The Key
By: Sugar Princess
Disclaimer: I do not own Harold Ziedler, Christian, Satine, or Sarah Bernhardt. I'm borrowing them.
Claimer: I DO own Alice, Sarah, Anna, Andrew, and Alice's dad. Uh-huh. I do.
Author's lament: Why on earth would I write this?!?!
June 9th, 1941
"Is Uncle Christian very ill?" asked five-year-old Anna.
"He's our GREAT uncle." Informed Andrew with a sneer.
Alice gave Andrew a look and Anna into her lap. "Uncle Christian will be just fine. And then he can tell you stories again."
Anna sighed and leaned back against her sister. "Uncle Christian always makes me the princess."
"Yeah, that's why they're stories." Snorted Andrew.
"Andrew." Warned Alice.
The door opened, and their father walked out. He looked tired.
"Alice. He's asking for you."
Alice took Anna off her lap and handed her to their father. She slowly crossed the room and opened the door.
Her mother was sitting at his bedside. Christian was her mother's uncle, and everyone knew of all his nieces and nephews, Sarah had always been his favorite. When he fell ill, it was a given that he should recover under Sarah's care. He had been there for a week, but it looked pretty bad.
Sarah looked at her daughter, her eyes red with tears. Her hair, a glorious, shining red, was falling from it's bun.
"He's asking for you." She said, sounding dimly jealous. Alice went to the chair on the other side the bed and took her Great Uncle's hand.
"Papa Christian?" she asked quietly, referring to what she had called him when she was a little girl. "Papa Christian?"
His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light the candle gave off. The house had electricity but he had always said that he preferred candles to lightbulbs, and now was not the time to argue.
"Ah... Alice." He said slowly.
Alice squeezed his hand. "Yes, Papa. I'm here."
His hand pulled out of hers and he stroked her honey red hair. "My fiery redhead."
Alice smiled at him. "Yes, Papa."
"My... my letters."
Sarah looked up abruptly.
"What letters, Papa?" asked Alice carefully. She loved him like he was her father, but he was known to go into flights of fancy now and again and this might not be an exception.
"My letters to her."
Alice let out a sigh that was identical to the one her mother breathed. 'Her'. It was always 'her'. No one knew who she was, or what relation she had had with the old man, but whenever he lost touch with reality she was always mentioned.
"To who, Papa?" asked Alice patiently. She was the only one who had enough patience to bring him back to earth when he was like this.
"Mon diamant brillant."
Alice swallowed, counting to ten in her head and taking a deep breath.
"What diamond, Papa?"
"Never knew... I could feel like this..." the old man sang feebly.
Tears sprung to Sarah's eyes. Her uncle had always burst into song whenever he got like this, and usually Sarah always left before he started. Brushing away her tears, Sarah got up and fled the room.
Christian raised a feeble hand. "Cherie..." he said weakly.
It was too late. She was gone.
Alice looked after her mother, then turned her attention back to her great uncle.
"What diamond, Papa?" she asked more forcefully.
"At the Moulin Rouge... you'll have fun..."
Alice brought her head back in shock. This was the first time he had ever given more information than 'the diamond'.
"What diamond from the Moulin Rouge?"
He looked straight at her, his eyes clearer than usual. "Not just any diamond." He scolded. "The Sparkling Diamond."
The sparkling diamond... what was he talking about?
"Papa, why would you write to a diamond?" she asked exasperatedly.
He reached a hand out to touch her hair. "You're so pretty, Alice... just like she was..."
And it finally came to Alice. The Diamond wasn't a gem... it was a person.
"What was her name, Papa?" she asked.
"My letters... they must- get to her. Will you do that for me, Alice?"
"To who, Papa? Tell me her name!"
"Everything will be explained..."
"What will?"
It was too late. The old man was fast asleep. Irritated, Alice stood up.
She was almost to the door when she looked back. She wasn't mad at him. It wasn't his fault he had a few bats in the attic.
"Letters... letters to who?"
