That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

He spoke quietly and rapidly to the woman, but Sophie was able to pick up some words; he was insisting he owed the woman money for something. The woman stared apathetically over her baby’s head as he forced the money on her. Sophie sent up a prayer for the baby as her rascally admirer took her arm again.

  Then they were in a small square, a comparatively open space full of people for the most part ill dressed, with some of them, including women, wearing the notorious red headgear. These Sophie had been told were badges of iniquity, and yet their owners seemed to arouse no hostility in Gilles Long Legs. Of course, he was used to meeting people wearing them.

  The ubiquitous rubbish had been cleared away here, and barefoot girls danced. The ill-looking man whom Gilles Long Legs called, ‘The Professor’ was standing on a strange little wooden hut to one side of the square and tootling away on a small tin whistle as if his life depended on it.

  Sophie wondered how he could, for his cough worried her. His fellow rascal from earlier, who had dark curly hair and only differed from a stage pirate in that he had no earring or knife in his teeth, was playing a violin, eyes closed and a half empty bottle of wine by his feet.

  A bright eyed girl with a smile ornamenting her worn dress came up. Gilles Long Legs greeted her as ‘Francoise’. “This is Sophie. She is an Anglaise.”

  “Bonsoir.” Then Francoise produced some English proudly. “Gilles nice.”

  “I think so too.” Sophie smiled.

  Meanwhile, the man whom Gilles called ‘Sly Boots’ climbed down to speak at length. He brought an air of violence to speech, his jaw tensed as though he chewed his words and would like to take a bite out of somebody, yet for sure he was no vampire.

  Gilles’ eyes did more flashing while his hand tightened on Sophie’s arm. He caressed it softly while he spoke in a bitter tone. Marcel Sly Boots smiled savage agreement.

  Gilles Long Legs turned to Sophie. “They searched but could not find those salauds. They met one of Southern Georges’ people (Sophie could guess ‘Southern Georges’’ identity), and he said they’d put out word about them. I am angry such cowards escape the – the beating they deserve. But I would – be enraged, because it was you. I do like to avoid killing even such as they.”

  “I am sure you joke merely.” Later, Sophie was to wonder.

  Then a group of girls took Francoise off and Gilles Long Legs said, “Marcel said we were so taken up in our talk they left us to it and came straight here. It is not like me not to notice what is going on, but,” he laughed and squeezed her hands, looking down at her meaningfully, “Everything is different today.”

  “Ah, it is.” She looked back up at him adoringly. Then she thought she must hurry in making her explanation. There might be no need. He never had said how long she spent with him on ‘that evening’. Still, she mustn’t leave it too late. She sensed they would be back in the sickroom all too soon. Would he remember? “Do you believe that strange things can happen with time?”

  He laughed. “Bien sûr, for since I met you has seemed as five minutes. Besides, I keep having a feeling of déjà vu, though I have never yet overset myself on so little wine. Minutes before you came, I had – what is your English? a ‘funny turn’. I remember nothing save rushing to the door gabbling nonsense. The others came after me, thinking trouble afoot. Then we met.”

  “It was not the wine; it is part of what I want to say –”

  Her words were lost in a shout of laughter from a group nearby; the strange sensation came again.

  As she struggled against it she caught Gilles Long Legs in glancing admiringly down at her bosom. He pulled his eyes away. “Come and dance.” He saw her pause, and urged her, “Do not be shy.”

  He led her swiftly into the middle of the group of dancers. They danced a lively sort of jig which made it impossible to say more than few words. Sophie saw her dress was causing a stir, though to her it was such an everyday garment. Some of the wilder looking girls wore their hair hanging down, too, so her own loose hair didn’t trouble her.

  The Professor was signalling to Gilles Long Legs from the top of the roof of the box like structure, so he led Sophie up to it. “We must speak in English, Professor.”

  The Professor smiled. “I English speak gooder than Gilles. Like you Paris?”

  “I do indeed.” Paris might be a dangerous, unpredictable place now, but she would love anywhere where she could be with Monsieur Émile like this.

  “You make Gilles a man good.”

  Her rascally companion laughed, looking down at her, “I will be good, Sophie. To you, anyway.”

  Someone was calling over to the Professor, asking him to play something or other. Even as he agreed, he was taken over by another fit of coughing.

  “His cough is bad.” Sophie said in concern as Gilles Long Legs led her off. He flinched. “We are trying to get him to go away for a stay by the sea. He says he ain’t heard of holidays.”

