In Blood by LovetheScottishAngel
Author's Note: Thanks to liebedero and Yuy Veritas for adding this story to their favorites. Additional thanks goes to IAmTheMaskYouWear and The Duelist's Heiress for reviewing.
I'd also like to apologize for updating a day late than promised (something which some of you may not have noticed, but it's true). Here's what happened (although you probably don't really care about having an explanation; I feel inclined to give one anyway, though). For every installment before this one, I did a supremely good job of staying ahead; I was several chapters ahead of every update. But then I got into kind of a writing stupor and didn't really know how to get out of it in spite of the fact that I knew this chapter was coming up and I hadn't finished it, so truthfully, I only finished it today, a day late. And since I know what I'm going to be doing for the next few chapters and don't have any kind of stupor, this likely won't happen again for a while (I'd like to say "at all," but sometimes the muse fails to call to me). But this update is here now, and if I say so myself, it's pretty good. Yay me!
Anyway, without any further ado…
~ o ~
The next morning, Marielle woke up to discover that she was the most comfortable she'd ever been in her twenty years of life. She'd slept soundly all night long, not being interrupted by the sounds of the London street which was beside the alley where she'd resided the past several nights. Nor had she been haunted by any sort of nightmares of the Comte coming to London and finding her. In fact, she'd had the most magnificent dream!
In her dream, she'd gone to the tavern her father had designed as she had for the past several nights. Upon leaving, she'd been taken by a group of men and dragged to some location which had then been unknown to her. And once she'd been taken to where the men had been instructed to take her, she'd found herself face-to-face with her father!
After that point, the two had been left alone in his hotel suite at Claridge's, and she'd told him a considerable amount about the life she'd had at the Château deChagny—she'd informed him of her position working for the deChagny family, the education the Comtesse had given her, and the abuse that the Comte had put her through. Upon hearing all the pain she'd undergone, her father had insisted that she stay with him at Claridge's, and eventually, they'd embraced while they both cried, each of them feeling relieved to have found the family they'd craved all their life.
Soon after that, Marielle's dream had shown her going to sleep in her own suite at Claridge's… and that was all she could remember; if she'd dreamed any more after that point, she wasn't aware of it.
For several moments more, the deformed young woman pondered upon that magnificent dream, her heart aching even as she thought about how happy she'd been in the dream. If only it hadn't been a dream; if only she had actually succeeded in finding her father!
Letting out a soft sigh, she yawned and stretched luxuriously, relishing in the softness of the bed in which she rested, the delicious feeling of silk sheets rubbing against her legs.
Wait a moment. A soft bed? Silk sheets? She'd never had any of those things before, especially not in a filthy alleyway somewhere in London!
Marielle finally opened her eyes and sat up in a rather abrupt fashion, looking all around her in astonishment. For she wasn't in an alley; instead, she was in the grandest bedroom she'd ever laid eyes on—a bedroom even grander than that which the Comte and Comtesse occupied in the Château deChagny!
Her heart pounding, she jumped out of bed, running out of the bedroom and into a lovely parlor which was outside the bedroom. And that was when her shocked brain finally realized—that dream she'd deemed to be so wonderful hadn't been a dream at all; it had been reality! She had actually met her father, he had actually accepted her, and she was actually residing in her own suite at Claridge's! The whole situation had just been so surreal that, upon waking, she'd somehow managed to convince herself that none of it had really happened.
A feeling of incredible delight and giddiness ran through her veins, and in her enthusiasm, she hopped up and down a couple of times, clapping her hands together and giggling excitedly.
For the first time ever, everything in Marielle Tourneau's relatively-short-but-largely-miserable life was perfect.
Once she'd spent several moments just reveling in the fact that things were finally going completely well for her, she happened to glance up at the clock on the nearby wall and saw that it was already nine-thirty in the morning and that she'd slept ten and a half hours, for she'd been in bed by eleven o'clock the night before. She gasped in mild astonishment, for she'd never slept that late before! Every morning since she'd left the Château deChagny, she'd always woken up by seven o'clock at the latest, and when she'd still lived in Paris, she'd always woken up by five-thirty in order to begin her daily chores.
Her surprise expression, however, then melted into a full smile. She supposed she shouldn't be entirely surprised that she had slept so intensely and for so long. After all, the bed in which she'd slept had been so marvelously comfortable—she fully believed that if she really wanted to, she would be able to go back to bed right then and sleep the rest of the day away, the bed was that soft!
She simply couldn't go back to bed, however; she had a full day ahead of her. Erik had told her the night before that they would have breakfast together before going out so that they might do some shopping for her. And since she was sure that her father wasn't much of a late sleeper, he had probably already been awake and waiting for several hours.
This thought in her head, she turned back toward her bedroom and went back into it, then entered the adjoining bathroom. The last time she'd bathed had been two nights before, as the night before, she'd been so tired from the excitement that she hadn't washed. And strictly speaking, she hadn't had much of a thorough cleaning since she'd left Ashley's Hotel, as she hadn't had a bathroom specifically for her to use. Therefore, it was surely necessary for her to have a bath—she only wished that she had more time so that she could relish having such a marvelous bathroom for her exclusive use!
After rather quickly having a bath and dressing herself in clean clothes, she pulled her hair back into a loose bun, put her mask on, and then collected her cloak, for she had a feeling that she wouldn't be returning to her suite before she and Erik ventured out of Claridge's. Then, ensuring that she had her room key with her, she exited the suite and then went right next door to her father's suite.