~*~
June 17th, 1941
He died without much of a fuss. He fell asleep and never woke up.
His will was in order- the jewelry from his mother was to go to Sarah, along with a nice little jewelry box; his assets to be distributed amongst his nieces and nephews and their families. His books went to Andrew and Anna.
Three huge steamer trunks went to Alice.
Three locked steamer trunks.
Alice sat in her room, usually so organized and open, now cluttered and cramped with these huge trunks.
Andrew walked right on in without knocking. Alice looked up at him irritatedly.
"I can get the hammer and smash 'em open for you, Sis." He offered with an evil grin.
"You'll ruin the trunk." Alice said moodily, having already thought of and discarded the idea.
"But they'll be open." Andrew pointed out.
"Andrew, put the hammer away and leave me alone." She said annoyedly.
Andrew looked mad. "Fine. Have it your way."
He closed the door with more force than necessary and stomped down the stairs.
Alice stared at the cluster of trunks. The key must be somewhere, she reasoned, he never threw anything away. It's just a matter of finding it.
Yeah, but it'll drive you crazy until then.
Alice pushed back a strand of her red hair and concentrated on a trunk. There had to be a way...
~*~
She was in the hallway of a shabby building she had never seen before, looking in an apartment at people she had never seen in her life. The apartment was small and quaint, but there was a charming air to it. There was a handsome young man in a blue suit, and a beautiful young woman with stunning red hair in an upsweep and wearing a slightly old-fashioned cream chiffon dress.
The woman was pressing something into the man's hand. He was laughing, and saying "No" repeatedly, while she giggled and said 'yes'. Eventually, he accepted it.
Then Alice was out in the cold, behind a tree, watching a funeral. The young man from before was in the front, staring at the coffin with precision, as if he wanted to make it burst into flame with his eyes. With the expression he wore, Alice had not a doubt that he could do it with a bit more effort.
His hand was balled in a fist.
Alice had swallowed, and walked towards the coffin. Her footsteps where strangely silent as she pushed through the crowd that ignored her.
When she got to the front, the man looked up at her, his eyes swimming with pain. Alice flinched.
His eyes, which were gray and would have been lovely had they not been red with grief, never left hers.
The next thing she knew she was back in the apartment, but now there was nothing cute about it. The man looked drunk, and was angrily pecking at a typewriter. He now had a beard, and instead of grief, the man now had pure and unadulterated hatred in his eyes. The walls were covered with fluttering papers covered with print.
Alice had bitten her lip as he stopped typing and took the paper out. He has screwed up his face and let out a yell, making a fist and slamming it into the wall with such force that every paper rustled, sounding like autumn leaves. She had let out a squeak of surprise, and had nearly fainted when he started looking around wildly.
She had stood still as a mouse for a few seconds until he stopped peering around. He let out a growl, and then started searching through his cupboards. It was then Alice noticed the strong smell of alcohol and the plethora of broken bottles around. Don't drink anymore, she thought silently.
He found what he was looking for and stumbled back down into his chair. He held in his hand a small lacquered wooden box, carved with little flowers and inlaid with what looked like mother of pearl. He opened it up slowly, reverently, and his face softened. He gingerly picked up a yellowing paper, looking at it lovingly before putting it down and rifling through it carefully.
He found what he was looking for, picked up the paper and looked at it again before putting it back down, and closed the box. He threw it down onto the desk top.
Alice had moved closer to see what he had; it was a key and a chain. He slowly threaded the chain through the key. He fastened the clasp of the necklace and placed it into the box.
He put the shut the box and pushed it aside. He then stood up, snatched up his coat, and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Alice waited a few seconds before going up to the desk. She looked at the box, trailing her fingers over the smooth wood, still warm from his fingers.
A box that looked strangely familiar.
