Chapter Fourteen

The grass swayed in the breeze, waving like the ocean's tide as the wind swept against it. The sun's gentle rays warmed Isabel's skin and she slid down the tree she was leaning against, the bark scratching her through the thin wool of her dress.

Thomas trotted over to her, clutching his father's hand. ''Mama,'' he said urgently, his eyes wide and panicked, "he's here."

"Who, darling?"

"The ghost," Daniel answered, letting go of his son's hand. She rose her eyes to meet his, warm brown meeting dark blue. She shifted her gaze and looked at the green field over his shoulder, focusing hard on the sweeping grass.

"The ghost is just in your head, darling."

"He's here, Mama," Thomas insisted stubbornly. "He's here, and he wants to talk to you."

Isabel sighed. "Does he?"

"Oh, yes," Daniel said quietly. "He keeps asking for you."

She glared at her husband. "You shouldn't encourage him."

Daniel smiled patiently. "He's asking for you, Mrs. Bauer."

She felt her mouth part in surprise. "What?"

"Mrs. Bauer," he repeated softly. "Mrs. Bauer."

"Stop!" she hissed.

That smile still graced his lips. "Mrs. Bauer."

Isabel clapped her hands over her ears.

"Isabel!"

She heard herself gasp as she woke.

Looking around the black room frantically, she swung her legs off the bed.

"Tom?" she croaked.

"No," a voice from the doorway said coolly.

Rising from the bed cautiously, she craned her neck towards the presence at the entrance of the room. "Mr. Bertrand?"

The voice was silent.

"Is something wrong?"

A faint snigger responded.

Slowly, she moved towards the door. "Mr. Bertrand?" she repeated, loud enough to mask the waver of nerves in her voice.

A streak of lightening lit the sky and she made out Mr. Bertrand's form standing just inside her room, arms crossed, back straight. A flicker of alarm struck her.

"What is it, sir?"

She heard him draw near, the almost silent footfalls suddenly beside her. Peering into the darkness, she could see the outline of his face, the curve of his chin and arch of his brow.

Even in the blackness, she could sense that something was very wrong.

"Mrs. Bauer," he said softly, his breath brushing her face. "I am afraid I find myself dissatisfied with your services."

Isabel took a step back. "Dissatisfied?"

"At first," he continued, the smooth voice nearing her again, "your impertinence was tolerable, even amusing at times. But your nagging, prying habits have lost their charm." He drew a breath, exhaling slowly, sadly. "Really, Mrs. Bauer, you are a very foolish girl, aren't you?"

Isabel's back hit a wall; she hadn't noticed she had been moving away from him.

"Fool..." her voice died in her throat as he leaned in, pressing her to the wall with his presence. His arms rose and his hands settled on the wall next to her, pinning her in place. He lowered his head to be level with hers and she swallowed, desperately trying to dampen her dry throat. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't touching her... he was keeping a careful distance between their bodies: a deliberate, slight space, and she found it more unnerving than if he had grabbed her outright.

"In the past several days, Mrs. Bauer," he said in a dangerously calm voice, "you have disrespected me, spied on me, mocked me," - Isabel flinched - "and invaded my privacy on more than one occasion."

Her eyes widened. "I did not!"

She heard him still his breathing. "I beg your pardon?" He pressed himself close to her and she shuddered. "Do you dare to contradict me, Isabel?"

"If I have been disrespectful, sir, I think would be aware of it. And perhaps I have, but I have never violated you in any way!" Her heart throbbed painfully against her ribs; she felt her legs begin to shake. Oh God, he had seen.

"Stop your trembling, child. It does not impress me."

She shut her eyes and willed her body to stop quaking. "Mr. Bertrand," she said carefully, "I know I have offended you--"

His hands pressed against the wall harder; from the corner of her eye, she could see a vein along his finger begin to throb with the pressure. His head lowered to hers and he exhaled harshly, his lips curling into a snarl. "And what, Mrs. Bauer," he said in a fearfully low voice, "are you planning on doing about it?"

Isabel raised her head defiantly, ignoring her forehead touching his. "I would apologize, Mr. Bertrand, if I thought it would help."

