I apologize for not updating in months. I wrote this chapter, deleted it, rewrote and deleted again. I hope I finally found the right words!
Chapter 117
Uncomfortable silence followed my brother's statement. I felt as though the air had been punched from my lungs and the words I wished to speak stolen off my tongue.
Gaining the trust of others had always been an unattainable goal that left me bitter and angry with each passing year-–and it was all due to my wretched appearance.
I was a terrible beast to the rest of the world, instantly labeled a thief, liar, and murderer for no other reason than I looked far different than everyone else. There was nothing I could do or say to have others view me in a favorable light, not even when I covered the scars with my mask.
But the same was not true for my brother, who had protected and loved me despite the marks that had caused others to shun me. He was the first to not simply accept me, but to care for me in a way that no one else had done. One flippant statement spoken in a moment of anger and I had destroyed our fledgling relationship, possibly beyond repair.
"You have not misplaced your trust," I whispered without looking him in the eye.
"Is that your decision or mine?"
Yet another misstep on my part. I gripped the arms of my chair, desperate to feel something solid when the world felt as though it had tilted and left me scrambling for purchase.
"Phelan..." I said under my breath.
"What more do you wish for me to say, Erik? I have already offered my forgiveness. What else do you want from me?" he questioned. His tone wasn't harsh, but I sensed his irritation with me.
My stomach knotted, my heart heavy with the notion of Phelan returning home before amends were made. I didn't know what to say or do that would make my brother truly forgive me.
I had not begged for my father's affection, nor Madeline's precious time when I had first come to the Opera House. I had not once asked Garouche to cease the humiliation of the traveling fair or the Sultana to spare me lashes in her sprawling palace.
I had not begged for anything in my life, not once. I had demanded Christine's hand in marriage and for Julia to leave me to die in an alley and neither wish had been granted. Whatever I asked of my brother would surely be denied–but still I wished to beg for his forgiveness, for his mercy.
Every emotion thrummed through me from anger and despair to desperation and longing.
Please, please forgive me for my feckless words.
If you have no desire to speak to me again, then return home and spare no second thought of me.
I do not deserve it, but please, Lan, give me another chance.
You want me on my hands and knees, is that it? Groveling before you? I would not give you the satisfaction.
My miserable, erratic thoughts would have consumed me if not for Lisette cheerfully entering the parlor with the service cart in tow. She carefully navigated her way over the rug, giggling at the sound of the delicate coffee cups and saucers clinking together. Focused on her duties as hostess, she failed to notice the truly dismal tone of the room she entered.
"Cream and sugar?" Lisette asked brightly.
"Neither for me, thank you, Lisette," Madeline said, keeping her eyes trained on me. She appeared as frustrated as I felt.
"And Uncle Phelan?" Lisette asked once she handed Madeline a black cup of coffee.
"Light sugar, heavy cream," Phelan replied.
Lisette added a splash of cream and three cubes of sugar before pausing. "Oh…I…" she pursed her lips, then proceeded to fill the cup to the brim with additional cream. She gingerly handed over the coffee cup and made a face as her uncle took his first sip.
Phelan gave an appreciative nod. "This is better than I expected."
Lisette's eyes widened. "Are you certain? I can make you a new cup of coffee if you'd like."
Phelan bestowed a warm smile upon his niece. "You are an extraordinarily kind-hearted child," he said. "I can taste it in every sip. It is almost as if you've added three cubes of sugar instead of one."
"I made a mistake," Lisette blurted out. "I didn't mean to, but I–"
Phelan offered a warm smile in return. "A good mistake," he replied.
Lisette sighed in relief. "I am glad you think so, Uncle Phelan. I didn't want you to be upset with me."
"My most cherished niece, it is not possible for me to be upset with someone as delightful as yourself."
At least there was one individual he still favored.
Lisette turned her attention back to the service cart and moved the bowl of sugar and small pitcher of cream. "Goodness me, I forgot to put biscuits on the tray. Forgive me, but I shall return shortly."
"No biscuits for me, Lisette. I am in need of some fresh air," Phelan said as he climbed to his feet.
Lisette looked up at my brother as he stood and took another sip of coffee.
"You look sadder than you did previously," she commented. "Surely there must be some way for me to make you happier?"
