Chapter 1

There exist few things in life that I truly despise, of which includes large houses, unpleasant company, and housekeeping. I find irony in the fact that I found myself, after nineteen years, employed as a housekeeper in a large house by a very aloof quiet gentleman, described by his previous housekeeper as a man of few words, and a far shorter temper.

My father had passed away before I knew him well, just prior to my third birthday. My parents did not have adequate funds for a doctor, and he went quite suddenly from us one night in December. Almost immediately after my father's passing, my mother took on a job as a governess; primarily, so she could look after me as well. However, perhaps due to the plague of old age, or some other ailment, my mother fell ill and died leaving behind a penniless daughter, with no dowry and no suitors. Those unfortunate events concluded my dreary childhood and caused my employment from M. Erik Destler.

I found myself on a warm breezy spring morning in front of a very large house. Though the advertisement in the post had said "house," I can only better describe its grandeur as a palace of sorts. Not knowing which door to knock on (as there were several), I decided upon the large front doors and rapped brightly upon them. Presently, a very old woman agitated flung them open, pulled me inside, just to slam them shut again. I felt extremely uncomfortable with the ease she accomplished that feat, as the doors appeared extremely heavy. After my moment of bewilderment had passed, I noticed her strong witch-like hands grasping onto my shoulders with ferocity. "Are you Miss Christine? From the telephone?" She asked suddenly, with a mixture of hope and fear plastered on her face.

"Yes," I responded, straightening my back to make me look taller, "I rang yesterday afternoon about the job advertisement in the post."

A toothless grin filled the old woman's face, and she replied, "Thank heavens! You shall be my replacement, and will begin immediately."

With that, the woman gathered a suitcase and flung open the doors once more with the intention of leaving. "Is that it?" I asked, "Will you not conduct any interview?"

"You are an orphan, you have no family and no suitors, and you appear strong and capable. That will be all Mr. Aldridge will require."

"And what am I to do? I have received no instructions."

"You are to clean rooms, and serve tea every day at 3:00 in his study. Whatever you do, do not speak to Mr. Aldridge unless spoken to. He's very recluse, and should find it impertinent."

With that, the woman left, and I never saw her again.

Having achieved the new title of housekeeper I quickly began tidying up the place. Each room I entered appeared more glorious than the next. I felt uncomfortable wandering around someone's home, particularly a man's home, given that I suspected he had no other servants.

Eventually, I located a well-stocked, clean kitchen and realized from the large clock on the mantle that tea time was approaching much more quickly than I had anticipated. I filled the kettle, brewed a pot of tea, and even baked an assortment of small cakes. Even though I disliked housekeeping, I adored anything culinary related and had quite an affinity for pastries.

Armed with a tray full of tea-things, I began wandering around once more, hoping to find his study before the water ran cold. Eventually, I did, 5 minutes past the hour. The large wooden door was shut, so I lightly tapped on it, to which I received a gruff response somewhat resembling the words, "come in."

I slowly opened the door, and walked in tentatively, but with my shoulders back and head held high. "You're late," continued the stern voice. I could not see the man who spoke, as he sat before a fire with his back towards me. "Place the tray on the table and leave."

I laid the tray down on a mahogany table behind the large armchair where he sat. I was not certain if I should speak, but considering he had done so first, I gave my apologies. "I am sorry for being tardy, it will not happen again."

At the sound of my voice, the man shot up from his chair and almost immediately I found his hand at my throat, and fire in his golden eyes. He was much taller than me, with broad muscular shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and he wore a black porcelain mask that covered most of his face. I immediately realized his intention of strangling me to death as my feet left the ground. "Who are you, and where is Madame Giry?!" he roared.

I tried to respond, but could not make any sound, as he had cut off my larynx in his iron grip. Seeing as how the interrogation was useless as long as I could not speak, he flung me onto the ground and waiting impatiently for me to catch my breath.

After coughing and choking for several minutes more, I formed a somewhat coherent sentence. "She left, and I replaced her. My name is Christine—"

"What do you mean she left?"

"She put an advertisement in the morning post a few days ago for a housekeeping job. I applied, she accepted, and left."

This seemed to trouble the man, as he backed away, and ran his hands through his thick black hair. "And your name is Christine?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Christine what?"

"Just Christine, if you please, sir."

A sarcastic smile crept across his face, and he asked, "And you have no surname, Just Christine?"

"I have no sir," I answered, picking myself up from the floor.

He chuckled at that comment, though his eyes stilled burned with scorn, and he inquired, "And you intend on replacing my former housekeeper?"

"I intended on replacing her. I am not very keen on dying, and will have to reevaluate my priorities."

"Which are?" he asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"Staying alive. I fear I may stand a greater risk of dying due to murder in this establishment than dying from starvation out on the streets."

"And if I promise not to harm you?"

"Quite a promise considering you just cut off my airway. A moment ago you did not want me. What has changed your mind so suddenly?" I asked, shifting the questions onto him.

He seemed slightly taken aback at my bold statement, but then retorted, "I thought you had broken in to steal my priceless paintings. I was mistaken."

