Chapter Text
The stately mansion of Thornfield lay amidst the sprawling fields of the heather county, surrounded on all sides by endless expanses of various shades of purple, when the season permitted. Most often it did not, and the Lehnsherrs, who had inhabited the halls for generations, had to be content with greys.
This was the case on one long afternoon in late August. Erik Lehnsherr, the gifted scion of a thus far universally human family, sat in the library, in front of the crackling fire, watching his daughter, Anya, brave her way through the second page of her very first adult book. Truth be told the book was a touch too adult for a girl of seven, but Erik held a firm belief that a person he spent the most time with ought to be educated beyond the narrow confines of what passed for an education in polite society, and Anya was regrettably destined for a lifetime of if not acute misery than certainly mild social isolation. Magda’s unfortunate death had buried the secret of Anya’s parentage, which would no doubt cast her outside all social circles, instead of only the most discerning ones. To begin with, Magda had resisted marriage, citing reasons both couched in sense and her own distaste for the institution, thus depriving Anya of a formal standing, as an illegitimate, if claimed, child. In time Erik came to be grateful for Magda's resistance: should the truth of Anya's parentage become widely known, the outrage would be such that not even a wagon of gold could obscure it, because the truth of the matter, known to three people still living, was that Magda Maximoff was not gifted. Their saving grace was that the Roma were known for hiding their gifts, and so, though it was seldom mentioned she was the girl’s mother, as it implied the young master of Thornfield had a dalliance with a Roma girl, it was common knowledge, as was the fact Erik was gifted. It took no more than a few coins to see the story of Magda’s gifts spiralling through the neighbourhood, saving Anya from the worst possible fate; a child of a misalliance between a gifted and a human. Thank the heavens, Erik said to himself, as he watched her auburn head bent low over the pages, that they were not social creatures, and that his wealth and name was so revered in the neighbourhood that woe to the house which shunned his Anya. Were he any less rich, surely some inquisitive soul would bother digging, to ascertain the worthiness of the potential match. Instead he could remain content her future was as secure as he could make it.
Erik sighed then, which was not a typical reaction to such musings, and stretched his legs towards the fire, because, despite the time of year, the weather had chosen to establish itself as autumn, half-listening to the clumsy syllables spilling from Anya’s mouth and half to the sudden onslaught of rain, when a knock on the door announced an intruder.
"Forgive me, sir," his butler, Azazel, said, materialising suddenly in the opposite corner of the room. "There is a young gentleman at the door. He says you are seeking a tutor for the young lady."
"In this weather I seek nothing but hot tea," Erik said, getting to his feet nonetheless. "Stay here, I’ll be back soon," he told Anya, who obediently bowed her head.
Azazel followed him through the door – used quite conventionally this time – and down the stairs, where, in the middle of a growing puddle, there was a young man – a boy even – who shivered with the cold. He looked up at the newcomers with a calm, unflinching eye, inclining his head at first, but then dipping into a bow.
"Mr Lehnsherr," he said. "Thank you for seeing me. I apologise for the state of my attire, I had hoped to arrive before the rain."
"Good heavens," Erik half-whispered, in equal parts enchanted by the vivid blue of his eyes, all the more striking in the middle of his grey lands, and puzzled by the curious mix of nigh-royal graciousness in bearing and humble apologies. Then, being a graceful host, he remembered the state of his visitor’s brightly coloured clothes. "You must be cold. Did you not come in a carriage?"
"No. Your footman was kind enough to see to my horse. I’m afraid my luggage remains at the inn."
"Come, we shall find a change of clothes for you and then you will join me for a cup of something hot in the library. Azazel, if you will find something suitable for Mr…"
"Charles Xavier, Mr Lehnsherr."
"Mr Xavier." Erik nodded at Azazel and watched the two ascend the stairs. He returned to the library and found himself pinned by Anya’s curious gaze. "It seems there is an applicant," he told her. "You may have your tutor sooner than expected."
"So soon?" She sat up on her haunches. "But I haven’t even learned to read well yet."
"Hence the tutor, darling." Erik ruffled her hair and piled the papers he had scattered on his desk on one corner, making space for the tray of hot chocolate which would arrive promptly. It did, in fact, arrive sooner than Mr Xavier, who entered the room just as Erik was pouring the thick beverage into cups.
"Thank you, Mr Lehnsherr, for your hospitality," he said.
"Hardly an imposition. Please sit, have some chocolate. Then, perhaps, a whiskey."
"You are most kind," Mr Xavier said with a smile.
"This is my daughter, Anya," Erik said, and Anya rose from the floor and curtsied. "Anya, this is Mr Xavier." They both watched Mr Xavier’s face for the indication of discomfort when the ugly, raised tissue on the side of her face became visible, a memory of fire, but there were none. A touch of surprise maybe, soon melted in a smile, as he rose from his seat to kiss her hand.
