Chapter 9- Strange Coincidences.
'And what is it that you want, Rebecca?' He sneered at her but she didn't seem to notice, instead she greeted him with a grateful smile and his astonishment grew.
'To thank you, monsieur.' She said simply and he blinked at her accent.
'You're from France.'
'So are you.' She said, grinning playfully. He grimaced.
'There seems to be many French people in London currently, mademoiselle.'
He surveyed her face and decided that she was ugly, for a child that was and obviously not by his standards but ugly none the less. She was ugly because there was absolutely nothing unique about her. Her eyes were delicate, as he had thought earlier, but pale in colour and in no way captivating. Her cheek bones were there but that was all, her lips were thin and dull, her hair matted and unkempt. Yes, she was ugly he thought and it was at this point he realised that she was still talking.
'What?' he said, rudely but again it went without response and she repeated herself.
'Yes, many French people here. Many, I asked you when you came? To England?
'I haven't been here long. A few days.' He said and out of a curiosity, which he knew he would regret later, asked her when she came.
'Years monsieur, it has been years now but things are not right. The vitcome tells me he no longer require my services and that I am to leave. He gave me little money for my trouble and sent me away. The Victomess she apologise, gave me a sorry hug and still, sent me away. My services, puh, indeed they…'
Erik was taken aback by the whole spiel and raised a hand to interrupt her monologue. She had spoken very quickly and he found, the quicker she spoke the deeper her accent became but the more high pitched the tone was. He shook his head.
'Don't you mean Lord? Or Count, Mademoiselle? Victome is French.' He asked with a strange feeling building in his muscles.
'Non, Monsieur. I came over with them and now they do this! Can you believe..?'
'You came with them? From where?' He asked, more startled by the second. She lifted her hand and flicked her hair out of her eyes then looked at him.
'Why do you wear that mask?' She asked, ignoring his question, and his fury fizzed in his veins. He stepped towards her and consciously made his hands remain at his sides.
'Because I choose to.' He snarled with the realisation that she was actually beginning to look worried. 'Where did you come from?'
'Paris,' She said, with a slight tremble to her voice. 'The De Chagney's bought me from Paris with them, I was supposed to look after their children.'
'And why can't you?' He asked, his own voice mocking her slightly for her obvious incompetence at the job she was given.
'Because they have none.'
His mind reeled at the thought, Christine had been alone when he saw her in the street yesterday and he had found this shocking but now it made sense. There were no children in their marital bliss, not one baby in seven years.
He was stunned into forgetting that the girl was there, his mind drifted to their home, or at least the way he imagined their home to be. Full of life and love and warmth with servants and friend. It had taken him so many years to build this image into his mind, that she was happy and he could never give her that. In his visions there had been many voices, those of the happy couple and those of children but his visions were wrong.
If there were no children what else had his inventions got wrong?
'No children and there is word that they are in some trouble.' She continued and this time he sat in the spare seat, listening intently.
'Trouble?' he asked with the first genuine interest he had felt in what the girl had to say.
'Oui.' She said and leaned forward. 'They say that the stresses of running the family estate alone got to him. They say he took to befriending strange people to take his mind away.'
'Strange people?' He asked, attempting to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
'No?' She asked, realising that perhaps she had used the wrong word. 'Bad people? Drinking also. He was very bad tempered.'
'Bad tempered?' He said
'Oui and there is talk of another woman, monsieur.'
Erik could barely contain his shock and he stared at the young lady with curiosity, apparently there was not a cough in London that was not gossiped about. She return his look and slowly, he noticed, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable in his presence. What had taken her so long, he thought.
'These bad people… why will there be trouble with them?'
'I am not sure.' She answered playing with her nails. 'Some say he took a liking to one of the women he believed was a whore. She was not. She was married to one of the bad people.' She swallowed before continuing. 'They want to pay him back, call it er… disrespectful? Oui, yes, disrespectful. They want to make him suffer for bad judgement take him and my old mistress…'
With frightening speed he leapt out of his seat and was upon her in seconds. He seized her by her collar and dragged her from her seat, lifting her to his level, his face inches from hers.
'What? Where did you hear this?' He barked loosening his grip on her slightly, trying to compose himself. 'This is ridiculous. Idle gossip. You should do yourself a favour and ignore it…' He said as he noticed his heart was still pounding.
'No monsieur.' She gasped, tears welling in her ashen eyes. 'He…he spend all night out now' Stammering. 'Trying to get things right… but they won't. And she, Madame, she does not know.'
She does not know…