Chapter Twenty-One

Isabel felt her knees buckle. The smile on Daniel's face faded slowly as he took in her shocked expression.

"Where is he?"

"He?" Isabel said faintly. She swallowed and noticed, with a thrill of panic, that she couldn't feel her heart beating. She grasped at her throat gently and tried to draw a deep breath.

"Thomas."

"Thomas? Thomas is upstairs. Oh, God, Daniel, that's why you came?"

Daniel looked bewildered. "Of course it's why I came. Why else would I come?"

A tingle of indignation ran up Isabel's spine. She brushed it off, focusing on her husband's face. "He's well, Daniel. He's recovered."

Daniel slowly raised his hand to his heart and let out a long breath. "Thank God," he murmured.

"I simply cannot believe that you're here." The words did not come out as warmly as Isabel had intended them to. The somewhat clipped tone did not escape Daniel; his eyes narrowed.

"What choice did I have? My wife sends me a ridiculously cryptic message, telling me only that my son is seriously ill and that I should pray for him." He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Pray for him, as if prayer has ever done this family any good." He eyed his wife. "May I see him?"

"Oh." Isabel's wrapped her skirts around her fingers so tightly, she could feel them going numb. "Of course. Let me show you." She bowed her head and started up the stairs, listening to the heavy thudding of her husband's footsteps behind her. Her heart was racing, throbbing beneath her ribs with an almost painful intensity.

They crossed the second floor quietly and Isabel felt a surge of relief when neither Mr. Bertrand nor Nadir appeared. Walking up to the third floor, she turned to Daniel.

"He hasn't seen you in years, Daniel."

"I know." His tone was bitter.

"This will be a great shock to him."

"Isabel, you have had him to yourself for so many years now. Please. I am entitled to see my ailing child."

Isabel felt stinging behind her eyes and nodded quickly, turning back to the hall and knocking on Thomas's door gently. "Darling?"

"Mama?" came a thin voice from inside.

She opened the door and smiled at her son. He had scrounged up more paper and was seated in the middle of his bed, drawing with a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Darling," she said softly, kneeling beside the bed. "I have a… surprise for you."

The boy tilted his head. "Oh?"

"Yes. You have a visitor."

Thomas stared at her, obviously confused.

Isabel glanced over her shoulder. "Come in," she said loudly.

Daniel shuffled into the room and gazed at his son with nothing short of wonder. "Tom?" he whispered hoarsely, his mouth agape.

Thomas nodded politely. "Yes, sir."

Daniel's face fell and Isabel felt a stab of pity for him; Thomas clearly did not recognize his own father.

Who's fault is that? A voice in the back of her mind chided.

She set her lips firmly and turned back to her son. "Thomas, don't you know your Papa?"

Thomas's eyes became impossibly wide and he leapt from the bed.

"Papa!"

Daniel cracked a smile. "That'd be me, boy."

Jumping over his mother – and ignoring the sounds of her feeble protests to such sudden physical activity – Thomas flew into his father's arms and cluing to him tightly.

"Papa! You've been gone for so long!"

Daniel picked Thomas up, holding the child as close to him as possible, rocking the boy's body back and forth soothingly. Isabel noticed tears forming in her husband's eyes, the dark blue shimmering in the dim light of the room.

She felt a wet trail make its way down her face, and as she watched her son and husband embrace so desperately, she made no move to wipe it away.


"He… he's here?" Nadir's green eyes were wide with shock. Isabel could see a vein in his neck begin to throb, and she silently hoped it wouldn't burst through his skin.

"Yes, he is. He just appeared. He was worried about Thomas."

"Of course… yes, naturally. But… to arrive so suddenly! With no warning! It is most surprising."

"I agree," Isabel muttered. "I nearly collapsed when I saw him."

Nadir studied her face quietly. "You are not entirely pleased at his arrival."

Isabel stared at the Persian for a moment. Then, in a moment of reckless abandonment, she threw her head back and laughed. She leaned forward and grabbed a hold of the table in front of her to steady her body, still shaking with peels of hilarity. She straightened herself and dabbed at her damp eyes. "Yes, Nadir," she choked out, placing a hand on her stomach absently. "One might say that."

