A/N: Finally! Welcome back. If you are new to my work, check out "Snowdrop" before continuing. I will try to get these chapters up as quickly as I can. For right now expect 1-2 chapters a month. This was a great deal more difficult for me than the first story, but I hope you all enjoy it just as much. Be sure to leave a review or send me a pm. Thanks!
Chapter 1
Charlotte Poirot was about to be late to her job, very late. She didn't enjoy being late and usually never was, but today her fortune did not appear to be in her favor. The sun found its place well above the tree line and foliage leaning over the road she now walked. Had her younger siblings not decided to act out before the sun began its steady ascent into a new day, Charlotte would be walking while the sun was still climbing out of bed. Her brother and sister never gave her peace, nor did they grant it to her anxious parents.
Her parents were the reason she got the job she was now late too. She, being a young woman of nineteen, and having no fortune, was becoming a burden on her parents who worked diligently to feed and clothe her family. Although, they did not work too hard at the latter as clothing was just the sort of thing Charlotte loved. However, a seamstress could never do well in such a small area where most made their own clothing. This was her life and it was not the one she yearned for. She dreamed of going to Paris for work, not remaining in the village to find a husband. In the end, it wasn't just her parents who compelled her to get a job that she was now late too, circumstance also drove her.
When she wasn't running late, her walk to Vallée de la fleur de neige took two hours. She would leave her home early in the morning, stop part way to eat a piece of fruit and then continue along the path. Today, she ate the fruit as she walked and tossed the remains into the brush next to the road. She would be fatigued when she arrived, and desperately hoped her employer would not be angry with her. After months of being employed at such a wondrous estate, Charlotte finally managed to win the affection of her employer. It was not a victory she was willing to surrender.
Normally, she enjoyed her walks, the road to the sprawling estate of her employers was superior to the aesthetics of her village. At home, she only saw villagers who swept dirt out their doors every morning and the occasional animal that wandered inside of houses when people weren't paying attention, and the same topics were always discussed. The only thing added to the gossip were what Charlotte could offer on her way home. But her village gave her perspective: outside of it, everything was beautiful.
The road she walked to her employers had been left neglected for almost thirty years. The trees grew wild and people forgot about it until the vacant estate was sold. Its new owner sent men to clear the road for his impending arrival, and since then, nothing was the same.
As for Charlotte, she enjoyed the birds flittering around, whistling their music; she enjoyed the deer that wandered freely as hunting was forbidden on her employer's property. On the road, the world smelled its best, wildflowers offered an array of aromas, and the unspoiled earth smelled rich. Here she felt like she could breathe. Perhaps this was because of her employers who were a bit magical and mythical themselves. They took to their property and new community as if they'd always been a part of it. As soon as they arrived, the villages and the neighboring town came to life. Charlotte was getting to be a part of it, or at least, she had been a part of it before she was late.
Her mistress was not always forgiving, nor did she think highly of Charlotte when she applied for her job. Charlotte didn't entirely blame her employer for the ill treatment considering the choices of those who'd applied and interviewed for the job before her. One girl, in particular, had a rather salacious reputation for leading married men astray. After her vain attempt at usurping Charlotte's employer's position in her own house, the other girl found herself permanently expelled from the estate. Charlotte was sensible enough to forgive her employer for her justified hostility, and she was sensible enough to realize her employer was well above her station. Word among her peers claimed that the lady of the house was a descendant of an English duke and a distant relative of a long dead prince. But these weren't the only rumors surrounding her employers. No, there was a far more intriguing tale surrounding the couple than their high ranking descent.
As she walked, Charlotte's legs began to revolt against her. They felt heavy and used their powers of resistance to drive her to lethargy. After several attempts to fight her body, Charlotte was forced to stop and sit upon the logs lining the road. On every trip to her employers, she carried a basket that held fruit for her trips, a handkerchief, her sewing needles and thread, and whatever her employers might give her. From her basket, she pulled out the handkerchief and pressed it to her face and to her brow, just under her bonnet. She then used the cloth to fan herself cool. If only those brats hadn't ruined her morning.
