Ch 45
The first game of the evening was a guessing game with the teams split into two people. Since Val was absent still, Carmen volunteered to be the speaker.
Besides Abigail and myself, there were three other couples all of whom I'd met previously and whose names I didn't recall.
"May I play?" Elizabeth asked her mother.
"No, you don't have a partner," Carmen answered.
"Why can't I join one of the other teams?"
"Because this is for married couples, Elizabeth. You may keep score with me."
Elizabeth frowned, but knew better than to argue with her mother, lest she be sent to bed early. It had only been in recent years that Val and Carmen had allowed their daughter to attend the parties at all and I knew Elizabeth had no desire to leave while at the same time feeling quite out of place. Without a word of protest, Elizabeth simply bowed her head.
"Elizabeth, would you like to join our team?" I asked.
Elizabeth gasped. "Mother, may I be on Uncle Phelan's team?"
"If Madame Soward agrees to having you," Carmen replied. "She is under no obligation to entertain your request, Elizabeth."
Abigail shook her head. "I would be honored to have you on our team." She looked at me and smiled. "I believe we will need all the help we can get."
The game, as it turned out, was trivia guessing what one's partner fancied. Everyone recorded their answers on cards before the responses were revealed aloud.
"What is your favorite color?" Carmen asked as she went around the room. The first two couples guessed correctly.
"Green," I guessed for Abigail. I looked at Elizabeth. "I believe it used to be lilac."
Abigail revealed her card, which stated green while Elizabeth grinned back and enthusiastically revealed purple with the word lilac in parenthesis.
"I guessed blue," Abigail said to me when it was her turn. "You have more blue suits than any other color."
"Orange?" Elizabeth guessed.
When I revealed my card, they were both disappointed.
"Scarlet?" Elizabeth groaned. "But of course, like Elvira."
"Precisely. Half a point for you."
"There are no half points," Carmen said sternly.
"For pity's sake, allow Elizabeth a half point on her first game night," I pleaded on my niece's behalf.
Elizabeth looked expectantly at her mother, who took a deep breath and consulted her other guests for permission. Everyone nodded in agreement and Elizabeth thanked their guests profusely for allowing the exception.
"Next question," Carmen said. "What is your partner's favorite animal?"
Again everyone scribbled down their answers and took turns revealing what they thought their husband or wife–or in my case, seamstress and niece–fancied.
"Macaw," Elizabeth said. Abigail nodded in agreement.
I truthfully didn't have a favorite, but guessed that at least one of them would assume it was a bird based on Elvira, and turned over my card, which pleased the two of them for their correct answer.
"Uncle Phelan's turn," Elizabeth insisted.
"Swan," I said for Elizabeth.
My niece gave an exasperated sigh. "Hippopotamus!"
"That is absolutely false," I protested. "You've never seen a hippo in your life. How can that possibly be your favorite?"
"Don't you remember the Leach Encyclopedia of Animals you gave me for Christmas? I told you they were my favorite."
"I remember nothing of the sort and have half the mind to take your fraction of a point away," I threatened.
"Uncle Phelan is a bit surly this evening, isn't he, Elizabeth?" Abigail chimed in.
"Very," Elizabeth agreed with a nod, "but I love my uncle despite his questionable disposition."
"And he loves you as well," Abigail replied.
"And you both apparently enjoy ganging up on me," I groused.
"Uncle, you must reveal your answer for Madame Soward," Elizabeth reminded me.
I inhaled and turned my card over. "Ducks," I said. It was the only animal I'd ever heard her mention aside from turtles and I couldn't imagine a turtle being her favorite creature.
"Cat," Abigail replied, showing her answer.
I furrowed my brow, thoroughly disappointed that the one creature on the planet that she adored seemed to despise me. "I would never have taken you for a cat person."
Before Abigail could elaborate on her choice, Carmen moved on to the next round.
"For the third round, what are you most afraid of?"
The gentleman across from me pursed his lips and bowed his head in contemplation of his answer with the other couples doing the same.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Abigail look at me, then at the card in her hand and back at me. I inhaled, rolling my pencil between my thumb and forefinger.