The Persian looked at her quizzically. Isabel shook her head. "A husband and wife grow weary of each other, Nadir. It is that simple."

"I had no such feeling during my marriage." His expression had hardened and Isabel felt a stab of sadness at the memory of his true-love story, ending with a dead wife and an ill son.

"I am glad you did not, Nadir. It is most irksome." She attempted a smile that faded when his cold countenance did not soften.

"Isabel, I will flatter myself to say that I can tell when others are lying. Indeed, it is a great part of the reason that I can remain on such good terms with Erik – he can rarely deceive me, much to his chagrin. Your relationship with your husband is not happy, based on what I have gathered. Not to say that it is wrong, or even uncommon, but unhappy. I cannot sense any warmth in you whenever you speak of him at all, and your reaction to his appearance has only further convinced me that your relationship with him lacks… well, joy."

Isabel stared at the Persian, aghast. "You dare to presume that, without witnessing so much as a glance exchanged between a married couple who have been separated many years, you can draw such absurd conclusions? Your union was brief, Nadir. Do not become so arrogant that you begin to believe you can understand something you know nothing about."

Nadir's eyes flashed and he stood from the stuffed chair he had been seated on. "That I know nothing about? And what is that exactly, Isabel? Matters of the heart? I am well-versed in them, believe me."

"It has nothing to do with the heart," Isabel muttered. "If you will excuse me, sir." She turned on her heel and exited the library quickly, dashing down the hall and ducking into the kitchen. Resting against the wall beside the fireplace, she let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, her head throbbing.

"I do hate feeling as if I am missing a rather important occurrence in my own house."

Isabel's head jerked towards the voice beside her – Mr. Bertrand's brow was furrowed quizzically.

"Occurrence?" Isabel said quietly, feeling her mouth twitch.

"Anything that would cause Nadir to raise his voice must be worth a mention, Isabel." Mr. Bertrand leaned over the table in front of him and lifted the cover off the roasting pan sitting on it. Sniffing delicately, he replaced the cover and raised his eyes to Isabel again. "Is your son well?"

"He…" Isabel flinched – her fingers were twisting her skirts so tightly, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her hand. Releasing the material, she folded her hands in front of her and attempted to look indifferent. "He's well enough, thank you. I… I'm afraid I have some unexpected news."

"As I thought," Mr. Bertrand murmured, casting a look down at the roasting pan once more.

"My… well, you see, much to my surprise, my… my husband…"

Mr. Bertrand's gaze fell over her shoulder and his mildly amused expression froze. The floor behind her creaked and she held her breath, turning her head slowly.

Daniel stood in the doorway, looking between his wife's and her employer's face quietly. Lifting a rough-skinned hand, he ran it through his hair in a futile attempt to look presentable, nodding towards the masked man in front of him. "Mr. Bertrand, I presume?" He stuck out his hand. Mr. Bertrand eyed it incredulously, leveling his gaze at Daniel with an expression of the deepest disgust etched on the visible side of his face.

"Daniel Bauer, sir, at your service." Daniel dropped his hand nervously. "Pardon me for barging in like this – you really must believe that, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of doing anything so impertinent; but, seeing as my boy was knocking on Death's door, I thought perhaps we could forego formalities and I might be welcome."

Mr. Bertrand turned to face Isabel. She felt her face grow excruciatingly hot under his scrutiny and she bowed her head briefly, glancing up at Mr. Bertrand's face with painful embarrassment.

"Mr. Bertrand, my husband. Daniel, this is Erik Bertrand."

"Pleasure, sir," Daniel said, his voice suddenly timid.

Without removing his eyes from Isabel's, Mr. Bertrand nodded stiffly and left the room, his heavy footfalls echoing down the hall.


Isabel sat before her plate, the slices of beef and carrots and onions untouched and stone-cold. Daniel sat beside her at the kitchen table, picking at his food and shifting nervously. The silence in the room was heavy and uncomfortable; Isabel felt that one word spoken would cause the house to collapse around them.

