Nora had practically snatched Erik's valise away from him after he agreed to continue on as her guest. She had spent the rest of the evening with him, as if she was trying to make up for her previous behavior.
Erik had to smile at her earnestness, her artless belief that she would not mind his face. What a curious woman—she took all the blame, all of the responsibility of the previous tension onto herself. As those uncomfortable weeks melted into the past, Erik had a hard time believing that Nora was ever to blame. They walked for hours in spite of the weather, they talked at all times of day. A casual meeting in a hallway often turned into half a day in her company. They tackled issues of the house's maintenance, and Erik delighted in surprising her with some needed repair cleverly executed.
A piano was discovered in the unused wing of the house and Nora had it moved into the same parlor as her desk.
"Do you think you can tune it?" she asked.
"Of course," Erik replied with pride. How nice it was to see her eyes light up in response!
Erik valiantly pushed the voice away that mocked him. Here now is your living bride, your wife to take out on Sundays. I dare you to place your kiss on her lips and watch her eyes melt in horror.
There was no mention of romance, though Nora was so often tender with him. Erik did not dare to think of it in too much detail. The idea repelled as much as it appealed.
I charge you—if you are occasioned to love again, will you do a better job of it?
How had Erik replied to her judgment of his character and subsequent command? I shall serve my sentence, Madame.
Alas—the best way to survive such a punishment was to simply not love at all. Erik forced his melancholy away and tried to enjoy the simple of pleasure of living as an ordinary man, bachelor though he was.
Nora's meeting with the local banker and barrister had gone decently. She had finally come to a permanent arrangement for the ongoing upkeep of the house and vineyards, regardless of who might take up residency. On her way home, she stopped by the post office to dash off a telegram to Daniel. He would likely be pleased with the outcome. At this rate, there would be precious little for him to do once he arrived—just the way he liked it.
Nora had the hired carriage drop her off a little distance from the house. It was starting to look quite stately, she thought. Progress could only be made so quickly with the weather, but the local hired men seemed to be putting their soul into the work. Money was an amazing incentive, particularly when it was made available in a typically slow season for business.
She would love to see the place in late summer, when the grape vines were rich with fruit and the sky radiant blue. Did anything prevent her from staying until then? Even if Daniel did decide to take up residence—an improbable scenario if there ever was one—he would not begrudge Nora's presence. She shook the thought away. It sounded like a plan for the future, and she loathed making those.
She continued on into the building. The issue of heat was slowly being solved and she did not hesitate to remove her gloves.
A faint sound tickled at her ears. As she drew closer to the parlor, the melody grew more distinct. It was a beautiful, unfamiliar song that threatened to break her heart and the make the pieces of it soar to heaven.
She was not surprised to see Erik at the piano. His hands danced over the keys, never seeming to quite set down upon them. She remembered how carelessly he had pecked at his own piano the morning after he had locked her in his guest room. He had been so nonchalant about it at the time, but the tunes had been stirring. She was almost thankful that he did not bother to use the instrument to its full potential.
"You can come in, you know," he said, his back still turned away from the door.
"I'm just listening," Nora replied.
"Well, you can listen from the settee," he shot back, his tone vaguely amused.
Nora did not quite heed his instructions. She came into the room and stood near to the piano. Erik glanced at her, but did not stop playing. The melody altered ever so slightly, and Nora had the strangest desire to smile like a madwoman. How happy the song sounded! She could almost believe that Erik was happy, as well.
She looked away, feeling as if she was something of a nuisance. Her eye fell on a small stack of papers on the side table. Plain stationery had been transformed into neat staff paper, riddled with notes. Only the strange shape of the letters used for the dynamics notations hinted that the music had been written with Erik's pen.
He glanced at her again. "Do you read music?"
"I'm the only daughter of a city gentleman and his socially ambitious wife—what do you think?"
"I wouldn't know," he replied, "but I shall take your tone as an affirmative answer. What do you think?"
Nora tried to answer honestly, but could not even imagine how some of the phrases would come to life. "I've never seen anything like this."
"Of course not," Erik sounded quite proud. "One day, I should like to hear you play. It is the piano, isn't it?"
