Author's Note: New Chapter. Bet you didn't expect to see that in your inbox, eh?
Well, here's another surprise for you: I finished the story. It has taken more than six years, but it finally happened. Curse the Darkness is finished. I'll be posting the final chapters over the next few days.
My awesome beta, Kim, originally edited this chapter, and then I accidentally saved over her edit and I can't find it in my email because computers are stupid, so I'm just posting it straight from my master copy of the story. Any spelling and grammar mistakes are my own.
SAMSON
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly; Samson spent most of it at the mercy of Gregoire's tailor, a small, rotund man named Monsieur Stefan, who had taken one look at Samson, exclaimed loudly in French, and started towards him with the grim determination of a martyr. Monsieur Stefan's three assistants had been sent out to commandeer stepstools from the kitchen and the library in order to take his measurements.
Gregoire and Montford had found it all highly amusing, and had done a fair job at keeping Samson entertained despite his discomfort at being poked and prodded and swarmed by small humans.
As the sun began to set, Greg and Montford took their leave, heading to one of Greg's club's so as to avoid the chaos of dinner at Chez Dubois. They invited Samson to join them, but he declined; he was not ready to show himself to the rest of the world. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
And so, after Monsieur Stefan took his leave, assuring Samson that he would have three outfits finished by the end of the week, and a closetful of perfectly tailored clothing ready for him within a fortnight, Samson was left standing in the middle of the library, completely and utterly alone for the first time in what seemed like a small eternity.
He sat down in the big, overstuffed leather armchair by the fireplace and leaned back, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence with a relieved sigh.
Never in all his life had he thought he would find himself where he was today. He couldn't have imagined anything like it; he wouldn't have known where to begin. He had blundered through his life, blinded by misery and rage, consumed by his own misery for so long. So very long. He had torn through the world, leaving nothing but chaos and death in his wake, cutting a swath of terror across Europe until he had stumbled upon happiness by sheer dumb luck.
Helena.
Twice he had found her, and twice he had saved her.
It had to be luck. It couldn't possibly be anything else.
Or could it?
All those years of begging for happiness, of praying to a God he was sure had damned him upon his creation, of hoping and wishing and wandering, lost and alone. Perhaps…
Perhaps someone had heard his prayers after all.
Voices reached him from the hallway. Children's voices. Samson smiled and opened his eyes.
"Ah, yes, here he is," Margot said from the doorway, pointing at Samson. She glanced over her shoulder, out into the hallway. "Well, come on. He won't bite."
"I know 'e won't bite," Sam snapped from the hallway. "It's just that… Per'aps he don't wish to be disturbed, is all."
"Samson, do you wish to be disturbed?" Margot demanded imperiously.
There was, of course, only one correct answer.
"I certainly do," he replied. Margot nodded and disappeared into the hallway. She returned a moment later holding Mickey's hand in hers, leading him slowly and patiently into the library. Torn between the urge to hide in the hallway and the desire to protect his baby brother, Sam stepped forward, flanking Mickey and taking his other hand. Samson watched as Margot sat on the little sofa across from him and pulled Mickey onto her lap. Sam stood, clearly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
Jack, the middle child, remained in the hallway, watching from around the corner, all but his eyes and the top of his head hidden from view.
Margot smiled. "I have already heard the tale of your heroic actions from Cook and several scullery maids. It was truly kind of you take in your orphaned nephews."
Samson glanced over to Sam, and found one corner of the boy's mouth turned up in cautious half-smile. "Right good of you," Sam agreed with a nod, "iffin you mean to keep us around, that is."
Samson frowned. The thought of not taking care of the boys had never even crossed his mind. What else was there to do? Send them to an orphanage? Cast them out to live on the streets?
Never.
"Of course I do," he said simply. "Unless you have any living relatives with whom you would prefer to live."
"None, milord," Sam said at once.
"None, m'lord," Mickey repeated, speaking with innocent happiness that cut straight to Samson's heart. "None but Da, and he's gone now. Sam says 'e went to 'Eaven to be wif Mum."
Samson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, dipping his head so that he was eye level with the little boy. "That is correct, Michael. Your father has gone to be with your mother in Heaven. I'm sorry, child."
"It's a'right," Mickey replied with a shrug, a shadow crossing his eyes. "Da will be 'appy up there, won't 'e?"
"Yes, I believe he will," Samson said.
"Good." Mickey nodded, and that was the end of it.
Samson felt a vice loosen in his heart at the little boy's words. How beautifully simple things could be to a child.
"And what about you, Mickey? Will you be happy if you and your brothers stayed with me?"
Mickey pursed his lips, eyes narrowing in thought. From his station behind the sofa, Samuel tilted his head, giving Samson an appraising frown.
After a moment, Mickey nodded. "I fink so. You're big and strong; you'll scare away the monsters what come after me, right?"
Margot smiled, stroking the little boy's curly blond hair.
"Monsters?" Samson asked.