She stole a glance at her husband. His eyes were cast down, his fingers twitching beside his plate. He hated this deathly quiet as much as she did; she could still read him.

"Bella," he said, suddenly turning to his startled wife. She raised her eyebrows and blinked in surprise.

"Yes?" she replied, quickly glancing at the ceiling to reassure herself that it was not going to cave in from the sound of his voice.

"Why is this so hard?"

Isabel folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead at the wall, holding her breath. It was a good question, one that deserved an answer. Why was this hard? It had been years – too many years – since she had seen him, and despite everything, his presence did fill her with a certain warmth. Even now, with him so near, she felt the urges she'd had as a young bride… to grasp his hand, to ask for an embrace, to… God Almighty, she wanted to kiss him. Just a kiss. It had been so long that she barely remembered what the sensation felt like. She recalled dry lips on hers, moving slowly, steadily, thrills of heat shooting through her body… she blinked.

Such liberties should be easily taken with spouses, but she knew that the very idea of putting her mouth anywhere near Daniel's was impossible. He wouldn't know what to do. She wouldn't, either.

She shrugged in response to his question and he sighed quietly, staring at his plate again.

"Robert is gone, Bella."

Isabel leaned forward, searching her husband's profile in surprise. "What?"

"The fever took him." Daniel's eyes flicked between the floor and the ceiling. "I received your telegram the morning he… passed on. I must admit, his death is a large part of what prompted me to come here." His eyes slid shut and he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. "If something were to happen to Thomas…" he opened his eyes and turned to face her. "I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to him and I wasn't here, Bella. I just couldn't."

She tried to ignore the sudden glistening of tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't give more of an explanation, Daniel. I felt so rushed… I was so confused and worried…" She rested her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands, rubbing at her temples. "Forgive me."

Daniel shook his head. "I am grateful enough that you alerted me. Thank God he's alright. Everything is fine, Bella. There's no need for tears."

She wiped at her wet eyes. "How long are you here for?"

Daniel shrugged. "Until I am satisfied that he is fully recovered."

"Your interest in his well-being is rather sudden," Isabel snapped.

A hurt look passed over Daniel's face and she felt a tug of regret at her harsh tone.

"I'm sorry." She pushed herself away from the table and stood. "I know that isn't true."

"I know that you wish I wasn't here, Bella." Daniel avoided her gaze and instead focusing on a spot just over her shoulder. "I know that. And I know that my being here is startling and upsetting, but I am here now. Can't we make the best of it?"

"Yes, I suppose." She paused. "Daniel, pardon me if this sounds insensitive, but how is the company able to spare you when Robert has just passed on? Surely they cannot sacrifice two pairs of hands on such short notice."

"Isabel, the veils you throw over your attempts to be rid of me grow thinner and thinner." Daniel shook his head.

"It is an honest question, Daniel." Isabel felt her mouth twitch. "You did not… you have not…"

"What?"

"Has the position been… altered?"

"Not in the least. I was allowed to travel here to visit my ailing son, particularly when my own brother had passed on so recently. The powers that be, it seems, have some human decency in them."

"It was good of them." Isabel's voice had become a hoarse whisper. "Daniel…"

"Yes?"

"Where will you be sleeping?"

The question hung in the air.

"Would it be so horrific to share a bed with your husband, Isabel? Just in slumber?" The dejected expression on Daniel's face caused Isabel's heart to clinch. She looked away.

She heard Daniel sigh and move away from the table, towards the door. "I am sure I will be able to find a place to rest my head. I appreciate your concern."

Isabel didn't raise her eyes until she heard his footsteps fade away overhead.


"Liverpool?" Samantha's expression was one of utter confusion.

"Yes, he is a coal porter. I'm quite sure I've mentioned it before."

"Well, yes, certainly, but you never said that he was coming for a visit." Samantha smiled weakly. "How thoughtful of him."

"His appearance was a… surprise."

Samantha blinked. "So he has met Mr. Bertrand?"

"Oh, yes, he has met Mr. Bertrand."

"And how did that… go?"

