Chapter 216 Purposes

Dear faithfuls: Yet another chapter not long, but full of the sorts of things I wanted to give to you. My life, as I am certain, most of yours, has been very busy. I continue to be grateful for this opportunity, and will keep posting as often as I am able. I pray that everyone is well, and happy! Enjoy!

Malden made his way rather surreptitiously to the stable behind the inn. He'd no real idea what he was looking for aside from a family crest or other sort of thing that would give away the identity of the carriage. Why was she so bent on finding out more about this seemingly pleasant woman? His brow was furrowed in deep contemplation; it was the sort of thing he wondered in his mind but would never have felt so bold to inquire. The fate of those who were disobedient was certain, and though he'd have no fear of retribution whilst they were away from their homeland, upon return she'd not have a second thought of disposing of a thorn in her side.

As he crept into the stable he was calculating his ruse should he be discovered. Oh would that it be that he was Abbas. If he'd been Abbas, he'd not have needed such trickery. Abbas was an imposing man, the direct descendant of Abbas I who reigned Persia from 1587 to 1629, when Persia was at it height in power. It had been the progeny of that bloodline that had consumed with ease, Portuguese bases and thusly solidified the gulf in Persia. His descendents were feared and revered in their homeland, but it was the man's sheer size that wielded the power to intimidate the most would be inquisitor. The Sultana had a particular affection for this archfiend, and considered him among her highly prized conquests. He was a fixture in her palace at all hours of the day, and none questioned it.

She made no apology for her actions, and Malden was certain the woman was without conscience or soul. She'd hollowed he himself down to the bone, and with the exception of the rare occasion that he took pause to loathe her, he was void of nearly any feeling at all. Such was life spent at any length in the shadow of such a vile woman.

Malden slipped into the stable quietly; none seeming to have noticed him, for even the hound aloft in the hay mound slept on. Perhaps being a man of frail and diminutive size was for once to his advantage. Slowly, carefully, he made his way to the side of the woman's carriage. It was the most beautiful coach he'd seen outside of those that carried royalty; polished to a stunning sheen. The sides were devoid of crest, and nay were there any markings of any sort that would yield its identity or those that were carried in it. Certainly the grand appointment of such a fine carriage, was from a family of considerable means. He scratched at his head. The alternatives were few. Either it was a brand new carriage not having yet had opportunity to have a crest affixed, though he doubted it. Or, it was a family who guarded their privacy with great ferocity, and found it to the greatest advantage to display no family crest at all. He sighed, somewhere, there simply had to be…there had to be something.

His hands and eyes roamed the carriage below and above, nothing was to be found to betray its secrets. He paused at the door. There was so slight a chance that there would be anything inside, it was hardly worth the risk of entering. If he were found on the outside, he could feign admiration of such a fine carriage. If found inside, he'd be presumed a thief, and dealt with most severely. He sighed, pausing for only a moment before he opened the door and climbed in. Dealing with the consequences in such a City was likely to be far more pleasant that being subject to the woman's derision should he appear in her quarters without an inclination as to the owner.

The seats were expectedly plush, the black velvet that covered them seemed itself to have to have been brushed to a specific detail. He'd have to remind himself to smooth it once he was finished in his searching. Feeling about the roof, there was nothing save for the elegant molding around the door and windows. The benches revealed no more evidence. He sat for a moment in quiet contemplation.

He jerked abruptly as he heard distant sounds outside the carriage. A shadow cast on the outer wall, he could see the light from a lantern making its way into the carriage house. No doubt it was the night watchman come to be certain all was secure. Malden flattened himself as low as he could, sliding slowly to the floor of the carriage. He extended his arm, and yes, there was space below the carriage bench, just large enough for him to fit beneath. He wriggled himself as gently as he could lest his movement cause the carriage to jostle, giving him away. He sighed, having been under the bench just seconds before the light of the lantern shone inside. He held his breath as the lantern hesitated for a moment and then went on.

He exhaled silently, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wished more times than he could count, that he'd left Persia with his family years before. He'd naively thought it the greater honor to stay in service in the royal courts. Oh would that it be that he'd listened to the pleadings of his mother some years before; he'd even now be raising a family of his own. But he knew in his heart now, it was never to be. He was alive only because he proved to be of some advantage to the woman. Once his usefulness diminished, the standard letter would be writ and sent to his family notifying them of his untimely though honorable demise. He wished he could be anywhere, nearly anywhere but where he was. Even through his greatest efforts he'd found nothing. Surely she was awake and waiting for his return with something, and he'd have nothing to offer her. Unless Abbas had returned and was even now distracting her, he'd have no hope of any rest that night. She would rail him with his general uselessness until the wee hours of night gave way to morning.

