26

Katrina woke to hear a sound she had nearly forgotten; birds.

Bounding to the heavily curtained window, she pushed aside the many layers of fabric, and studied the grounds in view of new sun and dew-drops. From the larger bed across the room, Madame mumbled something about the cold air.

Katrina dropped the curtains, and dressed in the muddy light. She carried her shoes down the stairs, and paused long enough to let a maid know where she was going before slipping outside. The maid suggested that she bring back an armload of the flowers to be found around the lawns, and handed the girl a large kerchief to carry them in, and folding knife to cut the stems.

Sitting on the steps, she forced the shoes onto her growing feet, and ran to look at the stone angels. Tomino loped up beside her and followed, having stayed outside for the night. They looked to have tears on their terrible faces, as the dew rolled off. Katrina wondered who had carved them, and thought it was a great master indeed.

She walked along the drive for a while, cutting roses, and them meandered to the lawns and found irises, lilies, more roses, bleeding heart, snap dragons, marigolds, and forget me not. She made up a large bundle of them, and set the bundle down to have a run up the lawn and back again. When she returned, she saw Stephan Lefevre standing beside the flowers, watching. He had a strange expression on his face as she drew closer, the dog still at her heals.

"Good morning, Monsieur Stephan," Katrina offered as she came up to him.

He nodded, and shifted his weight. "Have you ever timed yourself in running?"

"No, why would I?"

He pulled out a pocket watch, a large ornate thing, almost too big to be practical. It was covered with a floral design, at the centre of which was an angel, identical to those by the walkway. "Run up and back and I'll see how long it takes you."

"Why?" She asked, not suspicious, but clever enough to want a reason from him.

"So I can see how fast you are. Look," he took a small, well worn book from his coat and showed her three columns. One was headed by an angel, one by a rose, and one by a bird. "My siblings and I used to time ourselves and see how fast we could run. I'll add you to the book. What would you like me to put for your symbol?"

"A weeping willow." She said. He drew it in and set her on a mark, dropping his pocket handkerchief for a starter.

She took off, touched the great oak at the far end, and returned, enjoying the chance to really run. Paris was hardly the place for such a treat. Slipping into a stop before Stephan, she looked up, eager for her result. "Less than three minutes." He sounded approving, grudgingly so, but approving notwithstanding. "With practice, you could be quite the little sprinter. Have you trained at all? In school perhaps?"

"I don't think so," Katrina mused, "Does climbing and walking stairs count?"

"I should think to some extent."

"I live at the opera, and I do that." She offered. Before she could add more information, she caught the strange look from his again, and fell silent. He picked up the flowers, and dropped the watch, book and pencil into a worn coat pocket.

"I'm sure breakfast is ready." He led her in, and handed the giant bouquet to the butler. Katrina horrified them both by pulling out the folding knife and setting it atop the flowers. Stephan wondered if she made a habit of running with dangerous objects, and vowed to check the next time. They left a forlorn Tomino at the steps, wondering if this were to be continued forever.

Breakfast was a formal affair in the Lefevre home. It was served on china, and treated as the business portion of the day. Katrina found the near serenity it curious, as breakfast with Erik was always rather hurried, or intense in some way.

Stephan seemed preoccupied, and left the conversation almost wholly to everyone else until his father turned to face him.

"What brings you here, Stephan? It has been some time."

The young man pushed his hair from his eyes, and frowned, attempting defiance, but it had been softened by whatever thoughts had been tumbling in his brain. "I need money."

"I am not surprised." Jean snorted, but his wife's look of reproach stopped him from saying more. Stephan continued.

"I also want to come home. I…would like to…find steady work."

There was a pause, and Madame excused herself, and took Katrina with her. What was said, they never knew, but it seemed to have both cleared the air, and made things uncomfortable in a new way at the same time.

When Jean took Katrina to the music room that afternoon, Stephan followed like a scolded dog. He ruffled through music and items to avoid looking at anyone as Katrina bounded to the piano and began playing.

While she warmed up, Jean opened the double doors, and sat in a chair just outside to enjoy the day. Tomino wandered over to him, and stretched out at his feet, content now that people were there. Then, she began to play in earnest.

After she had finished a few pieces, Stephan came to her side with the strange look on his face again. He held a few paged of notes scrawled in almost unreadable madness over the paper. "Can you play this, Mademoiselle Katrina?"

She took the music and eyed it for a moment, putting them in a different order two or three times, and then slowly started to play the first line. She stopped, puzzled, and played it again. And again.

"Monsieur Stephan, I do not understand." She looked up at him searchingly.

"Can you play it?" He asked harshly.

"Yes. I already know it. But it is different now."

He stood and walked away, as if she had struck him. Utterly confused and almost afraid, she pushed the pages aside and played the melody from memory. It was fuller, richer and more tasteful than it had been from the paper. However, it was the sound of a world weary soul, filled with underlying rage and pent up thoughts. The energy from Katrina was that of a child, replaying a familiar sound, imitating a common object or person. It gave an open and simplistic sound to the music that a more experienced player might have avoided.

Jean frowned, as though confused by the notes reaching his ears. Tomino slept on, unaware of anything. Stephan stood with his back to them, ridged.

When she finished, she looked at the young man, and was horrified to glimpse tears. Walking softly to him, she took his hand and waited for him to speak as she had often done with her uncle.

"If it had not been for me, he would still be alive." Stephan said softly, "If not for me, she would be safe and well."

Katrina didn't know what to say, so she grasped his arm with her other hand and drew him to a chair. Her back was to Jean, and she didn't see him steal quietly up behind them to listen.

"I was so cruel to my brother; I know it drove him away. I know that what I said hurt him beyond bearing. I was so sick of being the youngest, being inadequate. My sister, she had found a man to love and I revealed it before the world in the most boorish, uncompromising way. It forced her to pick between us and the man. She choose to marry and leave, risking the hope that we could be reconciled over time. And now she in dead, and there can be no reunion for her or him."

His eyes rose to the box and portrait hanging side by side. "I was always the stronger force in the world, and I let it poison me. His gifts and her goodness mocked me, and I could not accept myself. My gift could have been business, trade, relations, or local government perhaps. But I wanted all, and lost all."

Stephan looked round enough to see Jean, and looked him dead in the face as he said. "Dear heaven, I am sorry. Perhaps I cannot change entirely, but I would like to try. Oh, I am sorry."

Katrina became suddenly aware of Jean, and stood to let him come closer. She watched as he clasped hands with his son, a few tears dropping from his own eyes. "I'm afraid I am a poor person to ask about changing, my boy. I never have, you know."

They glanced at Katrina, as she said, "My uncle might write you. He's changed a great deal."

Monsieur Lefevre gave her a bemused look, and said dryly, "There is a bit of news, Stephan. Mademoiselle Helen Lefevre is married to this young lady's uncle. Wonders never cease."

Stephan said that he would certainly consider writing, and the afternoon ended easily enough.

When Katrina returned home, dog underfoot, and a few cakes in hand for her Aunt and Uncle, she felt that it had been a significant change in her life. Why, she couldn't guess at.