"Miss Lehnsherr."
"My name is Maximoff, Mr Xavier," she said shyly. "Anya Maximoff. After my mother."
"Miss Maximoff then. It is a pleasure."
"Likewise." Anya beamed and, at Erik’s nod, collected her book and retreated to the settee further back, where the conversation would neither interrupt nor be interrupted by her reading.
"How old are you, Mr Xavier?" Erik asked, quite steadfastly ignoring the fact the question rose from the same place which was studying his unlined face closely, and that part was less inclined to worry about his academic credentials.
"I’m a few months short of my twentieth birthday. I’m sorry to say I can only supply a limited amount of references, and those are primarily from my schoolmasters."
"I take it you haven’t tutored before?"
"I’m afraid not."
That wasn’t a great failing in itself. Mr Xavier had lively eyes – Erik made a note of it and ceased looking altogether – a keen gaze and a soft smile. Altogether his bearing suggested a thoughtful young man, which Erik felt important. More interestingly, his jacket, which must by now be drying in the kitchen, was a rich blue, matching a turquoise vest, which in itself, while not terribly flashy, indicated the gentleman was human, as it had become a fashion for those not blessed with gifts to outfit themselves in bright, vivid colours, hoping to match the brilliance often awarded to the gifted by nature, who favoured more subdued colours themselves. Erik found the fashion frustrating and often wore red instead of browns and bronzes, which lead to assumptions he was equally quick to dispel, having been born with an easily demonstrable gift, if not one that was immediately obvious.
"You are a gentleman," he said, at long last coming across a less incendiary subject. "Surely you understand that I must think twice before entrusting my young daughter to you."
"I have been informed you seek for her a thorough education," Mr Xavier said primly. "I, of course, will gladly submit to any measure of propriety you think is required – I will not be offended at all if you insist on a chaperone – but I daresay you will be hard-pressed to find a tutor who’d rival my schooling."
"I see humility is not a fault of yours." Erik picked up his cup to sip at the thick chocolate.
"You ask what makes me qualified to teach your child, any response short of factual would be misleading." Mr Xavier looked at where Anya was sitting with a small smile. "I was informed you would care more about a broad range of subjects than what is deemed appropriate for a young lady to study, hence my application: I was sent to a boarding school in London when I was eight, and encouraged personally by the dean of the university, who is my godfather. I have been read to since I was very young and read to myself once old enough. I speak French and Italian; I read Latin and Greek. I have at least a passing familiarity with most academic subjects, more than passing in the case of natural sciences. Here are the letters given to me by my schoolmaster and, if you feel a relative might have an unbiased opinion, also from the dean."
Erik accepted the two envelops handed to him and set them aside. "Regardless of your schooling, I would hate to expend myself only to see Anya with an education ill-befitting her sex. Do you perhaps draw? Shoot a pistol? Play the pianoforte? Because I take it for granted that you dance well."
"I lack talent for drawing, but I am adept enough to offer instruction at music, if very average myself, and naturally, I dance. I’ve been told I have an eye for colour, so if Miss Maximoff enjoys painting, I could offer at least rudimentary assistance. I can shoot a pistol, although I'm better trained in the use of a bow."
"Anya finds herself attracted to crossbows, curiously enough."
Mr Xavier hesitated. "I should perhaps mention I can embroider. Adequately, I think."
"That is a curious talent for a young gentleman to have," Erik said mildly. Currently the favoured skills were woodwork and charcoal sketches; a man capable of producing a convincing likeness of the object of his affection and frame it handsomely with his own two hands would rarely lack attention.
"I am well aware of it. I have concluded that a young gentleman incapable of said is at the mercy of his servants, and those are not always in supply, whilst the importance of presentability is in supply always." Mr Xavier reached into the pocket of his borrowed jacket and produced a damp handkerchief, which he professed to Erik, who had to smile at the sight. The monogram in the corner was indeed not of the highest quality, certainly couldn't be measured up to the work produced by the young monks of the monastery at the island, but the stitches were even and the shape quite presentable, as was the hemming. The handkerchief itself was made of turquoise silk, a common colour choice for human gentlemen.
"I am impressed, Mr Xavier," he said, returning the kerchief. "It’s getting late and the weather shows no signs of relenting; I’ll have Azazel prepare a room for you, and we shall return to business in the morning, if convenient."
"Thank you." Mr Xavier let out a long breath, and then offered a smile. "I was wondering if I may borrow a book, if I’m to stay the night."
"Feel free – my library is open to anyone staying in the house."