~*~
June 18th, 1941
Alice walked down the stairs and slid into her chair at the table. Her father sat on her right, eating some eggs, and Andrew sat on her left, swirling through his oatmeal with his spoon. He dropped it with a clatter and grabbed for the honey. He then proceeded to put spoonful after spoonful of the golden liquid into his oatmeal until it was tinged orange and Sarah put out a hand to stop him. Sarah sat next to her son, at the other head of the table. Across from Alice sat Anna, who was messily spreading marmalade over her crumpet. Her nanny calmly took the knife and spread it, and handed it back to Anna, who munched away contentedly.
Alice sighed happily. Nothing unusual about it- this morning was the same as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. It would be the same tomorrow, that Alice was certain of.
She was passed the raspberry preserves, which she spread over her bread slowly. The only thing different about this morning was that she had had a rather disturbing dream about the trunks that still remained in her room. She couldn't remember much- she saw a young man, and a young woman with red hair. A coffin. Papers fluttering. A box. A key on a chain.
The realization caused Alice to drop her knife in surprise. A key!
Everyone looked up at Alice in shock. She smiled contritely, then looked at her mother.
"Mama, may I look at your jewelry after breakfast?"
"Yes, dear, of course." Sarah said, sounding a bit bewildered. "But why? You've seen them all."
"Not your jewelry- the one Papa Christian gave you."
Sarah nodded. "Alice, there's nothing of any real value, except for my Grandmother's wedding ring."
"I just want to look through it." Alice said softly, hoping her innocent tone and wide eyes would work.
They did. Sarah put out a comforting hand, and took Alice's across the table. "I know you miss him."
Alice nodded and sniffled. Sarah put a hand to her heart. "Oh, precious, let's go right now."
Alice nodded. They both murmured 'Excuse us' in unison before leaving the dining room.
In Sarah's opulent dressing room, the wooden box looked rustic and out of place. Sarah picked it up and handed it to her daughter.
"I always remembered going to visit him with my mother and seeing this on his bed table." Sarah said in a half-whisper, her eyes shining with memories of long ago.
Alice pictured her Grandmother as a young woman, leading the little red-haired Sarah to his home.
Sarah's hair had always been a mystery. Grandmother Annette's hair had been brown; Grandfather had had blond hair. She knew her mother had always been rambunctious, and she could imagine her skipping up the stairs to visit Christian.
Alice smiled at her mother. "May I look at it... in private?" Alice dared to ask. She felt a need to keep this a secret.
Sarah studied her daughter before relenting. "Alright, Alice." Sarah glided out of the room and shut the door, leaving her alone in the pink and gold room.
Alice slowly opened the box. The box from her dream, with the inlaid mother-of-pearl and carved flowers.
Not a box a man would have... but more so of a woman's.
Alice nodded. That made more sense.
Sarah had been right. There was a tarnished cross, a pearl hatpin (?), her great-grandmother's diamond wedding ring and a pair of earrings with moonstones and dangling pearls.
Alice studied it. This couldn't be right. Where was the key? It had to be here. It HAD to be, she thought frantically.
What about the yellowed paper?
Alice shook her head. That could've been lost over the years.
Nonsense, said her mind, Papa was a pack rat. He never threw anything away. If it was in the box, it's still there.
Alice took everything out of the box and laid it on the top of the vanity table. She peered at the box. When she found nothing else, she angrily jabbed a finger at the bottom.
A corner slid down.
Alice jumped back. She had broken the box. Her mother would kill her, and would be heartbroken.
Common sense told her otherwise.
It's a false bottom.
Alice sighed with relief, and pried the velvet card out.
She gasped.
Strands of diamonds glittered in the morning sun. Numbly, Alice pulled them out and stared at them. They were beautiful, shimmering and casting small rainbows over the walls of the boudoir. A giant pendant graced the middle, a lace-like pattern of beauty.
Forcing herself to put them down in her lap, saw faded green feather. She picked it up and stroked it. She laid it down with the diamonds.
Under it was an envelope with 'Christian' written in scrawling calligraphy.
Alice picked it up with shaking fingers. There was a long lump in it.
