Chapter Two
Answers?
A/N: Still don't own any characters from The Count of Monte Cristo. They still belong to Alexandre Dumas. The boy and Albert's daughter do belong to me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I'll try to be quicker about posting the third chapter.
Louis Dantés sat in his sitting room. He wondered what he expected from this trip. He expected to find out more about his father certainly, but what was it he expected to hear? He wanted to know who the people were that his father had mentioned in his letter, and had brought it with him. As he sat there, mulling through his thoughts, he read it again. He sensed that the story in it was important to his father, but what did it have to do with his father? His father had signed it with his name, but was it really his father's story? Whoever had written it had been bitter. He had never seen his father bitter about anything. In fact, the only mood he regularly saw his father in was pensive, like he was making a major decision. His father had never wanted to talk about his past, and if letter was indeed his story, he could see why his father never wanted to talk about it. he wouldn't even have wanted to remember it if it could have been helped, Louis was sure. But just because he didn't want to talk about his past didn't mean he didn't want people to know about his past. He'd left two clues, this letter to make people ask questions, and a name and address. Louis sensed with the instinct he had inherited from his father that the person on the slip of paper, this Mercèdés, was the same one mentioned in the letter. Those two clues alone were enough to reassure Louis that his father had loved his family, and he felt proud to be the son of a man who loved his family enough guide them in the right direction even after death.
When Louis checked the time, he realized that he had been sitting here for an hour and it was time to continue to the purpose he had come here for. He rang for Anton, the boy from Marseilles that he had hired to be temporary help while he was staying here. He informed the boy that he required his services for the afternoon. Then he rang for Ali and instructed him to ready the carriage. Ali nodded and left. When the boy showed surprise at the driver being spoken to in another language, Louis explained, "Ali only understands Arabic. My father never taught him another language." Then he and the boy headed down to the waiting carriage.
He instructed Ali to drive to the address listed on the slip of paper. The house that the carriage had stopped at was a small house on the left-hand side of the road. It looked to be about four stories high and probably housed many people in many rooms. He sent the boy to the door to ask after Mercèdés Herrera.
******* The man answered the door to see a young boy of about 13 standing there, puffed up in his importance. Behind him he noticed a carriage stopped in the street. The boy must belong with whoever's in the carriage, he thought. "Can I help you?"
"My lord wishes to speak with Mercèdés Herrera." "My mother is not currently at home, but if your lord thinks that I might be able to help him, I can speak with him now."
"Just one moment sir." The boy went back to the waiting carriage.
Louis Dantés looked out the window of the carriage at the man who answered the door. He looked to be a few years younger than his mother and didn't appear to be a servant. The boy returned and spoke to him through the window.
"He says his mother is not currently at home sir, but if you think that he would be able to help he can speak with you now."
Louis thought for a minute. The letter had mentioned something about Mercèdés having a son, which meant that if that letter had indeed been about his father, this man might have known his father as well. And if he hadn't, he could at least tell him when to expect to be able to speak with his mother. "I'll speak with him."
The boy turned and nodded at the man in the doorway. Then he stepped aside to allow his master to exit the carriage. Albert looked at the man walking towards him. He knew that face. He'd seen it long ago. Or at least one like it. Years ago. The face had been older then. Even the way the man walked was familiar. He concentrated on figuring out where he'd seen it. One thing he knew for sure was that it was one that he had known well, and that he hadn't seen it in years.
The young man reached the door, where Albert took his hat and walking cane. He showed him into the sitting room. "How may I help you, Monsieur."
"Dantés. Louis Dantés. I'm looking for information about my father, and I think your mother can help me." He settled himself into his chair. His host remembered that face now, he just wanted to be sure.
"And who was your father?"
"Edmond Dantés, the Count of Monte Cristo." He paused for an instant. "I suppose that's me now."
His host leaned back in his chair. "Yes, we knew your father. My mother and I, I mean. I might be able to answer your questions, but my mother knew him better than I did. I didn't know much about him. What I know I heard from my mother, and that wasn't everything."
"Perhaps I should wait until your mother returns."
"She's out of town until tomorrow."
"Then I'll return tomorrow. In the meantime, is there anything you wish to ask of me?"
"Only one question. How did you know to look here?"
"My father wrote a letter before he died that mentioned someone that I believe is your mother. I also found a slip of paper that had your mother's name and address on it. My father wouldn't have had that for no reason."
"What was this letter about?"
"I'm not quite sure. I'll know better when I've talked to your mother, I think. I brought it with me. I thought you might want to see it." He pulled the letter out of his jacket and handed it to Albert. As Albert read it, his face passed from a look of slight confusion to a pained look.
"Yes, my mother and I are both mentioned in this letter. She would like to read this as well."
"I will bring it with me when I return tomorrow. I should probably be on my way now."
Albert accompanied him to the front door, where he handed him his hat and cane again. Just as he reached to open the door, it opened and a young woman entered. She had the same dark hair and eyes of her father, and those who knew said she looked like her grandmother. She greeted her father and the guest, who tipped his hat and offered "Mademoiselle" by way of greeting. Then he offered a short nod to his host and headed back to the carriage that was still waiting in the street.
Albert stood and watched him leave. His daughter turned to him and asked, "Who was that, father?" Her father answered, "The son of an old friend." As he said it, he knew it was the truth. For although he hadn't seen the count in many years, he had been honored to call him a friend when he had known him.
