Meg blinked, she could see nothing but blackness. A gasp rose from her chest. She quickly brought her hands to her mouth…the gag was gone. She moved her hands over her mid section. Her dress was in shreds, her corset torn nearly from stem to stern. Her arms ached, and as she ran her hand over the flesh of them she could feel a dry sticky surface, dotted by jagged skin that had been broken. She pulled her hands up to her head, her hair was in knots, the ribbon gone. Her hands wandered to her face. She could feel swelling around her lips, and a gash along her right cheek. Meg closed her eyes in disbelief. "Had she been left for dead?" Her entire body now screaming but she was afraid to move. What if he was still there, lurking in the corners, waiting for her to regain consciousness only to start the vicious game all over again?
Meg laid silently, her swollen lips trembling. She had to think, think, think…. Meg froze. She heard footsteps. She wasn't even sure she knew where she was. She thought she was still in the house, but it wasn't as though she'd had much time to study it…she could have been anywhere. Meg closed her eyes as tightly as she could, trying to think of a way to calm herself so she would appear lifeless but it was of no use.
The steps moved closer, and she heard him set something that sounded like a bowl down beside her head. She listened as he dipped an object into the water, and began to wring it out. Meg wanted to scream, but she could not even breathe. She felt the cool of a damp cloth running across her forehead, and down her cheek. He dipped the cloth again, wringing it out, washing her entire face, gently going over the parts that were swollen. These were not the hands of the man that had preyed upon her earlier, they were gentle and compassionate…she had to look.
When she heard him dipping the cloth yet again she opened her eyes ever so slightly trying to make out the image that was on the floor beside her. She saw his frame, he was on his knees. He wore a high collared jacket, and his hair was pulled back. Meg closed her eyes again as he began to wash her chin, and carefully down her neck, pausing on a spot that had been particularly sticky. He rubbed it gently mumbling something under his breath. Meg felt her pulse quicken. She waited until he shifted his weight to dip the cloth again and she forced her eyes open as far as the swelling would let her. As he turned, pulling his face closer to focus on the spot on her neck, he startled as he realized she was staring up at him.
"Meg!" She let out a sob. He quickly pulled her up into his arms, holding her close to him, his face buried in her neck. "I am so sorry Meg, I should have been here sooner, if only I'd been here sooner…" his voice trailed off. Meg was crying. Both from the pain she felt, and from the relief that she was safe, she was in his arms, and she felt safe.
"Meg, I am sorry for what happened today. I've been a bumbling fool, I've only managed to further the grief that we feel. Because of my carelessness you felt you had to flee Paris much too soon…it is my fault that you've found yourself here tonight, I pray that you will forgive me Meg…forgive me for all of it!"
Meg wrapped her arms around his middle. She tried to form words to speak to him, but none would come, tears dominated her, and she could not prevail. "You are safe now Meg, safe now…" He pulled her up to a sitting position, cradling her in his arms. Meg looked around the room, ghastly shadows of torn bits of fabric, a shoe, chairs knocked over, canvas on the floor spattered with what she could only assume was blood. Her eyes stopped in their tracks. A crumpled huddle lay across the room on the floor. Meg could make out the sole of a boot, and two feet twisted in quite unnatural directions.
"What happened?" Meg asked in a strained voice. He took in a deep breath, leaning his back against the piano. "Meg I am sorry. I waited too long to come after you. After you'd gone today, I thought long and hard about all that had happened. I had embarrassed you, and myself by my actions, and thought perhaps it was best that I let you go back to your mother. Yet as the afternoon wore on, I couldn't rid my mind of my guilt. I knew that Mr. Firmin had your address in his office, and it burned in me until I went to him to retrieve it." He paused, dipping the cloth again into the water, reaching out and taking her arm into his hand. The distraction seeming to ease the tension of the conversation.
He continued, "an apology by messenger, or by letter, would not do, such an apology should be delivered in person. It was early evening when I left Paris, and I only hoped that I would be able to visit with you before you retired for the evening." He stopped, the next words coming with much difficulty. "When I…when I arrived here, I could see from a distance that the house was dark. I was afraid everyone had gone to bed, and I'd have to wait until morning. I was turning my horse around to head into the town, when I heard a faint scream, and the door open. I rushed in but not before he'd had a chance to…a chance to…Meg I am sorry. Had I been here earlier I would have been with you, perhaps prevented you from coming to any harm…" his voice broke off.
Meg looked over at the lump on the floor. She swallowed hard, she had to ask. "And what of him?" "I don't know who he is Meg, I just know that he was standing over your still form when I made my way in the door. I surprised him, so the defeat was sure and swift."
Meg looked away. She could not believe where she found herself now. She was grateful that she was alive, that he'd come for her, that he'd been there when she needed someone most. Though his arms were foreign, she felt at home there, an odd sort of comfort.
"Now Meg, I am no physician, but I know that we must clean these wounds before infection sets in. I have many questions for you, most specifically why there is no one else here, why all things look to be as if they've not been used in years. But the questions will wait, let us tend to your injuries first, we will have plenty of time to talk later."
Raoul helped Meg to her feet. She felt a bit shaky, but was able to stand on her own. She looked down at her dress, all tattered and torn. She was more exposed in front of a man than she'd ever been, but knew that he would be ever the gentleman as he helped her. The items had to come off, she needed to be washed, her cuts and bruises inspected.
"Meg, I'll retrieve your bag for you, if you can tell me where it is, and if you feel comfortable alone for a moment. Meg shook her head yes, "it is at the top of the stairs, the third door on the left. The bags are at the end of the bed."
"I'll be back in a moment, rest here dear Meg." He pulled out a chair from the dining room table, and assisted her into it. He departed up the stairs swiftly. Meg could hear his footsteps on the floor above her as he moved. She looked over curiously at the lump on the floor. She had to know.
