My tempestuous encounter with Phelan was smoothed over by a long and very filling breakfast with Joshua. Despite his insistence that he was not like his father, I sat back and listened to him speak, amused by the way in which one story led into another, then looped back to his original tale. They were more alike than he realized, at least in terms of storytelling.

"Are you sure you don't want more to eat?" Joshua asked as I politely pushed my nearly empty plate aside.

"I could not possibly take another bite." I sat back and took as deep of a breath as an overly filled stomach would allow.

Bessie shifted her weight to make certain I was aware she was still there. I looked down at her soft, pleading eyes, but before Joshua could offer her nearly a full sausage from his own plate, I shook my head.

"She is watching her figure," I said.

One of his maids came and silently took the plates while Bessie watched the younger woman, her canine brows raised in disbelief that her begging had not cultivated the desired results. I swore she looked at me with a hint of disdain in her otherwise attentive gaze.

"I do hope you and Julia enjoy the opera tomorrow night," Joshua said as he sat back and gazed at the street. The crowds had increased since I had first arrived, both foot traffic and carts and carriages bumbling down the streets. "Which reminds me, I would be delighted if you and your wife joined me for supper Saturday night. Nothing big, of course, merely a small gathering. I would love to hear all about the performance from the composer himself even if you wished to stop by later in the evening."

"I will ask for my wife's permission," I answered carefully.

Joshua gave a hearty laugh. "You have learned how marriage works, I see."

I shrugged. "Evidently I have."

"My daughter will be there and she invited Anthony, of course." Joshua paused and studied his hands for a moment. "Phelan has always been fond of Elizabeth. She tends to bring out his more civil side."

"I can say without a doubt Lisette brings out my civil side as well."

Joshua smiled and tapped his fingers on the wooden armrest. "Lissy reminds me so much of Elizabeth when she was that age. I do miss her being that young. Phelan often spoke of wishing he had a daughter of his own just like my Elizabeth. That said, even with my daughter present, I understand if you do not wish to see Phelan twice in a matter of days," Joshua said apologetically. "He tends to speak without thinking."

"Perhaps another time would be more suitable," I suggested.

"I should be available a night or two next week if you prefer." He offered an easy smile and a wink. "Or whatever your wife thinks is best."

We parted ways soon after. I promised my cousin I would consider his invitation despite having little interest in crossing paths with his brother so soon after our first disastrous encounter. Civil or not, he was already like a splinter under my fingernail.

The moment I strolled toward the corner with Bessie waddling at my side, I surveyed our surroundings. Fear left me addled as I scanned every dark-haired man's face twice as if Phelan would come storming back to rattle me again. I hadn't yet decided if it was his appearance or his attitude toward me that left me so bewildered.

Once we returned home, I felt cold sweat down my back and perspiration on my forehead from a combination of full sun and humidity as well as my growing anxiety and irritation. I unhooked the leash from Bessie's collar and heard her trot into the kitchen to her water dish, which she lapped up after our long walk. The house was quiet and I suspected Ruby had either left for a few hours or had gone to see if the Lowrys needed her assistance.

With Lisette and Alex at their studies, I had no qualms about throwing my keys onto the foyer table in frustration. I pulled up my mask and blotted my forehead and the back of my neck with my handkerchief, then cursed softly as I thought of avoiding supper with Joshua on account of Phelan attending.

"Goddamned son of a…" my voice trailed away.

Halfway down the hall I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Lisette peered wide-eyed out from her bedroom and startled me. She offered a smile and quick wave as a greeting despite looking quite taken aback by my outburst.

"My apologies, I did not think anyone else was here," I said. "Are you unwell?"

She shook her head and remained carefully tucked inside of her bedroom. "I finished my studies before Alex," she explained, keeping her voice low. "Monsieur...Uncle Charles said I could do whatever I pleased for the time being as long as I returned at two."

"Very well." I fished my watch from my trouser pocket and saw that it was almost one. "You must have finished very early."

"I did, but I will not make a sound," she promised.

As much as I appreciated the sentiment, I was also aware of how Louis Seuratti did not want his daughter to disturb him when he returned home at the end of the day-and how much my flash of anger may have frightened her as it had for the first four years of her life.