"I think they shall grow to be very dear friends," Isabel said dryly, slumping back in her chair. Sunlight poured through the window in the library, bathing both women in its cheery brightness, and Isabel felt a distinct resentment towards it and all its merry warmth. "He and Nadir appear to be getting along rather well, though," she added.

"Yes, well, it is really rather easy to be in Nadir's company."

Isabel quirked an eyebrow at Samantha, and the younger woman's face flushed. "I mean… what I mean is… well, he is very pleasant to be around, and I…"

"Yes, I believe I know what you mean." Isabel let her head fall back against the chair and let out a long sigh. Earlier in the day, she and Nadir had exchanged quiet apologies for their argument. She still felt a glimmer of guilt over the entire incident, but at least now the tension between them had eased. "Samantha, I do not know what to do."

"How do you mean?" Samantha picked up a crumpet off the tray in front of her and began picking it apart absently, crumbs falling onto the lap of her dark blue skirts. Noticing the mess, she paused, brushing the crumbs onto the floor, gazing at them blankly for a moment, then resumed her picking.

Isabel stared at her for a moment before speaking. "You must understand, it has been many years since Daniel and I have been under the same roof. He left for Liverpool shortly before Thomas's third birthday… I have become so accustom to life without him, I am not entirely sure I will remember how to act around him."

"Do you act differently around your husband than you do around others?"

"I do." Isabel paused thoughtfully. "I do not think it that uncommon an occurrence, actually."

"How sad." Samantha picked up another crumpet and poked at it. "Do you know how long he's planning to stay?"

"Until he is satisfied that Thomas is well again."

"How long will that be?"

"I have no idea. Why are you being so vicious to my crumpets?"

Samantha looked down at her lap and examined the small pile of pastry-rubble that lay there. "Oh. Forgive me; I tend to shred things when my mind wanders."

"Indeed."

"I really don't think you have anything to worry about, Isabel. Chances are, Mr. Bertrand will ask Daniel to leave within a fortnight. Well, no, that's not right," Samantha added. "Mr. Bertrand will tell Daniel to leave within a fortnight. Surely you can survive your husband that long."

Isabel remained quiet, staring at a crack in the ceiling.

"Can't you?"

"I suppose I could bear it, yes." She lowered her gaze to Samantha and offered a forced smile.

Samantha's brow furrowed. "Isabel, has he done something to you to make you so averse to him?"

Isabel laughed. "Things are not always that simple. There are times when I feel that my marriage was a mistake, that is all."

"Isabel!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Samantha. Get married yourself. Perhaps then you'll understand."

"I would hope that any marriage of mine would be long-lasting and loving."

Isabel cast Samantha an amused glance. "We all hope that. Sometimes it is simply not possible." She cleared her throat and gazed out the window.

Samantha seemed to sense Isabel's desire for a change of subject. Sweeping the crumbs off her skirts, she sat up straighter on her chair and smiled brightly. "Where is Thomas now?"

"Walking with his father. He wants Daniel to meet the horses."

"Oh, dear. Mr. Bertrand isn't about, is he? He seems very sensitive about matters concerning his… livestock."

"Mr. Bertrand has locked himself in his study. I have seen nothing of him since the evening Daniel arrived."

There was an awkward silence.

"Perhaps the muse is upon him," Samantha offered. "Being a composer and all."

"The muse. What utter rot. A man he finds mortally offensive invades his house. His maid is slacking in her duties due to her ill son, and his Persian friend keeps prying into his affairs. It is a small wonder that he is cooped up in his study. I would be."

Samantha gave her lap a final brush with her hand and looked up, scrutinizing Isabel openly.

"What?" Isabel groaned, leaning back in the chair and covering her face with her hands.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. Just…" she shifted, placing a finger on her chin and adopting a pensive expression. "Did you just defend Mr. Bertrand?"

Isabel stared straight ahead. "Oh, dear. Does this mean I'm going mad?"

"Probably. But I wouldn't worry." Samantha flashed a brilliant smile. "The way I understand it, you would be in good company."


I know, it's been, like, a thousand years. Or six weeks. Whichever. The point is, it's been a terribly long time, and I'm sorry.
Chat is, I am convinced, the reason the world goes 'round. Mad love.