Under the Veil of Honorable Marriage
©2006 Black Rose Collection
By: Melissa Smith and Roxanne Walker
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The characters of Erik, Christine, Jules, Reyer and any other Phantom related character are under the respective copyrights or Webber, Kay, or Leroux. All other characters are original to the authors of this story and should not be used without permission, INCLUDING the surname Renault.
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Chapter Fifteen:
Three days had past and everything started to return to normal at
Durand’s dress shop. Danielle remained quiet, sewing by herself in the
backroom or spending the afternoons instructing Nathalie, while Evelyne and
Jean-Pierre dealt with the customers in the shop. Danielle had not heard
any word from Erik since that night at the window, and although she hated not
being around him, she felt she hadn’t been totally abandoned. Working
upstairs in her apartment, cleaning in the late afternoons, she could easily see
out the window as Jacques would drive by at least once during that day. It
was almost becoming routine. She would always wave and he would wave back,
but whether or not the carriage was empty, she never knew. In the end, she
figured it didn’t really matter…at least Erik had not forgotten about her.
In the meantime, Erik had been keeping his promise to allow Danielle to
come to him, yet he was not totally staying away. At night…late at
night….he would find himself at the fire escape, standing by Danielle’s window,
watching her sleep. The ensuing days since the last time he saw her had
turned bitterly cold again, thus forcing Danielle to keep her window closed
tight. He hated viewing her through the frosty glass, admiring her
sleeping form instead of touching her. He watched the thin, worn bed
coverings hug her curves, picturing her sleeping instead in his own bed, warm
and sated under his plush, burgundy velvet coverlet. Her chest rising and
falling with each soft breath, her hair smooth as silk and fanned out across
the red silk pillowcase.
When his body would finally give out, the longing too much, he would
return home…alone.
During the day, however, to distract himself from the temptation of visiting
Danielle at her shop, he took to spending time in the Opera House, keeping to
himself in the shadows watching rehearsals and especially Christine, closely.
Today however had been, by far, the worst. Christine was growing
more and more obnoxious by the minute. He watched patiently as Monsieur
Reyer had to restart her main aria six times because she could not reach the
right notes. She sounded flat in spots, and just hoarse in
others. She found her leading man, a fine tenor
from
“Vicomtess, please, we must at least get through this aria!” he called
to her from the orchestra pit.
Groaning, she continued on, still distracted and unable to keep her mind
on the opera. More and more, chatter rose around Christine. She saw
them and started wringing her hands in frustration as she glared at them, yet
they never appeared to pay her any mind. Finally, in a fit of anger, she
screamed out to the whole theatre, “That is it! I know I sound awful, so
you can all stop your snivelling little remarks! There is no one who can help
me!” Then she threw down her sheet music and cried, “I want my Angel of Music!”
A collective gasp fell over the whole ensemble cast, everyone looking
around, some not even sure who she was referring to.
But Erik knew.
He stood up from his back row hiding place, gripping the seat in front
of him hard. He’d seen and heard quite enough. “Stop whining like a child,
Christine, and I shall help you.” He called back, causing another round of
gossiping chatter.
Christine gasped, stepping forward and shielding her eyes to see off the
stage. Erik slowly walked down the long aisle towards her and her eyes lit
up, a smile of relief crossing her lips. He was there, he had been
watching!
“Please Erik! Please help me, I sound horrible, I …” she pleaded as
he walked up on stage.
He took her shoulders to calm her down, “You temper is unacceptable, as
are your manners. Yes, your voice is bad, Christine, but if you listen to
me, perhaps I can get you through the rest of rehearsals today, but only if you
stop your incessant snivelling.” He said indifferently. He had to steady
himself, distance himself as he looked into her soft, innocent eyes, the eyes
that had captured him so many times. But his mind went to Danielle. No, he
would not ruin this a second time.
“That will not be necessary, Monsieur Renault…” a voice called out from
the side stage. Both Erik and Christine turned to see Raoul approaching,
“I am sure I can find a suitable tutor for my wife.”
Erik let go of Christine’s shoulders and nodded. “I do not care who
tutors the Vicomtess, just as long as she is ready for the inauguration.” He
said plainly. Christine looked at him, shocked. She did not want just any
tutor.
“But…” she began, but Raoul cut her off with his hand.
“I will check with Monsieur René, I am sure he would be more than happy
to come here and…”
“I do not like Monsieur René, Raoul, he is…” she interrupted sharply.
“He is the best tutor in
Finally, Christine had enough, “I do not want Monsieur René! I want
Erik!” she screamed angrily and rather loudly. So loud, in fact, that both
Erik and Raoul took a step back.
Christine blushed, realizing what she had said. “Umm, what I mean
is, for my tutor of course.” She laughed a bit nervously, then
turned serious again.
Raoul looked at Erik and Erik looked at Christine. It was almost as
if what happened a year ago had just occurred yesterday. And Erik didn’t
like the way it felt. For that matter,
neither did Raoul.
“Again, handle it the way you wish, Vicomte, but today, I shall instruct
her.” He said with a tone of finality that the Vicomte did not like.
“Is this what you really want, Christine?” Raoul asked her.
“Yes, it is what I want.”
“Well, of course.” Raoul replied, then
snorted. He turned on his heels and left. The discussion was over.
Over the next two hours, Christine and Erik worked alone on stage, going
over every aspect of the opera, start to finish. He was critical, relentless
and harsh, but Christine never said a word in protest, knowing it was exactly
what she needed. By the time afternoon rehearsals arrived, she was ready
to continue.
Erik left her alone, returning to his backrow
hiding place. Immediately he saw a positive change in her performance,
albeit not an overwhelming one. She was more confident in her
movements and she did not miss one cue, note or line. She still sounded
raw, had trouble hitting the higher notes or holding them when need be, but she
never uttered one complain. He finally exhaled. She had not thrown one fit of
anger. Tomorrow, he would allow Raoul to bring in Monsieur René. All she
needed was some proper tutoring and discipline.
At least that’s what he thought.
---------------------------------------------------
Later that evening, so late in fact that Emma had grown a bit worried,
Erik came walking in, his head low, his jacket in his arm, sleeves rolled
up. He was beyond exhausted. So exhausted that he knew he would sleep
once his head hit the pillow.
Too tired, his mind scolded him, to even visit
Danielle.
Emma, now in her bed cloak, looked down over the balcony as he started
up the long staircase. “Monsieur, you are later than usual coming for the
opera house, are you alright?”
“Tea, please.” Was all he said before
passing her and going down the long corridor to his bedroom.
Emma’s face frowned, wanting to ask further, but she dared
not. Instead, she ran down to the kitchen to make his tea.
Erik slumped down onto the bed, shaking his head. The events of the
past few hours had left him exhausted and anxious. He removed his mask,
allowing the cool air to hit his uncovered face as he fell back onto the bed
and looked up at the ceiling. His conscious tried in vain to figure out
how he was going to get out of the jam he now found himself in.
Tired now…think tomorrow…he sighed deeply as his eyes
closed.
