Chapter Twenty Six
"You cannot possibly be serious, Erik." Nadir's expression was a curious combination of amusement and trepidation, his jade eyes narrowed at the masked man sitting opposite him.
"I would hardly jest about it, daroga," Erik replied carelessly, staring into the dark fireplace. "I find myself unable to focus on any one thing here. I have been settled in this ridiculous country for near eight months now, and what have I to show for it?" He glanced at the Persian, who shook his head in reply.
"Precisely. I have been here before, if you will recall. I hated it then, and I now remember why."
"That was years ago," Nadir argued. "Just after Persia. You were hardly in a sound state of mind."
Erik shot a lethal glare at the man opposite him.
Nadir smiled wryly. "France has never treated you well. I cannot imagine why you would wish to return to it."
"I just told you," Erik snapped. "It is, despite its many defects and ill memories, my home." He settled further into his seat. "Since it does not hold such sentimentality with you, I would not be offended if you chose to remain here." His smile was sardonic. "Unless I am much mistaken, you are finding a certain serenity here. I would hate to tear you from it."
Nadir's face betrayed no emotion, but his shoulders had visibly tightened. "Nonsense. If you wish for me to stay here, I will stay here."
Erik snorted derisively. "You really are a terrible liar, daroga. I will credit you with enough cleverness and stealth to push your way into France and keep a close eye on me without my knowledge." He paused. "For a while."
Nadir grimaced. "You are digressing. How can you return to France? There is still a number of Parisians only too happy to hunt you down like a wild boar. I doubt you would go unnoticed."
"Avoiding angry Parisians is simple, Nadir. Just avoid Paris."
"I was not aware there was anywhere else in France worth seeing."
Erik smiled as he looked into the hearth, feeling a ridiculous warmth of contentment flush his skin at the very thought of his home. "So much more. The seaside, the country. I was considering perhaps something outside of Angers. There is bound to be a suitable plot of land somewhere in the area."
"Land?" Nadir's tone darkened over the word. "Surely you are not planning on building yourself a house?"
"It is an idea I have entertained," Erik replied lightly, pulling his gaze from the hearth and settling them, with a touch of amusement, on the Persian. "You seem disquieted, Nadir."
"Certainly, it is preferable to watching you march into Paris and throw yourself into the clutches of a merciless mob. And yet..." he raised an eyebrow.
"And yet building a house is hardly discreet, I know. It is a quandary I have been much occupied with."
Nadir sunk deeper into his chair. "Perhaps you wish to be caught."
Erik stood abruptly. "If that were the case, I would have sat beneath the opera, waiting for the raiders to discover me. I did precisely what you wished for me to do – no, do not object – and I fled. I scraped some vital possessions together and crossed the Channel with my tail between my legs, properly anxious at the prospect of being shackled and killed in a public spectacle by a freshly-educated hangman who would more than likely tie me up incorrectly and cause me a great deal of discomfort before death."
"You could have killed yourself."
"I considered it."
"We are veering off-topic," Nadir announced, his discomfort at the subject clearly written on his face. "I will simply state that, in my opinion, building a house is an unnecessary expense, not to mention, of course, the attention it would receive. The ice we are treading on is thin enough as it is; Angers may be a ways from Paris, but if word of your return to France gets to the Parisian authorities, your life is not worth the trouble it would take to protect it."
"Another small town, then," Erik said, briefly eyeing the dirty window before him. "I, myself, shall stay rather reclusive. My music has been suffering greatly; I need a retreat, some time far from humanity, to nurture it."
"You make it sound like an ailing child, Erik. Speaking of which, what precisely are you planning on doing with Isabel and Thomas?"
Erik turned to face Nadir, his expression curious. "What do I plan on doing with them?"
"Are they to join you on this journey?"
"Certainly." His eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I had hoped that the child was going to follow the father back to Liverpool, but that seems to be outside the realm of possibility."
"I should think so, being as Daniel left two days ago."
"Perhaps the boy will change his mind and follow his father."
"You needn't sound so hopeful, Erik."
