Paladin4
What a dreadful, irritating man, Sophia thought as she trudged back to the kitchen. What an eccentric fool in his black cape and hood. And a mask? She had seen it when he turned, when he hit his head on the window. He must have considered himself highly important to hide his identity.
She smirked in satisfaction at the thought of him hitting his head. She wanted to hit him on the head, the dolt!
"Serves him right!" she said as she kicked the bottom stair with her heel. Her hand still throbbed from her accident with the tea. She considered him quite rude not to ask if she was badly injured. Rude, eccentric---ooh, the list went on and on with this terrible man!
Sophia walked through the kitchen, and reached for her cloak on the hook. She misjudged the distance and jammed her fingers into the plaster wall, sending a sharp pain through her hand that only added to her agony. She stomped her foot and grit her teeth, unable to do anything more with two injured hands.
Tears threatened but she took a deep breath and slowly plucked her cloak from the hook. Throwing it over her shoulders, she scurried out the door and into the night. She glanced over her shoulder at the stone building she had just left and saw the new master was standing in the window again, the faint light from his room creating nothing more than deep shadows around his tall, broad-shouldered frame.
Curse him, Sophia said to herself. If he wants to live like an apparition, so be it. He would receive no sympathy from her.
What a peculiar girl, Erik thought. She had come into his room unannounced, disturbed him then attempted to act as though he had been in the wrong.
He rose when he heard the door slam shut and walked to the window, watching as she stomped across the yard to a small cottage. There her shadow melded with the oily black night. The only trace of her was the door slamming shut again.
Good riddance to her, the irritating brat, he thought.
She didn't deserve a second thought. A little too presumptuous for my liking, Erik thought as he tapped his fingers on the windowsill.
With a sigh he thought of her initial reaction when she walked into the room. Horror, he thought, she had been horrified. But the reaction wasn't to his face. She was concerned that he had hurt himself, even going so far as to think he could have killed himself.
Erik smirked to himself. She was an unusual girl indeed if she was concerned for his well-being.
Anger rose again. She was a servant, for God's sake! She consumed far too much of his time. He would put her out of his mind for good and rest for the night. Perhaps in the morning he would feel better adjusted and more capable of comprehending his surroundings and his new situation.
With a ragged sigh he turned and glanced around the room, remembering the note from Madame Ann Giry. He needed something familiar. The note would have to satisfy him for a moment. He smirked at the irony of her sending him a note for once.
Erik,
By now I expect you are settled. Philippe will see to your needs and conduct payroll to your servants. I believe you will be quite pleased with what your wages have purchased. When the time is right, walk the grounds. The orchards will provide a steady profit for you over the years, and I believe the outdoors and fresh air will do you good. I will write again soon.
Yours,
A.K. Giry.
P.S
Sophia means well. She has the head of a bull.
The post script made him smirk. Once again he was thinking of that damned girl. He folded the note and left it on the dresser, his attention turned back to a soft knock on the door.
"Monsieur, a moment, if you will?" a male voice questioned from the hall.
Erik sighed. Why exactly was everyone pounding at the door? Didn't anyone understand that travel was daunting? He glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost ten. Sneering at the clock, he crossed to the door and peered into the hall. A tall man with dark hair and light eyes stood in the hall carrying a bundle of papers.
"Philippe Dupree?" Erik questioned.
"Very good, sir," Philippe answered. He stammered a moment when he saw Erik still dressed in his outer garments. "Is this house cold, Monsieur?"
"I considered taking a walk," Erik lied.
"Oh, well, I will not keep you long. I wanted to speak with you before Sophia brought tea. I just saw her walk outside…" He glanced around the room and cringed when he saw the tea tray. "Ah, I see you have already met her? I apologize."
Erik turned his back to Philippe and folded the note again, needing something to occupy his time.
"I received a note from Madame Giry yesterday."
Erik stiffened. He gave a curt nod but didn't turn to face his butler.
"She sent paper and ink as a welcome home gift for you, sir. She said in her note to me that you were a composer. I suppose that explains the piano in the great room."
The comment made Erik turn.
"Perhaps Monsieur Monteclaire showed it to you?"
"A piano?" Erik questioned. He hadn't seen a piano. How had he missed a piano?
Erik blinked several times in an attempt to clear his mind. His thoughts were still wrapped foolishly around Christine.
"Yes, sir. Until now, only my sister has tinkered with it, I'm afraid. Madame Giry had it sent in the spring. My sister has given it attention but she has never been taught. I'm sure you will be able to put it to good use."
"Your sister?"
"Sophia. Sophia is my sister."
"I thought she was your wife."
Philippe couldn't help but laugh. "That woman as my wife? God in heaven, no. I pity the man to wrestle with her heart and mouth. She is not the kind of woman that makes a man happy."
Erik made no reply. It seemed strange for a man to speak ill of his family, but he made no attempt to defend the irritating little whelp.
"I've taken up enough of your time," Philippe said. He cleared his throat and turned to leave. "Breakfast is at 9:30. Will you take breakfast in the dining room?"
