Mr. Bertrand did not make his presence known in the days that followed. Isabel saw him on only four separate occasions, and each time she passed him in the hallway, she was ignored. Though she could, on one level, understand his resentment of the situation into which he had suddenly been thrown, she felt herself growing more and more angry at his petulant behavior.
Daniel, on the other hand, was adapting to the situation very well. In fact, he showed, to Isabel's chagrin, no immediate plans to leave, even after Thomas was obviously on the mend. She supposed it made a certain amount of sense: after all, Daniel was not being exposed to Mr. Bertrand's unpleasantness, and the company was holding his job for him. Still, there were times when she felt very sure that he was simply trying to be an inconvenience. He would spend hours with Thomas, then come back into the house and stand in her way in the kitchen as she cooked, blocking the fire, peering over her shoulder as she chopped vegetables, critiquing her method of browning meat. She was beginning to develop permanent indents on her palms from her fists being clenched in frustration.
Nadir had proven to be of little use when it came to softening Mr. Bertrand's childish pouting. He simply did not appear to have the energy to put any effort into it; once or twice he had entered Mr. Bertrand's study and stayed for several minutes before the sound of raised voices began to seep through the door. After much probing, Nadir had offered a shrugged shoulder and a feeble, "He is not in the mood to talk, I am afraid."
Five days after Daniel's arrival, Isabel stood in the kitchen stirring thick porridge in the pot over the fire. The morning sun was rising, casting rays through the orchard and making the fruit trees look like silhouettes. She paused, gazing out the window and savoring the moment of peace.
"Excuse me."
Isabel spun around abruptly, wielding the porridge-covered spoon like a weapon at the sudden voice.
Mr. Bertrand stood several inches behind her, his posture impossibly erect, and stared at the spoon before him. A few specks of the hot meal had flung onto his lawn shirt and he released an irritated grunt as he wiped it off. Isabel glanced at the porridge dripping from the utensil and lowered it, raising her eyes sheepishly to Mr. Bertrand's.
"I have always said, Isabel, that you can tell a great deal about a woman from the way she holds her spoons."
Isabel stepped back and dropped the spoon back into the porridge, wiping her hands on her apron and avoiding his gaze. "Good morning, sir."
She heard a long-suffering sigh from the direction of her employer.
"Isabel—"
"I thought that perhaps you would enjoy a hot breakfast for once… I know that the morning meal is usually cold by the time you get it. I never have had a good sense of timing…"
"Isabel."
She raised her eyes slowly and locked on his. In the past few weeks, his skin had taken on a darker, healthier tone, his eyes shining a bit brighter than when she had first arrived. Now he looked pale and thin again – his clothes disheveled and hanging loosely off his frame. Despite his height, at the moment, he looked somewhat small, like a child playing dress-up in his father's clothes.
She noticed a faint, foreign taste on her tongue and realized that she had been chewing on her lip. She touched her mouth carefully and examined her fingers, cringing as she saw the blood that had rubbed off on them. Turning away from him and reaching into her apron, she withdrew a small linen handkerchief and dabbed at the bloody lip, grateful for the few extra moments of silence between her and her employer.
"Isabel," he said again, stepping back as she turned to face him, "are you feeling quite well?"
Stuffing the bloodied linen back into her apron pocket, she leveled her gaze at him. "Very well, Mr. Bertrand. I hope you are the same."
"I am.…" he hesitated. Isabel, sensing a slight crack in his reserve, kept her eyes fixed on his face. His gaze was cast down on his bandaged hand. He held the palm open slightly, staring at it with the faintest hint of amusement touching his expression. "I am tolerable," he said softly, keeping his eyes off of hers.
She swallowed hard, the candidness of the moment pressing down on her. She felt quite certain that she could ask him anything right now and he would give her an honest answer. Somehow, the idea seemed somewhat terrifying.
"Your son seems well," he said, his gaze still downcast. Isabel opened her mouth to speak and he raised his eyes to meet hers, lifting his chin his usual dignified manner.
