Chapter Fifty One

Likely because of my filthy state, I was turned over to the ministrations of Nell's 'valet', Henri. A fellow Brit, she was a vigorously built young woman with a pretty face, gentle hands, and an assessing attitude that quickly made me very self-conscious.

Allowing her to coax the pitiful coat off of my shoulders, I then reached up to remove the woolen cap…and found the thrice-cursed thing glued to my hair…painfully so at the site of the scalp wound. Despite Henri's silent offer of assistance, I stubbornly worked at the cap, my fingers proving to be less than nimble. Finally I burst into tears, feeling clumsy and frustrated, clasping my arms about my chest to keep from foolishly jerking the cap off my head.

Henri's soft hand squeezed one of mine. "Now miss, please allow me t' help." Her voice held the slightest Scots burr, an unexpected comfort. Grateful, I acquiesced, sniffing dolefully into my sleeve. I was firmly directed to a lovely padded bench that Henri quickly covered with a linen towel before my grimy backside could besmirch the elegant upholstery.

Henri began the delicate task of removing the wool cap, her fingers doing quickly what mine could not. Once the cap was free, she hissed audibly as she pulled stiff and stinking hair from the matted knot atop my head. "Ooooh, Miss, we'll need t' call the doctor t' see to this."

My hand was firmly smacked when I attempted to check by touch. Chastened, I nonetheless growled, "Heavens, it is just a scratch from a rock. I think I will live..."

"Noooo, this is no wee scratch, Miss. There is a great bloody runnel cut through from here..." Henri lightly placed one finger upon a particularly sore spot at the front of my temple, "...t' here." Her other finger rested just above and even to my ear. After a moment she spoke, her voice faint, "I do believe I'm looking at your naked skull bone!"

Henri turned away to drop the cap into a silk-ruffled waste can, while I felt my head become far too light... My naked skull?

I felt the far-away pulse of an oncoming headache.

"Let's get you out of these clothes and soaking in a nice warm bath, shall we?" I sat and allowed Henri to remove my boots, then stood to strip off shirt and pants. Standing in my knickers and the thin cotton undershirt, I covered my scrawny chest with my arms and said, "I would prefer to continue…ah..." I tried to warm the hint with a smile, but managed to move my lips and not much more.

"I understand, Miss." Handing me a light wrap, Henri smiled, saying, "Just you sit down and I'll make sure the bath is filled and the heat on."

Once she cleared the door, I grabbed my coat, and emptied its secret pockets of currency, small tools, and those documents and paraphernalia I had considered most necessary whilst avoiding capture by mad, murdering Persians. Tearing out a panel of the coat's lining, I wrapped my loose treasures along with my sheathed knife into a bundle, placing this in a bottom drawer beneath a stack of folded towels in the large dressing table before me.

Greatly relieved, I patted the pockets on the trousers, removing the few loose coins and placing them upon the dresser, and folded trousers and shirt neatly, setting them beside my boots. I had just straightened up when Henri opened the door to the bath, her eyes instantly finding the folded clothing and mangled coat. "These are for the burn pile, miss?"

"No! Oh, please, no..." I placed one hand protectively upon the coat. "This has...great sentimental value to me. And the trousers and shirt are fine...just dirty. A good wash will serve, after I've treated the...bloodstains, and all. Just...just leave this. I will take care of them."

"Hmmm..." Henri gave me a level look, saying, "Very well then...a good washing they will get. Allow me to take care of it." Running one hand along the weave of the coat's material, she pursed her lips, saying, "It's a fine wool tweed. I will spot clean it…that and a good brushup should bring it 'round." Finding the torn lining, she added, "…And a stitch here and there."

She shot another sharp look to me, saying, "Here now, you are not thinking to take off again dressed..." she waved a hand..."like so, are you? It's not right, a lady dressed like that. Bad enough we have Lady Eleanor out in public looking scandalous, and no mistaking her for naught else but a woman!"

Recalling how Eleanor's coat and breeches hugged her shapely form, the comparison was laughable. "I am not so blessed as Lady Eleanor, Henri. I look quite unremarkable dressed as a man."

