Chapter Twenty
"Isabel."
The voice sounded distant, faint and nearly inaudible. Isabel forced her heavy eyelids open and immediately threw a hand over her eyes – a light poured through the window onto her face, and she groaned at its intensity.
"Isabel, I did not mean to disturb you. I apologize most sincerely."
Isabel squinted into the direction of the voice and made out a dark form lingering in the doorway, a tray in its hands: Nadir Khan smiled sheepishly as he set the dish-laden tray down. "I thought perhaps you may be hungry. It has been hours since your last meal."
She looked down at the food before her and smiled. Fried eggs sat on thick slabs of bread, melted butter dripping down the sides; a steaming cup of tea and a small creamer sat off to the side.
"Thank you, Nadir. How very thoughtful." She reached for the teacup and brought it to her lips. Her muscles were beginning to ache from her awkward sleeping position: the chair she had dozed off in had proven an insufficient bed. She brought a hand to her shoulder and rubbed for a moment. The sharp pain her massage caused made her grimace, and she returned her attention to breakfast.
He inclined his head in a slight bow in reply. "Has he woken at all?"
Isabel set the teacup down quickly, the hot liquid splashing across her hand. She muttered darkly and wiped at it with her sleeve, shaking her head. "No, not yet." She avoided the Persian's gaze: perhaps if she remained distracted, the urge to cry would lessen.
Nadir passed her and knelt beside the bed, placing a hand on Thomas's forehead. The Persian shut his eyes and furrowed his brow, lines of concentration appearing on his face. Suddenly, the tension left and his eyes opened. Smiling satisfactorily, he withdrew his hand.
"It has broken."
Isabel scrambled from her seat and hurried to the bed, holding her hand to Thomas's forehead. Hot tears formed in her eyes as she ran her fingers along his cool, dry skin. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"I hope it can be repaired," came a smooth voice from the doorway.
Isabel turned her head towards the voice. The familiar masked face of Mr. Bertrand greeted her – as much as anything to do with Mr. Bertrand can greet a person – and she rose form her position, bowing to him briefly. "Repaired?"
"Whatever has broken."
He paused in the doorway, the well-honed look of annoyance fluttering across his face. "My early-morning attempt at humor, Mrs. Bauer. Please excuse me."
Isabel nodded and returned her attention to the small body in the bed, ignoring the sound of a heavy sigh coming from her employer.
"Yes, Erik, we are all relieved," Nadir said pleasantly, walking over to the door and touching the masked man's elbow. He lowered his voice. "Perhaps we should leave the lady alone with her son."
Mr. Bertrand grunted and turned, leaving the room silently. Nadir smiled at Isabel and walked to the door, nabbing a crumpet off the tray.
Isabel seated herself on the bed beside Thomas and grasped his small hand, turning it over in hers. "Darling, you'll be up and about soon and we'll be able to forget that this ever happened." She wiped a lock of dark hair off his forehead. "Soon, my dearest."
She heard the quiet creak of the door shutting and the faint thudding of footsteps away from the room.
She leaned against the wall, the mattress sinking under her weight.
"Do you know, Thomas, I do believe there is a ghost in this house." She looked at the shut door.
"With blood in his veins."
Nadir Khan was not a simple man. Simple men did not achieve levels of respectability in Persia – with the possible exception of the shah – and the daroga knew his was not a position to be scoffed at. Although he remained humble, he readily acknowledged that he possessed the rare gift of perception: in short, he had a remarkable ability to read people. Even those who wore masks, both figuratively and, in this case, literally. Though Erik had proven to be the most challenging man Nadir had ever encountered, the relationship had certainly provided its own brand of usefulness: he had allowed the daroga to practice his skills of understanding the human race in all its forms.
And, if Nadir let himself dwell on the subject long enough, he was forced to admit to himself that there were certain feelings associated with the masked man. Not love, certainly. No, Nadir had not felt love for anyone since the passing of his Reza. A companionship, perhaps, a foolish loyalty, perhaps respect. Yes, that is it. Respect. He snorted at himself. Respect, indeed. For a crazed man afraid of his own face. A thief, a murderer, a wicked seducer, desperate enough to create a monumental, elaborate lie to entangle a sweet, if somewhat childlike, girl in an endless web of mystery and music. A faux angel who viewed his humanity as his greatest weakness.
