Author's Note: Woo! What a month. I apologize if this chapter is really disjointed, I moved into a new place right towards the end of it. Enjoy!
She was being irrational. The worst part of it was she knew it and still couldn't shake the intense anxiety that had fallen over her.
The estate's cemetery rested in a clearing in the woods, protected only by the trees around it. It had once been one of Cecile's favorite places to come when she needed to clear her head. Although she hadn't been to visit since Erik had purchased the estate, the graves had the same effect they always had.
The Beaulieu family had a long lineage, but that wasn't what impressed Cecile the most about the plot. More than half of the people buried there had worked for the estate when they passed away. It was a rare thing to find a family so appreciative of the help that they would be buried on private land like a member of the family themselves.
A shining, polished slab of granite stood like a beacon of hope among the dull and aging stones. Cecile smiled sadly and approached the grave of her old mistress.
Stroking the cool, curved top of the stone, she spoke. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit until now Madame Beaulieu. I've meant to come and thank you. You're the reason I'm still alive today, did you know that? You gave me a roof over my head and food in my belly during some of my darkest years without asking a single question. Were it not for you, I might… I probably would have taken my own life rather than continue on without purpose," she admitted to the stone, wiping at her eyes.
"And Madame, it's because of you I met the man who has given me purpose beyond just a job. I feel truly alive for the first time in years because of him. If the circumstances were any different, if you had any children to leave the estate to or if you had never hired me, I never would have met my husband."
Although Cecile knew it was ridiculous speaking to a stone, she found herself unable to stop. "I can't help it, Madame! I'm trying so hard to be the woman I was before I met Durand, but I just can't. I know Erik loves me as much as I love him, but he's gone for days, then off and visiting a woman he openly admitted to loving without so much as telling me! I am a monster for even being upset, but I can't help but wonder. I suppose it's natural; Erik asked me once if I was writing to Durand as though I wanted the bastard back in my life. It's a matter of trust more than anything… do I trust Erik not to revert to his old self? Not to fall back in love with a beautiful young songstress? Do I trust that he is no longer the man who went half crazed when I caught sight of his face?"
"…Yes. Yes of course I do. Just look at what he did last night for poor Bichette! He openly admitted to not being fond of the girl, yet he still went out of his way to comfort her. A madman would do no such thing. He taught me to defend myself, how to use a knife; what madman would give a woman tools to defend herself. And his eyes, his eyes are where it's most apparent. They've always been beautiful, but now they're so clear! So alert and kind!"
A movement in the woods behind her caused her to turn. There among the trees stood a tall figure, completely cloaked in black. Cecile smiled shyly. "Erik. How much did you hear?"
The figure said nothing and remained frozen. Quietly Cecile approached him. "I'm glad you came. I'm so-"
Cecile froze mid-sentence the moment she wrapped her arms around the man. She tried to jump back as soon as her body pressed against the unfamiliar shape, but the man's arms wrapped tightly around her to restrain her.
This was not her husband.
The woman screamed at the top of her lungs and kicked wildly just as she had been taught to do.
"Let go of me!" She shrieked, doing everything in her power to force the man to drop her to no avail. "Erik!"
When she called out her husband's name the man struck her hard across the face, blurring her vision momentarily and causing her ears to ring. Although she could not see the man's face and it had been far too long to recognize the feel of his body, the feel of his hand was not one she could ever forget.
"Durand let me go!" Cecile barked again, her jaw stiff from the strike. Durand redoubled his efforts and soon had Cecile pinned to the ground. Options began to race through her mind… she had worn her riding boots out to the graveyard, and strapped just inside one of them was the knife Erik had given her. If he moved his weight off her long enough, she might just be able to reach it.
Music filled the house with such tremendous noise Bichette found herself escaping to the garden. Monsieur Renard was terribly upset at the fight he'd had with his wife, and reasonably so. She knew very little about the ways of adults and love, but she did know they behaved far differently towards one another than other adult men and women she had met. Simply from watching the way they would look at one another Bichette knew both were hurting over their disagreement, whatever it was about.
The girl sat in front of the little grave marker in front of the house and began to pick flowers from nearby to place at its base. Madame had told her once it was the grave of her daughter, whom she had miscarried. At the time, Bichette wondered at how lucky the girl would have been to live in such a household, with Madame as her mother and the brooding, mysterious Monsieur Renard as her father.
As wonderful as Madame was to her, Bichette could not help but pine for the affection of Monsieur Renard. How she admired the way he could make music, the beauty of his voice. She wondered if he could sing lullabies as beautifully as even the Angel of Music could. He was so smart, so wonderfully affectionate towards Madame.
Most astoundingly of all to the mind of the child was that this man had not even once tried to use her for his own pleasure or gain. Even if he never cared for Bichette the way Madame did, that fact alone was enough to win him her loyalty for life.
Bichette hummed quietly to herself, picking flowers for the little girl she had come to think of as a sister of sorts. If Madame loved the stillborn, she must have been a thing worth loving. A strange, faint sound caught the girl's attention. Was it really possible to hear the piano from all the way out here? From where she sat, it didn't sound musical at all.
She listened more carefully, following the noise to the back of the house. It wasn't coming from the house at all, she realized! From the woods several hundred yards away from the house the noise continued, until suddenly the child could distinguish words among the clamor.
"Let me go! Erik!"