She stood, the pain in her head, her swollen cheek, and her bruising limbs all crying out, as she moved across the floor toward the corpse. In the dark it was hard to see much detail, but as she came closer, some things betrayed the man's identity. The long waistcoat, the black gloves. His face was bruised too, but it was the sword that still remained in his mid-section that explained his final demise. Meg reached down, turning the head of the man to find that it was Ronaldo. Meg was horrified.
In her haste to leave, she'd instructed the innkeeper to fetch a hansom. He'd picked him at random at the Starboard. His suave fashion, and gleaming carriage had not betrayed his intentions, nor the ensuing treachery he intended to wage. Meg found herself backing away from the body. She'd been unconscious. There was no way to know what that man had done to her aside from the obvious injury of the flesh. She could only hope that a physician would be able to help her heal all the wounds she had suffered, both those seen, and those that would remain in the deep recesses of her mind.
Meg heard footsteps behind her. She was still jumpy, but knew that they were those of her friend returning. "I hope that this is suitable. He held in his hand a loose summer nightgown. It was one that Meg wore on the hottest of nights. It would provide easy access to her arms and lower extremities so that they could be inspected with the greatest amount of modesty.
"Meg, I'll move into the other room if you would like to change, then we will tend to cleaning the wounds." Meg looked down and thanked him. He moved out into the kitchen as Meg went about tearing the remaining threads that held together the corset. She let it fall to the floor. The dress that hung around her neck was quickly abandoned as well. Meg was afraid, but she reached down slowly. The soft fabric of her bloomers met her hands, and she at once released a sigh. That vile thing had been stopped just short of his intentions. She shuddered, who knows what might have happened to her had he not been interrupted.
Meg slipped into her nightgown and moved to the diningroom. "I am finished." He turned to face her once more and his breath caught in his chest. Meg's face was swollen, her arms were still bloodied, and her hair in disarray, yet she was beautiful in the pale moonlight. He'd not had that thought about another woman in a great many months, and at first he felt guilty, and then an odd sort of warmth as he moved toward her.
"My dearest Meg, I am sorry you've been through this, he said as he wrapped his arms around her, resting her head on his chest. Meg didn't know what she should do, but instead of thinking, she wrapped her arms around him and did the only thing she could and that was thank him.
"Thank you Raoul, for being here. Who knows what might have happened had you not come. Thank you Raoul…thank you." Her voice trailed off. They stood there holding one another in the empty house, a dead man laying a few yards lengths away.
XXXXX
Nadir was on the final leg of his journey. So far it had been uneventful. The horse having not been ridden hard for quite some time, seemed to enjoy the full gallop that Nadir had been demanding from it. The eastern sky was still black, Nadir guessed it to be about two o'clock in the morning. He'd not passed a single soul on his journey. There was something soothingly placid about the solitary road.
His mind wandered to the long visit that he'd had with Erik that afternoon. Erik had so many questions. It always amazed Nadir how Erik demanded to know every detail about everyone else, and yet cared so little about knowing about himself. Save the questions he'd asked about how much of a burden he'd been to Christine. If she'd eaten well, if she'd had enough rest. The sole question Nadir was most certain he'd ask…he had not. The issue of the surgeon's hands would come later no doubt. Erik was a deep man, and needed time to process, time to accept, time to contemplate. He was never one to delve into a subject unless he was prepared to face it.
Nadir pulled himself deep out of thought as he mounted the last hill. Just on the other side of it was the winter house. He prayed that he'd find it empty, undisturbed, just as it always was. The animal was puffing beneath him as he reached the peak. He breathed a sigh of relief. The house was dark. He slowed the animal to a trot, wishing it to cool a bit before he rested it. Nadir thought he'd find his way to the library, and pour himself a stiff brandy from the decanter hidden behind the books. Erik always had a small supply for his dear Nadir. Although it had been years since he looked for it, he was certain it would still be there, and what did time do but make brandy all the better?
Nadir was nearly at the fence of the yard when he caught movement by the house. He reached carefully under his cloak, retrieving his pistol. Whatever it was, a stray animal or the like, it didn't belong there, and if Nadir's aim wasn't off, it wouldn't be there for long. As he got a bit closer, he leveled the weapon in that direction until the object of his attention moved out of the shadow and into the full moonlight. It was a horse! Where there is a horse….there is a man! Nadir's pulse quickened. No doubt a burglar trying to make off with what valuables remained there.
Nadir quietly lashed his horse to the post at the end of the yard. He snuck up to the East side of the house peering in. He saw nothing. He stopped. After listening for a few minutes, and hearing nothing, he decided to move the other side of the house. He carefully brought his eyes level with the edge of the window. Nothing in his wildest imagination could have prepared him for what he now beheld. There, on the floor, leaning up against the pillar separating the parlor from the dining room, was Raoul, and in his arms was Meg.
Nadir gasped. His brow furrowed, but what of the dream? He thought to himself. He shook his head. He'd had a gut instinct to follow Christine's dream, and this is not what he had expected to find. Surely Raoul would not have been the man in her dreams, or he would certainly not have found Meg in his arms.
His eyes wandered. Canvas was torn off much of the furniture. Nadir stood fully surveying the room. There was blood splattered everywhere, that he could see… "she hadn't been wrong" he muttered under his breath. But why was Raoul there, what had happened, whose blood was this? Surely it was not all Meg's! And then he saw it. A large form on the floor, a boot peeking out from beneath the sheet that had been tossed over it. Nadir turned, putting his back to the side of the house, as he slid down to his haunches. Someone had been there, but what of Raoul, and why now did he find him holding Meg?" Nadir was there, and though he knew he would startle them both, he had to find out.