When the door was opened in response to her knock, Marielle found that Cameron had already woken up and made his way into his employer's suite, for it was he who answered the door.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Tourneau," he greeted her with the same charming smile he'd given her the night before, inclining his head toward her slightly. "Good morning. Please come in."
"Thank you, Monsieur MacAlister," she replied, her voice soft and her answering smile shy as she stepped inside the suite. Upon briefly glancing around, she saw that Erik wasn't in sight, but a wheeled cart filled to the brim with all manner of breakfast foods was in the center of the parlor. The smell of some of the food drifted to her nose, and her mouth watered slightly.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked of her as he closed the door, stepping beside her as she turned her attention to him. "And are you comfortable in your room?"
"Yes, I slept very well… and the room is wonderful. Thank you."
His smile widened a bit, and the young woman felt her knees grow weak as they had when he'd first smiled at her the night before. "I'm glad. Now, if you need anything at all at any point in time, please let me know. I'm at your service."
Marielle felt her face grow hot; she was still so unused to interacting with a handsome young man such as him… and of course, she wasn't accustomed to being served; she had spent all her life being the servant.
"Thank you," she finally managed to respond after several moments. She smiled in a hesitant, somewhat shy manner. "I appreciate it."
Once more he smiled back at her, and then a sound coming from further inside the suite caused both of them to turn their heads. As it turned out, Erik had appeared and was now standing beside the cart of food.
Upon seeing the masked man, Marielle curtsied as Cameron bowed slightly.
"Good morning, Monsieur Tourneau," Marielle addressed her father, unable to help but smile upon being in her father's presence once more. "I'm sorry for being so late; I had no idea that I slept for so long."
"That's all right," Erik replied, returning her smile. "I'm sure you were tired. And those beds are quite comfortable."
"Yes," she agreed, letting out a little sigh of ecstasy as she recalled just how marvelous it had felt to be in her bed.
For a few moments more, Erik looked at his daughter with a smile, and then he shifted his gaze to Cameron. His expression then became a bit more solemn, though certainly not unkind, as he addressed the young man.
"If you don't mind, Cameron, I should like to have some time alone with my daughter."
"Of course, sir," Cameron responded, bowing slightly once more. "I'll be in my room if you need me for anything."
"Very good. Thank you."
The young man nodded, and then he looked at Marielle, taking her hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to it. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mademoiselle."
"Merci," the masked young woman replied, her voice almost a whisper because this gesture had once more made her breathless. She felt certain that no matter how many times he kissed her hand, she would never grow accustomed to it.
Cameron smiled at her briefly, then turned and exited the suite without another word to either his employer or his employer's daughter, the door closing with a click behind him.
After several moments of studying the closed door with wonderment, Marielle rather abruptly turned toward Erik and made an inquiry of him which, in her own opinion, was rather bold.
"Why does he do that? Why does he pay so much attention to me?"
Erik arched his visible eyebrow at his daughter, feeling inclined to tell her that the Englishman obviously liked her. He still wasn't entirely sure of the young man's opinion of her, though, so he instead shrugged and gave the more obvious answer.
"He works for me. As such, he's expected to treat me with respect, as well as anyone who is close to me. Since you naturally fall under that category, he knows he should be polite so he doesn't offend you or me."
"That's what I thought," she replied with a sigh, unable to stop herself from feeling slightly disappointed. After all, the way he had been behaving had made her start to wonder whether or not he was actually interested in her and wasn't just being polite and attentive for the sake of keeping his job.
Hearing her father's response, however, had now led her to believe that such a conclusion was a rather ridiculous one. Why would he be interested in her? If he had any idea of what was underneath her father's mask, he surely suspected that she had a similar deformity … and no one would ever be interested in someone with a face like hers. And even if she were beautiful, it would be presumptuous to think that he would already be interested in her after having not even known her for twenty-four hours!
The masked man saw that she looked rather crestfallen and knew her thought process, but he didn't want to say anything to encourage her, lest he be wrong about his employee's feelings for her and only make her feel even more disappointed in the long run. He therefore suggested, "Let's have breakfast now. I'm sure you're hungry."
She nodded silently, then walked into the parlor and seated herself on the sofa. He sat next to her, at which point they each began serving themselves whatever they wanted from off the cart which one of the hotel butlers had brought to the suite at Erik's request.
For a considerable amount of time, father and daughter were silent as they ate and drank to their heart's content. It was during this time that Marielle also began looking around the suite, since she hadn't gotten much of a look at it the night before because she'd been absorbed in the fact that she'd found her father.
As she'd already gathered just from the night before, Erik's suite was grander than hers. From what she could see, however, it was relatively similar to hers except for several things. The entryway was much larger, he had a fireplace, and that strange-looking black object that she'd seen in his home underneath the Opera Populaire was in the suite as well.
Since the object was in his suite, Marielle could only conclude that her father knew what it was. After all, it would be rather unusual for him to have something in his room without knowing what it was, and besides, he was quite a bit older than she and had seen considerably more of the world than she had.
Once she'd finished drinking the cup of tea that she'd poured for herself at the beginning of the meal, she pointed toward the unusual item. "What is that?"
He arched an eyebrow at her because, at that moment, his back was to the object and he therefore didn't know what she was referring to. Then he turned toward where she was pointing, chewing on a piece of toast as he did, and studied it for several moments.
When he looked at her once again, he'd finished chewing his toast and looked completely surprised. "Well, that's a piano, of course."
