A/N: So so sorry that I did not update this for like months. I am a horrible person I know :p. However it is now summer and I promise to loyally update pretty much every week. Pink swear. Now on with the story.

summary/review: Philippe has wormed his way into working for Madeline's Papa, and he is telling Sam about it who is none to happy. On with the show!

Chapter Eight

"Good god Philippe? What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Sam, much to his friend's surprise, had listened to Philippe's tale in a horrified silence.

It was obvious, as the boy's face got more and more pale that he still feared what De Rocha was capable of.

Philippe honestly didn't see what the big deal was. Although the other man was larger in size, he was deeply inebriated by booze. If it came to it, Philippe felt as if he could take him in a fight.

With that in mind he leaned back casually in the high leather-back chair, and shrugged, "what I have to."

Sam shook his head in disbelief, "Don't you have any sense of self preservations.

Philippe leaned forward in his chair; resting his arms on his knees he looked at his friend keenly.

"What are you so afraid of?" Genuine curiosity coloured his voice. He didn't understand Sam's constant fear of the mere name De Rocha.

"The man chained his own daughter to the wall!"

He jumped from the chair, "Exactly! That's why it doesn't matter; I have to do something. I have to help her leave."

"How are you going to do that? Do you even have a plan, or are you running around blindly like you always do?" Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly. He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear his friend say it.

The other boy bristled defensively.

"I have a plan," Philippe claimed in a haughty voice that Sam knew to mean the exact opposite of his words.

"Oh yeah? Your Mr. Fix-it plan?" Sam laughed humorlessly before falling tiredly back into his own chair, "You've never even looked at a tool in you life, let alone use one."

"How hard can it be?" Philippe sat back down but sounded less sure of himself than he had before; Sam had finally found a chink in his armor.

However, he was too tired to push it.

"Does she even want to leave?" Sam asked softly, "You said yourself that when you mentioned leaving, she…"

Philippe looked away. He had been thinking that himself.

"That was just…" Philippe sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked back at his friend with a sad yet determined look in his eyes, "She's a good person; he's all she knows… she shouldn't be punished for that."

It was Sam's turn to look away. Despite his personal feelings he couldn't argue with that.

The girl had as much a right to a free life as he did… perhaps even more.

"Philippe," he said tiredly.

Philippe pushed himself out of the chair, "Look, Sam, I got to go… I should probably make an appearance at home before I go back." He started to go but stopped, "and before you say anything, I'm going back, so don't try to stop me."

"I wasn't going to."

Philippe started, surprised, "you weren't?"

"No; you have to do what's right," Sam responded, tired as ever, "Just try not to get killed in the process; finding a new best friend would be too much of a hassle."


Madeline smiled as she made her way to the back of the house accompanied by the semi-constant drone of a hammer against the building.

Philippe had shown up that morning just as he said he would and he had seemed to be working steadily ever since.

Madeline, however, had her suspicions and couldn't help but put them to the test.

She got to the back door and stopped. It was silent. Whatever Philippe had been doing he had stopped for the moment.

Her father had wanted her to be able to get to the small supply shed out in the back so he had put a thin pipe along the back of the house as well.

Madeline was glad for it. She didn't know what she would do if she had no way to get fresh air – if she had been truly trapped in the house in every sense of the word.

It was acts like this that made her wonder if her father did in fact still hold some feeling within. She had never actually truly needed to get to the shed for anything. So was it possible that her father had wanted to allow her some freedom?

She would never know.

Madeline stepped out of the door, taking in a deep breath as she went. Freedom, the chain rattled as she went, well… sort of.

Letting her problems go, Madeline titled her head looking for Philippe.

He had started but…

"Philippe –" Madeline started towards the ladder leaning against the house but her words were cut off by a loud curse followed by a large object falling by her head. The closeness of the near disaster startled her so much that she let out a little squeal and ended up falling onto her backside.

"Oh Lord, Madeline!" Philippe scrambled down the ladder in a complete panic, "I am so sorry! I thought I had – I didn't know that you were—are you okay?"

Philippe huddled and flustered around her, checking each limb for wounds, concern colouring his face.

A face which Madeline took one look at and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Philippe's concern deepened for a moment, before he could figure out that they were giggles not tears, and then he looked stunned only for a moment before laughing himself.

After a few moments he held out his hand to help her up, "I really am sorry. Are you truly sure you're okay? I didn't – You didn't?"

He was started to get flustered again and Madeline was starting to feel giggle once more.

"I've never been better," she assured him with a wide smile before either of them could get too far in their emotions playing through them. She accepted his hand with a sparkle in her eye, "I haven't laughed like that for ages."

She gave him a sad smile, but not wanting to ruin her newly formed good mood she turned quickly away from him, before he could say anything, and appraised the house.

