Chapitre Sept

L'Escalier Secret

Leon

The day of the ballet had arrived. Leon's guest would soon become his beloved wife and the mother of his children. Still, they had yet to be introduced.

"Remember," said Beatrice as Leon entered the theatre with her and Lucien. "We will be nearby for emotional support."

The trio made their way up the stairs to their balcony box. Rising higher, Leon glanced at the ceiling. Rain beat down on the theatre's roof. Leon hoped the music would drown out the clattering overhead. The evening might not be completely lost if the show itself could remain unspoiled.

Leon turned his gaze forward once again when he reached the landing. There she stood, just outside the door to the balcony that she and Leon would be sharing that night.

He could see that Cecile had not lied when she said that Corina was pretty. She wore a gray doublet with a high collar, which accentuated her long, slender neck, and long sleeves, with lace covering her soft palms. The ruff around her neck was small, modest. The skirt, which flowed down from under her doublet, was black, with gray diamond patterns woven into it, and it drew attention to the curves of her hips. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head.

Her father, mother, and five younger sisters -each dressed in a similar fashion- all stood behind her.

Duke Jehan stepped forward to greet him as he approached. "Lord Leon," the Duke said, "May I introduce my eldest daughter, Corina."

Corina curtseyed and offered her hand. Leon took it and kissed it, "Enchanté."

"My dear friend!" said Lucien, greeting Jehan. "I'm surprised to see you here! I know your daughter loves the ballet, but you? Did you not give me a stern and well-deserved lecture about the evils of dancing not long ago?"

Jehan waved his hand dismissively. "There is a great difference between ballet and a ball. One is an art form often patronized by the Church, the other is an excuse for men to lay hands on each other's wives."

Lucien shrugged and laughed. "True! True!"

"I'm glad we agree," said Jehan, though his face did not look glad.

"In any event," said Lucien, "I say we take to our balcony and let these two young people have theirs."

"Yes," said Beatrice, "Let's give them some time to get to know one another."

Jehan nodded and the four of them, along with all of Jehan's daughters, entered the balcony they had reserved.

Leon turned back to Corina and offered his arm. "Well, then... shall we?"

"We shall," said Corina, taking it..

He led her into the balcony and they took their seats. Upon taking hers, Corina produced two pairs of theatre binoculars and handed one to Leon. "I'm assuming your forgot yours?" she said.

Leon took the binoculars and said, "Actually, I don't own a pair. Thank you."

Settling into the seat was difficult. Leon could barely determine whether it was the chair or his own skin which pricked and prodded him. The drone of the band warming up, mixed with the hum of the crowd taking their seats below was a relief; they were not forced to sit in complete silence. Though the tension was palpable and Leon desperately grasped for words to say.

"What ballet is this?" Leon asked, repositioning his coat.

"Le Traitre," said Corina. "The tragic tale of Didier, who betrayed his brother, Emperor Jourdain, because they both loved Lady Victoire."

"Oh! I have read this story!" Leon said, forgetting his nerves as he became more excited about the show.

Corina raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course you have. It's from the Sacred Hymns."

"Well... yes, of course," said Leon, suddenly embarrassed. "The reason I was enthused, though... I didn't know that ballet sometimes told stories from the Hymns."

Corina rolled her eyes, clearly displeased at his ignorance.

Leon scratched the back of his head. "But I would be happy to be educated on the matter."

A smile took over Corina's face, the first genuine one Leon had seen from her. "Nearly every major story from the Hymns has been made into a ballet. Some have been made into operas instead. Some into both. They keep elements from the tune of the Hymns, but they add their own flourishes to the music to capture all of the subtle story twists and emotions. It's one thing to know the stories, it's another entirely to have them come to life like this."

"Sounds exciting," said Leon, only partially lying. The prospect of bringing such amazing stories to life sounded wonderful, but the idea of doing so through dainty dancing sounded grueling. The story of Didier's betrayal was harsh, brutal, and even somewhat savage. Nothing about it seemed to lend itself to elegant dance.

All of the oil lamps in the theatre began to dim. "They're starting!" said Corina, standing and raising her binoculars to her eyes.

Leon shrugged and did the same.

The curtains opened to reveal a man in elaborate regalia holding hands with an equally well-dressed woman. The man wore a small, golden crown upon his powdered wig, and the two of them held hands. Emperor Jourdain and Lady Victoire bowed to the audience, and started to dance when the song began.

The music was pleasant, with wind instruments carrying the dancers' every step and string instruments bouncing jovially. More characters pranced onto the stage, each clad in courtly regalia. Each dancer bowed to the emperor and his bride, then to their own partners, and they began to dance.

