Light Fantastique (26 page)

Something threaded through her voice, a plaintive undercurrent. This time he did give in to the urge to put a hand under her cheek and turn her face toward him.

“What are you going to do? You're not going to put yourself in danger, are you?”

She swallowed, the motion of her throat muscles like the flutter of a desperate bird. “It's the spirit of the theatre. He's the one who controls the ravens, and one took a picture of our almost kiss in the alley.”

Johann put the pieces together in his head. “He's still trying to keep us apart, isn't he? What does he want with you?”

“I don't know.” She placed a hand over his and turned her cheek to kiss his palm. “But I'm going to find out. It's time for Marguerite the Spy to have a performance.”

“There's a difference between playing a role and truly taking action,” he said.

“Not for me. It's time to make this gift into something useful. Don't follow me.”

With those cryptic words, she left, and a gust of wind slammed the door in his face. When he pushed it open again, she'd disappeared into the swirling snow.

“Well,
merde
,” he said and put his hat on. He thought about the rehearsal, how the orchestra needed him with the other first violin dead, but he couldn't shake the feeling Marie needed him more.

I've taken bigger gambles than this.

He plunged into the whiteness and followed Marie into the theatre. He crept toward her dressing room, ears alert for the sound of voices and speaking, but when he arrived, he found someone already stood outside the door.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Théâtre Bohème, 5 December 1870

Mari
e headed straight for her dressing room. She allowed the role of Marguerite the Spy to overtake her because she would need her wits about her for this confrontation. She'd tossed and turned all night, feeling like the answer to the ghost's identity was just beyond her reach. She'd met him. She knew she'd met him other than in the carriage. His voice teased her between dreams of Johann's kisses and her actually being aware of him removing her corset and clothing. Somehow finding out who her father was made her feel more legitimate, like she might have a chance at a family and a normal life, and although she knew she shouldn't be attracted to the musician, he was the one her heart turned to.

“
Merde,
” she muttered. He had secrets too, and she still wasn't sure he wouldn't flit off once the siege was over, particularly since he still had his debt to the Clockwork Guild to worry about. But they could figure that out later. First she needed to find the ghost's lair and destroy the pictures of her and Johann. To do that, she needed to ensure the spirit wouldn't interrupt them. How she would get him to go away and give her a chance to seek his lair…

That she would leave to Marguerite.

Before she could snap into her role, she found the rehearsal schedule on the dressing table.

She cursed again under her breath. Lucille had reversed the timing. The actors were to have the theatre in the mornings and then the musicians in the afternoon. Which meant…

A knock on her door startled her. “Marie? It's Janelle. Your
Maman
says you're needed in the theatre
toute suite
.”

The role of Marguerite fell away like a heavy gown. “Tell her I'll be there in a minute.”

A low laugh made her look toward the mirror. “You are wanted onstage, Henriette. But can you handle the role on your own?”

“Are you offering the smoke again?” Marie asked. She placed a hand over her nose and mouth. “Because I do not want it. I want to tackle the stage without help.”

“Ah, you are a brave woman. I wish I could watch you, but I need to spend the time in my workshop so I can monitor the musicians this afternoon. I'm concerned about the lack of first violins.”

“Joh—Maestro Bledsoe can handle it.”

“You're on a first-name basis with him now?”

“It was a slip. We are informal in my group, as you must have observed.”

“You're right. If it wasn't for the accents, one would think you're all American, not just the dark fellow.”

Marie almost asked him why he was so invested in the performance but decided not to. She wanted more for him to be away from his lair that afternoon so she could find those damn photos.

* *
* * *

Chadwick saw Johann rush out of the townhouse and decided to follow him. They needed to talk with Amelie Lafitte. His instincts told him there was another aspect to the situation, but he didn't know what to make of Marie's tale of the spirit of the theatre, and he was still skeptical of the influence of the Eros Element. Part of it was not daring to hope, true, but he was a man of science, and all they had was anecdotal evidence thus far. There was the strange night when she had collapsed in her bed and had been impossible to wake.

He found Johann walking out of the hallway that held most of the dressing rooms, including Marie's, preceded by one of the young actresses. Radcliffe had helped her with an upset stomach the month before, and she smiled shyly at him but had eyes only for the musician.

