Chapter Twenty Five

Isabel felt a trickle of sweat make its way down the back of her neck and she dabbed at it before it slid under the collar of her dress. Mr. Bertrand's pace was nearly impossible to keep up with, particularly on this sunny, sleepy day, and she knew her legs would be terrifically sore by the time this walk was over. Mr. Bertrand simply forged onward, striding silently down the dirt road with his usual grace, his arms held behind his back, his chin up. Isabel sped up her pace once more, shooting him a cold look from the corner of her eye. They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes and he hadn't said a word. Isabel felt her throat tighten at the idea of having a discussion with him – they never seemed to end well, and she was fairly certain she knew what the nature of this one would be.

Casting him another glance, she sighed and dragged her feet in the dirt, indulging in a moment of childish enjoyment by the annoyed grunt he made at the sound.

"Oh, how rude of me, Mr. Bertrand," she said loudly, keeping her eyes on the road before her. "There was something you wished to discuss?"

A smiled quirked the side of his mouth. "Yes, Mrs. Bauer, there is." He paused, looking at her openly, that glimmer of a smile on his face. Then he turned and continued on the road.

Isabel stared after him with her mouth agape, dazzled, once again, by just how irritating her employer could be.

"It is about your husband," he said over his shoulder, and Isabel picked up her skirts, hurrying to his side.

"I imagined as much, Mr. Bertrand."

"Clever girl." He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze steady. "I am afraid that speaking delicately is not my forte. Nadir is infinitely more accustom to it than I, but I shall try my best." He dropped his head , his chin touching his chest as he thought. "Your husband, I feel, has overstayed his uninvited welcome." His smile grew. "How was that?"

"Very subtle, Mr. Bertrand." Isabel tried to keep her voice bright, despite the heavy weight that was settling in her chest. She had been dreading this very discussion ever since the moment that Daniel had stepped into the house. Silence hung in the air heavily as she considered her words. His blatant honesty was somewhat inspiring; she decided to follow the same route.

"I have spoken to him about it briefly, and have made very clear my feelings that he should not... linger unnecessarily. He seemed less than enthusiastic at the prospect of leaving."

She was surprised to hear a bark of laughter from her employer. "Yes, I would imagine so," he said airily, regaining his composure. "I take it, then, that he refused to simply leave?"

"He... he didn't exactly say." She sighed. "My husband has a tendency to make relatively simple problems complicated beyond all reason. I apologize on his behalf."

"I have little doubt that he is perfectly able to apologize for himself, even if he lacks the will to do so. Anyway, it is not his regrets, no matter how sincere, that I want. I wish that I could say I feel a certain shame in stating the facts, but I simply do not. My home has been taken over by your family, Mrs. Bauer, and it is a situation I wish to end." He shrugged. "If you have spoken to him, and he has still not given you an answer, perhaps I could discuss the matter with him? I have been called persuasive in my time."

The smile he wore was beginning to unnerve Isabel. She slowed her pace until she was a foot behind him, keeping the distance as she resumed walking. "I do not think that would help, Mr. Bertrand. And I do not want him to feel attacked." She paused. "By you, anyway."

He shook his head. "I have the utmost faith that he would survive a verbal attack; in fact, it may be precisely what is needed to convince him to leave." His tone was clipped; Isabel remained silent, certain that more arguments would only anger him. "If you have spoken to him, and he has not taken the pains to remove himself from the situation, and you do not wish for me to attempt to change his mind, what are our options? Shall I adopt him?"

Isabel's pace slowed again as a thought formed in her head. The very idea made her stomach sour, yet it held a certain perverted sense in it.

Mr. Bertrand had stopped several yards ahead, looking back at her with his eyebrows raised quizzically.

"I think I know what to do," Isabel said quietly, moving along the road again. She passed Mr. Bertrand, still gazing at her curiously.

She was grateful for the silence that followed.


