Chapter Twenty-one

Outside the window of the coach, Raoul watched slivers of sunlight shine through the trees standing guard on either side of the road leading to the Chagny gate. Beyond their stoic and proud welcome, flashes of light danced above the reflecting pool contorting the image of the stately chateau and the distant courtyard.

Raoul straightened his cravat and studied Legard’s pensive stare out the carriage window. Not many words had been shared between them on the journey back from Chaumont to Chagny. The return had been arduous, but not due to the conditions of roads or the haphazard travel of carriages. While Raoul’s bruises may be healing, his mental state had not. He wove an intricate web of deception to keep his real feelings safeguarded. Legard was, in many ways, his conscience. Although Raoul knew him to be the wiser man when it came to dealing with the hunter and hunted, the truth was not what he wanted to see.

Raoul had a feeling he had made a gross mistake with Loup. The overwhelming confusion clouding his rational thought crushed any misgivings he had. A sickening feeling settled in his stomach. He cursed to himself knowing he not only had to continue to track the Phantom, but they still had yet to locate Mademoiselle Barret. No remains were found in the charred barn. Though profoundly relieved, Raoul’s anger grew. The hunt became more complicated as it wore on.

Once the brougham came to a stop, he took quick leave of Legard and made his servants aware he was not to be disturbed or waited upon. He needed time to gather his senses back in order before checking on Christine. There was only one spot on his mind, and Raoul retreated through the gardens toward the Chagny cemetery. Raoul’s breath was heaving by the time he stopped at the door to the stone house on the hillside. The person he looked up to the most was behind those doors. Then he felt it bubbling up from inside of him, the betrayal. The one man he trusted with all his dreams was somehow connected to the only man he considered his enemy.

“You Judas!” Raoul’s fists collided with the metal door of Philippe’s crypt. “How did you know Erik so intimately? How?” When he didn’t get an answer, Raoul pounded harder shouting curses in tune with the thunder of metal doors.

A voice shrieked across the gardens. “Raoul!”

He pivoted so sharply he stumbled. At the open gate that separated Philippe’s hallowed ground from the rest of the cemetery stood his sister, her hands covering her heart. Her eyes were glassy with horror. Raoul looked around him as if dazed.

“Paulette? You’ve wept for Philippe. Why can’t I?”

Raoul turned away after seeing her arms outstretched toward him. He didn’t need sisterly love. He needed whom Erik stole from him.

“You miss him.” She tried to comfort him, but her words fell on deaf ears. “You’ve not had a chance to say goodbye. That’s all.”

There was no possible way she could ever understand. “I can’t say goodbye.”

How could he when all he knew was anger? Raoul kicked the door and slapped his palm over Philippe’s name. A cloud of rusty dust lingered in the air. Nothing he did, no pain he inflicted upon himself was enough to numb the sting of his failures. Roaring his frustration, he beat out a year’s worth of misery, but nothing would make the tears come. Nothing put his anger and newfound questions to rest. The sound of his grief boomed across the hillside.

“Raoul, stop! Merciful Heaven, stop! That’s my brother in there!”

He shoved off the crypt and stared into rust covered palms. “Leave me, Paulette. I need to be alone.”

“Raoul, please, calm down. We tried to send word to you a week ago, but you were already underway. Christine has fallen ill. The doctor has stayed with her. There has been some additional bleeding—”

“Mercy no…”

“She’s very weak. Raoul—”

“No!”

Raoul spun in horror toward the crypt. He grabbed his head at the sight of Philippe’s name on those iron doors and prayed another one would not be added at its side. Pebbles scattered around his pounding feet as he ran to his wife’s bedside.

Exhaustion bent around her, but Christine couldn’t sleep. Though she shifted to a more comfortable position the cramping in her back had intensified, and abdominal pain knotted her entire body. It was all made worse by her pounding head, and the thoughts of Erik imprisoned.

It was all she thought of since Raoul had left. The guilt was getting impossible to bear. Erik was going to prison, or worse, and she had the keys to preventing it. She knew she should confess everything that had happened in that opera house to Raoul. Make him understand how Erik had saved her from that awful man.

Christine tossed an arm over her eyes and winced in pain. Richard Barret! The thought of him made her want to vomit. Either that or it was the cramping. A confession should be enough to save Erik despite his aiding Anna Barret. Frustrated tears pulled at the corners of Christine’s eyes. But no matter what she did, Erik would still have to answer for crimes she had no control over. He’d be taken from her no matter what. It was useless. Untangling a knot so wet with deception was futile.

Maybe Raoul would have mercy on her if she told him about the blackmail. Christine slid her arm off her slick forehead as she tried to find a way out of the mess she’d made of her life. Maybe she could twist the story a little and claim Loup’s blackmail was based on lies? But that would be lying in itself. More cheats! More deceit! Could she tell Raoul the truth about loving Erik, or would he dismiss her as a harlot for being in the arms of another man?

Pinching her eyes shut, she tried to ignore the pain in her heart and back. The more she thought of Erik, the tighter her body clenched. The door burst open sparing her any more agonizing thoughts.