"But would you mean your apology? Or would you simply be reciting what you believe I wish to hear?" He moved his body forward and Isabel felt his legs touch the front of her nightshift. She pressed her legs against the wall and stood as tall as she could, silently battling the raging fear in her chest.

"I would never lie to you, Mr. Bertrand."

"You are lying now!" he snapped, hitting his hand against the wall beside her head. She shrank, hunching her shoulders together. Her expression must have finally betrayed the terror she felt, because he shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, and lowered an arm, dropping it to his side.

"You have invaded where you had no place to do so."

She kept her gaze as steady as she could. "The spirits, sir?"

His deathly glare answered her.

"I am sorry if it offended you." She let her eyes drop to the floor, silently thanking God that he had not seen her watching him in the rain. "I was merely concerned for your health."

"Yes, my health seems to have you rather preoccupied, Mrs. Bauer."

"It is in poor condition. Why you ignore that fact, I cannot begin to imagine."

He clenched the fist at his side. "This body does not deserve care, Mrs. Bauer, and I am the ideal person to inflict the appropriate punishment onto it."

She looked at him incredulously. "Very well, then, Mr. Bertrand. I was concerned for myself and my child. I have worked for employers who drank before, and I know, only too well, what can happen to a man. A man who is good and kind and intelligent to begin with." She rose an eyebrow. "Not to mention those who were not. And it was not an experience I wished to relive or expose my son to."

"Mrs. Bauer," he said with a hiss, "I am not like other men."

"Yes, sir. I have been noticing that."

He paused. Cursing, he hung his head and ran a hand through the still-damp hair, tugging absently at snarls.

"Go."

She stared at him, drawing deep breaths slowly. "What?"

"Go," he repeated, his head still down. "Leave now."

She brought an arm up and slid it around her waist. "And go where?"

His eyes met hers, the dark orbs burning. "It is of no concern to me where you go. Remove yourself from my home at once, and take that wretched child with you. Return to your husband, where you belong. He should be made aware of your nature. Or perhaps he already knows." A smirk flicked at his mouth. "Perhaps that is the reason Mr. Bauer is so far from Mrs. Bauer."

Isabel's jaw dropped. "Mr. Bertrand, you really-"

"I have known women before you who have plagued me with stubbornness, Mrs. Bauer," he snapped. "Do not tempt me to treat you the way I treated them."

Isabel lowered her eyes and nodded.

He withdrew, turning and leaving the room without a backward glance.

Isabel was startled by the tears sliding down her face as she watched him retreat.


The hollow stairs echoed under Erik's footfalls as he descended from the third floor. He pulled the door shut behind him and ignored Nadir's flustered presence beside him in the hallway.

"What have you done to the woman?"

"I excused her."

Nadir let out a relieved sigh. "You are finally getting wiser, my friend."

"From my employment, Nadir. I excused her from the position."

Nadir groaned, rubbing his eyes gingerly. "You are still a master at overreaction, I see."

"It is my home!" Erik shouted, turning to face the Persian. "My home, and I will not be treated like a misbehaved schoolboy in it!"

The daroga studied his friend quietly. "Did she offer an explanation, or were you too consumed by your blind fury to notice?"

"She said she was concerned for my health. My health, as if I were a fragile old man." Erik's mouth curled in a snarl. "She does not know how I have managed to walk past Death himself without drawing attention."

"Of course she does not know," Nadir said simply. "That is why she is worried."

The word stopped Erik in his tracks. "Worried?"

"Yes, worried." Nadir stepped up to the younger man and held up his thin wrist. "I have already expressed my concern over this form you have taken, Erik. She simply seems to share my opinions. You are not what you used to be."

"None of us are, daroga. Even I have been unable to escape the human habit of aging."

"You know what I mean," the Persian argued. "I have never seen you so weak... your body needs nourishment, for God's sake, not this poison you've been drowning yourself in."

Erik yanked his wrist away. "I am still alive."

Nadir snorted. "The first time I have ever heard you say so. Perhaps you are still too fascinated by death to resist its call. Does it beckon you again, Erik? Simple, unburdened death... an endless slumber, devoid of pain and suffering. Does the cold beauty of mortality still lurk in your mind? Tell me, do you still sleep in the coffin?"

