The raucous notes of The Entertainer, drifting up through the heating vent caused Jean to open her eyes. She rolled to her back and groaned. "Lucien, you have got to stop doing this," she said to the ceiling of her bedroom. In the dim light cast by the glow of the moon, Jean squinted at the clock on her bedside table. 12:17am. Not as bad as some nights, but still far too late for a concert. Jean took a moment to be grateful that Mattie had been rostered on for the night shift and was not home to witness this current round of Lucien's antics, then mentally steeled herself, and rose from the bed.
A storm had broken the worst of the heat prior to Jean retiring for the evening. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and headed from her room, giving her reflection a cursory glance in the mirror of her vanity as she passed. It was too dark to see anything of her face, but the action was born of sheer habit. Treading quietly down the stairs, Jean listened as Lucien switched from simple melodies to a more complicated concerto, and his playing became slightly more erratic as he struggled to keep up with the coordinated movements required by the music.
Jean paused at the bottom of the stairs, and peered silently around the corner into the sitting room. Lucien was sprawled at the piano bench, facing away from her. As Jean watched, one hand left the keys to search for a glass tumbler placed along the back of the piano. Finding the glass, Lucien took a healthy swig of the amber liquid filling it before returning the vessel to its previous place and continuing to play. Jean shuddered. She had enjoyed listening to classical piano on the Victrola in the evenings with the elder Dr. Blake, but now she doubted she'd ever be able to hear Beethoven again without images of a drunken and disheveled Lucien Blake coming to her mind. Jean turned away from the sight before her, heading for the kitchen in search of some paracetamol and a glass of water.
…
When Jean had wakened, earlier in the day, it'd been to find herself lying on the exam table of the surgery with a raging headache. Blinking, she'd started to raise her hand to inspect along her hairline when the sound of Mattie's voice stopped her.
"Be careful," the girl said, "Lucien's attached you to an IV and you don't want to pull the needle out."
"Mattie," Jean breathed out as the events of the day rushed back to her. She was ever so grateful for the presence of the young nurse, and Jean found herself shifting on the cot to see her friend better. "How long have I been here for?"
"Long enough for almost 2 liters of fluid to infuse," came Mattie's response. "Lucien's in the kitchen, making sandwiches for dinner. As soon as this bottle's done infusing I can unhook you and we can go eat."
"I think I'll take dinner in my room tonight," said Jean, "I'm not really feeling up to company."
"Of course," Mattie agreed. When the infusion was complete, she disconnected the tubing and bandaged Jean's arm before escorting the older woman upstairs to her room.
"Really, Mattie, you don't need to coddle me. I'm perfectly alright."
"I'm sure you are, Jean. But Lucien gave me strict instructions to not let you walk on your own. It seems like you gave him quite the scare earlier today."
Jean gave a short laugh as she turned into her room, "I'm sure he was exaggerating for exaggeration's sake; I've never known Lucien to be scared of anything," and then, dismissing the girl, "I'm all set now, Mattie. I can take it from here. Good night." Jean kissed her friend on the cheek and then closed the door behind her.
Pajamas in hand a few moments later, Jean headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and change for the evening. When she returned to her room it was to find a freshly made sandwich and large glass of lemonade on the floor outside her door. Smiling to herself, Jean carried them into her room and proceeded to eat her dinner.
It really was difficult to remain cross at Lucien; he could be so incredibly obtuse and then so incredibly kind and well meaning. Jean's hand tentatively explored along her hairline as she munched her sandwich, feeling the small line of stitches Lucien had sewn earlier in the day. It niggled at Jean, what Lucien had said about Lent, and how he didn't respect her faith. Jean didn't know if Lucien even believed in God, or if he thought anyone who believed in organized religion to be a fool.
…..
During a brief lull in the noise from the piano, Jean closed a cupboard door with a bit more force the necessary, counting on the noise to make her presence in the downstairs known. It wasn't wise to sneak up on Lucien unawares, and Jean had learned this the hard way. She coughed, loudly, walking back down the hallway towards the sitting room.
"Jean!" Lucien cried jovially, spinning round on the bench to face her as she entered the room, "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Not at all," she replied. "I was just coming down to get some paracetamol for my head, and I thought I'd remind you of the time." Jean poured two pills into her hand and swallowed them down with a sip of water from the glass she was carrying.
"You should take some as well," she instructed Lucien, passing him the vial of medication and cutting off Lucien's apologies about the noise; he'd forgotten all about her head, you see. When he'd dutifully poured some tablets into his hand, Jean passed him her water glass to gulp them down with while simultaneously snatching Lucien's near-empty tumbler from the back of the piano and moving it out of eyesight.
"Time for bed, now" she reminded him firmly, almost as if she were speaking to one of her boys when they were young. She looped a hand beneath Lucien's arm and heaved him to his feet, guiding him, unsteadily, down the hall to his bedroom.
Jean toed the door open with her foot and flicked on the bedroom light. Steering Lucien to his dresser she instructed, "shoes off," before spinning away from him to turn down his bed.
The rustling of fabric made her look up, "No, Lucien, I said 'shoes.' Take your shoes off." But Lucien had already extricated himself from his shirt and was making quick work of his vest, while Jean looked on, feeling rather helpless.
If she'd been able to flee from the room, she would have, but Lucien's great bulk stood between Jean and the door. She felt that the lines of propriety were becoming very blurry and she did not care for it in the least. This sort of thing would never have happened when the elder Dr. Blake was still alive, and quite frankly, Jean wasn't quite sure what to do. She exhaled in relief when Lucien crawled into his bed and collapsed, face down into the pillow, but her exhalation turned into a gasp when Jean saw the skin of his back.
Silver ropes of scar tissue ran between Lucien's shoulder blades and criss-crossed down to his mid-back. In the dim light from the lamp they glowed, pearlescent, and Jean found that she could not look away from them. What kind of suffering would cause such marks, she wondered? And how would a person change after such marks had been inflicted? Her heart broke for Lucien knowing that he had been exposed to the worst of humanity, and her hand absently reached out to trace the path of one twisted ridge. Lucien sniffled in his sleep, and Jean quickly jerked her hand back to her side. Suddenly remembering that this was the body of her half naked employer lying before her, Jean pulled Lucien's shoes from his feet, covered his sleeping body with a blanket, switched off the light and fled from the room.