Miramont's Ghost (12 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S
tefan stepped into the morning room, his face almost hidden by the stack of boxes he held in his arms. He was followed by Renault and another servant, each of them bearing a similar burden. The boxes were wrapped in brown paper, tied together in bundles of three or four. They placed them on the rug since there was not enough table space to hold everything.

Adrienne and Emelie had been leaning together on the settee by the fire, examining a new piece of music. It fluttered to the floor in the excitement, and they both moved to examine the packages, looking for handwriting they recognized, a return address.

Genevieve looked up from her desk in the corner. “What’s this?” Sunlight streamed across her desk. It highlighted the tiny lines around her eyes.

Stefan stepped forward and handed her a letter. He bowed and he and the other servants left the room.

Genevieve stared at the envelope. It was from Pierre, gilt flourishes framing the envelope. She opened it, her hands shaking, and let the envelope drop to her desk. Marie looked up from her own desk, in the opposite corner of the room.

The corners of Genevieve’s mouth quivered as she read, as if she fought to keep her smile in check, as if she couldn’t believe what she read.

“Your father . . .” she began, and had to stop. She scanned the letter again, making sure she had read it correctly. Her eyes flew up to meet those of her daughters. “Your father wants us to come to Paris.” Her smile was firmly fixed now. “He wants to take us to the opera. He wants to take Antoine to the embassy.” The note fluttered, like a nervous white bird, from the trembling of her hand. Her smile grew, radiated into her eyes, which had looked so tired and haggard just a few moments before. It lifted her shoulders, traveled down her arms and into her hands. “The boxes are things he picked out for us to wear. He says we may have to do a few alterations, but he hopes we will find them suitable for the opera.”

Genevieve clutched the letter to her chest. She was suddenly luminous in the early-morning light.

Adrienne and Emelie turned toward one another, and Emelie grabbed Adrienne’s hands. She began to skip in a circle, trying to get her serious older sister to dance with her around the room.

Antoine jumped up from his geography book. “Let me see that,” he demanded, with ten-year-old manliness.

Genevieve pulled the letter away from his grasping fingers, and held it above her head. “No, you don’t, young man. This is addressed to me.” Genevieve’s smile returned again. “Just be thankful for the invitation. Your father wants to introduce you to his work.” She beamed. “As he should. That’s what fathers do with their sons.”

Antoine began a gangly and awkward dance around the big room. He took Emelie’s hands, and the two of them reeled and spun. Antoine’s streaky blond hair spilled across his forehead.

Adrienne stood in the center of the room, watching them. She turned to look at Lucie, sitting quietly at the corner table. Their eyes met and Lucie smiled.

“Well, let’s look, shall we?” Genevieve moved to the boxes, her letter opener in hand, and began slitting the paper and handing out gifts. Emelie, Antoine, and Genevieve could not contain their joy. It bounced off the walls and windows and ceilings, threatening to break statuary.

Adrienne opened the box with her name on it, and her eyes flamed with color. Inside the layers of tissue paper was a pale teal-colored taffeta, spun here and there with copper threads. Tiny embroidered roses climbed the bodice. She gasped and held the dress to her chest. It was done in her favorite colors, like the ribbon she’d been admiring in the fabric shop just last week.

Emelie was dancing around the room, holding her sky-blue gown against her chest and singing, an awkward and ear-splitting version of an aria from
La Traviata
.

Marie watched them from behind her desk. Her lips were pinched, that same thin line of disapproval she always wore. The corners of her mouth went neither up nor down. They revealed nothing about how she felt. “So . . . when does this excursion take place?” she said.

Genevieve looked up from her own box of treasures. Happiness was etched in every line of her features; she smiled in a way that made her look years younger. “Two weeks from today.” She clutched deep-green velvet to her chest. She looked at Marie. “Of course, we’d love for you to accompany us, Marie.” Her voice did not quite match her words. “The embassy has a box at the opera house. I’m sure there will be more than enough room.”

“I have missed the opera, since the death of my husband,” Marie answered. “That would be lovely.”

Lucie beamed as she hung Adrienne’s new dress in the wardrobe. She put one hand on Adrienne’s waist, grabbed her hand with the other, as if they were dancing partners. She spun her around the bedroom. “Oh, Adrienne! The opera! Isn’t this wonderful?” Her skirts continued to spin, even after Adrienne broke away and collapsed in the chair by the bedroom fireplace.

Adrienne watched her governess, watched the joy that radiated from her hands and arms as Lucie pretended to dance with a partner, her skirts sashaying around the room.

“Lucie . . . did you do this?”

Lucie stopped swaying, stopped her humming. She moved to the package on the bed and folded the shawl, the opera gloves, the tiny beaded handbag that had all been part of Adrienne’s box. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

Adrienne studied the dark eyes of the governess. “Did you write to my father?”