One look at it and she felt new laughter bubbling up in her.

"Is that that all you've done?"

Philippe blushed and rubbed the back of his neck looking bashfully at his shoddy work, "yes, well…. I may have exaggerated my skills in the area of carpentry just a wee bit."

"A bit?" Madeline's voice gurgled with suppressed laughter.

"It's harder than it looks you know!" Philippe said indignantly his face colouring further at her teasing.

Unable to hold it back longer, she erupted into another laughing fit.

In the hours that Philippe had been out there, he had only manage to get to two shutters and both seemed to be the worst – not the better – for having been in contact with him.

Finally a rueful smile grew across his face.

"They are a bit—"

"Pitiful," Madeline smiled, "Completely and utterly pitiful."

Philippe pretended to look offended but his eyes sparkled giving his true humor away, "Miss De Rocha I did not believe you could be so cruel."

"I am terribly sorry," she apologized, a smile still playing across her face, "How would you like it if I made it up to you?"

Philippe raised an eyebrow at her, "And just how are you planning on doing that?"

Madeline blushed at the thoughts that his tone made her brain jump to. Surely he wasn't trying to suggest anything like that! They hardly knew each other.

She shook the thought away, and returned his smile.

"How do you feel about lunch?"


Philippe devoured the sandwich in a few quick bites and glanced around the room for more. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since the day before.

"That was delicious."

"How would you know?" Madeline put her hand on her hips after handing him another, "I don't believe you even tasted that."

He smiled at her sheepishly, "I was hungry."

She laughed.

Philippe was finding he loved her laugh. It was soft and delicate like wind through chimes. It was musical and endearing. It wasn't just the sound, though, that attracted Philippe. In fact, the sound was one of the last things he noticed. What he really loved was the cute way her nose wrinkled and her face lit up in a way he had never seen before.

Madeline, he decided, had a face that had been made to laugh, and yet she never did it far enough.

He imagined, however, she managed to find reason to do it far more than he would have had he been in her place.

Philippe wanted her to laugh again – he wanted her to laugh all the time.

She deserved that kind of care-free life; not the miserable one she got.

With that thought in mind he looked around the room. It was a large spacious room that like the rest of the house looked to have been at one time grand, but its better days had long since gone past. It had lots of cabinets and counters, as well as a large wood-burning stove. It was obviously a room meant to be filled with many bustling servants.

Not one lone, chained little girl.

Madeline looked even smaller and out of place in such a large room. It made Philippe sad.

"Don't you ever just…" Philippe started his question but stopped himself. He didn't want to push her into things she claimed she didn't want. Yet her small honest face, suddenly pulled into open curiosity at his hanging question as too much for even his good intentions, "want to leave this place? Be some where new- different – special?"

"Of course I do," she answered without hesitation. "There is so much I don't know but…" she trailed off and was silent for a long moment. She suddenly gave him a hard appraising look, "Why are you doing this Philippe? Why do you care so much about this? You know you can't do it right? You are going to waste your life away on little old me?"

Philippe was stopped into silence for a moment. He had thought they had gone over this before.

"I don't care about this – I care about you," Philippe said emphatically, "whatever you say, you are not happy here. I don't like seeing my… friend unhappy."

She stared at him a long moment. Opening and closing her mouth as some emotion Philippe couldn't recognize flashed across her face.

"But… but what about you – your life? This isn't possible – you'll spend your whole life here trying to… help me." She seemed as determined to stop him as he was to save her.

"Then here is where I spend it."

"But-but… you'll waste it! You'll –"

Philippe couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to – and he was pretty sure he didn't.

With a strange feeling bubbling up in his stomach, he reached over and laid his hand on top of hers.

"No life I spent with you could ever be called wasted."


Philippe burst into his house in a determined frenzy.

"Nancy! Nancy –" he raced though the halls trying to find his nurse, "I need you!"

"Good lord, Poppet! What has gotten you into such a tizzy?" she paused a moment before giving him a knowing smile, "It's that girl again isn't it Poppet?"

Philippe flushed but refused to let her deter him. He had a mission that he wasn't going to let go of.

"I need your help."

"Well, of course Poppet – I'll give you anything you need."

Philippe smiled slightly, "Well, actually, it's not so much your help that I need but your husbands."

"James! What on earth are you up to Poppet?" Nancy through her shock managed to give him a reprimanding look that seemed to say 'I know you're getting into trouble'.

"Yes, him," Philippe bore on ignore both her question and the look, "Is he still a carpenter?"


A/N: well that was the chapter. I hope you enjoy. I promise to have another one up in about a week, and as always please reveiw! I love hear what you think. Constructive Critisim welcome and wanted!