Dear Faithfuls:
Far too much to explain about my absence, but I am glad to be back. There may be only one chapter a week for awhile. I missed the story, and all of you terribly. Sometimes life throws us a curve ball here and there, and I must say I never saw mine coming; sort of felt like a hail storm. Thank you for your concern, your prayers, and for checking in on the story. Please rest in knowing that as long as I have breath in my lungs, I will not abandon this story. You have been faithful in reading it…I will not betray that trust by not finishing it.
Erik and Christine arrived at edge if the veranda that led into the main house, content and refreshed. Erik gently took Christine's hand in his, his other hand on her back as he assisted her up the stairs and into the house. His requested preparations had been tended to as he could see the carriage being led out into the courtyard. They'd a long journey ahead of them, and he wanted Christine to be as comfortable as the travel would allow. They'd press on, stopping as little as possible. Traveling by night was more dangerous than he liked to be certain, but he feared time was of the essence. He'd rather take his chances in the dark, than to give the Sultana or her men time to find them.
Once inside, they were greeted by Misty and the elder maid who both nodded in acknowledgement. Erik nodded in recognition as they walked past. He led Christine to the stairs, turning her slightly in his arms when they reached the base. "My dear, I've a few details to tend to, if you are feeling comfortable, I will leave you in Misty's capable hands." He held her close, looking for any sign of doubt in her face, but there was none.
Christine rose slightly on her toes, placing a delicate kiss on Erik's jaw. Even now it still made his skin tingle, and the hair on the back of his neck raise slightly when she showed such tenderness. "It will be fine. A lady's details are a lady's affair, Misty and I shall see to the last of them." She looked up into his eyes reassuringly. "I will be fine." She glanced around the room, as if seeing ghosts of what was, and what might have been, a brief look of melancholy overtaking her as she blinked and once more smiled at Erik. "I shall miss this place, but no doubt we shall return here as soon as we are able."
Erik smiled at Christine, pushing the length of her hair over one shoulder as he placed a kiss on her forehead. "You have my word my love. As soon as we are able." He glanced once more into her eyes as Misty came to Christine's side. "Ladies," he nodded, and turned and walked down the hall.
Misty smiled at Elizabeth. "Mum?"
"Yes, let us take care to pack just the essentials. Traveling light I believe will be the order of the day." Christine mounted the stairs, Misty not long behind her. Christine understood what needed to be done, and if Erik was traveling by night, she knew that she needed to be prepared…for anything.
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Andre employed his military training, instinctively biting his inner cheek so as not to show any external emotion or fear. He walked casually to the side of his bed and sat down strategically positioning himself to be precisely one long lunge from his waist belt that lay on the table next to the woman. He tried to appear relaxed, yet guarded. "What is that you presume to do sitting in all your state in a man's room who had not invited you?" Andre stared at her, he would not be so easily intimidated by this woman.
She smacked her lips coyly, knowing full well he'd no idea with whom he was dealing. She would humor him and his show of strength, it was a trifle to her. His thought that he had the upperhand might even play advantageously into where it was she was trying to lead him. A sly smirk on her face, she replied, "Oh by all means, I agree, an uninvited woman in the room of a man would raise an eyebrow or two…should it be common knowledge or witnessed," she nearly laughed under her breath, what of his properness, was he a saved man for a marriage yet unmade? She tried to soften her voice. "You've nothing to fear sir, my steward and I are merely traveling in that direction, and would pay the city a visit if it were of some interest." She sounded vaguely sincere. "There are so few cities with any culture in that part of the Country I understand. If your city proves to be worthy of one traveling a bit out of the way, then I should very much like to hear of it.
Andre would not let his guard down. There was something about this woman, a something that was intangible, but just as palpable as if it hung in the air between them…she could not be trusted. "Yes our city is something of our pride," his voice never wavered, "for a country hamlet in France. Surely the likes of one so traveled, so worldly as yourself would find it a disappointing diversion, likely not worth your traveling out of your way to visit." He hoped the sincerity in his tone would discourage her from further pursuit or inquisition. His hopes were quickly dashed when he saw her rubbing her chin, her eyebrow raised in interest.