Eyeing my firmly banded chest and narrow hips, Henrie grunted and patted my arm, saying, "Well, perhaps you need t' put on a pound or two, miss. Feed your figure, so t' speak. And speaking of which, I've brought you a cup of brothy, and toast. Just t' tide you over until dinner. I have it on a tray by the tub, through that door. You go in and soak and I'll be back to wash your hair." Jerking her chin towards the paneled door to the bath, Henri left me to my ablutions.

I shed knickers, undershirt, and chest band, and gratefully eased myself into the large, hammered-bronze tub. The back was slanted, and the tub deep and long enough I could slide down until the water lapped my collarbones, and extend my legs comfortably. The water was very warm, and satin smooth, quickly imparting ease to those parts busted, bruised, cut, scraped, and generally painful.

Using the cake of snow white soap and washcloth provided, I lathered and rinsed my face, ears and associated parts, then worked my way down until every part had been thoroughly scrubbed pink.

Gingerly investigating the mess atop my head, I quickly confirmed no matter how clean my fingers looked, I did not wish to touch it. The wound seemed...huge; no wonder I was all over blood. But now my hair was beginning to relax as the heated steam softened the crusty mess, and I was not keen on that ending up in my bath water. Pushing it all atop my head, I tied it up with a hand towel that was draped over a rail set by the tub.

Content with my state of cleanliness, I relaxed against the tub's back, my neck resting upon the nicely contoured edge. I was utterly exhausted. The warmth and ease tugged me towards slumber.

My gut, however, set to complaining loudly, wildly aroused by the scent of food emanating from the covered tray at my elbow.

The mug held a spicy chicken soup that sent beads of perspiration rolling down my face; the toasted bread was buttered generously and kept warm upon a heated ceramic plate. I finished both far too quickly.

Replete for the moment, I laid my head back against the tub, willing to entertain the idea of a half-doze now that my belly would not be quite so distracting. Within a few moments, the steam from the bath had filled the room, dimming the light...or was it fatigue? Whichever…I surrendered, allowing my eyes to close, the bone-deep heaviness to overtake the tension in neck and temples...easing the nascent pounding behind my temples...

Drowsing, my mind wandered, flashes of recent events winking past in kaleidoscopic fashion, as if viewed in high speed eye blinks: the aqueduct by lantern light...Erik's eyes...the sparks of bullets ricocheting off stone...the enraged Persian's visage...sunlight through leaves...the oil lamp's explosion…the smell of food...Erik's lips...the new moon...a star-filled night sky…the moon?...

...the moon a milky spill against the backdrop of a million dusty stars, a woman kneels, holding the shivering body of a young boy. His forehead is pressed against her breast as he sobs, "Take it away, Tess! Please...I do not want to remember…take it away..." The child's body rocks with unrestrained emotion, his grief a terrible, tangible force, filling my eyes with empathetic tears. I bite my lips to keep from crying out...

The woman leans back from the boy, resting her hands upon his thin shoulders. The boy's brown hands cover his cheeks and his nails dig into the skin at his temples. He howls wordlessly…

Her expression is beatific...and frightening. I feel the fierce, protective love she holds for this beautiful black-haired child whose tanned body is...naked. Even in the depths of my drifting reverie, I feel my eyebrows lift...

The woman's form seems brighter than the moon's albedo, the radiance burnishing the child's body, to reflect softly upon the flawless dark skin of the his arms and chest, the smooth double arch of his thighs.

Lifting the boy's hands from his face, she leans forward to look into his eyes; her lips move as she frames both tearful cheeks within her palms, raising his face to hers, her thumbs stroking the tender flesh. Pale green meets luminous storm-grey...and through his tears the boy speaks, voice broken, and strangely mature, deep with despair. "You were right, Tess. God help me, you were right!"

His upper lip, so full and sweetly upswept, captures my attention, and I am gripped with such longing, such…need. I clench my thighs and blush in shame. He is a child…a child! And yet he is not. It is his voice…

A groan jolted me awake. The gaslights burned painfully bright to my eyes, and I found myself gripping the sides of the tub with fingers already painful from a thousand cuts and scrapes.