He had just dozed off slightly when several quiet minutes later, Emma
knocked on the door.
“Your tea, Monsieur.” She said softly.
He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, “Enter.”
She came in and was momentarily stunned seeing Erik there without the
mask, something he simply never did. She swallowed hard, entered further
into the room, and could see his bloodshot eyes and prominent five o’clock
shadow on closer inspection. She sat the tea down on the small table by
his bed and looked down at him. “I was becoming worried when you did not
show on time.” She told him.
He looked up and smiled at her motherly demeanor. “I am fine, Emma, thank you for the tea.”
He rubbed his tired eyes and that was when he realized he had not
replaced his mask. He placed his hand over this disfigured cheek with a
groan. “Bloody hell.” He looked at Emma and
spoke softly, “My apologies, I had forgotten that I had removed it. I hope
I did not offend you.”
She smiled, “No, Monsieur, of course not. It simply caught me off
guard, you do not normally….” She gestured to the mask.
“Of course.” He picked up the mask
and examined it. “I was feeling rather sore and so I removed it.” He made
the move to put it back on his face, but Emma stopped him.
“No, Monsieur, leave it off.” She noted a few very red marks that looked
unusual. Blisters, she surmised. “It appears you have worn a couple
of bad places.”
He touched his cheek and agreed, “You are correct. I wore it too
long today, I am afraid.”
“You have neglected many things in the past couple of days, Monsieur,
including the care of your face.” She spoke abruptly but considerately and
hoped she had not overstepped her bounds.
“Yes, I have, unfortunately.”
“I have some ointment for that, allow me to get it for you.” She did not
give him any time to protest before she was out the door.
He sighed and waited, too tired to argue.
When she returned a few minutes later, she had some ointment, gauze and
a bowl of water with her, which she sat down on the small table.
He did not fight it when she stood in front of him and began to tend his
face. He was, however, a bit shocked that she appeared to show no sign of
disgust. Shocked, and grateful.
“You were rather late this evening, Monsieur. I hope all is well at
the opera house.” She said pleasantly as she dabbed a wet rag over his bad
cheek. The cool water made him hiss through clenched teeth, but she
continued nonetheless. Truly, she loved it. She missed having a child
around to tend to. She needed to feel…well, needed. And without a
doubt, although Erik might be her employer, she cared for him very
much. He needed a woman’s touch, a wife’s touch…Danielle’s touch, she
hoped wistfully. And if not, he at least
needed a mother.
He opened his mouth to say everything was fine, but truly, he wanted to
get it out, if anything to just sort in his mind what had happened and, more
importantly, to deal with it. And Emma, being a woman of good sense, would
listen.
“There has been a snag with the production of Le Prophète
tonight.”
“A snag, Monsieur?”
He nodded as he took a sip of tea while Emma re-soaked her rag. The
hot liquid burned his throat on the way down. It felt excellent. “Yes,” he
continued, “there was a fire…”
Emma gasped, but he held up his hand, “…a small fire, but nonetheless,
it has destroyed the majority of the scenery backdrop and a few of the
costumes.”
“How did it start?”
“The stage manager believes that someone placed a costume too close to
one of the candles backstage and it ignited everything. Everyone was on
stage, so by the time the fire was detectable; it had consumed much of the
scenery. The artist’s paints were stored there also, very flammable.”
“Oh my, I hope no one was hurt.” She began to clean his face again.
“Thankfully no, and the fire was contained rather quickly after
detection. The snag is that it will take a few days, if not more, to redo
the scenery. Luckily there were more costumes, so those will not have to
be re-sewn. It throws the rehearsals back and we simply cannot afford to
have anymore delays.”
“So where does that leave the Vicomtess? Has she improved at all?”
she asked.
“Only today did she improve after I…tutored her.”
Emma gasped, “You said you would not do that.”
Erik spoke up defensively, “I know I said that, but I had no choice, she
would not listen to anyone else!” he ran his hands through his hair and took a
deep breath. “That is not the worst of it. She implicitly refuses any
other tutoring than mine. She begged me to tutor her privately while the
repairs are being done. And not at the opera house…..oh no…too much noise,
she says. She wants to come here. Here! To my
home.” He stared at her, looking utterly helpless.
Emma dipped the rag once more, “Oh my. What will you do, Monsieur?”
“I have no choice, Emma. For the sake of the production, I must
tutor her.” He shook his head.
“And what about Mademoiselle Danielle?” she asked cautiously.
Her name made him inhale sharply, almost hissing. He missed her
terribly. He wanted to show her that he could put all thoughts of
Christine out of his mind, that all he wanted now was for the two of them to
start again, slowly, no deception, no secrets…no bloody arrangements. Now, he
would be bringing in Christine to his home. The very thought, just a mere
month ago, would have delighted him. Now
it filled him with dread. “I do not know what to do. I thought
perhaps I would tell Christine that Danielle was in Boscherville visiting her
family.”
“You could, Monsieur.” She replied, knowing he did not want to do that.
“But truly, I do not want to be alone with Christine.”
“Because you still care for the
Vicomtess?”
He nodded slowly, “Yes. But you must understand, for so long I had
thought of nothing but her. I wondered where she was, how she was doing,
if she was happy. Now she is here…within my grasp, here for the taking and I….”
“You find you truly do not wish to rekindle anything with her.”
“All I find…all I really wish
to do is have Danielle come back here, to continue being my wife.” He said
softly, then winced when Emma began dabbing ointment
on his blisters.
She smiled, but continued, “Then ask her. If you explain the
situation, then perhaps…”
“After all that I have done, the party…no, she would not.”
Emma stopped and looked at him, “Monsieur, she cares for you. She’s
hurt, yes, but in time, that will heal itself. Ask her to come, but allow
her the space she needs to deal with what she’s feeling. This is all so
unfamiliar and no one can sort out her emotions for her. But here, with you,
where she can be free to do as she pleases, I feel it would help her. And
help you also.”
He inhaled deeply. She made sense. Again.
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
That made her heart light. “Then, again, I ask you, what are you
going to do?”
He smiled with a soft sigh, “Jules and I will go for her tomorrow.”
----------------------------------------------
Eight o’clock that following morning found Madame Dupré alone in her
sitting room just after breakfast, thinking about Richard. He and
Catherine had been due to leave for home within the hour, but the night before,
he’d mentioned nothing about it. In fact, he’d barely spoken three words
in as many days. She had even gone so far as to consult Catherine, but she
was also apparently in the dark and chose not to push him for an explanation,
instead opting to tend to the children and let Richard decide what he wanted to
do.
That made Madame Dupré wince. Catherine had no
backbone, never did. She was the perfect epitome of “lady like” behavior. Although at first she thought it was exactly
what Richard needed to get himself away from the wild and unbecoming ways of
Danielle Durand, now she grew to hate it. At least Danielle was no
wallflower.
She preferred to keep out of her son’s business, but his behavior since the cocktail party and his apparent
discovery of Danielle Durand resurfacing simply had her on edge. Surely,
Richard did not still have feelings for that girl, not after so many years.
