Mansions and Heirs
Things had gone fairly well for the Calyanni estate in the past few years, much as the same as it had for many a year. The loss of his wife did little to stop Ernesto in his acquisitions since. Much of the same projects, bills, and declarations passed over the same desk, and were signed by the same hand. As for personal engagements, Ernesto remained unattached throughout the years, but he seemed happier than he had ever been.
His sister's daughter was now five and was every bit that age. She was a beautiful child, graced with unlikely golden hair and melodious laugh. She was so unlike her birth parents in life that Ernesto would have to exhaust himself to find a parallel. She was very close to replacing his day to day activities as the love of his life. So close that she violated one of the prime sanctums Ernesto possessed, his office, on a nearly daily basis. Her toys were as rampant in his library, as the paperwork was on his desk. The curtains were rarely drawn for two reasons, first, the aforementioned toys seemed to display their sharpest points on the tenderest point imaginable on the soles of his feet, second, for his baby girl, for she enjoyed the sun and the occasional sea breeze. It took her only a week, at two, to clear out the silly knick knacks and furniture that were apparently too fragile in her rambunctious presence. One endtable in particular, Ernesto had thought indestructible, she had split two with the simple expedience of her tailend. A couple of treasured books destroyed, along with an expensive Vesten office rug, when she had smuggled a vial of food coloring from the downstairs kitchen. At five, she was a little more controlled, she did little more than dress and undress her profuse amount of dolls, and on occasion, ask her father which one was the prettiest. There were days when she would play underneath Ernesto's desk with her toys and every so often she would pull on his pant leg. It, of course, was a well orchestrated trick to gain his attention. Over the past two years, Ernesto had learned his part to play. Ernesto would confront the child with a serious face. In response, she would place her tiny hands upon his frowning features and attempt to mold a smile. With or without her help, Ernesto would erupt in laughter, and to his niece's glee, sweep her into the air� In her restful moods, she would sleep peacefully and blissfully in the crook of his arm as he did the work he was often a slave to. She was a terror for the maids to keep track of. She would not only hide from them as part of her own little game, she also possessed the fastest feet in the house, so when found, her little game was far from over. She brought much light and laughter to a house that had long been devoid of it. Elena's child was no heir, and as far as Ernesto had ever known her she had never been wrong, it puzzled him to no end. There could be any number of reasons that Ernesto could think of as too why she had been wrong. But it still discomfited him. Shortly after her sister's execution, Arien left with little more than a mysterious smile as an explanation. Lara had joyfully adopted the child for its infantile years, but afterwards, things had begun to change. Not to say that she was uncaring, only distant, and the child, who still had no name, became a ward of the household. The child had defied naming at its birth and continued to do so throughout the years. She responded to the baby names, 'honey', 'cutie', 'beautiful', and same such. At one point, when the household maids asked Ernesto what he would name the child, he responded thoughtfully with a no. He had declared that the child, should she desire it, would name herself. He also declared that she would not interact with any children her age until she herself demanded it. This raised a few eyebrows in the household at the time, but little became of it later. The household itself changed to accommodate the child. The maids had either had children that had grown up, or were barren. As a result, the child was doted upon by all the maids and help. Ernesto had become a much more benevolent master as well. Not to say he did not stand his ground, because he still insisted that the house and its estate be as well taken care of as his adopted daughter, but he was more generous with his money and certainly less uncaring. He still talked to Lara, on occasion, to see how well she was, the household too, kept an eye on his deceased wife's sister. She still resided in the wing she had always resided in, taking to the garden in the rear of it. She would spend hours in it, sometimes the whole day. The Calyanni family garden was a made a wonder underneath her meticulous care. When the child would often