A/N: Still don't own any characters from The Count of Monte Cristo. They still belong to Alexandre Dumas. The boy and Albert's daughter do belong to me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I'll try to be quicker about posting the third chapter.
Louis Dantés sat in his sitting room. He wondered what he expected from this trip. He expected to find out more about his father certainly, but what was it he expected to hear? He wanted to know who the people were that his father had mentioned in his letter, and had brought it with him. As he sat there, mulling through his thoughts, he read it again. He sensed that the story in it was important to his father, but what did it have to do with his father? His father had signed it with his name, but was it really his father's story? Whoever had written it had been bitter. He had never seen his father bitter about anything. In fact, the only mood he regularly saw his father in was pensive, like he was making a major decision. His father had never wanted to talk about his past, and if letter was indeed his story, he could see why his father never wanted to talk about it. he wouldn't even have wanted to remember it if it could have been helped, Louis was sure. But just because he didn't want to talk about his past didn't mean he didn't want people to know about his past. He'd left two clues, this letter to make people ask questions, and a name and address. Louis sensed with the instinct he had inherited from his father that the person on the slip of paper, this Mercèdés, was the same one mentioned in the letter. Those two clues alone were enough to reassure Louis that his father had loved his family, and he felt proud to be the son of a man who loved his family enough guide them in the right direction even after death.
When Louis checked the time, he realized that he had been sitting here for an hour and it was time to continue to the purpose he had come here for. He rang for Anton, the boy from Marseilles that he had hired to be temporary help while he was staying here. He informed the boy that he required his services for the afternoon. Then he rang for Ali and instructed him to ready the carriage. Ali nodded and left. When the boy showed surprise at the driver being spoken to in another language, Louis explained, "Ali only understands Arabic. My father never taught him another language." Then he and the boy headed down to the waiting carriage.
He instructed Ali to drive to the address listed on the slip of paper. The house that the carriage had stopped at was a small house on the left-hand side of the road. It looked to be about four stories high and probably housed many people in many rooms. He sent the boy to the door to ask after Mercèdés Herrera.
******* The man answered the door to see a young boy of about 13 standing there, puffed up in his importance. Behind him he noticed a carriage stopped in the street. The boy must belong with whoever's in the carriage, he thought. "Can I help you?"
"My lord wishes to speak with Mercèdés Herrera." "My mother is not currently at home, but if your lord thinks that I might be able to help him, I can speak with him now."
"Just one moment sir." The boy went back to the waiting carriage.
Louis Dantés looked out the window of the carriage at the man who answered the door. He looked to be a few years younger than his mother and didn't appear to be a servant. The boy returned and spoke to him through the window.
"He says his mother is not currently at home sir, but if you think that he would be able to help he can speak with you now."
Louis thought for a minute. The letter had mentioned something about Mercèdés having a son, which meant that if that letter had indeed been about his father, this man might have known his father as well. And if he hadn't, he could at least tell him when to expect to be able to speak with his mother. "I'll speak with him."
The boy turned and nodded at the man in the doorway. Then he stepped aside to allow his master to exit the carriage. Albert looked at the man walking towards him. He knew that face. He'd seen it long ago. Or at least one like it. Years ago. The face had been older then. Even the way the man walked was familiar. He concentrated on figuring out where he'd seen it. One thing he knew for sure was that it was one that he had known well, and that he hadn't seen it in years.
The young man reached the door, where Albert took his hat and walking cane. He showed him into the sitting room. "How may I help you, Monsieur."
"Dantés. Louis Dantés. I'm looking for information about my father, and I think your mother can help me." He settled himself into his chair. His host remembered that face now, he just wanted to be sure.
"And who was your father?"
"Edmond Dantés, the Count of Monte Cristo." He paused for an instant. "I suppose that's me now."
His host leaned back in his chair. "Yes, we knew your father. My mother and I, I mean. I might be able to answer your questions, but my mother knew him better than I did. I didn't know much about him. What I know I heard from my mother, and that wasn't everything."
"Perhaps I should wait until your mother returns."
"She's out of town until tomorrow."
"Then I'll return tomorrow. In the meantime, is there anything you wish to ask of me?"
"Only one question. How did you know to look here?"
"My father wrote a letter before he died that mentioned someone that I believe is your mother. I also found a slip of paper that had your mother's name and address on it. My father wouldn't have had that for no reason."
"What was this letter about?"
"I'm not quite sure. I'll know better when I've talked to your mother, I think. I brought it with me. I thought you might want to see it." He pulled the letter out of his jacket and handed it to Albert. As Albert read it, his face passed from a look of slight confusion to a pained look.
"Yes, my mother and I are both mentioned in this letter. She would like to read this as well."
"I will bring it with me when I return tomorrow. I should probably be on my way now."
Albert accompanied him to the front door, where he handed him his hat and cane again. Just as he reached to open the door, it opened and a young woman entered. She had the same dark hair and eyes of her father, and those who knew said she looked like her grandmother. She greeted her father and the guest, who tipped his hat and offered "Mademoiselle" by way of greeting. Then he offered a short nod to his host and headed back to the carriage that was still waiting in the street.
Albert stood and watched him leave. His daughter turned to him and asked, "Who was that, father?" Her father answered, "The son of an old friend." As he said it, he knew it was the truth. For although he hadn't seen the count in many years, he had been honored to call him a friend when he had known him.