Elizabeth's was an easy answer: she had always been terrified of rodents. Abigail, on the other hand, I had no idea what frightened her, but assumed mice or spiders was a suitable guess.
My own fear however, was not something I wished to commit to paper in a parlor filled with nine other individuals. Rather than write my brother's name, I stared blankly at the card in front of me.
"Millie, would you please reveal your answer for Ferdinand?" Carmen asked.
One by one, answers were revealed to smiling wives and nodding husbands pleased with their responses and how well they knew one another.
"Our trio?" Carmen prompted once it came to our turn.
"Mice," I said, lifting a brow of anticipation at Elizabeth.
She hesitated, eyes narrowed, before she nearly jumped out of her seat and exclaimed, "Yes, Uncle Phelan!"
Abigail looked warily at me as I flicked the edge of the card with my answer.
"Spiders?" I guessed.
She made a face in return. "Bees."
I nodded slowly. "Noted."
"Elizabeth, what did you guess for your uncle?" Carmen asked.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of her seat, lips pursed. "May I change my answer?" she asked her mother.
Carmen looked quite exasperated. "I suppose," she said with a sigh.
Elizabeth placed her original card face-down on her knee and swiftly scribbled a new answer on a different note card.
"Monsters," she proudly answered, earning several chuckles from people in attendance. Ignoring the laughter, she turned her head to nod at Abigail for her answer.
Abigail chewed on her bottom lip. "I guessed heights," she said without lifting her card.
"Phelan?" Carmen questioned.
Since neither of them had guessed correctly, I didn't bother turning over my card. "Cats, actually."
"That is truly unfortunate," Abigail said.
"I believe our trio has been eliminated from the game," Carmen said, giving no indication that she was the least bit disappointed.
"My apologies for failing the two of you," I said to Abigail and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth stood and flung her arms around my neck. "No apologies needed. I had a wonderful time, but I am parched like the desert and in need of fruit punch. May I retrieve a beverage for my teammates?"
"None for me, thank you," I said. Abigail declined as well while Carmen reminded her daughter that she could drink from the smaller punch bowl, which I assumed was the one that didn't have liquor added to it.
Elizabeth blissfully walked toward the buffet, the card she had originally filled out landing beside my shoe. I grabbed it, turned it over to see her original answer.
Never seeing his brother Erik again.
I suppressed a shiver at my niece's original answer, and Abigail reached for my right hand, fingers grasping my wrist. She glanced at the card I had picked up off the floor, then met my eye and leaned in closer to me.
"For safekeeping," she whispered, lacing her fingers with mine.
oOo
Val arrived in the middle of the final game, his hair mussed and clothes disheveled as he burst through the front door as if he'd run clear across the city.
"Apologies, apologies," he said as he removed his coat and tossed it onto the hook by the door. "Have I missed any of the games?"
"This is the last game, Papa," Elizabeth said.
"Ah, there's my beautiful daughter," Val said. "I hope you will forgive your father for his tardiness." He looked around the room, spotting me at last. "Phelan, my goodness, I am terribly sorry for my late arrival. I wasn't sure you would be attending tonight."
"I said I would," I reminded him.
"Yes, I seem to have forgotten."
"How in the world did the bank talk you into working on a Sunday night?" I questioned.
"Unfortunately, I don't have the most reliable bankers these days," he said.
I scoffed, assuming his words were meant as a jab since Val had always considered me abandoning him in favor of my fruitless endeavors in the arts.
"You needn't worry," Val replied as he filled a glass with punch and gathered food from the buffet onto a plate. "That is not a request for you to return to Society General. I know you were quite miserable there."
I felt myself tense; jaw clenched and breath held, awaiting another condescending remark in front of a roomful of his friends.
"It would be criminal to ask an artist to give up his paint brushes and canvas for numbers and ledgers," Abigail said.
Val turned to face Abigail, seeming surprised to find her seated beside me. "Madame Soward," he said pleasantly. "How wonderful for you to join us tonight. I believe you are indeed correct. Phelan would be quite miserable back at the bank."
"He is where he belongs," Abigail agreed. "You must be quite proud to call such a remarkable painter your cousin."
"I think of him as a brother," Val replied.