Mr Xavier took to the shelves with the zeal of one starved for literacy, finally selecting a thin volume from among the most worn tomes. Erik left him to his afternoon reading and spent the time remaining till supper playing chess with Anya, who expressed her admiration of the applying tutor.
"He appears nice, father," she said, nudging a rook three spaces. "His smile is kind."
Erik nodded, even though he found himself convinced already. The further test of bearing, such as could be administered during a meal in the privacy of one’s own abode, Mr Xavier passed, though not without displaying the curious tendency towards behaviour unfitting his station. He hid it well, as soon as he caught himself in the act, but now and then his gaze would slide right past the servants as though not seeing them at all, a tendency Erik observed in very few men of his acquaintance. It spoke of superior birth and an upbringing among the most discerning society, thus, presumably, money. Why would a wealthy heir – and Erik had no doubt Mr Xavier possessed, at some point in his life, wealth – seek employment as a tutor of a girl rather outside his social circle?
The mystery would need to remain untouched, for now, he concluded later that evening, having studied the letters Mr Xavier supplied. Both endorsed the young gentleman heartily, as an exemplar scholar and a gifted student, with impeccable manners and a highly unorthodox passion for learning. He seemed the ideal candidate for Erik's purposes, yet one thing troubled him. He was not gifted. Erik found this curiously regrettable, but as the night wore on he was glad for it. Anya had shown no signs of manifesting, even when threatened by a fiery death – Erik shuddered at the memory – and Erik's staff was primarily gifted, so a human tutor could prove beneficial. Furthermore, it would save Erik from regrettable attachment, if he knew for certain such a barrier existed between them. Only a few years had passed since Magda, but Erik felt them as though they were decades; he was wiser now – having once endangered his entire fortune and respectability for the sake of ill-advised passion, however motivated by personal tragedy, had been enough.
That very same reason, however, insisted firmly that Mr Xavier would best be dismissed in the morning, on the grounds that temptation is best resisted when removed, which Erik found harder to contest, yet wouldn't concede. How fortunate indeed, Erik thought instead, quite pleased with himself, blowing out the candle and slipping between the sheets, that such an accomplished person would seek out a position in Erik’s household. How fortunate indeed.
Naturally, the next morning found Mr Xavier employed and Azazel dispatched to the inn, for the luggage. Erik saw him briefly when he appeared by the door, before dematerialising again, to deliver it up the stairs, where Mr Xavier was arranging his new lodgings to his liking, and found it small, but serviceable. However when he made his way to the first floor, to check whether everything was indeed as it should be, he discovered a neat row of expensive books lining the shelves by the far wall, and by the length of the row these books must have taken the majority of space in the coffer. Where were the clothes, he found himself thinking, but then he dismissed the matter, distracted by the sight of Mr Xavier in a loose-fitting shirt, undone at the collar, bending over the mostly-emptied luggage.
It was only a few weeks later that the matter raised its head once more, at which point Erik, being a man of action, took immediate steps to rectify it. He was enjoying his afternoon tea in the library, when Mr Xavier appeared in a state of agitation and without preamble made his displeasure known.
"Mr Lehnsherr, there is a man in my room, armed with a measuring tape and a pair of scissors."
"In these parts we refer to such men as tailors, Mr Xavier. I may not be familiar with the London term; we are a fair distance from the city."
Mr Xavier trembled, though the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "I did not arrange for a tailor, Mr Lehnsherr."
"No, I did."
"May I inquire as to the reason?"
"I couldn’t help but notice you had packed an enviable selection of books, yet neglected to expand your wardrobe, pieces of which, I’m sorry to say, are too small in some place and threadbare in others." This was an exaggeration, to be sure, because while some items Erik observed to be snug, the quality and cut of the materials indicated tremendous wealth, which had not so much faded, as simply stopped paying attention. Still, the books were brand new. Erik appreciated a person who prized their mind over their looks, but Mr Xavier's current position required respectability on all accounts.
Mr Xavier, evidently not as quick to arrive at the same conclusion, coloured. "The state of my wardrobe is no concern of yours."
"Quite the contrary, Mr Xavier. I am entrusting you with my child, and, as I see no reason to keep you both sequestered in the mansion, you will be frequently seen together. We’ve had a dearth of visitors up until now, but balls are forthcoming, and it is my wish to have you reflect the standing of Thornfield. You will therefore accept the attentions of Mr Quested and the resulting garments as a gift from your grateful employer." All facetiousness aside, Erik felt that a new, quality wardrobe was a fair bonus. Anya was reading fluently now, after only a few weeks of tutorage; her French accent had improved immeasurably (Erik’s tended towards German, and thus his instruction was best left forgotten) and Mr Xavier’s shocking insistence on outdoor exercises gave her cheeks a healthy blush. Most importantly she was happy, as only a reasonable child whose every need is met can be happy, and Erik was not blind to the fact that his own sporadic attention could account only for a fraction of that happiness.