I heard Henri's voice calling, "Are you well, Miss? I would wash your hair now if that be agreeable with you."

"Yes, of course." Realizing I was whispering, I responded again, wincing at the sound of my own voice. "Yes! Please."

Closing my eyes against the harsh gaslight, I heard solid footsteps and the sound of sloshing water. Henri's voice was but a low murmur, "That will be all Peg. Be sure t' set another bucket of hot at the door, and stay close. Lisle, here is where I need the large basin." I felt hands at the towel in my hair, and a flash of pain as it was released, my hair falling behind and outside the tub.

"This will do lovely, Miss. Just stay you there, and we'll have this done in a trice."

Henri's manner was soothing; she used gentle humor in directing Lisle, and despite the growing demon-ache behind my temples, it made me smile. I kept my eyes closed, listening, and then fell oblivious, besides the occasional twinge when the wound upon my head was pulled upon.

The strange dream drew me…distanced me from the headache, although I could not imagine what it had meant, nor who the boy and woman were supposed to be. I soon realized the low susurration that again tickled my ear was that of moving water, a river nearby, a sound that became progressively louder as…

...I feel the shale rock again beneath my feet, still faintly warm from the sun, and…see the boy. He is now alone.

He still kneels upon the hard ground, but is erect from knee to shoulder, his head thrown back as he stares into the depthless night, arms rigidly down, his hands curled into fists.

This, though, is no boy, the figure now muscled and mature, heavy thoracic and pelvic bones strongly visible, his maleness well defined. His skin appears dark and sleekly oiled, accenting the planes of pectorals and abdominals, biceps and quadriceps. I see his face in profile, the sharp cheekbone and jaw line, and straight, elegant nose catching the silver light.

Eyes flashing pale green as if lit from within, he turns to face me, his expression fierce and darkly intent. I gasp and step back, ashamed to have been caught spying in such fashion even as I realize… I am not really there.