Phelan made no attempt to mask his sullen expression. "Lisette, sometimes melancholy does not need fixing and simply must run its course."
Lisette appeared unconvinced. "May I still bring you a biscuit? They're very good."
"Do you know what will bring me greater joy than sweets?" Phelan asked as he took one last look at his drawing and handed it to Lisette.
Lisette gasped in delight and bounced up and down. "Oh! This is simply darling, Uncle Phelan! She has little shoes! And a tiny suitcase. And what is this with the little circles in a half-circle?"
"A pearl necklace," Phelan answered. "There are additional accessories for your paper doll on the back if your mother would allow you to cut them out with her scissors."
Lisette's eyes widened as she unfolded the paper and grinned at the findings of gloves, a hat, and a skirt.
"Does this gift please you, Lisette?"
"I love her!" Lisette hugged the drawing to her chest. "Oh, this is the most lovely gift I've ever received in my entire life."
My brother offered an appreciative smile in return, the first indication of true mirth he'd shown in half an hour. "Good. Now if you would excuse me, I should like to step outside."
I started to climb to my feet, but Phelan cleared his throat.
"Alone," he said without looking at me.
"Alone?" Lisette gasped, her eyes wide with alarm. "But why would you want to be outside by yourself when the rest of us are in the house?"
"I enjoy my own company," Phelan assured Lisette. "And I would like a moment with my thoughts."
"Will that make you happier?"
"It will not make me sadder, I assure you."
Lisette didn't appear convinced, but she still shrugged. "I will still put the biscuits on a plate in case you should change your mind," she said as she skipped out of the parlor and down the hall.
Once Lisette was out of earshot, Madeline cleared her throat and thumped her cane on the wooden floor. "Gentlemen," she said sternly. "Do not allow silence to linger between the two of you."
Phelan paused for a moment at the parlor door and tapped the fingers of his injured hand along the frame. "Madame Giry, I prefer silence to words I may regret speaking."
"I understand and hope once you have had a moment to yourself that you will be open to speaking to your brother."
"Unfortunately, Madame, an attempt at speaking openly is what has brought us to this impasse."
Madeline didn't argue and Phelan said nothing further. He didn't bother to spare me a glance as he swiftly proceeded down the hall and toward the kitchen. Once he was out of earshot, Madeline exhaled and frowned. "He isn't angry," she said.
"Of course he is," I argued. "Angry and unforgiving."
Madeline shook her head as she stood. "No, no, he's not angry. Frustrated, yes, but not angry." She paused and searched my eyes. "He's hurt."
"I've offered an apology."
"He doesn't want an apology."
"Then what does he want?"
Madeline briefly placed her hand on my shoulder. "He wants someone he can trust and confide in. He wants his little brother."
Madeline excused herself from the parlor, saying she was late for an appointment with the ballet and needed to stop at home for her notes before she made her way to the theater.
Left with nothing but my brother's suitcase and my own thoughts, I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed to myself, unsure if I could be the sibling Phelan desired.
"Wait until my father sees you," I heard Alex say right before a rather heavy knock on the front door.
My son sounded quite frantic, and given that he would never knock on the door to his own home, I furrowed my brow and started toward the front door to see if he was locked out.
"You haven't started to play yet, have you?" Julia asked as she stepped out into the hall.
"Not yet."
"Oh, good. I must borrow your brother for a moment, if you don't mind. I'll have him returned to you shortly."
"Of course," I said over my shoulder as I fit my mask into place, not bothering to see if Phelan had agreed to being borrowed by my wife.
I reached the front door and discovered Alex with his cheeks crimson and forehead beaded in perspiration. Beside him was an unfamiliar man with flour-covered trousers and a shirt bearing grease stains.
"Apolline?" I questioned, noticing the little girl attempting to pull away from the man who held her by the forearm. "What is this about?"
"Ah, so this wretched little thief is yours?" the man said. He wrenched the child's arm roughly in an attempt to keep her still, but she continued to squirm.
"Release her at once," I demanded.
The man lifted his chin and scowled. He pulled Apolline to his side and flicked the tag still hanging from her coat, which made her flinch. The tag fell from her coat and the stranger snatched it up. "Are you E. M. Kite?" he questioned.