She shook her head, thinking back on the party and meeting Madame
Renault. No, she shook her head, the woman he had met was lovely,
disciplined…a woman of obvious class. She could not be the Danielle Durand
she remembered.
She thought back to their one and only meeting. How Danielle, in a
low cut and thin sundress, came bouncing into their home, gawking like she had
never seen anything so elegant. She was loud, always laughing at her
husband’s inappropriate dirty jokes, something a real lady would have been
offended to hear. But not Danielle. She had
not just laughed at them, but told a few of her own! She did have table
manners, she recalled, and she knew how to dance rather divinely, but her demeanor was simply…uncivilized. She told Richard
later that evening, after he had returned, that
Danielle was simply not suitable for a wife. That is when she found
Catherine, a girl that Richard had courted in school. Soon, Richard came
to her and informed her that Danielle was pregnant with his child. She
could have fainted! Richard had panicked, saying he didn’t want a child, nor the scandal that went with it. That night, he ended his
relationship with Danielle and a week later married Catherine and moved from
She was helpless, all she could do was wait and
wonder.
“Good morning, Mother.” Richard said when he entered the sitting room
holding a cup of coffee.
Her head flew up, her eyes wide. He was speaking. “Well, good
morning, son. You seem…a bit more talkative today.”
He sat down on the couch and sighed, “I apologize for my foul mood, I just needed to sort out a piece of rather unsettling
news. I am better now.”
She leaned in towards him, “What news is that?”
“I had gone a few days ago to Durand’s dress shop to find Danielle.”
She held her breath. Could he have found out after all that Madame
Renault was an imposter? “And?”
“It appears that Madame Renault is legitimate.”
“How did you find this out?”
“She was in the dress shop having a gown altered. I spoke with her. She is the spitting image of Danielle,
Mother.”
She exhaled, “I see,” then paused and studied him. “But, you do not
appear to be totally convinced she is not
Danielle.”
“I was sure it was her, but after
Jean-Pierre arrived, he saw Madame Renault himself, then he told me
something….”
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me Danielle was dead.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, “Oh my! Dead?”
“Yes. Committed suicide about a year after I
married. Did you hear anything about that? Recall anything
about a suicide in the Époque?” he asked her.
“It was so long ago, son, but no. Surely if I read her name listed
as dead, I would have told you immediately. You did the right thing by
ending it with her, son, but I knew you still cared, I would not have kept that
from you.”
“That’s what Jean-Pierre told me, that he kept it private.” He sat
pensively for a few moments. He debated whether to actually tell his
mother that the reason he was seeking Danielle was solely to find his
child. She would be most displeased. She had chosen to pretend that
any bastard child of his simply did not exist, even though he had told her
before he married Catherine that the child would be put up for
adoption. Besides, it did not matter anyway. If Danielle was truly
dead as her father had said, then so was the child. He chose not to
mention the child’s death.
Yet, he still needed closure. He wanted to visit Danielle’s grave,
to tell her how sorry he had been for not being there when she needed him the
most. For choosing society over love. “I do
not plan on going home today, Mother.” He informed her.
“Oh?”
“No, I am going to find where Danielle is buried, and visit her. I
want to say a proper goodbye. Then tomorrow, Catherine, the children and I
will go home and forget everything.”
Madame Dupré smiled, relieved. Nothing wrong with
visiting a grave. “I think that is sensible son. Do you know where
she’s buried?”
“No, and I had promised not to return to Jean-Pierre again, so I will
simply search on my own. I know her mother is buried in le Père Lachaise cemetery, so it would make sense that she would be
buried there also, probably close to her, possibly unmarked, considering the
manner of her death. That is the first place I plan on checking. The
cemetery would have records, unmarked grave or not.”
Madame Dupré stood up and patted his shoulder, deciding it was best to
leave him alone. The relief she felt was almost audible as she exited the
sitting room.
He relaxed then, sat back and began to read the paper with a
smile. His first smile in three days.
----------------------------------------------------
Taking a short break from her sewing, Danielle sat down by the fireplace
to drink her tea before her father returned to the shop. He was prone to
taking an hour or so after lunch to just disappear, yet she never asked where
he went and he never volunteered to tell her. She surmised he met a lady
friend nearby, considering every time he returned, he smelled slightly of
perfume and cigar smoke. Mostly, she chose not to think about it, just
deciding instead to relish in the time she had to herself.
The carriage pulled in front of the side street facing Danielle’s upper
window and stopped. Jacques waited while the door opened and Jules
exited. He turned to look back into the carriage.
“Are you sure you do not wish to accompany me, Monsieur?”
“No, not unless she asks for me.” Erik replied, “Jacques
will watch for any signal.”
“Of course, Monsieur, but there is no guarantee she will come with me
now.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I know, but we must try.”
Jules nodded and closed the carriage door.
-----------------------------------------
Danielle had stood up by the time Jules made it to the fire escape and
was going towards the kitchen to finish the lunch dishes.
“Psssssst…..” he made the noise from outside
the sitting room window, tapping on the glass.
She turned with a startled jump, then saw
him. She ran to the window and opened it for him. “Get inside here,
Jules, you shall catch your death!” she said as she pulled him inside.
“Thank you, Danielle, it is rather cold out there today…especially up
high where the wind blows harder.” He shivered, then went to the fireplace and
removed his gloves to warm up.
“Let me make you some tea.” She said as she went for the kitchen again,
grateful he was there, she wanted to ask about Erik.
“No, but thank you, I cannot stay long enough, the carriage is waiting
and surely Jacques will freeze if I remain here longer than necessary.”
She turned back towards him and walked over to the small couch in front
of the fireplace, gesturing for him to join her, “Then, what brings you here?”
He sat down and faced her, smiling, but it was obvious to Danielle, his
visit was not totally social. “We have a bit of a problem. Well, I
shouldn’t say we, but Erik. He has a problem.”
“Yes?” she waited patiently, sucking in a breath at the mention of his
name.
He proceeded to tell her everything. That Erik had been spending
time at the Opera House, the problems with Christine’s voice, his subsequent
decision to tutor her the day before, the setback in rehearsals….
…and Christine’s request.
She listened intently, her mind trying to take it all in before she
replied.
“So, what you are telling me is that the Vicomtess only wants Erik to
tutor her and she wishes for it to be at his home instead of the Opera House?”
He nodded.
Her heart sank at the very idea. She became indifferent rather than
letting Jules see her jealousy, “So let him tutor her. What does all this
have to do with me?”
He raised his brow and studied her, “It appears that in order to continue
fooling everyone that the two of you are married, you will need to move in to
Erik’s home. After all, it would not do well for Christine to not see you
there, it will raise suspicions.”
“I do not know, Jules, after everything that happened…..I mean, he says
he does not want the Vicomtess, but having her around…..he might….”
“I can assure you, his interest in Christine is simply
professional. She chose to have no understudy and it is simply too late to
find one. She refuses any other tutors. For the sake of the
inauguration, he must tutor her.”
She turned away. “He can say I am away. Visiting
family, perhaps.”