Raggedly cut black hair is spiked about his head, as if pulled by restless hands, leaving uncovered the pockmarked scalp along his right temple. The bands of gnarled scar tissue and distorted bone of his right cheek also stand out in high relief, lit by the auroral glow of the crescent new moon and a million stars above.

~~~~OoO~~~~~

I was helped from the bath by Henri and Lisle, having become nauseous and light-headed from the burgeoning pain within my head. Wrapped in a massive towel, I was all but carried between them to a room papered in an eye-blinking shade of blue moire. An indecently thin silk sheath was dropped over my head, and I was seated before a massive dressing table to have my hair combed out. Although a cup of hot tea sat waiting, I was too ill to think of drinking it.

The Greek chorus within had become a rising squall, overwhelming all rational thought; though I listed weakly upon the bench, I stoutly resisted Henri's steadying arm. The towel wrapped about my hair slipped off, and the sudden sensation of icy wet hair upon my neck and naked back sent the headache flashing into pure agony.

Wildly fending off Henri's attempts to calm me, I scuttled from the bench to the bed, where I hysterically refused to allow my hair to be combed. Henri left the room, leaving two young housemaids to keep two pairs of wary eyes upon the mad woman shivering and weeping upon the bed. Oblivious, I wished only to suspend my tortured head from the side, not unlike a ripe onion from the pantry rafters.

Eventually Olivia appeared in the room dressed in an unremarkably styled gown, bringing with her a young man whom she introduced as a physician. Having demanded he wash his hands before so much as touching me, I thereafter became the perfect patient.

His was a most unconventional examination. Totally ignoring the furrow in my scalp, he began by prodding the muscles of my back and neck, manipulating my jaw, inspecting my teeth, ears and eyes using a candle, and an instrument consisting of a tube and mirror. He thoroughly surveyed my skull, pushing and sliding his fingers over various areas. It was not until he began to inspect the 'scratch' upon my temple I registered any pain from his touch, as the shrieking chorale within my head had, up to that point, drowned all other sensation from his exam.

Hot water and clean towels were fetched as he removed jars of salves and powders from his case. I was dosed with a powder, mixed with strong, cool tea, per his instructions. He then persuaded me to lie flat upon my stomach on the bed, and began moving his hands up and down my spine, pressing heavily in places. Finally he pulled me to a sitting position, grasped the back of my head and chin, and delivered a fierce jerk to the left and right. The relief was absolute and immediate.

I swooned like an overheated debutante.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~OoOoO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke to the soft, rapid-fire click of knitting needles, and knew instantly who occupied the chair beside my bed. Filtered light from the window lit her lovely face and elegant form as she sat, hands flashing in constant motion, the chair turned to face the bed. Thankfully, my sensitive eyes were shielded from the light by a long drape of velvet. Blue, I am sure.

"Beyvin, it is you?" My throat felt as if I had swallowed sand. I became aware there was a bandage wrapped about my head, as a bit of it was dangling past my right eye. There was a fat pad of gauze above my right temple, and I could tell without investigation I had stitches under it.

My eldest sister immediately shot from the chair, knitting tossed haphazard to the floor, to fall upon the bed.

"Aislyne…oh, Aislyne…I have been…frantic!" Grasping my hands, Beyvin's voice shook with emotion…something I was truthfully not ready for.

"Beyvin, please do not overset yourself. There is no reason…" I squinted, finding my ears were as sensitive as my eyes.

"Aislyne…you have been missing, ever since…ever since those murdered men were found. We had no idea if you had been taken…if they had been murdered protecting you! It has been terrible…"

Gently, I pulled my hands from her grip, and pushed myself to a sitting position. "Well, I was not murdered, despite my present appearance. I was, in fact, the person who discovered them, and reported the…murders to the authorities." A twinge of painful recall…I firmly squashed my emotions on that subject.

"Oh, my dear Aislyne, how distressed you must have been… To have found them…dead…" Sobbing, Beyvin threw herself upon me. I put my arms about her and patted her back, murmuring meaningless reassurance while my sister burned through her overwrought emotions, and I found handle upon mine.

Beyvin had always been like this. She did it not for attention, or as an affectation; she honestly felt things strongly, and worried excessively. Unfortunately, once her emotions were engaged, there was more drama than a ten-penny novel.

I waited patiently while she exhausted the initial nervous overload of several days' tension and worry over her troublesome sister. Eventually she sat up, upon the edge of the bed. Pulling a large handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at eyes and face, firmly announcing, "Now I am a mess."

I again pushed myself up, freed of her weight across my prostrate form. "I'm sorry I cannot join in your hysterics, but I would only resurrect one hellish headache if I did." I wiped tears…hers…from my neck and face with the bedsheet and then leaned forward to hug her. "You are a silly puss, Bey."

"Oh, pooh." Beyvin shot me a watery grin, saying, "You merely do not wish to sully your youthful good looks. Now, I need breakfast, having slept here in this room the night through to insure you did not expire." Rising from the bed, Beyvin pulled her lacy blouse into order.

Surprised, I looked hard at my silly sister, "No, why would you do such a thing? I was surely not that ill? I merely had the headache…"

I was again set upon, my face pressed to my sister's well-corseted bosom as she wailed, "Aislyne, the doctor was most concerned for you! The..the vast wound in your head, the bruises and abrasions that seem to cover your body. We did not know if you had suffered some serious internal injury! Why…you appeared to have been knocked about most viciously!"

Shoved away to arms' length, Beyvin's fiercely narrowed eyes inspected my bruised arms and face… "I did not know if I should call a priest for last ritesI thought you were dying!"

I was again squashed against my sister's heaving chest. Resigned, I simply waited until I was again allowed to fall back against my pillows, wincing as muscles complained of the past two days' activities. Beyvin's hanky swept her cheeks, and she returned to fussing over me, pulling the blankets about, clucking over every bruise and scab. Laughing, I said, 'You sound like a hen, Bey."

"Your poor knees. You will undoubtedly have scars." She clucked several more times. "Breakfast…are you at all interested in something light and soothing. I have no doubt your tummy is feeling delicate after all this."

I snorted, asserting, "No, not delicate at all. I would like fried eggs…at least two, and a rasher of bacon…not over done, mind you. And sliced fruit. A few scones would be nice with butter…too bad the butter here is so anemic. And coffee…not tea. Nice rich coffee with a pot of heavy cream and honey to dose it with."

Beyvin's eyes went wide during my gustatory recitation, her jaw sagging. "You are ribbing me, Aislyne. You can eat like that?" Her eyes traversed my narrow frame beneath the blankets. "I should be round as a barrel!"

I laughed, saying, "Well, generally I have toast and tea. But I have been hungry for days. Tea and toast will not do, Bey. I want food."

I was promptly kissed upon the forehead. "And you shall have it, m'eudail. If I must make it myself, you shall. And then you will tell me how you landed in such a dreadful state, yes?"

The message of her final words was unmistakable…she would know exactly what had happened.