I looked from the man who had yet to give his name to the child with her tear-stained face and tag that was barely legible, possibly from the tears she had shed that smeared the ink. "Kire," I corrected, fully expecting him to recognize my name. "I am E.M. Kire."
The man clearly didn't recognize my name or disliked my music as he hardly seemed impressed in my presence. "Kite, Kire, makes no difference to me so long as you compensate me for her thievery," he grumbled.
"Release the girl and we shall discuss your grievances," I said tightly.
"You're hurting my friend!" Alex exclaimed.
"No one asked you to speak, boy," the man snarled.
My temper flared. "You will not speak harshly to my son or lay a finger on this girl. Release her. Now." I took a step forward, my body rigid, and the man wisely cowered, his grip loosening enough for Apolline to free herself and dart past me into the house where she sucked in a ragged, frightened breath.
"Alex," I said. "Inside."
Alex obediently brushed past me. "Father will protect you," he whispered to Apolline.
"Are you that horrid little urchin's father?" the man asked.
"I am her guardian."
"Some guardian you are," he muttered.
I lifted my chin and narrowed my eyes. "State your name or remove yourself from my property," I growled at the fleshy-faced man sneering at me. "Now."
The man looked me over briefly, his dark gaze pinned on my mask. "Guiles Versau," he answered. "Owner of the most prestigious restaurant in Paris."
"And which one would that be?"
Versau's face reddened. "The Golden Grasshopper, of course!"
I had passed the restaurant on my nightly walks frequently, particularly in the colder months when the city was darker earlier and I observed the population of the city bustling about. There was often a musician serenading the tables on the patio in the summer and by piano in winter, a young man who could have benefited from lessons with either instrument. I had always assumed he was the owner's nephew or son, given his lack of talent and frequency of performing.
"I always thought the Crystal Club held that title," I replied, referring to a seedy salon across the street from where Claude's apartment was located.
Versau appeared quite incensed. He shook his finger at Apolline. "We are quite reputable and have never been preyed upon by feral children like that one. Thought I wouldn't catch her sneaking through the back door of my kitchen, isn't that so, you little brat?"
"Not another word to the girl. You address me and me alone, is that understood?" I said through my teeth.
The man looked from Apolline to me and muttered something under his breath.
"What are your accusations against this child?"
"Accusations?" the man snapped. "I saw her with my own two eyes," he said, pointing at his face. "Damned little thief with her damned little thieving hands."
"What was stolen?"
"Food!" Versau said, his face turning a deeper shade of crimson. "What in God's name do you think was stolen?"
"What do you seek in compensation for your loss?" I asked.
"Two hundred francs," Versau said as though he expected me to gasp at such an egregious sum of money. "Which I shall take immediately, Monsieur."
"Alex," I said, glancing over my shoulder. "Fetch my checkbook from upstairs."
Alex obediently dashed up the stairs to my bedroom where I heard him open and close my desk drawers in search of the checkbook.
"She's very fortunate she had an address attached to her coat or I'd have beaten the daylights out of her right then and there," Versau threatened. He rocked back on his heels, his frown deepening into a miserable scowl. "The amount of vagrants on these streets is truly alarming for such a beautiful city. Quite frankly I have no idea where they're all coming from these days."
"I beg your pardon, but I am quite certain that you are fortunate my name and address are on this child's coat and that she has been returned to me reasonably unharmed," I replied tightly. "I will not elaborate on the condition you would have been found in should harm come to this girl, Monsieur Versau."
His complexion paled as he recoiled, lips parted in horror. "Is that a threat? Do you dare threaten me?"
"More of a promise," I assured him as I adjusted my sleeves.
"How dare you," Versau sputtered.
I had half the mind to grab him by the throat and crush his windpipe to keep him from uttering another sound, but instead I crossed my arms and held his gaze, thinking of how many times I had sneaked down alleys in search of a bite to sate my own hunger as a child.
Dizzy with hunger, I'd rummaged through refuse bins, swiped chicken bones already sucked clean of meat and broken them open for the marrow while my stomach growled and my head swam. I had eaten whatever I could find with trembling hands and a racing, terrified heart, fully aware that my hunger was punishable if my father discovered me padding barefoot down back streets. I had lived in terror of being discovered, but every bruise I obtained was worth the food that managed to find its way into my belly. As shameful of an existence as it had been, I'd still escaped whenever I could, determined to survive by any means necessary.
