Light Fantastique (20 page)

“I'm sorry,” Iris said and put a hand on his arm. “Of course. Your family and people are in more immediate danger than mine.”

“That's all right.” He patted her hand and escorted her up the stairs. “It's easy to forget about other wars when you're in the middle of a battlefield. Can you delay your work? Keep the knowledge out of Firmin's hands?”

She wouldn't meet his eyes. “There are reasons—very good ones—he thinks I can solve this riddle before anyone else can.”

“Like what?”

She stepped aside so he could open the door for her. “It's too hard to explain, especially to a man of science.”

With that cryptic remark, she rushed upstairs toward her and Marie's room, but Madame St. Jean stopped her on the landing.

“There is fighting, and we do not know if shelling will start. Grab what you need, and we will go to the theatre so we can escape underground if need be.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Théâtre Bohème, 4 December 1870

Weighed down by his and Edward's valises, Johann almost tripped over the messenger in the livery of the Marquis de Monceau, who waited for him in front of the theatre.

“The marquis said to remind you of your appointment with him at two.”

“Are you insane?” Johann asked. “There's fighting and fear of shelling. You should be somewhere safe.”

The man bowed and handed him a message. “The marquis says he still expects you to play for him this afternoon. He has sent me to guide you.”

“Please give him my regrets, but surely he understands the situation has changed.”

“He said not to take no for an answer and that Madame has something further to tell you.”

Johann cursed under his breath.
It's not like we're completely safe in the theatre. A well-placed mortar could bring it down upon our heads even if we're underground, and there is the question of the explosives in the church next door.

“Very well. Let me deliver these, and I will come with you.”

He found Edward and Patrick O'Connell under the stage.

“I grabbed some of your things from the atelier,” he told Edward. “And Doctor Radcliffe packed a bag for you as well, O'Connell.”

“What's going on?” Patrick asked.

Johann heard him, but the haunted look on Edward's face delayed his answer. He knew it was pointless to ask if Edward was all right—he never admitted to fatigue when he was in the middle of a project—so he asked, “How far have the two of you gotten?”

“We're about halfway there,” Edward said and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, leaving a smudge across his temple.

“I keep telling him he needs to rest, but he won't stop.” The Irishman sounded both admiring and annoyed. “What brings you down here with luggage? Does Madame expect us to move in until the lighting system is completed?”

“Oh, right.” Johann turned to face O'Connell, who looked as exhausted as Edward, perhaps more so. “The French are mounting an offensive, and there's fear of shelling from the Prussians in reprisal.”

“Well, at least something's happening,” O'Connell grumbled.

Johann bit back his retort. He only wanted to deliver the items and be on his way.

“Here are Edward's and my bags. Will you bring them to wherever Madame wants us to settle in?”

“Aye. Where are you going?”

“To play for the Marquis de Monceau at his townhouse,” Johann said with unconcealed frustration. “Apparently he feels that the Prussians wouldn't dare interrupt his afternoon entertainment with something so rude as a shell through his roof, and he could still make a lot of trouble for me once this situation has ended.”

Patrick nodded, and Edward only turned back to the tube he was placing some sort of putty around.

“Be careful,” Patrick said.

“Right, I'll tell the Prussians to aim elsewhere,” Johann told him. He took his leave and ran into Marie in the vestibule. He tried to tip his hat and brush past her, but she stopped him.

“Why is the marquis's man standing outside?” she asked. “Surely you're not going to accompany him.”

Johann wanted to kiss her again, but he held back. He'd seen some men slap a hysterical woman, but he preferred his own methods. Plus she wasn't panicked now, only concerned, and it loosened something inside him to think she was worried about his safety.

“I'm afraid I have to. I don't want him making trouble for me or for your or your mother, and you know he will if he doesn't get what he wants.”

“Then please be careful.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she hurried off.

The imprint of her lips warmed his face until he reached the marquis's townhouse, where the impression of the kiss melted off in spite of the warmth inside.

* * * * *

After Johann left, Edward turned back to the joint he was buffering, but Patrick's hand on his arm stopped.

