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Ch. 7
"I am aware that you have previous experience as a Lady's Maid?"
Marguerite Thorson was a woman of small structure, and with dainty hands folded in front of herself, she was required to almost crane her neck in an uncomfortable fashion in order to look up at her employer.
With light blue-colored eyes, she blinked and responded, "Yes; to a kind woman a few years ago."
Erik observed the red-haired woman, noticing the cluster of freckles that dusted across her cheeks.
"Why did you become a housemaid, then?" he asked curiously.
Ms. Thorson had been employed in his household for nearly two years, and until he had heard of her previous experience that could, quite possibly, prove to be useful to him, he had not really taken notice of her. She had simply performed her duties in silence and stayed out of his way, as all the other servants had.
He often felt it unnecessary to employ any servants at all, for if they were to always scurry about so as not to be seen and could not participate in discussion or prove to be some sort of companionship, then of what value were their services to him? Yes, he enjoyed having a well-organized estate that always appeared prepared, and clean enough for, guests; but he never had visitors.
But once he had heard that Marguerite could prove to be most valuable in attending to his soon-to-be wife, he made certain to discuss the matter with her as quickly as possible.
"She passed away, Sir, and employment is very hard to come by these days," she replied humbly.
Yes, he supposed that it was. He was thankful that at least that was one situation that he did not to worry about, after all; how would he ever have been able to find work if he did not have the finances to survive? Surely he would have starved out on the streets, long ago, with a face like his!
Erik nodded curtly and promoted her to the status of Mrs. Destler's Lady's Maid, and though he was not certain as to what exactly that entailed, he instructed her to prepare for the arrival of his wife in only two days. With an increase in salary, he also apologized for the short notice of the position before he dismissed her in order to prepare himself.
Mrs. Destler.
How strange and foreign it sounded in his mind and to his ears as the Head Butler spoke the title in a sentence! Never in his dreams would he have thought that in less than two-and-seventy hours there would be a woman living in his home and to be called his wife!
How his heart both fluttered from the nervous anxiety that seemed to overwhelm him at the thought and shattered from the heartbreaking realization that she would only be his wife legally. Never would he know what it was to have a woman truly love him, and how it taunted and mocked him to no end!
He was nearly finished with the preparations, though his heart was still not prepared. How could it ever be? He was uncertain as to what to expect and hoping that he would not make a fool of himself, more than he already had.
Would she keep to her quarters and live a private life of silence and absence, or would she grace him with her presence in a friendly fashion every-so-often? He hoped for the latter, though he could not quite believe it. Should she ever see his face-which was something that he would never allow-or discover his past, then he was certain that she would flee from him, wife or not.
He could not let that happen. He would do everything in his power to keep his secrets hidden from her, even if it meant that he lock himself up like an animal so that she could have freedom. How unfair it would be to burden her with his troubles! If she permitted, he would attempt to be a friend and gentleman, though he felt that he lacked the manners and propriety that everyone else in society had obtained in such areas.
Regardless of how events would transpire, he determined to be the best husband that he could be, even if he was not to take on the typical duties of a married man. If she requested his presence or friendship, then he would be kind and hospitable. And if she wished not to speak to or see him, then he would oblige her by giving her privacy.
"Sir?"
Erik was drawn out of his contemplation by his Head Butler, Mr. Matthews.
The silver-haired man with round spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose and dressed in fine attire had been patiently waiting for his master's response.
"The bed linens and furniture arrived yesterday and Mrs. Destler's room has been prepared," he repeated.
Erik nodded his head in acknowledgement, still finding it a bit uncomfortable to be discussing such things and interacting with another person, as well.
Even in the three years that he had acquired wealth and partnership with Mr. Abraham, dealing with him in person regularly, he was still not quite used to having natural dealings with others. How far different it was from the shrieks of horror and gasps of terror at the Opera Populaire whenever his presence should be made known!
But he had grown a bit fond of Mr. Matthews over the years, and while he could not say that they were friends exactly, he was grateful to have someone fully competent around. Mr. Matthews had always done a fine job of managing things without crossing the line of interfering with Erik's personal life, even adapting to his master's unusual preference for seclusion and secrecy.
