Chapter Sixteen

The weather cooled over the next few days, crisp breezes chilling the sticky air.

Mr. Bertrand's disposition had improved slightly; the favorable change in the weather seemed to agree with him, although Isabel suspected that he still wasn't sleeping. His complexion had darkened somewhat from the hours he has spent outdoors, but the deep circle under his visible eye remained, giving him a perpetual tired look. When she had asked him if he had been getting any rest, he had snapped that it was bad enough to have his eating habits monitored; did she need to keep such an irritatingly close eye on his sleeping habits, as well?

"Of course not, sir," she had replied, tight-lipped. He was seated at the table in the parlor, picking at the breakfast of eggs and fried, grated potatoes she had brought him. Looking up from his plate, he shot her an annoyed look and she took a step back in the doorway, raising her brow in question.

"Mrs. Bauer…"

"Yes?"

"For the last time, do not use that disingenuous, insipid word in reference to me again."

"Excuse me. Mr. Bertrand."

She had silently marveled at his ability to sneer and chew at the same time.

Nadir took Mr. Bertrand's mood swings in stride.

"His clever retorts and angry glares are impressive, to be sure," he said one day over a cup of tea he insisted Isabel join him in. "But they are quite harmless. If you truly anger him, however…" he sighed as he lifted the teacup to his lips, "run."

Isabel hadn't bothered asking him to elaborate. She knew what his answer would be: a mysterious smile, a shake of the head. Not that she particularly wanted to know his meaning. She was resigning herself to considering her employer a human-like enigma, and learning his secrets would risk destroying the simplistic illusion.

Now she stood once again in the village, smiling and nodded politely to Mr. Sanders, who was raving about the sublime color of the clouds on that particular day.

"…been seeing them almost every day of my life, of course, like most people, but never like this! Such a pristine white, Mrs. Bauer, such a pristine white! And as fluffy and touchable as rabbits! Or mice. Some such rodent, in any case."

"Yes, Mr. Sanders, it is a lovely day indeed. I was wondering, sir, about that cloak I-"

"And you, if I may be so bold, Mrs. Bauer," - (Isabel felt her stomach clench) - "are looking as stunning as the summer sunset itself."

Isabel swallowed a groan and widened her smile. "Mr. Sanders, you are too free with your praise. I hardly deserve such a charming compliment."

Mr. Sanders beamed.

"But as I was saying…"

He looked at her blankly, that painfully delighted smile still on his face.

She lifted an eyebrow. "The cloak?"

"Oh! Of course!" He ran into the back and reemerged almost immediately, holding out the item in his hands like a holy offering. Isabel took the cape and shook it out, ignoring the look of horror on Mr. Sanders' face as his careful folding was destroyed in a matter of seconds.

Holding the cloak at arm's length, she studied it over the tailor's quiet whimpers of displeasure.

The cape was black wool, the softest and finest she has ever felt. It was lined with dark cold silk, embroidered with black vines creeping around fleurs-de-lis. It was heavier and longer than she had expected. At least three inches sat pooled on the floor while she struggled to keep it held up. Drawing it towards herself, she carefully rolled it up and tucked it under her arm.

"It's perfect, Mr. Sanders. As usual."

His eyes welled.

"Are you well?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"Never better, I assure you!" He dabbed at his eyes. "Will that be all today, ma'am?"

"Yes. Thank you." She turned, casting the tailor one last perplexed look over her shoulder.

Thomas sat in the buggy outside, looking bored.

"Alright, Tom, I'm done," Isabel said as she climbed in beside him.

"Home?"

"Yes, darling. Home. Unless you'd like to run in and say hello to Mr. Sanders."

Slumping in his seat, Thomas crossed his arms and set this jaw in his usual sign of his annoyance.

Ruffling his hair, she took the reins and prepared to begin the trek back when she froze her movements.

"Did I pay him?"

"What?"

She let her back fall against the seat and furrowed her brow in thought. "Mr. Sanders. It took me an age to get him off the subject of clouds and onto the subject of cloaks. I was so distracted, I do believe I forgot to pay him."

