Ch. 16

Erik had awoken earlier-than-usual the following morning, and as he had just knocked on Estella's door and awaited a response, he decided that the least he could do was attempt to converse with her more than he had been.

After all, of what harm would it be to make a bit of small talk once-in-a-while? Besides, he found himself sorely lacking in companionship as well, and he hoped that perhaps the two of them could get to know each other better. Though he was still guarded about his behavior around her, for he feared that she would only continue to prove herself the same as anyone else toward him, he was determined to at least give the idea an effort.

Marguerite Thorson answered from the other side of the door with brows knitted in concern and darkened rings below her eyes that suggested her lack of sleep.

"How is she?" he asked, now growing worried. He attempted to sneak a glance at Estella from behind the servant but he could not see her.

"Perhaps you should return this afternoon. She is in no shape for conversation at the moment," she suggested.

Though she had spoken in a gentle and kind tone of voice, her words had proven to be an annoyance to Erik. It was his decision whether or not he would speak to his own wife, and the fact that her condition had worsened had made him even more determined to see her.

"I wish to see her," he said.

Marguerite bowed her head in humility, recognizing that she had made a mistake by suggesting a course of action to her employer, and she stepped aside and opened the door wider.

Erik quickly stepped inside and strode over to Estella's bed, where she could be found semi-conscious and looking very ill.

He noticed the paleness to her skin and the beads of sweat upon her forehead, and he watched her as she appeared to be in a fit of discomfort. She looked as if she was having a terrible nightmare, tossing and turning, and even groaning at times.

Her lovely features contorted into a look of pain but she did not open her eyes. Erik placed the back of his hand on one of her cheeks to feel that she had a clammy and cold feel to her skin, yet it also felt hot.

"She has been this way all morning...running a terrible fever and very confused," Marguerite explained sadly.

Erik pulled his hand away and frowned.

"So she has been awake today?" he asked.

"Only for brief moments, and she does not seem to be aware of her surroundings," she replied. "She doesn't know where she is, or even who she is."

Erik nodded grimly. It was just as the doctor had said-that she would become very ill with awful fevers that her body would need to fight on its own. There was nothing that he could do to assist her or to take away her pain, and he feared that perhaps she would not survive, after all.

He heard the sound of water being poured behind him, and he turned around to see Marguerite carrying a large bowl with a washcloth toward Estella's bed.

"I have been wiping away at her forehead at times in order to reduce the fever. I am not certain if it helps, but it seems to calm her."

Erik watched Estella shake her head back and forth as if trapped inside of a terrible dream, and her breathing became shallow and labored.

Marguerite pulled a chair closer to the bed and set the bowl down on the nightstand before she dipped the linen into the water and rung out the excess liquid. Before she had finished, Erik asked,

"May I?"

Marguerite was a bit surprised that he wished to be the one to care for Estella, for she had known of the couple's circumstances and lack of affection-or even friendship, for that matter-but she handed him the wet cloth, anyway.

Erik seated himself beside his wife and observed how her hairline had become wet from perspiration, and he wished to alleviate her suffering, even if only slightly. He placed the cloth on her forehead and gently began to pat the sides of her face until he could see her visibly relax, even almost leaning in towards the gesture.

He had ample time to observe her beauty once more, and he determined that even while sick and possibly near death she was stunning. A part of him was even envious that she should always have vanity at any moment, for he would never experience flawless skin or a smooth complexion for even a second of the day, while she had never experienced ugliness.

Estella's breathing calmed and after a bit of coaxing from the smoothness of Erik's voice, she had even stopped jerking in her sleep. A peaceful expression had formed on her face, though he could see that she was still sweating profusely.

"Has she had any water?" he asked Marguerite, who had been watching him with great interest.

"I have tried to get her to drink, but she has only taken a little."

He knew that Estella would most likely begin to suffer from dehydration if she hadn't already done so, and he noticed the glass of water on the nightstand. Then, turning to Marguerite, he could see the redness in her eyes and the way she was constantly blinking as she fought the urge to remain awake.

"You may take a break and rest," he told her.

Marguerite was again surprised at his suggestion, though she knew him to be a kind master. Still, she had to be reluctant about agreeing to it.