She opened the yellowed envelope and pulled out the first paper.
It was written on very thin paper, with the same handwriting.
Alice felt guilty reading the letter, and refused to do it. Instead, she flipped over to where the letter ended.
'Love,
Satine'
"Satine?" Alice asked aloud. "Oh, Papa, why have you left me with this mystery?"
Sighing, she put the letter aside and pulled the next thing out of the envelope.
It was the key on a chain. Alice smiled and gripped it in her fist, like he had done so many years before.
Alice stopped for a minute. When had she realized it was Papa Christian in her dream?
I knew it all along.
She fastened the necklace around her neck. She liked the weight on her collar bone from the key.
She slipped out another paper.
It was a yellowed photograph of a beautiful young woman with dark hair. She was in a park, wearing a light summer dress. The sun was behind her, and it seemed to stream around her. She was smiling at the unseen photographer.
She was the woman in the dream.
Satine.
Alice nodded. The confusing pieces were coming together to create an even more bewildering whole.
She put that one down and studied the next picture.
It was Satine again. This time she had a baby on her lap, perhaps a one-year-old. She was pointing at the camera, trying to get the baby to look that way. The baby was wearing a white dress with lace. Sunlight was streaming through the window behind them, making the baby's gown look translucent.
The baby's hair was unmistakably the same color as Satine's.
Alice felt confused.
Who was this baby, who was Satine, and more importantly, WHY DID PAPA CHRISTIAN HAVE A PICTURE OF THEM?!?!?!?!?!
She looked at the baby again. Boy, did she look familiar.
With trembling fingers, she turned the picture over and nearly fainted dead away.
Satine and Sarah, 1898
No, Alice thought wildly. Mama was Papa Christian's niece... Grandmother's daughter... Annette... Christian's sister's daughter... Grandmother's first daughter... this is another Sarah... another Sarah... different... not Mama... Mama was born- what year was Mama born? 1890-what? No... it wasn't 1898... it was 1897... she was a year and a half in 1898... Oh, good Lord...
Alice let the picture flutter from her fingers and stifled a cry that rose in her throat. What did this all mean? If the Sarah in the picture was her mother, than that would mean that Grandmother was not Sarah's real mother. Annette had died three years before, so she wasn't going to be answering any questions...
Alice forced herself to calm down. Let's think calmly and rationally, she thought.
FACT: Sarah is my mother.
FACT: Mama was born in 1897.
FACT: She was Papa Christian's favorite
FACT: No one but Mama had red hair
FACT: The woman from my dream had red hair
FACT: It was only a dream, that meant nothing
FACT: The woman in the picture looks like the woman from my dream
FACT: The woman in the picture (and the dream?) was named Satine
FACT: Papa Christian loved her very much.
FACT: The answers can be found in two places- those stupid trunk and the letter.
Alice let her shoulders slump. She was lost.
She picked up the thin letter and forced herself to read.
1900
My dearest Christian,
Alice looked up. This felt wrong, like she was reading something that was private- which she was.
If Papa hadn't wanted you to read it, he wouldn't have left you the trunks, she reasoned. She looked down.
1900
My dearest Christian,
What I am going to write to you- I can't even write it properly. My dignity has left me, Christian, and I am thoughtless as to how to tell you this without making you hate me.
By this time, I am sure you are in an anxious state, and, my darling, I apologize. I am procrastinating, and I am too cowardly to say it to your face.
Though you cannot see me as you read this, imagine me, sitting in my boudoir, at my vanity, twirling my hair (a very bad habit I have), writing this ridiculously long letter for which there are no words to say what this letter is about. Does that make any sense? I think not.
I have just taken a deep breath, and hopefully will have the courage to finish this.
I have a daughter, Christian.
There, I have said it. Take a few deep breaths, darling, it will make you feel better.
Her name is Sarah, and she's turning two in February.
She is living with a family Harold arranged to take her in.
Oh, Christian, she is beautiful. Of course, I am somewhat biased, being her mother. But, truly, she is.