"I'm sure he won't mind if you're a little late, Mama. Just go back and tell him you're sorry."

Isabel glanced at the shop out of the corner of her eye and saw Mr. Sanders blowing his nose into a handkerchief through the window. "I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"Do you remember how you told me you didn't like Mr. Sanders?"

Thomas nodded.

"Well, I feel the same way now."

The boy looked at his mother with sorrowful eyes. "Did he say you have chicken ankles too, Mama?" he asked sympathetically.

She smiled. "No, darling. I just don't like being around him. Very much like you don't like being around Mr. Bertrand."

Thomas straightened at the man's name. "Oh."

"I'll have to come back into town soon, anyway," she reasoned. "I'll pay him then. I just don't think I would be able to stand one more of his ridiculous observations right now."

Thomas took the reins from his mother and jerked them up and down, clucking his tongue. Loki and Bellerophon pulled the buggy forward and Isabel slid down her seat, letting out a startled shriek.

Thomas looked at his mother and smiled. "We need to get home, Mama," he said, handing her the reins. "Maybe Mr. Bertrand is always cross because he has no cloak."

Isabel laughed. "Let's hope so, dearest. I do hope so."


"…aunt in Paris, but my parents never saw a reason to send me. I always was a tad bitter about that." Samantha Kinneston's voice drifted into the hallway as Isabel and Thomas entered the house.

Massaging her neck, Isabel walked towards the sounds coming from the parlor.

"One of the better cities in Europe, I think," Nadir's accented voice responded. "Though I do have a certain fondness for Vienna, particularly in the winter."

"Is Paris where you met Mr. Bertrand?"

A pause.

"In a way."

Isabel stepped into the room and looked around quizzically. Samantha sat on a wooden chair beside the table, her hands folded in her lap. Across from her was Nadir, seated at the table with an amused smile on his face.

"Ah, Isabel." He stood. "How was your trip to town?"

"Very good," she replied, awkwardly lingering in the doorway.

Samantha's head snapped towards Isabel. "Mrs. Bauer!" She rose and smiled her pretty smile.

"Ms. Kinneston! This is an unexpected pleasure." She didn't realize how pleased she was to see the younger woman until the words left her mouth.

"Oh, do forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Bauer, but it's such a lovely day out and I miss this home so much." Her smile turned apologetic and she shrugged. "I confess, I have yet to perfect the art of maturity. I always follow my impulses. I've had reason enough to stop, but I simply cannot seem to."

"Well, I'm glad you did. It is truly a delight to see you again." Isabel looked at Nadir. "Where is Mr. Bertrand?"

"In his study," the Persian replied. "He has cooped himself up there since this morning."

"I see." She turned at the sound of footsteps behind her.

Thomas stood in the hallway, gazing through the open door at the faces in the parlor.

"Dearest, you remember Ms. Kinneston."

Thomas's eyes fell to the floor and he smiled shyly, ducking behind his mother.

"Hello, Thomas," Samantha said in a kind voice.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he replied quietly, peeking out from his hiding place.

Nadir cleared his throat. "Thomas, perhaps now would be a good time to go over the countries of Africa. You asked me to point them out to you on the atlas, did you not?"

Thomas nodded silently. Nadir approached him and patted his back, heading into the hallway and towards the library, the boy following closely behind.

Samantha drew near Isabel, wringing her hands. "My sudden appearance really is beyond rude, I know, but as I said, I simply couldn't find it in myself to resist the-"

"Really, Ms. Kinneston, it's a lovely thought. You said you used to walk these gardens when you were younger, correct?"

Samantha nodded.

"Then we shall take a turn in them now. Come. Mr. Bertrand is too occupied with whatever has caught his interest to notice if I take a few moments for myself." She led Samantha down the hallway and into the kitchen, opening the backdoor for her and slipping out herself.

Samantha's hand flew to her mouth as her eyes watered. "Oh, excuse me. But it's been so long since I saw this place… have you become acquainted with it, yet?"

"The orchard? Not particularly. I haven't had time to take a tour of the grounds."

Samantha paused in the yard and stared at the stable. "Unless my memory is failing, I have never seen this before."