"So you do not share your, your…" she searched for the word.
"Employer….my employer's opinion?" Andre interjected.
"Yes, your employer's opinion?" She looked at him curiously. She'd always had a taste for foreign gentlemen. Perhaps if he were bored in his current state, she'd offer to allow him to travel on with them when they left.
"Of course I am loyal to her opinions, and would never say otherwise, I've been many years in her faithful service." Andre's tone was firm and direct. "I would suggest that you might find larger cities more worthy of your attentions. They might indeed produce fruit of the variety to which you no doubt have become accustomed."
The Sultana would play along only so long as it benefited her; patience was not among her virtues. She wanted to know of the City. Know why it attracted dealers of art, what it was that made it a place where such a woman as the Lady she'd encountered the day prior would find her home their with such passionate loyalty. There had to be something about it that made it unique. "I see, so you would prefer that I not visit the city then?" She stood, her full height making her seem a bit imposing.
Andre was relieved. Generally when a woman rose she was soon to leave a room, and he could only hope that was her intention. He'd had quite enough of her being in his presence. He closed his eyes for a second, nearly breathing a sigh of relief as he heard the beaded hem of her dress scraping across the floor toward the door. His breath caught in his chest as he heard her pause at the door, securing the latch. He opened his eyes to see her moving toward him, a wicked smile on her face.
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DeChagny walked from the window back to Raoul. "I've an office to tend to now. You would do well with a morning of solitude and leave the details of the announcement of your arrival in Paris to me." He smiled at Raoul, and then departed.
Madame Giry too had things to tend to. She'd the remainder of the letters to write to the chorus girls who would soon be taking up residence. She made it a point of writing a personal letter to each girl, whether or not she'd earned a place in her ballet or not. It was the least one could do when they were handling the dreams of another.
"I too must depart. I've a dormitory to fill, and letters to send." She reached down and placed a kiss on Meg's forehead. "I trust the three of you will find something to occupy you for the morning?" She knew that they would, the three young souls now looking out toward the future with such happiness. It was this generations time, a time for them to seek and find the happiness she had felt in her youth.
"Madame Giry, it would be my honor to assist Meg. We can quite easily lose ourselves in conversation of color and fabric, and flowers for a morning!" She was feeling a bit giddy. She'd been so overjoyed at the news from the night previous that she'd barely slept. It would not be long before they could plan out in the open. Oh the teas, the visits to the seamstress, the silk maker, the jewelers….it would be a lovely passage of time until she could finally call Meg family.
Raoul stood, properly as Madame Giry nodded and left the room. He turned to Meg, "if you do not mind at all my dearest Meg, sister, I should like very much to leave the two of you to discuss these matters. I've a few things to tend to myself." Raoul's words were not entirely false. Not matters of business to tend to, but rather the business of settling in his mind that which still plagued him…he was not a hero.
Meg rose, placing her hand on Raoul's shoulder, and a delicate kiss on his cheek. "But of course," she turned smiling at his sister, "we shall have more than enough for conversation, I've much to learn I'm afraid." That statement made both women laugh. An eager student of the higher social graces, and an eager mentor, both would enjoy the experience exquisitely.
Raoul returned Meg's affections, and reached out for his sister's hand. "I am entirely pleased that the two of you have found such fondness in one another's company, for there will be many years ahead of us." They stood in a small circle, holding one another's hand. They were forming a new circle, forging a new family. Siblings and spouses; and soon it would all be formal, but for now it was in the exciting infancy, filled with possibilities. The next months would tell the tale of how the City of Paris would except this new bond.