"Yes, he is doing much better. My husband is… well, they are taking great pleasure in each other's company." She cast her eyes around the room, looking for something else to say. "Thank you for… asking," she added, feeling ridiculous.
"I did not ask. I stated that he seemed well."
"Oh."
They stared at each other for a moment. Isabel knew the silence was awkward, but her mind was blank and she couldn't think of anything else to add.
"Mr. Bauer is, ah, enjoying his visit, then?" Mr. Bertrand's stance straightened and he once again became the imposing, indifferent man that Isabel knew.
"Very much so." As soon as the words escaped her lips, she knew he was displeased. His countenance darkened and his eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance.
"I see," he said shortly. "I regret that I will not be an amusing host. I have much business to attend to in my study." He turned to go.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Bertrand." Isabel chewed on her lower lip, wincing as she tasted the blood still there. "Mr. Bertrand," she called, desperate for their last words of the morning to be somewhat civil. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Indeed," he said briskly, striding towards the back door and holding a hand out to the handle. "I would be pleased if you could prepare a chicken for dinner this evening. I find myself craving the taste of late."
Isabel had realized, in recent days, just how often she stared at Mr. Bertrand with a blank expression on her face, and she knew at this moment, it was happening again. She blinked. "A chicken?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bauer, a chicken. An animal with a beak and feathers. It lays eggs and makes too much noise and tastes delicious with rosemary and garlic. A chicken."
"Does that mean that you will be joining Mr. Khan for dinner this evening?"
"Of course it does. Why would I not dine with Mr. Khan?" Turning on his heel, he left the room, shooting her a puzzled expression as if the last several days of silence had not occurred. He left Isabel with burning porridge and yet another bout of blank staring.
Sticking the spoon back into the pot of ruined porridge, she muttered darkly to herself.
"Bloody men."
Thomas had looked rather pale at lunch that afternoon, and Isabel had insisted that he stay in his room during supper. After tucking him into his bed – which he protested wearily until drifting off to sleep almost immediately – she reprimanded Daniel for wearing the child out so, especially while he was still recovering.
"Ah, Bella, come now. I've rarely seen him in such good form." Daniel grinned and reached up to Isabel's face, tugging at a lock of hair that had strayed from her bun. "You're becoming an old woman. Relax a little."
Isabel jerked her head away, intensely uncomfortable at the sudden intimacy of the contact. "You've rarely seen him in such form? Daniel, you've rarely seen at all!"
The bright expression on her husband's face fell and she turned her attention back to the chicken simmering in a wine sauce on the stove. "Make yourself useful and set the table."
Not receiving an answer, she glanced behind her quizzically and saw Daniel stalking out of the room angrily. Rolling her eyes, she poked at the chicken unenthusiastically and allowed herself a sigh.
"Good afternoon."
Stifling a gasp, Isabel spun around and glared at Nadir. He stood in the doorway, looking surprised at her startled movement.
"Why does nobody in this house make a sound when they move about? I declare, it's like I am living with spirits, not people."
Nadir cracked a smile. "Yes, I believe I know what you mean."
Wiping her hands on her apron, Isabel forced a smile—although she was normally glad to see Nadir, his lingering looks between herself and Daniel had begun to irk her. He clearly did not believe that all was well between them, but his gentlemanlike manner prevented him from asking her blunt questions.
Thank God she thought.
"May I make myself of use in here? I fear that I am growing idle."
Her pained smile softened and she laughed. "I'm sure I can find something for you to do. Perhaps you would be so kind as to fill the kettle with water from the well? Unless tea is objectionable," she added hastily at his quizzical expression.
"Not at all," he assured her, crossing the room to where the kettle was sitting and picked it up gingerly. Isabel had begun placing the meal onto plates when he returned, placing the full kettle onto the fire and staring into the flames pensively.
"I feel that it has been too long since we had a talk," Isabel said, unable to bear the thick silence in the room any longer. Nadir looked up at her with a startled expression. A smile relaxed his face.
"As do I, Isabel. Tell me, if it is not too bold of me to ask, how are your husband and son getting on? It must be strange for them both, after such a lengthy absence." He paused, staring straight ahead. "Oh, dear. That did sound rather bold, did it not? Forgive me."