Jules smiled gently, “Yes, he could, but I believe you know that he does
not wish that. And neither do you.”
“Jules, please do not pretend that you know
what I am thinking, or wishing….”
“But I do. Besides, the thought of Christine being around Erik, in
his home, alone…it makes you jealous beyond comprehension.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but she could not. He was right,
the very idea that Christine would be near Erik anywhere made her wince
inside. It was the most insane of thoughts, after all, hadn’t they only
known each other just over a week? True, but for Danielle, it had been the
most intense and exciting week of her life.
Still, despite her need to keep the Vicomtess in check, the fact
remained that she could not get past what he had done at the party, the way he
looked at Christine, spoke to her, the way his eyes simply glazed over in her
very presence. How did she know that he would not be that way
again? And worse, she would have to endure it under the same roof!
“Of course I understand the importance of lost wages if you were not
there, Erik assures me that you would be compensated enough for the shop to
continue in your absence.”
“I see.” She should have been offended by the offer, with the
assumption that she would only be interested in money, but she was not. It
was good business sense and Erik was, if anything, an excellent business
man. But, money was not her driving force this time, jealousy was, and she
was not ready to give in to either just yet.
“If you agree, you can pack and we can leave quickly, before your father
returns.” Jules prompted.
“No.” she answered flatly. “I will not be rushed into such a
decision.”
“But, Danielle…”
“When is the Vicomtess expected at Erik’s home?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I see. Well, until such time as I make a decision either way,
inform Erik that he can tell the Vicomtess that I am in Boscherville visiting
my Aunt Marie.” She told him with such authority that she slipped from being
Danielle to Madame Renault. He liked her tone, even if he did not like her
decision.
“Of course.” He said as he rose and
put on his gloves. He knew better not to argue further.
She stood with him. “Please give Emma, Lacie and Jacques my best.”
“I shall, and Erik will await your answer soon.” He replied as he headed
to the window and exited.
Danielle could only stare, shaking her head. Time, she thought, all
she needed was time to think.
-------------------------------------------------------
“I apologize profusely, Madame, I do not understand how the seam was
sewn so inadequately, but I shall have it fixed immediately. Please, have
a seat, I promise it will not take long.”
“It better not.” Madame Gaston sneered, smelling a lingering stench of
brandy on him as he spoke. “I would be most upset if I had to take it
elsewhere to be finished.”
Jean-Pierre looked at her, nodding as he took the small gown that had
been sewn for her young daughter, gesturing to the long couch in the
back. “That will not be necessary I assure you. Make yourself
comfortable, I shall have Evelyne make you a cup of tea while you wait.” He
said before running to the backroom. He was embarrassed and Danielle was not
going to escape the wrath of his anger.
Danielle, Evelyne and Nathalie had been sewing in the back for over an
hour after she returned from upstairs. Long enough for
her to relay the story to Evelyne about Erik’s dilemma.
Evelyne could not believe that Danielle had turned down the offer.
“You need the extra money.” She told her.
Danielle groaned as she continued to sew, “Yes, I know but…I mean I
would feel like…an employee.”
“But isn’t that what this
arrangement was to begin with? You being an employee?” she whispered away from
Nathalie.
She could only shrug in response. She was not in the mood to
explain in depth her true feelings, especially not in front of Nathalie.
Suddenly, Jean-Pierre burst through the curtain, his face curled and
hard with anger. He threw the gown onto the table and growled at her, “What is
the meaning of this?”
Danielle looked up and regarded her father’s anger with surprise and
curiosity. He’d practically ignored her over the past days. “I do not
understand…”
“This!” he picked up the small gown, showing her the obvious crooked
hem, sewn rather sloppily. He threw it at her, hitting her in the face.
Both Evelyne and Nathalie gasped in surprise.
Danielle grimaced as she calmly examined the garment. It was the gown
that she had allowed Nathalie to sew by herself. She realized in her haste
that she had not gone behind and checked her work.
“See? What has gotten into you? You mope around here, hardly
speaking, and then you mess up a customer’s gown?” he got in her face. “I
swear, girl, you become more and more useless by the day!”
Although his words hurt, this time, she did not cower, nor shed a
tear. “I shall fix the hem immediately.” She simply said, reaching for her
sewing kit.
“Monsieur Durand…please….it is my fault, I sewed the hem!” Nathalie
cried. “Please do not be angry with Danielle!” He shot her a glance.
“You? Why are you being
allowed to sew customer gowns unsupervised?” he asked, his tone a bit more
level, but still angry.
Evelyne stood in front of her daughter defensively, “I allowed her Jean-Pierre. It
is my fault, I should have inspected her work before
it went out. I will repair the hem.”
Danielle stood and faced down Jean-Pierre. No longer would she
allow anyone to take blame for her mistakes. “Do not listen to them, they
are protecting me. I supervised Nathalie, but did not make the final
inspection. Therefore…” she glared at Evelyne who was pleading with her
eyes to stop, knowing it would not help, “I shall take full responsibility and
make the repairs.”
He did not like that she stood in his face, nor the way she spoke to
him. He shoved her hard back into the chair. “Listen to me and listen
good. Remember your place and never take a tone
like that with me again.”
Danielle narrowed her eyes, knowing she had done no such thing, but she
was now about to. “I took no disrespectful tone with you, Father. I
told you that I shall repair the gown, and I shall. Now, if you will
excuse us, we have sewing to do and your berating of me is causing further
delays.”
“You little…” He snorted, but she did not flinch. She did flinch,
however, when he reached behind him and removed an old belt strap from the
shelf. “How dare you speak to me that way!” Her eyes
widened.
“No, Jean-Pierre!” Evelyne ran to him and grabbed his arm as Nathalie
cried out. “This is not necessary, she is just
tired, speaking out of turn. She has been up for hours, sewing before
dawn, she does not know what she’s saying!” she pleaded, but it fell on deaf
ears.
Danielle stood and began to run but Jean-Pierre grabbed her before she
could move a foot away. “Tired huh?” he laughed. “Let us see how
tired you become when you have to sew a hem standing up, for it will be a long
time before you will be able to sit upon your backside after I am finished with
you, you worthless piece of….” He raised his hand high, the strap ready to
descend upon her body.
Danielle screamed defiantly, “No!” and struggled against his grasp while
Evelyne sent Nathalie from the back room, telling her to run and hide, hoping
she would not see anything that was about to transpire.
But Nathalie did not hide. She ran out into the shop, only to find
it empty, Madame Gaston long gone after hearing the angry words spoken
earlier. Frantic to find someone to help, she ran outside and immediately
spotted a black carriage parked less than a block down the street, close to the
Pont Neuf. Outside of the carriage stood two
men, both nicely dressed. The first man she noticed, of course, wore a
white mask. The same man she had heard Danielle talk about to her mother
over the previous few days. Yes! This man would help
Danielle! She ran for them as fast as she could go.
Jacques was sitting at the top of the carriage as he had for the past
hour, waiting as Erik and Jules stood nearby, planning on another way to
convince Danielle to go with them. He was snuggling under his warm coat,
rubbing his hands while reading when the frantic cries of a young girl caught
the men’s ears.