Funny, Leon thought, Jehan was offended by my father's ball, but he has no trouble with a ballet that portrays one.

Then the music turned harsh, as a man in black clothing twirled onto the stage. The string instruments and piano shifted the music into minor key, though the tune itself did not change.

The man in black, obviously Didier, looked upon Jourdaine and Victoire and tore at his hair in frustration as he twirled and spun around the stage in steps that seemed erratic, but never lost time with the music. Every time the pianist struck a new key, Didier's feet hit the stage.

For a moment, Leon connected with Didier in a way he never thought he would. Here, on the stage, stood a man who represented the very epitome of betrayal. Yet, as Didier looked longingly upon Victoire, all Leon could think about was Beatrice.

All of the courtiers, as well as the Emperor and his bride, danced off the stage, leaving Didier alone.

The music hit two staccato beats and another dancer joined Didier on the stage with the strike of the second. Tatters of rags stuck to the man's body and bounced as he did. Leon's eyes, along with those of the whole audience were drawn to his flailing hands. In each fist he held a bottle of strange, green liquid.

"This is the part where he buys the poison!" said Leon.

Corina said nothing. Leon's face flushed behind the binoculars as he questioned whether he was expected to be silent during the ballet. Perhaps discussion was only appropriate during intermission. But why, then, had their parents arranged this place for them to meet, complete with a private balcony?

Leon lowered the spectacles and looked over to Corina.

Her seat was empty.

Glancing back and forth, Leon tried to sort out where she'd gone.

Bright red flashed in the corner of his eye and he turned out of his chair to look at the floor behind him.

Corina laid dead, her white collar saturated with blood. She stared back at him with flat eyes.

Leon yelped and stumbled backward just as the brass instruments sounded.

"No! Corina!" Leon knocked over his own chair to get to her and lifted her body off the floor. Perhaps there was still time. He touched her lips, praying to feel a hint of breath, but there was nothing. Pressing delicately, he could already feel an unsettling cold. Though straining in the dim light, he could still make out her mouth's dark, grey-purple tint. How long had she been dead?

Leon gently set her back down and closed her eyes, then got up and looked around for any sign of her killer.

He threw open the curtains.

Across the hall he saw a large painting, which appeared to be slightly crooked. Of course! Just like his father's mansion this place had secret entrances!

Should he get the police? No. Not enough time. Too much of it had already passed. Just go.

Leon hurried over to the painting and lifted it off the wall. Behind it was a wooden door, which he pushed in to reveal a descending spiral staircase. One way out... He clenched his fists. No escape, you bastard. He started down the staircase, into the darkness.

Leon felt no fear, only anger as he shuffled into the shadows. Corina had been right there, right beside him, and he couldn't protect her. The only way to atone would be to bring her killer to justice.

Further down it grew even darker. The music from the ballet was so muffled and distant. Deeper, darker.

Somewhere, water was falling. A slow, rhythmic drip formed a puddle unknowingly far below. The sound echoed. Two turns, perhaps, and he would reach a small landing. Each the epicenter of four or five small tunnels. But still the stairs continued downward. Hearing nothing inside the tunnels, he resolved to continue his descent.

Drip.

Leon crept through the dark, listening carefully for the sound of another person breathing.

Drip.

More and more he felt alone. This pursuit was feeble. Leon began to feel like such a fool. Had not Fitzroy told him that only an amateur makes a sound? If this killer was a professional and was still in the tunnels he could strike Leon down at any moment.

Drip.

Another landing. More tunnels. Leon was sure he'd just walked willingly into the spider's web.

Smash!

Leon ducked as a clatter assaulted his ears. Bracing for an assassin's blade, he realized the sound came from far above him. He could see the soft glow of light, though he quickly turned his face avoid dirt falling from the dozens of pounding shoes now clambering down the staircase.

"Who's down there?" The words ricocheted off every surface above and below. "Come out now, this is the police!"

Leon raised his hands over his head as the police officers lit up the tunnels with their lanterns and aimed their pistols at him.

"Who are you?" one of the officers shouted, his voice echoing.

"Leon of House Renart. A woman was murdered." Leon pointed down the tunnels. "I was trying to find the killer and bring him to justice. I believe he went this way."

"Look at him, he's covered in blood!" one of the officers shouted.

Leon glanced down and realized that they were right. The light from their lanterns shimmered on the red that stained his shirt and spotted his hands. When he'd picked up Corina he must have gotten her blood on him.

The officers each aimed their pistols. Leon raised his hands again, "No! I'm not the killer! Please..."

"Leon of House Renart," said one of the officers, "You are under arrest for the murder of Lady Corina Armand."