“Christine?”

A cry of relief escaped her lips as Raoul hastened to her bedside.

“It’s all right, love, I’m home. I should never have left for so long.”

Christine reached for his hand as he sat beside her. “Raoul, don’t leave me again. Don’t ever leave. I’ve been so worried, so frightened.”

“All is well, fear nothing.” He kissed her damp temple and laid a protective hand over their child.

“Where is Erik?” Christine searched his face for any sign of an answer, but all she saw worry pinching his brow.

“Hush, not now. This has caused you far too much stress. We’ll speak of that later.”

Chills ran across her forehead. No, she had to know. She couldn’t bear the image of him locked away. Christine firmed up her grip on his hand and shook it. “I need to know now, Raoul.”

The worry on his face mixed with disapproval. “He’s on the run again.”

Christine gasped as those words hit her squarely in the chest. Raoul sat on her bedside the ripple across his brow deepening. She didn’t let on that her reaction was pure relief.

“He’ll not harm you. We will find him, please Christine stop trembling.”

She couldn’t. An unnatural pain spread across her back changing her gasp of relief to a fight for air. This was nothing like the cramps she had with André. Curling forward Christine grabbed her abdomen. Mouth gaping, she fought for breath and words.

Raoul was on his feet in a second. “Christine?”

A sudden rush of warmth spread down her lower body, sticking the thin sheets to her legs with blood and fluid. The room dimmed to gray before fading into blackness.

“Christine? No, no, no! Christine? Christine, come back to me! It’s too soon. Not the baby! Not my baby! Christine!”

Several long emotion-filled hours, too heavy for even Chagny to bear, had finally slipped away. A chateau—at last—slept. The exhausted doctor rested on a solitary chair outside the room where Christine slept, his dinner laying untouched on its silver tray on the floor. Raoul was filled with gratitude when he saw him sitting sentry for Christine. Across the hall in the nursery, Raoul sent the nurse out to join the doctor’s watch over Christine, followed by what servants still stood around waiting to help their master. He waited until he heard the door click shut behind him to breathe his first weary sigh.

Raoul couldn’t tell the hour, other than the first rays of dawn had yet to color the sky. He walked the nursery, bobbing his baby steadily as he comforted the tiny life in his arms. Every part of him was immersed in joy as he marveled at the child he carried. Raoul looked away only long enough to reach into André’s crib as he walked by. His eldest slept, oblivious to anything that went on during a chaotic night at Chagny. Raoul tucked his blanket closer around him and then adjusted the soft wrap protecting his daughter.

Raoul grinned. Her face was so round. So content! How tiny could a child be? Raoul could have placed her in the bassinet, but he was reluctant to let her go. Walking the nursery, keeping her close to his heart, Raoul lost himself in his thoughts for endless hours. He never wanted this introduction to end. He savored every second he had with the child he was so anxious to meet. The corners of his eyes tugged with exhaustion, but he refused to take his eyes off her face.

By the time dawn peaked into the room, Raoul finally relinquished her to the comfort of the cradle. He adjusted the blankets so she was warm and comfortable, and placed a gentle kiss on the center of her petite forehead. A tear fell from his eye. Using his knuckle, he stroked it from her immeasurably soft cheek. Raoul finally had his little lady.

With one last look, he slipped out the door and left her to sleep.

An oppressive silence fell over Chagny during the hours that followed. Raoul could feel the throb of his heart keep cadence with Christine’s tears. To tell the woman he loved their child had been stillborn were the most the most difficult and senseless words he ever had to find. Christine tears soaked Raoul’s shirtsleeve before she found the presence to speak.

“Was she beautiful? I want to hold my baby.”

Raoul bit his lip. “Let her be, Christine.” For as long as he’d live he wouldn’t be able to erase the weight of his daughter in his arms. “She was the smallest of beauties.”

The priest’s voice broke their embrace. “Monsieur le Comte, I need to know her name, so I can send her to God.”

Raoul’s throat squeezed, as he looked over his shoulder to glared at the priest. Such words hurt. The instant the man arrived at Chagny everything became too real. Reality was something he didn’t want to face. He couldn’t blame his wife, the doctor, or God for the death of his daughter. The doctor couldn’t find the cause for Christine’s faint bleeding or the stillbirth. But Raoul could. Erik was to blame. He was always to blame for Christine’s heartbreak. A woman carrying life is a fragile thing. The manhunt had been far too taxing, and it was all Erik’s fault.

“Eve,” Raoul finally replied, his voice broken. “We named her Eve.”

“Evangeline,” Christine blurted. “Her name is Evangeline.”

Shocked, Raoul pulled back to study the tears falling down Christine’s face. They came faster and harder the more the reality of the moment seemed to set in.

“I love her.” Christine sobbed. “I love Evangeline. I love my Angel of Music.”

How Raoul found the strength to breathe through those words he didn’t know, for they suffocated all life from him. The priest’s brows had lifted as he looked to Raoul for guidance. Numbed, Raoul rose from his wife’s bedside. “Whatever name she wishes.”