The rest of the afternoon passed rather pleasantly. Mr. Bertrand ran his errands, treating the clerks with his usual contemptuousness, and, to Isabel's relief, when they passed Mr. Sanders' shop, the man was nowhere near the window and they walked by unnoticed. A comfortable silence had fallen between them as they wandered away from the village, Isabel taking in her surroundings, Mr. Bertrand keeping his eyes focusing directly ahead of him.

"A lovely day, is it not?" she said casually, turning her gaze towards the clear blue sky.

"I have little interest in defining the weather. I suppose you could call it 'lovely,' if you wish."

Isabel felt a smile spread on her lips. "Do you take no pleasure in a sunny day, Mr. Bertrand?"

He stopped in his tracks, the twitching of his hand betraying the tension of his muscles. "Pleasure, Mrs. Bauer?"

Isabel opted not to respond, feeling the heat rise in her face. She very suddenly felt that she would have given the world if only she could take back what she had said.

"I am not of the notion that life is about pleasure, Mrs. Bauer. I presume that you agree."

"Why would you presume that?" She hoped her tone was as gentle as she had intended.

He turned to face her, his blue-green eyes narrowed. "You are not a foolish woman, Mrs. Bauer, and only a foolish woman would live her life with such a conviction." He returned his gaze to the path ahead of him. "Of course, I speak only from my experience with you. It is entirely possible that you are a ridiculous, flighty creature without an intelligent thought in her head. If so," his amusement was written on his tone, "you are singularly talented in the art of deception. Which, in and of itself, requires a great deal in intellect." Even from the limited view she had of his face, she could see his smile. "What an enigma you are, Mrs. Bauer."

Unsure if she was being complimented or insulted, she decided to steer the conversation away from his bizarre reasoning. She cleared her throat delicately.

"Then what is it about?"

He stopped in the road beneath a tree, his face cast in a streak of shadow, and looked back at her. "I beg your pardon?"

Isabel walked up to him coolly, folding her hands in front of her and tilting her head to one side. "If life does not exist for purely for pleasure, a philosophy I happen to agree with, what is its purpose?"

Mr. Bertrand smiled sardonically. "A conversation better suited for Plato than myself."

"Surely you have a theory, at least."

His face suddenly turned expressionless and he walked on, leaving Isabel staring after him in some wonder. He was an intelligent man, of that she was certain. She presumed he came from privilege, and he had obviously traveled extensively.

Yet for all the brilliant ideas undoubtedly floating around in his head, he certainly wasn't one for sharing them.

She walked behind him, ignoring a crick in her neck from carrying a satchel full of glass vials and bits of metal and rope – he had murmured something about a feeding bin when she had inquired as to his purchases – and took advantage of the silence between them to meditate on Daniel.

A strange man: Still a sort of child trapped in the body of an adult, a master of empty threats, a bit of a coward, but good-hearted. Her animosity towards him had all but died, but she still felt a trickle of apprehension when he became too close, and approached her with the familiarity most husbands and wives shared.

And then there was the matter of Thomas.

Isabel was not normally a jealous woman. Envy was one of the sins she was only too happy to avoid, preferring to let things happen as they may, acknowledging that, for the most part, circumstances were out of her hands. But in the past weeks, her husband's attentions towards Thomas had consumed her son, distracting him at all times, even the rare moments when Isabel and Thomas were alone. He talked about his father constantly, regaling tales of their day together, stories Daniel had shared about his life in Liverpool, how lovely it was there, and his pleading voice, Mama, can we go someday?

She had managed to avoid a direct answer, mostly thanks to Daniel bursting into the room and collecting Thomas for a surprise fishing trip. Once again, Isabel watched her husband sweep her son away from her.

Looking up, she stopped short when she realized she had nearly bumped into Mr. Bertrand. His house stood several yards in front of him, looking gloomy under the shade of the trees surrounding it.

"Oh!" she said aloud, hopping back a step. "Excuse me; my mind was wandering."