"Oh." She felt her face grow how from embarrassment, for the way in which he'd responded made her sound as if she was completely ignorant and that, in fact, a piano was a rather common item. "What is it for?"
"What is it for?" he echoed incredulously. "What do you mean, What is it for? It's an instrument; it's for playing music!"
"Music?"
Upon hearing that single-worded query, Erik felt his heartbeat slow down drastically, and in his mind he began to come to a dreadful conclusion, for there was only one way that any child of his wouldn't know what music was. But that couldn't be…
"Yes, music." His voice almost quavered as he pondered upon his awful line of thinking.
She cocked her head to the right the slightest bit, the perfect picture of a curious, ignorant child. "What is music?"
Erik's heartbeat changed from going at a snail's pace to racing like a competitor in the Grand Prix de Paris. "… You don't know what music is?"
"No. I've never heard of it."
"You've never heard of music," the masked man echoed, his tone dull. On the inside, though, he was raging. If he ever saw Raoul and Christine deChagny again, it was likely that not only would he kill the Comte, but his wife as well! Marielle was twenty years old and knew nothing of music! Nothing!
"Well," he finally continued after several moments of rather tense silence, rising to his feet and walking over to the piano. His fingers floated over the keys for several moments. "Allow me to demonstrate for you."
He then pressed several keys at once, playing a perfect C Major chord, and she jumped in her seat in surprise, not having expected any sound to come from the piano.
"What was that?" she exclaimed.
"That was music. More specifically, that was a chord."
"A chord," she echoed, rising to her feet and coming to stand beside him with interest. "What is it?"
"It's where you play several different notes at one time. Generally, in a chord, you play notes that are unaltered, but sometimes you play notes that are sharp or flat alongside unaltered notes. Most of the time, chords that have unaltered notes are major chords and chords that have sharp or flat notes are minor chords."
For a moment, she was silent, and then she said rather plainly, "I didn't understand any of that."
Erik wasn't entirely sure how, but he managed to suppress a sigh. He had quite a lot of work to do. After all, he couldn't let his daughter go without music any longer! It was atrocious that she'd already gone so long without knowing anything about it; he wouldn't stand for her to remain in the dark anymore.
"Here, sit down," he instructed her then, and they both sat upon the bench which was before the piano. At the same time, he took a deep breath, inwardly attempting to brace himself for the challenge which would surely come with teaching music to someone who, a mere five minutes previously, hadn't even been aware of its existence.
~ o ~
"No, no; that wasn't right. Start from the beginning of the line on my count—one, two, three, play."
Several hours had passed; the clock on the mantle above the fireplace indicated that it was almost noontime. Both Erik and Marielle had ignored the time, however, because they had both been so absorbed in having Marielle learn how to play piano.
Truthfully, Erik was mildly astonished by Marielle's fast progress. Within the few hours during which he'd been instructing her, she'd gone from being completely ignorant as to what a piano even was to being able to play pieces that were of moderate difficulty. Due to the fact that she was both his and Christine's child and thus had a natural talent toward music that she hadn't even been aware of, he'd expected her to catch on in a relatively quick fashion—or, at least, as quickly as one could catch on after only learning about music that same day. But since the fact still remained that she'd never known anything about music before today, he certainly hadn't suspected that she would make as much progress as she had. Once he'd explained to her most everything he knew about piano-playing, however, she'd very nearly breezed through all the easy-level piano books that he possessed in the same fashion he had when he'd first learned to play piano as a child.
Of course, one who is on her first day of piano lessons can't logically be expected to play in a completely perfect fashion during the entire lesson, natural prodigy though she may be. Because of this, Marielle had stumbled in her playing several times—and was still doing so while playing the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.
The first few times that his daughter had done something wrong in her playing, Erik had managed to show some patience. After all, she'd made so much progress in just a few hours that it was rather difficult to hold her mistakes against her, especially since he could tell that she was so excited to be hearing such marvelous sounds that her ears had never before beheld, so excited to be learning how to coax those sounds out of the piano herself. She'd said nothing on the topic, but the look on her face told him sufficiently what he had known would inevitably happen…
Marielle had fallen in love with music.
Unfortunately, in spite of these facts, Erik's lenience only extended so far. And as time had worn on, the masked man had become more frustrated with every error that his daughter made. He knew it was wrong to really be impatient with her; after all, it wasn't her fault that she hadn't known anything of music, much less how to make it perfectly, until several hours ago.
No, Erik's quarrel wasn't with Marielle—not really. He was more frustrated with the Comte and Comtesse deChagny than with anyone else. If they hadn't denied his child of music as they had, he wouldn't have had to teach her anything—nor would she be continually fumbling in her playing!
His thoughts were interrupted by hearing another jarring discord emitting from the piano—Marielle had missed yet another note.
"You missed it again!" he exclaimed in a tone more harsh than he'd really intended. "How many times have you played that now… five? Six?"
What was visible of the masked young woman's face reddened considerably. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Tourneau. It's just difficult—"
"No, it's not," he snapped in response, practically storming over the piano and playing the measure that she'd continually fumbled with ease. "See? Just like that."
"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper as she looked down at her hands, which she'd folded atop her lap. Understandably, his harsh manner was starting to upset her, but she was trying her best to conceal it. After all, she was certain that if their roles had been reversed, she would have wanted him to not be fumbling the same measure over and over.
"Just start from the beginning of the line like before," he said, letting out a rather huffy sigh. "And this time, do it right!"
