Chapter 223 Blind

They arrived in the room, Christine pushing open the door just ahead of Misty. She saw the smaller trunk, lid open next to the dressing closet, and a smaller one lay open on the bed for more personal effects. Her eyes roamed the room, hesitantly in regret that they had to leave their sanctuary, and yet with purpose. If there were any reasons that they'd not be back, she wanted to make a mental inventory of the room where their love had grown in so many ways.

Misty respectfully had gone to the closet as quietly as whisper, and was even now retrieving the items that were sure to be considered for packing. She knew Elizabeth needed time to absorb the abruptness of their departure. A woman never longed to leave her home, and most certainly not one closing in on the last months of her confinement. It would be a difficult journey to Paris, and in truth Misty was curious as to its purpose, but she knew her place. Even in such a household as Monsieur Courtland's, one never questioned the intentions of their employer.

She reached in the closet, removing the lightest of Elizabeth's cloaks. It was a beautiful lavender, with the finest trim she had ever seen. Monsieur Courtland had spared no expense to see that Elizabeth was dressed in the finest. It gave her cause to wonder why they never seemed to entertain family or friends, nor oft even ventured out to take in theater or dinner. Her brow twitched just slightly as she carefully folded it, placing it in the bottom of the trunk.

She rose from her kneeling position, standing erect and turned to see Elizabeth standing at the window, her hand unlatching the window, pushing it open slightly to let in the gentle breezes. She slid her hand over her stomach as she peered out taking in the beauty of the forest that lay just beyond. Misty smiled, if she could capture that very moment, freeze it in time, she was certain that Elizabeth was the most beautiful woman with child she had ever bore witness to.

Christine inhaled. She would miss the scent…that heady scent that wafted into the room whenever she opened that window. It had become a favorite part of her day each time she had opportunity to do it. Though she had felt well for most of her pregnancy, there had been a time just a month before, where the sweetness that she now inhaled with adoration had sickened her at the slightest scent of it. She had so enjoyed it all of her life. To her the flowers of summer represented hope; she thought about them during the bleak winter months long after the glittering of Christmas had faded. If the scent of the flowers of summer could permeate one's mind, then one was never truly in the depths of the dark winter months, they were but a thought away from the warmth of spring. She opened her eyes, exhaling and turned around to watch as Elizabeth was silently working to put items in the trunk. She smiled, glancing around the room once more, and then began moving toward her. There was much to do, and she wanted to be prepared within the hour.

"Allow me to help you with that," she said reaching for one of the dresses that Misty had in her hand. She smiled, "and I should like very much to take those two with me as well." Christine nodded toward a pair of dresses she'd not been able to wear in several months. They were among Erik's favorites.

"Mum?" Misty looked at her curiously. They were much too small for her to wear now, and would take up precious space within the smallish trunk that had been selected.

Christine smiled and nodded again, "yes those two." She sensed Misty's confusion. "I am to be prepared for anything Misty. I've no illusion that our time away might not be longer than I would hope. If time should find me delivered in Paris or some other city, I should like very much to have those with me," she paused, "Monsieur Courtland does favor them." She laid the folded garment in the trunk and reached for the first dress as Misty handed it to her.

Misty uttered not a word but carefully removed the second from the hanger and began to carefully fold it. If Elizabeth wished it be so, it would be.

XXXX

Erik made his way back out to the courtyard. JP met him, with a polite nod.

"Monsieur Courtland, we've prepared everything for you…as you instructed." He lowered his voice, leaning in, looking around, and added further, "and the special items are in the lower hold, and one beneath the seat you'll be riding in…as instructed." He leaned back away, adjusting his coat as though they'd exchanged something of insignificant importance. He wished he could ask why such an arsenal was needed for a mere trip to Paris, but he'd learned in spades, it was neither his place nor his business as to why the items were requested.

"You've told no one?" Erik looked at him, a serious tone in his words, a stern gaze in his eye. He'd no wish to alarm anyone, and was certain, knowing the Sultana's methods, that she would leave the house unscathed if she knew he was not present.

"No Monsieur," JP looked at the ground respectfully. He'd given his answer unequivocally.

"Very well then," Erik said, his eyes scanning the grounds cautiously. "You're to see to the last of it, check the grounds, and secure the stables once we've gone." He looked at JP for affirmation.

JP nodded his head. It would be done.

Erik turned slowly, casually back toward the house, his eye warily scanning the horizon. There were several more items he wished to retrieve from within their dwelling. He began to walk toward it. In truth he did not want to retrieve them…he wished he'd never had to lay eyes on them again…that they'd gather dust until one day they were tossed away in the rubbles of the house decayed beyond recognition. They were tools of his former craft, he shuddered, of the former tool he himself had been for the Sultana. Now it seemed fitting that his training by that wicked vial creature, might indeed be her undoing. She'd always told him in the moments of her insidious attempts to seduce him, that she'd revealed her one vulnerability…he'd been the best she'd ever trained. He'd nursed that knowledge in the back of his mind. It was a sadistic form of self-affirmation, but it had carried him through many a dark hour. If he'd not been fit for consumption by the world…perhaps he'd been born to a darker purpose.