"How dare you, a man who has clearly never missed a meal, threaten a half-starved child with a beating."
Versau's lips parted. He briefly looked past me at Apolline before lowering his gaze. "Starving or not, she's a damned thief and I will not tolerate her kind," he said under his breath.
I snatched the card from his hands and turned it over, showing him the stamp on the back. "Her kind."
"The Elise," he read. "Never heard of it."
"A poorly run home for orphaned girls," I answered. "The children it houses have suffered far greater than the loss of a meal."
Versau cleared his throat. He looked past me at Apolline, his expression momentarily softening. "I trust you will keep a more watchful eye on the girl," he grumbled. "She is bound to get herself into worse trouble than egg yolk and flour on her frock if she encounters someone else."
"You have my word that she will be under a more watchful eye."
Alex took a flying leap down from the middle of the stairs and landed several feet from me with a house-rattling thud which neither I nor the man awaiting reimbursement acknowledged.
Versau became increasingly flustered. "I shall take my reimbursement and be on my way at once as I have taken up far too much of your precious time."
"Of course," I replied quite amiably before I hastily made out the check. Behind me, Apolline sniffled and I glanced briefly at her. She looked impossibly small and fragile, a mouse of a girl awaiting her punishment.
Alex wordlessly took the checkbook, ink, and pen he had delivered to me and hopped down the hall like a rabbit once I tore the check from the book. I shook my head at his antics, finding myself unable to muster a shred of annoyance as he lightened the situation with his behavior.
"Come with me," he said to Apolline. I watched him gently place his hand on her shoulder and gently guide her into the parlor.
Once both children were out of sight, I turned my attention to Versau and thrust the check toward his chest. He flinched as though he expected me to punch him in the heart.
"I appreciate you handling this matter swiftly," he mumbled.
"Anything for the owner of the Crystal Club, Monsieur," I said.
"Golden Grasshopper!" he snapped.
"My mistake," I replied. "Good day to you, Monsieur," I added before shutting the door.
I exhaled hard and shook my head, annoyed with the exchange. From where I stood I heard muffled conversation from the parlor between Alex and Apolline.
"Are you certain you aren't injured?" Alex asked.
"Scratches and nothing more."
"Good. I would have stomped on his foot if he'd harmed you," Alex said. "My father as well. His feet are quite large, like an ostrich!"
I made my way silently down the hall, ostrich-like feet and all.
"He frightens me," Apolline said under her breath.
"That terribly ill-tempered man?" Alex asked.
"Your father."
Alex couldn't help but chuckle. "My father?" he asked incredulously. "You needn't be frightened of my father. He has the heart of a hound dog."
I furrowed my brow, having no idea how I could possess both the feet of an ostrich and the heart of a hound.
Apolline didn't verbally reply. I stood in the doorway and both children immediately looked up, Alex as if he fully expected me and Apolline as if a ghost had materialized before her eyes.
"Alex," I addressed my son. "Why don't you help your Aunt Meg."
"With what?" Alex naturally asked.
"With whatever she may need your assistance doing."
Alex slid quite dramatically out of the chair. He offered Apolline an encouraging smile and whispered loudly, "Don't be frightened. Hound heart," he said with a nod toward me.
Apolline looked as though she awaited her execution. She sat with her cheeks stained with tears and coat covered in what appeared to be flour and egg yolks. She appeared utterly petrified once it was only the two of us within the parlor, and given the brief exchange she'd overheard between myself and Versau, quite frankly I couldn't blame her.
"You are unscathed?" I asked.
Wordlessly she nodded and stared at her hands while she began to fidget.
"Good."
She swallowed and sank into her seat.
"What did you take from his restaurant?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
Apolline pursed her lips, her gaze pinned to the edge of the woven rug. Her eyes filled with tears and she inhaled sharply. "Roast duck and potatoes," she blurted out. "And dried rosemary."
I lifted a brow. A roast duck and potatoes were hardly worth twenty francs, let alone the two hundred I had paid to be rid of Versau.
"And what else?" I asked.
"Nothing else."
