Paladin63
Citrine tucked the last strand of Sophia's hair back and pinned it.
"There, my dear. I'll tell your brother that you're retiring for the night."
Sophia nodded and settled into bed. She examined her bandaged hand and released a soft sigh. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."
With a sympathetic nod, Citrine rose from her seat on the bed and adjusted her shawl. "Rest. Exhausting yourself will do no good, especially since you need rest to heal."
"How do you know so much?" Sophia asked as she arched her back and realized that her hip hurt where Karl had sat on her to hold her down.
Citrine looked away and crossed her arms. "I've witnessed many terrible incidents," she said under her breath before clearing her throat. "Do you have a note for me?"
Sophia studied Citrine a moment, unsure of her friend's words. Nodding at last, she pointed with her undamaged hand at the bedside table. "In the drawer. I was afraid Philippe would see it."
"Quite frankly, I don't believe your brother would mind so much. Monsieur Belmont…he helped you, Sophia. If there were ever a time for Philippe to warm up to him, it's now."
Sophia lowered her gaze, not certain of what to say or do. She still didn't remember enough of what had happened, and now that hours had passed, she wasn't sure if she would ever recall much—or if she wanted to know.
"When I walked in," Citrine said quietly, "I thought Monsieur Belmont would kill him."
"Has he? Killed him, I mean."
"I'm not certain," Citrine replied. "That's not for you to think about, Sophia. You rest yourself. Gabe is here and he won't leave the house tonight. If you need anything you tell him. I'll return shortly."
"How do I thank you?" Sophia asked as she watched Citrine retrieve her note from the drawer.
"By smiling again," Citrine answered before she turned and left.
-o-
Citrine heard Messieurs Belmont and Dupree conversing in the parlor and was pleasantly surprised that they weren't snarling and blaming one another. Given the situation, she was unsure of how the two would react to each other. Monsieur Belmont was a man of few words, and dear Monsieur Dupree was a man of far too many.
Holding her breath, she tip-toed up the stairs, carefully avoiding the weakened spots she knew would creak under her weight. Pulling the letter from her pocket, she carefully placed it on Monsieur Belmont's pillow. With a sigh, she carefully made her way downstairs and checked on the two men, whom she suspected were hurting almost as much as Sophia, but in much different ways.
"Sophia is sleeping again," she announced, smelling wine and liver in the air. She glanced at the bowl stained with wine sauce and blood, then at Monsieur Belmont and Monsieur Dupree.
It appeared as though the two were relating far better than Citrine would have guessed.
-o-
It would be impossible to sleep ever again, Sophia convinced herself. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering whether or not Citrine had handed the note to Erik or had left it for him. Knowing Citrine she had left it for him, especially since Philippe had followed Erik to the house.
With a low rumble, Fidelio placed his front paws on the bed, then hopped up next to her. Sniffing around, he licked her chin and proceeded to sneeze in her face.
"Oh, Fidelio," Sophia sighed. "Have you no manners, you beast?"
Ignoring her words, the dog sniffed at her bandaged hand. She pulled her hand away and offered her good hand, which he licked before turning around twice and plopping down with an ungentlemanly grunt. Fidelio made certain that he was nestled up against Sophia with his head resting on her leg, his dark eyes partially hidden under a fringe of gray fur.
"Where would I be without you?" she whispered sadly. "I don't think I would be anywhere without you and your master, would I?"
Fidelio nudged his head under her hand and Sophia took a handkerchief from her bedside and dabbed his nose. He protested, and not knowing whether she did more harm than good, Sophia smiled and nodded.
"Brave boy, aren't you?"
The end of his tail wagged at her praise and he stood in order to lave the side of her face, which made Sophia pull away.
"First you sneeze on me and now you offer wet kisses?" she mumbled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
As though signaling that she should sleep, Fidelio settled down beside her again and closed his eyes. He sighed heavily and wriggled in closer, which made Sophia wonder if he did this to his master. It seemed unlikely that Erik would allow Fidelio anywhere near the bed. With a wan smile, she considered this Fidelio's reward.
Before Sophia herself settled in for the night, she gave him a pat on the head and nuzzled his warm fur, her tears drying as they fell.
-o-
Philippe was convinced that he had enough strength to kill Karl Turro. It would leave little for Erik to do, save wait for Philippe to collapse and allow him no choice but to wait until he regained his strength.
Arms crossed, Erik watched Philippe closely, both irritated and impressed by his butler's tenaciousness. However, pure desire wasn't enough to keep Philippe's feet beneath him, and with the front door still ten feet away, Philippe fell to his knees.
"How will you do it?" Erik asked as he walked up behind Philippe.
"I'll slit his throat," Philippe snapped as he regained his footing and wobbled forward.
