When Philippe finally came to, he found himself in his master bedroom.Thr Heavy, richly embroidered curtains framing the windows, allowing only a soft, filtered light to enter. The air was scented with a hint of fresh lavender.
The doctor was checking Philippe's pulse with a polished brass stethoscope. The man was in his late 50s, with a distinguished but weary appearance. His short, silver-streaked chestnut hair and a clean-shaven face.
"You're awake. Good," the doctor said, his voice carrying a comforting resonance.
"What happened?" Philippe asked, his voice raspy.
"Master Philippe, I was so worried," said Charles, the head butler, standing beside the bed. His eyes were red from crying, and he looked disheveled in his formal but disarrayed attire.
"You fainted from stress and lack of sleep. You've been asleep for the full day."
"Where's my wife?" Philippe's voice cracked .
Charles, struggling to maintain composure, responded, "Not this again, sir," tears streaming down his face.
The doctor, with his calm and reassuring demeanor, continued, "I recommend two weeks of bed rest, monsieur. Avoid all forms of stress and take your medicine twi-"
In frustration, Philippe slammed his fist hard on the bedside table. The crystal vase resting on it wobbled a bit but remained upright.
"Where is my wife!?" Philippe demanded in a dangerous voice, fixing his eyes on the doctor.
The head butler's sobs grew even louder. "He's gone mad!"
The doctor calmly took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt.
"Monsieur Lemieux, I would suggest lowering your voice unless you want the whole country saying that Duke Lemieux has gone mad," he cautioned, glancing at the ornate bedroom door. Phillipe took note of the underline message the king had ears and eyes everywhere. He couldn't leave a opening for the king but he need time to figure it.
He glanced at the door and considered his options before saying, "You are right, doctor. It must be stress from overwork. Charles, pay the man and send him on his way," he said with a hint of resignation.
Charles paid him a generous sum to ensure today's events remained confidential. Then he swiftly escorted the doctor out the door into an waiting carriage doctor.
"I will have lunch served," Charles said, turning to Philippe. "A light soup will do some good."
"Thank you, Charles," Philippe replied with a weak smile.
Charles began to walk away. The nightmare seemed to be over, and he could now go confidently tell the staffers that their boss hadn't gone crazy. It was all just stress.
As Charles reached the door, Philippe called out, "Oh, and Charles?"
Charles turned back, his eyes inquiring. "Yes?"
"Bring me all the family records from the past year"