"I can’t allow this, Mr Lehnsherr," Mr Xavier said firmly.
"If a gift is displeasing to you, I could arrange to have the cost deducted from your wages," Erik said over his cup, and watched Mr Xavier blink his stupendous eyes at him, as though in surprise.
"My wages…? Oh, yes, naturally." The line of his spine relaxed considerably. "Of course. Please do so."
Erik set his cup aside and fixed Mr Xavier with a pointed look. "It occurs to me, in that case, that I have been remiss in my duties, grievously so."
"How so?"
"Mr Xavier, surely you must be concerned that we never discussed your wages."
Again Mr Xavier bore the look of a cornered rabbit and just as quickly had it melt into a mask of pleasantness. "I’m sure I am equally at fault, for not insisting," he said, and made no move to indicate his further interest in the subject. He readily agreed to Erik’s first offer (which was in itself reasonably generous) and made no move to discuss it, when in truth his performance could easily warrant a higher sum.
Erik refrained from voicing his, rather complex, emotions. A young aristocrat fallen from grace was common enough; one seeking employment rather than appealing to his relatives was rare. One who sought employment and cared naught for the wages he received was a curiosity worth investigating. And, because Erik was a man with considerable resources at his disposal, he set to unravelling the mystery right away. He began by scouring the records of the peerage of the land, for errant sons about Charles’ age, and found many. The name Xavier turned out to be of little help – Mr Xavier was not a scion of the high-born. Who was this creature, Erik raged in the privacy of his mind, even as he watched the self-same creature guide Anya through the complexities of mathematics. Who was he, and how had he come to be, and more importantly, why was he haunting Thornfield's master?
Mr Xavier was with them for some months when Erik first began to entertain the possibility of a ball. Anya was too young to attend, but the season was unfolding and the neighbours were bored. The invitations were sent and soon Thornfield became the social hub. Carriages began arriving from all around the county, filling the heather fields with colours and noise, and Erik greeted the guests from the heights of his sitting room window, trusting his staff and friends, who naturally arrived earliest, to kindle the entertainment. He threw balls when he felt his position demanded it, and no more often, and even then he did so reluctantly, as social gatherings wearied him tremendously.
"You seem unwelcoming," said a kind whisper on the side, the speaker hidden by the door, a whisper Erik immediately identified as having originated with Mr Xavier.
"You are mistaken; this is my usual countenance."
"Indeed, it is not. To me you are always accommodating."
"I have good reason," Erik said, throwing a look and finding himself transfixed by the blue eyes gazing at him from the shadows. "Do you have advice, Mr Xavier, since you judged me wanting as a host?"
"Did I? I beg your forgiveness. Still, if I may be allowed… Let your shoulders drop, and smile. This is but an evening, and then you will be at peace again."
Erik allowed himself a smile which had once sent a maid rushing to the housekeeper in tears, but Mr Xavier merely returned it, folding his hands behind his back. "Will you honour me with a dance this evening?" he asked, once the novelty of standing in the shadows and smiling at one another passed. "Please forgive the impertinence, but I enjoy dancing very much, and I know very few people in the neighbourhood. I would be loath to cause your guests distress by appearing a stranger and engaging their attention."
"Surely your arrival at the inn would have been noted," Erik replied, reeling. "I know the innkeeper’s wife and she lets no arrival get unmentioned in her daily chattering with her brother, the butler of Mr Summers, who is a bigger gossip than she. A handsome youth like you, travelling with no spouse and no ring, must have caused quite the stir. For that reason alone you are no longer a stranger to these parts."
Mr Xavier peered at him through his lashes. "Do you find me handsome, Mr Lehnsherr?"
"Do you find me blind, Mr Xavier?"
Mr Xavier laughed. "Touché, sir. Allow me to return the compliment, Mr Lehnsherr, and say you may just be the most presentable gentleman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."
Erik smiled, this time with no intention to frighten. "I shall gladly dance with you, if you won’t be insulted by waiting for the third set."
"Hardly! I am amazed I would rank so high, being a humble tutor."
"Now, Mr Xavier, I will not see you degrade yourself thusly. Humble! Show me a man or woman who’d insult you so grievously and I will see them by appointment without delay."
Mr Xavier laughed at that, not as a gentleman should, but straight from the belly, throwing his head back and letting his mirth out in a loud guffaw, unbefitting polite company. "Thank you, Mr Lehnsherr," he said once his control returned. "I will see Anya to bed and join you downstairs promptly."
"Do that," Erik told him. "You have yet to meet the people I have to dance with before the evening becomes tolerable."
He watched the man smile at him one more time and disappear down the corridor, towards the stairs.