I Do – Chapter 2
"We need to gather some things together – we are taking a trip," Erik announces, slapping his thighs as he rises abruptly from his chair. A wave of his hand motions her to follow him to her bedroom.
"Where are we going?" Christine asks scurrying behind him.
Erik's command finds her anxious – not in his delivery – as she has come to know many of his comments come from out of the blue – most often when an idea for a piece of music comes to mind in the middle of a conversation about a completely unrelated topic. She is now accustomed to his habit of talking to himself before making a pronouncement of some sort, even if only about what he is preparing for dinner – then remembering she is present and he is no longer alone.
The talk of preparing for a trip without any warning, however, reminds her of a day years ago when Pappa instructed her to put her clothes together, along with any special items, because they were leaving their home in Sweden to travel the world.
"Why, Pappa? I do not want to leave here."
"I can no longer stay in this house."
"Why?"
"I miss your mother."
"I do not understand."
"Too much here reminds me of her."
"Then we should stay."
That moment turning her life upside down, leaving her wary of any sense of permanence she might feel since then. No amount of crying or pleading changed his mind. Coming to live here with Erik was quite similar in many ways. Both men shared a rigid sense of certainty. Another upheaval of that sort is not something she welcomes. Pushing aside her qualms, she reminds herself she and Erik are to be married and any permanent changes will be discussed with her first.
"I suppose you might like to live above ground," Erik said one morning over a breakfast of poached eggs on toast.
"There would be advantages…not having to walk through a path of tunnels – or climbing up five stories of cement stairs to come and go."
Erik found the comment amusing, offering a cough in lieu of an outright laugh. The twinkle in his eyes confirmed he understood her comment was a joke and not a complaint. While she gave him no reason to doubt her love – he was still unused to her teasing nature. Relieved, she asked if they might begin looking for a flat, perhaps near M. Khan, since he enjoyed the daroga's company…or Madame Giry's apartment.
Since that day, included in their drives about the city are visits to homes or apartments to let. So far nothing suits both of them, but there is no concern on her part he will simply pack them up and abandon the little house they now share without telling her.
Until now.
Once in front of her wardrobe, she ponders what garments to pack. "It would help if I knew where we are going, as well as how long we will be gone and why we are going anywhere at all. One does not simply tell someone to get ready for a trip."
"As little as possible – enough for three or four days, I think will suffice," he cautions. "Nothing fancy, but garments to indicate a moderate amount of wealth and position."
"Whatever does that mean?" she laughs, as much to calm her nerves as to understand what moderate wealth and position looks like. All the garments in her wardrobe were finely made – none would be unwelcome in the wardrobe of any woman sitting in the most expensive boxes at the Palais.
"Here," he says, handing her the plain gray suit and a white silk blouse. "This would be suitable for both meeting a clergyman and travel, I think."
"A clergyman?"
"A priest, actually."
Taking the dress from him, she lays it on the bed. "Why are we seeing a priest? We have already spoken to the pastor at the Madeleine." Taking his arm, she forces him to face her. "Tell me what this is all about now, or I shall not pack another item."
"We are traveling by train to St. Martin-de-Boscherville."
"I know that name. There was an Abbey I recall from travelling with Pappa in northern France," she mutters.
"That is the Abbey of St. Georges," he replies. "Built by Benedictine monks."
"Perhaps, but I am thinking of something more recent." Tapping a fingertip against her lips, her eyes brighten. "I remember!" she exclaims. "The deed I found in the Bible was for a house in St. Martin-de-Boscherville. The house you knew nothing about."
"Your memory is correct," Erik says, sitting down on her vanity bench. "I am not sure why I thought I should try to keep such a secret from you."
"You are like my Pappa in that regard," she says, stroking his shoulder. "Mostly all he would say was 'we are going.' My opinion seldom counted for anything. We would find a situation where we could work and he could play his violin for a time, but those never lasted. He could not bear staying too long in one place. I was a child and was at his mercy." The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable.
Erik looks up at her, the amber eyes softening to a pale brown. Patting her hand, he says, "I am sorry. I am used to acting on my own. I was also hoping to surprise you – a time away from this place while the opera is in recess…and perhaps attend to some business as well."
"You have given me enough surprises to last a lifetime, Monsieur," she says with a rueful tone, returning to the armoire. "Let me see. I shall wear the black bonnet. The dark blue day dress has a bit of black in the trim along the peplum, so I need not pack another hat. Perhaps we could stay longer to see some of the country…the sea. Boscherville is not far from Normandy – I remember how exciting a city it was – with all the ships."
"Also close to Perros-Guirec."
"Yes, I believe that is so." Why did she mention the sea? None of the sweet memories of the young boy she once knew linger. Six months have passed since the fateful day of his death – the death of a stranger in her mind. Erik's tone suggests he has more feelings about the vicomte than she. "A pretty place, but I think Boscherville will be more interesting – the river and the Abbey…and the house, of course."
Their eyes meet for a moment. Then Erik nods. "Yes, I did not spend much time there when I secured the furnishings of my mother's house and I have little recollection of the place from my childhood. Most of my life was lived indoors." A shadow crosses his face. Brightening his tone, he says, "You might actually remember more about the area than I. We can create a new memory."
Sensing his relief matches hers, she sighs. Thankfully, as promised, M. Khan…Nadir, as he insists she address him, took care of dealing with Raoul's body.
"Where did you take him?" Erik asked when the four of them met the next day at a café on the Rue de Rivoli near Nadir's residence.
"Home. Jacques and Albert were happy to help," Nadir said. "We leased a carriage, pretended he was drunk. When we reached the mansion, we left him on the doorstep."
Handing them a newspaper, he points to the headline: VICOMTE DE CHAGNY FOUND DEAD. In smaller print was a description of how he was found outside his home, a likely victim of a robbery gone awry.
"You asked the flymen?"
"They were happy to help. Neither of them was pleased about what happened to Buquet," Adele said, nibbling on her second meringue.
"And you nag me about the amount of sugar I put in my tea."
"You dip the cubes in your tea…you do not use them to sweeten the brew. I do not believe I have ever seen you finish a cup."
"True," Erik pipes in. "However, meringues are little more than sugar."
"Egg whites – they are made from egg whites. Eggs are food."
"They were happy to take possession of his watch and flask." Nadir swallowed the last of his tea, setting the cup firmly back into the saucer. With a smirk he announced. "I have the revolver."
"I see you have added thief to your other skills," Erik snorted.
"If it was to look like a robbery, items of value had to be taken."
"Also helps to keep tongues from wagging," Adele said, "as well as a few extra francs each month."
"Bribery?" Erik asked. "Was that wise?"
"That and a vague threat of arrest none of us took seriously," Nadir said. "Not to worry, they would have done the deed for the simple pleasure of avenging their friend."
Even after several months of being in the company of the three of them together, Christine is still uncertain about their odd sense of humor. This was just one more example. Still, the incident was never spoken of again. Even with the seeming lighthearted talk, a man was dead. No one doubted the seriousness of that reality. Christine returned to her original suite. When questioned by the managers, she simply told them she did not wish to deprive Carlotta of the space that suited her so well.
Perhaps one day, she and Erik will speak again about Raoul, but not today. Instead she asks, "Have you made inquiries about the house?"
"I have."
"What did you find out?"
"My father had a brother."
"You have family," Christine says, excitedly. "He lives in the house?"
"Yes." Erik shakes his head. "He is also the priest we are to meet."