I only told you because I felt I shouldn't keep this secret from you. I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time now, but this is the first time I have been able to write it.
Do you hate me yet?
Read my words over, Christian. Look them over and laugh, as I do. Look what you have done to me! I now have this silly notion that lovers should have no secrets, and I have opened myself for vulnerability.
It will serve me right if you hate me.
I think I will stop writing as to not embarrass myself further.
Love,
Satine
Alice looked up.
No. It couldn't be.
FACT: Satine had a daughter named Sarah.
FACT: Her daughter's birthday was in February.
FACT: Mother's birthday was Valentine's Day- February 14th.
FACT: Alice was going to go mad.
Alice looked around. She couldn't leave all this. If her mother found out like this... she would die of shame. No. Better to take all the evidence. Letter, pictures, jewelry- everything.
Alice looked down at her lap. Where could she hide two pictures, a letter, a necklace, a feather and a diamond necklace without being seen?
Alice realized what she must do.
Closing her eyes in embarrassment, she unbuttons the neck of her dress. They would all have to fit in her brassiere.
Down went the necklace. It felt cold against her skin, and she shivered.
Folding the letter, she slid it, along with the pictures and the feather, back into the envelope.
In went the envelope. She giggled nervously as she buttoned up her dress.
She replaced the false velvet bottom and shut the box.
She put it back on her mother's dresser, and walked out of the boudoir.
I must get to my room without anyone seeing me.
Alice was almost there. A few more steps. Three more, two more-
"Alice!"
She turned guiltily.
It was her mother.
"Hello, Mother." Alice said. She studied her mother carefully.
Yes. There was an uncanny resemblance to the lady in the picture. Satine.
"We're going on a stroll in the park. Come."
Alice put a hand to her forehead. "I'm not feeling well, Mama. I have a frightful headache."
Sarah put a hand to her daughter's forehead. "You do seem a bit warm, dear."
Alice nodded, willing herself to look sick.
"Alright," Sarah gave in, kissing her daughter's forehead. "You stay here and take a nap. We're having dinner with the Johnsons."
Alice nodded, smiling. Sarah stroked her cheek and turned, leaving.
Alice hurried into her room, tripped over a trunk, and fell most ungracefully.
She lay still for a few seconds, lest her mother had heard the noise and return.
When nothing happened, she got up. She went to her bed and unbuttoned her dress again. She removed the envelope and the necklace. She stashed the necklace in her music box.
She removed the key from around her neck. If this doesn't open them, I am getting Andrew's hammer and I will smash these stupid things open!
She grabbed the lock of the nearest trunk. She took a deep breath and slid it into the keyhole.
It fit.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Alice turned it.
The lock popped open.
Alice wasted no time in removing it and opening it.
She was instantly assaulted with the smell of dust. All she could see was tissue paper: dry, brittle tissue paper. She pulled a piece back.
There was red satin.
She pulled back the other fold of tissue paper.
It was a red satin dress.
Alice pulled it out, sneezing at the cloud of dust.
Someone had taken great care, for no moths had attacked this beautiful dress.
Alice held it up to her and looked at herself in the mirror.
It really was a lovely dress.
She laid it down on her bed, and went for the next one.
The entire trunk was filled with nothing but clothes: silks, satins, muslins, velvets, chiffon, brocade. All different shades, from black and gray, to red and violet, to pastel pink and a virginal white sundress- the one from the picture.
That one was Alice's favorite. She picked it up and held it to her nose.
Beyond the musky smell of having been in the trunk for heavens-knows-how-long, she could just detect a hint of flowers; of perfume, of face powder. It was a sweet smell.
At the bottom of the trunk were some shoes- again of all colors, of all styles; from high heels to leather boots to slippers- a pair of ones with a glittering paste buckle and feathers.
Alice reverently folded all the dresses and placed them in their tissue paper nests. She lovingly placed them back in the trunk, closing the lid.
She put the lock back on and locked it.