Lucie’s gaze flickered to the window for a moment. “I had to, Adrienne.” Their eyes met for an instant. “It breaks my heart, the way you live here. The way you’ve been so shut off from everything beautiful and wonderful in life. You are alone far too much. And lately, it seems as if you have been even more distant than usual. More lost in your own thoughts. So I wrote to him. I suggested, as the governess, that a trip to Paris could be highly educational for all the children. I told him that here you are, sixteen years of age, beautiful and intelligent, and that it is high time you were introduced to society.” Lucie stopped for a moment. “Well . . . not in those words, exactly.”

Adrienne stood and walked over to her governess. Adrienne was now a couple of inches taller than Lucie. She stood behind her, put her hands on Lucie’s arms. She stared at the image of the two of them in the mirror.

“I had no idea how your father would respond,” Lucie continued. She smiled into the mirror they faced across the room. “This is far more than I expected.”

Adrienne rubbed her hands on Lucie’s arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, her chin pressed into Lucie’s shoulder. For one brief moment, she smiled.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
he footman held Adrienne’s gloved hand as she stepped from the landau. It was like stepping directly into a fairy tale, her slippers turned to glass. She scanned the scene before her. There had to be a handsome prince, an old green frog, a wicked stepmother, a pumpkin coach, and little mice footmen somewhere in this incredible scene.

The opera house blazed with golden light. The sky was a deep blue, a fine line of pale turquoise at the horizon. A few stars blazed in the deepening dusk. Adrienne felt drenched in the beauty of it all.

People milled about, dressed in their finest. The gentlemen wore tuxedos, their long coattails hitting their calves. They tipped their hats to everyone they met, their hands elegant in white gloves. The women sparkled like jewels, long white opera gloves visible beneath their cloaks. They swept through the grand doors in groups of three and four.

Lucie took Adrienne’s arm as they moved toward the entrance. The entire family looked so dapper and refined tonight. Antoine stood straight and tall, enormously proud of himself in front of his father. Emelie’s eyes were huge, sparkling sapphires; she moved as if she were in a dream. Genevieve leaned into Pierre’s arm, flashing a brilliant smile that none of them had ever observed at home. Overnight, she had become young and beautiful again, all her worries swept away.

Pierre was not the father he normally was, either. His occasional visits to the castle had not prepared any of the family for this. At home, he was often preoccupied, busy with work that he brought with him. But for just these few hours, he brought together his friends and acquaintances in Paris with the family from the country estate.

Adrienne floated into the foyer of the grand opera house. A staircase stretched before them, a palace of gold marble, gold railings, gold statuary. Deep scarlet curtains framed each box of seats. Her eyes traveled to the balconies, the elaborate carvings, and the crystal chandeliers. The opera house glowed, gaslights spilling gold curtains of light on every surface. The shiny floors reflected it back again, light bouncing up onto their skirts.

Adrienne could feel that glow. It warmed her cheeks, her neck, the deep plunging V of her gown. She let it radiate through her being, felt as if she were glowing like one of the gas lamps. Luminous.

She clung to Lucie’s arm. Her feet glided over each step on the staircase, as if she were some winged creature and not a human girl who had to climb the steps. The lights caught the coppery shimmer that wove through the teal threads of her gown—perfect reflections of her copper hair and water-colored eyes.

Pierre stopped to talk often. He knew many people in Paris society, and glowed as he introduced them to his wife and children. He put his hand on Antoine’s shoulder many times on their way to the box, obviously proud of the young man. Marie hung at the edge of every introduction, still severe in black, but a lustrous black silk that was more appropriate to the situation than her normal attire.

Lucie leaned in close to Adrienne. “See that gentleman, in the balcony to our right?”

Adrienne let her eyes move up. A young man beamed at her, took his hat from his head, and bowed. Adrienne dropped her eyes back to the staircase they were climbing.

“He’s been staring at you. Ever since we started up the stairs. His eyes were so intense, I had to look up,” Lucie whispered.

The family trailed Pierre and Genevieve to the box reserved for embassy personnel and slipped into the lush velvet seats. The orchestra tuned their instruments in the pit below them, and Adrienne slid forward in her seat to watch. Pierre stood at the railing of the box, Antoine beside him, and pointed out various architectural details to his son. Antoine’s hair was heavily greased; for once, it did not flop in his face. He looked surprisingly like his father.

“Isn’t this incredible, Marie?” Genevieve leaned to her sister as they sat down together in the first row of the box. She could not contain her happiness; it flowed from her being, even to the point of including Marie.

Marie sighed. “I suppose. If one isn’t used to this sort of thing, it could be overwhelming, I imagine. When Jacques was alive, we went to the opera quite often, and in some of the grandest opera houses in Europe.”

Genevieve bit her lip and turned away.

Two gentlemen entered the box, and Pierre turned to greet them. He shook hands with both and then turned to present them to his family. “Monsieur Armand Devereux,” Pierre began, holding out his gloved hand. “My wife, Genevieve. My daughters, Emelie and Adrienne.” Pierre waved his hand in the direction of each girl. He turned behind him, to the railing where Antoine still stood, and directed the young man forward. “And this is my son, Antoine.”