“What are you doing here?” Johann asked.

“Following you,” Radcliffe admitted. “Trying to keep you out of trouble. Whatever she's doing, it's her battle, not yours. Besides,” he added in a low tone so only the two of them could hear him, “isn't it best you stay away from her lest you place more suspicion on yourself and cause more trouble for her?”

Johann's blue-green gaze snapped to Radcliffe's gray eyes, and he reminded himself to try and keep the bitterness from his tone. If only he'd followed his own advice. But then he wouldn't be in Europe in the middle of this fascinating mess and possibly within reach of something that could help Claire. For if the Eros Element could manipulate emotions, perhaps he could help her to not react badly when she saw him, and they could rediscover…

What? The prejudice that had landed them in this predicament in the first place. But he could at least give her back to her mother.

Lack of scientific method, dammit. There's no point in hoping. Get your mind back where it needs to be.

“You wouldn't let the woman you love go off into danger on her own,” Johann said, then stopped. His startled look said he hadn't allowed that word to trip off his tongue while talking about a woman very often, maybe ever.

“She'll be rehearsing this morning. Madame switched the schedule. You give her too little credit for being able to keep her daughter out of trouble.”

Indeed, Marie emerged from her dressing room looking determined but without one of her many expressions that gave her the air of being a completely different person. Chadwick wondered if it was a side effect of their work with the Eros Element, but even before they'd discovered it, when he first met her in that little village in the north of France, she'd convinced him she was nothing more than a maid. Even with his belief that everyone was more than others assumed them to be, it had taken effort to not allow his gaze to slide past her, almost like he fought some force.

Marie nodded to Johann but didn't say anything. The musician followed her with his gaze until she disappeared, his mouth set like when he played a particularly difficult passage.

“Ahem,” Chadwick said. “Perhaps we should try our luck with Mademoiselle Lafitte before you have to rehearse this afternoon.”

The streets had more people on them than when the battle raged, but everyone watched the sky, where airships flew by every so often.

“That's new.” Johann sidestepped a woman who seemed convinced it was more important to look up than where she was going.

“Something's changed.” Indeed, the air was charged with the heavy thickness of expectation, an imminent change of tide. “Perhaps the countryside is coming to the city's aid. I doubt the Prussians would have been able to build that many in so short a time.”

Johann coughed. “Never underestimate Prussian inventiveness. They're only flying over, not landing.”

Chadwick looked at him, surprised he didn't attach some sort of remark about Prussian actresses to his comment about inventiveness. Perhaps he was changing. “They're staying out of cannon range, so they must be French.”

They arrived at the address on the letter, which was within easy walking distance of the theatre. That made sense since the family was patrons. The Parisians did love their neighborhoods, which reminded Chadwick of the way Southerners stuck to their small towns, both with their almost blind patriotism for governments that may or may not have their best interests at heart.

A butler answered the door, and Chadwick was quick to introduce himself as a doctor, and Johann gave his assumed name of Monsieur Sable.

“Oh, are you here to see to Mademoiselle?” the man asked. His skin had a gray tinge to it, which Chadwick diagnosed as emotional distress rather than illness, an entire household under strain.

“Yes,” Chadwick said. He didn't like to lie, but he also didn't want to pass up the opportunity to speak to the young woman in private.

The butler showed them to a parlor, where Mademoiselle Lafitte lay on a chaise in a pose of classic hysteria, her blonde curls in disarray over the pillow behind her. She moaned and thrashed, and her mother clung tightly to her hand.

“Doctor Chadwick Radcliffe,” the butler said.

“Please don't stand,” Chadwick said. “What happened?”

“You are American,” Madame said, and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Are we in such a bad state that we have to depend on foreign doctors?”

“Yes, since so many of your French ones have abandoned you. May I examine the patient? You can stay with her. In fact, I would prefer you do so. What happened?”

“Two days ago, she went to a meeting with the students.” She said
students
with the inflection of one who was talking about an infestation of rats or insects. “Her father is too indulgent to let her do such things. When she returned, she was very quiet, would not speak to anyone that evening, and then the next morning, this.”

Chadwick and Johann exchanged glances. That was the meeting referred to in the letter.

“We are doomed,” Amelie moaned. “We must leave.”