“Help! Help, Messieurs!” she
cried as she reached the carriage. Quick as lightning, Jacques jumped down
and grabbed her. “What is wrong?”
“My friend! She is going to be
beaten! Beaten, Monsieur! Please help!” she was so hysterical, she
could hardly breath, much less speak.
“Calm down, your friend is going to be beaten, you say?” Jules asked her
from behind, assuming she meant another young girl like herself.
“Yes! yes!” she cried, “My mother tired to stop
him but he would not listen.”
“Where?”
“Down here, at the dress shop!” she cried and all three men immediately
tensed up.
“Danielle?” Erik asked her, “is it Danielle?”
“Yes! Please help her!”
“Wait here!” Jacques told her as he ran into the carriage and removed
the pistol from behind a small hidden compartment under the seat. He returned
and said, “I’ll go get her!”
“No! That bloody bastard!” Erik screamed as he took the gun from
Jacques, “I shall kill him!”
He started towards the shop, but Jules grabbed him first. “No, Monsieur!
This cannot be the way, let us handle it!” he gave the gun back to Jacques and
the three of them ran for the shop.
Over and over Jean-Pierre began to whip the strap against Danielle’s
body, anywhere he allowed it to land, legs, back, buttocks, even
her stomach did not escape his wild and furious blows. Evelyne cried out,
begging him to stop as Danielle could do nothing but scream in pain and helpless
anger. Never had her father resorted to such horrendous physical violence.
She again struggled against him, but his grasp was just too strong, she could
almost feel the bone in her arm about to snap as her body screamed in
agony. She fought to escape the strap but the more she did, the angrier he
became.
“Please, for the love of God, stop this Jean-Pierre!” Evelyne cried
helplessly.
“God has nothing to do with this Evelyne, stay out of it!” he paused
just long enough to look her way, long enough for Danielle to almost collapse
from pain and exhaustion. “She will learn her place!” he raised the strap
again, but a clicking sound caught his attention.
“Make another move and I shall fire, Monsieur!” Jacques called out from
just inside the curtain after clicking the trigger of the gun, now aimed and
ready to fire.
The ladies gasped, unaware that he
had even arrived, but Jean-Pierre held his ground, his arm still in the air. He recognized
Jacques as the driver that had brought Danielle home the other evening after
the broken wheel. He narrowed his eyes. “Young man, this is a private
matter. Leave, or you shall be next.”
He laughed slightly, “I doubt that, now let her go.” He told
Jean-Pierre, his voice low. “I assure you, a bullet in your heart is far
easier on you than what awaits you behind this curtain if you do not cooperate.
Danielle panted in pain as her father kept his death grip upon her,
unsure what to believe. “You are bluffing.” He spat at him.
“You wish to test the theory, Monsieur?” Jacques asks as he coolly fires
the gun at Jean-Pierre. It narrowly misses his head, lodging into the dark
wood of the fireplace mantle behind him. Jacques smirked at the old man’s
shocked expression, “Next time, I shall not miss.”
He left go of Danielle’s arm and she collapsed on the floor.
“Monsieur Erik!” Jacques called out.
Erik ran in without a second to spare, followed by Jules. He stopped and
saw Danielle cowered on the floor, slumped in a panic-stricken heap, her dress
torn and gaping open from multiple blows. Red whelps formed on her legs,
her face red with tears, panting in pain. His anger welled up inside and he
knew he couldn’t control it. He didn’t want to.
Danielle saw them both and cried out, “Erik!”
“Are you alright, Danielle?” Jules asked her, but she could only shake
her head, unable to say much more.
Before anyone could else respond, Erik took the gun quick as lightning
and shoved Jean-Pierre into the wall, the barrel pointed at his head as he let
out an angry cry.
“No!” Jules cried, running to Danielle side.
“Such a brave man as this…” Erik sneered, leaning close to his ear, his
hand clutching his throat. “A man who chooses to frighten, intimidate and
beat women…you are a waste of life and I shall take great pleasure sparing the
world of your presence.”
Jean-Pierre’s face went pale at the sight of the strange man in the mask
as he struggled to breath, pushing against Erik’s shoulders, but he was no
match for his strength. “Let me go!” he groaned hoarsely.
Erik cocked the gun with a slow, sly grin, more than ready to fire.
“Please Erik, no!” Danielle cried.
“Monsieur! Let us just take
Danielle and leave!” Jules pleaded.
“Mother!” Nathalie’s voice could
be heard from inside the shop.
Jules turned to Evelyne and told her, “Go to your daughter, take her
home and do not return here.”
She looked helplessly at Danielle, who returned her gaze.
“Yes Evelyne, go. Please. I will find you soon…”
“Danielle…” she whimpered sadly, then covered
her mouth. She turned and left the shop. They could all hear the door shut
loudly.
“Jacques!” Erik called out.
He ran to him, “Yes, Monsieur.”
“Take the gun and if he moves, kill him.”
“With pleasure, Monsieur.”
With that, Erik turned and went to Danielle, going to his knees before
her. He stroked her cheek, allowing her tears to drip effortless onto his
hand. “Danielle…”
Forgetting everything, all the hurt, the embarrassment, even the
Vicomtess, she threw herself into his strong arms, gripping him with all her
weakened might. “Erik…”
He lifted her up into his arms and stood, holding her tight. “I
have you now, my sweet. I will never let anything happen to you, ever
again.” He spoke soft and comfortingly, but glared at Jean-Pierre. “We are
going home now and you will not return.”
“Her home is with me!” Jean-Pierre said, his
voice rigid and guttural. Jacques’ harsh grasp made him give a sudden wheeze.
Erik ignored his statement and spoke to Jules, “Go upstairs to her
apartment, pack up what she wishes to bring, then
return home separately. Jacques will
drive Danielle and I home.”
“Of course, Monsieur.” He responded.
“Most everything…is still packed…Jules.” Danielle muttered
painfully. “Under my bed…but…pack my book…my mother’s poem book…bookcase
third shelf…black leather cover.”
Jules smiled, nodding to her, “Any clothing you wish to have?”
“Bring only the minimum, I will provide her with everything else she
needs.” Erik answered for her sternly.
Then he asked Erik, “What about him?” gesturing toward Jean-Pierre.
“Do not let him out of your sight until you are away from the
shop. You know what to do if he gives you any trouble.”
Jules nodded, taking the gun from Jacques, who left quickly to bring the
carriage to the front of the shop.
“You cannot do this!” Jean-Pierre screamed, “She is my daughter!”
With a smirk, Erik answered in a low and protective tone before leaving
the shop with Danielle in his arms, “And she is my wife.”
--------------------------------------
As the carriage rode quickly out of the busy streets toward Erik's home,
Danielle continued to shake, partially from the cold, partially from the trauma
of being beaten, but mostly from simply laying in Erik’s arms. She held to
him as tight as her raw and painful body would allow.
Erik pressed his hand to her head, keeping her close to his body, his
cape wrapped around them both. He kissed her hair, her temple, whispering
over and over, “It is over now…you are safe….”