"I feel that I cannot leave her at a time such as this. She needs someone to look after her," she explained.

"I will stay with her," Erik stated.

After a few more reassurances that he could manage on his own and that she was more than welcome to check upon her lady's condition after she had taken a nap, Marguerite had finally cooperated and left the room. She closed the door behind herself, and Erik was now alone with Estella.

The room was quiet, save for the intermittent crackling of the fireplace and the brief howling of the wind against the window. He casually glanced outside to see that the weather had not improved since the previous day, in fact; it looked to be even colder than before.

He cursed himself once more for having neglected Estella to the point where she felt the need to entertain herself elsewhere. Even he at times-he, who had been accustomed to living in darkness and solitude-felt that he was losing his grip on reality if confined for too long, and he could sympathize with her need for freedom. After all, had he had a normal face, he certainly would not keep himself locked inside of the estate every day, and it was unfair to expect her to do the same.

He dipped the cloth back into the water and replaced it on her temples. She stirred a bit from the contact, though she was not fully awake.

"Thank you, Samuel," she whispered with a smile.

Erik felt his heart lurch forward in his chest as the cruel and familiar hand of jealousy gripped it. He was not pleased that her words had provoked such an unpleasant emotion within himself, and he frowned.

Samuel must have been the man whom Hattie had been speaking of, previously. Yes, he had overheard something about a 'Mr. Roberts' refusing to marry Estella and breaking her heart, and he imagined that this 'Samuel' was the very same man.

The smile still lingered on Estella's face, her full pink lips curved upward, and for a brief moment he wished that he had been the one to cause it. He pushed the thought from his mind, warning himself of the danger of thinking in such a way and feeling the self-loathing that was brought about by it.

He knew that developing feelings for her, even if in the form of being envious of a former lover, was a most unwise course of action and not a path that he wished to follow again. He hoped that the reminder of her affections being placed elsewhere would prove to assure him of the outcome if he were to think of her romantically-that things would end no differently than they had with Christine, or perhaps, worse.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again.

"Did you...tell your mother...about our engagement? Was she not displeased?"

Estella's lips parted for a toothy grin, and Erik wished that there was a way to make her stop talking nonsense, but he did not have the desire to wake her (and he wasn't quite certain that he could, either).

"Did she shriek...at the top of her lungs?" she teased. "Did she want...to disinherit you...for loving a half-breed?"

Erik felt the pain that had laced her voice, and he wished that she had never had to experience such treatment because of her skin color.

Estella began to giggle before she broke out into a fit of coughs, and Erik feared that she was exerting herself too much. In an attempt to calm her, he placed the cloth back on her forehead and gently stroked her skin with it.

Once she could breathe again, a small smile had returned. She reached a hand up to grasp his, and he froze in fear from the contact.

"You are always...so good to me..." she breathed.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and he could see their brown warmth as she looked up at him.

He could not move, he could not think, and he had forgotten to breathe, himself. How wonderful it felt-her hand on his-during the one time in which he had decided not to wear his gloves. The sensation of her fingers on his skin, and the loving expression in her eyes was too much to bear, and for once he had begun to reason on enjoying the moment.

But he felt guilty in his pleasure, and he pulled away from her and turned his back to her in order to collect his composure.

How could he take advantage of her in her weakened condition, even enjoying the affections meant for another man? He was an imbecile, at best! Had he not learned?

Suddenly, Erik realized the danger of being the one to care for her, and he set the cloth down on the nightstand and decided it best to ring for Marguerite. Before he could do so, however; Estella called out to him.

"Wait! Don't leave me...please..." she begged.

Erik turned around to see the desperation in her eyes before they had closed again, and she seemed utterly exhausted. Such a sad expression on her face was too difficult to ignore, and he struggled within himself to make a decision.

If he should leave her for a while, she would probably not remember it. She had been in a state of confusion, and how was she to know that it was really him and not someone else? Truly there would be no purpose in him staying, and she would not notice the difference if Marguerite was the one to attend to her in his stead.

In silence, he walked over to the fireplace and stared at the flames as he pondered his circumstances. After a few moments, he heard her once more.