"Oh, daroga, but I am." He cracked a small smile. "I am very faithful to my servants, as you are well aware. You are the same way, I know. I presume that you saw to it that Darius was well taken care of before you came to England to spy on me?"
Ignoring the jibe, Nadir nodded.
"Yes... she has shown loyalty, and I am not foolish enough to think that it is a quality that many women possess. She can be very useful, our Mrs. Bauer, and I do not intend to let her go just yet."
"Perhaps you should discuss this with her before suddenly stripping the house of possessions and dragging her and her son to France."
Erik released a vague snort. "I tire of these infernal heart-to-hearts. You should be the one to speak to her, Nadir. She and that boy of hers have a certain taste for you, one that I do not hope to ever achieve, and she can feel more freedom to rage her dissatisfaction at the situation to you than she could to me."
"My, how considerate you are, Erik! Perhaps you would care to pick some wildflowers for me to present her with, as well?"
Erik's sudden burst of laughter surprised him as much as the Persian. "Perhaps not. I shall save that idea for when I need to coerce her into moving to Egypt."
"Egypt! My heart cannot take such a jest, Erik." Nadir shifted, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
A corner of Erik's mouth twitched. "So you will talk to her, then?"
"I think not," Nadir replied casually. "Despite your very detailed explanation as to why you are insisting on returning to a country which would like nothing more than to hang you, I feel that you could answer any questions she may have far better than I."
"She is a damnably inquisitive woman, isn't she?"
Nadir only smiled.
Darning socks was, in Isabel's opinion, the worst chore to ever grace God's green earth. The needle, which she had been so ridiculously careful with, had somehow slipped from the darning egg mid-stitch and was now lodged quite firmly into her index finger.
The sting had made her eyes tear up, but more than anything, she felt annoyed.
Yanking the needle out of her skin and resisting the urge to scream, she stabbed it into the woebegone sock and set it aside, folding her hands and leaning back in her chair.
She ran her hands across the smooth material of her dress and let her eyes wander over the room until they settled, unfocused and absently, on the window over her bed. It was cracked open, the stark heat seeping into the room. She lacked the energy to get up and shut it, despite the sweat that was beginning to form on the nape of her neck. Raising a heavy arm, she patted at her sticky skin and groaned. It was just too miserable in this house: too hot, too quiet. The tension between her and Thomas had grown to an almost unbearable level, with him avoiding her unless absolutely necessary. She hadn't heard more than half a dozen words out of him in the past two days.
His sweet, familiar voice suddenly drifted through the open window, and she found all her aching bones forgotten. She stood and rushed to the window, looking down to see his small form by the stable, speaking patiently with Nadir.
She leaned against the window frame and tried to remain inconspicuous, peeking through the lace curtain and trying to make out what the pair were discussing. All she could hear was the sound of her son's voice, his words soft and indistinguishable, and the murmurs of Nadir's responses.
Ducking away from the window, she slunk back to her chair and slid into it, eyeing the discarded sock with disgust.
"Mrs. Bauer."
Releasing something akin to a shriek, Isabel shot from her chair and spun around so violently, she nearly fell over.
"Mr. Bertrand, please don't scare me like that!"
Mr. Bertrand gave a slight inclination of his head – his version of an apology, she had learned. "You will excuse me, I am sure, Mrs. Bauer, when I tell you that I am not knowledgeable enough in the inner workings of your psyche to know what will or will not frighten you."
"I find that very hard to believe," she replied lightly. Shaking out her skirts absently, she raised her head and clasped her hands behind her back. "What may I do for you, Mr. Bertrand?"
Her observed her silently for a moment, his sharp eyes darting over her form. "France," he said at length. "I feel that... well, Nadir feels that I should perhaps discuss it with you before making any rash decisions."
"Of course." Another conversation that she had been dreading. Indicating the seat across from her, she sat gracefully on the chair beside her night table. "Please, make yourself comfortable."
Mr. Bertrand fell into the seat with little ceremony, his arms falling limply on the sides of the chair and his gaze resting on the wall over Isabel's shoulder.
