Paladin77
Laure escorted Gabe and Philippe through the house and asked them to wait in the parlor while she informed her sister that they had guests.
Moments later they heard the girls speaking.
"Have they seen Monsieur Turro?"
Gabe glanced at Philippe, who kept his eyes trained on the door Laure had disappeared through.
"No, not at all."
Sabine sighed. "Very well. Have you made supper?"
"You make supper! I can't carry the cooking pot." The girl sounded close to tears.
"Fine, fine. Ask them into the dining room. I'll see what's left." She sounded exhausted, as though a simple conversation had sapped her energy.
"They're our guests!" Laure whispered loudly.
"I know, and I'll feed them whatever I have remaining. Please, Laure, seat them at once."
Laure returned a moment later and gracefully motioned for them to follow her.
"It's much too cold in the house for you two," Gabe said as they followed. Their voices echoed off the high ceilings. "Is there no one else here?"
She shook her head. "Monsieur Turro was gone for two weeks and then, when he returned, everyone had left."
"Everyone?" Gabe questioned. He glanced at a bronze statue of a horse, and his hands balled into fists.
"When there is no money as promised, there are no workers either." She twirled the end of her braid around her finger.
"Why are you here, then?"
She didn't answer, and again Gabe looked to Philippe, who finally spoke.
"Who has cared for the horses?"
"Sabine did once or twice."
As the primary equine caretaker for Belmont Manor, Gabe felt his heart plummet. Turro owned twice as many horses—possibly three times as many. Regardless of how he felt toward Turro, he didn't want to walk into the stables and find two dozen emaciated or dead horses.
Ever since he was a child he'd preferred the company of horses to people. His father, who appreciated their uses, still saw them as animals and took care of them, but he was more inclined to whistle and pass the time rather than speak to the beasts while he brushed and washed them.
"How long has it been?" Gabe asked, horrified by the idea.
The girl counted on her fingers. "Four days."
Immediately Gabe paused, imagining the sight he'd find in the stables. "No food or water?"
She shook her head.
With a nod, he started to turn toward the front of the house. "I'll see to them, if you wish?"
"Gabe," Philippe said. He shook his head. "You've been invited to supper, not sent to work."
A door they approached slid open and Sabine appeared, her complexion pale, her eyes heavy and ringed with dark circles. Her hair, though tied back, appeared unwashed.
"He won't sit still until he's seen them for himself," she said.
Gabe smiled back at her. "You remember me well."
She gave a humorless chuckle and walked toward him. "You're impossible to forget."
Philippe cleared his throat once Gabe kissed Sabine on the cheeks and they both turned to stare at him.
"How are you, Monsieur Dupree?" she questioned. She seemed to notice the wound to his head, which was partially hidden by his hair. "My God, what has happened?"
"Nothing." He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You should sit."
She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned in, kissing him gently. Gabe looked away as they exchanged pleasantries and found Laure swaying back and forth—the perfect example of a child who simply couldn't stand still.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll see to supper," Sabine said at last.
"Don't trouble yourself for our sake," Gabe warned.
"Nonsense."
"Then tie an apron around his waist and send him to work in the kitchen," Gabe said with a grin.
Philippe didn't appear amused by the suggestion. "As Citrine would do to you?" he snapped.
Gabe chuckled at Philippe's comment. "Precisely."
"Who is Citrine?" Laure piped up.
Philippe stared hard at Gabe, his jaw twitching.
"She's a woman who works for Monsieur Belmont," he answered elusively.
Sabine began to laugh. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "Ah, merely an employee of the household?"
Gabe clasped his hands. "I'll tell no more. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll return in a moment."
-o-
Erik tossed the third draft of his letter into the rubbish bin and sat back in his chair. With a sigh, he stared at the next blank piece of paper. Everything he wanted to say remained firmly lodged in his thoughts, and the longer he stared at the empty page the worse it seemed.
His dinner, which he'd only picked at, had gone cold. It didn't matter. After his visit to the overseer's house, food didn't interest him.
He tapped his foot on the ground and then pushed away from the desk. Perhaps movement would loosen his thoughts and place the words onto his letter. All he wanted was answers regarding the Manor. Straightforward was the best approach, though after all Madame Giry had done for him—which he knew she hadn't needed to do—he couldn't send her a mere question.
But for so many years their relationship had been cold and formal. Once she introduced him to the opera house he'd vanished into the depths, found an entire world he needed to explore. The times when she was alone and able to speak were rare—so rare that he forgot she existed, forgot anyone existed. He spent months rearranging old props, constructing a wardrobe, and making a forgotten, unused basement his own. Over time, his playground became a bachelor's domain. Ann married, had a daughter, and disappeared from his life for several years.
Then she returned with Christine.
"Erik?"
Sophia's voice and a light tap on the door stopped him in the middle of his pacing. He placed his pen—which he hadn't realized he'd carried—onto his desk and opened the door.
"Do you need anything else for the night?" she questioned.
"Are you returning home?"
"Not yet. Citrine has cleaned the kitchen and wanted to know if you needed anything before she's gone."
"She's free to leave."
"Very well." He stepped aside and she glanced at his desk, which was piled with paperwork. "You appear busy."
He shook his head quickly. "No."
She chuckled at his swift answer and looked around the room. "How long have you known Aunt Ann?"
Erik crossed his arms and looked away. "I first met her long ago."
Sophia nodded. "You fell out of contact?"
With nothing to say, he nodded and wondered what Madame had said either directly to Philippe or indirectly to Sophia regarding his life.
"She'll be very happy to see you soon then, I'm certain." She smiled and placed her hand on his folded arms. Standing on the tips of her toes, she unexpectedly pecked him gently on the cheek.
He moved at the last moment, however, and when he turned his face she kissed him on the lips. A look of astonishment passed through her gaze, which was swiftly followed by a shy smile.
"I'll leave you to your letter." She cleared her throat and fixed her hair. "If you need anything, I shall be downstairs cleaning the parlor."
He stared at her, speechless, and finally forced a nod.
"I haven't yet played for you," he blurted out. He pursed his lips briefly, tasting her. The letter was now last on his mind. Indeed, it wasn't on his mind in the least.
Sophia's smile widened. "You remembered."