It was what she wanted…what she needed to hear…and she slowly drifted
off to sleep in his arms. He felt her breathing even out, her body’s
release of tension and he sighed, thankful that perhaps the sleep might ease
her pain.
But all the while, he could not help but whisper over and over again in
her ear…
….my wife.
Chapter Sixteen:
The slight jarring of the carriage as Erik prepared to exit woke
Danielle up slightly. Her body hurt more now, if that was even
possible. Probably from laying so still, she thought to herself as
she cringed from the dull throbbing in her limbs. She could feel her gown
brushing across the raw whelped skin of her legs and wondered how she ever let
her father get that far. Perhaps if she had just given in, not spoken back
to him, he would have let her alone with just the typical harsh words…blowing
off steam…if only she hadn’t spoken up. No….she did the right thing,
deep down, she knew it, she had to get away from
him. And what better place to go....
Erik stopped cold and looked down at her when he noticed her shifting.
“I did not know you had awakened.” He said softly, sitting at the edge
of the carriage still holding her to him.
“I did, just now.”
“Are you in pain?”
“I am stiff and sore mostly.” She rested her head on his chest and tried
to speak pleasantly. She could hear the worry in his voice.
“When I take you to your room, I shall have Lacie run a bath… that will
help.” He assured her as he stood gingerly and started walking into the house.
Emma, who had been pacing from the second floor balcony ever since Erik
and Jules left to bring home Danielle, and Lacie, who, in a nervous fit, had
been polishing everything in sight down in the foyer, jumped when the door
finally flew open.
“Oh, Monsieur, did you find….OH!” Emma cried seeing Danielle in Erik’s arms. “Mademoiselle! What happened?”
“Do not be frightened, Emma…” Danielle weakly answered her with a soft
wave of her hand in reassurance.
“But…”
“She will be fine.” Erik started up the staircase as Lacie started
running behind him. “Bring the salve, ointments, water and bandages to the
Both women nodded and ran as fast as they could, giving
each other looks and mutual confused shrugs.
Erik entered the
“A hot bath will relieve the stiffness, I promise you, then Emma will tend your wounds.” He told her softly,
looking down at her from his seated position on the edge of the bed. “Are
you hungry? Perhaps you would like some hot tea?”
“No, I simply wish to have the hot bath, I am sure it will be sufficient
to warm me up, I am rather chilled from the carriage ride.”
“I apologize for that, I…”
She shook her head profusely, “Not your fault…I assure you, you are very
warm indeed,” she laughed softly, “my body is simply…”she gave a shrug and Erik
understood.
“I just wish that I could do more…” he inhaled deeply, touching her
hand. When she did not respond, he blurted out, “I should have been there,
Danielle, if I had stayed closer to you, if I had just been more persistent, if
I had gone into the shop like I had wanted to in the first place, I could have
prevented this.”
She gasped, “Oh no, Erik! No one could foresee, only five minutes prior
to his insane rant, he was quiet and subdued, even jovial towards Evelyne.”
“Then what happened?”
“A gown I had finished yesterday for a client was returned, my fault
really. I did not supervise Nathalie, Evelyne’s daughter, properly and she
messed up the hem. Easily fixed in a few minutes, but Father…when a
mistake is made, he becomes so embarrassed…his reputation, you see….he just…it
is not the first time, but this time…I stood up for myself, I would not let him
talk down to me…I did not know he would do what he did….”
“All over a garment.” His eyes flared almost
red with the effort to control his ire.
“Yes, poor Nathalie tried to cover for me, the sweet girl…she should not
have tried such a thing…”
Erik’s eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled the young girl who had run
to them for help. “Nathalie…black curly hair, dark blue
gown?”
“Yes, why?” She asked, but then
gasped in realization. “Evelyne sent her from the backroom to hide while
she tried to prevent Father from beating me and…wait, did she….?”
He nodded, “She went to get help for you, it was just good fortune we
were the first carriage she saw on the street.
“Ohh…I was wondering how you….you and
Jules…Jacques…”
“We did not depart after you turned down Jules’ offer. We were
discussing another way to convince you to return, when a young girl ran to us
and said someone was about to be beaten. When she pointed to the dress
shop, we all knew…”
She looked at him deeply.
He had been there…in the carriage….the whole time…
He had kept his promise to stay away, although, she truly wished that he
had come to her instead of Jules. Seeing him again after a three day
absence might have changed her mind.
“Nathalie…” she sighed.
“A very brave young lady.”
She nodded as she shifted slightly in the bed, moving to prop herself
up. “I must find some way to thank her…”
“Wait, what are you doing?” he asked, trying to push her back
down. “No need to get up just yet, we can take care of Nathalie later.”
“I just wish to sit up.”
“You do not need to…”
“Stop fighting and help me.” She popped his arm to keep him from holding
her down.
“Very well, stubborn lady.” With a smirk, Erik
grabbed a couple of pillows and pushed them securely behind her head. “How
is this?”
“Better, thank you.” She smiled, then she
paused and allowed the smile to fade slightly, her forehead lowering in
thought.
He observed her closely, especially her eyes. “What is wrong?”
She laid her hand over Erik’s arm, a gesture
that had now become so natural to her it was as easy as breathing, “Erik…what
will you do to…”
“Your father?”
She nodded, almost afraid of the answer.
Erik wanted Jean-Pierre Durand dead. He wanted to be the one to do
it, taking great pleasure in watching the man gasp his last breath. He
thought of a million hideous ways he could do it the whole way back to his home
as Danielle slept in his arms. Deep down inside, he knew he still had the
capacity to be a cold and calculating murderer. But then he thought of
“I would love nothing more than to see your father dead, I will not lie
to you, but his life is at your mercy. I will do whatever you ask of
She paused again in thought, his words sinking in. She was angry at
her father, yes.
Resentful? Yes.
But did she truly want her father to die at Erik’s hands? When she
knew, deep down inside, Erik could very well do it without a moment’s
hesitation and get away with it?
With each remembrance of the strap being slapped against her skin, she
became tempted. But….no.
No matter what he’d done, she knew it was wrong.
“He is my father and I do not wish him harm. Let him be alone. Let
the shop go bankrupt, I no longer care. I shall never go back, and I will
make sure Evelyne does not either. What money is left that I stored away,
I shall send to her, until she finds another position.”
He nodded. “A wise decision. Keep
your money, I will handle everything, Madame Piret and her family will not go
impoverished. That, I promise you.”
“You do not have to…”
He put his finger to her lips, shushing her from any further
argument. He would not hear of it. If anything at this point, he
would lavish the brave Nathalie with anything she desired, rewarding her ten
times over for her courage, for if she had not…he shuddered to think of the
alternative.
Her eyes filled with tears as she pulled his finger from her lips after
brushing it with a small kiss. “Thank you, Erik….I…” her words failed her
again.
So much to say, so much she wanted
him to know. But how could she possibly tell him that seeing him come to her,
knowing he was willing to kill to protect her…that in that one moment,
pain or no pain, she felt safer than she had ever felt her entire life.