Nadir settled back into his chair, smiling at his analogy. He could not help thinking that Erik would be pleased with it.
"Is there a reason for that inane expression, Nadir?"
The Persian glanced at the masked man across the room. Erik sat on a chair in the library, paying no attention whatsoever the book in his hands.
Nadir tilted his head. "A Study in Incan Culture," he read aloud. "I must say, whoever owned this house before you left behind a very eclectic array of books."
"They appear to have been eccentric people," Erik replied dryly, flipping a page with disinterest.
"Indeed." Nadir studied his friend intently, noticing, with a twinge of amusement, that Erik was obviously ignoring the scrutiny.
"I suppose Isabel will be too consumed with agony and terror to prepare any proper meals today."
"Your selfless nature continues to astound me."
Erik set the book onto his lap and glared at the daroga. "I do wish you would just say whatever is running through your mind."
"I do not think that would be a wise thing to do around you, my friend. Anyway, what do you care for my thoughts?"
Snatching the book back up, Erik settled further into the chair and held it in front of his face. The Persian could make out a thin, two-toned line above the top of the book: black leather suddenly turning to ivory skin. The contrast never failed to startle him.
Stretching, Nadir let out a yawn and rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the tightness of his muscles. "I am sure we can fend for ourselves on this one day. She works hard; she deserves some rest, particularly during this time of trial."
Not bothering to lower the book, Erik snorted. "Nadir, do yourself a favor and do not grow attached to this woman. She has a deep distaste for me. I feel quite certain that she will leave before the summer is through."
"You are an acquired taste, Erik, and I think she is tolerating you admirably."
Erik brought the book down onto the table beside him with such force that Nadir jumped in his seat.
"Daroga," he said, his body radiating the tension Nadir was so familiar with. "I understand that you are fond of her, but do not allow yourself to get so close that you are blinded to all else around you. Do not let her drag up memories of the past that are better left forgotten."
Nadir stared at the man quietly.
"You were not asleep."
"No, I was not asleep."
Nadir narrowed his eyes. "You were eavesdropping?"
"I was."
"Really, Erik, there are times when I believe you to be as old as the earth itself, and then there are times when you remind me of a child."
"How very endearing you make me sound."
"I will discuss any memories I wish to discuss with whomever I wish to discuss them with. I am very capable of making those choices for myself."
Erik relaxed his head against the back of the chair and sighed. "Of course."
"Reza has been lingering in your mind, as well. Do not bother denying it."
Closing his eyes, Erik shook his head slowly. "Such arrogance, daroga. Assuming you can now read my mind."
"Your concern – one might say passionate concern – for Thomas's well-being must have sparked by something, Erik. Being as you have made it abundantly clear that you have little or no tolerance for the boy himself, I can only deduce that you are thinking of my son and his fate."
There was a moment of heavy silence.
"You have stopped grieving." Erik opened his eyes and stared out the window, a sorrowful expression on his face. "You speak of him openly now."
"I will never stop grieving. It is the worst thing, I had been told, to lost one's child. And now I believe it, most wholeheartedly. How many years has it been, Erik? And still, he is in my thoughts every day. He and Rookeeya both…" he paused, smiling at his wife's name. Her face flashed through his mind, round and olive-skinned, black eyes that shone and a mouth that never stopped smiling. Like her son's.
He raised his eyes to meet Erik's. "The Africans have a saying. 'Everywhere I go, I wear you.' That is what I have come to accept over the years. My wife and son, they are gone now. But that does not mean I will forget them, or should forget them." He shook his head. "No, Isabel asked to hear about Reza, and I find myself tempted to tell her."
Erik dropped his gaze. "And what would you tell her of his death?"
Nadir was taken aback by the cold, sharp tone his friend's voice had taken. "The truth. He was ill and his time came."
The masked man remained silent.
