Light Fantastique

by Cecilia Dominic

  Wasn’t Edward supposed to be observing? Where is he? Iris’s concern for Edward came through their link.

  A pressure at the back of her skull made Marie lift her skirts and trot to meet Iris in the lobby. When she opened the door of the theatre, the noise of a gunshot split her awareness in two. With one side of her mind, she took stock to make sure none of the windows had been pierced and Iris was safe. She and Edward stood away from the windows, which thankfully seemed whole. With that settled, Marguerite the Spy took over so quickly Marie was barely aware of the changes in her.

  She stopped, remembering her mother’s words that she had more control over the roles than she recognized.

  I will give you expression, but you need to let me lead. She imagined herself and Marguerite in a waltz with Marie dressed and leading like a man.

  She edged to the nearest window and, careful to stay as much behind the curtains as possible, peeked out. Two national guardsmen knelt by a supine figure on the sidewalk and gestured for the gathering crowd to return to their homes.

  It was the violin case beside the injured man that made Marie forget caution and run out the front door of the theatre. She shed Marguerite like a cloak, panic replacing the role.

  “Johann?” she cried.

  But no, the man had light brown hair, not blond. He lifted his head.

  “You must lay back, Monsieur.” One of the guards held a rag over a spot on his abdomen.

  The ashen color of Frederic’s face and stream of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth told Marie that the guard’s attention was futile.

  “Do you know this man, Mademoiselle?” the other one asked. His bushy eyebrows tilted in sympathy.

  “Yes, he is a friend.”

  The guard moved aside so Marie could kneel beside Frederic. She took his hand, but he turned his face away.

  “You come too late, Marie. I am finished.”

  “What were you doing out here, you stupid man?” she asked. Relief that it wasn’t Bledsoe lying in front of her turned to guilt. Yes, Frederic was annoying, but he didn’t deserve to die.

  He turned back toward her and took his hand from hers. “I came to ensure you and Madame were safe.”

  Now the guilt turned to sorrow and choked Marie with its bittersweetness. “You didn’t have to do that. We’re fine. We can escape underground if we need to.”

  “I also need to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and pressed something into her hand. “Do not look at it now. Just take it.”

  Marie took the packet of paper with something hard inside and slipped it into the hidden pocket in her skirt. She looked up when a hand squeezed her shoulder, and she saw Iris stood beside her along with the others. Radcliffe ushered the other guard away and examined the wound. He looked at Marie and shook his head.

  Marie took Frederic’s hand and tried to smile encouragement, but the tightness in her throat muscles wouldn’t allow much expression. She’d done this on stage, knelt by a dying lover, but her previous roles retreated from her, leaving her emotionally naked.

  One line did float into her mind.

  “You’ll be fine. Just take a little rest.”

  Frederic coughed. “This will be more than a little rest, Mademoiselle, and I will be far from fine. Ah, if only you had accepted my proposals.” He tried to chuckle, but he grimaced instead. “I see that rake Bledsoe has abandoned you, so I am doubly sorry to leave you.”

  Marie knew that Bledsoe had a good reason for leaving them, but she felt his absence. Not that there was anything either he or Frederic could do against a Prussian mortar.

  “Never mind him. Just tell me who did this to you.”

  He coughed again, and more blood oozed from his mouth. “I did not see them, and the street was deserted.”

  Marie looked up. Radcliffe spoke to the two guardsmen a little distance away, so she knew he was already questioning witnesses.

  “I will find out who did this, and I will avenge you.”

  “Do not worry about revenge,” he whispered. “For they have only put me out of my greatest misery at you not loving me.”

  Frederic’s eyes fluttered closed, and Marie kissed him on the forehead. He took a last rattling breath and lay still.

  A vibration in the air heralded the hum of airship motors. Strong hands pulled Marie away from Frederic. Her mind had gone numb, her body stiff. This couldn’t have happened, could it? She would walk off stage now, and everything would be normal.

  “Pick her up, Patrick, she’s in shock.”

  Radcliffe’s voice—his doctor voice, she called it, when he was taking charge—came to her as though he stood at the back of the theatre. The ground left her feet, and she found warmth and softness to one side, cold and regret on the other. Not that she hadn’t loved Frederic—she couldn’t force that emotion—but that she hadn’t been kinder to him.

  Just before they entered the theatre, she looked up and saw three airships flying in formation overhead. They were low enough for her to see they were unmarked.

  “Privateers doing reconnaissance,” O’Connell muttered.

  “For who?” Iris asked.

  “For whoever is paying them the most.”

  Pieces of paper fluttered down from the sky, and Iris grabbed one midair. They entered the warmth of the lobby, but Marie felt cold all over. She glanced up to the little balcony over the box office and saw a glint of light off metal, but then it was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marquis de Monceau’s Townhouse, 4 Dec 1870

  When Johann was shown into the drawing room, he expected to see the Marquis de Monceau and Madame Cinsault in some sort of state of déshabillé, but only the marquis met him, and thankfully the nobleman was fully clothed.

  “No Madame?” Johann couldn’t resist saying.