"How did you become covered in flour and eggs?"
She risked a glance up to meet my eye, then back at the rug again.
"Apolline," I said firmly. "Explain to me what happened."
I wasn't certain she would obey my commands. I thought she might spring to her feet, dash out the back door and into the garden where she would disappear onto the streets of Paris, but instead she sniffled.
I seated myself in the chair across from her with my back to the door, allowing an appropriate amount of distance between us. She curled her back and lowered her head, avoiding my gaze. It seemed a familiar position for her, one of shame and submission. I looked her over, this frail child who appeared exhausted from her travels and the visit with her brother. Her transition from The Elise to Paris was anything but smooth.
"You were hungry," I commented. "I assume you had no meal on the train and only a small bite to eat at the bakery this morning."
She gave the slightest bob of her head.
"And Claude? Has he eaten anything today?"
She shook her head more readily than she had nodded, clearly more concerned for Claude than for herself.
"Did Claude ask you to find him something to eat?"
Apolline shook her head. I was beginning to think she would not offer a verbal answer, instead preferring to nod and shake her hand.
"No?"
At last she swallowed. "The doctor gave him medicine so that he could rest soundly," she whispered. "But his stomach was growling so loud and sounded like he'd swallowed a terrible monster. The sound woke me."
I remained quiet a moment longer, giving her time to elaborate before I questioned her further. She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I didn't want Claude to be hungry when he woke," she said at last. "I wanted to take care of him."
I nodded. They were both gaunt, and I knew Claude often chose paying his rent before purchasing food for himself as he would rather go hungry with a roof over his head rather than fill his belly and live in the alley. Despite my role as patron, I wasn't sure he had taken advantage of filling his cupboards and pantry at the market.
"I could smell the food from down the street and I thought…" she folded her arms and leaned forward, hugging herself. "I thought perhaps there would be just a bite that could go missing and no one would notice."
I sat back and clasped my hands. If it had been Alex stealing from a local restaurant or bakery I would have raised my voice and sternly reprimanded him for his actions as he'd never missed a meal. Of course in Ale's mind, supper delayed by fifteen minutes was nearly the end of life itself, but he'd never been sent to bed on an empty stomach or gone days between meals.
Apolline, however, was no stranger to starving, but still at fault for her actions.
"May I see my brother one last time?" she questioned suddenly.
I met her eye and furrowed my brow, wondering if she expected to be sent to the gallows for her crimes. "I beg your pardon?"
"Before you return me."
Apolline had clearly punished herself far more severely than anything I could have said to her. I noted how anxious she appeared over the prospect of being delivered hours away to The Elise, how she dreaded the idea of losing her brother again mere hours after they had been reunited.
"Claude would be utterly devastated if you were not here with him in his greatest time of need. And with a meal for him when he wakes, no less. I assure you, I have no intention of placing you onto a train and returning you to the home. You belong here, with your brother."
Apolline exhaled in relief and whispered her thank-you with her head down. She visibly shuddered, holding her breath to suppress her emotions. "Will you tell Claude what I have done?" she asked.
"The restaurant owner has been compensated. There is nothing to tell so long as you look me in the eye and promise me that you will act appropriately henceforth."
Apolline allowed herself to reveal the slightest of smiles. Her gaze settled on the masked side of my face, which she studied in silence with more curiosity than outright disdain.
"You are a guest in my home," I continued. "And as such, you shall conduct yourself in an appropriate manner, the same as is expected of my children Alexandre and Lisette, is that understood?"
She readily nodded and sat up straighter. "Yes, Monsieur Kire."
"There is no shortage of food within my home. You shall take meals with my family at our table."
Apolline allowed herself to smile at last, a genuine, gracious expression. "May I eat with Claude? I don't want him to take meals alone."
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you," she sniffled.
"Now that this has been settled, do you have any questions?"
She thought a moment, her tongue licking her lips as she contemplated her question. "What is the mask for?" she asked.
My lips parted and I realized I should have been more specific with my inquiry. I spread my hands over my knees and inhaled. "An accessory," I answered. "One that I find quite necessary."
Before Apolline could say a word, Alex walked into the parlor and gave a dramatic sigh as though he'd been greatly inconvenienced. "I have returned," he announced.