He pressed his eyes closed as he walked into the house and down the hall that led to the room…the panel beneath the staircase, the trap door. He stood over it looking down at it, covered in dust and web. His eyes rimmed with tears as he knelt to lift the wood. The hinges screeching in opposition to being disturbed after so long a time. The small ladder led to the lower cavern. Erik lowered himself into it, striking a match he'd taken from his waistcoat. There, beyond the webbing, were the boxes he'd not seen since he'd left Persia, undisturbed as though they had silently, patiently awaited his return in a world where time had no bearing, were moments stood still. He inhaled, exhaling slowly as he made his way toward them reticently. He'd no choice now, the lives of those he loved most could be at stake.

Kneeling before them he withdrew the key sliding it into the rusted lock. It gave way…and there before him lay his past…the one he'd desperately tried to put behind him. He closed his eyes, running his hand over the first of the instruments. Sharp memories flashing like striking lightening in his mind. A casting eerie glow from a past that shadowed his future, tainted his present. He gasped, drawing his hand quickly away, blinking hard to remove the thoughts that threatened to overtake him. He glanced down, his eyes fixing on each piece. How many an unfortunate soul had seen them, and not gone back in the world to speak of their treachery. He sighed once more, then without further deliberation he reached into the box, carefully selecting those items that would prove to be most useful, placing them in the small satchel he'd brought with him, drawing the strings tightly closed. To the untrained eye they would be nothing more than curved and twisted shards and gnarls of steel. To him they were something else entirely. Several minutes time found him back in the hall on his way out to the carriage. He'd tuck them below the seat he would ride…they'd never be beyond his reach….should he need them. An involuntary shudder coursed through his body as he moved in the direction of the carriage that would take them from this peaceful place onto a path unknown. From this sunset to the next, his world, or at least his soul could be altered forever should he fail.

XXX

Raoul sat gazing out of the window in the room he'd temporarily claimed as his home. The hustle and bustle of Paris amazed him. He'd never really studied it, and in truth he wasn't so much now; the thought just happened across his mind. He'd spent nearly a half-hour sitting in the chair, elbow resting on the sill of the window, the framed pane ajar ever so slightly that he might take in the refreshing air, and the sounds. He'd been thinking long and hard about the events that had drawn him and Meg out of seclusion. His eyes closed and he found himself wishing he could be back in the gardens of his grandfather, spending a lazy afternoon reading to Meg and sipping lemonade. He sighed, but alas, they were not to be again…for a long while he was afraid.

He stood, moving toward the door. He wasn't so much thirsty as he was in need of the company of a friend. With Meg and his sister busy discussing details, he would go to find Nadir. There was something about this man that soothed him. If anyone would or could understand this conflict within him, it would be a man of the world that had lived.

XXX

Andre's pulse quickened. The woman's gaze was fixed upon him like a serpent fixes its eyes on it's prey hoping to distract and mesmerize lashing out its tongue, infusing the victim's blood with venom causing it to fall into a listless state before it was consumed whole; its bone and flesh succumbing to the cold, slithering creature whose sole intent was to deprive the target of its life. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in opposition as she stopped not a meter from him, her hands at her sides, leaning slightly forward, smiling at him.

"Do I make you uncomfortable sir?" Her head dipped slightly her gaze fixed and ensnaring, a slight chuckle escaping her. She leaned closer still, bending at her long cinched waist, placing a hand on the arm rests of Andre's chair.

Andre could feel the anger swelling within him. No woman, save for Misty had been permitted so close to him, but his family, and Lady C. His chest heaved as he stood, pushing the woman aside with the force of his shoulders, turning about as he retrieved his waist belt. Affixing it securely he turned about on his heel to face the woman whose face, he was surprised to see was actually stunned.

"Do you make me uncomfortable?" he huffed with great disdain in his voice, a stern and serious look in his eye. "Your presence in my quarters is unwelcome, whatever your intent. Curiousness as to one's travel plans does not require this type of privacy, nor does it excuse your supposition that entering one's quarters without invitation, and handling oneself in such a brazen way would be very becoming a lady of your apparent stature." Andre looked down as he fastened the last hold on his belt. Glancing seriously up once more at the woman, he walked toward the door and opened it.

The Sultana stood wide-eyed in disbelief…her skin felt hot, the blood beneath the surface beginning to boil. Oh how he would regret his actions if he but knew with whom he was dealing! She lowered her shoulder, taking the corner of her dress into her hand, clenching it tightly in her rage. Her lip trembled as her anger seethed. She walked toward the door, pausing long enough to say in a low serious tone lest anyone overhear, "our paths may one day cross again, and let us hope that you have not so poorly represented your city so as to come to grieve for it!" She brushed him with her shoulder, and was gone.

