Chapter 9: Anne, 1883
He is in my cellar! The man I have come to loathe and fear is in my cellar!
Just when I thought there could be nothing more frightening than his anger, he started fitting right in front of me. The sounds he makes are almost inhuman and the blood, my God, the blood. For a split second it occurs to me that I could just leave him there, hide out in the house to escape the gruelling scene and claim to find him the next morning but the thought passes as quickly as it came. My father might have his flaws, but he did not raise me to be a cold blooded murderer.
While the man coughs and splutters he strings together incoherent sentences, mentioning people and places that mean nothing to me. I try to make him comfortable, to stop him from choking on his own blood but the pain that has him doubled over seems to be stemming from a different source. I try to reassure him by making him promises for things entirely out of my control and I realise then that I don't even know his name. Considering the circumstances in which we've met, that is not surprising, of course, however it makes me wonder how I can hope to give him comfort when I can't even address him like any other human being.
The helplessness threatens to consume me and by the time his spasms stop, my body has surrendered to violent trembles.
"Sir?" I ask hesitantly and inch towards him.
When he fails to answer my stomach starts to turn.
I don't want to startle him or trigger another unexpected rage and so I very carefully slide his cloak out of the way and inch up his sleeve. The mask which has stayed firmly in its place throughout this ordeal, I do not dare touch.
He has a pulse, it's very weak but at least it's there.
I inhale deeply and try to let some calm wash over me. But when peace of mind continues to elude me, I rise to my feet and quietly make my way out of the cellar. I'm not sure what I am setting out to do but there has to be something to keep me busy.
My search leads me into the kitchen where I absent-mindedly fill two glasses with water. I have never had to play hostess and I am not certain as to the social conventions now that I am entertaining a dying man. But I've seen my mother offering drinks and refreshments at parties and while this isn't exactly a lively get-together, I figure that after his violent attacks he must be parched. I decide that this is a good idea until I remember reading a medicinal pamphlet once that warned about invisible injuries. Could drinking water aggravate his condition further? If only there was somebody around I could ask for advice.
That's when it hits me. I am alone, completely alone with a man that's nearly killed me, a man that has no doubt killed many others before. My family is miles away, trying to find a suitable match for both my sisters and despite Aurelio's insistence I have sent him home earlier today. I was trying to protect him but I was also hoping to read some of the books Teodora recently brought over. Now I have involuntarily manoeuvred myself into a vulnerable position.
In an effort to pull myself together, I collect one glass from the counter and a blanket from my sister's bedroom and return with both to the cellar. The man hasn't even shifted on the mattress and it is a relief to see him fast asleep in front of me. At least for now I can make believe that he is no threat. I wrap the blanket around him, careful not to wake him, and place the glass on the floor by his side. Then I feel for his pulse once more and when I'm satisfied that I am not yet sharing my house with a corpse, I make my way back upstairs.
I am drenched in cold sweat and splatters of his blood and feel as if my body might purge itself of my food any second now. But somehow I make it up to the bathroom and wash myself and then descend one floor to settle down on the sofa in our living room. I want to be close enough to hear him if he tries to leave the cellar and I know I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight in anyway.
My dreams are interspersed with agonising screams and pleas for mercy. I am trapped on one side of a wild and roaring river and when I try to make my way across and towards the person that's suffering, I lose my footing and get dragged beneath the surface of the foaming water. I struggle and fight my way up again but suddenly find myself surrounded by an impenetrable sheath of ice. I kick against it, scrape my knuckles against it until they bleed but suffocate slowly and painfully nonetheless.
My body twists around on the sofa until I am lucid enough to notice that the silence in the house has been broken. What I had thought to be the sounds of me fighting against my icy cage, were actually the sounds of somebody moving around in the house.
I startle upright, my heart beating painfully fast, and quietly stalk to the end of the room. I have no weapon on me, nothing to restrain him with and fear that despite his ill health he could easily overpower me. Still I press on; there is no alternative.
I have barely made it across the corridor when a familiar humming stops me in my tracks. Aurelio, of course! How could I have forgotten about him?