"Mickey has nightmares somethin' fierce," Sam said, jutting out his chin in defiance, ready to defend his brother against the accusations of cowardice he had obviously received in the past. "Will that be an issue, milord?"
"My name is Samson, not 'milord,' Samuel," he replied, lifting his gaze to Margot and sending her a wry grin, "and I happen to be an expert at getting rid of monsters."
HELENA
The afternoon passed slower than cold honey. Lena could barely keep her eyes open; she'd been up for nearly two days straight, but she couldn't sleep. Not yet. Not until tonight, when she finally got to see Samson.
Alone.
She tried to keep track of conversation, but found her thoughts drifting constantly. She spent most of the afternoon and evening staring off into space, allowing her thoughts to wander as they would.
What did Samson want to tell her? It was a question that had haunted her constantly. What could possibly make him think she would change her mind?
She knew Samson loved her. She knew it in her very soul. And yet he held back from her. He always had. He'd always kept a part of himself distant, just beyond her reach. He seemed so sure that she would think differently of him when she knew his secret. Whatever that secret was.
At least tonight she would finally know.
If tonight ever came.
She let the modiste, Madame de Latier, work her magic, with swathes of silk and lace, with pins and measuring tape, and then she sat in the corner of the parlor and watched the sunlight fade over the gardens, catching glimpses of Zeus as he darted about in pursuit of bees and the occasional butterfly.
Afternoon tea was a quiet affair, after which Lena's mother excused herself to get ready for dinner.
The moment Regina was out of sight, Abby turned to Lena.
"I ran into Montford in the hallway at luncheon," she said in a low voice, a mischievous smile curling her lips. "He said that your father gave Samson half of the Baroness's fortune."
Lena blinked. "Good heavens. Why?"
Abby shrugged. "Because he saved your life, I suppose. That, or Samson is very good at haggling bride-prices." She winked.
Lena laughed. "Well at least he won't be able to use poverty as an excuse not to marry me anymore."
"He was giving excuses?" Abby demanded incredulously.
"More like warnings, I suppose," Lena amended. She lowered her voice and stifled a sigh. "He doesn't trust me, even now. He doesn't believe me when I say I don't care."
Abby looked dubious. "It's not that he doesn't trust you; I'd say he trusts you a great deal more than anyone else. I think he is afraid."
"Of what? Marrying me?"
"Not quite," Abby said. "He's afraid of losing you." She picked up a sugar cube and idly crumbled it onto her plate, a thoughtful frown curling her lips. "We know most of his story. We know that he was…" She dropped her voice to a whisper, "…we know he was created. That his father abandoned him, that he was shunned by humankind in for most of his life due to his… unconventional appearance. He has not had a happy life."
Lena bit her lip. An image rose up in her mind, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. She remembered him dropping to his knees before her, cloaked in darkness, taking her by her wrists and placing her hands on his shoulders. He had made no threats; he had not warned her away.
He had asked only one thing of her.
Be kind to me.
"No," she said quietly, "he hasn't." She heard laughter floating down the hallway, coming from the library. Children's laughter. Lena smiled. "But I will do everything I can to make up for that."
After a seemingly endless battle, the sun finally released its hold on the world and night fell. Dinner was subdued; the day had been hectic and everyone was exhausted. And it was quieter than ever due to the fact that Margot had decided to eat dinner in the nursery with Zeus and the boys. She had taken it upon herself to teach them the basics of table etiquette, so that they wouldn't feel intimidated when they eventually began to eat with the adults. Lena's mother spent most of the meal writing to-do lists and talking to herself, while Abby went through the correspondences she and Lena had received in the past several days.
As soon as she could, Lena excused herself and bid everyone goodnight, including Samson. He bowed over her hand, and the dark, hungry look in his eyes sent a shiver sliding over her skin. But she suppressed her joy, and her eagerness, as best she could.
She had one more very important thing to do before she met him in the gardens tonight.
And so, instead of walking up to her bedchamber, in the empty wing of the house, she turned up another flight of stairs and made her way to the nursery.
She heard Margot long before she reached the door, talking in an imperious, authoritative voice. Lena's lips curled into a smile.
"…and is always the innermost fork, closest to your plate, as it is the one you will use last. Mickey, be careful with that, dear. No, it is not a sword; it's just a butter knife. Here, let me have it, please."
Lena opened the door as quietly as possible, but her attempt to enter without a ruckus was thwarted by Zeus, who barked happily from across the room, hopped up from his spot by the window, and padded over to greet her with slobbery kisses. Lena laughed and rubbed his ears, and glanced up when Margot did not resume her speech.
Four pairs of eyes were fixed on her. Margot and the youngest boy, Mickey, smiled. But Samuel and Jack both wore identical masks of wariness.
"Having fun?" she asked of the eldest boy, Samuel, sending him a wry smile.
Sam blinked. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he offered her a wary shrug. "Too many bloody forks," he said with far more nonchalance than was necessary.