"Mr. Destler..."

He was shocked to hear her speak his name, and he immediately turned around to see that she was struggling to stay awake. Her arm lay at her side on top of the blankets that she had been wrapped in, but he could see her palm facing upward and seemingly-outstretched toward him.

"Please, don't leave..."

He could not help but to feel the pull in his chest, urging him to draw closer to her. The softness of her request had weakened him, and he knew that he could not leave her, now.

Not while she was requesting him, and no one else.

Throughout the day, Erik had taken a few meals in Estella's room, though he felt uncomfortable about it. He had attempted to get Estella to eat or drink a little, but he had only managed to have her finish a glass of water before she fell asleep again.

Her fever had not broken and her temperature had not improved. Still she had frequent fits of pain and illness, and on many occasions Marguerite had come in to provide assistance.

He had only left her side for an hour or so, when he had made certain that she was in a deep slumber, but the time had not been spent in a better way. Later, he found that his conscience was much clearer when he was by her side, after all; it was his fault that she was sick to begin with.

Deep into the night, he had fallen asleep in the chair beside her bed. The servants had retired for the night, and all was silent in the house.

"What are you doing here?!" Estella gasped.

Erik shot upright in his chair, instantly regretting the pain that bolted through his neck. He glanced around at his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the dying fireplace.

Once he could make out the terrified expression on her face, he became alarmed. Had she realized who he was? Had the fear of a masked man watching her finally taken hold of her? Or was she dreaming of what lay beneath his mask?

"Don't come any closer!" she said in a terrified voice that was barely above a whisper.

He then realized that her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. Still, he could not help but to wonder if it was he who filled her thoughts and nightmares, and he attempted not to move a muscle so as not to frighten her more.

"Samuel, please..." she begged helplessly.

Erik felt somewhat relieved that she was not speaking about himself, though it bothered him to see the agony written on her face nonetheless.

Her breathing quickened and he hovered above her, wondering if he should attempt to cool her skin with the wet cloth once more, or how else he could bring her a bit of relief. He had never felt so useless as he did at that moment, when she began to writhe around in pain.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled.

He was shocked to hear her say such things, but he decided that she must have been lost in an imagined nightmare.

"Please don't look at me! Please..." she pleaded.

He now saw tears trailing down her caramel-colored skin, and the sight angered him.

Certainly she would not have had such strong emotions and fear for a man who had once claimed to love her, without good reason. The thought that she had suffered at the hands of the man whom she had loved as he took advantage of her brought a rage to Erik that he did not think he could possess.

He attempted to assure himself that he was simply overreacting, and perhaps it was all in her imagination. But the longer that she begged and pleaded for him not to look at her, even sobbing hysterically, he knew that it was not the case.

He was not exactly certain what had happened to her, but he no longer felt the jealousy of hearing about this man-instead, he felt a hatred. How could anyone degrade this beautiful woman-his wife-in such a way? Even if she had not been violated, clearly he had done something to hurt her, and dwelling on this caused Erik to brood.

She was in such a fit of hysteria that he feared she would only make herself more ill, and so he attempted to think of ways to calm her down but could think of nothing. How was he to comfort someone when he had had no experience? How was he to soothe another person, when he had been the root of everyone's fear all of his life? Could a monster prove to be relief to a nightmare?

Erik could not endure the sound of her crying as the tears streamed down her face and her body was shaking, and despite his determination to remain impartial, he found himself doing all that came to mind in order to soothe her.

He sat beside her on the bed and stroked her hair, and without even realizing it at first, he began to hum a melody to her.

How long it had been since he had sung, and he could hear the strain in his voice from the lack of practice! But it did not matter, for her brows had slowly relaxed and her sobbing had simmered to a few sniffles.

Erik was stunned that he had such a power over her and the capability of calming her, but he did not cease in his endeavors. He was able to comfort her, and he would not allow her to return to the recesses of her nightmarish memories as long as he had the ability to prevent it.

He continued this way for a few more minutes until it seemed that her bout had passed, and, after deciding that the exhaustion was returning to him once more, he resumed his place in the chair beside her bed until the two of them had drifted off into a deep slumber-one without dreams.