He sighed. He'd have to wait now until he was certain the man had checked all of the carriages and left the stable before he'd even venture to the seat again and make his departure. His arm was bent at an uncomfortable angle, moving it slowly with intention of bringing it rest beneath his head, he slid it along the edge of the carriage floor. That is when his hand happened upon it. The something that might give him some reprieve that night. It was a handkerchief rimmed in lace, and he could feel on the top of its neatly folded surface, some sort of embroidery. He smiled to himself. It wasn't much, but at least he'd not return to her empty handed.

XXXXXX

John Paul and Nicole had bid their families good night. Nicole had taken Katherine aside, thanking her in great measure for her kindness.

Now as they strode toward not only what would become their family home, but their wedding bed, she shivered. It was not the cool air of the hours after midnight, but the thought that she was a wife….the wife of a man who loved her mother, and loved her. She'd not thought it possible…she'd thought that had passed her by. Her head was in the crook of where his arm met his shoulder, his arm protectively around her, his head atop hers as they walked in near perfect unison. As they came upon the park he strode not on toward their eventual destination, but toward the gazebo that was in the midst of the park. They'd spent so many spring evening there simply talking. It seemed only fitting that they pause there for just a moment, for he too could feel it…the feeling of not having fully prepared mentally for being wed that night. It was that hesitation that they'd both felt, trying to deny their attraction to one another, and even now though married, that barrier was somehow still there, a wall not easily taken down so quickly.

John Paul held her hand as she climbed the several steps into the center of the gazebo. Her shoes making ever-so-slight a sound on the wood planks of the floor as she walked to the center of it. She turned to see John Paul still at the entrance, just gazing up at her, smiling. She blushed, swallowed, and extended her hand to him. He glanced down, a broad smile crossing his face as he walked the stairs, closing the short distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers all the while. He now stood in front of her, the moonlight dancing across her face. He'd no want to close his eyes; she was what he desired both in shadow and in light. Though his own words having been revealed by his father about his wishes for a wife were true, he felt blessed. She was not only beautiful inside where it mattered most, but also outside for all the world to see.

He smiled, lifting his hand to the side of her cheek, tilting her head back just slightly. He leaned down pressing his lips tenderly against hers. He felt her shudder. Carefully, gently he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing his cloak around them both. It would be a night to remember. He held her for a long while before he bent down, scooping her up into his arms. It was a tradition after all, a bride carried across a threshold by her groom. A leave of their old life now behind them, they were to embrace one another…and the life that now lay before them.

XXXXX

Christine had finally fallen asleep. Erik smiled as he watched her simply breathing in and out, her chest gently rising and lowering as the air entered and left her lungs. His hand rested on her abdomen. The children, at least one of them was awake, it's arm or leg moving about under her flesh. Erik had gone to her stomach talking, gently trying to woo the child into slumber but it had not deterred the baby from its movement. Erik smiled to himself, perhaps that one would be like his father, a creature of the night through and through. His circadian rhythm had never permitted a full night's rest, and perhaps it would be the same for this little one.

He sighed, a happy contented smile as he slid the warmer blanket over Christine's shoulder. Her earlier words of comfort to him floated through his mind as wispy strands of pure gold. When in his confessions, he'd said to her that no one could ever love him, truly love him, knowing what he'd been, what all of his life had contained. Her hand lovingly had slid beneath his tear soaked chin, lifting it so that she might look into his eyes…her gaze had soothed him, but it was her words that caused his heart to flutter…. "I am still here aren't I?"

A broad smile crossed his face…she was indeed there for him….mind, body, and soul. Perhaps it was his earlier sufferings that had caused the heavens to have pity on him, sending him Christine as his comforter, his love, his life. Whatever it had been, whatever fate had seen fit to bestow such a blessing, he was eternally grateful. He so wanted her to rest now, peacefully rest now. He was thirsty, and in truth a hunger had overtaken him, such as he shan't have realized until now.

Erik rose, taking great care not to disturb Christine's peaceful sleep. He'd wander to the lower floors, checking first on Erphan. Though he was hungry, it was his curiosity regarding Erphan's recovery that truly propelled him out of such comfort and quiet. The young man had been a faithful aide, and he'd want to see to sending for the doctor now that the storm had subsided.

