Lost

Even the sky mocked him – too bright, too blue – when he wished only for grey. Grey to match the remnants of dirty snow that lingered along the edges of the sidewalks and roadways, making the ground messy and just a bit treacherous. Grey to match his mood. Grey like his impure soul.

The blue was wrong, and it hurt him to look at it. Instead, he directed his gaze downward towards the dirty snow and the path that led him away from the place where he lived.

He supposed it was "home" now, seeing as he had no other place to go – his family home having burned to the ground mere months ago and his uncle's home having been sold off to pay outstanding debts when Maurice and his wife went missing. Of course, Florian knew they weren't really missing – they, along with his mother – were buried in the rubble of his family's ancestral castle. Not that he could tell anyone without having to answer questions that would only muddy the Rochefort name even more.

Not that he wasn't already the subject of gossip and speculation – his mother's death and the loss of his home by themselves would have provided several months worth of gossip fodder for his peers. His current living arrangements, his well-known financial difficulties and, of course, his association with the notorious usurer Ray Balzac Courland simply ensured he'd be whispered about and watched whenever he was among proper society.

Perhaps it was a subconscious desire to escape that carried him along, taking him into less affluent areas where he'd never ventured before. He'd never been one of straying off the accepted path – his mother made sure of that. He idly wondered what she'd think of him now; he imagined Morocco was far beyond any path she'd ever imagined.

But he… even now he only had to close his eyes to experience the heat, the confusion, the strangeness of the place.

"Oh, sir!"

He'd been so distracted by his memories that Florian almost collided with the young girl. As it was she backed out of his way just in time, but lost her hold on her basket. It dropped on its side, scattering the contents across the wet path.

"Oh!" the girl wailed as she crouched down and plucked the soggy bits of fabric and lace from the ground, setting them carefully apart back in the basket, her hands shaking as she worked.

"I'm so sorry," Florian told her as he crouched beside her, helping to pick up the items which turned out to be bows with loops attached to their backs – like those often used to decorate Christmas trees, but instead of the red and white velvet he was used to seeing these were all colors and patterns.

"It's okay," the girl said, but in a way that Florian wasn't sure if she was answering him or reassuring herself. He noticed that, although she had carefully washed her face, her clothes were worn and a bit dirty. He certainly wasn't unfamiliar with the presence of beggar children selling apples, flowers or other small items for coins, but he'd never really looked at one closely before.

"Did I ruin them?" Florian asked as he rose, holding out a hand to the girl who had gathered all of her bows and returned them to the basket.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and shook her head, making Florian feel like an idiot – of course she wouldn't tell him yes – what beggar child would dare be so bold? He became aware of the eyes around them, watching, and felt himself blush. Was there no place he could go without being stared at?

"May I?" Florian reached towards the basket, smiling when she held it out to him. She managed a faint smile and Florian realized how young she must be – surely not much older than Noel, although she was so thin. Florian picked a colorful yellow-patterned bow at random and inspected it, noting how neatly it had been sewed. It really was quite pretty.

"Did you make these yourself?" he asked, smiling when she nodded. "They are very nice. Are they for Christmas trees?" The girl nodded again and her smile was a little wider. "My mother taught me how to make them." She suddenly pulled back, looking fearful, as if she'd done something wrong in speaking so familiarly with a gentleman. "Forgive me, sir!"

"Nothing to forgive, Miss," Florian assured her with a kind smile. "I'm the one who's caused you difficulty." He looked at the bow in his hand, about to return it to the basket when he caught a flash of disappointment in her eyes. He looked down at the bow again, seeing how carefully it was made. He wondered what such a colorful array would look like on a small tree – nothing formal and regulated with "proper" decorations, but a joyous riot of color.

"May I ask if these are for sale? "

"They are, sir. I took them to the market square a few blocks away but…" The girl looked down and Florian wondered if he'd misjudged her age – she looked older this way, and very sad, although she was trying to hide it. "It's so close to the holiday… people have already decorated." She looked up at him and smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "There's lots of apple sellers this time of year and they go bad so quick. But these…" She looked down at the slightly soggy mass in her basket.

"I haven't decorated yet and these would be just the thing to brighten my room, although I haven't a tree yet."

"Don't you have ornaments already?" The girl couldn't seem to fathom a rich gentleman not having Christmas decorations.

"Unfortunately, I don't." Florian looked at the basket again and thought of the money in his pocket. Ray insisted he have an allowance, but Florian didn't like to use it. Still, he could repair the damage he'd done at least, and perhaps solve a small problem of his own. "Do you think these would be enough for a small tree? Or is it an imposition if I buy them all?"

"All of them? But sir, they're wet."

"Because of me, and look," He showed her the yellow bow he'd been holding. "They're drying already. I really would like to have them if you don't mind."

"Sir! Of, course sir." She was quickly counting the bows even as her mind raced ahead to the thought of bringing such a sum home to her mother. It was just the two of them in their tiny little apartment but mother kept it warm and tidy and there was always a little something to eat even if some days the soup was thin.

"There's twenty-nine, sir. A penny a piece." She looked down, almost embarrassed by asking for such a large amount of money and half expecting him to refuse. Instead he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, noting that the people around them had lost interest in their exchange and were hurrying around them.

"How big is your tree?" the girl asked at last, realizing she hadn't answered his question.
"I don't have one yet, but this way I can get something the right size for the decorations." Florian laughed at her expression. "I'm terribly late with my decorating, aren't I?"

"We've had our tree up for almost three weeks," she told him proudly.

"Well then I must have these bows. Don't you agree?" Florian handed the girl an amount more than three times the price of the bows. When he saw her blush and look away he realized that she was embarrassed that she couldn't give him correct change. "For the bows and the advice." He told her, placing the coin in her hand. "Please accept it with my thanks."

The girl looked stunned so Florian tried to divert her by reaching into the basket and lifting out several of the bows. He frowned slightly, then laughed. "Oh dear."

"Sir?"

"I have nothing to carry them in." He thought for a moment, then put the ones in his hand into his jacket pocket. With her help he managed to get them all into his pockets, laughing at the bulges they created. "I think I should take these home before searching for my tree."

The girl nodded, trying not to giggle at the sight of such a proper gentleman with his pockets stuffed full of bits of lace and cloth. She'd certainly have a story for her mother tonight.

"Now then," Florian looked around, "I wonder which way is Rue St Pierre?"

"Are you lost?" the girl asked solemnly. He really was a most unusual gentleman. "If you please, sir, the market is that way." She pointed to the right. "There are always cabs there, or you can just walk back the way you came and turn left at the big stone house with the lion statue in front."

"I remember seeing that," Florian said half to himself. He gave her a small bow. "That you, Miss. You've been very kind." Florian turned and walked away, already imagining his tree. It wasn't going to be like anything he was used to and he rather liked that idea. He idly wondered what Ray would think, with the house tree already tastefully arrayed in gold and jewel-like ornaments as a concession to their place in society and not because Ray or even Laila wanted the thing.

Florian smiled to himself and patted his pocket. Tomorrow he'd find a small tree and decorate it himself and then, when Ray wasn't around, he just might sneak the tree into his study.

It was with a much lighter heart that Florian finally conceded that he was lost and hailed a cab.

 

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