Erik expected to feel a rush of righteous anger at the words, a quick stab of raging fury, but looking into the Persian's eyes, narrowed with criticism and disappointment, all he felt was a heavy weight settle in his chest, pressing on his heart.

"No," he whispered hoarsely.

"A step towards living," Nadir said with approval. "You see, my friend, I fear for you. Still." He smiled sadly. "Through it all, I fear for you. If you continue on with your habits, you will find yourself alone and half-mad again. It is a fate I do not wish to see you resign yourself to."

Erik remained silent, feeling like a reprimanded child.

"There is much to live for. I have been through hell too, do not forget." The Persian's expression darkened. "If you drive this woman and her child away, Erik, it will begin another cycle for you. And who knows where it will end this time? Another dark cellar to call your own? Another decade of angry solitude? You do not bear it as well as you would like to think. I know you do not."

Erik ran a hand along the edge of the mask, his fingertips pausing where porcelain met flesh.

"Tell the woman whatever you like," he said, swiftly turning and walking towards his room. "Rest well, daroga. Do as I do, and dream of Persia." His back straightened as he entered his room. "Whether you would like to or not."


Isabel folded her green dress - the one her mother had made her years ago - and carefully laid it in the trunk. She stood back and stared into the luggage, her eyes stinging with tears again.

You cannot even fail with graceful indifference.

Sinking onto the bed, she buried her face in her hands, letting her terrified sorrow take hold of her. Crying as quietly as she could, she curled up on the bed, her head pounding, her stomach churning. Nine days she had lasted here, before her busybody ways had made an appearance, before she was finally seen for what she was: a spineless girl, masquerading as a capable adult.

What do I tell Thomas? Their home near Cambridge had been sold, the majority of the funds from the sale going to Daniel. The only apparent option was going to Liverpool and staying with her husband in the small flat he rented. Cramped into the tight space, her life would revert back to what it had not been in many years: housewife, a woman suitable for doting on her son and husband.

She felt every moment of the independent pride she had experienced in the past few years vanish within her, leaving a lonely, sad heaviness in her stomach.

She shut her eyes tighter against the fresh wave of tears.

A knock at the door startled her and her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the sound. Forcing herself off the bed, she grabbed the shawl off the footboard and slung it around her shoulders. She walked to the door unsteadily and opened it, holding her head up high.

Mr. Khan stood there, an apologetic smile etched on his face.

"Mrs. Bauer, please pardon the intrusion."

Isabel tightened the shawl around herself and blinked in surprise. "Mr. Khan. May I help you?"

He peered at her face closely and she hastily wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

"His doing," he stated, shaking his head.

There was no need to reply.

"His threats are not often empty, Mrs. Bauer, but in this case, I believe they were." He smiled again, a kind curling of lips. "You and your son may remain here, if you wish."

She furrowed her brow. "But he told me..."

"Erik's emotions tend to get the better of him," the Persian said off-handedly. "He used to be quite able to control them, but of late, he is prone to simply spout off whatever is running through his head. An unfortunate habit, but one I am certain he will overcome once more, given time."

Isabel lifted a hand to her head and massaged her temple. "Mr. Khan, the man is enigmatical. I do not know what to make of him."

His smile widened. "Nor do I, and I have known him for fifteen years! Well, as much as one can know Erik," he added thoughtfully.

She let her mouth turn up in a small smile.

"He is a paradox, Mrs. Bauer. I do not claim to understand him, nor am I sure I want to. But I do know that he is in need now. Of patience, of help... certainly of help. I do hope you can provide it, despite his protests."

Isabel nodded silently. "I will do my best, sir."

"And that will be enough." he bowed. "Goodnight, Mrs. Bauer. I do hope he was not too hard on you during the confrontation."

She waved the comment away. "I survived."

He smiled once more and turned to go.

"Mr. Khan," she said impulsively, and he spun around, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes?"

She hesitated, dropping her hand to her nightshift's skirt and twisting the material in her fingers. "I just wanted to thank you for the attention you have been paying Thomas... it's difficult for him, having no man to look up to, what with my husband being so far away and..." she trailed off, feeling suddenly foolish for her inarticulate gratitude.