Isabel smiled tightly. "Not at all. As a matter of fact, they appear to be getting along remarkably well. I am very glad of it, although I am not entirely convinced that Daniel appreciates the stress that Thomas's body has taken."
"How do you mean?"
"Oh, he barely allows the child rest. Always going for walks or playing in the fields or bothering the horses… whatever it is that they do, it is difficult for Thomas to recover when he is being put under so much… physical…" she trailed off at Nadir's look of amusement. "What?"
"Oh, nothing, Isabel. It is only that you sound very much like a mother."
She blinked. "I am a mother."
"Oh, I know. Make no mistake, I am quite aware." His grin was disarming, and Isabel let her eyes narrow in amusement. "It is only… oh, how do I say… I have never seen you act so… well, so matronly before."
"Matronly!"
"Perhaps that is not the best word… but I have never seen you so protective of your son before. True, you have always been attentive and cautious, but you seem to worry about him more than before. Of course," he added, "it would make sense for you to do so, being as he was so desperately ill such a short time ago."
Isabel finished dishing out the meal and sniffed as elegantly as she was able."So his illness has turned me into an overprotective wretch of a mother, is that what you mean?"
"Yes."
Isabel would have spun around and glared at the man if the word had not been choked out amid hilarity – Nadir's rich laughter filled the room, and Isabel was grateful for it. She appreciated having someone in the house she was comfortable with – Thomas was too distracted by her husband, who in turn was completely absorbed with making up for lost time with his son to even take notice of her. Not that she particularly wanted Daniel's attentions turned towards her. Still, it would have been nice to get a greeting when she entered a room.
Nadir took the steaming kettle off the fire and poured some water into a mug that sat on the counter. "One for yourself, Isabel?"
"Yes, thank you. Oh, Mr. Bertrand told me this morning that he wishes to dine with you tonight. I assume he means in the library, though he did not specify."
Nadir's brow rose in surprise. "Decided that it is time to face humanity again, did he? Good."
Isabel hesitated, poking at the chicken on the plate before her disinterestedly. "Nadir, is Daniel the reason that Mr. Bertrand has sequestered himself away?"
"Oh, I am not sure." Nadir was suddenly entranced by the contents of his mug and refused to meet her eyes. "You know as well as I do that he sometimes develops… unsociable moods—"
Isabel snorted.
"To say the least," Nadir added.
"It is only…" she sighed, jabbing a fork against a chicken breast with unwarranted malice. "It is only that I feel as if I am trapping him in his own home. I want my son to be able to be with his father, but I want Mr. Bertrand's life to be uninterrupted."
Nadir's smile wavered for a moment. "Oh, perhaps some interruption would be good for him."
Isabel knew that it would be pointless to argue, so she simple sighed and stared at the rapidly-cooling plates of food. "If you would like, Nadir, you should meet him in the library and I will be there shortly with dinner."
Nadir rose, taking his mug with him. He paused in the doorway and turned back to Isabel, opening his mouth to speak. He hesitated, obviously considering his words carefully. "Isabel, I know you feel as if your family is intruding on Mr. Bertrand… and if I am honest with myself, perhaps I would be willing to admit that I do not think it the best idea for your husband to be here longer than necessary."
Isabel straightened, suddenly uncomfortable.
"I hate to make you feel as if your suspicions are right, and I certainly do not wish to make you feel… well, pressured, but perhaps for now it would be best if you made sure that Daniel and Erik were not… thrown together much."
"Mr. Bertrand has taken care of that quite well by himself," Isabel said dryly.
Nadir cracked another smile. "Yes, but what I mean is…"
"You want me to keep Daniel occupied?"
"If he ever becomes idle, yes. He seems to be amusing himself a great deal with your son, and I doubt that will soon be over. But additionally, perhaps you should… well… if he stays much longer, that is, you might try to encourage… ah…"
"That he return to Liverpool?"