Swallowing down a lump that had suddenly risen in her throat, she scooted forward on the piano bench slightly, placing her hands atop the keys which she was supposed to play at the beginning of the line. Then, keeping her eyes on the sheet music which was in front of her, she took a deep breath and started playing where he'd instructed her to.
Instead of halfway pacing about the way he had throughout most of the time that he'd been instructing her, he remained standing right behind her, continually shifting his rather stern gaze between the sheet music and her hands.
Unfortunately, Marielle was acutely aware that he was behind her; she could see his shadow hanging over part of the piano. And though she couldn't see his face, she could tell that he was observing her with a stern expression, just waiting for the next time that she did something wrong, just waiting for an opportunity to become frustrated with her once again.
For a minute or two, the young woman appeared to remain perfectly calm and detached, apparently indifferent to the fact that he was observing her so strictly—she even played the measure she'd continually fumbled without a single misstep. She only made it a few more measures, however, before becoming too nervous at the fact that he was standing behind her the way he was and thusly playing a wrong note.
"And now you played that incorrectly!" he shouted suddenly, causing her to jump with alarm and stop her playing entirely. "That measure is even simpler than the one you spent all that time fumbling, and yet you can't even play that right!"
She didn't dare to look up at him; she was too afraid to see the rage which would surely be etched on his features. She instead kept her eyes on the piano keys, stammering, "I—I'm sorry, but… your hanging over me like that… i-it made me nervous."
"It damn well ought to!" he growled. "It should also motivate you to play correctly, but apparently it isn't producing that effect!"
Tears welled in her eyes and a lump rose in her throat, but she did her best to conceal them. "Well, we—we've been at this for several hours now. I'm getting tired—"
"So am I—I'm getting tired of having to correct your same errors over and over!"
"Well, I'm getting tired of hearing you yell at me!" she cried out suddenly, abruptly rising to her feet and looking him directly in the eye with surprising bravado. Tears were in her eyes. "I hate it when people yell at me, especially when I'm only trying to do my best… and that's what I'm doing! I've never played this piece before; I never even knew what a piano was until a few hours ago! Yelling at me won't accomplish much of anything except to get me upset… but then again, you wouldn't really know that, seeing as how you didn't even know I existed until last night!"
These last words caused an entirely astonished expression to come to his masked features, but before he could give any kind of response, she burst into tears and practically fled from the suite.
Marielle heard her father call her name and follow after her, but she ignored him. She merely continued getting further away from him, only coming to a halt when she stepped into the hallway and nearly ran right into Cameron.
"Mademoiselle Tourneau!" the young man exclaimed, looking surprised to have come across his employer's daughter so abruptly—and to find her crying when he did. "What—What's the matter?"
"He keeps yelling at me!" she cried out, taking a deep, shuddering breath before letting out a few small sobs. "He's mad that I keep playing the song incorrectly and I'm just trying to do my best…"
Her voice trailed off then, at which point she covered her face with her hands and started crying even more.
"Oh." The expression on Cameron's face went to one of concern to one which was a mixture of sympathy and solemnity. He placed his hands on Marielle's shoulders, lightly squeezing them for a moment before softly running them up and down her arms in a gesture meant to be comforting. "Well, you two have been holed up in his room for hours; you probably need a break. I was just about to get some lunch… would you like to join me, perhaps?"
She removed her hands from her face, looking up at him and nodding while giving several pitiful-sounding sniffles. "Yes, that… that sounds rather good. I'm getting hungry, anyway."
"Perfect." He turned around so they were both facing the direction in which she'd been traveling before crossing paths with him, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder. "Let's get your cloak and then we'll be off."
After she nodded once more, they began taking the few more steps to her suite door. Upon glancing back, Cameron saw that Erik was standing in the hallway, looking at the two with an expression of remorse on his face—he apparently felt bad for having upset Marielle to such an extent. He then took a step or two forward, apparently with the intent of approaching his daughter and apologizing to her. Cameron then rather discreetly shook his head, however, holding up a hand in a gesture meant to signify that his employer should stop.
Upon seeing what Cameron was doing, Erik quit moving forward, then looked at the two for several more moments. Cameron shook his head a second time, telling Erik without words that it would likely be best if he let Marielle distance herself from him for a bit so she would have more of an opportunity to calm down. The masked man apparently agreed, for he let out a soft, resigned sigh before turning and retreating to his suite.
Two or three minutes later, Cameron and Marielle had been in and out of her suite and she had gotten her cloak, the hood of which she pulled over her head as they began walking out of Claridge's. The young woman was still sniffling a bit, although she wasn't really crying anymore.
"I'm sorry I'm subjecting you to this," she said to Cameron when they'd reached the sidewalk just outside Claridge's and had begun walking down the right side of the sidewalk. "I just really hate it whenever people yell at me. It doesn't do anything but get me upset."
"You don't need to apologize for anything," he reassured her, reaching inside the pocket of his pants and producing a clean handkerchief. "Here."
"Thank you," she replied, taking the handkerchief from him and blowing her nose. Then, assuming that he didn't want it back now, she held onto it with one hand as they continued walking. She let out a little sigh. "You must think I'm stupid to be crying about this."
He chuckled a bit. "Not at all; I know how you feel. Your father can be a little… overwhelming."
A small smile quirked at the corners of her lips, then her expression became serious once more. "I wasn't trying to play incorrectly. All this music is just so new to me… I'd never even heard of it until this morning."