Nora nodded before realizing that he could not see her. "I was taught to play... parlor music. I'd be ashamed for you to hear me." Nora finally took a seat. "You once mentioned that you intended as a young man to compose an opera to surpass Rusalka—"
"Not a high ambition," Erik said.
"Well, did you?"
He stopped playing, and Nora immediately missed the music. "I did. My opera—my Don Juan Triumphant— why, you will think me most conceited, but I tell you truthfully, it surpasses Rusalka, and Carmen, and Faust, and even Don Giovanni."
Nora cast a look over to the seemingly innocent stack of compositions. "I think I might believe you."
Satisfied with this response, he returned his full attention to the piano.
"I do feel compelled to ask," Nora began, "what makes your Don Juan 'triumphant?' Besides the obvious innuendo, of course."
Erik laughed sharply and turned to Nora with sparkling eyes. "I confess, that is not the actual intent of the title. My Don triumphs because he never gets his just punishment. He is a vile seducer, who lives merrily on while the innocent suffer. There is no Commendatore to drag him to Hell, and those he hurts are not able to move forward with their lives as if he never entered them."
"Ah, art imitating life then?"
"Exactly."
"Have you done anything else besides your Don Juan Triumphant?"
Erik looked away. "It took me twenty years to compose—I never expected to do anything after it was finished."
There was more to that answer than he was saying, Nora thought. She stood and put a hand on Erik's shoulder. "I think you ought to."
Almost too quietly to hear, Erik replied, "Perhaps I will."
Nora attended Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, which did not surprise Erik. She had invited him to come along, but Erik declined. The only reason he could think of for attending was to make sure Nora was properly escorted. This was a moot point, considering that most of the staff, even Carey, would be at the church that night.
Erik still found himself compelled to wait up until the party returned. He sat at the piano and tinkered until it was nearly two in the morning. At last, he heard the carriage roll up to the entry way and there was a rush of activity.
If he focused, he could hear Nora chatting in English. As she drew closer to the parlor, he could hear Carey responding in turn. He stood as she swept into the room, the butler following her closely. She wore her royal blue velvet coat again and a mantilla in the Spanish fashion. It was constructed of fine white lace, and if Erik squinted he could almost see it as a wedding veil. She smiled at him.
"Why, Erik!" she said. "Still up at this ungodly hour?"
Erik inclined his head slightly. "Did you… enjoy yourself?"
She nodded. "I was just sending Mr. Carey to bring out a good cognac. May I interest you in a glass?"
Erik shook his head. "I simply wanted to see you home safe."
She arched an eyebrow. "It's an 1811."
"You said a good cognac," Erik paused, "not a legendary cognac."
She smiled and glanced back at Carey. "A glass for me, a glass for Erik, and a glass for yourself, Mr. Carey."
He nodded and disappeared.
"So, how did you amuse yourself while I was away?"
"Oh, it was very dull," Erik replied. "You've poisoned me for solitude."
"Oh, glad to hear it." She didn't bother sitting down, merely walked the parameter of the room and stopped in front of the window. A layer of frost obscured the view. "Have you ever observed Christmas?"
"No," Erik replied. "Does that bother you?"
She shook her head. "Not in the least, though I suppose it ought to. But I've never claimed to be a good Christian."
"I wouldn't know how to tell the difference," Erik said, "though I think you might be rather good."
She smiled at him but did not reply.
Carey returned with a tray. A decanter and three crystal snifters were set out. He poured the cognac with practiced ease.
Nora handed a glass to Erik and then raised her own. "To my two favorite men. This might just be the best Christmas I've had in years."
It took Erik a moment to realize that she was referring to him, as well as Carey. One look at the other man confirmed that he had a similar thought. Regardless, they both raised their glasses. Erik could take a small sip around his mask. He had never managed to procure a bottle of comet year cognac for himself, and it was remarkably fine.
They stood about for a few more minutes before Nora took her leave. She kissed Erik's cheek and reminded Carey with mock severity that he was not on duty tomorrow and that she would take it badly if she saw him working.
Carey bowed properly, and Nora left the room with a cheerful goodnight.