He remained still, his eyes fixed on the house before him. His expression was somewhat downhearted and thoughtful, his mouth set in a frown. "What do you consider this house, Mrs. Bauer?"

Isabel glanced between him and the building. "Pardon? Consider?"

"Yes," he said quietly, a finger pressed to his lips musingly. "Is it a home, or simply a structure? Does it bring warmth and comfort, or does it just protect against the elements?"

Isabel briefly considered choosing her words carefully, but this day was beginning to wear on her and her employer's vagueness and strange questions were becoming irritating.

"Both, I think."

He glanced at her. "Both?"

She released a sigh of impatience. "It is a building I care for and clean, but it is your home and therefore, it surely holds more sentimental value for you than it does for myself."

Mr. Bertrand's smile was enigmatical. "I have no sentiment invested in it."

"Well then, I suppose it would be just a structure designed to keep us dry." She passed him and started up the stairs, feeling a slight twinge of regret at her clipped tone. Hitching her satchel further onto her shoulder, she glanced back at him, surprised that he was in the same pose, obviously preoccupied, unmoving and silent.

She wished, not for the first time, that she could read minds, although she had a suspicion that his thoughts, no matter how brilliant, would be far too jumbled and incoherent to understand.

"Isabel," he said suddenly, his voice ringing out clearly in the still air. She felt, rather than saw, his eyes move to her, and her entire body froze of its own accord. It was a foolish thought, to be sure... but although she had heard him say her name before, she had never heard it pronounced with such a delicate musicality. She found herself standing a bit straighter, her shoulders held back slightly, and she smiled down at him with the first genuine warmth she had ever felt towards the man.

"Yes, Mr. Bertrand?"

"Would you miss this house?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"If you were to have to leave it abruptly... if you would have to relocate, would you miss it?"

An unrelenting sense of dread was beginning to grip at her and she breathed deeply, trying to loosen the knot in her chest. "I suppose I would, yes."

"But it is only a structure, as you said. What if you could be guaranteed a home of the same scale and style, but in a different location?"

"What location?" Her tone had taken on an edge now, she knew, but she felt quite certain that he was either threatening her or firing her, and now was not the time for delicacy.

"Oh, wherever you like." He lowered his finger from his lips, staring hard the house behind her. "Somewhere near the sea, perhaps."

Oh God.

Isabel opened her mouth to answer, but knew that the words wouldn't come. She shut it again, hoping her face wasn't betraying the terror she felt.

He's sending you to Liverpool.

"I have had pleasure, Mrs. Bauer," he continued in a neutral tone, "but not here."

"You wish... you..." trying to swallow against the painful dryness in her throat, she winced. "Wish me to go?"

Mr. Bertrand's eyebrows rose in surprise. "To go? Of course not. Wherever do you get these ideas?"

She didn't dare to release her breath. "The seaside... Liverpool, where my husband resides... I assumed—"

"Incorrectly," he said smoothly. Striding up the stairs and past her, he spoke over his shoulder. "Talk to your husband. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I want him gone." He disappeared into the darkness of the house, leaving Isabel to stare at the spot where he had stood, her soft sighs of relief too quiet to be heard.


"But Mama, I don't want Papa to go."

Isabel had been battling with her son for an hour now, trying everything she could think of to convince him to comply with her plan – cajoling, begging, even bribery – but he simply would not budge. In the course of the conversation, his tone had changed from bewildered to angry to desperate, now settling into a sadness that caused Isabel's eyes to well up.

"Darling, we have been over this. I know you don't want him to go, but he has to. The people in Liverpool need him, only he doesn't want to leave us, Tom, so we need to tell him that he has to."

The look on her boy's face was too much to bear; she turned away and looked out the window at the orchard. The cherries were gone now, leaving the trees looking strangely bare, naked against the clear blue of the sky.

The simple beauty of the contrasting colors of nature frustrated her.