  “You must. But, Gilles –”

  But he was pulling her close. “Come and dance again. I dread you will say to me that you must go home. Of course, I will take you, though I must dismay your friends, who must be respectable. Still, how I wish I could keep you here with me.”

  “And me too. I love being with you here.”

  They began to dance to the slow tune Marcel and Felix were playing. Gilles Long Legs squeezed her waist. “I must not be too amorous. Those louts earlier must have terrified you.” Tingles of pleasure ran through her at his touch. It didn’t seem to matter about the horrible brief groping from the robber.

  She began again, “You see, I was saying about time –”

  “Je regrette, but I must – what word? – ah, ‘interrupt’ to say you are the sweetest girl ever I met.” He tipped her chin up. “I regret I must kiss you.” He began to kiss her, and she found herself kissing him back. Then, realising that she was kissing a man in the street like a hussy, she went red, pulled her lips away and stared at her shoes.

  He laughed, giving her a condescending chuck her under the chin. “You are adorable, Sophie.”

  “But Gilles – I want to tell you now how I come to be here.”

  “I can tell from your kiss whatever has happened, you are an innocent. Give me another kiss and I will tell you something I am sure you guess already. I am astonished, for I thought it could never happen to me.”

  “Oh, but it is in the street.” She did kiss him, anyway.

  “Je t’adore, I love you, Sophie.”

  She shivered all over with happiness. “Je t’adore aussi, Gilles.”

  Falling in love with Monsieur Émile back at Plas Uchaf had been like falling over a precipice. It had felt as if she clawed at a stone, a blade of grass, anything in her desperate struggles to hold back from her fate (‘You will fall for him like a ton of coals being delivered’); yet inexorably she tumbled down the slope down towards the gaping abyss. She only realised she had tipped over the edge and was falling down the chasm on the night of the ball.

  Here it was as if she reached the bottom of the chasm – dreading the impact – only to find it was not a hard surface, but in his arms.

  Yet, he was so undeniable a scoundrel it was still shocking.

  He evidently agreed with her about his character, “Sophie, can you really love a villain such as myself?”

  “I do already.”

  His eyes glowed, and they kissed again. When they pulled apart he said, “I can hear singing.”

  So could she. It was herself, singing, Ombra Mai Fu. Only, she was not accompanying herself on an instrument, and she sounded sad.

  She knew then her time was running out. “Gilles, please listen to me. When we meet again you mustn’t hate me when I say that –” Then the disembodied feeling took her over again. She fought to speak, but made no sound. Everything was beginning to dissolve. A drunken man fell like a log at their feet and Gilles Long Legs whisked her out of the way. She felt the world spin and she hung on to him but was wrenched away.

  They were back o
n the bed, still holding each other. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and Sophie saw in his all the tenderness of one moment or eight months ago. She could feel her own eyes glowing. “Do you believe me now?”

  His voice, so vigorous moments before, was hoarse and weakened but just as caressing. “Ah, Sophie, I lived that twice, and you were telling the truth all along. I could not believe myself so far mistaken in you. I have done you great injustice. Can you forgive me?”

  “Very easily.”

  “When I found myself in Adeline’s cafe, for some moments I remembered everything. I leapt up, struggling to speak, while people thought that I was choking and tried to slap me on the back. Then it was gone. Now I realise you were trying to tell me what would happen but could not.”

  “I was trying so hard to tell you, but every time I lost all speech.”

  He kissed her. His breath was flavoured by the herbs from the cure, though a kiss from him would still have been exquisite even had it been sour.

  As they drew apart, miserable recollection came back into his eyes. “And now it is too late. Even if you do not hate me for going to That Jade, now through my own pathetic philandering I must become a monster.”

  She stroked his face. “Do I seem to hate you? You mustn’t despair about That Woman biting you. That is why Katarina and I have been tormenting you by giving you only the herbs to drink. Are you thirsty?” she added automatically.

  “Alors, not for blood yet.” Seeing her wince, he caressed her hair, smiling. She automatically glanced at his teeth, as so often during these past three days. She saw no difference, though they might be changing imperceptibly.

  He made to sit up while she moved back to give him room. “What day is it? My mind seems to have been wandering a long time, though I know that you have been tending to me far more kindly than I deserve.”

  She handed him the cordial, and told him the day. “What can have happened? Has it to do with Kenrick’s Mischievous Experiments?”