Abigail eyed the clock across the room and stifled a yawn, causing me to do the same. "My, it feels later than it should," she said.
"Do you wish to return home?" I asked.
"Do you wish to stay?" she questioned.
"I'll fetch our coats," I offered.
The moment I stood and headed toward the coat rack by the door, Elizabeth gasped and rushed to my side.
"Please tell me you aren't leaving, Uncle Phelan. It has been so wonderful having you here this evening."
"I have an early morning meeting," I said.
"But it's not even eight."
"My meeting is at five."
Elizabeth made her best attempt to pout, which had worked quite well when she was six, but had no effect on me now that she was sixteen.
"Are you walking the seamstress home under the moonlight?" she asked.
"Most likely under cloudy skies," I replied.
Elizabeth exhaled. "Your words pain me, Uncle Phelan, they truly pain my heart."
Her reaction amused me. "You are far too dramatic, my dear girl."
"A play next weekend?" she asked.
"We shall see."
Her shoulders dropped with such force I was surprised her arms were still attached to her body. "Oh! Why must grown-ups always say they shall see instead of answering directly?"
"Fine. The answer is no then."
"But you haven't even considered it," she whined.
"And now I don't need to consider it. I have an opera to attend on Friday and the rest of the weekend to grade assignments and prepare for the final weeks of class." I pecked her on the cheek. "Goodnight, Elizabeth, I adore you more than life itself, but I must admit you are sending me home with a headache."
Elizabeth groaned and dragged herself toward her seat, head tossed back in apparent frustration.
"You're leaving?" Val asked as he joined Carmen on the settee. "As soon as I arrive?"
"You're an hour late to your own gathering," I pointed out. "I'll see you at Sterois later this week."
"Come to supper tomorrow night!" Elizabeth begged.
"I have plans tomorrow," I said, feeling Abigail staring at me. She must have thought I used the same excuse every time I was invited anywhere. "Someone from the university is leaving tomorrow night," I explained, hoping my reply sufficed.
"Tuesday?" Elizabeth questioned.
"I will consider Tuesday," I promised.
I helped Abigail into her coat, shrugged into mine, and we walked out the door together into a flurry of snowflakes.
"April is absolutely dreadful," I groused.
"The artist finds no beauty in the snow against the street lights?"
"The artist would find it much more appealing if he were seated in front of a fireplace with a cup of coffee in hand, gazing out the window at this freezing atrocity."
"You know the ledger can wait until tomorrow if you prefer returning home," Abigail said. "This isn't an urgent matter."
"I will spare ten minutes of my time."
Abigail furrowed her brow. "You believe you will spot the mistake in ten minutes?"
"No, I am saying I will dedicate ten minutes to looking through the book and then resume tomorrow."
She inhaled, stepping closer to me. "I suppose while you are perusing the ledger, I'll continue with the project I have from the Opera Populaire."
"Are you designing costumes now?" I asked.
Abigail shook her head. "I received an order last week that was accompanied by a note stating the completion was urgent," she explained. "I took one look at the design and wanted to refuse, but the compensation is more than I would make in two months."
"What sort of evening gown have you been tasked to create?" I asked.
"Not an evening gown," she answered. "It's a suit, waistcoat, cravat and cloak. The cloak has around five thousand sequins that I need to sew onto it before Thursday."
"My God," I said under my breath. "Raoul de Chagny has commissioned a last-minute ensemble for opening night, I assume?"
Abigail shook her head. "There was no name attached."
I blinked at her. "Are you creating a suit for a…"
Ghost.
Abigail shivered and I couldn't bring myself to finish my sentence, assuming her reaction had less to do with the cold and more to do with the mystery client.
Abigail linked her arm with mine. "It's all very strange, isn't it? The measurements and fabric supplied came with a note asking that I not speak of the commissioned suit to anyone else." She looked around suddenly and I did the same as if someone from the theater would be on heels. "I believe it's for one of the managers."
Her words surprised me and I found my pace slowing considerably. "Why do you think that?"
"Everyone in Paris knows the tale of the Phantom," she said, keeping her voice low. "I am certain that one of the managers is behind the charade."