The Persian merely smiled his warm smile, though she noticed, in retrospect, as she was climbing into her bed and once again trying to ignore the thick heat in the air, that his eyes had lost their merriment in that moment... his mouth had smiled, but his piercing gaze had suddenly looked terribly, excruciatingly sad.


The morning sky was dark gray with clouds, the air still sticky with humidity. Isabel stopped kneading the dough in front of her to wipe her brow with the back of her hand, brushing a loose strand of hair back into place.

"I still don't trust this weather, Tom. I would prefer it if you stayed inside."

Sitting on the floor of the kitchen, an atlas spread before him, Thomas gave a pout. "I don't mind getting wet, Mama."

"Well, I mind very much if you get stuck by lightening, dear. The horses will be there to play with after the storm passes."

"Mr. Khan said he didn't think it would rain anymore."

"Oh, did he?"

"He did," the Persian's voice broke in. Isabel spun around and smiled. Mr. Khan walked into the kitchen and peered out the window. "It looks threatening, but I believe the worst has passed."

"I see." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, if you say so." Though she was still wary of the dangerous weather, she felt it safe to put some faith in the man before her.

"Which is fortunate," Mr. Khan continued, reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a letter, "as Erik has requested that we all go to town for some items." He offered Isabel the paper and she took it, unfolding it carefully and reading it over.

Daroga,

I have business to attend to away from the house and must leave you to your own devices for the day. I trust when I come back, I shall find you in one piece. If not, I hold no responsibility.

Since you are so intent on Mrs. Bauer remaining a member of this household, kindly instruct her to go to town and order a new cloak for me - I left the worn one in my study, she may take it as reference for the tailor.

I am also in need of reams of paper - do not bother with embossed stationery, it would only be a wasted expense. Kindly make sure the boy keeps away from it - he has the ridiculous habit of drawing obscure pictures on anything that stands still long enough.

Speaking of which, if she takes that child with her, you should tag along, Nadir. Keep her company and perhaps you shall have have a chance to display your true powers as a protector of the weak and innocent, should a storm erupt.

-Erik

Isabel lowered the letter.

"He always was a sarcastic man," Mr. Khan said pleasantly.

She gave him an amused grin.

"Are you feeling up for a long, tedious journey, sir?"

He sighed, looking down at Thomas. "I should be used to them by now."

Three hours later found them in the village, the two adults chatting idly and the small boy trudging along behind them wearily.

"It certainly seems to have every convenience, considering its size," Mr. Khan remarked, eyeing the apothecary.

"Yes, it is quite impressive, really." Isabel stopped in front of the tailor's shop and drew a deep breath. "Here we are. Mr. Sanders'." She glanced at Thomas, who was frozen on the spot.

"Oh, no," he whispered, looking utterly tragic.

"I'm afraid so, darling."

Mr. Khan watched the exchange with polite amusement.

"We're familiar with Mr. Sanders," Isabel explained, gripping Thomas' hand and pulling him towards the door.

Mr. Sanders stood just inside the doorway, the expression on his face pure joy as soon as his eyes rested on Isabel.

"Mrs. Bauer! And the young master!" He bowed deeply and once again, Isabel felt certain, for just a moment, that he would tip over.

"Mr. Sanders," she said quickly, her voice drawing his head back to eye-level, "would it be possible for you to create a cloak in the likeness of this one?" She held out the ragged cape Mr. Bertrand had requested replaced, and Mr. Sanders took it gingerly. "Oh, certainly, madam, certainly... my, this is a lovely piece of work..." he brought the cloak closer to his face and examined it keenly. "Seamless work, simply magnificent." He tossed it over his shoulder and gave a jovial laugh. "A bit worse for the wear, certainly, but still, quite beautiful. I shall do my best to create its equal, Mrs. Bauer!"

She nodded politely. "I would be much obliged."

"Yes, yes. And how are you this fine day, Mr. Bauer?"

Thomas mutter a noncommittal response and stayed behind his mother, arms crossed and head down.

Isabel heard Mr. Sander's breath catch in his throat. "Hello, sir! May I help you?"