Erik was a bit at a loss of what to do. Engage Carey in conversation? Set down his barely-touched glass and take his leave?
He was not obliged to decide on what to do, as Carey turned to him gravely. "I've been hoping to have a word with you, sir."
"Indeed?" Erik asked. There was something in Carey's tone that he did not like, and the unwelcoming look in his eyes was still present.
The older man nodded and took a large swallow of his drink. "I hope you will forgive me for stepping out of my place, but I think this needs to be said."
Erik had to wonder what really was Carey's 'place' in relation to Erik's own. "Proceed, Monsieur."
There was a long pause. "Anyone who looks at my mistress knows her to be a woman of the world," Carey began, "well-bred, well-educated, well-traveled. I have yet to meet a woman her equal. She is kind, she is poised, and her mind is as keen as any man's. But in some respects, she is still very much a child. Her idea of love is stuck firmly on the first day of her acquaintance with the thoroughly misnamed Mr. Worthy. It is as if she is nineteen and naïve to boot. She does not think about certain things—for instance, the utter, utter impropriety of having you come along as her guest! Foolishness, of the most thoughtless measure."
Erik merely stared at Carey, eyes wide. He could not recall Carey having ever addressed more than ten words together towards Erik. Was the man drunk? He hardly seemed so, despite the empty snifter in his hand.
"As for you, Monsieur Erik," Carey continued, "I was sure that you were a devious man of the first order, intent on exploiting my mistress's one weakness." Erik moved to protest, but Carey held up a hand. "But I have been convinced that, in these matters, you are just as much a child as she is. I do not know what has happened in your life to prevent you from attaining the social maturity I would expect from a gentleman of your bearing… but I do not think you mean any harm."
"You are correct in that," Erik murmured. "But she is still most fortunate to have such a loyal… defender."
Carey snorted. "I have served her family for nearly fifty years. I was a footman to her grandfather, and her father's batman during the Opium War. When he left England for Canada, so did I. I held her in my arms when she was just hours old and I've watched her grow into a commendable woman, stalwart in heart and steady of nerves." He chuckled dryly, "perhaps those are not the words a man uses to flatter a lady, but they are true." He turned to look at Erik, up and down, harsh and critical. "If I am wrong about you, if you really are the villain I first took you to be, if you try to tarnish her name or abuse her honor—it will not matter that I am an old man, for my blade is still sharp and my aim is still true."
He left Erik without waiting for a formal dismissal.
Erik watched him retreat. What a strange world he had been dropped into, where one person shielded another out of—what? Duty? Loyalty? Or was it a sort of love? If so, what a curious variety!
Erik set down his glass, turned to the piano, and played soft melodies until dawn.
1885! Nora had seldom felt the passing of the old year into the new so keenly. 1885! She had been in France for over six months now, half of that time with Erik as company. Had it really been so brief a time? Had they really gone from nameless passers-by to uncomfortable companions to friends to confidants so quickly?
Nora allowed herself to be reckless with Erik. She flirted and teased like a girl half her age. Erik slowly fell into the friendly pattern. By the time they boarded the train to return to Paris, he would laugh genuinely and occasionally make his own razor-sharp witticisms. Nora sat next to him in their compartment, ignoring Perrine's wide eyes and Erik's stiff posture.
The mutual good humor slowly dampened as they drew closer to their destination. A strange silence fell over them. At some point, Nora found her hand in Erik's. She kept it there until the train stopped.
Their arrival was surreal— I'm home, Nora thought, no, I'll be obliged to go home soon. I might never see Beaune again. I might never see Erik again. Perhaps I'll never see Canada again…
Erik interrupted her chaotic thoughts. "I trust Monsieur Carey will get you home safely."
Nora nearly said, but Erik, aren't you coming with me? Of course he wasn't. He had his home, and it was mere blocks away. "I'm sure he shall."
They stood facing one another in the middle of the busy station, and Nora realized that she had taken hold of his hand again. She released it with something like regret.
"I'll see you on Sunday," Erik said.
"Or sooner," Nora said, "you are always welcome in my home."
He bowed his head. "Or sooner." He melted into the crowd and vanished.
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