"I prefer my bedchamber," Erik replied sharply. "I will send for you should I need anything."
Two hours passed and Erik assumed that Philippe Dupree thought he was lying when he said he wasn't cold. The fireplace in the parlor made the wall behind Erik's head warm to the touch, and the heated air made him drowsy and lethargic. The intoxicating scent of roses lulled him into a transient state of contentment.
Staring at nothing in particular, he sat awake in bed with an unfinished page of music on his lap. The ink pen in his right hand had created a blotch the size of a hen's egg in the center of the page, a black eye that watched him in the candlelight.
The curtains moved as the crisp winter breeze cut through the surrounding warmth. Erik had forgotten the feel of fresh air on his skin. He had forgotten the sound of rustling trees and the call of owls, the sight of clouds beneath a full moon. All those years he thought he was content beneath the opera house had really done nothing but affirm his misery.
He had been mortally suspended, neither really living nor dead. He had become a ghost in more than just his name.
And now he needed to start over, a full-grown man forced to start anew and rebuild a life—or discover a life as he had never actually lived.
But it would still be an endeavor done alone.
Erik bit his lip to keep from sobbing. He was more alone now than he had ever felt in his entire life. The house was unbearably still, the lamp turned down so that the room felt smaller and more confining than before.
Already he had met three of his servants but he couldn't relate to any of them. Two he had not particularly cared for while the third, the girl, had grated his nerves. She did not know her place in the house.
And, he thought, neither do I.
This was going to be impossible. He should not have escaped from the lakeside apartment. He should have stayed and waited for the mob to find him and beat him to death or hang him or whatever they had in store.
He was a monster, not a man. He didn't need a mirror to show him what he was beneath the scarred flesh. He felt it, especially since he had hurt the one woman he felt he had loved. And now he would never see her again.
Again he looked around in the darkness. This is how men and women live, he thought to himself. This is what the world enjoys and what I have never known. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the room was suitable. The bed was soft, the furniture of fine quality, his comforts maintained far better than he had ever experienced and ever deserved.
He shoved the papers aside and lay down fully clothed, too tired and too depressed to care if he wrinkled or tore his clothing. No one would see him. He would haunt this place just as he had haunted the opera house.
"Accept it," he murmured to himself. "This is all you will ever know."
Perhaps there was nothing to be done. Perhaps he was too old to better his life, he thought as he closed his eyes.
Erik had no idea when he had fallen asleep.
At first he thought that the muffled sound of a woman's tear-streaked voice was only in his dreams. For a moment he thought it was Christine weeping for him, telling him she was sorry for hurting him.
"I forgive you," he whispered.
He turned over in bed and woke enough to realize where he was at again. Disappointment shot through him as he realized how far he actually was from Christine. He doubted that she still thought of him.
Still groggy, he reached for the engagement ring in his pocket and panicked when it wasn't there. Frantically he sat up, hoping it was still on the bed or on the floor. He couldn't live without that ring. It was all he had left of her love.
"Leave me alone!" the woman shouted.
Erik froze from his place on the floor where he searched for the ring. He slowly rose to his feet, walking toward the open window at the sound of the voice.
Sophia stood in the garden below, wrapped in her shawl. Her brother stood before her, arms crossed as he paced back and forth.
"Foolish girl! You should not be out here. You'll freeze to death."
"I would rather freeze than discuss this with you."
"You are better off alone," Philippe barked. "You know it is true, Sophia. Why must you give yourself such heartache? Don't you hear what the others say about you? How they speak when you are not there? They know, Sophie, they know you have difficulty now that your eye has become troublesome. They see your struggle with even simple tasks. You are only making a fool of yourself."
"Don't tell me I am struggling! I know how to do my work!"
"You burned your hand tonight."
"It's fine."
"Is it? Perhaps this time, but what happens if you put your hand into the fire? Then what?"
"I will learn to be more careful," she said evenly.
"How long will you be able to work efficiently? Soon you will not be able to find your way around the house," Philippe replied.
"I count my steps, I know the way. I've practiced for months. I can do this!"
"Swallow your pride, girl."
"Philippe--"
"You will resign from work. I will talk to Karl and ask him if he would consider a proposal. Perhaps if you learn to hold your tongue he will take pity on you. It's the only decent chance you have in life."
"I don't want any of your charity, Philippe! Leave me alone."
"Not everyone will treat you as well as I have, you ingrate. Get your head out of the clouds, Sophia. You must take what you can get, and Karl is a good match."
The girl stormed off in her fury, rounding the corner. She misjudged her distance from the building and clipped the corner, which brought her to her knees. Erik heard her release a pathetic sob as she scrambled to her feet. He leaned further out the window, hands squeezing the sill as she stumbled and righted herself.
"What did I tell you?" her brother asked snidely, adding insult to her injuries. "You should know when you are defeated, Sophia."
She waved her arms at him and ran away, disappearing into the night. Erik watched long enough to see Philippe return home before he quietly shut the window and walked out his bedroom door, having no idea where he was going or what he intended to do.
He needed to do something about that damned girl.