48

The conversation was never mentioned again. Katrina was careful of her words, and if Fergus felt any shame he never exposed it. Minerva, as usual, hid her thoughts behind an iron set of rules.

Summer was winding to a close, and with it the amount of people on the shore began to diminish. With their absence, Fergus ventured out occasionally with them in the mornings. He seemed skeptical of Tomino, of Philippe, of outings in general. He kept his mouth closed, and no one was deterred from the fun by him, but the feeling that he was not entirely at ease was there.

One day, as she and Andre were in the village running errands, she asked if he knew the history of the Jamison family.

He shook his great head slowly. "Only what the rumors say. Ask Shelly, she may know. I think she was working with her family in England when they lived there."

So, over lunch Katrina put the question to the Irish woman. She shook her head and sighed. "Sure, is a sad tale that 'un. It was a long time ago, mind ye, but not so long ago as ye might suppose.

"I was younger than you, maybe fifteen, maybe seventeen. We were working in another place, but we heard about it. A friend of their younger sister had fallen on hard times. Their family was well born, but no money. They'd lost it somehow. Mr. Jamison, he had the family money, and that made him rather a catch, ye see.

"Mr. Fergus Jamison, he was a proud man, and with good reason. That didn't make the pride right, but he wasn't proud for nothing. They had the money, the land, the standing, did right by their tenants and the poor, and took care of the church, all the trappings of a successful family. This girl, she came along they say, and petted that pride, and made him fall in love with her, and he thought it was the real thing. She was a friend of his sister, a real beauty, and the family couldn't have been happier.

"It went on for a year, but their parents all passed on, and with that, you could almost see the woman's eyes turn green. The younger sister had married, and had left home. Miss Minerva, she'd gotten engaged, and was happily working with children. Not because she had to, but she loved to, see.

"At any rate, the house was all but empty save for Mr. Fergus. This woman, she could see herself the lady of the house, and with the money for her family in her reach, she got careless.

"Word came back to Mr. Fergus that she'd been carrying on with another man several towns over. He was on his way to find out the truth, when he saw a dreadful accident on the road. A coach and a cart had collided in the sudden rain. The cart had hay, wood and tools, along with all the owner's children. The coach was just a man and his driver passing through, and they with the farmer and his wife had stepped clear, but there was still a little boy trapped under the tools and wood. Mr. Fergus, he was a strong man, and stopped to help lift the weight off so they could pull the poor thing out. But one of the coach lamps caught the hay afire. The boy was safe, but Mr. Fergus, he was trapped.

"Somehow, the coach driver and farmer pulled a path open for him, but the damage was done. He was burnt by the fire on his back, and cut and broken by the tools and weight.

"They found a doctor, who saved his life, but he's now forever maimed because of it. You've seen him walk with the stick? That's to bear what his legs can't, so he can walk without the hunch back and limp.

"The woman came to see him, ready to be the soul of woman nurture, but saw him a-sleeping there, broken and twisted. She turned to Miss Minerva and said she'd have no part of a cripple, and that it had all been a mistake. She called them all sorts of names, and said she'd go to the man several towns over that had always been the better looking and more fun anyway.

"Gossip is a terrible thing, and the several counties knew, not only what she had done and said, but that she'd played him for the fool. The thing he forgets, see, is that they also knew what he'd done for that little boy, and that no one ever thought less of him for it.

"Well, I don't know more than that really. I suppose they left for lots of reasons. I think a grandmother of theirs or something was French, and it's natural you follow family after a tragedy. I do know that Miss Minerva left her man to care for her brother, and that her brother was not an easy man to care for. Again, I'm assuming the gossip is only part right. I don't know the details, but there you have the gist."

Katrina had been staring thoughtfully down at the table in front of her, and raised her eyes to Andre and Shelly. "I think I understand now. Thank you."

There would not, Katrina decided, be any point in trying to help the Jamisons. She would try to be as good a friend to Minerva as she could, but to reach out would be useless.

She kept this resolve though the next weeks, being as cheerful as possible, working to make Minerva feel worthwhile, and giving the two children the best care she could. She noticed things that had escaped her before. The fold in Fergus' face that was a scar, not a wrinkle or the extra effort he put into sitting up straight at the table.

It was not difficult, since her whole life had been infused with this attitude, but it was not as rewarding as when she was at home among her relatives.

Raoul, Christine, and Philippe had become casually acquainted with them, and invited them over for dinner once or twice. Towards the end of the summer, Minerva reciprocated, asking them over for a supper.

The evening had gone pleasantly enough; the rain had started and cooled things pleasantly. The food and conversation went easily, and they were visiting around coffee in the parlor when a horrid banging at the door made them all start and tense.

The maid answered the door and there were some hurried explanations before she showed a dripping Stephan into the room. He made a lifeless apology for wetting the floor, and seemed a little relived to see Katrina there.

"I went to the wrong house three times. The man next door said you were here."

She had leapt up on seeing him, and tried to peel his coat and hat off, but he wouldn't let her. "What's going on, what happened? No one's ill?"

He made a strange noise, like a gag and a laugh together, but worse. "No, no one's dead or sick, not in that way." He sank onto a stool, forgetting his wet clothing. "Helen had her babies."

"Twins? But that's wonderful!"

"No!" He buried his face in his hands. "No, it's isn't. The boy, he's alright, but the girl…"

Katrina knelt beside him, both forgetting that there was an audience. "Not stillborn? Oh, what happened?"

He raised his head and said flatly, "Erik, he told you so many things. Things he couldn't even tell Helen. He told you, didn't he, what his greatest fear for his children was? He told you what it would do to him if that happened?"

Katrina went very still, and went white under her sunburns. "Yes, he told me."

"That's happened. To the girl, Katrina. It happened again. Helen's alright, I think she's going to make the best of it. Better than the best. But Erik, oh, Katrina, I'm afraid if you don't come back and help us he may do something unforgivable."

She drew in a breath and asked in a whisper, "To himself or the child?"

Stephan began to weep at that. "If I only knew! He's locked himself in the studio for over a week, the sounds, Katrina. The music, it will drive us all mad! The Daroga, Darius, they have left Paris, or I would have asked them, not that it would have helped. He loves you, he will listen to you."

Christine had approached, unnoticed, and spoke, her voice shaking. "The girl, she is like him? Looks like him?"

Katrina nodded. "That is the only thing he really feared."

Madame Gerard sobbed and started shaking. "Oh, the poor child, the poor child!"

"Poor Erik." Raoul said, and meant it.

Katrina stood and pulled Stephan to his feet. "Let me get Tomino and some things. Can you send the rest to Paris for me, Madame Gerard?"

"Yes, yes, you don't have to ask! Only tell us and we will do whatever we can to help."

The two people dashed into the rain, and Katrina loaded up a valise with things she needed and as much of her mail as would fit. The rest of her things were stacked on the bed where they could be easily packed and mailed.

She and Stephan began their trip back, both worried, and fighting a dripping dog. At last her uncle ventured to ask her what she was thinking.

"I'm thinking," She replied bitterly, "that every time I leave, something horrible happens. Someone always has to find me."