I inhaled, thinking neither of the managers seemed intelligent enough to pull off such a ruse while reminding myself that at first I had thought Raoul de Chagny was behind the mischief. "What makes you so certain?"
"Well, I've heard that one of the managers is quite enamored with the theater while the other one is simply investing for monetary gain. By creating this whole persona of a ghost haunting the theater, I believe the one who is invested in the arts wishes to have complete control of the theater."
"And he is attempting to frighten away his business partner?"
"For the sake of the arts."
"Madame Soward: seamstress by day, detective by night."
Abigail issued quite the pointed look in my direction. "If you want to know what is going on in any corner of this city, I assure you wives and young women know every detail and are not afraid to share their findings in salons and dress shops."
"That is quite the frightening thought." I paused. "Anything worth sharing?"
Abigail looked at me from the corner of her eye. "Monsieur Kimmer, I will have you know I only gossip with other women."
I chuckled to myself. "To be a fly on the seamstress's wall."
We rounded the corner to her building where the lights were on in the apartment windows as well as her shop.
"Howard is still meddling," Abigail said under her breath as she reached for her keys in her skirt pocket. "He must be digging quite deeply in an attempt to find my deepest secrets."
"Perhaps I will join him if there is something worth finding, Madame."
Abigail nudged me in the ribs. "Phelan Kimmer, you had better not side with my brother," she said before opening the door.
"There you are," Howard said as he sat perched on a stool behind the desk, arms crossed and lips held in a deep frown beneath his oversized mustache.
He looked from Abigail to me, appearing quite annoyed when I had the audacity to step inside the shop.
"You needn't stay," he said to me.
"Howard, I will not allow you to be rude to my guest," Abigail sternly warned her brother. "Especially when he has offered to look over the ledger."
Howard continued to glare at me while Abigail retrieved the ledger from under the desk.
"Receipts?" I questioned.
I had barely finished speaking when she shuffled through various fabrics pinned to patterns on a long table and produced a small box filled with slips of paper that had been hidden underneath.
"That is where you keep your receipts?" I questioned, alarmed that something of great importance to her businesses was haphazardly stored on a table beneath fabric.
"No, that's where I left the box yesterday when I was working," Abigail responded.
"Where is it normally kept?"
Abigail shrugged. "Nowhere in particular."
Her words instantly raised my blood pressure, but I merely smiled in return and cleared off the desk, allowing myself ample work space.
Once I was seated with the ledger and box of receipts, Abigail removed a cape from one of the racks and laid it out on her table across from me. Light glinted off the sequins she'd already sewn onto one half of the vent.
"Is that the piece you mentioned?"
"It is."
"That seems quite meticulous," I commented, glancing at her from the corner of my eye as I began sorting through the receipts in numerical order.
"It takes me a few moments to set a pace, but once I've started, I find I can settle into the process quite easily."
At least one of us was able to settle into the task at hand. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the order of the slips with some being crumpled, others with a day and no month, and still others lacking totals for the services rendered.
Disarray was quite possibly my biggest annoyance, and I rubbed my forehead with my left hand while realizing the task was most definitely going to take at least two hours to scour through the hundreds of slips and match them against the ledger–and that was saying the ledger was correct.
"Are you certain every receipt is in this box?" I asked.
Abigail didn't look up from the sequins. She sniffed, gently pulling the thread through the center of each small circle. "Fairly certain."
"Fairly?"
I saw Abigail grimace. "Ninety percent certain."
"Then we have a ten percent allowance for error."
"That's fairly low," she said brightly.
Not when it comes to numbers, I wanted to say, but kept my opinion to myself.
My confidence in finding the mistake significantly dwindled. I glanced up at the clock and saw it was almost eight-thirty.
"Did Mademoiselle Frane tell you she stopped by?" Abigail asked.
"Celeste? She did," I answered. "I saw her this morning in her new dress and hat."
"New to her," Abigail replied. "The dress belonged to my daughter, who has since grown too tall, and the hat Genevieve never liked, but Celeste asked about it the moment she saw it on the table, so I gave it to her. It compliments the shape of her face."
"That was very kind of you."
"I told her it will be another week or two before I am able to finish the rest of her order?"