Relief makes me sag against the nearby wall and I focus on my breathing and his humming until the surge of adrenalin passes. Then, the next question presents itself to me. Do I tell Aurelio what transpired last night? Or do I try to keep him away from the cellar? It's not as if he frequents it as part of his daily routine but what if he just happens to retrieve something from storage? And what about the stranger? What if he wakes up and refuses to remain hidden down there?
Before my mind can get carried away with any more terrible scenarios, Aurelio emerges from the kitchen and spots me.
"Are you feeling alright, Signorina?" he asks, worriedly and quickly strides towards me.
"Yes…yes, of course." I try but it doesn't sound very convincing, not even to my own ears.
I am concerned that there might be traces of blood left on me still or anything else that might give away the secret I'm keeping.
"You look pale," he comments, eyeing me closely, "perhaps the sofa wasn't a suitable spot to spend the night?"
I force out a rueful chuckle and nod. "That's certainly true. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as my bed. I probably stayed up a little too long as well."
"Ah, so that's why you were so eager to have me leave yesterday, Signorina." He chuckles and I am glad to see him relax somewhat.
"Yes," I nod, "you know how happy I am to have some privacy now that the family is gone."
"I understand," he smiles and squeezes my hand, "just don't exhaust yourself in the process. There's plenty of time still left until their return and I promise I will do my best to stay out of your way."
"Are there many things you must take care of today?" I venture conversationally and follow him back into the kitchen.
"Well, I am handling your breakfast now and then I thought I might see to the garden before the midday sun starts burning."
"And in the afternoon?" I pry, fiddling with a piece of bread he's already put aside.
"I'll see to the rest of the house."
I nod silently, feeling my appetite dwindling once more. "I am certain the house is in a good enough state."
"Maybe," he answers with a shrug, "but I have to make sure so that your father won't dismiss me upon his return."
"My father should be grateful you're still here, at all." I mutter under my breath and ignore his puzzled look. "Might I have some more bread, perhaps?"
"Of course," he smiles, "I'm glad to see you have a healthy appetite."
I try another smile but it only twitches nervously in the corners of my mouth. So I remain silent and avoid eye contact until he has finished cooking me breakfast. I accept the plate and pick at it until I am satisfied that he has left for the garden, then I rise to my feet and make my way down to the cellar.
The door creaks open and it takes no more than one step for the darkness to swallow me up. The cool and damp air makes me shiver and while my eyes try to adjust to the lack of light, I use the man's mask as a beacon to guide me to his whereabouts. How odd that I managed all of this yesterday in the same conditions without even noticing.
Upon hearing my footsteps he suddenly stirs and I stop halfway across the room with the tray in my hand. The crockery chimes noisily against each other to the beat my trembling hands dictate. The only thing that eventually calms me is the observation that he barely has the energy to pull himself upright. So I step closer and set the tray down by his side next to the water that's still untouched.
"You saved me."
It isn't a question and yet he makes it sound as if it should be.
"It's not a habit of mine to let people die on my doorstep." I reply coolly, crossing my arms.
He seems to mull this over while trying to unclasp his cloak. His hands are so unsteady that several minutes silently slip by until he succeeds.
"How strange…" he mutters, more to himself and then proceeds to look around the cellar as if in search for something.
For the longest time I just seem to cease to exist.
"You can stay here until you're better," I finally inform him when I've had enough, "my family isn't here right now but our butler is. I haven't told him of your presence in this house and I'd like it to stay that way."
"Quite a confession," he replies and chuckles hoarsely until another coughing fit overwhelms him.
"I am not playing around anymore, Sir." I tell him firmly and turn my back to him while he tries not to suffocate. "You owe your life to me. You are indebted to me now."
"And you're certain that I shall be grateful?" he calls after me. "I did not ask for this favour!"
I turn to look at him, see the blood that's discolouring his lips and believe him. And yet there's something in those amber eyes that tells me he has a sense of morality, after all. He might threaten me still in the future but I doubt he'd ever harm me again.