visit the garden, and Lara doted on her then, but when the child left, she made no move to follow. In the garden, Lara raised a single stone for her sister's memory, but none for her lost husband and child. Ernesto only broached the subject once, when the initial stone was set and showed no signs of gaining companions. She had smiled painfully, and responded to him by saying, "They're not dead, yet, Ernesto, only lost," And in that moment, she seemed unspeakably old and tortured. He could see the toll of every loss she had had to endure. Her loving father. Her youngest and only sister. His son and her sister's child. Her own child. Her only true love and husband. All gone. "I thought that you knew, brother�" They had long taken to this form of address as it was how both of them felt about each other. His sister and her brother. "Knew what, my dear?" "I look for them," Lara glanced over her shoulder, "every day, Ernesto, every day�.and sometimes," She paused again, "sometimes�" "Sometimes," Ernesto had prompted. She smiled, taking one of his hands into both of hers, "You'll think me mad, brother�" He turned to her, placing his free hand supportingly on her shoulder, "Try me, sister dearest�" "Sometimes, I see them, brother� My dear son and my love� They are separated, as they always have been, but they have been close�" Her eyes were troubled, "I try to draw them near to each other, but� I�" Frustrated sorrow brought forth her tears. It had awakened tears that Ernesto had told himself that he had long lost, and when he left her beautiful garden. Leaving her pine away into madness borne of a soul broken by grief. And as he wiped his tears that day, he prayed to Theus that the madness was not as contagious as the grief."Master Calyanni?" A maid called from beyond the door.
"Yes, Patrice?" Ernesto called out from behind his desk. The massive door cracked, "There is a woman here to see you." "Patrice, I didn't have any appointments, especially for any woman, show her the door. I'm quite busy." "I would, my Lord, but she is�.quite adamant." Ernesto sighed. In another time, he simply would have barked at the maid� "Alright, Patrice," Ernesto organized some papers, stacked them and set them aside, "show her in." The maid opened the door and a very becoming woman came through the door. Patrice, the elderly maid, was staring bullets at her. Her hand drifted to a lengthy doorstop behind the door. "Patrice, I'm sorry, I'll handle this, thank you," With a final cannon shot of a stare, the maid exited, shutting the door. Sizing up the visitor, Ernesto realized that she was a complete and total stranger to him. Although she held her head high, it was not through practice. Her walk was stiff and formal, and her hands were unseen behind her back, giving Ernesto the uncomfortable feeling that she held a gun in one of them. "My lord." Her dress was very well made, and also very new. Its cut was traditional, but it possessed a decided Eisen flair. As he took in the small details of her person, she was doing the same. Her eyes went to the top of his now entirely bald head, took in his rather ordinary facial features, made note of his semi-broad shoulders, his richly tailored, but slightly crumpled clothing, and lastly, lingered a moment in his dirty hazel eyes. Oddly enough, it wasn't as if she was trying to deduce something hidden from sight, as he was� It was as if she was trying to compare him to someone else. Her frown deepened, as if disappointed. "May I ask what you did to irritate my maid so thoroughly?" Ernesto asked, raising an eyebrow. Her face took on an amused cast. Her makeup was tastefully done, if her lipstick a bit redder than the norm. However, she possessed a definite no nonsense demeanor that could be seen underneath the momentary amusement. A dark curl had escaped its pin and giving her face mischievous character. "Are you Lord Ernesto Calyanni?" The nicety was forced. "Depends. Is that a gun behind your back?" Her red lips tightened. "If you are, I have another question for you." She paused, leaned a bit closer, paying close attention to his eyes. "Did you have your son, wife, and best friend murdered five years ago?" Ernesto drew back and paled. "Did I what?" "I thought it was fairly clear." She straightened, and looked about his library uninterestingly. "And yes, there is a gun behind my back." His mind raced, "Who are you? Did you come here to kill me?" Her answer was frostingly cold, "The gun is for my protection, it's a fairly common precaution when confronting a murderer, even one that doesn't necessarily do his own dirty work." Ernesto felt ill, but he repeated his question nonetheless, "Who are you?" "Most people call me�Charese�"Return to Uncommon Valor