“I think we're far enough along to test the footlights, see if they'll give people a rosy glow from below.” He grinned, and Edward had the sense he'd said something vaguely dirty.

Speaking of dirty…
Edward wiped his hands on a rag that may have been white at one point but now matched the dingy state of his and Patrick's clothing. Contorting into and squeezing through small spaces in the old building certainly made his work more challenging than it had been at the university, but he didn't feel like he could ever return to those pristine halls of his previous life.

“It may be a good opportunity to get the others' minds off the situation, as much as that can happen,” Patrick said.

Edward heard the subtext—
and get you out of your head, which you've been ridiculously stuck in all day.

“Fine. We should probably take a break, anyway.”

When they emerged from underneath the stage, Edward carrying his and Johann's bags, they found the others gathered in the theatre along with Maestro Fouré, whom Edward had met briefly the day before.

“And how is the work coming?” Lucille asked as though they weren't in danger of the roof exploding over their heads at any moment. Only the way she twisted her skirt around one fist gave away her state of agitation.

“It's coming,” Patrick told her. “We're ready to test the footlights if you're interested in watching. Perhaps you and Mademoiselle could stand on stage so we can check the intensity of the lights.”

“I'll go downstairs and turn it on,” Edward offered. He felt Iris's gaze on him and felt the urge to escape her and her expectations.

“No, I'll go. You stand up here and observe. You're more precise than I am.”

Patrick disappeared, leaving Edward with the others. Marie and her mother walked on stage, but Marie looked oddly uncomfortable in spite of being a renowned actress.

“Do you think she's all right?” Iris asked him. Somehow she'd snuck over to stand next to him.

“I suppose so.” Edward didn't know what to think.

The theatre was plunged into darkness for a heart-stopping moment, and Iris's hand found his.

“Is this part of the demonstration?” she whispered.

“Yes, it's the only way to get a true measure of the light quality without interference from any other sources.”

The foot of the stage took on a glow so slight it was impossible to tell whether it was really there or an after-image.

“Like the moon.”

He wasn't sure she said the words, but they brought him back to that horrible morning in Rome. He snatched his hand back.

“What's wrong?” Iris asked.

“Why did you say that?”

“Say what? I only asked if the darkness was part of the demonstration.”

The glow increased, and Lucille's and Marie's shapes took form.

“Why did you say the thing about the moon? You know it's going to bring on bad memories.”

“I didn't say anything.”

He felt her hand on his arm, and he jerked away. “Don't touch me.”

The light grew, and with the part of his mind that still took scientific note of what was happening, Edward saw Marie had tears running down her face, and Lucille looked angry. Still, they both looked younger and more attractive in the gentle rose-peach glow of the aether lighting.

“Edward, please, look at me.” Iris had tears in her voice.

Edward couldn't look at her now, not when he knew he'd hurt her. It must have been his imagination, the thing about the moon. She wouldn't deliberately do something to distress him. It was his fault—he was the bad person, the one who should have been lying dead under the altar in the temple under the Porta Maggiore in Rome.

The theatre filled with murmurs and snappishness, and the scientist part of Edward's brain took note of that—what was going on? His lungs struggled to pull in the thick air, and he broke away from Iris's seeking reassurance. His panic carried him from the theatre into the lobby, where the windows let in icy light and the air felt less solid. He could breathe again even without the aid of a paper bag and took gulps of air.

It was when he stopped to breathe normally that a single gunshot crackled through the silence and brought it tumbling around him followed by screams that rent the air like shattered glass.

“Useless child, too cowardly to use your gifts or take the marvelous opportunities offered to you. Why did I even bother letting you on this stage?”

The words hissed in Lucille's familiar tones of contempt cut Marie through her middle. Why was her mother speaking to her like this now? She thought they had reached some sort of understanding, or at least that Lucille had spoken her piece, but no, she had to submit Marie to a verbal stabbing as they stood on the stage, in front of everyone but invisible in the dark.