~~~~~~~OoO~~~~~~~~

I did enjoy our breakfast, my mood lifted remarkably by a full belly and strong, creamy coffee. Beyvin and I were able to catch up on family news: of the stud farm in Ireland, of her children, of our brothers and sisters, and finally the reason she and Van Cliffe were in France. Which was, naturally, the horseracing.

However, the reason she was in Lyon was, of course, to visit with her good friend, Olivia de Nassau. Who told her of the mess one Aislyne Butler had landed in, asking her, "And do you not have a sister by that name?"

Now pale with just the memory of that moment, Beyvin told me what she had been able to accomplish during the evening spent with Lord Lyon, the British Ambassador. Which was not really worth the telling, as until I was actually found, he could do nothing.

I gave her no more than general details concerning my employment, and the current situation. Not that she was so foolish as to take the whole without questions. There were many, and I lied like a horse trader to make the entire palatable for her tender peace of mind. Erik stayed the de'Chagny uncle, Jerrod Bouchard, and I kept him as elderly as I thought believable…which was 'very'. I may have played with the events leading to my losing custody of my patient; however I did emphasize to her I would prefer she remain mum about my whereabouts, her relationship to me, and so on. I especially requested she not tell Van Cliffe or indeed, anyone that I was at Grantham House.

Gripping her hand I leaned forward off my stacked pillows. "This entire trip was to remain…private…and I cannot express to you how very important it remain so, Bey. I beg you...please. It is a matter of life and death!"

Her response was slightly frantic. "This all seems very foolish to me, Ails! Whatever is it you are involved in…surely we will need Van Cliffe to get you out!"

It took me a second to swallow the unkind remark that nearly crossed my lips. Instead I calmly assured my frantic sister, "No, we do not need Van Cliffe, and I cannot tell you more than I have. Please trust me, Bey, and just…do as I ask. And keep Van Cliffe out of it."

She must have picked the next words…carefully unspoken…right out of my thoughts.

"No, Aislyne! He does not dislike you…not really. He does not care to see me worry, and you have always caused me to do too much of that!"

She gave me a quick kiss, and rose to recall the maid to remove our breakfast dishes. After watching with critical eye as the maid deftly cleared, she then moved to check her appearance at the dressing table. Leaned forward to look at some invisible blemish upon her flawless cheek, Beyvin stuck out her lip at me in the mirror. "I do wish you two could settle your differences. He is my husband, Aislyne; you are my dearest sister. Why must it be so difficult?" She moved to the chair beside my bed, and carefully subsided into the deep cushions.

Thinking of Van Cliffe angered me enough I could push myself from the pillows without groaning, saying instead, "I have never minded that he was your husband, Bey. It is that he does not like we are related at all! How many times has he decried my choice of profession, stating clearly he does not want you or the children to be 'associated' with a ward nurse in a mental hospital?" Snorting, I added, "As if I had a choice all those years ago, with a family to support! Perhaps you should point this out to your husband…and remind him I had to become a ward nurse long before he became the Van Cliffe!" His open contempt of me rankled, and I had decided long ago I would cease being passive about it.

Beyvin ducked her head, foolishly enjoying the fact Van Cliffe set me about so strongly. She had frequently claimed it was the denial of my own helpless attraction to the man that made it so hard for me to stand him.

I knew better than to argue that, as it always led to her tears.