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Erphan lay on the divan. He'd been relegated to resting by Monsieur Courtland, and had not refused the order. His eyes wide open, his mind racing to what he'd just said to Misty. It was true; he did want her to follow her heart, to be happy. Deep within him of course, he wished that she would choose him, by some turn in luck, but he knew of her affections for Andre. He was more than worthy of such a fine woman. Her choice would in the end pull Misty from the household; for serving two households so opposite in nature would not allow for a proper marriage. Misty would leave, no doubt finding service in the same house with Andre.
Erphan sighed. He would find happiness in knowing that she was happy, cared for, loved. One day he would meet another with whom he could be happy, and perhaps the two couples would enjoy one another's company on occasion. He'd not tell anyone of his affections for Misty, and he was fairly certain that she'd tell no one of his professions. It was just as well. He could never offer her the life that she deserved, and he was entirely certain that Andre could.
A wide smile crossed his face as he thought of Misty upstairs helping Elizabeth prepare to depart. She'd spoken with such admiration of Elizabeth's maturity, and how radiant she was in the later part of her confinement. The two weren't friends per se, that wouldn't have been appropriate, but it was obvious they enjoyed the same sort of association that he and Monsieur Courtland did. Perhaps that is why they both felt such loyalty to the couple, and in part, admired them. He sighed, slowly releasing the air from his lungs trying to relax as his eyes fluttered closed. He had to rest his mind, his eyes, his heart. The past twenty-four hours contained more events than they ought to have. Yet somehow he felt more alive than he had in years.
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Nicole and John Paul, sat robe-clad at the small table in the kitchen near the window. They'd done so a dozen times or more when she'd prepared a lunch for them as they set his household in order, but today was different. Today, they sat there as husband and wife, partners for life. There was so much to say, yet so much that no longer needed to be said. They'd made a commitment, and now questions no longer needed to be answered, and Nicole could begin to set "their house" in order, no longer worrying that it wouldn't be the way a bachelor would prefer it.
John Paul lifted the coffee, refilling Nicole's cup. She smiled in acceptance. "Nicole, I think, perhaps we should spend some time at the mercantile on the morrow." He set the coffee down, supping from his own steaming cup.
Nicole looked over the steam rising from her own as she lowered it from her lips, a bit of inquisitiveness on her face.
John Paul smiled, reaching out his hand to cover hers that laid palm down on the table between them. "My dear, the sparse adornments of this household served my grandfather well, and in truth, they were adequate for me as well." He looked deep into her eyes. "But this house, this place," he said as his eyes roamed the structure, "is no longer mine alone. It shall shelter a family, and as such, this shall not do." He smiled at her patting her hand.
Nicole returned his smile. In truth she'd wanted to add a bit of color, a bit of comfort, but it had neither been her place nor her income that would have allowed for such a thing. Now he was offering. "Perhaps a few things John."
"Good, it is decided then. On the morrow we shall venture out mid-morning to the mercantile. Then perhaps a stroll in the park, and lunch at the tavern?" He knew inside that she had to be anxious to share the news of their marriage, and that those at the tavern were closest to her and would be among the first she would want to tell.
Nicole smiled at him, "it will be entirely lovely." She took another sip from her cup. She wanted to pinch herself…could this be real…or was she dreaming.
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Perdue and the shopkeeper ventured toward the winter house. They were certain they'd find the house empty, but there was no guarantee of such. Perdue leaned down slightly lifting a large stick from the ground as he passed it. The shopkeeper glanced at him and looked around for the same.
The two men approached the house slowly. First peering in the windows that were low enough to allow it. Going to the door they found it latched. They stood looking at one another.
"We've little choice really," Perdue said to the shopkeeper. "I am certain to Monsieur Courtland a broken door will seem of little consequence now that his stable is burned to the ground." The shopkeeper nodded in agreement. Without another word the men both lowered their shoulders and with one great thrust rammed the door. It took several attempts before the wood gave way with a loud crack of splintering wood.