She looked at the other two.
Sighing, she moved on to the next one.
This one had more shoes on the bottom, but the top was filled with lingerie.
All different colors- silky and satiny and sheer, with lace and feathers and velvets. Alice blushed at the thought of wearing ANY of them, let alone all.
She quickly locked that trunk up.
On to the final one.
This one looked different from the other two- more poorly made. More beat up looking.
Alice shrugged. Who cared what it looked like?
She opened the lock and lifted the cover
Bundles of paper. Bundles and bundles of papers
One was marked March, 1918-September, 1920.
Another: June, 1910- May, 1912.
Still another: May, 1928- January, 1931
Alice gasped when she saw it was Papa Christian's handwriting.
April 17th, 1912
Dear Satine,
There's been a horrible accident with a ship called the 'Titanic'...
September 22nd, 1918
Dear Satine,
The war still's on....
October 30th, 1929
Dear Satine,
America's economy has collapsed. The Stock Market crashed yesterday [...] they're calling it Black Tuesday...
December 25th, 1939
Dear Satine,
Another war might be on...
Alice looked up. "He wrote all of history down in letters for her..."
She looked at the dates. Everyday, from February 15th, 1901 to...
May 31st, 1941.
Just before he came here.
Alice thought carefully. A little over forty years of letters.
There was still a bundle of papers and some stray ones at the bottom.
She picked up the bundle. It was titled 'The Moulin Rouge', and under it read Pap Christian's name.
She skimmed through it, alternating between laughing and crying.
It was their story.
"I never knew you were a writer," Alice said aloud. "But this is getting ridiculous."
She started actually reading when she got to the final chapter. Satine had left him for the Duke, and Christian was going to find out the truth.
The end found Alice in tears. She had died. DIED.
At end of the book were lyrics to a song called 'Come what may', a song written by him for her.
"You weren't kidding, Papa." Alice said tearfully. She looked around at all the letters; the preserved dresses; the kept jewelry and pictures.
At the very bottom of the trunk were two pictures. One was of Satine in a sparkly black outfit that made Alice blush; another was of a woman Alice has never seen before posing dramatically.
Turning that one over, she read 'Sarah Bernhardt'
She put all the papers back into the trunk and locked it, and sat down on her bed.
There was only one explanation as to who her mother really was.
FACT: Satine had a daughter
FACT: Her daughter's name was Sarah
FACT: She turned two in February of 1900, after Satine's death
FACT: Papa Christian loved her (Satine)
FACT: Grandmother Annette had no baby pictures of Sarah
FACT: Satine's Sarah was living with a couple that Harold (The owner of the Moulin
Rouge) had arranged
FACT: Christian's favorite niece had always been Sarah
FACT: Sarah had red hair
FACT: No one else in the family had red hair, except for Alice
FACT: Sarah looked like Satine
FACT: Sarah was Satine's daughter.
Alice crossed the room. She looked in her music box and saw the picture of Satine with her daughter Sarah. Satine had her arm around the baby. Her face was one of happiness as she half-glanced at her daughter.
Papa Christian loved Satine enough to make her daughter his own, Alice pieced together, But an unmarried man would not be allowed to keep a child. So, he gave it to his favorite sister Annette- who had been married for two years without children. By moving to a different city in England, the story was plausible and Sarah was known as Annette's daughter.
Sarah grew up and married Anthony. She had three children- Alice Catherine; Andrew Christian; and Anna Louise.
FACT: Alice understood it all, but was more confused than ever.
FACT: She would have a very hard time explaining this to her mother, Sarah, about her mother, Satine.
FACT: Christian loved Satine.
FACT: She felt the same.
Items you might have recognized:
Moonstone/pearl earrings: Earrings worn by Satine during 'Spectacular Spectacular'
Green feather: From her bird
Picture of Sarah Bernhardt: Seen on her mirror when Marie is lacing Satine up.
Author's note: I wrote this quick- and it's finished! This is my longest finished story! WOOHOO!