"Why are you not with your aunt?" I asked.
"She didn't need me," he said with a shrug. "I asked Uncle Charles if he needed anything, but he was discussing South American art and that sounded quite dull, so I decided to return home. Now, what are we discussing?" he asked as he dove into my chair behind my desk and took up the newspaper.
Apolline looked from me to Alex. "The mask your father wears," she whispered quite loudly.
Alex merely shrugged and rustled the newspaper before folding it once more. "Father has several different masks," Alex answered nonchalantly. "He has a scar that he doesn't want anyone to see."
Apolline's eyes widened as she turned her full attention back to me, her gaze pinned to the masked side of my face. She studied me for a long moment, undoubtedly imagining what the scar looked like beneath my mask, then turned her attention to her own hands. She rubbed her wrist, then tugged at her sleeve until she pulled it down to the middle of her palm. Her cheeks reddened as she gripped the fabric with her fingers, securing the fabric in place.
"Oh," she whispered. "I see."
Immediately Alex took interest and stood, planted his hands flat on my desk, and craned his neck. "Do you have a scar? I have one on my forehead!" He pushed his hair back to display the silvery line that was barely visible from where I sat. "I hit my head on this very desk! Or was it the one in your room, Father? I can't remember because I was a baby when I injured myself, so I have no memory of what happened, only what my father and my aunt and my grand-mere told me. My Aunt Meg cried far worse than I did and I was the one who was bleeding nearly to death. Isn't that so, Father? She was near hysteria!"
"She did become quite emotional," I confirmed.
"Apolline! How did you injure your hand?" Alex asked.
Apolline hesitated. "I…I don't…" she started. Her voice trailed off and she appeared quite bewildered.
"May I see it?"
Alarm flashed through the girl's eyes and she pulled her arm further up into her sleeve without replying.
"Alex," I warned. "Enough."
Alex's expression changed from outright exuberance to sheepish once he realized how uncomfortable our guest appeared at his request.
"Apolline, I apologize if that was a rude question," my son said. He lowered into the chair once more and rearranged my pens and jar of ink as he spoke. "I don't mind discussing my forehead scar, but that doesn't mean that you wish to discuss the scar you have. Everyone is different. Isn't that right, Uncle Phelan?"
I twisted in my chair and found my brother leaning in the doorway to the parlor with his arms crossed. "True," Phelan answered. His gaze settled momentarily on me, his expression pensive. "You are quite intelligent, Alex. Far more intelligent than your uncle, it seems."
"I do know quite a bit, particularly for my age," Alex agreed. He gasped and raised his index finger. "Oh! You should meet my Uncle Charles. Then you could be as educated as I am! He's taught me everything!"
"Everything?" Phelan asked incredulously.
"Well, most everything. I suppose my Aunt Meg taught me a little bit. And my father as well."
"Hmmm," Phelan replied. "Unfortunately my wisdom did not improve during the time I spent with your Uncle Charles. I'm afraid I am beyond hope, favorite nephew."
Alex appeared terribly concerned for his uncle's lack of intelligence. "What about my father? He could teach you something. I think."
Phelan raised a brow and placed his hand over his heart, feigning surprise. "What do you think your father would teach me, Alexandre?"
Alex gave an exasperated sigh and threw his head back as he dramatically slid down against the back of the chair until he was slumped over practically onto the floor. "Music, of course!"
"I do believe your father knows a little more than simply music," Phelan said, turning his attention to me briefly. "Nephew, if you would be so kind as to give your father and I a moment alone." He nodded to Apolline, "Mademoiselle, if you wouldn't mind my nephew's company a while longer."
Apolline shook her head and Alex motioned toward the door where she slipped out past my brother and waited for Alex to accompany her. "We can go into the kitchen and Lissy will make us something to eat," Alex said to Apolline. She nodded readily, as I expected.
Alex turned back to his uncle before he exited and placed his hand on my brother's shoulder. "Uncle Phelan, you are not beyond hope," he said earnestly.
Phelan placed his hand on the back of my son's neck and offered a warm smile. "Alex," he said, engulfing his nephew into his embrace. "You are every bit how I imagined your father to be at your age."
Alex beamed with pride and wrapped his arms around his uncle. "I am glad you think so, Uncle Phelan."