It was at this point that Beyvin again went off on my current sorry condition and situation; I allowed her to get on with it...always the best approach with my sister. Soon enough she wadded her damp handkerchief into a knot, slammed it into the table, and jumping up from her chair, declared herself.

"I am taking you home, back to Ireland…to Ballinhassig. No one can touch you there! Van Cliffe will accompany us, naturally. We will leave this very day, Aislyne...all those from whom you are hiding need never know...!"

Calmly I shook my head. "No, Beyvin. I will not go. And you will not tell Van Cliffe I am here. Sit down, Bey…you are turning positively ruddy."

Normally the idea of appearing the least bit 'distempered' would have her seeking a cool damp cloth and a place to recline. This time she cast me a dark look, but continued, passion growing for the idea as she animadverted upon disguises, and fake travel papers.

"We need to find someone who rubs shoulders with the criminal class here in Lyon. A new identify, and you can walk out of here without question!"

I allowed her several minutes to come to her senses, and then gently disengaged her fierce grasp upon my poor, tortured hand.

"No. I will not allow you to haul me back to Ireland. I…I am not leaving France, Beyvin. Not yet…" At this point I was at a loss. I could not talk about Erik with her…or anyone. And indeed, I presently knew nothing of where he was…if he was even still alive…

Beyvin was not taking my refusal well. 'You cannot stay here…they are going to hang you for murder!"

The devil inside me chose to remind her they did not 'hang' criminals in France; they guillotined them.

Breathing in little hiccups of anger, Bey whispered, "Why are you doing this? Who is it that demands so much of you? You have been beaten, your head... Why, Henrie thinks you have been shot! Olivia told me you were wearing men's clothing, and there were men were chasing you at the park! If she had not recognized you, I do not wish to think what would have been your fate! Aislyne...this is no game you can play in the dark...we are no longer young girls in London. Here it is rougher...people are so...cruel..."

Silently cursing Olivia de Nassau, Countess of Grantham, I reached for my sister's hand. "Hush, Beyvin. I am playing no game…and heaven knows, we both are well acquainted with cruelty. France is no worse than England, and need I remind you of how it was in Ireland?"

Beyvin's eyebrows bunched, and her face reflecting her hurt and irritation at having been thwarted in yet another attempt to 'save' Aislyne.

Poor misguided Aislyne. Strange, twisted Aislyne…

"Hrumph! France is a nightmare. Do you see how they have chosen to persecute one helpless woman despite ample evidence to the contrary?"

No, really. Now I was 'helpless'? I opened my mouth to protest this but was stopped by the words, 'ample evidence…'

Beyvin grabbed my shoulder, shaking firmly. "Why? Again, I ask you...why do you refuse to allow me to take you from here! It need not be home…!"

I gently disengaged her fierce grasp upon my bruised arm, and patted the hand gently. "It is my turn for questions, Beyvin."

"Pooh. Obviously I know nothing!" Sniffing, she turned her head.

"You say there is 'ample evidence to the contrary.' May I know what this is…what is being said?"

I was given a piercing inspection by my twice-thwarted sister. "You are a trial, Aislyne. I despair of saving you from yourself." This loving encomium eliciting no effect, she sighed, and sought her reticule from its place at her belt. Sifting through the mélange of items stuffed into this inadequate appurtenance, she pulled forth a card, and slipped it onto the table, face down beneath her index finger.

"This man is obviously trying to steer the police into a more reasonable direction in their investigations. We…I met with him briefly…in a somewhat odd fashion just last evening at the British Embassy. He was also hoping to visit with Lord Lyon concerning your situation, and in fact arrived in a hack just as we pulled to the kerb. He knew I was your sister, immediately! Van Cliffe was quite unhappy." Bey's fine brows gathered as she admitted, "Van Cliffe was rude, actually…and I was a bit put out by it. In fact, I demanded he step away and allow me to hear what this gentleman had to say." Beyvin reluctantly released her finger from the card.