When she finally felt cool enough to resume her journey, she stood but did not proceed. From where she stood she heard the sound of horses beating their feet against the earth. The sound of a carriage echoed the tumult of the galloping horses. Charlotte remained where she was and waited for whoever it was to arrive. She did not wait long, the horses bore their load quickly. Four horses, led by a local driver, pulled a large carriage behind it. The dark polished coach gleamed in the patches of sunlight filtering in through the canopy. As it drew near, Charlotte heard a loud knock on the carriage resulting in the driver calling out to the horses and tugging on the reigns. They traveled well past her before coming to a halt.
Charlotte, being a sensible girl, did not approach the carriage. The door to the carriage opened and a man poked his head out.
"Mademoiselle Poirot, why are you on the road?" he asked.
She, of course, knew the man as her employer. "I am on the way to your house, Monsieur," she shouted her response. Her legs felt rejuvenated and urged her on. She traveled up the road but did not cross it to reach him. His carriage wasn't the only one on the road, she heard another in the distance.
The man laughed. "As am I, Mademoiselle. Please, join me. We have almost reached our destination.
Before she could respond, the second carriage raced past them. "Damn!" cried the man. Charlotte blushed at his outburst. "I wanted to beat it. Now, you must come. The surprise is ruined."
Charlotte gathered the skirt of her dress and crossed the road. Her employer extended his hand and helped her into the carriage and shut the door behind her. When she managed to squeeze herself into the small space of what was available on the opposing seat, her employer struck the roof of the carriage twice to tell the driver to resume the journey. Charlotte looked wildly around the carriage at all the fine things pressed into the small space.
"You're usually at the house at this time, aren't you, Mademoiselle? Why are you still out on the road? She didn't send you out, did she? Surely, not in this heat!"
"No, Monsieur!" Charlotte responded. "My brother and sister were ill this morning. My mother required my aid to clean them. Do not worry, Monsieur, they are well now."
The man relaxed and leaned back against his seat. This was the largest carriage Charlotte had ever seen. It had to be since her employer was the tallest man she'd ever seen. Despite the enormity of the carriage, her employer's legs were either stretched inconveniently across the carriage or awkwardly pressed against him, with his knees pulled almost to his chin. This particular ride was one where she would have to endure the awkwardness.
"Your trip was a success, I gather?" she asked. Small talk with her employer was always odd. His eyes unnerved her and his accent and voice were so— ethereal, almost fairy-like. Despite her mistress's warnings, Charlotte had, at one point, believed she was in love with the master of the house.
In response, the man grew delighted, eager to share his adventures. "Better than I expected. My men and I came upon an old pirate ship in the Adriatic Sea. It was at least two hundred years old and was believed to belong to an old Italian prince— the loot, I mean, not the ship. The Vatican claimed a small portion, but we were happy to pay. Venice kept most of it— several other Italian cities were quite vexed by this. My men and I split the rest. I think she'll be impressed by this load."
It was amazing how much her employer enjoyed his occupation. "I think she'll be happy that you are home."
"Right you are, Mademoiselle Poirot. I miss her. Do you think she'll like it?" he asked. His gloved hand pointed to the pearl colored mask he wore. The lips of the mask were painted a soft gold, the same color was used to add eyebrows to the mask. A bit of light rouse was painted on the cheeks to complete the look.
Charlotte blushed and smiled. "If it is not too bold, Monsieur, I think Madame prefers you without the mask."
At this, he smiled, even if Charlotte could not see it. "Quite right you are, Mademoiselle. Ah, there is the house! You know, Mademoiselle," he cried out with joy, "I sometimes hate the treeline. It hides my beautiful home, and at the same time, I love it. There is a marvelous reward I'm given each time I become annoyed with the road: the road will suddenly end and before me lies my property."
He quickly drew back the curtains of the carriage, toppling a few loose items as he did so. "Look at my house! What a beauty! The stables look better, and the cottage! Did you help Georgia with the garden?"
Charlotte nodded. She also enjoyed the garden outside of the estate's still empty cottage. It was, in fact, her favorite place.
"The hills are a marvel! I plan to put crops in the furthest one there. Not enough to challenge Farmer Beaumont, of course, just enough to feed our household. We'll sell our chops cheaper to the village as well."
"We are glad to have you back, Monsieur."
As they drew close, her employer's enthusiasm grew. He was so deeply in love with his wife that every girl in the town and both neighboring villages swooned at the mentioning of their story, He braved a tough winter in England to save his wife from a would-be murderer employed by her aunt. Monsieur Rossignol was the stuff of dreams and legends.