"France," he said simply.
"France?" she repeated, doing her best to look politely puzzled.
"Yes. I apologize for not informing you of my plans earlier, but they have been more vague than firm and I had no wish to drag you into a bog of uncertainty."
"Thank you," Isabel muttered.
"Are you familiar with France at all, Mrs. Bauer?"
"Slightly. Elise, the lady's maid to Mrs. Northing, was from Orléans. She used to tell me stories from her childhood there, although they were more about her bizarre parents than her homeland."
Mr. Bertrand raised an eyebrow.
"She was one of thirteen children," she sighed.
Horror flickered over Mr. Bertrand's face. "Of course. Well, I am planning on traveling there in a few days' time to seek out some sort of suitable situation. Once that is arranged, I will send for you. Assuming, of course, that you want to come."
Isabel crossed her legs uncomfortably. "Surely there are servants in France, Mr. Bertrand. You could speak in your own language and not have to bother with translating—"
"Are you or are you not coming, Mrs. Bauer?"
Isabel propped her chin onto her palm, dropping her professional demeanor and scrutinizing the man before her. "Do you really think I should, Mr. Bertrand? Pack up myself and my son and follow you to a foreign country, speaking a foreign tongue and behaving in their... well, French ways." She cracked a smile. "Then there's Daniel, of course. There's always Daniel."
"The choice lies entirely with you, Mrs. Bauer," Mr. Bertrand said, his smooth tone in humorous contrast with his relaxed pose. "If I did not want you to accompany Nadir and myself, I would not have requested that you do so. However, if you do not feel inclined, simply say as much so that I may carry out my plans as quickly as possible."
Isabel rubbed her temple absently, every logical thought in her head nudging her away from the situation. Thomas was sure to put up a good fight at the idea. Moving again so soon was a horror. She was loathe to leave Samantha.
She dropped her hands to her lap and gave Mr. Bertrand her full attention. "Mr. Khan is to accompany you, Mr. Bertrand?"
"Like a lost puppy," he grunted.
"He will be returning to Paris, then?" Poor Samantha.
"I doubt it. You see, Mrs. Bauer, Mr. Khan's concern for my well-being rivals even yours. He has taken a rather embarrassing interest in it for years. More than likely, he will refuse to leave me be until he is absolutely positive that I am... well, to be concise, I do not think that he will be leaving us anytime soon."
"I see." Isabel ran a hand over her face. "May I give you an answer this evening, Mr. Bertrand? I need to speak to my son."
Mr. Bertrand gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Mrs. Bauer, you may give me an answer this evening." He rose from his chair, striding across the room and sweeping out the door.
Isabel didn't bother trying to stand: she knew she wouldn't get very far if she managed to walk. For now, she contented herself with the darkness that closed eyes provided and the soothing sound of Thomas's voice coming through the open window.
"Paris, then? Didn't you say that's where he's from?" Samantha bent over a barrel of lentils, sniffed delicately, then scrunched her nose and waved away the merchant's offer.
"Yes, that's right," Isabel replied, glancing around the road. Every passerby smiled politely at the two women, the men tipping their hats and the children giggling madly before skipping off. Isabel scowled at the endless congeniality, unreasonably irritated by every person in the country whose life made any amount of sense. She cleared her throat and turned back to Samantha. "But I spoke to Nadir – briefly – and he said that Mr. Bertrand has no plans to return to Paris. He seems keen on some little village outside of Angers."
"Angers?"
"In the Loire Valley."
"The what?" Samantha held a bouquet of herbs aloft, pausing in her examination to look at Isabel with an utterly lost expression.
"The Loire Valley."
"Which is?"
Isabel tossed a bundle of green beans back onto its tray angrily. "A valley!"
"Well you needn't be snappish, Isabel," Samantha replied sternly. "I'm not the one dragging you off to a valley in France. Mr. Hewick, I will tell you if I am interested in something!"
The vendor's brow rose in surprise and he backed away slowly, eyeing Samantha suspiciously.
"Do you want to go?" Samantha asked, glancing at Isabel and pointedly ignoring the pouting merchant behind her.