Isabel smiled. "Yes, Mr. Bertrand built it several days ago. For the horses."

"He has horses?"

"Not at the time, he didn't. He has acquired two now, and we use them for trips to town."

"Oh, how lovely!" Samantha approached the stable and slid the door open, peering inside. "How good of him to save you all those miles on foot. He must be a kind man indeed."

"'Kind' is not a word I would use," Isabel said dryly. "'Begrudgingly merciful' may be more appropriate."

Samantha laughed. "He sounds like a true gentleman."

"My son left the back door ajar one day," Isabel sighed, pointing to the back of the stable, "and one of the geldings managed to jump the pen and escape." She shuddered as she remembered the exchange between her employer and herself the day after Loki had wandered the orchard.

"Why was he in the stable in the first place?"

"Please, sir, you must understand. Thomas has always had a great weakness for animals, and having horses so near him, it would be simply unbearable to be unable to spend some time with them. He used the back door to avoid being seen, in case you would be upset."

"I am upset, Mrs. Bauer. That foolish child nearly lost me a gelding, all for the sake of a few moments of frivolous entertainment. What did I tell you the first time I met you, Mrs. Bauer?"

Isabel looked away, embarrassed. "To keep Thomas away from you."

"And why have you not made more of an effort to do so?"

"It was an accident," she snapped. "He feels horrible already. He begged me to apologize to you as much as possible. He is terrified that you're angry with him."

Mr. Bertrand looked Isabel in the eye. "If he crosses me in such a manner one more time," he said calmly, "you will both regret it very much indeed."

"Mrs. Bauer?"

Isabel turned her head to Samantha, standing in the doorway of the stable and staring at Isabel with a perplexed expression.

"Pardon me," Isabel said, smiling distractedly. "Shall we move on to the orchard?"

The cherry trees had shed their blossoms and were now sprouting green fruit, tiny, hard orbs that would soon turn bright red and sweet. The thought warmed Isabel, and she reached up and brushed a branch tenderly.

Samantha nodded towards the lake. "I used to sit here for hours when I was a child. It was always so peaceful… the perfect spot to reflect." She shook her head. "The Foresters were very lenient with my free time when I was younger. Now that my parents have passed on, many of the responsibilities fall to me. I scarcely have a spare moment to catch my breath, much less visit the haunts of my youth."

Isabel drew near the lake and sat unceremoniously on the ground, tucking her legs under her. "Yes, I can relate. My husband and I worked for the Northings in Devonshire for many years. They were unrelenting in their demands, as I recall. I was forever performing menial tasks… polishing silver that already shone, beating rugs that were clean. Mrs. Northing was particularly fond of having us clean the draperies twice a week."

Samantha seated herself beside Isabel and folded her hands in her lap. "Is your husband here?"

Isabel shook her head. "He is in Liverpool, working as coal porter with his brother."

"Oh." Samantha fidgeted, picking absently at her skirt. "It must be very difficult, being so far from him. Raising your son alone."

"At times," Isabel said quietly. "But we all manage. My husband has always held a deep love for the sea, an affection I'm afraid I never shared. It is better that he be so close to something he finds such pleasure in."

"But to be removed from his wife and son?" Samantha looked out over the lake and sighed. "I am sure you all suffer, if only a little."

"Well, perhaps. It has been several years since we were all together; I suppose we have simply become used to the arrangement." Isabel cleared her throat. "Anyway, we have adjusted to this new situation quite well, given the circumstances."

"Circumstances?"

"Mr. Bertrand is not the easiest man to work for," Isabel said bluntly. She felt at ease with this young woman, a kinship towards another member of working-class society. A comrade.She smiled.

"I am curious about the man," Samantha said slyly, glancing at the house behind her.

"As am I."

"Oh, dear. Does he not converse with servants?" Samantha's pretty face took on a sour expression. "Puts on airs? I do so loathe those types of people. I am thoroughly tired of being treated like a farm animal simply because I do not waltz around in furs and silks."

Isabel laughed. "I understand. But no, he doesn't treat me ill, exactly. He keeps to himself, mostly. A very strange man, to say the least."