So wary. Lena suppressed a sigh. At least he no longer felt the need to be constantly on the defense. Margot seemed to have cured him of that. But he was still cagey. Still cautious. And Lena wasn't at all sure how to comfort him, or how to gain his trust.
She'd done it with Samson, but that was different. And it had taken months.
Sure, she had some experience with children, but only as a sibling. As a sister, not as a mother. She wasn't even sure how to be a mother. Even when she'd been pregnant, before she'd lost the child…
The old, familiar pain squeezed her lungs in cold, tight fists, and she had to work to draw a breath, to bury it back down again. She had not revisited that old memory since she had regained her emotions. She was frightened of it, terrified that it might overwhelm her. She could not look back at that time in her life. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
"I quite agree," Lena said, settling for speaking the simple truth. No attempts at mothering; she'd probably fail, anyway. And no attempts at forging a bond that was clearly not ready to be forged. "Too many utensils in general, really. It took me years to learn them all."
Sam lifted one eyebrow at her. "You?" he asked skeptically. "Years?"
Margot laughed. "You never told me that," she teased.
Lena sighed. "It's the truth. At my first ball, I had to watch everyone around me to see which knife to use for each course. There were seven, if I recall correctly."
Mickey giggled, glancing from Lena to Samuel. "Seven swords? I want a sword. I want to be a knight, and fight monsters like Samson."
"No swords tonight, Mickey," Sam replied. "Tomorrow I'll make you a sword from a nice stick, aye?"
Mickey's lower lip wobbled. "At's a sword," he said tremulously, pointing at the butter knife Margot had confiscated from him moments earlier.
"This is not for playing, Mickey, this is for eating," Margot said patiently.
Mickey's breath hitched, and he balled his hands into fists. His eyes glittered with unshed tears. Lena remembered that look; she'd seen her sister in the throes of a tantrum many a time when Margot was a child.
Lena fought the growing urge to flee the room.
"I wanna sword," Mickey whined, pitching his voice to a frequency that would have impressed a eunuch. "I wanna fight monsters!"
"Not tonight, Mickey," Sam repeated. "It's time for bed."
Mickey screwed up his face and curled his little mouth into a vicious frown.
"But I wanna sword!" His voice echoed through the room, and probably across all of London. Lena winced.
"Oh, bollocks, he'll go on about this for hours," Sam muttered. He raised his voice to a shout. "Michael Benjamin, what did I says? I says no!"
Mickey inhaled sharply, and it looked to Lena like he might explode with indignant fury.
And then, quite suddenly, he crumpled.
"Da would've given me a sword," he whispered. Then he let out a soft wail, like the mourning cry of a ghost. It was quite possibly the saddest sound Lena had ever heard in her life.
She felt panic biting at the back of her throat, and she glanced around the room, searching desperately for something to distract the boy. She saw only the nursery that she and Gregoire had grown up in, the very same room, with its painted alphabet blocks and the little writing desks for lessons, and the big, white rocking horse that Gregoire had ridden many a time into battle as a child. His trusty steed, he'd called it, as he charged forward with sword in hand…
A plan sprang to life in her mind. Mickey sucked in a huge breath, and just before he could let it out in another miserable wail, Lena stepped forward.
"We have swords, Michael," she said quickly.
Mickey's watery eyes popped open and the air whooshed out of him in a rush, like a deflating cushion. All eyes turned to Lena again, curious and surprised.
She nodded thoughtfully. "We may even have a shield or two," she said.
"We do?" Mickey asked. Lena knelt down so that she was at eye level with the boy.
"Oh yes. And armor, too. And a black silk flag to carry with you into battle." She saw Sam stiffen beside them, and smiled. "But they've been packed away for quite some time, now."
She paused for a moment, and then brightened a if she'd just thought of something.
"I have an idea," she said, "I will go find them!" She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But while I search, you must do as your brother says and pretend to go to bed. Do you think you can do that for me, Michael?"
Mickey frowned thoughtfully, glancing over at his brother, who was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes.
"I think so," Mickey whispered to her.
Lena grinned. "Excellent. Now, remember, we mustn't give Sam any trouble. He's the boss, you know. So you must go straight to bed and pretend to be asleep."
Mickey nodded eagerly. He turned to Sam.
"I'm tired, Sam. Can I go to bed now?"
Sam's suspicious gaze widened into an expression of mild disbelief. "Oh, so now you're tired, eh?"
Mickey nodded. "I'm plain run down, I am."
Sam chuckled. "A'right, then, let's get you to bed. C'mon, Jack."
Lena stepped aside and watched Sam herd his brothers towards the door. Then, before he left, he turned back to Lena and Margot.
He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say anything. Lena's heart ached for him, for all that he'd suffered in his short life that made him so wary to trust.
"G'night, ladies," he said. His gaze fell to the floor. "And… thank you. Both of you. For… for everyfing."
Lena smiled. "Goodnight, Sam."