"I would not dare tell her of your involvement, Erik, no matter how grateful I am for it. It would open Pandora's box… I will include you in the tale, of course, but details will not be revealed. If she is ever to learn fully of your time in Persia, Paris and wherever else you may have taken yourself, I will leave the task of informing her to you and you alone. I refuse to divulge that information."
"Once more, daroga, you display your wisdom."
"I am not sure it is wisdom. Perhaps I simply—"
"He is awake!" In a flurry of skirts and loose hair, Isabel burst into the room, drawing deep, shaking breaths as she thrust out an arm to the doorway, supporting herself. "He is awake now!"
Nadir rose from his seat. "Is he speaking?"
"Yes, though very little. He said he is thirsty and hungry." A ridiculous grin broke out on her face and Nadir noticed, not for the first time, what a lovely woman she was. A bit thin and awkward, perhaps, but she had a remarkable smile. A remarkable smile that looked somewhat familiar… Nadir furrowed his brow.
"Excuse me, I must fetch him some water and something to eat." She dashed from the room and Nadir felt her warm presence leave immediately.
Shooting Erik a glance, he walked towards the door. "Would you like to pay him a visit?"
Erik snorted and took his book up again, peering at the pages intently.
Somehow, Nadir felt that it was the appropriate answer.
Isabel's fingers were sore from the endless hours of mending she had decided to tend to. It was a strange way to pass the time, she knew – she had never been a particularly good seamstress and normally avoided sewing at any cost, but the it was a task that needed to be done, and she could mend all the skirts and bodices that had been neglected for many months past while in Thomas's room where the light was suitable.
"Mama, when can I get out of bed?" Thomas's pale face formed a slight pout as he poked at his bowl of soup.
"In a few days, love. Give it a few days."
Despite Thomas's claims to be feeling perfectly well, Mr. Bertrand had rejected the idea of the boy leaving the bed anytime soon.
"He is still weak," he had said shortly, appearing irritated at the small child's impatience. "Give him a few days in which to recover fully. Unless, of course, you wish to repeat this experience soon; in which case, please, by all means, frolic about outside at once."
Isabel had been forced to explain the meaning of the words "sarcastic" and "facetious" to Thomas after Mr. Bertrand left.
The boy sighed theatrically and Isabel peered at him over her stitching, smiling. "Oh, come now. Two or three days of doing nothing constructive whatsoever. Most boys your age only dream of such a thing."
"I know," Thomas said quietly. "I just wish I could see the horses."
"The horses will be there in three days, darling. Just rest now."
They fell back into silence, Isabel bent over her mending, Thomas gazing out the window with longing. Several comfortable moments passed; Isabel found herself smiling more than once at the simple sound of Thomas's breathing.
"Hello?" came a voice from the hall. A knock sounded on the door and a dark head poked into the room.
"Hello, Nadir!" Thomas exclaimed, sitting up in the bed.
The Persian entered, the ever-present smile on his lips. He clutched a book in his hands and Thomas eyed it eagerly. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the volume.
"Thomas," Isabel chided. "Don't be rude."
Nadir let out a bark of laughter. "He has been ill; I think we should let it pass this once." He held up the book. "This, Thomas, is a book similar to the one we read recently." He handed it to the boy, who peered at the cover with interest.
"Common Christian Names and Their Meanings." He looked back up at Nadir, his face questioning.
"By the same author of the book on European surnames." Nadir seated himself in an unoccupied chair by the bed and took the book from Thomas, flipping through it and searching a page briefly. "Here we are: 'Thomas, from the Aramaic word te'oma, meaning "twin"'."
Thomas stared in awe. "Does that mean I'm a twin?"
Isabel laughed. "No, darling, that is simply where the name came from."
"Why did you and Papa name me Thomas?"
Isabel shrugged. "It was a name we both agreed on. I'm afraid you weren't named after a relative or a war hero or anything else even slightly romantic."
"What does Mama's name mean?" Thomas asked, pointing to the book excitedly and seemingly ignoring his mother's explanation.
"Well, we shall see." Nadir flipped through pages, skimming down them until he found what he was looking for. "Ah. 'Isabel, variation of Elizabeth. Meaning "Consecrated to God"'.'"
"What does consecrated mean?"