Isabel was almost certain that she detected a blush coloring Nadir's dark skin while he answered in the affirmative. He excused himself quickly and Isabel stood still for several moments, suddenly overwhelmed by her situation. She looked around the empty kitchen, blinking back tears she felt ridiculous for forming, her mind heavy with this house, her employer, her ill son and her husband's presence.
Taking a deep breath to still the frantic sobs that threatened to emerge from her throat, she picked up two dinner plates and began the trek to the library.
She would let herself cry after the men were fed.
The weather on the following morning was warm and sunny, prompting Isabel to take Nadir's advice and keep Daniel as far from the house as possible. The dried fruit and tea were beginning to run low, so she used this as an excuse to suggest she and her family visit town. She insisted they walk the distance, despite Thomas's objections, knowing that by foot, the journey took many more hours and therefore removing Daniel from the house for as long as possible. She felt a bit guilty about this scheme – as if she were being devious and underhanded – but she knew that Nadir would not have had that talk with her the previous night if he had not felt very seriously about it. Thus, being as dear as he was to her, she was prepared to take his advice to heart.
The walk to town was, upon reflection, one of the strangest things Isabel had ever experienced. She continually glanced around her to see her husband and son walking side by side and the sight never failed to stun her momentarily. Thomas was laughing at a jest his father had made and Isabel smiled at the sound. For just a moment, she let herself feel content – happy even – that her family was together.
The town was bursting with busy people, all taking advantage of the good weather and socializing with their neighbors. Mr. Kern at the general store looked mildly surprised to see a strange man with Isabel and Thomas, but, ever the polite Englishman, he kept his comments to himself and simply handed over the dried fruits and teas that Isabel had requested. Daniel had suggested a tour of the small village, and Thomas obliged him eagerly.
"That's the apothecary, where Mr. Bertrand got the yarrow that made me better… and the church! We don't go there, but Mama says I'm welcome to go if I want… and that's the tailor's shop, where Mr. Sanders works…"
At the sound of the man's name, Isabel's head snapped up and she glanced at the shop. Sure enough, the beaming figure of Mr. Sanders emerged from its depths, coming out into the sunlight with both arms open.
"Mrs. Bauer! Mr. Thomas! And a new friend! I declare, this meeting has made today the perfect day!"
Isabel quickly decided to forego formalities and offered a simple smile. "Mr. Sanders, please allow me to—"
"But why are you hiding back there, my dear boy? Come out and say hello!" Mr. Sanders peeked around Daniel's legs, seeking out Thomas. The child was doing his very best to hide from the tailor and Isabel was, in all honesty, rather impressed by his efforts.
"Hello, Mr. Sanders," Thomas squeaked out.
"Mr. Sanders," Isabel began again, holding a hand out to Daniel, "may I introduce you—"
"Oh, yes, my lady, please introduce me! My, that house of your masters' must be very full now. Are you an acquaintance of Mr… oh, what's his name, Mrs. Bauer? Bretcham? Bercham? Birchtree?"
"Bertrand, Mr. Sanders. Erik Bertrand."
"That's the ticket! Bertrand. Sort of an unpleasant fellow, isn't he? Doesn't like Botticelli, does he? That's the impression I got."
Daniel looked absolutely bewildered by the conversation and was making no attempt whatsoever to include himself in it. He stared at Mr. Sanders with undisguised fascination and was making what appeared to Isabel to be an unconscious effort to shield Thomas from the short, chattering man before him.
"He… I really do not know his opinion on the subject, Mr. Sanders, but nevertheless, this is not a friend of Mr. Bertrand's. He—"
"Oh, he isn't? How extraordinary. Mr. Bertrand must, in that case, be a kind soul to extend invitations to those outside his circle of acquaintance. Oh, Mrs. Bauer, before I forget, do you know, I read the most delightful poem the other day and it made me think of you immediately." He cleared his throat and shut his eyes in concentration. "Fair Isabel, poor, simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye—"
"My husband!" Isabel snapped, thoroughly mortified and infuriated. "This is my husband, Daniel Bauer."
Mr. Sander's face blanched into near transparency. His every muscle seemed to give way and he swayed slightly, prompting Isabel to move forward and lay a hand on his arm to offer support.