A tingling sensation overtook her, similar to when a role fought to control her, but made of restlessness, like ants crawling under her skin. Then the tears came, unbidden but needed to release the grief, wash away the disappointment she would always have in herself…and that her mother would always have toward her. She'd never get rid of her past mistakes, but at least she could release the pressure around them.

Sometimes.

Marie wiped her eyes and pinpointed the source of the rosy-peach glow that surrounded her as the footlights. The light grew brighter, and whispers floated in the darkness beyond. She drew her eyebrows together like frowning would clarify the words, but she only heard the bickering rhythm.

That's odd. Has something happened?

She glanced toward Lucille, who looked away with a pained expression. Marie left the stage and walked up the side aisle. Now that the glow wasn't in her face, she saw Radcliffe engaged in some sort of discussion with Iris, but there was no sign of Edward. Iris shook her head and rushed up the aisle on the opposite side.

Wasn't Edward supposed to be observing? Where is he?
Iris's concern for Edward came through their link.

A pressure at the back of her skull made Marie lift her skirts and trot to meet Iris in the lobby. When she opened the door of the theatre, the noise of a gunshot split her awareness in two. With one side of her mind, she took stock to make sure none of the windows had been pierced and Iris was safe. She and Edward stood away from the windows, which thankfully seemed whole. With that settled, Marguerite the Spy took over so quickly Marie was barely aware of the changes in her.

She stopped, remembering her mother's words that she had more control over the roles than she recognized.

I will give you expression, but you need to let me lead.
She imagined herself and Marguerite in a waltz with Marie dressed and leading like a man.

She edged to the nearest window and, careful to stay as much behind the curtains as possible, peeked out. Two national guardsmen knelt by a supine figure on the sidewalk and gestured for the gathering crowd to return to their homes.

It was the violin case beside the injured man that made Marie forget caution and run out the front door of the theatre. She shed Marguerite like a cloak, panic replacing the role.

“Johann?” she cried.

But no, the man had light brown hair, not blond. He lifted his head.

“You must lay back, Monsieur.” One of the guards held a rag over a spot on his abdomen.

The ashen color of Frederic's face and stream of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth told Marie that the guard's attention was futile.

“Do you know this man, Mademoiselle?” the other one asked. His bushy eyebrows tilted in sympathy.

“Yes, he is a friend.”

The guard moved aside so Marie could kneel beside Frederic. She took his hand, but he turned his face away.

“You come too late, Marie. I am finished.”

“What were you doing out here, you stupid man?” she asked. Relief that it wasn't Bledsoe lying in front of her turned to guilt. Yes, Frederic was annoying, but he didn't deserve to die.

He turned back toward her and took his hand from hers. “I came to ensure you and Madame were safe.”

Now the guilt turned to sorrow and choked Marie with its bittersweetness. “You didn't have to do that. We're fine. We can escape underground if we need to.”

“I also need to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and pressed something into her hand. “Do not look at it now. Just take it.”

Marie took the packet of paper with something hard inside and slipped it into the hidden pocket in her skirt. She looked up when a hand squeezed her shoulder, and she saw Iris stood beside her along with the others. Radcliffe ushered the other guard away and examined the wound. He looked at Marie and shook his head.

Marie took Frederic's hand and tried to smile encouragement, but the tightness in her throat muscles wouldn't allow much expression. She'd done this on stage, knelt by a dying lover, but her previous roles retreated from her, leaving her emotionally naked.

One line did float into her mind.

“You'll be fine. Just take a little rest.”

Frederic coughed. “This will be more than a little rest, Mademoiselle, and I will be far from fine. Ah, if only you had accepted my proposals.” He tried to chuckle, but he grimaced instead. “I see that rake Bledsoe has abandoned you, so I am doubly sorry to leave you.”

Marie knew that Bledsoe had a good reason for leaving them, but she felt his absence. Not that there was anything either he or Frederic could do against a Prussian mortar.

“Never mind him. Just tell me who did this to you.”

He coughed again, and more blood oozed from his mouth. “I did not see them, and the street was deserted.”

Marie looked up. Radcliffe spoke to the two guardsmen a little distance away, so she knew he was already questioning witnesses.

“I will find out who did this, and I will avenge you.”