Quietly he made his way through the house, being ever watchful, ever mindful of every window. He still felt a great bit of unease at the thought that that beast or at the very least her henchmen were somewhere not far from there. Truly, there was a great distance between Courtland Manor and the winter house, but it would not have taken a great deal of cunning to follow his staff from there to here.

Erik lighted on the last stair looking down the hallway. The door to the room where Erphan lay was open slightly, and the eldest maid stood peeking in. Erik moved toward her.

She barely flinched as she saw him come. She smiled, nodding toward the inner room, then retreated towards the kitchen.

Erik cocked his head slightly. Whatever had made the woman smile so? He walked to the door, peering in as he'd seen the woman do, and then it struck him; her reaction made perfect sense. For there in the room lay Erphan sprawled out on the divan, and Misty, his hand held in hers, bent over at the waist, her forehead resting against his. Erik smiled. It had been the first time he'd seen such affections of others so closely, well, the true innocent affections.

He slid the door open slightly, slipping inside the room. His eyes wandered over to the smaller divan that lay off to the side. He made easy work of moving it to the other side of the room, closer to Erphan. Misty had indeed done as he'd requested and stayed with Erphan to keep close watch. Now, it was time for her to rest, and it would appear from what he now say, that she perhaps shan't wish to leave his side until she was certain that he'd be on his way to mending.

Gently Erik took Misty's hand from Erphan. Her tired was even greater than he imagined, for she didn't even seem to notice as Erik scooped her up into his arms carrying her the few steps to the other divan, alighting her there with the soft cover of a blanket.

Erik's attentions now turned to Erphan. He checked his pulse, inspected the red welt on his head, and once more glanced over what skin was laid bare. It appeared he had suffered, but by watching carefully, Erik could tell he would be well again. His eyes moved rapidly beneath his lids; he was dreaming…a very good sign indeed. Erik rose, walking back toward the door, turning just before he left. He smiled. Perhaps love had grown in yet another unusual place. On the morrow, he'd have to ask Misty of it, for what he saw in those hours, looked more akin to the love of a woman for a man, than that of mere friends. He closed the door behind him as he left the sleeping pair.

Glancing down the corridor, he saw the woman beckoning him. She'd a little something for him. After all she had said that she'd have something ready when the storm had passed.

Upon entering the kitchen, he was greeted with the most wondrous of scents. The woman was not to be found, but in the center of the large table was a tray laid full. Two domed plates, and several smaller. A pot of tea, several cups, and the necessary utensils for two. He felt the side of the challis, the milk, no doubt intended for Christine, was cool. He smiled as he lifted the tray. A meal consumed in the after midnight had no title at all. He'd call it a bit of necessity. They would no doubt sleep long beyond a normal breakfast, and this sustenance would see to their comfort. He glanced over at the stove as he left the kitchen. A very large pot simmered on it. No doubt there would be some sort of stew on the morrow…remnants from a meal that never was from the night before.

There was an odd sort of pleasantness as he made his way through the dark shadowed halls of Courtland Manor. It was his house, yet sometimes he still felt like a visitor there. It was appointed with every item that had pleased him, cared for impeccably, and as he glanced around he could see shadows of both the past and future. Christine with child, and yet with children clinging to her skirt as she went about. He smiled as he mounted the stairs. One day, not that far from then, the halls of that house would hear the crying in those same hours of young babes, and he was determined to be there…be there to help Christine with every second of it.

XXXXX

Lucien had been writing for a long while. Tonight he'd returned to his abode with a renewed vigor. He'd felt torn for but a short time, before he'd decided upon dedicating those hours to writing of Dickens and not the revolution. His Bohemian friends had garnered a great deal of his time, and he was certain even they would not begrudge him a few nights reprieve. He'd scrawled several pages of detailed notes. Things about Dickens that he himself knew, had observed first-hand. Those were the intimate details that this other man, this Nadir, this foreigner, could never capture. It was what came of spending considerable, if however indirectly, with Dickens as he went about his daily life in Paris. It was an odd thing he'd taken note, that there was something vastly more powerful about writing of someone's life posthumously, as if it were taken more seriously because the person themselves could neither refute nor confirm its validity. He sat down his pen, wiping the ink from the tip and closed the well of ink. He was satisfied now that he'd put on paper what he'd been lamenting. Perhaps after is anonymous delivery to the author of Dickens tribute, he'd be able to sleep more soundly.