Andre closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he heard the click of her shoes and the scrape of the beaded hem of her dress running along the floor. He'd no idea the woman's intentions, but whatever they had been, a mere visit to Chausser was not among them. There was something more, much more, and silently he hoped he would never know, that his reaction to her advances had thwarted whatever intent she might have had. He exhaled heavily, leaning away from the door going back to his desk. He and Lady C would soon be on their way and he'd traveling clothes to don.

There was a rap at the door separating his room from Lady C's. He rose to his feet and walked toward it. He had so hoped that the interchange had not deprived Lady C of the rest that she so obviously needed. The stop in that quiet village had been anything but the restful reprieve that he'd hoped for. Had the mud and the rain not deterred them, they'd have been in Paris already.

He opened the door slightly, "Mum?" There was no response. His brow furrowed in wonder, opening the door just a bit more he looked around the room, but there was no one there. "Lady C?" he called out quietly, looking toward the bed. That is when his eye caught it…her foot just slightly protruding from the other side of the bed. He pushed the door open hard and wide, the wood reverberating against the wall as the handle met it with great force. He rushed to her. There she was lying on the floor, cheek against the grain of the wood. He scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed. Moving his hand to her lips he could tell she was breathing, however shallow. His hands moving instinctively to embrace her left hand. She had been feeling tired, weak, and now this…he'd have to summon a doctor before they'd venture further.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound…the click of the heels on the floor, the scuff of the beaded hem scraping along the wood in the corridor just outside. The steps were steady and even as they grew louder, and then they stopped, just outside the door. Andre held his breath as he watched the handle of the door. Standing protectively, his hand hovering above his waist belt instinctively. And then he saw it, the excruciatingly slow turn of the handle. He knew it was locked, but he also knew that if that vial creature was interested in gaining access…a mere lock would not stop her.

XXXXX

Nicole stared deeply into the eyes of the man who was now her husband. Even in his embraces of the night before, she could scarcely allow herself to believe she was anything but dreaming. Her mother had predicted she would marry, raise a family and live happily among a class far beyond the one they'd managed to make for themselves. She closed her eyes allowing the steam from the cup of coffee her husband….her husband…such sweet words they were, had poured for her. "John, I want to…"

John Paul interrupted her, with a compassionate tone, "I know Nicole," reaching out to touch her hand, "I know."

She smiled sweetly into his eyes once more. His perception…his ability to complete her thought astounded her…though she knew it not ought to have. They'd spent a great deal of time in one another's company. She lifted his hand into hers, entwining their fingers.

John Paul leaned down kissing the back of Nicole's hand, his gaze warming as his glance become the more fixed casting of a gaze. Slowly he rose, sliding his arms beneath his bride, lifting her into his arms as he carried her toward their bed chamber. True though it was that a proper fitting honeymoon it was not, nothing could have diminished the love and passion that had ignited once they'd not denied themselves the possibility.

XXXX

The seamstress was busy about her work. She'd many garments to prepare with Dickens funeral. All of her finest clients had requested new or altered garments that would be respectful yet representative of the class by the woman who wore them. She'd shook her head after each woman left her. Did they not understand that a funeral, no matter for whom it was held, was not a social gathering, where one might worry for such things. Was a garment of mourning truly meant to be a statement of fashion?

She busied herself since she'd little company as of late, and oh how she wished now, after the long separation that had proceeded his last visit, that he not take so long to return, and that he would bring his wife with him. There was something gentle and genuine about the young woman that gave her a sense of peace. To know that he would be loved, to be cared for, was a dream she'd long held.

She turned from her work, there was yet another knock on the door. She sighed, she'd already had more garments on her bench than she could manage to prepare in time. She shuffled hesitantly toward the door. She'd always be pleasant even if she'd have to decline.

She opened the door and was immediately greeted by the hug of a woman whose embrace she knew instinctively. "What brings you to the door of my shop my dear?" she said stepping aside allowing the woman and a companion inside the door, closing it behind them.

The young woman kissed her cheek. "Not for a garment for myself, but for…"

"Yes, I sensed you'd brought someone with you….a friend perhaps?" She was already warming to the person for whomever the young woman would have brought with her would be well deserving the attention.

The young woman took the hand of her companion and the hand of the seamstress and placed one hand in the other. She inhaled as the two clasped hands. "This my dear is a special occasion," she paused hesitantly before she continued, "the woman whose hand you now hold with be the wife…" she paused as a wide smile crossed her face, looking into the eyes of her companion, "the wife of my brother!"

The seamstress waited not a pause before she took Meg into her arms, gently holding her in a warm embrace. "My dear," she whispered into Meg's ear, "you were long prayed for my dear, long prayed for." Meg leaned her head toward the elder woman's temple. "I am honored to meet you, madame…."

The woman waived off such formalities. "Come ladies come. I've need to be away from my work for a few minutes to rest my eyes and hands." She took the women by the hand leading them down the hallway. Such news needed to be shared in private detail.