How could she tell him that she’d fallen in love with him? It was
impossible, her mind kept telling her. How do you possibly fall in love
with a man you have barely known a week much less seen face to face less than
that?
He looked down at her soft face, the tear
stains from her ordeal thankfully faded away, being replaced by happier
ones. Cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb pushing away a tear, he
replied, “No, thank you, Danielle. I am just happy that you are here with
me now. I know that I am still not forgiven for what I have done and I do
not ask it at this time, but I assure you, if you choose to remain here, I
shall give you the space you require and perhaps in time you and…I…” he stopped
talking when he felt her hand touch his own cheek.
She needed no promises, no guarantees, “I will stay, Erik.”
His very audible gasp of relief spoke volumes.
“Mademoiselle?” Emma’s voice came
softly with a knock to her door.
Giving a soft laugh at the timely interruption, she answered, “Come in.”
Erik stood then and looked down at Danielle, and with a playful wink,
pretended to be stern, “Do not argue with me anymore. Take a hot bath, then
stay in bed and do what Emma says.” He went to the door, then turned back to her, “Or I shall keep the sweet cakes
away from you, Mademoiselle”.
And as the door closed behind him, he could hear the two women burst
into laughter.
And he smirked.
-------------------------------------------------------
Erik tried to concentrate on his papers, but his mind drifted elsewhere
over the past couple of hours since he’d left Danielle’s room. He was
elated at her decision to remain in the house. Yet, she had not agreed to
continue the ruse of being his wife. Would she want to? He wanted
desperately to ask, but, cursing himself for being cowardly, he simply did not
have the nerve. He just didn’t what to hear her say no.
“Monsieur?” Jules poked his head
inside the library door.
“Jules.”
“I knocked, but no one answered. Jacques
was outside, he told me to come ahead in.”
“That is fine. Emma and Lacie are tending to Danielle upstairs, come
in.” he gestured and Jules entered, approaching his desk.
“I brought a large bag with Mademoiselle’s belongings. A couple of dresses, hairbrushes, the book she requested… I gave it to Jacques and he is going
to take it up to her room.”
“Excellent, she will be pleased to have them, thank you.”
“How is she?”
“Sore and tired, but better. She has agreed to
stay.”
That made Jules smile. “A sensible decision. And
of course, agree to continue being your wife?”
Erik looked away, not ready to talk about it. Jules got his answer
and understood. “I see. Perhaps she will change her mind in time.”
He nodded and changed the subject, “Now, what about Monsieur Durand?”
“Oh, I do not believe we will be receiving any trouble from him,
Monsieur.” Jules smiled.
Erik raised an eyebrow, “Did you have to….?”
“Nothing like that. I simply told him
that any involvement with the police would only result in him being arrested
for assaulting his daughter, but that it would all be a moot point as he would
not survive until a trial anyway. Of course he asked if I was making a
threat, I simply shrugged my shoulders.”
“Of course…”
“I also told him that he should open up the shop tomorrow, just as if
nothing had ever happened, but without Danielle or Madame Piret being
present. I told him that I would provide a seamstress for him in the
interim and if he remained open and silent for seven days, that he would be
paid a sum of two thousand francs to do with as he pleased. After that, if
he wished to close up the shop, it would be his privilege.
“Two thousand….umm….”
“Yes, I knew he would not turn down such a sum, not after the other day
when he practically foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog over the hundred franc
note I had put on the counter.”
“Of course not. So,
what about Danielle?”
“I told him not to look for her, ever, and that at the end of the seven
days, you would allow her, supervised, to contact him, if she so desired.”
He nodded, “Very well. Do you think she will wish to see him?”
“He is her father, no matter what he’s done. But, it is up to her.
I am not sure which she will choose.”
“I will inform her of this, then allow her to
make the decision for herself. You have done well, thank you. It is late, you can leave now if you wish. I am sure your wife will be pleased to have
you home a bit early today.”
“Thank you, Monsieur, I will do just that….” He
turned to leave when Jacques burst into the room suddenly. He stopped and
bowed at the waist.
“Monsieur Erik.”
Erik looked up at him, “Yes, Jacques.”
He gestured towards the front door and said, “Monsieur Mancia is here.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Catherine Dupré paced around the foyer of her mother in law’s home, too
concerned to even take tea on the terrace. Richard typically did not run
off without as much as a word. But today, promising they would be leaving
before lunchtime, he left, not telling her where he was going. Now it was
late afternoon and he had yet to return.
Madame Dupré, on the other hand, was not quite as worried. She knew
Richard had not informed his wife of where he was going and had asked her to do
the same thing. Catherine simply would not understand why her husband had
a desire to visit the grave of a woman he knew years ago, yet had not bothered
to tell her about. No, Madame Dupré hummed amusingly to herself,
let them work it out for themselves.
“Catherine, dear, come out and have some tea with me and Madame Marchand.”
She prompted from the door of the terrace. Jasmine Marchand had arrived not an
hour before and had still not stopped making jokingly crude comments to Madame
Dupré about Catherine’s milquetoast expression and lackadaisical
attitude. She figured if she could get her out there and engaged in
conversation, it might shut Madame Marchand’s mouth.
“I do not feel up to tea, not until Richard returns. I am so
worried. I hope he has not met with anything….unfortunate.” she sighed
sadly.
The poor girl always thought the worst… Madame Dupré shook her
head.
“Perhaps it would be a nice distraction for you, you have never met
Madame Marchand and she has been asking for you, plus the children are
playing…they so wish for you to be there with them…” she began but was
interrupted by the opening of the door.
Richard walked in, looking a bit disheveled, his face scowling. Until he
saw Catherine.
“Richard!” Catherine exclaimed.
He stopped and appeared shocked that she was there waiting for him, but
truly couldn’t blame her…he was much later than he’d expected he would be.
“Oh, hello, darling.” He put on a hard
pressed smile, Madame Dupré noticed. He walked over and gave his wife a
soft kiss on the cheek, then turned to his mother, “Hello, Mother.”
She nodded back politely, “Son.”
Catherine waited for him to say something else, to explain where he’d
been, why he was so late, but nothing came. He simply walked upstairs to
their room and shut the door.
She furrowed her brow and after a few moments, took a deep breath shrugged
her shoulders dejectedly and said to Madame Dupré, “I suppose I shall take my
tea now.”
“Good idea, dear. Go on out and I shall be there shortly.” Madame
Dupré waved her hand with an exasperated exhale.
Wallflower…
Once Catherine had gone outside, however, Madame Dupré took off
upstairs. Unlike his wife, she was not going to go another minute without
an explanation. His demeanor and facial
expression told her that something unsettling had happened.
She stopped at his closed door and knocked, “Richard, may I come in?”
He sighed as he sat alone on the bed, looking at his packed bags
gathered on the floor, hearing his children playing happily outside. “Come
in, Mother.”
She opened the door slowly, then stepped
inside, “You do not look like a man who has closure.” She told him, getting
right to the point…no sense in pulling punches.
“You are right, Mother, I do not.”