  The marquis poured himself a generous glass of brandy and held up the decanter, his eyebrows asking the question.

  “Please,” Johann said. He set his violin case by the chaise and joined the marquis at the bar.

  “To the emperor. May his bladder stone drag him to hell for getting us into this mess,” the marquis said.

  Johann clinked his glass to his host’s. “And to your health.”

  “And yours as well.”

  The brandy slid with surprising smoothness down Johann’s throat. “You’ve gotten into your cellar. I thought you only brought this stuff out for special occasions.”

  The marquis’s shoulders slumped, or they seemed to. Today he wore a coat of purple, and he displayed his signature style of combining the fashion of the previous century with modern conventions. After what Iris had discovered in his chateau, the marquis’s odd taste in clothing that straddled centuries made more sense.

  “I’m afraid I’ve gotten word that Daphne might be in more danger, so she is in hiding somewhere safe.”

  “Not here?”

  The marquis only shrugged. “I need to know if I can trust you before I reveal her whereabouts to you.”

  Previously Johann would have been happy to follow the strange steps of this dance of secrets and revelations, but he wanted to be away and with his friends in the theatre. And Marie, if he were to be honest. He wanted to do something to quell the panic in her eyes.

  “I don’t care where Madame Cinsault ended up. Her butler is lying in the city morgue, so keeping her hidden seems a prudent course.”

  “That is sad news but not unexpected. I never trusted the fellow.” The marquis gestured for Johann to take a seat in a wingback armchair by the fire and sat in the one beside it. He slumped back and took another gulp.

  Johann took the seat that had been indicated for him. “He had an interesting tattoo on his wrist. A square inside a circle. Have you seen the symbol before?”

  “You know I have.” Now he sounded peevish.

  “No
, I didn’t know. Where?”

  “It was marked on the crates that brought my statues to me, the kouros including the one Mademoiselle McTavish damaged.”

  “Ah, right, you mentioned you wanted to talk about that.”

  The afternoon light coming through the window showed the lines around the marquis’s eyes and mouth, particularly when he deepened them with a scowl.

  “Things have been happening in my library. It seems that whatever she did, she started something sinister. That’s how I ended up in my townhouse even though it’s the dead of winter—I can’t stand being there anymore.”

  An icy drop of anxiety dripped from the back of Johann’s skull and down his spine. He remembered Iris and Marie talking about some sort of force in the chateau on their way to the fateful party, but he’d been focused on his performance and had only half-listened.

  “What sort of things?” His irreverent side wanted to ask if the strange occurrences had interfered with the marquis’s ability to bring ladies in there and have them swoon in his arms when the statues started moving. If so, that would explain why he was so grumpy.

  “You know they move, that they were supposedly part of some larger piece. Some of them have started moving singly, and two of them turn their heads.”

  “While you’re looking at them?” Johann tried to remember if the statues had separate pieces for head and body.

  “While I’m out of the library, but when I return, their faces are turned toward the door as though they were expecting something. Maybe me.” He drained his glass. “And then at night, when I walk by the door, I hear whispers. You probably think I’m insane.”

  “No…” Johann had seen stranger. “But I do wonder how you think Miss McTavish could have possibly started all of it.”

  “What was she looking for? Really looking for, not your cover story. I’ve done some digging and found your travel permits requested by that American Parnaby Cobb. Americans don’t get involved in anything unless there’s something in it for them.”

  Johann studied the fire. How much to tell him? He and the marquis had been friends for years. In spite of the marquis’s temper and having been run out of town by him the previous summer, Johann felt he could trust him to a point. He selected his words as a debutante might choose desserts at a dance—carefully and for maximum satisfaction.

  “The American wanted us to look into something even he wasn’t sure existed. Some sort of substance from ancient times.”

  “The Eros Element. Yes, I’ve come across mention of it in my studies.”

  Damn. “Well, that’s what we were supposed to search for, and so Miss McTavish was acting as our archaeologist in her father’s absence.”

  The marquis gave him a piercing look unmuddled by the brandy. “That explains her interest, but not what happened. And did you find it?”

  “We came close, but we didn’t find exactly what Cobb had us look for. He fired us when we were in Rome.”

  “So what’s happening in my house has something to do with the Eros Element and Mademoiselle McTavish.” He leaned back, and the chair’s winged protrusion obscured his face. Johann wanted to see him to try and guess his thoughts, but he waited. Typically the marquis thought out loud.

  “And this symbol has something to do with it. That’s why you’re interested in Madame Cinsault. And here I thought she was another of your conquests.”

  “Not exactly.” Johann smiled. He wouldn’t mention Marie to the marquis. She was his alone, and he surprised himself with his thought that she wasn’t a conquest—at least not in his usual sense.

  “Will it help you to succeed on your mission if I can get you out of Paris?”

  Now Johann did lean forward to see if the marquis was serious. He looked straight ahead, a strange expression on his face, and the fire flickered in his eyes with diabolical light.

  “I’m sure we will need to leave at some point, but Mademoiselle has her studies to consider.” He wouldn’t mention the aether light experiment, although he guessed Edward and Patrick had made as much progress on that as they would, at least with regard to harnessing its luminous power.