"But why does he have to leave?" Thomas asked for the fourth time. His sadness was dissipating; he now sounded vaguely annoyed.

"Because the other coal porters in Liverpool need him. How else can they get the coal off of the boats?"

"There are other workers," Thomas muttered, pulling at a loose thread on his mother's quilt.

"None as good as Papa," she replied wearily. God, she hated this. It was, it had to be, one of the lowest things she had ever done. Even if it worked – no, especially if it worked – she would carry the guilt of it around with her until her dying day.

She knew that Daniel would not move an inch if she asked him, but he would walk on water if Thomas wanted. So here she was: sad, desperate and insisting her child do something he absolutely did not want to do.

"But he said that he wants us to live together again," Thomas protested, his face now set in a pout.

Isabel leaned forward, placing her hands over his. "Thomas," she said in her most soothing voice, "you know that Mama wouldn't ask you do this unless it was important."

For the first time since the discussion had begun, the stubborn refusal on Thomas's face cracked. He wasn't giving in easily, but she saw his will bending.

"Papa would be happy that you convinced him to go, darling. Maybe not right now, but soon. He knows that he should, he just doesn't want to."

The sad look on Thomas's face was very nearly breaking her heart.

"Why doesn't he want to?"

Isabel brought her hands to her face and rubbed her temples. "Because he doesn't want to leave you, my darling."

"Does he want to leave you, Mama?"

Isabel covered her eyes with her hands and lowered her head towards to the floor. "I don't know, Thomas."

A silence followed, Thomas thinking, Isabel surrendering to the feeling of disgust that was beginning to consume her.

"Mama?" Her son's sweet voice broke through the heavy quiet.

"Yes, darling?"

"If I ask Papa to go, can we go stay with him when you don't work for Mr. Bertrand anymore?"

Isabel looked up from her hands to the little boy in front of her. "Would you do it then?"

He nodded.

Bringing her head back into her hands, she nodded. "Then yes, we could go stay with him."

She knew perfectly well that Thomas was requesting more than she would ever be able to give, but he was holding what she wanted, and she would have promised him the moon itself if he would give it to her.

He nodded grimly, rose to go and walked towards the door, his small, dark head drooping with sadness. Stopping by Isabel to kiss her cheek, he scampered out of the room and down the stairs, his footfalls fading away.

Isabel crawled up onto her bed, curling tightly into a ball and burying her face in her thin pillow. She knew, of course, that even Daniel, dim as he could be when the mood struck him, would see straight through this ploy. Her only real hope was that he would become so disgusted with her that he wouldn't be able to stand the very sight of her, consequently leaving and therefore complying with her wishes, even if for a different reason.

Remembering the look on Thomas's face as he left, she knew that she would never forgive herself.


The soft comfort of the bed proved to be too strong a pull to ignore, and Isabel drifted into an uneasy sleep. She was startled awake by a loud knock at the door, and she stilled herself for a moment, wondering if she had dreamt it.

Another knock followed and she scrambled out of bed, horrified to realize that she had dozed off.

Straightening her hair as quickly as she could, she tried to remember why there was an unbearable weight in her chest.

"Isabel, I really must speak with you."

She rushed across the room and opened the door to a very frazzled-looking Nadir Khan.

Stepping aside, she gestured for him to come in, closing the door slightly behind him.

"Yes?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. Damn damn damn. Why did she have to have fallen asleep?

"It is about Thomas."

Blind panic streaked through her at the words, then she remembered why her mind was so troubled. The alarm faded, but the heaviness on her heart increased its weight.

"What about him?" she asked, keeping her face as blank as possible.

"It seems that he has told Daniel that it would be in his best interests to return to Liverpool. It appears that you said something to encourage Thomas to... express this, ah, idea to his father?" Nadir raised an eyebrow, waiting for affirmation.

Isabel nodded.