From the time she was an infant Louis had ordered Julia to "keep the damned baby from crying," as he frequently put it. When Lisette was only a couple of years old she would sit like a statue in the back garden and simply stare at her hands or repeatedly straighten her skirt while Alex ran around following Meg with a watering can and attempted to drown her roses.

"You may make as much noise as you wish," I said. "Alex certainly does."

Lisette scrunched up her shoulders. "I am reading," she said as she held up a book.

"If you wish you may read in the parlor while I look over some compositions."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course. You are always welcome."

Her face lit up, and before I had finished speaking, she skipped down the hallway and into the parlor. I heard a muffled thud as she apparently jumped onto a chair and settled in to read her book.

I smiled to myself at her exuberance and found myself thankful for company even if it was silent. As I had said to Joshua, Lisette most certainly brought out my more civil side.

Lisette did not look up when I walked into the parlor. She sat with her legs curled beneath her and lips pursed while her finger traced each line as she read. I sat at my desk and watched her for a moment from the corner of my eye. Other than the sound of the page turning, I would have completely forgotten she was in the room she was so quiet. It was impressive, really, especially compared to Alex, who was prone to shouting whatever came to mind, scuffing the wooden floors with his shoes, and occasionally doing somersaults off furniture. Bessie had better manners than my son on most days, and despite once threatening Alex with a dog house in the back garden, there was no changing my son. Indeed he liked the idea of his own outdoor home.

"May I ask what you are reading?" I asked after several moments of silence.

Lisette's eyes flashed up briefly to meet mine before she placed her finger on the page to mark her spot. "Treasure Island," she announced. With one finger still marking the page, she held her book up somewhat awkwardly so I could see the cover.

I nodded even though she was not looking at me directly.

"Are you enjoying it thus far?"

Lisette gave me a rather pointed look, which she quickly replaced with an easy smile. "I am, but it's a boy story." She gave an exaggerated sigh and dramatic roll of her eyes. "Or at least that is what Alex said. I do like a bit of adventure."

"Of course." After disrupting her reading twice, I realized I had inadvertently become Alex. "My apologies for interrupting."

This time she did not look up, but acknowledged me with a faint nod. The smile on her lips slowly faded, the book sliding into her lap. She chewed on her lower lip and nervously glanced up, her fingers tapping the page. I became aware of how quiet the room was without her turning the pages.

"You are not writing your music," she pointed out.

"No, I have not started yet," I admitted.

With her finger still holding her place, she looked up at me and tilted her head to the side. "You look…" She gave a long, thoughtful pause. The longer she withheld the remainder of her sentence, the more I worried what she would say. "You look like you have had a disappointing morning."

I sat back and crossed my arms, my brow furrowed as I contemplated her observation.

"My morning did not go as expected."

Lisette's bottom lip jutted out sympathetically. "The opera tomorrow will be better and then you will have a wonderful time and forget all about today."

"I suspect you are correct," I said despite already feeling nervous about attending an opera-my opera at that.

With a confident nod, Lisette picked up her book once more and I rummaged as quietly as I could for a sonata that had become the bane of my existence for nearly six months. After unsuccessfully looking for it in several different folders in the top drawer, I gave the bottom right-hand drawer a pull, but it refused to open no matter how I tugged. Brow furrowed, I made another attempt, this time pulling the handle up.

At best I could manage to fit the length of my middle finger into the space, which was not nearly enough to reach whatever had caught on the drawer. Had I been alone-or rather if anyone other than Lisette had been present-I would have had no qualms about violently tugging the handle or kicking the damned drawer until whatever object had lodged itself firmly in the way was at last cleared.

Instead, I sat back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose while I silently cursed my luck.

"Would you mind holding my book?" Lisette asked. She stood and walked around the side of the desk where she held out the book, which I accepted.

"Do you keep snakes in your desk?" she asked.

I couldn't tell if she was jesting. "I do not," I answered carefully. "No spiders, scorpions, or other creatures as well."

With a smile she squatted down, fit her hand into the drawer, and made a face as she wriggled her arm nearly up to her elbow inside the drawer.