"Mr. Sanders, are you well?"
For the first time in their acquaintance, Timothy Sanders was at a loss for words.
Isabel glanced at Daniel, who was now eyeing the man with distinct distaste. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said gruffly, sticking a calloused hand out.
Mr. Sanders stared at the proffered hand dejectedly, making no move to take it. Daniel hastily withdrew it and returned it to his side, reaching out his other hand and placing it gently on Isabel's arm. "Perhaps we should return to the house, Bella," he said softly.
"Yes," Isabel said, still gazing at Mr. Sanders. His entire body seemed deflated and she was suddenly worried for him. Daniel, however, appeared to think that the man was a danger. He was nudging Thomas away and grasping at her arm lightly in an attempt to pull her back.
Casting a goodbye to Mr. Sanders, which was met with silence, she turned back to Daniel. He was glancing behind him nervously and tapping Thomas on the back, indicating his desire for an increase in the speed of their departure.
When they were well out of earshot, he turned to Isabel and hissed, "Is that man quite sane?"
"Oh, he simply… well, he appeared to have taken something of a… he…"
"He was reciting poetry to you in the middle of the street, Isabel! You cannot tell me that is the act of a man who has a firm grip on his sanity!"
'Oh, Daniel, Mr. Sanders is irritating, to be sure, but I am quite certain that he is harmless."
"Is he in love with you?"
Isabel stopped short, staring at Daniel with an expression of pure shock. "In love with…" she turned to Thomas. "Run along ahead, darling."
Thomas shot his mother a pout before tearing off down the road.
Turning back to Daniel, Isabel narrowed her eyes. "Daniel, whether Mr. Sanders has particular feelings for me is really no concern of yours."
"You're my wife!" he exclaimed, his dark eyes searching hers desperately.
"I'm aware," she said dryly. "I am not, however, entirely certain that he knew I was married."
Daniel's eyes widened in surprise at the statement. "How could it have never come up?"
"I don't know, Daniel," she said exasperatedly. "It isn't as if you're an occurrence in my day-to-day life."
A pained look crossing his face, Daniel began walking again, not bothering to continue the conversation. They walked in silence for several minutes, the tension in the air palpable.
"And how many others are there, Isabel?"
Isabel sighed. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, if you have a whole string of suitors to keep you amused while I am away—"
"Oh, Daniel, do not be ridiculous! In case you need reminding, I am the one—"
"Mama! I'm lonely!" Thomas stood in the middle of the road, several yards ahead of them, a look of grim dissatisfaction settled on his face.
Daniel laughed and bounded forward, sweeping his son up in his arms and hastening his way down the winding road. Gazing at the two ahead of her, she felt a longing to visit with Samantha, to share some of the weight on her mind with a sympathetic female. She paused in her footsteps and considered. She knew the Foresters lived not even half a mile from the town… she could turn around now and be there in less than an hour. She had never called on Samantha before; the change of scenery might do her good. And the idea of returning to the house, full to the brim with only men… she shuddered.
"Daniel!" she called, and the two stopped. They both turned to look at her.
"Yes?" he called back, squinting to see her clearly.
"I have just remembered an appointment I have… I have to go back. I shouldn't be more than a few hours."
Daniel and Thomas glanced at each other and shrugged. "Very well, then," Daniel shouted, turning back to the road and tugging Thomas along with him.
Once she felt comfortable with the distance between them, Isabel turned the other direction, hitched up her skirts and ran down the road.
"Can't see how they would complain if you make yourself useful," Samantha said uncertainly. Isabel's sudden appearance at the door had surprised her greatly, and she was still recovering from the shock.
"Naturally. What is it that you are doing?"
"Me? I was preparing the garden, as a matter of fact. Mrs. Forester claims to have a keen interest in gardening, although I've never seen her do so much as pick up a hoe in my life. It's the same every year, though. I prepare the beds and Betsy plants the flowers." She brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt there.
Isabel smiled. "Have you a spare apron I might borrow, then? I only needed to talk to someone for a few moments, but I would be more than happy to help if I can."
