"Are these for Alex and Lisette?" Phelan asked as he picked up the pencils.

"They are for Claude," I answered.

Phelan scoffed in disgust. "No, no, no these will never do," he said before he crossed the store and pursued through the pencil section, tossing the ones I had selected back into a pin and grabbing a different brand. "He would prefer Ozen pencils."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Because they are the best ones," Phelan answered. "He will be stunned by how much better they take to the paper. The ones you selected are like smearing dust across a tablecloth."

"Do you have an account with us?" Delphine asked, looking at me for the first time. She startled at the sight of my mask, but was kind enough to focus her gaze to the right side of my face.

"Yes, it is under the name Erik Kire," I said.

The girl gasped and paused as she pulled a box of index cards out from beneath the counter. It was a reaction I still had not grown accustomed to and assumed I never would.

"You are Claude's patron!" she said, hopping like an overjoyed rabbit. "We all adore Claude."

Phelan snorted. "Claude's patron? Is that how you think of him? Were you aware that on occasion this man also dabbles in music. Perhaps you have heard of his dozen operas?"

Delphine looked mortified. "Oh, I didn't mean to offend, it's just that I don't know much about your music."

"No offense taken," I assured her.

Her expression darkened. "I heard Claude was at the factory when the building collapsed. You've heard from him since then, yes?"

"We were with him last night."

"How is he?"

"He was injured," I answered. "But not mortally."

Delphine gave a sigh of relief and reached beneath the counter. She tossed several colored pencils and a craft knife into the large paper bag and supported the bottom before handing the supplies to me. "Tell him that these used pencils belong to Delphie and they are for borrowing until he is able to return them himself. And please tell him I miss my Thursday evening critique partner. The salon will not be the same without him."