XXXXX

Nicole's mother was tucked into bed; John Paul's father and the priest had gone to their rest. Kathryn and her fiancé busied themselves putting the flat back in order after the festivities. Kathryn smiled to herself as she washed the dishes that he collected and brought to her. Nicole deserved every happiness. Her smile grew wider as she thought of what pleasure Nicole would have as she walked into the room that had been prepared for her. Flower petals, champagne, fine chocolates, and candles lighting nearly every corner. Tonight her dear friend would become the wife that she knew…that she'd always dreamed of being.

XXXX

Raoul's sister and father had gone on to rest in the rooms that had hastily been prepared for them. Raoul had taken Meg's hand and led her out onto the veranda outside of her mother's quarters. Raoul would join his father in a short while, but Raoul had need to spend just a brief visit alone with his newly betrothed.

The pair stood overlooking the sleeping City of Paris. Raoul's arms were protectively wrapped around Meg's shoulders as he stood behind her, his head pressed against the side of her temple. So little need be said. There was a settled calm between them that needed no words to be conveyed.

Raoul felt like he'd grown a dozen years in less than one; feeling far more certain of his choices now than he had ever been. In but a week's time, the City would be abuzz with the news of their engagement, and they would have not a moment's privacy. Right now they could relish it, bask in its glow, unify their spirits so that when the public onslaught began, they would be ready for it.

Meg would likely have the majority of the sideways glances, glares and jeers from would be hopefuls. She indeed would bear the lion's share of the burden. He was gladdened that his sister had agreed to take Meg under her wing, as he knew she would. His sister was at once a tender and strong spirit, and quite capable of seeing Meg through what only another woman could understand. There would be a great deal of whisper and speculation, and she would be the object of conversation. He knew that all the months of preparation would be put to good use in the coming ones. Meg was strong. Meg was supported. They were both ready. He loved this woman, and in but a weeks time, all of Paris would be certain of it.

He leaned down and kissed Meg's temple, wrapping his arms tighter around her still. "Meg, dearest Meg," he whispered in her ear, "in but a few months you shall be liken to a princess," he tilted her chin panning her face to the skyline of Paris that was just beginning to take on a slight pink tint as the sun was breaching the eastern horizon, "and this City will become like your kingdom to roam." He kissed her temple, turning her around in his arms, looking deeply into her eyes.

"My dear, dear, Meg…" he kissed the tip of her nose, and then her forehead, embracing her, "we must rest my love. Tonight you go to your slumber knowing that Meg Giry, though an honorable creature in her own right, will one day, very soon, be Vicomtess Meg DeChangy."

Meg smiled, nestling her head against Raoul's chest. His words, and soothing tone were like listening to a glorious symphony…playing only for her.

XXXXX

Misty startled. Finding herself reclined, she sat straight up, looking around feverishly, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked down, she was covered in a thick blanket. She blinked…hadn't the divan she even now lay on been over there, she looked across the room to find the place empty. She turned sharply looking over at Erphan. Though his coverings were a bit rearranged, he was in the same position that he'd been when she could last remember being at his side, leaning over…praying…sitting in that chair! She looked down again. She knew with absolute certainty that she'd not done this herself for she could never have moved the divan! She looked at Erphan again…he couldn't have…there was no other though…she swallowed. She slid her legs over the side of the divan, letting her feet dangle. She looked down, where were her….she looked over the side, there her shoes lay tucked neatly beneath the divan. She rubbed her hand along her head. Had she imagined….what had she….no there was….but how? She shook her head, she did not know how she'd found herself on the divan.

She swallowed again, now wide awake she looked over at Erphan. He looked slightly more comfortable than he had when last she'd looked at him. Perhaps now he slept, the normal sleep any would have that hour of the day. She stood and began to fold the blanket that had been over her. She'd really no idea how long she'd been there, though her back complained of the strain of having sat so long in one place, a likely sign she'd not been reclined for too long a time.

Misty knew she shan't think she would be able to rest again, but what to do? She'd no want to wander to the kitchens, for she'd no hunger. She could go to her quarters, but even that did not appeal to her. She pursed her lips and stared around the room; perhaps she would read until she felt relaxed enough to rest again. There certainly was no lack of material, the conundrum was always which author, which sort of story, fiction or fact. None of the books that had made their way into Monsieur Courtland's library would be dull, for he'd excellent taste in literature.

