Almost six months since I've updated...wow.
Sorry for another short chapter that may or may not make sense and is complete drivel. I think I started this in November, and picked up where I left off just yesterday. I had to reread the entire thing to figure out where I left off.
But now I have a week with nothing going on. Hopefully I can finish this story and make it somewhat better than it has been. Ha.
After a day and a half more of travel, we arrived home. It looked strange to me now, I hadn't been there in so long. It was almost as if it wasn't home anymore. I had no time to ponder this, however, for as soon as I stepped down from the carriage with Erik under my cloak—fully awake—it was getting more and more difficult to keep him still, the housemaid, Coralie, came flying down the path.
"Mademoiselles, your father is waiting for you in his chamber. He will be gladdened by your arrival, Orianne. He has been asking about you."
"Has he?" I could have killed Sylvie, then and there. I was now certain she'd been keeping information from me for a reason.
"Adeline has missed you as well," she added.
"Coralie!" Sylvie barked. "We do not speak of her! Come, Orianne. As long as you're here, Father will not need me. Go tend to him, I must pack my things and return home to Guillaume."
Guillaume was Sylvie's adoring husband. He wasn't too strong on brains, but he made up for it in wealth and his propensity to give her gifts nearly every day. It was no small wonder why she was so eager to get back—she seemed to care more for pretty trinkets than people nowadays.
As soon as I was in the house and far from Sylvie's ears, I asked Coralie if the old cradle was still in the attic.
"Whatever for?" she asked incredulously. I lifted my cloak to reveal Erik, who had given to nestling quietly against my shoulder. "Mademoiselle," she breathed. "Is he yours? Why does he wear a mask?"
"He is an orphan. He was given to my care after his mother abandoned him. The mask I will explain later." Later. When Erik would not hear. "Why are we no longer meant to speak of Adeline?"
"Your sister wishes us not to mention her. She and your father fell ill last New Year with a terrible fever. We thought we'd lose them both. Adeline recovered, but she hasn't been—begging your pardon, mademoiselle—she's not been right in the head since. Your father seems to have his wits about him, but he's so weak he's bound to his bed most days. Has Sylvie told you nothing?"
"She wrote me once. Apparently everyone was fine."
"They weren't."
"I know. Has she been running the household while I've been away?"
"More or less. She makes all the decisions now." She paused. "Please don't tell her I spoke to you."
"I won't. You have my word."
She curtseyed awkwardly—she'd never done it before in my memory. "Thank you, mademoiselle. I'll see if I can find the cradle."
I finished unpacking my things while Erik busied himself with walking around the room, pulling books off of shelves and crawling onto the window seat. When I saw that he was well contented, I left to find Adeline.
...
She had become nothing short of a madwoman. She sat at a table, quietly sorting a collection of glass beads into groups of colors. Her hair was disheveled, and it appeared she hadn't washed in quite some time. When I announced my presence, she turned to look at me.
But she did not look at me. Her gaze was distant, as though she could not see me at all. And then she lunged. She came at me with splayed fingers, the nails overgrown and dirty, meaning to scratch at my face. In her hurry she knocked over the washstand, sending the pitcher and bowl of stagnant water crashing to the floor. I could not back away fast enough. She dug her nails into the skin just above my collarbone and began grasping at my neck. I had never known such terror as I did in that moment. Around the room we whirled, knocking over furniture, stepping on shards of broken china.
At long last I managed to pry her bloodied fingers from my throat and escape. On instinct, I slammed the door closed and felt my fingers reaching for the cold iron key in the lock. Hearing the dull click of the bolt sliding into place, I began to realize why Sylvie had been so eager to leave. With an invalid father and crazed sister, she had become mistress of the house.
And now that task fell to me.
...
After I'd cleaned myself up, I went in search of my father in the hopes that he was not insane. I was relieved to find that he was not. However, as Coralie had said, he was confined to his bed.
"Papa?" I asked, knocking on his open door. He did not respond. I drew nearer and called again.
"Sylvie?" he asked.
"No, papa. It's me. Orianne."
He reached a hand out towards where I stood at the foot of his bed. "I thought you had gone to England."
I tiptoed to the side of the bed so he could better see me. "I never made it there."
"What have you been doing all this time?" he asked. His voice had become thin, and he wheezed when he spoke.
"I…" I hesitated to tell him, if he did not remember. I had been doing the very thing he had fought against me doing. I knew there was no chance I would ever achieve his hopes for me. My throat clenched, and I found it suddenly difficult to continue.
"Never mind, my child. You're home now. The past can all be forgotten."
No, it cannot. I've brought a piece of it back with me. He did not know of Erik. It was probably best not to tell him.
"Come closer," he said, propping himself up on his pillows. He took his spectacles from the bedside table. Balancing them on the end of his nose, he noted. "I see you've met Adeline."
"Yes." I didn't know what else to say.
He sighed. "She's getting worse. I fear we'll soon have to send her away."
His words set a fear alight in me. If anyone came for Adeline and discovered Erik…they'd both be taken.
Like I said, this probably made no sense.
Reviews appreciated anyway.