  The marquis waved his hand. “The Ecole was one of the emperor’s pet projects. It won’t reconvene next semester—that toad Firmin knows but won’t tell his students until after they pay their tuition and he can disappear with it. His time at the Louvre is done once the emperor is, and there is a strong current of revolution. Anyone who is intelligent will leave Paris once the siege is over before all hell breaks loose.”

  “And you won’t try to stop Firmin?”

  “Who says I haven’t? But I have to tread carefully. He’s the type of man who will do something desperate and dangerous when he’s cornered.”

  “Then I will pass along your generous offer to the others,” Johann said. “Although I’m not sure how you plan to get us out when the city is locked down tight and airship space is outrageously expensive, not to mention dangerous.”

  “There is a favor I would ask in return. Once you leave and satisfy your mission, bring Mademoiselle back and have her reverse whatever happened in my house.”

  “You don’t want her to do that before we leave?” Johann asked and then mentally kicked himself.

  “No, I shall wait until after the siege is over to ensure that my house survives. If it does not, then I will determine a different price.”

  Should I agree? Johann pondered his half-full brandy snifter. Regardless of whether the Prussians invade or not, the emperor’s time is done, and this city does have a history of violence and chaos with its governmental transitions.

  “I cannot speak for Mademoiselle, but I will bring your offer to her.”

  “Good.” The marquis stood, and Johann did as well. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Johann left his brandy on a side table and picked up his violin. “I trust you no longer need my services this afternoon?”

  “No, even the sound of violin music makes me anxious after that night. Be careful. Oh, and take a bottle of the brandy. I suspect you’ll need it.”

  Johann bit back his reply, that he had no control over where the Prussians aimed their shells and instead bowed and thanked the marquis for the gift. The butler let him out, and the coachman awaited him. He hated to be the one to break the news to Iris—she’d worked so hard at her classes—but he would see if she’d withdraw before she paid her tuition for the next semester.

  It seems ridiculously difficult to find an honest man in Paris.

  * * * * *

  Marie watched the guardsmen leave with Frederic’s body. Maestro Fouré had arrived during the commotion—another man to make sure they were safe but who couldn’t do anything about the situation. He, Lucille and Iris tried to get Marie to come farther inside into the theatre, but she refused. She had to know Johann was safe. Yes, she could acknowledge the desire as irrational—what was he to her, or her to him?—but she couldn’t sit still in the semi-dark and wait. At least this way she could watch outside for his return.

  A woman caught her attention. Not that it was difficult to spot her—the streets were generally deserted, people hiding in their basements and other underground places, and she also wore bright blue, which made her stand out and identified her as a streetwalker.

  She must be trying to solicit the guardsmen. Stupid at a time like this, but I have to admire her persistence.

  But the woman seemed to try to avoid the attention of the guards around the church and instead would pause in front of the theatre, look at it, and shake her head. She then walked to the end of the block, turned around, and repeated the process.

  Marie was about to go out and ask the prostitute what she wanted—none had been so brazen as to approach the theatre before—when the marquis’s carriage pulled to the end of the drive and to the side portico. She ran to unlock the door and meet Johann, who emerged with
his violin and a bottle of brandy. The label indicated it was from the marquis’s private collection. She halted before she flung herself into his arms. His hands were full, and irritation replaced relief at seeing him safe.

  Has he been drinking and relaxing while the rest of us have been dealing with murder and fear?

  “A present from the marquis?”

  “One of a few. This one doesn’t have any strings attached, at least I think it doesn’t.”

  Now Marie’s curiosity piqued. “What else did he give you? And has he forgiven Iris for breaking his statue?”

  She knew Iris had acted in self-defense, and she still wondered how Iris had managed to pull an object from the past to smash something in the present.

  “He’s tied the incident to a different problem.” He handed her the bottle. “Take a swig. This is going to get complicated.”

  She took the brandy but didn’t open it. “We should probably talk to the others. And I have something to tell you—Frederic is dead.”

  She couldn’t help the tears that pushed their way out of the corners of her eyes. How was he dead? She wouldn’t miss him that much, but his murder was another sign of the world gone awry.

  And the danger of her talent. Would he have returned if she’d not been playing the ideal woman?

  The look Johann gave her made her wish she’d kept the stupid tears where they belonged. It was the sympathetic expression one usually had for a new widow.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, and he appeared to retreat into himself. “What happened?”

  “He was shot on the front walk. He was coming to make sure we were safe.” The irritated edge leeched into her tone in spite of her efforts to keep her voice neutral.

  “Of course.” His chest puffed and deflated with a sigh. “Then we definitely have to talk, to plan. It’s becoming too dangerous here.”

  The others also greeted Bledsoe with the coolness of emotional exhaustion. Edward had disappeared with Patrick into the lower parts of the theatre to continue working on the lighting system, as everyone had agreed that it gave those on stage a most flattering glow. Iris sat with a large book and a lantern, Lucille with a script, Fouré with a score, and Radcliffe with a scowl.