I let out a sarcastic laugh, and responded, "A burglar who brings around tea?"

"You appear to be overlooking the fact that I am apologizing, and wish to make amends. Shall you stay on as my housekeeper or not?" he asked, his eyes glazing over with annoyance.

"Presently as I nowhere else to go, I shall stay and reevaluate my situation in time. If after that time I am either dead or fear imminent death, you will have to find a new housekeeper," I answered resolutely.

He looked slightly relieved and then turned to look upon the tea tray I had brought. Thankfully, the pot still produced a pillar of steam, indicating that the tea had not run cold. "There are cakes," he statement, as a look of confusion swept across his face.

"Yes," I said, "I did not know what Madame Giry brought with your tea, so I made an assortment of cakes."

"She never brought food, just the tea."

"Oh," I murmured, "Well if you don't want cake, do not feel obligated to eat them on my account."

"No, thank you, they look delightful. Will you join me for tea?"

I nodded slowly, not wishing to offend the man who had just attempted to end my life. He gracefully lifted the tea pot and filled two delicately painted teacups with the steaming liquid I had provided. After handing me a cup, he motioned to one of the large armchairs, sat down himself, and proceeded to study my face for several uncomfortable moments.

"Why are you here Christine?" he asked.

The way he practically purred my name sent shivers down my spine, though not of disgust. Generally, I hated talking about my past and about my parents I strongly disliked sad things. However, his eyes no longer burned with anger, but actually displayed a genuine interest of sorts. "Both of my parents are dead, and they left me behind with nothing. Instead of parading myself around in hopes of finding a husband, as I am certain my aunt would have me do, I will endeavor to make my own money and live my own life."

"But you do have some family?" he asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Technically yes, in England. I have never met them, nor do I want to."

He nodded thoughtfully at that. "Where was your father employed before he died?"

"He was a violinist. He died when I was still small, and I barely remember anything about him other than the music. My mother said he traveled all over Europe to play and was quite accomplished. However, he had a terrible fondness for cards, and squandered any wealth he did have," I had never spoken openly of my father before, especially to a complete stranger. However, Erik seemed trustworthy somehow, and I did not mind so much.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Charles Daeé."

"And you will not allow me to call you Mademoiselle Daeé?" he inquired.

"No thank you. That girl has gone with her parents, and I would rather start anew, and forget my past."

"That is entirely understandable, Christine," he responded, finishing his cake.

"Do you live alone Mr. Aldridge?" I asked, presently.

"Yes," he responded.

"Do you not have any other servants?"

"I have a driver, both deaf and mute who comes by to bring me wherever I want, upon my bidding. However, I do not need servants; I only require a housekeeper capable of brewing a pot of tea."

"And do you find the tea to your satisfaction, sir?" I asked.

"Very much so, thank you," he responded, cautiously taking a sip.

"Why did Madame Giry instruct me not to speak to you?" I inquired.

I thought I caught a glint of sadness or remorse pass over his stony features, but it disappeared as presently as it had appeared. "Perhaps she warned you about me because of what resulted from your first spoken word. In fact, you are the first person I have conversed with in over nine years."

"Did you not speak to Madame Giry?"

"Not like this."

I was silent for a few moments, and then asked, "If this makes you uncomfortable, I can go."

He froze, and I saw his jaw tighten. Taking that as an affirmative response, I stood up with the intention of exiting the study. "Wait," he mustered, "Don't go."

I sat back down, and we awkwardly watched each other once more. "I suppose I should inquire upon the terms of my employment…"

"What would you like to know?" he asked, studying my face and body language in hopes of figuring me out.

"Shall I only clean and make tea, or would you want me to provide other services?"

"Madame Giry always only cleaned and made tea. However, seeing as how you are an accomplished pastry chef, you may cook also if it suits you."

"Alright. And shall I stay here or live elsewhere?" I asked, concerned of the propriety of our situation.

"Here of course. You shall be provided with an apartment at the east end of the estate. If you should need anything, write a note and pass it along to my driver and he should take you to fetch it."

"Thank you," I answered, "Would you take me to see where I am to stay?"

He nodded, and lead me through the vast winding halls until we reached the very far end of the palace-like structure. He opened the door and finally spoke, "I shall not need your services for the rest of today. You may do as you like whenever you have a spare moment, but I implore you to notify me if you are to leave the estate." He paused searching my face for any reaction, but then continued as I nodded, "If you should want for anything do not hesitate to ask."

With that, he pulled several crisp folds of legal tender from his jacket and pressed it into my palm. "What's that for?" I inquired, "I have merely brought you tea. I cannot accept this."

I tried to force the money back upon him, but he would not take it. "I nearly strangled you to death, yet you are still here. You must be truly desperate for work, and this is the least I can do for you. Good evening Mademoiselle Christine."

He bowed courteously and then disappeared. I flopped on the huge feathery bed and immediately drifted off to sleep, ready for a new day and a new life.

I do not own POTO or its characters.