The gentleman kissed Genevieve’s gloved hand, bowed to the girls, shook Antoine’s hand. Adrienne stared. He had white hair, blue eyes, a thin white mustache. He was tall, slender, and stately, very well mannered. She couldn’t help but think of Grand-père as she watched him bow to Marie and kiss her gloved hand.

“And this is Monsieur Devereux’s grandson, Gerard.”

Adrienne’s eyes met those of the young man before her. He offered only the slightest of smiles as she met his gaze. It was the same man who had been staring at her as she climbed the steps. She swallowed.

“Gerard works with me at the embassy,” Pierre continued as Gerard, in his turn, kissed Genevieve’s and Marie’s hands.

He reached for Adrienne’s gloved hand, and pressed it to his lips.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
She blushed. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. He dropped her hand and stepped back next to his grandfather.

The two men stood by the railing and chatted with Pierre. When Gerard laughed at something Pierre said, he threw his head back. The laugh came from somewhere deep inside him. Adrienne had never heard anyone laugh like that. The sound was rich and full. Real. It made her feel good to hear it, to see it. A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Lucie touched Adrienne’s arm, caught her gaze. Her eyebrows arched. She smiled. Adrienne ducked her head and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She felt too warm, suddenly, and color rose in her cheeks and neck.

The lights in the opera house dimmed, and everyone took their seats. Gerard and his grandfather stayed in the embassy box. They sat next to Pierre, the adults filling the front row. Adrienne, Lucie, Emelie, and Antoine sat in the row behind them.

The music of the orchestra swept up through the room; the notes of Verdi’s
La Traviata
danced and skipped over the balconies and balustrades. Adrienne leaned forward in her seat, transported, completely lost in the singing, and the costumes, and the music. She forgot where she was, forgot who she was. She forgot Marie, forgot Gerard with his auburn mustache, sitting a few seats away. She forgot that back home in Beaulieu, there were those who called her crazy. She forgot that her life had been filled with loneliness. She forgot everything. She felt as if she were sailing around the room, floating on the notes of the aria.

The second act began, and Adrienne continued to lean slightly forward. As she watched the stage below her, it turned dark, melted into one dark color, until everything disappeared. The music faded, replaced by the roar of waves, the crash of water hitting the side of a ship. She looked out at a wide expanse of sea, nothing but black as far as the eye could see. It was night, the sky a slightly paler shade of gray than the water below. She felt the swaying, rocking motion of the boat. Her own body swayed slightly with the movement. She stood at the railing. Moonlight lit a path of water that spread out before her, shimmering silver in the night.

Adrienne could feel the moisture in the air; she could smell the salt of the sea. She turned slowly, her eyes drawn to movement on deck in front of her. A woman, small in stature with a head of dark curls, was walking away. She wore a severe black dress, and moved quickly along the deck and into the hallway leading to the cabins of the ship. Adrienne followed, slowly becoming aware that the woman before her was Marie.

Adrienne continued to trail Marie, but now they were no longer on board ship. They were in the halls of a huge house, the corridor and rooms unrecognizable in Adrienne’s vision. She watched as Marie stopped at one door, glancing to the right and the left, and unlocked it. She slipped inside, and Adrienne followed her. Marie turned, as if she knew someone was behind her, but Adrienne sensed that she herself could not be seen.

Marie turned her back, pulled out a small tapestry valise, and Adrienne watched as she placed a stack of papers inside. She locked the valise, and replaced it beneath the bed. Marie turned then, facing the invisible Adrienne in the vision. In slow, dreamlike motion, Adrienne’s eyes wandered from Marie’s face down the front of her gown. There were dark spots on Marie’s dress, as if she had been splattered with ocean water. In the surreal quality of a dream, Adrienne focused intently on those dark splatters. The smell was overpowering, and the knowledge hit her like a wave. That was not seawater on Marie’s gown. It was blood.

Adrienne gasped, and raised her hand to cover her mouth. For a moment, she lost her balance, swaying in her chair.

Lucie turned to look at her.

Emelie, on the other side of Adrienne, turned her head and looked at her sister. Adrienne could feel sweat break out on her upper lip, and she snapped her fan open and began to fan her face vigorously.

Lucie touched Adrienne’s arm. She leaned forward and whispered, “Adrienne?”

Marie turned her head and looked over her shoulder. She took in Adrienne’s glazed eyes, the sweat on her lip. Marie’s lips went thin and firm, and she turned back to the opera stage.

Adrienne leaned back in her seat. She swallowed, turned her eyes toward Lucie. She was back in the opera house now, the music of the third act swelling around her. She could hear the soft movements of people breathing and shifting in their seats. She turned and met Lucie’s dark eyes, wide with questions and concern.

Adrienne closed her fan and took a deep breath. Her heart continued to race.

She glanced to the left, to the row of seats in front of her. Gerard Devereux was sitting at an angle in his seat, and his eyes met hers. They stared at one another for a moment, and then he turned away. He was no longer smiling.