"Have you ever slit a man's throat before?"
Philippe paused, bracing himself against the wall. "I'll know what to do when I have his hair in my fist and his wretched neck exposed."
"That wasn't the question," Erik muttered.
"Then what is the question?" Philippe growled, unable to stand a moment longer. The last of his energy managed to carry him to a nearby chair, making his every breath labored. "This is necessary, Monsieur, for honor, for family, for whatever the hell he intended to do to Sophia. I must kill him."
"What will you do with his body?"
Philippe hesitated, his eyes closing briefly as he touched his forehead with his fingertips and came away with fresh blood.
"You think I should let him live?" Philippe challenged. "You think I should allow him yet another opportunity?"
"He should die," Erik said as he turned his back on Philippe. "But you are not the man to kill him."
"Because I don't have it in me? Is that what you believe? You're wrong. I do have it in me to kill him and I will do it," Philippe said. He struggled to find his voice, to stay conscious for another moment.
"And then what will you do? Bury him? Burn his body? Leave him for the crows? Surely you have no intention of leaving a corpse to fester in the smokehouse. You risk disease—"
"I won't risk my sister."
"You will not risk Sophia," Erik said as he turned toward the stairs.
"What will you do? Persuade him to leave France?"
Erik offered no answer. He grabbed Philippe by the arm, hefted him to his feet, and silently helped him upstairs. Once he had him settled in the spare room, he turned away and unbuttoned his sleeves.
"I have never played the part of a caretaker, but if you wish to die, then by all means walk down those stairs and seek your revenge. If, however, you care for your sister then I suggest you stay put. Turro is in no condition to move. Should he chance it, then consider his suicide enough to keep the blood off your hands. Make your choice now."
The only answer Philippe returned was short, labored breaths. Several seconds passed before the sound of two heavy thunks signaled he'd removed his shoes.
"Sleep," Erik growled. "You have two hours of rest."
Philippe nodded in understanding and laid his head back, his eyes closing instantly. His mouth moved as though he were about to say something more but only a sigh escaped. Erik closed the door behind him and heard Philippe stifle a sob. He muttered his thanks before the door fully shut, and for a long moment Erik stood in the hall with his head lowered, feeling he hadn't done enough to earn anyone's gratitude.
Erik returned to his room at last and wiped his face with his hand. It had been a long time since he'd confronted someone face-to-face the way he had Philippe. How many years has it been, he wondered, since he stood before another with his face unmasked and asserted himself.
"Never," he muttered under his breath. He'd never confronted anyone without his mask. But now he had spent the entire evening without wearing his greatest protection. His gaze settled on his dresser where the mask was hidden in one of the drawers. What would happen in the morning?
He wanted Karl dead. There was no mistaking that he wanted to see Karl strung up by the neck or broken and bloodied, but he knew that Philippe would not walk away from the smokehouse a satisfied man if he didn't kill Karl himself. Revenge, Erik thought to himself, often carried a bitter aftertaste, one that Philippe was not prepared to experience.
After he dressed for bed, Erik stole one last glance out the window and found Sophia's room still dimly lit. He stared for a long time, hoping that the light would go out and he would know she was at rest. Perhaps the ordeal had made her afraid of the darkness. What he had craved all of his life could have been her damnation.
With nothing left to do, Erik turned down the lamp and decided to retire for the night. He peeled the covers back and chided himself that it would be impossible to sleep without Fidelio kicking him to scoot over. Grunting, his hand slid over the pillow and touched something cool and smooth. Even in the darkness he could make out the carefully scrolled letters. His name.
Sitting up, he turned up the light and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper folded in half.
"Sophia," he whispered as he unfolded the paper in his trembling hands.
Erik,
Forgive me.
I don't know what to say to you or express how I feel. The truth is I don't know what to feel or how to behave. Nothing feels right. Citrine is making me tea. She says she will tend to you and Philippe soon, but Fidelio is by my side. I want to apologize for causing such a disturbance on your estate.
I want to hear you play your music again if you will allow it in the future.
My deepest apologies,
Sophia Dupree
Tear drops smeared her beautiful handwriting, some of them dried and some of them fresh.
"Oh, Sophia," Erik whispered as he carefully folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope. He felt her confusion in each sentence, her fear in the way she dotted the letter i and hastily crossed her t. He found hope in Sophia addressing him by his first name, which at least hinted that she didn't fear him. It sickened him to think that he could cause her more suffering, as Sophia had been through too much already.
Moving away from the bed, Erik went to his desk and pulled the drawer open. A quick glance at the clock told him he had ample time to respond, wake Philippe, and find out if Karl were alive or dead. Holding his chin in his hand, Erik prepared to write a letter void of threats and deceit, a note unlike any other he had written before.