"Who am I to refuse a transfer to the French countryside?" Isabel folded her arms across her stomach.
"Oh, Isabel," Samantha sighed. "It does sound glorious. Despite its rather unfortunate location in a valley." She wrinkled her nose.
"It's only for a while," Isabel said, wandering away from the merchant's stand slowly. "Mr. Bertrand is temporary."
"Is that so?" Samantha shot the annoyed vendor a venomous look and caught up to her friend. "Does he vanish into a puff of dust when exposed to sunlight?"
"It wouldn't surprise me." Isabel shook her head. "No, I mean that I do not plan on staying with him for an extended period of time. Certainly not permanently."
"Well, then. It would be more accurate to say that you are temporary." Samantha smiled. "And what are your plans after excusing yourself from his service?"
Isabel shrugged. "My salary is ridiculously generous. My expenses are minimal; in less than a year, I will have enough to make both Thomas and myself quite comfortable and I can take a while for myself – and for him – without work. After that, who knows?"
"Does Mr. Bertrand know that?"
"I have never discussed it with him, no." She snorted. "We keep our secrets from each other, Mr. Bertrand and I."
"So it seems," Samantha mused. "Has he ever been married?"
"Married?" The idea startled Isabel. "I find that very unlikely."
"Perhaps you could ask Nadir."
"The man is so silent on the subject of Mr. Bertrand's past, I doubt that any questioning would prove fruitful."
Samantha made a noncommittal sound. "I suppose he will be accompanying you." Her voice sounded sad.
"Nadir? Yes, that is what I have been told." Isabel glanced at her companion surreptitiously. "The departure date is still unknown, Samantha. I am sure that there is plenty of time for you to come by for some tea. Thomas would be terribly sad to go without saying goodbye to you, as would Nadir."
Samantha's complexion turned a rather becoming shade of pink. "And Mr. Bertrand, of course," she said lightly. "It would be a crime to be parted from him without a tearful farewell."
Isabel laughed.
"So soon?" Isabel felt her stomach drop.
"I see no sense in delaying. My train departs at eleven this evening." Mr. Bertrand glanced at Isabel with the bored expression she had been deprived of lately. She brightened.
"Eleven?"
"Is that soon enough for you?" His tone dripped irritation.
"It is, Mr. Bertrand." She gave a brief curtsey, enjoying the annoyed way he scrutinized her. "And will Mr. Khan be accompanying you?"
"Yes, I believe that he will. I trust that you will be perfectly sound here by yourself for a few weeks?"
"Yes, of course." Isabel smiled. "When do you suppose you will be sending for us?"
"I do not have the gift of telepathy, Mrs. Bauer," Mr. Bertrand snapped. "It is very likely that I will find a home small enough to maintain without any hired help."
"Oh, Mr. Bertrand," she said airily, neatly folding her hands in front of her, "I find that very unlikely. Particularly if Mr. Khan will be... sharing quarters with you for some time."
Mr. Bertrand turned towards the door, heaving a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, Mrs. Bauer, the things you insinuate." He ignored Isabel's gaping mouth. "I will write when I find something suitable. In the meantime, keep this house in order. I would suggest you start saying your goodbyes to the... locals, or whoever you care to bid farewell to."
"Certainly. Mr. Bertrand?"
He looked at her, his eyebrow raised in question.
"Do you think that we will—well, that you will—ever be returning to England?"
He gave a graceful shrug. "That, Mrs. Bauer, depends on France."
Hello duckies! Anyone out there? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Well, anyway, we're heading to France shortly, so that'll be fun. OR WILL IT? (That's called a teaser! Actually, I don't think that's a teaser. I don't know what that's called.)
Oxoxoxo to Chat for her betaness and to you all for emailing/reviewing/leaving threatening messages on my voicemail.
I am going to do my very best to get one more chapter out before NaNoWriMo madness begins in November (where did the year go?). Pray for me.
I'd also like to apologize in advance for any emo turns the story may take in the future. I've been listening to The Postal Service a lot.