"Did you come with him here from his former home?"

"Oh, goodness, no. I only started a few weeks ago."

Samantha looked surprised. "My, what it would be like to have known more than one house." A sad look flicked across her face. "I do fear I shall live and die at the Foresters' home." She brightened. "But they pay me well, and I have a roof over my head."

"You have an admirable outlook on life, Ms. Kinneston."

"Samantha, please. Such formalities are almost suffocating, don't you think?"

Isabel grinned. "I do."

"And what of Mr. Khan? He seems a good-natured fellow. Has he been here long?"

"No, he arrived unannounced just a few days ago. He is pleasant company, though. And he seems to have taken a liking to Thomas." Isabel's smile dimmed. "Which is more than I can say for Mr. Bertrand."

"If I may say so, Isabel, you don't sound very fond of your employer."

Isabel looked over at Samantha and saw the young woman's face set in good humor, her eyes peering into Isabel's intently.

"He is not the easiest man to get along with," Isabel said delicately. "I find his sense of humor to be lacking, and when it does appear, it is often biting and sarcastic. He despises my son. He does not take care of himself." She groaned. "There are times when I feel as if I am working for a petulant child."

Samantha remained silent. Isabel turned to face her and saw the young woman staring in the direction of the house, her mouth slightly agape. Whipping her head around, Isabel saw Mr. Bertrand striding towards them, dressed in his usual immaculate attire, burgundy waistcoat contrasting perfectly off the white lawn shirt he wore beneath. Trousers Isabel had pressed earlier in the day covered his legs, and his black leather shoes gleamed in the sunlight with each step he took. Her eyes rose to his face and she jerked back, startled.

The mask adorning the right side of his face was black; worn leather molded to fit the form of his face as well as the white porcelain had.

"Mrs. Bauer," he said crisply as he drew near. He thrust out a hand holding a sheet of paper, the breeze making it flutter in his grasp.

Standing carefully, she shook out her skits and plucked the paper from his hand, skimming it. "Onions? Dried mint? Spinach?" She looked at him curiously.

"Items from the market. I believe there is a hothouse in town; they should be able to provide most of the out-of-season requests."

"What are they for, Mr. Bertrand?"

"A Persian meal for Mr. Khan," Mr. Bertrand replied, straightening his posture as he glanced at Samantha, still sitting quietly.

"Of course. A thoughtful gesture, if I may say so." Isabel's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Tastes native to his tongue."

"Indeed."

Samantha stood slowly, casting her head down.

"Mr. Bertrand," Isabel said, indicating the woman behind her. "Miss Samantha Kinneston. She stopped by for a brief visit. She's familiar with this property. Her employers were acquaintances of the Churchman's." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to speak so quickly.

Erik looked at her disinterestedly. "I see."

Samantha curtseyed. "Sir."

Isabel waved towards Mr. Bertrand. "Mr. Erik Bertrand, master of the house."

Mr. Bertrand's mouth set in an annoyed line. "A true pleasure, madam," he said, a trace of sarcasm coloring his tone. He turned his gaze back to Isabel. "I would like the items to be gathered by tomorrow evening and the meal prepared no later than the day after. The recipes will be left on the kitchen table this evening and you will pay attention to each instruction explicitly. I will not have a shoddy dinner served to my guest."

Isabel tore her eyes away from the creased leather mask and met his gaze. "Of course, sir." She bit her tongue at the word. Damn.

Mr. Bertrand shot her a dark glare. He nodded stiffly to Samantha and turned, walking back through the orchard. Isabel watched his retreating back, sighing deeply.

"And that," she said softly, "is Mr. Bertrand."

"I was right."

Isabel looked at Samantha. "Pardon?"

Samantha grinned. "He is handsome."


Mad-love gush to Chat, 'cause she's just so damn cool.
A dedication to Mandy the O, the creator of one of the best pieces of fiction on the web, An Eternity of This. We're proud of you, Mads.
The reviews make me well up. I adore you.
On a side-note, Hugh Panaro is, um, a really, really good Phantom. I'm still recovering.