"Madame Rossignol will not be pleased that I am late," she informed him sadly.
Rossignol nodded in understanding. "Tell me, Mademoiselle Poirot, do you think she will mind?"
No. But she did not say it. She did not say how Georgia Rossignol would delight only in the return of her husband, she would neglect Charlotte and the rest of her household staff. She was as in love with her husband as he was with her.
"Well, Monsieur, Nettie will be."
The carriage stopped in the middle of the road as it curved before the steps that led up to his large house. On the steps stood Georgia, the finest example of a woman Charlotte had ever seen. A smile adorned her darken, sun-kissed face. Her russet curls were lighter from the sun and tumbled to the collar of her blue dress. Behind her stood her faithful friend, Nettie. Running up to the carriage door was an excited Eva.
"Gabriel!" she cried as she pulled open the carriage door. "Welcome back!"
Before he exited the carriage, Rossignol addressed Charlotte once more. "Nettie has been late as well. She'll pardon the offense. You will not lose your job." He left and took Eva's hands as she pulled him towards the others.
Charlotte exited the carriage and watched Eva smile excitedly as Georgia and Rossignol spoke. Eva tugged on Rossignol's gloves, pulling them free from his hands. They were a pale sort of color, only recently becoming darker, more healthy looking, and sprinkled with an odd discoloration of a natural hue. Charlotte did not see his skin often but when she did, she found it odd and shocking. His skin was the reason she realized she wasn't in love with him. It was a revelation that made her loath her vanity.
"How good of you to come to work today, Charlotte," Nettie greeted. Usually, she was a joy to be around, but she was strict. Nettie was in charge of the household staff, under Georgia's supervision. She looked after Eva and her elderly grandfather, the old Frenchman, Rene De Lacey. Nettie was unbelievably protective of Georgia, she had to be, she was her family.
"Well," she continued, "since we're not likely to get any work outside done today, you may come inside and help me with Rene."
Charlotte followed Nettie into the large house while Georgia and Rossignol remained outside. Eva, however, did not return to the house, nor did she remain with her foster parents. Instead, she rummaged through the items the servants were unloading from the two carriages. Rossignol promised her a set of quills all the way from Venice. She was eager to begin writing with them.
Left nearly alone outside, Georgia drew close to Rossignol. Her fingers found their way to his ravenous hair. "I have missed you terribly. Your letters have not been enough."
"Oh, they haven't?" he asked slyly. His watery blue eyes seemed to smile back at her. As odd as his eyes were, and they were odd to nearly everyone for their almost dead-like glassiness, but they were the most beautiful eyes Georgia had ever beheld. "Did my letters really not help?"
Georgia laughed. "If you are referring to that letter, I'll have you know, it made things worse! Shame on you!"
"Is there hope for forgiveness?" He quipped. One hand went to her waist, the other to her face. His skin was chalky, almost ashy compared to hers. She always looked so full of life and he always looked as if he were trying in vain to rejoin the land of the living.
Georgia smiled. "Perhaps, but you will have to earn my forgiveness tonight. But come inside, my love, you're tired, I am sure. Would you like—"
"Found them!" cried Eva as she rushed past them, clutching her new quills and the pages she would quickly scribble the first bit of nonsense that popped into her head.
Georgia let out a loud fit of laughter. It was sound not often heard in the house, and it could scarcely be heard when Rossignol was away. His return always meant good things were to come. Good news would certainly be good for Charlotte.
"There is no finer sound, mon perce-neige, than the sound of your laughter— except your piano music." He once thought her jovial, and she was, it just seemed to him now, that her carefree, lighthearted nature had retreated into the depths of her mind. And he could not help but realize that her weight had not changed since he had left. The fact that their continued attempts at creating life had not succeeded again was evidence enough for the absence of her joy.
"Well," she said, slipping a finger beneath his cravat, "you'll just have to use that clever mind of yours to come up with jokes better than Nettie's. Can you manage that?"
He nodded and pulled her into their home. Rossignol wrapped his arms around Georgia and held her close as they rejoined their family and Charlotte. Gabriel Rossignol was home, his happiness was ignited once more as he gazed upon the smiling faces of the people he loved; nothing could ruin his joy.