The Englishman raised his eyebrows. "You're Erik Tourneau's daughter and you only just learned about music today? What kind of life did you have before you came here that you didn't know anything about music?"
For a brief moment, she felt inclined to respond with "A terrible one, really," but then decided that she wasn't comfortable with sharing such a personal bit of information with him. She therefore remained silent. This led him to conclude that the young woman didn't want to discuss her past, and although he was curious, he wasn't going to be rude and prod her for answers.
"Well, at least you have a natural inclination toward musical talent," he thusly said after a few moments. "When I first started working for Monsieur Tourneau, he tried teaching me to play the violin because I'd wanted to learn all my life but never had. But unfortunately, I—"—he paused, a small chuckle escaping him as he shook his head—"I have absolutely no musical talent to speak of, something I only discovered the day your father tried teaching me. He kept yelling at me that my intonation was off and other such things that I didn't even really understand… and I tried to play correctly; I really did. But it wasn't meant to be, I suppose, and your father finally saw that and gave up after a few hours. It was a miserable experience for both of us."
She giggled for a few moments before clearing her throat and taking on an expression which was a bit more serious. "How long have you worked for my father?"
"Five years. I was a student and I was having a terrible time paying all the bills for school and living expenses and whatnot. One day, I saw an ad in the Evening Standard for a very private man seeking an employee who would be required to do, well, everything the man asked. It said that one of the requirements was dependability, and I… well, honestly, I'd never categorized myself as much of a dependable person. But the ad promised really excellent pay, I'd applied to tons of other places and only gotten a few interviews that had ended in failure, and I was desperate. I was about to have to drop out of school because I didn't have the money for it."
"Didn't your parents have any way of helping you?"
"My parents weren't around anymore by that point. My father took off sometime when I was two or three and my mother died of typhoid about a year before I started university."
"Oh." Her face grew hot. "I'm sorry; I didn't know."
"That's right—you didn't know. So there's no need to apologize." He turned his attention to her with interest. "I obviously know your father is still alive, but what about your mother? Is she still in France?"
A lump rose in her throat at the mention of Christine, for thoughts of the Comtesse invariably led to thoughts of her husband. She didn't give any indication of discomfort, however, and instead replied in a noncommittal tone, "Yes, she and my stepfather are there, along with my half-siblings."
He nodded. "If it's not too much to ask… when were your parents ever married? I mean, your father's very private, but I never thought he would be so much so that he wouldn't even mention that he'd been married."
"Well, they never were married. So there was nothing of that sort to mention."
Upon hearing a somewhat hard edge in her tone, he started feeling concerned that he'd offended her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry; it's just that I'm really rather astonished to find that my employer has any kind of family. I'd gotten the impression that he was quite alone."
The young woman turned toward him in surprise. "You mean to tell me that there's never been anyone else? No wife, no children… nothing?"
"No—not any that he's mentioned to me, anyway."
"Oh." Marielle felt her heart being squeezed a bit at the prospect of her father not having anyone—for even though she'd largely been mistreated at the Château deChagny, she'd still had people that she could call family in an entirely accurate fashion, even if she'd never really been permitted to do so. "Well, he does seem to be a rather solitary person, anyway. So I suppose it's really not very surprising."
Cameron nodded in agreement, and then he took a deep breath through his nose before letting out a long sigh which seemed to be one of ecstasy. "Oh… do you smell that?"
She sniffed the air for a moment, at which point her mouth watered, for the scent of food being cooked at Henson's Fish and Chips filled her nose. "Yes, I do. It's Henson's!"
He looked at her with what appeared to be mild surprise. "You know about Henson's?"
"Yes! Oh, I love it… since I first ate there, fish and chips has become my favorite food!"
Upon hearing this declaration, his face broke into a wide grin. "It's my favorite, too—but only Henson's. Most every other fish-and-chips restaurant isn't very good, in my opinion."
"Could we go in?" she asked of him then. "I haven't gone in a few days."
The blond's smile widened a bit more. "I was planning on having us go there, actually. But now that you've told me you've been there and loved it, we're most certainly going now."
She returned his smile, and as they reached the door into Henson's, he opened it and held it open for him. She stepped inside and he followed after her.
"Good af'ernoon, you two!" the same man who had served Marielle when she'd first come to Henson's greeted the pair with a grin.
"Hello, Andrew," Cameron greeted the waiter, and the two stepped toward each other and shook hands. "How've you been?"
"Oh, I've been great, Mr. MacAlister, jus' great." Andrew then turned his attention to Marielle, his smile widening a bit more. "An' there's my lil' 'ooded friend! I was wonderin' where ya wen' off to."
Marielle returned his smile, although she felt reasonably certain he couldn't see it. "I wouldn't have left without one last meal here. But I'm staying here indefinitely now."
"Well, tha's wonderful!" Andrew exclaimed. Then he looked back toward Cameron. "Would you like your usual seat, Mr. MacAlister?"
"That would be good, thank you."
Andrew nodded, then motioned toward the same booth where Marielle had sat whenever she'd come to Henson's. "Go ahead and sit. I'll go t' the ki'chen and order your fish 'n' chips, and then I'll bring out your drinks in just a moment. Coca-Cola for both of you?"
"Yes," both Cameron and Marielle replied at the same time as they walked toward the booth, then glanced at each other in surprise.
"All right. I'll be back in a momen'."
Cameron and Marielle then went over to the booth, each of them sitting in the seat opposite the one in which the other sat. Upon seeing each of them do this so naturally, they both raised their eyebrows at each other.