Nadir stared at her as if waiting for an explanation. When she remained silent, he released a loud sigh, his eyes darting around the room as he composed himself. "I am afraid that Daniel has become rather..." he examined the ceiling while choosing his words.

A loud series of obscenities came from downstairs, drifting through the door. Isabel turned towards the sounds in surprise, agitation pricking at her nerves.

"Incensed would not be an inappropriate word," Nadir finished.

Without a word, Isabel turned and left the room, nearly tripping down the stairs in her rush. Her skirts twisted around her legs threateningly, causing her to mutter an oath under her breath.

She skidded to a stop on the bottom floor, hearing a raised voice coming from the library. Taking a shaky breath and preparing herself for Daniel's version of fury, usually a short rant spoken in a somewhat loud voice before he simply gave up, unable to articulate his rage, and dropping into a chair, crossing his arms and stewing silently for hours.

She approached the library cautiously, taking care that her footfalls were light and as quiet as possible. Peeking into the room, she saw three forms: Thomas, standing near the window with a look of pure terror on his face; Daniel, pacing the floor with his arms flailing and incoherent words issuing from his mouth; and Mr. Bertrand, seated beside the unlit fireplace, his fingers steepled as he looked on thoughtfully, apparently undisturbed by Daniel's ravings.

If her son hadn't been in the room, she would have simply left and waited for news of the outcome of this interesting scene. One more glance at the terrified expression Thomas held, however, heightened her resolve and she stepped into the room calmly, beckoning Thomas to her with a finger before folding her hands politely in front of her.

"Daniel, what precisely are you doing?" She was pleasantly surprised by the smooth tone her voice was holding.

Daniel's head snapped towards her and his eyes widened. His face was flushed, her nostrils flared; she was half-prepared to see foam erupt from his mouth.

Apparently, her plan to revolt him was working. Strange, then, how the guilt was still threatening to drown her.

"You!" her husband exclaimed, pointing a shaking finger at her.

"Me?" she replied, grasping Thomas's shoulders and steering him out of the room. "Mr. Khan is upstairs," she told him in an undertone. "Go have a visit, will you?"

Turning back to Daniel, she held his gaze unwaveringly, only too aware that Mr. Bertrand hadn't moved since she arrived and that Daniel's anger was far from dissipating.

"You used our son. Youforced him to try to drive me off!" His expression turned from outrage to an incomparable sorrow. "You used him, Isabel, and used him ill."

She knew he could read the self-loathing that was undoubtedly sketched on her face, and she felt, in the midst of the storm of emotions in her, a stab of annoyance.

"Consider it a testament to how desperately you need to leave, Daniel."

A fresh bout of anger colored Daniel's face. "You have no remorse, then, for what you have done? Not an ounce of regret for hurting our child?"

"He will recover, I feel—"

"Not just the lies, Isabel!" he snapped.

Isabel took an unwitting step back. His disgust was indeed palpable now, and, despite her mental preparations, it caught her off-guard.

"You have uprooted him from his father, then the only home he has ever known, come to work for an eccentric millionaire—" (Mr. Bertrand's lips curled up almost imperceptibly) "—and dragged Thomas along with you! This is madness, Isabel! Surely you must see this!"

Darting a glance at Mr. Bertrand, still looking contemplative in his chair, she glared at her husband. "I think it would be more prudent to take this matter outside, Daniel."

"Prudent!" Her husband's voice rang out like a banshee's shriek. "There isn't one drop of prudence in this house, Isabel! You are living with two strange men, miles from town, with a child, no less! Being paid a handsome sum, indeed!"

"What exactly are you implying?" Isabel asked with indignation.

"That this is hardly a typical, professional setting!"

"Professional?" Her eyes grew wide. "Professional? Oh, you're a fine one to talk about professional, Daniel Bauer. If you knew how to be more professional, how to act accordingly, how to know your place, we would not be anywhere near this predicament!"