I flipped the card…and felt my face grow cold. 'Nadir Kahn, Investigator' the card read. A post box number was below, with an 'inquire at' address, both of which were in Paris. He had, however, penned the name 'Hotel Le Corbusier' and his room number at the bottom. I was interested to see he was just across the hall from our suite.

"Oh, Ails…do you know this man?" Beyvin's eyes were huge with fear. "Have I compromised your safety? Is this gentleman not really trying to help you?"

Crumpling the card, and I shoved it beneath my pillows and grasped Beyvin's nearest hand. "What could you have told him? Did you know…had the countess…Olivia told you I was here?"

"No…no…I received a message from her at the hotel…after I left the Embassy, asking me to come for the evening. Van Cliffe was already gone, having left me at the Embassy to go clubbing with friends. I came here as soon as I could, thinking…well…thinking Olivia had some personal crisis, a new admirer or…" Bey turned a bit pink and continued. "I left a note for Van Cliffe to tell him I would be at Olivia's. He considers Olivia a bit fast, but encourages our connection. So…I frequently come here when we come to France."

I was interested to see the damp handkerchief was now being rent end to end. Beyvin turned away, which gave me time to control my tendency to grimace nastily at Van Cliffe's behavior. The little toad-eating mushroom! 'Encourages our connection'; I had no doubt. Deserted her at the Embassy, by God! He could have seen her safely home, at the very least!

Pushing such thoughts away, I allowed my sister time to collect her emotions, whilst I reviewed my current situation with growing anxiety. The fact Mister Kahn knew Lady Van Cliffe was my sister worried me…for her sake. If he had followed her, the immediate visit to Grantham House after meeting him at the Embassy could be read to mean…oh, so many things, all of which were troubling.

If Kahn thought I might be at Grantham House, who else would soon be looking for me here? Was I, at this very moment, attracting the murderous Persian to this innocent household?

I closed my eyes. I needed to see Nadir Kahn immediately. I had no idea what I could say that would insure the safety of Erik de'Carpentier and my family, however.

Beyvin's eyes were tearful, and I felt badly, as I always did when she was upset. However, I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Listen to me!"

Freakishly, she did. Her face was again hot, she nearly panted with overwrought emotion.

"Beyvin, I know Van Cliffe has no idea I am here…if he had, he would have fetched you straight away. Leave it at that. Do not tell him I am here. Do not admit to anyone I am your sister, that your sister was here in this house…indeed, that you have had any connection whatsoever with me."

Amid my harangue, Beyvn's helplessly soft expression faded and firmed, to become the thin-lipped, hard-eyed older sister who so closely resembled our father. Looking into her face I saw the overlay of my father's furious countenance. I dropped my hands, aware I had been squeezing rather fiercely, my fingers hard.

She rubbed her arms, no doubt bruised from my rough grasp. Shooting a resentful look my way, she hissed, "You need not speak to me as if I were a simpleton, Aislyne!"

"Beyvin, please…I am sorry…" I felt sick for the damage I did to the only family I would likely ever have…

Waving aside my apology, Beyvin leaned into my face, her eyes narrowed with resentment, "And I feel it only fair you provide me with the reason for this drama and intrigue! You are acting in such manner as I have never seen before! Perhaps Van Cliffe is correct, and being day in and day out among the mentally afflicted has affected you thus…"

I felt my face go hot, then cold. Swallowing all pride, I chewed every word, so to speak, to keep them soft...loving. "I ask this of you to protect you. To protect the Countess and Lady Grantham. Yes, and even Van Cliffe! It is very important no one know anything regarding my whereabouts, or your relationship to me. And no, I cannot tell you…anything."

She sighed, giving in. I knew my sister would do as I asked insofar as not telling Van Cliffe; she was never eager to make her worthless husband feel uncomfortable, even at the expense of her children and friends.

But we were obviously not going to kiss and make up.

Pleading a return of my headache, I requested Beyvin ask Henri for a suitable powder or potion. I gave…and was given a most dutiful hug, but my sister's expression was sour when she left, closing the door with perhaps a bit more emphasis than necessary.

No matter. Better she be angry enough to leave me to my fate, then to give her spouse the opportunity to tip off the Sûreté Nationale as to my whereabouts.