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Chapter 10
Winter was its wild, ferocious peak. The fierce, unforgiving month of November had melted into blizzardy December and with it came Christmas, the holiday Raoul hated more than any other. It was on Christmas Eve that the old man had come by and it was on Christmas Day that Raoul had discovered the 'gift' the old man had given to him.
And it was Christmas Day that his family had left him to the mercy of the castle, the roses, and the indescribable despair.
He used to ignore Christmas, dreading the days of December, and violently forbidding the servants from celebrating the holiday in any way, shape, or form. They had obeyed him quickly and without question but he knew well that they missed it. Still, he could not have them being happy when he could not ever have what they did.
Mrs. Lamphrey knew it and tried on many occasions to tell Piper but the girl did not pick up on hints. Or maybe, Mrs. Lamphrey thought reflectively, she didn't want to pick up on hints.
One morning in early December, Piper came in bearing a wreath of pine branches. Raoul looked up from where he had been sitting by the window. He had taken to moving about restlessly whenever Piper was gone but his movement was severly limited by his leg. Mrs. Lamphrey saw his shoulders tense and his mouth tighten and looked desperately to Piper.
"Good morning," Piper said. She set the wreath on a chair and began unwrapping her scarf.
"What's that thing?" Raoul asked with a tone of utmost revulsion.
"A wreath."
"I know that. What is it doing in here?"
Piper knelt by the fire and warmed her hands, keeping her back turned to Raoul. He watched her, fighting between his innate desire to hate everything and the curious little bubble of something strange that rose in his throat every time he saw her.
"I noticed there is a lack of festivity and I thought ..."
"There is a lack of festivity because I wanted it to be that way." His voice was rising uncontrollably.
Piper turned halfway and the firelight caught her auburn hair and made it glow. She was silent for a long moment and then she stood.
"I shan't keep it if you don't want it," she said. She pulled on her cloak and was almost out the door with wreath in hand when:
"Wait!"
Piper looked back. Raoul had been struggling and the word had passed his lips before he even realized what he had been saying. But he could not go back, not now when he had seen the hope light her grey eyes.
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you may ... keep the wreath. But just the wreath! Nothing else."
"Thank you," she said and ran over to him. She kissed his cheek lightly, like a snowflake's touch, and before Raoul even knew what had happened, she was out the door and gone, leaving only the memory.
Slowly, furtively, Raoul reached up and touched his burning cheek. Realizing what he was doing, his hand flew down and he buried himself in his book, trying to forget her sparkling grey eyes or the smell of her skin.
Across the room, Tovu watched his master, a frown deepening his invisible face. He had hoped there would be an argument, that Raoul would have forced down the girl's unquenchable spirit. But he hadn't known how great a hold the girl had on his master.
Perhaps his master had fallen in love.
No, thought Tovu. No. The master could not fall in love. If he did, that would release the hold Tovu had on his spirit, relinquish the control Tovu had over his master's dark thoughts. The spell could be broken. Tovu's eyes narrowed. No, the spell could not be broken. He would see to that. He would make sure the girl did not love the master. If the girl did not love the master, it would break the master's heart and then Tovu would be in control again.
"I must do something," Tovu murmured to himself and then left, leaving Mrs. Lamphrey alone with the master.
Slowly Mrs. Lamphrey advanced and set to work making the bed. Raoul had stopped reading the book and was staring out the window at the falling snow, his dark eyes distant.
"Are you quite comfortable, master?" Mrs. Lamphrey asked, breaking the silence. He started a little and then turned in her direction.
"Oh, yes, yes." Then, with great difficulty: "Thank you."
Now it was Mrs. Lamphrey's turn to jump and she was glad, for a moment, that she was invisible so the master could not have seen the look of surprise that crossed her face.
"You're welcome, master," she said and Raoul could not have failed to hear the respect in her voice.
There was another long silence. Raoul shifted to make himself more comfortable and turned toward where he thought Mrs. Lamphrey was.
"I hope she does not think she can bring in more Christmas," he said but there was no conviction in his voice.
"Of course, master."
"You will tell her so?"
"Yes, master."
"Good."
Silence. The clock above the mantle ticked loudly in the stillness.
"How many years will it have been, Mrs. Lamphrey?"
Both the question and that he had called her by name surprised Mrs. Lamphrey.
"One hundred and eight, master," she said.
"Yes, of course. One hundred and eight." She saw the sadness in his eyes. "'Tis a long time."
"Yes, master."
"Perhaps I am beyond ever loving or being loved."
His voice was heavy, weighed down with a hundred griefs that Mrs. Lamphrey could never know but some of which she had experienced. To both their surprise, she answered fiercely:
"No one is ever beyond love, master. Piper would tell you the very same thing."
"Piper," he repeated and Mrs. Lamphrey heard his voice become gentle and his eyes soften imperceptibly. In that moment, Mrs. Lamphrey knew. She had suspected it for a few weeks now, ever since Piper had told him he still had a heart. But now she knew it with a woman's surety, before Raoul himself even knew.
Raoul loved Piper. It was there in his face, in his eyes, in every line of his body and still he didn't know.
"She enjoys Christmas, doesn't she?" Raoul said and his hands tightened with the pain of speaking.
"Yes, master, I believe she does."
"Would she—do you think she—I want her to be happy." There was uncertainty and hesitance in his face as if he was unsure of what to do or say. For a minute, his heart was laid out on the table and Mrs. Lamphrey saw a timid and frightened part of the master that she had never seen before and she loved him for it, as a mother loves her child.
"As do I, master," she said gently.
"If you celebrate Christmas, would she be happy?"
"Yes," Mrs. Lamphrey said, and knew it would be so.