Misty rose, walking quietly toward the door. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of it, the linen bag she'd promised to deliver to Monsieur Courtland. She glanced toward the window, the sun was not yet rising beyond just a crest but she thought she might wander to the upper floors, delivering the bag just inside their door so that it not be found and rifled through by other members of the household. When the sun was fully risen, the staff would be setting about to organize the house and surely Erphan's belongings would be sorted, washed, and resettled into his quarters. Erphan had felt strongly about the contents of the bag, strongly enough that in all of the concerns he might have had considering the present circumstances he wanted her to promise to deliver them to him and him alone.

Misty slowly strode over to the linen bag, lifting it from the floor. She turned, Erphan slept on. She smiled, it surprised her…she was smiling, nay looking at him with different eyes now. She slipped out of the door and up the stairs to the second floor and down the long hall that led to the master chamber. She was encouraged when she saw light leaking out from under the door, it was likely that someone was awake. She made her way quietly to the door, and indeed she heard a cough, and what she was certain was the clattering of china. She leaned her head down, feeling guilty for disturbing them at that hour. Her hand rose and fell several times tentatively as she debated, deciding in the end that she was there, and she was both keeping a promise to Erphan, and reporting to Monsieur Courtland on his progress.

Erik turned hearing the faint knock on the door. His heart pounded as he walked toward the door. Was it someone to report that they'd an intruder? Was it Erphan, had he taken a turn? He opened the door just slightly, having put his thoughts on the proximity of his sword; should it be needed, it was but two bounds away.

"Monsieur?" Misty said as the door opened and the man peered out through the crack, nearly looking through and over her before his eyes met hers.

"Is everything alright Misty?" Erik said quietly so as not to disturb Christine.

"Yes Monsieur, I've come to report that Erphan seems to be doing well. I've…"

Erik was nodding, "yes, yes, I've just been to visit him." He looked at her weary face and smiled. "You young miss ought to be resting yourself. When I came in you were hunched above Erphan in a most awkward position."

Misty's eyes grew wide, "Monsieur…did you…the divan…I was…"

Erik smiled, "Misty, you are a most devoted member of our household, I shan't have you losing all rest due to a request that I made that you keep a watchful eye on Erphan. Yes," he reassured her, "it was I who moved the divan, and brought you a cover."

Misty was blushing. "Thank you most kindly, I had begun to wonder if I'd taken leave of my good senses sir!" she said with a coy inflection in her voice.

"You are most welcome. Please do tell me you'll go off and rest yourself now that he is doing well."

Misty nodded, "yes Monsieur…" she turned then quickly turned back. "Monsieur, before he'd fallen deeper into sleep, Erphan asked me, nay, made me promise that I'd deliver this to you straightaway." She handed the linen bag to him.

"What is this?" Erik said, immediately tensing, he'd seen this sort of thing done before in Persia….had Erphan unknowingly brought something with him into the house he wondered.

"Monsieur, Erphan told me only that it was something from the physician in Chauesser," she shook her head a bit, "he said it was something you'd left behind several months ago at the Inn."

Erik's eyes grew wider, though he tried to fight it. The only thing that came to mind that he'd have left there were the books that the woman had insisted he take. In all that had ensued that day, they had been the last thing on his mind when he'd left. He swallowed, blinking several times as he took the bag from her hand, glancing over his shoulder to see that Christine still slept. He turned back to Misty. "Thank you Misty, it is most gracious of you to bring those to me."

She nodded as she turned slightly to go. "Is there anything else that I might do for you?" She inquired. If not she would happily go on to her quarters and try to rest.

"No, you go on to a most deserved rest." He nodded to her. "Thank you for taking such care of Erphan Misty, I am certain he will be grateful." He looked at her, a small smile growing on his face as she blushed and looked toward the floor. "He is a most special young man…wouldn't you agree Misty?" He watched her reaction carefully.

Misty's cheeks felt hot, and she could not look up, her feelings confusing even her. "Yes Monsieur….yes he is." She smiled and nodded, turning to leave before she embarrassed herself further.

Erik smiled as he closed the door. Misty indeed did have feelings beyond friendship for Erphan. As far as he was concerned, he thought they may be a very good match.,

His attentions now turned to the bag in his hand. She'd wanted so desperately for him to have the books. He might as well set about finding out why.