Samantha's face colored slightly, but she disappeared into the house and returned promptly holding out a woebegone apron, which Isabel tied around herself.
Handing her companion a spade, Samantha sank to her knees on the moist ground again and began tilling the earth carefully. "Now," she said, "what is it that is on your mind?"
Isabel hacked away at the ground half-heartedly. "Oh, I hardly know. I am unsettled by my husband's presence, I am unsettled by the obvious joy my son takes in my husband's presence, I am unsettled by the obvious lack of joy my employer takes in it… Samantha, I feel s if my head is a whirling dervish and I can not explain why I feel so."
"Well, to address each subject separately… of course you're unused to Daniel being there. It has been quite a few years, has it not? And it would be only natural for Thomas to rejoice in his father's attention. I would be worried if he was anything but happy about it. And nothing will ever make Mr. Bertrand happy as long as he lives, so I would not waste my energy thinking about it. As for the dervish that is your mind," Samantha shot Isabel a wry grin, "well, it seems to have served you well thus far. And we cannot alter the way we perceive the world, only the way it sees us."
"There is more." Isabel paused, considering her words. "Nadir has made it clear that Daniel should not dally about. He should leave as soon as possible."
"But you already knew that." Samantha paused. "Nadir said that?"
"Yes, Nadir. Which is why it struck me with such surprise. He is so accommodating normally… I know that insisting on this one thing must have caused him some pain. That is how I am sure that it is important."
Samantha busied herself with the spade once more, but Isabel detected another rise in his color.
"Samantha," she said quietly.
The young woman raised her eyes slowly to meet Isabel's, her expression carefully blank. "Yes?"
"Why is it that you flush whenever I mention Nadir?"
Samantha's face instantly turned crimson and she lowered her head, gazing at the ground intently. "I am sure that you must be mistaken," she snipped, stabbing at the tilled ground fervently.
"Oh, Samantha," Isabel said crossly, wiping her soiled hands onto her already-filthy apron. "Do stop lying to yourself."
Samantha's breath hitched. "Pardon?"
"It is obvious that you care for the fellow. I promise, you will feel much better if you only admit it."
"I…" Samantha's hand slowly rose to her chest and she swallowed painfully; Isabel could hear the young woman's throat gulping from where she stood. "I am sure that I do not know… what… know what…"
"Samantha," Isabel snapped, tugging at her apron angrily, "part of being an adult is learning to acknowledge that which we would rather not."
Samantha's face took on a slightly hysterical expression. "Then I do not want to be an adult!"
The two women stared at each other silently for a moment. Isabel, perhaps for the first time, scrutinized the young woman before her. Her pretty face was set in a look of terror mixed with relief, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. Blonde curls were rapidly escaping the confines of their chignon and framing her flushed face like a halo; indeed, Isabel realized, if Samantha were not covered in dirt and grime at the moment, she could easily be mistaken for an angel.
Reaching around behind her to untie the apron, Isabel smiled down at Samantha.
"I should be going. I fear it is not safe to leave Mr. Bertrand in the same house as Daniel without me there to intercede, lest there be a brawl."
Samantha's tense expression eased, and she smiled slightly. "Yes, you are probably right."
Folding up the apron and placing it on a bench beside the tilled plot, Isabel picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You should come by the house, Samantha. Perhaps for dinner."
Samantha dropped her eyes and nodded. "I will be sure to do that. Good day, Isabel."
Isabel stepped out of sight of Samantha and started down the road, humming to herself quietly. Stopping, she turned around and peered intently at the distant figure behind her.
Samantha was sitting in her patch of tilled earth, staring at her dirty hands and, despite the distance between them, Isabel could very distinctly detect a shy smile playing on the young woman's lips.
Turning back to the road, Isabel found herself grinning as well.
I had to stick some bolts into its neck and wait for a good lightning storm, but Sanc seems to have been resurrected.
As always, warm, misty-eyed thanks to Chat for being so supportive and honest and all things good.
To all the people who nagged me and asked for an update and told me how much they liked Sanc... my most sincere thanks. Really. You have no idea.
Blessings all around!