"I'm innocent!" said Leon. "I... I have no reason to want to kill that girl!"

"We will investigate this matter," said the officer, putting away his pistol and producing a pair of manacles. "If you are indeed innocent we will prove it, and you have nothing to fear."

As the officer approached with the manacles, Leon felt sick, disoriented. The walls of the tunnel seemed to shift, and terror gripped his heart. He couldn't feel it beating anymore. Surely, it had stopped.

The officer roughly pulled both of Leon's arms down in front of him and tightened the manacles around his wrists. No! This couldn't be happening! They couldn't really think he was the killer, could they?

They pushed him up the spiral staircase. Without being able to grab hold of the rail he stumbled and tripped several times, only to have them lift him up and push him along again.

More quickly than he could have thought possible, they entered the theatre again. The light blinding at first, the music deafening.

"What's going on here? Unhand my son!"

"Father!" Leon cried out as Lucien and Beatrice drew close. Behind them stood Jehan, looking almost as puzzled as Lucien.

"Duke Renart, Duke Armand," said one of the officers. "We caught this young man fleeing the scene of a murder through secret passages in the theatre's walls."

"A murder?" Lucien repeated.

"Whose murder?" asked Jehan, but by the furrowing of his brow and wavering of his voice it was obvious that he already suspected. Jehan looked back up at Leon and the officer, his eyes silently begging both of them to tell him that what he'd just realized wasn't true.

The officer sighed and shook his head. "The murder of Lady Corina Armand."

"NO!" Jehan rushed over to the balcony where Leon and Corina had been seated and threw back the curtains. "My girl! My little girl!" Jehan screamed. Two other officers caught him and he dropped limp and sobbing in their arms. No one in the audience heard his cry. The thunderous music masked the true drama unfolding above them in the private balcony.

"We've already blocked off all the known exits," said the officer. "But we feared the killer might have had access to the building's blueprints, so we checked the tunnels and found your son, covered in blood, fleeing the scene."

"I wasn't fleeing!" Leon protested. "I was trying to catch the real murderer!"

"This is an outrage!" shouted Beatrice, pulling her arm away from Lucien's and scurrying up to the officers. "Release him at once! Leon wouldn't do something like this!"

"You must admit, my lady," said the officer, "It's quite suspicious. You cannot expect us to release him."

Lucien buried his face in his hands.

Jehan ran out of the balcony with tears in his eyes. "You killed her! Why? Why?"

"I didn't!" said Leon, wincing.

"Don't lie to me, boy!" Saliva flew from Jehan's mouth as he shouted. "You'll burn for this, I'm sure! Officers, take him away!"

"Please," Lucien pleaded. "Let's think about this rationally."

"Rationally?" Jehan yelled, stamping his foot. "Your son killed my daughter!"

"Don't prove yourself a moron," Lucien calmly said back.

Everyone went silent at that, waiting for Lucien to explain himself.

Lucien cleared his throat. "I know you've no real reason to trust me, my friend, but think about it. Really think. Does this young man have the passion to do such a thing? Would anyone else with true motive send Leon? We have enemies in this world who have faceless men to carry out such horrors for them. The true murderer has likely already collected his reward from one who has sought to destroy both of our families. Don't believe for an instant that this crime is so simple as to have been committed by my son."

Jehan's face softened, and he sniffled.

By now, the commotion had spread, drawing the attention even of the orchestra and the players. The crowd strained from below to deduce what was happening and several lords and ladies were hanging out of their own boxes to peer into the scene.

"No," Lucien continued. "We all wanted Leon and Corina to be wed. Today, we have been given our first glimpse of our common enemy."

Lucien walked over to Jehan and placed hands on his shoulders. "My heart breaks for you, my friend. You have my deepest condolences. Please, let me know if there is anything I can do for you."

"I..." Jehan hesitated, closed his mouth, opened it again, but said nothing more.

"Now," said Lucien, turning to the police. "Will you let my son go, please?"

The leading officer shook his head. "I'm sorry, your grace. The law dictates that I must take your son into custody until he can stand trial."

"Come, come now," said Lucien. "Surely that is unnecessary."

"He is our only suspect at this time," said the officer. "I am sorry, my lord, but this is my duty."

The officers moved Leon along, dragging him towards the front doors of the theatre. He glanced over his shoulder at the faces of Lucien, Beatrice, and Jehan; each of them confused and worried. What had he gotten himself into? What a fool he was for trying to take the law into his own hands rather than calling upon the police. The police weren't far behind him, after all. They could have caught the real killer if he'd not distracted them.

Regret filled him as he knew he would be the first Renart in many generations to see the inside of a jail cell.