Erik thought that it had to do with the Butler's salary, as he had paid all of his servants higher than the normal wage in order for them to keep quiet about his mysteriousness, but at times he had to wonder if it was something else. Mr. Matthews was aging in years, far older than Erik, but yet he never showed a single sign of disrespect or suspicion. He always did as was told, and if he ever had a natural curiosity for what was beneath Erik's mask, it was never shown.
Erik almost wished that the two of them could have been friends, but he knew that the chances of anyone wishing to be his companion without bribery were nearly impossible. Or perhaps it simply wasn't right of him to ask such interaction from a man who had been a servant nearly his entire life.
"She is also here to see you, Sir. She is in the foyer."
Erik was caught off-guard by the announcement, and he suddenly found himself very nervous. After their last conversation, he was not certain as to what her temper would be, and he feared the worst. He had to remind himself that he still wore his mask and it was not unusual for her to wish to see his property before they wed.
"Thank you, Mr. Matthews," Erik replied, readying himself to journey down the staircase in order to greet his guest.
Before he took more than two steps, however; he stopped and turned to look back at his Butler.
"Mr. Matthews, have you prepared the other servants for her permanent arrival?" he asked.
Mr. Matthews knew exactly what his master's insinuation had been-whether or not the servants knew of Ms. Crawley's skin color.
"I have, Sir."
Earlier in the week, Erik had instructed him to let the other servants know, and to warn them that if anyone was found talking about or treating her any differently, then they would be immediately released from employment. She was to be treated as any respectable lady, and no less.
Erik was not too concerned about this request, for any of the servants who could be found left in his employment were ones that had served him for quite some time already, had learned about his abnormal habits and behavior, and had not questioned his secrets. Anyone else had been released and paid off for their silence long ago.
Certainly if they could tolerate the mystery of his mask, the lack of guests and normal entertaining, and his seclusion, then they could accept his wife's skin color.
Erik was relieved to hear it, though the idea of acceptance among other people was still new to him. He determined that it must have been the risk of losing their hefty wages that kept everyone silent about him.
If only he could have paid for the confidence of those at the Opera House; how different his life would have been! Perhaps he would not have been allowed to be seen by the public eye, but maybe a bribery would have allowed him to have more of a share in the productions and events of the theatre. Perhaps Christine would have viewed him differently if he had paid to live more liberally among them...
But it sickened him to think of anyone tolerating him because of his money, and he decided that having John do so was enough.
What had taken place at the Opera Populaire was long in the past, and though he found himself painfully yearning for the life of music he had once lived, he had not inquired as to the condition of the house after it had burned. He was uncertain as to whether or not it had survived the incident, nor what the singers and dancers had done with their careers.
He imagined that Christine had made haste to marry the Vicomte-he could taste the bitterness in his mouth and feel the stab of pain in his heart at the reminder-and perhaps fled the city or country, altogether. Perhaps they even had a child or two, by now.
That could have been me...he would sometimes think to himself in anger. While he had tried his best not to think of her, he could not prevent the dreams and memories that sometimes flooded his mind and reminded him of the most painful time in his life.
Even the nightmares of the old gypsy camp did not cause him as much suffering as Christine had. He would much rather endure physical pain than emotional. Knowing that the only woman he had ever loved could not have loved him in return and watching her with another man had, at times, made him wish to cease living.
If one could not have associations, friends, or even romance, then how was life worth living? Why should he continue to breathe with the monstrosity of his face? These were questions that would plague him late into the night at times until the fatigue and mental exhaustion of it all overtook him in a deep slumber.
Christine never could have loved him, for she had only felt a great and terrible fear of what he would do, and perhaps a small amount of pity once she had seen his suffering. But she could never grow to love him, and he would never force it on her. How could he, when she could not look at him without trembling inside?
It was wrong of him to force such things upon her; of that he was convinced, now. He had done much more harm than good, and perhaps he would have saved himself the heartache of prolonging his suffering by realizing this sooner.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on his current circumstances. He would never make such a grave error again, and the woman who would become his wife was waiting for him downstairs. Regardless of the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him, he would need to cast them aside at the moment.