Once inside, they began to roam from one room to the next. Everything was as it should be. Furniture covered in white sheets. Cupboards bare. They'd wander the upper floors, but were certain they'd find little there.
Perdue paused at the window that dominated the landing of the stairs overlooking the rear courtyard. He could see neighbors with water pails, and long handled pitchforks trying to knock in the walls and contain the fire. There was little else to be done for the structure now. He sighed, perspiration on his brow from the heat and the exertions. Chauesser had been no less eventful than Paris, and he'd no doubt his stay here would be an adventure instead of a respite. At least he'd been here for his son's wedding. As he watched the effort in futility of those tending to the burning carriage house, he realized that might be the only sense of joy he'd glean from the excursion.
"Perdue?" He heard the shopkeeper's voice calling for him, it sounded strained, what had he found? He turned on his heels and moved toward the voice that beckoned him in earnest.
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The two men rode deeper into the woods. They'd venture there a few more hours before returning to the main road. They road in near silence as much in contemplation as in the need for safety. The one thing the Sultana had taught them, and taught them well, is that even the woods have ears if they so chose to.
The man looked down at the steed he road. Inside his callous heart he felt sadness for the animal. In all of its life, it had only had one rider, and that had been Abbas. He knew that even animals mourned the loss of their closest human companion, and this animal would be no different. To whom the beast would go, he did not know. He only hoped that the Sultana, in her anger over learning of the loss of Abbas, would not have the animal put down. She was a volatile, unpredictable creature, and the wisest among them would never underestimate her ability to be irrational and cruel when she felt injured. He patted the horse about the neck as they rode on in silence. They'd find their way there by dark, and then he would know both of their fates.
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Sebastian sat in his cell. Yet another day had arrived, he'd woken to find a meager meal placed on the floor outside his cell. He wondered if the man took great pleasure in watching him try to retrieve his food between the bars, and pouring the contents of the cup nearly spilling half of it on the ground not being able to reach it fully with his lips. It was cruel, but Sebastian did not turn down the sustenance for he knew that he had to keep up his strength for when, or if, Pyotr ever returned.
He wiped the gruel from his chin with the soiled sleeve of his shirt. It had been weeks since he'd been given a basin of water with which to bathe, and longer still since he'd had a clean set of clothes. There was little anymore that gave him cause for sanity. He leaned his back against the cold stone wall of his cell. There was nothing to do but wait. He'd been deprived of book and writing instruments several days before; for what purpose he knew not. Perhaps it was simply to add salt to the festering wound of his soul. He'd watched carefully, and the guard had paid his tablet no mind, it lay next to him carelessly discarded on the floor. True, most of what he'd written in it were letters to his family, but if one were perceptive enough, they might very well be able to find information that led them to where he did not want them to go. If Pyotr had not secured or removed their goods, the words of the tablet might very well become akin to a treasure map to anyone inquisitive enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
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Nadir made his way back to his temporary quarters. He was looking for the dozen or so sheets of parchment that had mysteriously appeared in his room over the course of the night. He read once more with curiosity the note inscribed in the corner; "Items of consequence in Dickens life; a humble contribution to your work sir." Nadir cocked his head. He returned to the bedside and sat down. Turning the pages open he began to read. He was at once struck with what acuity the pages were written, no doubt the document's author was an educated fellow…he paused…or woman, for he knew better than to make assumptions as to the gender, for oft he had been surprised.
Dickens had led an interesting life by any measure. His success had not altered the man, well, perhaps his circumstances and comforts, but that had not changed who he was as a man. Nadir read with eager eyes, things that only someone who'd actually known the man could have possibly been privy to. Who was this person…and why…why had he or she not offered themselves in person to collaborate at the very least? Nadir scratched at his chin, pulling his own work from the drawer in his desk. He'd some changes to make now…for he would include, most certainly, some of the details that would give more color, depth, and interest to that which he'd already constructed about the author's life.