"Do you always sit on the right side of whatever booth you sit at?" he asked of her, cocking his head slightly in a gesture of curiosity.
She smiled in a somewhat shy fashion. "Actually, I always sit at this booth. And yes, I sit on the right side all the time."
He returned her smile, although his smile was much wider than hers. "I always sit at this booth, too… and always on the left."
"Well, that's very interesting."
"Yes," he murmured. The smile on his face remained. "It… it's almost like we were anticipating this very moment, anticipating each other's eventual company."
Upon hearing him say this, her smile widened just a bit as she felt her heart warming. And in that moment, she suddenly felt as if he wasn't just being nice to her for the sake of pleasing her father and therefore keeping his job. After all, he had sounded sincere in his statement… and she didn't think he would have sounded sincere if he didn't actually like her, much less say it at all.
"How about you take off your hood?" he suggested after several moments, interrupting her thoughts. "You'd be a lot more comfortable, probably. And I can't see you nearly as well if you've got it on. I somewhat have to guess where your eyes are so I can at least think I'm looking into them."
Her face grew a bit hot. "Well, I… I've never taken it off when I've been in here. That man and everyone else who's served me have always been so nice… and I'm… well…"
Then her voice trailed off.
"You're afraid that they won't be so kind if they see your mask?" he inquired, his tone suddenly gentle.
She lifted her brow in surprise, though he couldn't see it. "How did you know?"
"Well, your father is often the same way." He paused, letting out a little sigh. At that moment, Andrew reappeared with their bottles of Coca-Cola, which he placed in front of them, earning him a nod of thanks from both of them. "He and I have known each other five years and only been in such a public setting like this, hmm… let me think… three times… maybe four."
"My father has only been out in public with you three or four times?" Her tone of voice indicated that she was obviously astonished. She picked up her bottle of Coca-Cola and took a sip from it.
"No, no; that's not what I meant. Of course we've been in public together more than four times, but it's generally walking from place to place… as in one rather private and secluded place to another. I mean that we've only been in a really public place, like a restaurant like this, only four times at most."
"Oh. I didn't think he would really be that secluded."
The young man nodded in a rather solemn fashion. "He doesn't like being so exposed; he doesn't like risking having people look at him and make cruel comments about him… and other such things. He may act like he's very unflappable and doesn't let judgmental and unkind people get to him, but really… it's not true. He generally does a very good job of hiding it, but there are some times when he can't fool me."
"I see," she murmured, frowning a little. After a moment, however, she cleared her expression and looked back up at him. "Do—Do you know what my father looks like under his mask?"
"Yes; I've seen it a few times."
"And does it… bother you?"
"No. I mean…" He sighed a bit as he gave a light shrug. "It isn't the most attractive face in the world, but neither is mine. And I'm sure there are a relatively sizable number of people in the world who look worse than he does."
Upon hearing that he apparently didn't think his appearance ranked anywhere high as far as attractiveness was concerned, she raised her visible eyebrow. She refrained from making any kind of comment saying that he was wrong, however, because she didn't want to risk making him uncomfortable by complimenting his appearance.
Even though she didn't say anything in response to what he'd said, however, she decided that his statement had made her a bit more comfortable with the idea of having her hood off. And so, with a soft, deep breath, she took hold of her hood and slipped it off her head.
"There!" he exclaimed, sounding pleased. He smiled at her. "Now I can see you."
"All righ', you two," Andrew said as he reappeared with a plate of fish and chips for both Cameron and Marielle. "'Ere's your—oh!"
This exclamation was made as Andrew's eyes drifted to Marielle's face, which he was now seeing for the first time, and caught sight of her mask. Marielle noted, with a sinking heart, that his face had paled just a bit and he was gaping at her, apparently having completely forgotten that he had their food and needed to serve it to them.
"Is there a problem, Andrew?" Cameron demanded, emitting a huffy sigh as he folded his arms across his chest. Marielle glanced toward her companion with surprise, not having expected him to do such a thing.
"Well, I—no, Mr. MacAlister," the waiter replied anxiously. He then cleared his throat, setting the plates before Cameron and Marielle before beginning to quickly retreat to the kitchen. "I'll—I'll be back in a bi' t' check on ya. Holler if ya need anythin'."
After a few moments, Marielle lifted her eyes to Cameron's, grey-green meeting blue. "You didn't have to do that."
"Oh, yes, I did," the young man replied in a tone that seemed to be spiteful, but she knew the tone wasn't directed at her. He picked up his fork and started breaking apart his fish, allowing the steam to escape so the fish could cool off. "It's absolutely ridiculous that people would so change their behavior like that just because they see something they're not used to seeing. And after all, it's not as if any of them know what's under the mask. For all they know, you're an actress who needs to wear a mask for a part and you're just wearing the mask out and about to grow accustomed to it. But no, they don't consider that; they just assume the worst."
"They're right," the masked woman said softly, more to herself than to him.
"It doesn't matter whether or not they're right. They shouldn't act like that regardless." He gave another frustrated sigh. "It just infuriates me!"
At that point, Marielle could tell that he was becoming more and more aggravated by the second, and so she scoured her brain for a topic to which she could turn the conversation so he wouldn't think on the current situation any longer.
"You never finished telling me how you came to work for my father," she said after a moment. "You were saying that you didn't think you were dependable, but that you were desperate and so you applied to work for my father anyway, even though dependability was a requirement to work for him."