Daniel's skin turned an unseemly red. "I will not relive that again, Isabel. I have no desire—"

"As entertaining as this screaming match is," came the cool voice of Mr. Bertrand, "I really must insist that you two delay making any ire-induced statements which may alter your relationship forever."

"What for?" Daniel sneered. Evidently, his rage had replaced his fear of his wife's employer, and instead of cowering, as usual, he looked at the masked man with nothing but contempt.

"Mrs. Bauer and her son will shortly be accompanying the eccentric millionaire and very possibly his Persian friend to France for an extended stay."

Isabel and Daniel started at him blankly, until he sighed wearily and stood. "I have not yet had a chance to discuss this with you, Mrs. Bauer, but I hope to in the near future." Walking towards the door, he called over his shoulder, "The next time you are free from your duties would be best. A good day to you, Mr. Bauer."

The silence in the room continued until Mr. Bertrand's footsteps had faded.

"I really thought that you'd bend on this," Daniel said quietly.

"On what?" she asked, her eyes still lingering where her employer had sat.

"Me."

Isabel raised her eyes. Daniel's expression was now one of sheer sadness, his eyes drooping, his mouth set in a frown. "I've been looking at nearby properties, you know."

"You've been what?"

He nodded slowly, resting against the wall behind him. "Mr. Bertrand, he caught me going out to borrow one of his horses to get to an appointment. Fairly upset over it, too." He scratched his head. "It's not easy, I'll have you know, arranging meetings with land owners and bankers, all in the dead of night."

"Why at night?"

He shrugged. "Didn't seem like the sort of thing you should know about. Thought you might throw some sort of fit." He let a small smile touch his lips. "Not really wrong, was I?"

Isabel shut her eyes tightly, releasing a long, slow breath. "Daniel, why, why on earth would you think that it might be—"

"I reckoned all these years might have helped us with our troubles somewhat. Guess not." He shook his head. "I figured maybe we would been past all the bad. Truth is, Bella, when I got your telegram about Thomas being so ill, I'd been looking for an excuse to come out here for a while. Wanted to see if we could bring some spark back, maybe not be able to live without each other again, like the old days." His smile was remorseful.

Sinking to the floor with her head pressed firmly into her hands, Isabel ignored the warm wetness sliding down her face. "Daniel..."

"I know, Bella, I know." He sighed, the long, thin noise invading her ears. "Still. Can't blame a man for trying." He crossed the room slowly. "You must be desperate, truly desperate, to sink to such depths. Really, Bella, telling Thomas that it would be best for me to leave."

"It would be," she snapped.

A brief pause. "For him or for you?"

Her heart constricted. "Oh God, Daniel, just go. Please."

"Oh, well, since you asked so nice," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I'll just be on my way, back to Liverpool... the docks... back to everything the way it should be. Me, my wife, my son, all miles apart. Countries, soon. What's this about France?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

Daniel shot her a skeptical look. "Ah, Bella, come now."

"I don't know!" She thudded her head against the door, desperate to feel anything other than this smothering guilt and anger. "I don't know. I'll write as soon as I do."

She waited for a reply, but Daniel simply nodded, his expression curiously neutral, stepped around her and exited the room, leaving her alone.

The ends justify the means.

Leaning against the door to close it, Isabel stared at the bookshelf across the room from her, willing the tears she felt in her eyes to overflow.

Try as she might, they simply would not come.


Less than two months! I rock, yes indeedy.
A quick shout-out to Random-Battlecry, the person I want to be when I grow up, 'cause I owe her and stuff. I forget things easily. kicks dirt
Chat, Ms. Noir, Mrs. Brett, whatever you want to call her, she's my beta and I love her all crazy-like. Her suggestions and corrections are always, always helpful and they aid in making Sanc not totally suck.
Your reviews are, as always, happy-tear-inducing and now that F to the F to the N has this nifty "Reply" option on them, I can start responding to individual reviews, provided that you left one while logged in. Huzzah for technology!