"Ah-ha!" she said after no more than ten seconds. She proudly held up a toy soldier whose rifle was bent and pointed over his shoulder. Her brow furrowed once she examined the toy briefly before handing it to me. "What is this?"

"I have not seen one of these for a long time," I said as I straightened the rifle as best I could. "Alex used to have several of these as a baby. Meg and Charles gave them to him for his first birthday."

Some had broken from rough play, others had been chewed up by Bessie as a puppy, and the rest had most likely been buried in the garden or lost on trips to the market with Meg. This lone soldier guarding my unfinished work was probably the last survivor.

The toy reminded me of many afternoons spent sitting on the floor beside Alex as he ran over the small army with his trains and threw all of his toys halfway across the room only to burst into tears when they were out of his reach. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he was so small.

"Thank you," I said as I handed Lisette her book back. I placed the soldier on the edge of my desk, a forgotten sentinel keeping watch once more.

"You should have asked me if you couldn't get the drawer open." Lisette held out her arm and gave it a wiggle. "My arm is much thinner than yours. See?"

"The perfect defense against a soldier," I agreed. "As a token of my gratitude, please accept this small gift." I handed her a bookmark with silver and blue beads on a thin braided rope that I had found in the top drawer. "Better than keeping your place with your finger."

Lisette grinned. "And prettier too." She hugged it to her chest as though it was a great treasure. "Thank you."

"I will not disturb you and Jim Hawkins again."

Lisette gaped at me in response before she smiled. "You've read Treasure Island?"

"I have."

"Did you like it? Who was your favorite character? What was your favorite part?" she asked in quick succession.

"Once you are finished, we shall discuss. I may need to refresh my memory. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of reading that one."

"I would like to hear what you think of the story very much." Lisette gave a curtsy, skipped across the room, and leapt into the chair with an impressive thump that made her skirt poof up and land perfectly around her like a princess in a storybook.

In her silent company, I rewrote the last movement of the sonata as the notes swelled into my mind in the form of a young girl wrestling a toy soldier for treasure within a wooden chest. Once I finished the last notes, I blew on the paper, looked over my work, and smiled to myself. Luc Testan had once called my work joyless, uninspired refuse composed by a man who clearly has as much mirth as a corpse in a funeral parlor. If he ever heard this sonata he would find it rather inspired, the old fool. How I despised that man.

Lisette gasped and closed her book. "I will be late for my afternoon studies," she said as she placed the novel on the arm of the chair and bolted toward the door.

"Charles will not start without his best student," I assured her.

Lisette flashed a smile. "I hope not."

Once she was gone, I grabbed the box of letters Joshua had given me that were addressed to him and spent nearly an hour browsing the contents. It felt somewhat intrusive looking through the notes that had been sent to my cousin, but there was nothing private about the stories.

I searched in vain for a mention of Phelan. My uncle wrote such brief correspondence that it took me a few minutes to read through each one. Judging by the dates, he had sent these letters to Joshua months before he took me from my parents' home for good.

My pursuit of information on Phelan became half-hearted once I saw my own name mentioned. I sat for a long while, reading but not at all comprehending the words on the page. Once I reached the last line and realized I had no idea what I had read, I forced my eyes away, took a deep breath, and started again.

My Dearest Joshua,

For the last few months I have seen a young man prowling the streets in the darkness. I am almost certain it is Erik. He keeps to himself, always looking over his shoulder, but never really looking ahead. Sometimes I will see him several days in a row, then not for weeks on end. Tonight I was quite fortunate as I saw him outside of the tavern. It has been over two weeks since I last spotted him. Granted, I do not leave the house at night consistently, but I do believe your cousin has not ventured out recently.

Perhaps that is a bit misleading to say I saw him outsides of the tavern as he was nowhere near the crowd. He was behind the building in an alley, crouched low and out of sight as always. Being that he has only a handful of hiding places, I left food for him in the most likely location, which he easily found as he was roaming about.

Twice in the last month I have attempted to draw near to him, but the moment he sees me, he hurries away. Tonight I thought for certain I would approach him, but he is limping quite badly and I haven't the heart to chase him. I fear driving him away.

