Paladin72
Philippe refused to allow his question to remain unanswered. He sent the girls to the stable in order to remove them from his home before he continued questioning Monsieur Belmont.
"What will you do with him? Burn his body? Leave him in the woods for the wolves to feast on?" Philippe mumbled in an attempt to keep his jaw still.
"The property is vast," Belmont mumbled.
Philippe fought the urge to roll his eyes, as he didn't consider his employer's words a worthwhile reply.
"If his body is abandoned it risks being dragged onto the road by wild animals," Belmont continued.
"Burning, then?"
They briefly exchanged glances, and the moment Philippe looked away he felt as though his employer had seen the desire for vengeance he still felt boiling deep inside of him. It was now difficult to see Erik Belmont in the same light Philippe had always envisioned the dreaded opera ghost. He'd imagined a skeletal figure with a skull's head and a hiss for a voice. He'd expected blood-covered hands that constantly grasped a noose. Philippe wasn't sure if he should feel disappointed, as his employer was none of these things. He was a quiet yet most ordinary man. Aside from the mask.
"The smoke may attract attention," Belmont said at last.
"Not if it comes from the overseer's house."
"Perhaps."
Philippe became increasingly agitated. "The house is crammed full of…junk," he said with a shrug. "Old furniture far beyond repair, paperwork that's at least twenty, thirty years old. We could start several fires around the area."
"And burn down the whole damned estate," Belmont replied under his breath. "Smoke draws attention."
"As does a rotting body in a smokehouse." He waited a moment for the estate owner to reply, and when Belmont remained silent, Philippe continued. "Are there other options?"
Belmont rose to his feet and exhaled. Philippe wanted to suggest dismemberment but the idea instantly sickened him, as he couldn't imagine butchering a human body. As it was, he'd never been able to watch a pig have its throat slit while others stood around and waited for the animal to cease its struggling. Turro, of course, was a different matter altogether, but no less tolerable a concept.
"We should deal with this matter immediately," Philippe said as he rose to his feet, prepared to thoroughly explore their options.
Belmont looked at him sharply as though he disapproved of Philippe's audacity yet did nothing to correct him. Instead, he turned to face the fire and cracked his knuckles.
"Your chin must cause you great pain."
Philippe's nostrils flared and heat rose up the back of his neck. "My chin," he said through his teeth, "in no way impedes my ability to deal with Turro's body."
Belmont turned away, which incensed Philippe even more. He'd spent the night recovering in bed and he would be damned if any man thought him weak—even if his head did pound so hard that he thought he would pass out.
"You will not insult my honor."
"Honor?"
"I have the competence to do this," Philippe growled to the back of Belmont's head.
"Do what?"
Philippe stalked forward and fought the urge to grab Erik by the arm and force a confrontation. "I must see this through until the end. I love Sophia."
Erik turned to face Philippe. His hardened expression softened, his lips forming the slightest smile. "As do I."
-o-
Sophia and Citrine walked into the stable as Gabe saddled a horse in preparation to deliver Philippe's letter bound for Paris. He tipped his hat to them before he turned back to the horse. He heard Citrine grab two empty buckets and turn them over.
When he glanced over his shoulder he found them both watching him.
"I beg your pardon?"
Citrine grinned. She sat with her chin resting in her hands. "Monsieur Dupree wanted to be rid of us, so we came here," she answered.
Gabe furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"
She waved off his question. "We won't trouble you. Ignore us."
Gabe looked at Sophia and smiled. "Do you truly believe Citrine can be ignored?"
Sophia gave a coy smile and turned away, allowing Gabe to see the profile of her bruised face. He fished the letter from his pocket and waved it. "It looks as though Philippe wishes for your aunt to pay a visit soon, Mademoiselle."
His words garnered her attention and she sat up straighter. "Aunt Ann?" Gabe nodded and saw Sophia smile. For the first time that day she looked like herself. "That would be nice. I've missed her terribly."
-o-
Erik immediately turned away once he finished speaking and trained his gaze on the flames. He fully expected Philippe to instigate an argument or fistfight, which he'd learned were inherent to his butler's personality. When not so much as a breath left Philippe's body, however, Erik turned to face him once more.
Philippe cleared his throat. "I've assumed as much," he said at last. "The expression on her face, the way she reacts when you're in the same room. You make her feel…comfortable, I suppose."
Erik wanted to grunt in response but contained himself and remained respectfully silent. He didn't know what to say, as he never expected anyone to feel comforted by his presence. Three and a half decades of life spent as a monster had taught him differently.
They stood side by side for quite some time with Erik uncertain of what to say next and Philippe either too appalled to find his tongue or entirely unimpressed with the situation. As much as Erik wanted to ask Philippe if he approved, he couldn't bring himself to form the question. It wasn't yet time to address such matters.
"I believe the feelings are mutual," Philippe said at last. He half-smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. "However, this is a discussion for another time. The body must be moved before someone from his household appears, and since there is no way of knowing whether someone will search for him today or a month from now, I would like to put him in the past as much as possible."
Erik's eyes narrowed. "Do you suspect he would have told his family he planned to pay Sophia a visit?"
Philippe gingerly touched the bandages around his neck. "Highly doubtful, Monsieur, as the only people in his household over the winter months are his servants."
Erik turned back to Philippe, curiosity piqued.
"His mother and father reside in Spain for the winter. They've traded horses with several Spaniards for many years, from what I understand. They leave him to tend the estate, usually with only two or three servants."
"Men or women?" Erik questioned.
Philippe remained quiet a moment. "Young women," he said at last. "Very young."
The revelation didn't surprise Erik. He exhaled and gave a curt nod.
"His parents would never question or contradict his decisions."
"Why not?"
"They fear him—or at least that's the impression I received whenever I was near his parents. His father was sick for a while, his mother a bit feeble. They allotted him much power."
Erik stared at Philippe briefly before he turned his attention back to the fire.
"My father gave me full control of the vineyards but I never saw him as being weak. He had no other choice, I suppose."
"Honor," Erik mumbled.
"I beg your pardon?"
Erik glanced at him again. "There is your honor." He turned away and walked toward the door. "Send the Mademoiselles to my home. I'll gather the horses." He turned when Philippe remained silent. "You know the way to the overseer's house."
"Yes."
"Then I'll ready your horse for you. Make haste."