Nadir looked at Isabel, quirking a brow. "Well…"
"'Consecrated' means dedicated to a holy purpose." Isabel paused in thought. "Well, not exactly… it means…"
"Sanctified," Nadir said, closing the book. "I believe that is right." He smiled. "Your mother is sanctified."
Thomas giggled as the blush climbed Isabel's cheeks.
The cherry trees swayed in the breeze that swept past Isabel, the red-and-green fruit bobbing up and down on the branches. Absently, she lifted an arm and picked off one of the small orbs, rolling it between her fingers.
"The weather in England has, thus far, proven far too fickle for my taste." Nadir paused beneath a tree and peered up at the clear sky, squinting against the sun. "Unpleasant as the dry heat of my native land may be, at least it was consistent."
"Yes," Isabel mused, still playing with the half-ripe cherry. "Yes, England does have a tendency to fluctuate between wet and dry rather abruptly."
Nadir harrumphed and continued on through the orchard, stopping here and there to examine a tree. Isabel got the impression that he was simply avoiding the talk he had agreed to have with her regarding his son. She felt guilty at the thought; although she wanted her curiosity to be quenched, she did not want him to force himself to speak of things he would rather leave in the past.
Several days had passed since Thomas had woken up and he had taken his first walk outside that morning, clinging to his mother and pointing out every possible animal he encountered. Stray cats, birds, insects… nothing was spared from an excited jump and an enthusiastic cry from the young boy. He was currently in his bed, taking a well-deserved afternoon nap.
"I want to apologize for prying," Isabel said bluntly. Nadir stopped in his tracks and looked at her, surprise etched on his face.
"Asking about your son," she continued, feeling awkward. "I had no right to demand information."
"You were requesting, my dear, not demanding." He turned back to the pathway and strolled on. Isabel stared after him for a moment, then sped up to walk beside him. "And I do not mind, not really. You should not be afraid to ask for stories from the lives of the people you share a roof with." He gave an amused grunt. "Except for Erik, of course."
"Naturally."
"So, if I may be so bold to tell you the story of my Reza, since you asked me during a time of trouble with your own child…"
"Please. But do not feel obligated."
Nadir laughed softly. "I shall do my best to avoid it." He stopped again, in the middle of the pathway, the sun beating onto his face. He raised his eyes to the heavens and closed them, breathing deeply. "What is the term that is so beloved here… ah, yes. Once upon a time, Isabel, there was a very beautiful woman…"
And Isabel absorbed his story, enraptured by the haunting beauty and tragedy laid before her. The Persian's voice never wavered during his tale; it simply recited the happenings faultlessly, the words pouring out from him as if he had repeated it a thousand times before. Isabel felt her head spinning, bits of the story standing out from the rest boldly: Rookeeya, the daughter of a merchant… Nadir's promotion to daroga, a position he both appreciated and detested… the birth of a child bringing the death of the mother… a fateful trip to Russia… Reza's deteriorating health… and the boy's eventual death, quiet, peaceful and merciful.
"In his sleep? Thank God."
"Indeed," Nadir said softly. "He did not feel any pain."
"And your friend, the Russian? He helped Reza throughout the illness?"
"Distracted him, yes. He had – and still has – a wonderful gift for diverting attention away from unpleasant things. And pleasant things," he added thoughtfully. "A magician's tricks are more than enough to fascinate any small child, even one who is in Death's grasp."
"And he left Persia after the passing? Did he not stay and help you in your grief?"
"Oh, he stayed for a while, yes. The shah and khanum grew… ah… bored with him shortly thereafter, and he found it in his best interest to move on."
"I must say, Nadir, I am not overly-fond of our king, but I much prefer him to your shah. He sounds like a thoroughly unpleasant chap."
Nadir laughed. "As usual, Isabel, you put it succinctly. Very unpleasant."
Isabel smiled sadly, the image of a small, dark-skinned boy still running through her mind. "I am glad you had someone to keep you company afterwards."
"As am I." He looked down the path thoughtfully.
"It is strange to think of a ruler of a great country being concerned with a magician. Particularly to the point of requesting his presence from halfway around the world."