I shuffled through the receipts in my January pile, arranging the dates from the first of the month to the end. "The rest of her order?" I questioned.
"Rather than bill her for new dresses, I'm altering a few of the ones from my daughter to give to her."
I found the receipt in the box labeled 'Frane' along with the address 'art studio, university' for three more skirts and two blouses with a total amount of twelve francs that had already been paid.
"She will be leaving tomorrow evening for Wissant," I said.
Abigail glanced at me. "Oh? She didn't mention anything about leaving Paris. I hope she doesn't mind delivery by post."
I suspected Bernard Montlaur would make certain Celeste was provided with sufficient clothing, but promised to have an address where the garments could be shipped.
"She's a sweet girl," Abigail commented. "Has she met Elizabeth?"
"Unfortunately they have not met one another," I answered. "But I suspect they would be fast friends."
"That was very kind of you this evening to include your niece in the games."
I shrugged in response. "Elizabeth has been begging to participate in game night for at least six years."
"It was obvious she was beside herself when you asked if she wanted to be on your team."
"I had hoped you would not be disappointed," I said, adding more slips to the notorious month of January.
"Not in the least. I was more than happy to have an additional partner and give Elizabeth a turn," Abigail replied. "And she is quite amusing with her answers."
"Indeed," I said under my breath.
Abigail regarded me for a brief moment. "I should say we both had the same answer for the last round," she solemnly said.
I paused, fingers hovering over the box of receipts. "I am grateful that the two of you kept my greatest fault private," I muttered.
"I wouldn't consider your love for your brother a fault."
"Some would disagree."
"Are those individuals experts on mourning?"
"Perhaps not, but they are far more sensible," I answered, feeling increasingly irritated with myself for allowing such vulnerability. It was truly miserable, as if I'd cracked open my own sternum and allowed my wounded heart to be examined. The next time I saw Hugo I would tell him as much.
I placed the three piles of receipts from January to March into the ledger and closed the book, realizing it had been almost twenty minutes since I'd started looking over receipts.
"Love is hardly sensible," she reminded me. "And losing a loved one is senseless to the heart. You needn't be so hard on yourself."
"In thirty years, I am no closer to locating my brother," I replied.
"Perhaps this is the year you find him."
With the receipts and ledger stowed beneath the counter, I stood and looked around. "Where is Howard?"
Abigail glanced around the shop. "Probably bored by our conversation."
I frowned at her words. "I suppose that's one way to guarantee privacy. I apologize if I nearly put you to sleep."
"He was bored, I was not," Abigail said. She finished the last sequin and carefully left her supplies on the table, standing to walk with me to the door.
I inhaled and threaded my arms through my coat. "If I may make a bold request?"
Abigail placed her hands on her hips. "And what would that be, Monsieur Kimmer?"
"Please, for the love of God, do not touch the ledger or receipt until I've had the chance to sort everything tomorrow."
Abigail smiled back at me. "You have my word."
I lingered a moment longer than I should have at the door, hand against the cold metal plate to push it open. Abigail gazed up at me, a peculiar smile still attached to her lips. My feet remained planted where I stood, my insides taut with the familiar sensation of anticipation.
"You know, I have learned more about you in the last week than I have in three years," she said.
"I suppose if I had been more forthcoming on my favorite animal and color we would have stood a better chance at trivia this evening."
Abigail placed her hand on my wrist. "Next time," she said, leaning forward.
I bent and brushed a kiss across her cheek, quite possibly the most chaste kiss I'd ever planted on any woman. I started to step back, but paused and kissed her forehead, unable to resist the temptation.
"Good night, Phelan," Abigail whispered.
"Good night, Abigail." I turned on my heel, feeling the rush of cold against my face the moment the door opened. "Abigail?" I said before I closed the door behind me.
Her eyebrows lifted. She stared back at me, her lips parted.
"Wednesday," I said. "Lunch? I have two and a half hours between classes…"
"Yes," she agreed.
"I'll stop by tomorrow to complete reviewing the ledger and discuss Wednesday," I said.
She closed and locked the door behind me, and as I walked into the blustery night, the shock of frigid air did nothing to extinguish the unexpected warmth I felt building inside of me.