Mr. Khan turned from a rack of opera cloaks he had been casually rifling through. "Oh, no. I am accompanying them."

Mr. Sander's face fell.

"Mr. Sanders," Isabel said, "this is Mr. Nadir Khan. Mr. Khan, Timothy Sanders, our excellent tailor."

Mr. Sander's face flushed a deep crimson. "Mrs. Bauer is too generous with her praise, sir, but it is a pleasure to meet you! A pleasure indeed!" He held out his hand and connected it with Mr. Khans', shaking it fiercely.

Mr. Khan withdrew his hand and massaged it gently. "The pleasure is all mine, I am sure." He looked amused.

"Do you have an idea of when the cloak will be ready, Mr. Sanders?" Isabel asked, pulling the tailor's attention away from the Persian.

"Hmm?" Mr. Sanders looked at her blankly. "Oh! Give me a few days, ma'am. It'll be ready by Thursday, I'd wager."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Sanders." She smiled warmly and he returned the gesture, a ridiculous grin taking his lips.

"Always an honor doing business with you, Mrs. Bauer! Always an honor!" He waved merrily as they left, giving Thomas a poke between the shoulder blades as he passed.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Mr. Khan laughed. "He is certainly a character!"

Isabel groaned. "That he is. Very... boisterous."

"Indeed. Enthusiastic, at any rate."

"He said I have little chicken ankles," Thomas quipped, holding his mother's hand tightly.

"Did he? An odd observation to make..."

Isabel's smile flickered as she saw a familiar face emerge from the crowded street. "Miss Kinneston!"

Samantha Kinneston fought her way through the throng and smiled brightly at Isabel. "Mrs. Bauer! Hello!"

"How lovely to see you again!"

"A pity it had to be on so threatening a day," Samantha said drearily, casting her gaze to the dark skies. "I do hope it does not storm on your way home; four miles of rain is too much for any person to bear."

"I have seen worse," Isabel said, and she found that, looking at Samantha, so light and cheerful, she could not keep a smile off her face. "Miss Kinneston, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Nadir Khan."

Samantha shifted her gaze to Mr. Khan and curtseyed, a polite smile gracing her mouth.

"Mr. Khan, this is Samantha Kinneston."

Mr. Khan bowed briefly. "How do you do."

"Oh, are you foreign?" Samantha burst out with a look of sheer fascination. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth and blushed. "Do pardon me," she mumbled through her fingers. "I have an unfortunate tendency to make a fool of myself."

"Hardly," Mr. Khan replied politely. "You are very correct. I am Persian."

Samantha's eyes grew wide. "Is that so? How interesting!"

"Mr. Khan is an acquaintance of Mr. Bertrand's. He is staying at the house for some time."

"Well, I am sure we will be seeing each again, in that case." Samantha peered behind Isabel. "Hello," she said to Thomas.

The boy looked alarmed and quickly turned his face away, clutching his mother's skirts.

"Darling," Isabel muttered, "don't be rude."

"Hello, ma'am!" Thomas squeaked out.

"My son, Thomas," Isabel said, shrugging helplessly. "He is a bit shy of strangers right now."

"Aren't we all," Samantha said seriously. "Why, I'm terrified of meeting new people. At this very moment, I am almost paralyzed with fear. But I cannot let that stop me." She looked at Thomas again and smiled.

The child blinked at her.

Isabel reached behind her and smoothed his hair. "Darling, really, you're a very silly boy."

Samantha giggled. "Most boys are. Many of them never grow out of it." She went pink again and stared at Mr. Khan. "Sorry, sir."

The Persian merely rose his eyebrows.

"I should be returning to the Foresters'," Samantha said, patting a canvas bag she was holding. "They will be expecting me soon. Have a lovely day, and hurry home! The sky is not friendly today!"

"You, as well, Miss Kinneston."

Samantha turned and walked back towards the street, her blonde hair whipping around in the wind. She turned once more and waved before being swallowed back into the crowd, her face disappearing into the mass of people around her.


Chat's my favorite.
Though the reviewers run a very close second.
Terpsichore314: I was editing a couple of problems from this chapter and saw your review, so I figured, hey, might as well fix the error. Thank you!