Meg stared at her friend, feeling like the greatest fool in the world.If this was true, was the list only the beginning?
“I still don’t understand why it’s happening now,” Meg said aloud, and Rochelle looked confused.“The ghost never cared about these things before.He annoyed singers and made accidents happen.Why go after loathsome patrons now?”
“I don’t know, maybe getting rid of that monster de Martiniac gave him a taste for it,” Rochelle replied.“Or maybe he found God or something.”
“Or maybe he was hurt too,” Meg whispered, though that didn’t seem right either.Everything and nothing made sense.Meg knew more now than she had an hour before and that was something she could bring to Shaya, but she wasn’t sure this knowledge was worth the cost.
London
Perhaps it was themusic, perhaps it was the ale, but Christine felt like she was among her people for the first time in months.Adèle had taken them to the pubs, and Letitia and Howard had joined; Howard even brought a letter from Jack with news that nothing concerning had happened in Lucca or Florence.
What she felt was more than friendship.It was more than having Erik beside her, tucked in their corner of the pub, even though it filled her heart with joy to have him out and about beside her.It went even beyond her recent dreams of green gardens and overgrown walls, without a single fire or disaster marring the peace.
No, the joy brimming inside Christine came from how familiar people were, though she had never met them before tonight.They were musicians and travelers, the sort of folk her father and she would meet on the road, in a village tavern, or at a fair.People who lived closer to the wild and the earth than the rich men in their fancy houses, people who knew the old songs and were ready with a welcome and an invitation to play.They were like theater people too, the kind that became your comrade as soon as you sang with them.
Christine didn’t know the language completely or recognize the songs, but they both knew how to join in harmony singing praises to the ale.The group of drinkers and companions had taken her, Erik, and their friends in tonight.
Christine was deliriously happy to finally be singing with others.It felt so good to let her voice be heard, she thought, as she took another sip of nut-brown ale and squeezed her husband’s hand.The night had started quietly and grown more raucous as new people had joined the singing, each taking turns to lead the assembled drinkers in song.
Part of Christine – the soprano part – had taken some pride in the way heads turned when she harmonized and sang along, adding high descants a few times and reveling in the thrill.Erik had not been so ostentatious, and she had not minded that either.If he had started singing – really singing the way no one but him could – it would have stopped the whole night and caused a sensation.They still didn’t need to attract that much attention.
Now the singing was over, and she and Erik had taken a place by the fading fire.It was cozy and inviting, made all the more so by the cool, black night outside.Erik looked relaxed, as much as he could be in a public setting where his mask was noticeable.People had been kind enough not to ask about it.As a couple, they were learning ways to divert attention from it.A vague story about being hurt in ‘the war’ would often suffice.No one ever asked which war, for there always had been one somewhere.Maybe that made him relaxed or maybe it was the ale in his hand.It made Christine feel warm to see that, too.
“This could be our life,” Christine said aloud, gazing at the man she loved by the fire.“If we stayed here.This could be normal.”
“And you’d like that?”Erik asked back, a sparkle in his eyes that reminded her of the stars in the most wonderful way.
“I would.Wouldn’t you?”Christine answered.“We could find our people here.I think we already have.”
Erik turned and looked out at the crowd.Adèle had fallen into conversation with Howard and a friend of hers from the theater.Letitia was regaling the barmaid with a tale, perhaps ready to invite her to the next salon.Erik took it all in.“I didn’t think I’d ever have people.The kind that kept me or stayed.Then I had you...”
Christine smiled as he turned to her, even as her chest tightened.“I shouldn’t be the whole world.”
“You are, to me, but I understand your meaning,” Erik sighed.“It’s not so bad, I guess.Having people like this.”
“London is a city that can keep you occupied,” Christine pressed.“We can visit other places from here.Ireland, maybe?”
“Not there,” Erik grumbled, bristling.
“If we have a house, we can do more,” Christine tried, and he relaxed.“The noise wouldn’t bother anyone.”
Erik gave her a mischievous smile.“What exactly do you intend for us to do that would make so much noise?”
“I meant music, you wicked man,” Christine scowled through her blush.It did give her ideas though.She had been waiting for a complaint from someone in another room near theirs in the hotel and she was tired of dampening her pleasure in pillows.“We could have a piano.I could have a garden even.”
“A garden?”Erik asked with infinite warmth.“Do you like gardens, Mrs.Gilbride?”
“I do.”Christine felt a flutter in her chest, a hope that had kindled there as soon as he had started talking about houses back at Adèle’s.
“What are we talking about?You look disgustingly happy,” Letitia purred.Christine turned to see where she and Howard had accosted them.
“Does this have something to do with you looking for a house?”Howard said with a grin.“Madame Valerius told us the news.”
“That was not hers to share,” Erik said with a hint of disapproval.Christine sent him a look reminding him to behave himself.Or perhaps she wanted him to misbehave – she saw the gleam in his eyes and it gave her rather delicious ideas about what she could do this evening.
“I traded her for some gossip about a baritone she needs to avoid,” Howard replied with a hand wave.“What a delightful woman she is.I’m quite in love.”
“I don’t think she has the instruments that you’re looking for, my dear,” Letitia said, plopping into a chair next to Christine and giving Howard a smirk.