"Well, the shah was easily bored. And this magician was very entertaining, at one time."
"You never mentioned his name."
"His name? Oh." Nadir smiled. "It changes from time to time, you see. At the moment, it is Erik Bertrand."
Isabel felt her eyes grow wide. "Mr. Bertrand? Mr. Bertrand was your Russian friend?"
"I never did say he was Russian. Only that I went to Russia to collect him."
"What on earth was he doing in Russia?"
"Oh, I am sure he was up to no good, as usual." Nadir withdrew a watch from his vest pocket and made a surprised noise. "We should get home immediately, Isabel. The time has passed quickly, and I am sure Thomas is awake by now."
They both walked down the path to the house quickly, ducking branches and stepping over muddy patches. Nadir went immediately into the library to select a different book for Thomas's before-bed reading and after checking on the boy, Isabel returned to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations.
She was half-done slicing a particularly cruel onion when she felt a heat seep through the cloth of her bodice, creeping onto her back. She whipped around and wiped the tears from her cheeks, cursing quietly as her finger brushed her eye, sending a painful sting through her head.
Mr. Bertrand stood mere inches behind her, a mild expression on the visible half of his face.
"Mother of God, Mr. Bertrand, you just scared the devil out of me!"
"And good evening to you as well, Mrs. Bauer."
Wiping her hands on her apron, she avoided his eyes. He hadn't stepped back; his presence pressed down on her, heat from his body assaulting her skin more with every passing moment. She was beginning to feel rather claustrophobic.
"Can I do something for you?"
"I merely wished to inquire after your son."
Her fingers clutched her skirts, twisting the cloth tightly. "Oh, he is very well. He seems very refreshed after his walk."
"Ah." He peered over her shoulder. "And pray, what delicacy are you preparing for this evening's meal?"
"A roast with carrots and onions. Is that alright?"
"I cannot imagine why it would not be." The closeness of his body caused his shoulder to brush her arm as he turned to go, and she drew back further. He paused at her recoil and gazed at her, his expression blank.
"Mr. Bertrand," she began, and suddenly found her throat quite dry. "I… I wanted…"
He raised his brow.
She swallowed and took a breath, gathering her wits. "I wanted to thank you for the help you gave, sir. The yarrow. When I think of letting that doctor inflict that on my son, I can't even…" she trailed off, shaking her head as if it would clear her mind of the images that came to it. "Anyway, I wanted to thank you."
Mr. Bertrand looked mildly surprised. "Certainly."
A different picture flashed through Isabel's mind's eye. Nadir's son, small and delicate, thin with illness; a fragile, frightened boy about to become acquainted with Death's scythe long before his time. And then… a young, pale man in a white mask, performing magic tricks in an attempt to spare the child the unbearable pain of mortality. She saw the both of them laughing, a moment of carefree silliness shared between two friends, a merciful distraction from the agony of dying the child was experiencing, and she felt her heart surge.
She reached forward and slipped her arms around Mr. Bertrand's waist, squeezing briefly and releasing.
His entire body had stiffened at the moment of contact and he now stood perfectly still before her, his face frozen in a look of utter shock.
Isabel turned back to her onion immediately and began chopping with unnecessary vigor. The body behind her stayed still for a few moments before walking slowly out of the room. As soon as the final footsteps sounded up the stairs, Isabel dropped the knife and slapped her palm against her forehead. "Impulsion, impulsion," she muttered. "Damn you."
A loud creak came from the front of the house and she dropped her hand, craning her neck towards the sound. Moving towards the doorway, she heard two heavy thuds, as if something heavy had been dropped on the floor, and she peeked out of the kitchen curiously.
When her eyes focused on the man standing in the hallway, she drew a breath so sharply, she nearly choked.
Daniel Bauer smiled sheepishly, gazing at the floor and kicking mud off his boots. "Hello, Bella."
As always, thanks to Chat, whose beta-comments (and non-beta comments, come to think of it) never fail to make me laugh.
Again, thank you all so much for the reviews. They're gorgeous.
Big thanks to Mithril for her thoughtful, detailed and inspiring reviews. She's one hip lady.