“We cannot leave,
Cherie
,” her mother said. “Not with you like this.”

Chadwick felt the girl's forehead and lifted her eyelids. There was no sign of illness or injury, not even of intoxication of some sort, but something about her behavior reminded him of what had happened to Marie.

Amelie opened her eyes, saw Radcliffe, and drew back.

“Don't let him near me,
Maman
! Don't let the dark man take me.”

Madame Lafitte stood but didn't let go of her daughter's hand. “You must leave. You are making her more upset.”

“Try to keep her as calm as you can. I have seen something similar recently and will let you know when I find something to help.”

Madame nodded. “Very well. I would like her to be better in time for us to see the new show at the Bohème. Is it true that Fantastique will be taking the stage again? Amelie greatly admires her.”

“Yes, and I was thinking she may be helpful if she were to come speak with your daughter. Perhaps a familiar face will bring her out of whatever this is.”

“Very well.”

The butler showed them out.

“What are you thinking?” Johann asked.

“We need to find out what happened at that meeting. Marie is the best one to do that.”

“Because the girl admires her?”

“That and other things.” Chadwick wanted to test his hunch. If what he suspected was true, it would add one more piece to the puzzle that was the Théâtre Bohème. “Have you noticed how she tends to take on roles and get into them more than any other actress you've seen?”

“Yes, but she's very talented.”

“Just pay attention to her.”

“Oh, believe me, I have no trouble doing that.”

* * * * *

Johann would never have guessed he'd miss Frederic. If there was a way the other violinist could sabotage him as stand-mate, he'd found it. From altering his bowing technique so it created a certain disharmony coming from Johann's direction to refusing to find a rhythm with regard to turning the pages, there had been an annoyance every few minutes.

But Frederic's behavior didn't compare to the hatred the other musicians directed at Johann after Frederic's death. It was a true French coldness, a frosty politeness that pushed Johann away more effectively than harsh words could have. He straightened his shoulders and sat with his back to the rest of the violins, although he could still hear whispers behind him.

Even worse, Maestro Fouré frowned in his direction frequently. When the conductor called their first break, he gestured for Johann to join him. They walked to the backstage area, and Fouré looked at Johann from under his thick gray brows.

“Now that you know about the relationship between Mademoiselle St. Jean and me, I hope you will feel comfortable telling me anything,” the conductor said. “Although I have been unable to be a true father to her—and please believe me when I say her mother felt that was in her best interest, so I believe her—I do love her as a daughter and want her to be happy.”

“I didn't kill LeClerc.” Johann ensured he looked straight at the conductor when he said it to leave no doubt that he told the truth.

“I didn't think you killed him directly, but I wonder if it's possible your attention made him a target.”

“How so? Do you think I have friends who are that powerful?”

“No, but you have enemies who may want you out of the way, and the government is running out of money to pay the guardsmen.”

Johann exhaled too sharply for it to be a breath, but not hard enough for it to be an exasperated sigh. “I'm never going to escape from that mistake, am I?”

“You can solve your problems with the Guild, but it will not be easy, and the success of this performance will be key.”

A small, unfamiliar sensation burst in Johann's chest—hope. If he could clear his debt, he could pursue Marie. “I'm willing to do anything.”

“Those are the words of a desperate man.” Fouré frowned. “Or one in love. Tell me, do you love my daughter?”

Although the declaration had snuck out from Johann's lips that morning, the words now caught in his throat. He knew he did, but as for how she felt about him—well, he didn't want to gamble his reputation in case she made a fool of him.

“I feel very strongly for her,” he said and felt the emotional barrier snap back into place between him and Fouré.

“So now you're being cautious? You are still young and stupid, Maestro, if you don't know what's worth betting on.”

“I've learned a few things over the past year.” Johann refused to let the older man's gaze wither him like his father's had.

“One more thing. Marie is a headstrong girl. Don't let her go into danger by herself.”

“Trust me, I'm trying not to. But what did you mean about the first performance?”

“If it goes well, Lucille might give everyone a bonus. I am willing to give mine to you for your freedom.”

Johann didn't know what to say. His father would never do anything so generous, especially not to help Johann out of a mistake.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now remember what I said about keeping Marie out of danger. She's more like her mother than she would like to admit.”