"That's right," he agreed with a nod, his expression softening from one to irritation to one which was calm. He paused, taking a bite of his cooled-off fish and chewing it, and she did the same. "I had an interview with your father about a week later. Of course, when I walked into the room where we were meeting and saw him for the first time, I was completely taken aback. I'd never seen anyone who wore a mask offstage before. I must have done a good job of hiding my surprise, though, because your father didn't seem irritated with me at any point while we were conducting the interview and I know for a fact that I didn't stare. He asked me questions about my work ethic, my schedule of availability, and other such things that are asked in an interview… but we talked a bit about personal things, too; he asked some about my life, although I didn't learn anything about his except for the fact that he was very private and needed someone who would be willing to do anything he needed at any point in time."
"And what happened then?"
"Well, by the end of the interview, I really felt drawn to your father, even though he and I had only known each other for about an hour. There was just… something about him; I don't really know what it was. But after that point, I really wanted to work for him—not only because I found him interesting, but because he'd told me just how good the pay was… a thousand pounds a week."
The young woman's eyes widened in astonishment. "Wow!"
"Yes. So when he asked me if I was dependable, I swore to myself that I would become dependable and told him I was. And he hired me." Cameron smiled a bit. "And ever since, I've been working for him—and needless to say, I've learned to be extremely dependable. If I'm not around him, which I generally am anyway, he sends me a message that he needs me to do something for him and I immediately drop whatever I'm doing and go do what he needs."
She nodded. "And have you finished school, since you've obviously been earning the money to pay for it?"
"No, unfortunately not. I've been going on and off over the years, but I'm only about halfway through my degree."
"Only half? Why?"
"Well, I'd just barely started when your father hired me because I'd had to work at my previous job without additionally going to school for a long time in order to save the money for all my expenses. And like I said, if ever I'm not around your father and he sends for me, I drop whatever I'm doing and do whatever he asks because that's what dependability in this position calls for. He's called for me in the middle of a class more times than I can count, probably. So I'm absent from class more often than I am present, which naturally makes me flunk out."
Marielle frowned a little. "That doesn't seem fair. I mean, the whole reason you started working for him in the first place was so you could pay for school… and then he pulls you out of school so you can do whatever he wants."
The young man shrugged a bit. "I've gotten used to it. Your father's rather demanding… something I know you've already figured out."
"Yes," she murmured, her thoughts turning back to her piano lessons from earlier. "Yes, I've discovered that."
"It's not something he always does on purpose," he continued then. "It's just how he is. And I really don't mind it. I love working for your father; I wouldn't trade it for anything. The good most definitely outweighs the bad. You just have to learn to take it all in stride."
She nodded. "Do you think I overreacted to his yelling at me?"
"No. It's not something you're used to and he really can be frightening—although he doesn't always need to shout to accomplish that," he added as an afterthought. "He still makes me jumpy sometimes and I've known him far longer than you have."
A lump of jealousy rose in her throat at the thought that Cameron would always know Erik longer than she would no matter what, but she said nothing along that line of thinking. She instead let out a little sigh and said, "Well, maybe getting upset wasn't an overreaction. But the last thing I said to him, that he wouldn't know much of anything about me because he didn't even know about me until last night… it was out of line."
"That's true," he replied with a slight frown. Then, however, his face brightened a bit as he smiled reassuringly at her. "But you didn't mean it, really; you were just upset. As long as you apologize, it shouldn't really be an issue. And honestly, he's probably more frustrated with himself for upsetting you than he is with you for continually messing up or for saying what you did."
"Do you really think so?"
"I know so. He really despises it when he lets his temper get out of hand and it makes him upset someone. And since you're now the person closest to him because you're his family, he'll be even more bothered by it. So don't worry—whenever we finally go back to Claridge's, you'll both apologize, he'll promise that he'll try to do a better job of keeping his temper in check, and everything will be fine."
She nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. Then she gave him a shy, grateful smile. "You're very good at making people feel better—about themselves and, well, everything else. Or, at least, it seems that way."
"Well, I try," he replied modestly. Then he glanced at both their plates, seeing that they each had finished their lunches over the course of their conversation. "Are you ready to go back now or would you like to do something else?"
"I can't really think of anything else to do," she confessed with a light shrug. "So I suppose we should just go back. And after all, the sooner my father and I make up, the better, probably."
"You're probably right," he agreed, rising to his feet. She did the same as he pulled a small wad of pound notes out of his pocket and set them atop the table. "That ought to cover the bill and a decent tip. Let's go."
Without a word, she nodded and then followed after him as he began walking toward the door, making to put her hood on once more.
He saw what she was doing, however, and let out a little bit of a sigh. "You really don't need to do that. You were just in there without it on and there wasn't any real issue at all. If anyone out here tries to make any kind of comment or gives you some kind of look, I'll retaliate in whatever way I see fit."
The young woman's face grew hot. "You don't have to do that. Really, I'm used to having a least a little bit of a negative reaction to my appearance. I know other people find my mask unsettling."
"Other people are morons," he replied firmly. "Come on, now; it's not a very long walk back to Claridge's. Enjoy the feel of the sunlight actually falling on your face!"
For a moment, the pair stood right in the doorway of Henson's, he looking at her expectantly as she hesitated, uncertain of what to do. Then, however, she decided that if he was willing to be seen in public with someone who looked as she did, she could be willing to keep her masked face visible in public. She therefore gave him a little smile and shrugged a bit.