Wide-eyed, Bichette immediately ran into the house through the kitchen door in the back, her ears immediately filled with the dreadful, frustrated music of the piano upstairs. As fast as her legs would carry her the child bolted up the stairs before barging into the music room without so much as knocking.
Without thinking, she pulled at Monsieur Renard's sleeve. "Monsieur! Monsieur!"
"Go away you little beast," Erik scolded, shrugging the girl off.
"Monsieur, Madame is shouting for you from the woods!"
This caught the masked man's attention. "What did you say?"
"I heard something strange in the woods, then I heard Madame's voice call your name."
"Show me," Erik demanded, following the girl back down the stairs and out the back door at a hurried pace.
All was quiet for a long moment, and then suddenly Erik heard the sounds Bichette had spoken of. His blood ran cold at the sound of Cecile's desperate shouts, and he immediately ran to the stable to fetch his horse. Without bothering to saddle or bridle the animal, Erik mounted in a fluid movement and kicked the horse into a full gallop with a loud cry.
No matter what she did, no matter how hard she kicked and struggled, no matter how loud she shouted, it was not enough. Durand was heavier and stronger than Cecile could ever manage to fight off.
Years ago, she might have just laid in the dirt and let him have his way with her. As still and mindless as the dead around her, she might have simply let him strike and rape her to his heart's content. By imitating the dead, she would survive to live another day.
Today, surviving was not enough. Cecile Renard wanted to live, and something inside her drove her to fight with everything she had. Erik's voice in her head drove her to lash out against her attacker, to show herself and Durand that she was not his plaything anymore.
It wasn't until Durand had managed to wrap his hands around her neck that Cecile considered fighting for her right to live might very well mean dying. Struggling became less and less voluntary and more her body's frantic attempt at finding air. She pulled at his hands, gasped and choked in every last breath she could find. A strange sense of calm washed over her as she slowly lost her struggle for air.
At least if she was going to die, she would die on her own terms. She would die Erik's wife, deeply loved so unlike the death that would have slowly eaten her with Durand.
Suddenly the weight was off her and air rushed into her lungs. Cecile immediately scrambled as far back away from the scene as she could, pressing her back against a gravestone as she gasped in sweet, sweet breath until her ears began to ring.
The world around her became clear again. Before her, Erik was struggling with Durand. Erik was tall but so incredibly lean Durand had managed to pin him onto his back by virtue of his weight. Without a moment of hesitation, Cecile reached into her boot and withdrew the knife Erik had given her. Darting forward, she plunged the blade into Durand's back. Her world was a blur as she withdrew the knife and plunged it in again and again. It wasn't until she felt Erik pull her into his arms that she dropped the knife and glanced down at blood soaked hands, allowing herself to cry.
"Is she dead?" Bichette asked in a broken voice as Erik returned, carrying Cecile in his arms.
"She's alive. Run a bath and put on a large pot of tea," Erik commanded, his voice even but still urgent enough to cause the girl to hurry.
Setting his wife on the edge of the bed, Erik helped her to undress as her lightless eyes gazed forward. He had seen this look before, but never had it been so heartbreaking. He had witnessed many, many men take a life for the first time. Any man with a moral compass was undoubtedly surprised and upset by the event. They often withdrew into themselves to consider their actions and the consequences, much as Cecile had.
But Cecile was nothing like the young men Erik had known first going to war or earning their place in a militant religious society, and Durand was not an anonymous enemy. Although she had lived in fear of the man for decades, Cecile had loved him once. The manner in which she had taken his life had surely startled her as well; Cecile was not a violent woman, but she had stabbed Durand Lallier well past the point of death.
Bichette's mousy voice drew his attention, and Erik dismissed her to lead Cecile to the bath. Cecile immediately pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin upon them, staring into nothing but allowing Erik to wash her hands free of blood and her body free of dirt.
Only when she was clean did Erik brush her cheek and attempt to coax her to speak. "What happened out there, Cece?"
"I killed him," she mumbled, holding herself closer.
"You did what you had to do," Erik promised. "I'm proud of you."
"Proud of me?" Cecile snapped, turning to face him. "You're proud of me for taking a life? You're sick," she spat, standing to walk past him and wrap herself in a towel.
"I'm proud of you for fighting," Erik stressed, moving to sit on the edge of the bath. "Durand got what he deserved, Cecile."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Cecile accused. "What did they use to call you, Erik? You had a whole list of pseudonyms – The Prince of Stranglers. The Angel of Death!"
"You don't want to do this," Erik said evenly, attempting to keep his temper.
"What exactly don't I want to do, Erik? Be upset with you? God forbid anybody would ever want to do that," she exclaimed.
Erik stood and grabbed her shoulders to face him as she tried to leave. "Listen to me and listen well. I have more patience with you than with most, but you're wearing me thin. You and I both know what this is really about so stop with this nonsense, do you hear me?"
Cecile's weak attempts at deflecting her fear and anger shattered the moment Erik called her bluff, and she moved into his arms to hold him tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess…"
"You have the right to be, after what happened," Erik promised. "But you're lucky you're a terrible actress or things might have gotten much worse," he added with a gentle nudge to let her know he was only half serious. "You should try and rest. It will clear your head."
Cecile shook her head, staying in his arms. She was silent for a long moment, considering the gravity of her words before finally deciding to speak. "I feel so guilty, Erik."
When he tried to hush her, she stepped back and shook her head. "Not because I killed him," she promised, looking up at him. "Because I'm happy he's dead."