She walked over and sat down on the bench in front of the bed, “Tell me
what happened.”
“I could not find her, Mother. I started out going to Père Lachaise
where her mother is buried. I found Geneviève Durand without any trouble,
but no sign of Danielle, even an unmarked grave. I went to the records
office and they said there was no listing for her. I spent the whole day,
all over
“Nowhere?”
He locked onto her eyes and answered sternly, “Nowhere, Mother.”
“Perhaps she was cremated?”
“The thought had come to mind, but I vividly recall Jean-Pierre Durand
saying the word ‘buried’.”
“So, what does that mean, exactly? That she is not buried in
“I do not know. But I cannot leave here until I find the
answers. I…” he exhaled deeply, his mind simply too tired to continue
thinking.
“Do not think about it anymore today, come to the terrace now. I
would love for you to meet Madame Marchand.”
-----------------------------------------------------
Erik’s head dropped into his hands at the very mention of Mancia’s name,
“I am in no mood.”
Jacques truly understood Erik’s grimacing face at the mention of
Monsieur Mancia and shared it. He despised every inch of the man’s fat,
balding headed body ever since he had taken liberties with Lacie. It was
certainly no secret to anyone in the house that he and Lacie both had developed
feelings for one another, including Erik. More than once, Erik had been
temped to let the hot blooded young Frenchman loose to do with Monsieur Mancia
as he wished with no reprimand.
“I was not going to let him in, but he says he is here with a message.”
Jacques told him. “He said that it was of the utmost importance that it was put
directly into your hands and you read it immediately.”
“I see.” Erik answered him.
“Shall I…take the message and remove him from the premises?” Jacques
almost smiled at the very idea.
Erik gave an almost inaudible laugh and looked over at Jules, who shook
his head, “It does seem important, Monsieur. Perhaps he should stay?”
“Agreed, but no longer than
required. Let him in.” Erik relented.
The young man bowed his head and began to leave the room, but no sooner
than he grabbed the knob then the door flew open and Monsieur Mancia walked in,
an envelope in one hand and a small hunk of bread in the other.
“Good afternoon, Messieurs.” He mumbled, his mouth
full of food.
“You seem to take too many liberties in my home here lately, Mancia.”
Erik groaned.
“My apologies for my rather prompt entry, but I could not wait to be
introduced.” He quickly finished what was in his hand and wiped the crumbs off
on his jacket. “I do recall you hate it when I eat in here…” he laughed.
Jules couldn’t help but crack a smile at Erik’s less than civilized
sneer.
Mancia then turned to Jacques as he pulled a coin out of pocket, “Be a
good boy and fetch me a glass of brandy from that decanter there.” He threw the
coin at Jacques, but he made no move to catch it. Staring, his eyes
narrowed, he allowed the coin to bounce off his chest and land to the floor
with a loud clank.
Jacques looked over at Erik, who could hardly contain his pleasure at
seeing the young man’s reaction. “You are dismissed, Jacques.”
He nodded politely to Erik and Jules, glared again at Mancia then left
the room. He was going to find Lacie and keep her company and out of the hands
of the rutting pig.
Erik was growing impatient and his voice was short and to the point,
“Monsieur, please state your business, I have had a long day.”
“Simply this, Monsieur Renault.” He held up the envelope
as he retrieved his coin off the floor. “I thought you would like to have
it immediately.”
Erik gestured to Jules, who took the envelope from Mancia and handed it
to him. Then he sat down in front of Erik’s desk to observe him it, as
Mancia walked to the window and looked outside…searching for Lacie, no doubt.
Erik read the contents of the envelope and shook his head in dismay and
utter irritancy.”
“Monsieur?” Jules leaned forward.
“Bloody hell...” he muttered, letting the message fall onto the
desk. “This is not the time for more God forsaken parties.”
“A party?”
“Yes.” Mancia turned around and walked to the desk. Since you had
me inform everyone involved of the delay in the inauguration because of the
fire, they decided, in the interim, to throw a Grand Opening celebration.”
“In two days.” Erik interrupted, “Two days! Can you believe this?”
Jules gasped, “Will everything be completed by then?”
Erik exhaled slowly, “Yes, everything is completed now, except the
repairs that have to be made due to the fire, but they were aware of that.”
“When was this decision made?” Jules asked Mancia, who had taken it upon
himself now to get his own glass of brandy from Erik’s decanter.
He took a huge swallow and answered, “This morning. An emergency
meeting of the principal investors was called. Apparently…” he snorted
contemptuously, “…an attempt was made to contact Monsieur Renault, but when he
could not be reached, they continued without him and was subsequently
outvoted.”
Both Erik and Jules knew that was not true. “Ridiculous. I was
never made aware.” Erik said.
“I know, I know, Monsieur.” Mancia replied placidly.
“Of course, you are required to be at the grand opening.” Jules piped
up.
Erik curled his mouth into a deep frown, “Of course. I am in no
mood for a fête. I simply wish to have the inauguration over with and
begin business again.”
Mancia paced around the room, “Yes, but you know how much Firmin and
André love to have their little celebrations. The more they can show off
their opera house, the better.”
Erik snorted. Their opera house…
“No matter, it shall be a grand event. At least your wife shall enjoy
it. Besides, where is that lovely wife of yours?” Mancia turned and
asked. That caught both Jules and Erik off guard.
“Well…” Erik began, looking at Jules for the first lie either one of
them could think of.
“You see…she is…” Jules tried to continue.
A voice from the door interrupted them both.
“I am right here, of course.”
All three men’s eyes flew to the library door where Danielle stood,
smiling pleasantly. Her hair was up and fixed with a beautiful blue hairslide that matched her soft blue dress. Not a hint
of her assault was present physically on her body, or emotionally on her face.
“Would it not be wise to play hostess and extend a welcome to your
guest?” She added with a touch of flare that she was becoming accustomed to.
Mancia approached her, holding out his hand,
“Well, good afternoon to you, Madame Renault. You look delightful, but of
course I expected no less.”
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Mancia, always lovely to see you again.” She
came inside and took Monsieur Mancia’s hand and he kissed her fingers lightly,
his eyes glancing Erik’s way. For once, it appeared as if he did not want
to overstep his bounds.
Erik stood and came out from behind his desk, keeping his eyes locked
onto Danielle’s, almost pleadingly. While he was elated that it appeared
she wished to continue the charade, she certainly did not have to keep up
appearances this quickly. He could tell she was still in pain.
“I hope my abrupt entry did not disturb you, gentlemen. I was
passing by on my way from the garden and heard talk of a grand opening.”
Erik took her hand from Monsieur Mancia’s and walked her over to the
couch by the fireplace, “Never a disturbance, love.” He shielded her from
Mancia’s view so he could not see her make a pained face as she sat down.
“And yes, there is a celebration.” Mancia added from behind them.
She looked at Erik, “Oh?”
He moved from her and back to his desk where he picked up the
envelope. He pulled out an invitation and held it up for her to
see. “Yes, they have scheduled a grand opening celebration at the opera
house two days from now.”
“Oh, that soun