"All right. All right; I'll keep it off. Let's go."
Upon her saying this, he smiled back at her, offering his arm to her. "Yes, let's go."
As her smile widened a bit, she took his arm, at which point they began walking back in the direction of Claridge's.
In the initial part of their journey, they were silent, and Marielle was pleased to find that very few people gave any sort of visible negative reaction to her appearance—and those very few who did were rewarded with a glare from Cameron which made them shrink and hurry away, out of the pair's line of sight.
Once this had gone on for several minutes, she chanced a glance upwards, her eyes coming to rest on his handsome face. She only looked at him in secret for a moment, however, because he soon looked down at her in turn. When their eyes met, he gave her a warm smile which she shyly returned.
"See, isn't this nice?" he asked her then. "Don't you prefer this to walking about with your hood concealing your face?"
"Yes, I do," she agreed. "It's very pleasant."
He smiled at her a little more. "Well, anytime you feel inclined to do this again, don't hesitate to ask me. It'd be my pleasure to escort you on a walk any day, anytime—as long as your father doesn't already have me otherwise occupied."
She gave of sigh of ecstasy as she continued smiling up at him. "Thank you, Monsieur MacAlister—for everything you've done for me today. I… I can see why my father likes you as much as he seems to. You're a very good man."
"Thank you," he replied, beaming. "I'm glad you think so."
The two then glanced to their right to see that they were now right in front of Claridge's. He slid his arm out of her grip, stepping up to the front door of the hotel and opening it. He motioned her inside, and she stepped through the door with a nod of thanks. Then they ascended the staircase to the second floor, once again walking arm-in-arm to the door of Erik's suite.
Once Cameron had knocked on the door a couple of times, it opened to reveal Erik. Both young people noted that he looked somewhat remorseful; he apparently still felt bad for what had occurred earlier in the day.
"We're back," Cameron announced to his employer cheerfully, apparently trying to make sure that any tension which might be in the air dissipated. "We just had an excellent lunch at Henson's."
"Merci, Cameron," the masked man responded, giving the blond a nod of gratitude. He then turned his attention to his daughter, keeping his eyes on her as he continued speaking. "If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my daughter alone."
"Of course, sir." Cameron turned toward Marielle, taking hold of her hand and pressing a kiss to it. "Thank you for joining me, Mademoiselle Tourneau. I enjoyed our time out together."
"So did I, Monsieur MacAlister," the young woman answered, smiling a bit. "Although you don't have to call me Mademoiselle Tourneau. You can just call me Marielle."
"I think it's too soon for such familiarity, unfortunately. I'll change my mind after a while, perhaps."
Marielle accepted this answer with a nod, then continued, "Well, thank you for all you've done for me today. I suppose I'll see you later on."
"You will."
After giving the masked woman a final kiss on the hand, Cameron briefly glanced back to his employer, at which point the two exchanged a brief nod. Then, without another word, the younger man turned and departed.
"Will you please come in?" Erik asked of his daughter after a few moments, at which point she turned her attention back to him and saw that he was motioning inside his suite.
She nodded silently, stepping inside the suite. He followed after her, closing and locking the door as she stood in the middle of parlor.
"Please… have a seat," the man said, motioning to the sofa, and she acquiesced. He joined her, letting out a somewhat heavy sigh. "Now, about earlier—"
"I'm sorry," she interrupted before he had a chance to say anything else.
He lifted his visible eyebrow at her. "You're sorry? What do you have to apologize for? Because if you're trying to apologize for fumbling—"
"No; I'm apologizing for saying what I did." She bit her lip in a gesture of anxiety. "You know… that you wouldn't really know anything about me because you didn't know I even existed until last night."
"Oh," he sighed. "That. Well, it hurt, but you were just lashing out. I'm sure you didn't really mean it. You don't seem like the type to say anything unkind with any real meaning behind it."
The young woman shook her head silently in order to signify that, indeed, she hadn't meant her hurtful words.
"Then you have no reason to apologize, really. I do, however." He paused, letting out another sigh. "I shouldn't have gotten so frustrated with you. It's not your fault that you kept stumbling at certain parts; everyone does that when they're learning a piece for the first time. I was frustrated that you didn't know anything about piano-playing, much less music, more than anything else. But it wasn't fair to take it out on you; it's obviously not your fault that you've been kept in the dark all your life. And especially considering that you didn't know anything about music at all until today, you really have made incredible progress. In just a few hours, you went from not even knowing what music was to being able to play piano pieces which require a moderate level of skill… and that's saying something."
She didn't give any kind of response. She merely looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I'm proud of how much progress you made today," he informed her solemnly. "Very, very proud. I should have told you that alongside giving you constructive criticism; I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did… especially since I should have known that you would be particularly sensitive to any kind of harsh treatment, considering what you went through when you lived with the deChagnys. So I'm sorry. From this point on, I'll be sure to be both encouraging and constructive. Tearing you apart won't help."
At this, she nodded. "Thank you. And I accept your apology."
He smiled at her. "I'm glad. Now, are you at all interested in continuing where we left off? We don't have to keep working on Moonlight Sonata if you don't want; we could try something else and come back to that some other time if you'd like."
"Hmm…" She bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, there was something Monsieur MacAlister mentioned earlier and I didn't know what it was, but I didn't want to make myself sound stupid, so I didn't say anything about it to him."
"Oh? Well, tell me what he mentioned and I can enlighten you."
"What's a violin?"