There was a line drawn between the paragraphs followed by a date I could not read in the corner. The ink looked like it had been blurred by a drop of water.

The words made me shudder out of recollection and embarrassment of my tormented youth. I wondered if Joshua recalled the contents of the letters his father had sent to him, if he thought of me as his feral cousin limping off in the night to eat scraps left behind in an alley. I was not sure how much he knew of the years I spent within the cellar, of how I had been treated for the first thirteen years of my life. I suppose he either thought of me as a filthy, unwanted boy or a deformed, angry phantom haunting a theater. In all honesty, I had no idea why he welcomed me into his home at all, other than we were blood relatives.

I shook my head and continued reading the second part of the note.

Joshua,

I apologize, but it seems I left my thoughts unfinished and did not mail this to you as I had planned several days ago.

I followed Erik home tonight. It has been eight days since I last saw him. He was far too preoccupied with keeping his arm crossed over his middle to notice me behind him. He drags his foot as well, and even from a distance I could hear him grunting in pain. This is the worst I have seen him, and I am more determined than ever to approach him.

I will not say a word of where he is living, but now that I have seen where he returns to at night, I know for certain it is Erik.

My heart aches for your cousin, the sort of pain only a poet could describe, and I am only an old man. But, I am an old man with a spark of determination, and I am determined to bring Erik home. Far too many years have passed since he has known kindness. Long, dreadful years, it seems, my dear Joshua. I feel deeply responsible for his suffering.

I am a stranger to him now. I regret how long I have been away.

I pushed my chair away from the desk and abruptly stood, my breaths ragged. My gaze returned to the last lines, which I read again and again until my vision blurred.

I feel deeply responsible for his suffering. I am a stranger to him now. I regret how long I have been away.

My uncle worded his letter as though he had known of me long before the night he approached me in the alley, before he had taken me from my parents' home months after we had first met. He had known me-but somehow I had not known him.

"How?" I whispered. I held my breath for a moment, listening for the shadow of a man I hoped would show himself to me. I would have settled for the smell of pipe tobacco or the sound of a violin in the distance. Something, anything to cause the loneliness to ebb.

Surely this was a mistake on his part or a misinterpretation on mine. Every time I escaped from the cellar, I carefully avoided everyone on the streets. I kept to the darkest parts of the alley, ducked into doorways and hid behind refuse if I heard footsteps or voices. If he had said a word to me, I would have taken off running as fast as my bare feet would allow.

This felt different, however. He did not say he had simply seen me, he said he was a stranger to me. He regretted how long he had been away. He felt responsible for my suffering, which was the most difficult part of all to comprehend.

I would have read through the letter again, but Julia returned home and I hastily fit the letter into the envelope and set it aside for later.

"Erik? Are you home?" Julia called.

Bessie, who had stayed on the cooler kitchen floor since we returned, trotted toward the foyer to greet Julia from an apparently very successful shopping excursion based on the number of parcels blocking the door.

"Darling," Julia said once she saw me. She kissed me softly on the lips before looking me over, her brow furrowed. Her smile slowly faded. "You look pale."

"I always look pale," I mumbled, still distracted by the words my uncle had written so long ago.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I need you to look at an old letter when you have a moment."

Julia placed her hand on my arm. She gave me a worried look but still nodded. "Yes, of course. I hope nothing is wrong. I thought for a moment perhaps something had happened to Joshua"

I shook my head. If anyone would know what my uncle meant in his letter, most certainly it would be Joshua, but I did not want to disrupt him in the middle of the day, especially since I had returned from his home an hour earlier.

"He invited us to supper Saturday night," I told her.

Julia's face brightened. "That would be wonderful." She paused, her head tilted to the side. "Or is that part of what is wrong?"

"He invited his brother as well. I met him today."

Julia nodded slowly. The look of surprise I expected from her never appeared on her face. "Phelan," she said.

I blinked at her. "How did you know?"

Julia looked at me and smiled, which was not the expression I expected. "Quite by accident. Madeline and I ran into him at the bakery. He was there to see Elizabeth."