  She glanced at the clock, wondering if time passed here when they were away. She had last looked at it minutes before she began stroking his forehead, and it was ten o’ clock. Now it read five past three; it was so dark, it must be morning.

  Perhaps Agnes had called in to find them missing? Perhaps not, for when Sophie had pleaded with her to sleep through and not get up till five at the earliest, Agnes smiled knowingly how she might.

  Sophie wondered if their bodies had remained here, not vanished, as hers had disappeared at Chester. Otherwise, their bodies would have been in two different times and places at once. Then there was the fact that Émile would have been in France anyway, whereas she wouldn’t. Was that why the two of him merged into one? Such puzzles were beyond her.

  He took her hand and stroked it, his eyes clouding. “That Woman did something with a book that made reflections of my life in Paris on the ceiling.” He shuddered, looking horrified and going slightly green, so that Sophie selfishly hoped that he wouldn’t be sick again. But he got the better of it, saying after a few moments, “Of course, I will not tell you about that.”

  He caressed her face just as he had in Paris. “I think I am dangerous to be about, ma chère. A ruffian and a monster haunted by impromptu trips through time. Surely you deserve better? I must not be selfish and endanger you, but how can I endure to let you go?”

  She said, “We had just told each other something back in Paris when we were rudely interrupted.”

  “I love you, Sophie. That was true even when I took myself off to that cursed house to bring this horror on myself.”

  “I love you, too, Monsieur Émile, as with Monsieur Gilles Long Legs. You mustn’t believe that a horrible fate is inevitable. Child though she is, Katarina knows more of this then we, and she is hopeful. She seems to see a – a non fatal vampire bite as a sort of illness, which can be cured.”

  He kissed her again. “We will talk more, my lovely girl.” His lids began to droop, and he said, “But no forgetting me, Sophie. There is no excuse, this time.”

  “Do not joke about that! I am so sorry for it all! There is no way that I could have known, but I must have seemed such a contemptible liar. I hope you didn’t hate me?”

  “No, but it was like your answering me with a slap in the face. Après tout, I jeered at Kenrick’s talk of time travel, ma chère, yet such a peculiar explanation might have come to my stupid head. Tell me, did you have any unaccountable happenings back last May?”

  “Why yes, I was on the bed in a strange sleep one day, and Harriet said I had gone out, and I couldn’t deny that there was dust on my clothes.”

  He nodded, but his eyelids began to droop. She kissed the freckles across the bridge of his nose – as she had so longed to for days – and he muttered something, fingering her necklace.

  “I’m sorry, I caught not your words.”

  “This necklace was transported entire, like you from Chester. After you vanished, I still kept it in my pocket, as you know.”

  She drew his head down on her shoulder. With a luxurious sigh as he drew in the scent of her skin, he fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  “This does beat everything, Monsieur Gilles! You are becoming as bad as the girls. Next you will be screaming at the sight of a bat.” Georges hurled a log on the fire and sparks shot up the chimney.

  Émile, resplendent in his crimson dressing gown if pale and thin, stretched out his legs to the blaze. “No, Georges. Next I will be turning into one. I may yet take a bite out of your horrible neck.”

  “Merde! The fever has disordered your brain, Gilles Long Legs. That and reading too many books and working out too many sums. I always said no good comes of overtaxing your brain, and now you have done yourself a mischief, it is clear. Here is Éloise with your petit-déjeuner.”

  Émile wrinkled his nose. “Thank you, Éloise, but I don’t want that.”

  “Monsieur should try to start eating again.” Éloise did some eyelash batting as she put down the loaded tray.

  “Éloise, you have been most kind to me and I do want to thank you, but hark you, Georges, how I am tyrannised over by women. Never allow yourself to become ill.”

  Georges said, “The girls were wearing themselves out caring for you while you were sick, so the least you can do now is eat up your food like a good boy.”

  “I jest merely. Éloise, I know that I owe you all a debt of gratitude.” Grimacing, Émile began on the food. “Find my pocket book, Georges.”

  “Do you suppose for a second you can reimburse me for those boots in which I cut such a dash respectable women used to pursue me in the street?”

  “No, and I ain’t going to try. I have only had my senses back a few hours, and already I weary of hearing of those boots.”

  Éloise fussed about, arranging things and pouring Émile’s coffee, pausing to smile at him now and then. When Georges came back with the pocket book, Émile took out some notes. “Ma petite, I know that money cannot repay kindness, but it is better than no thanks at all.”

  “Monsieur, I could not take such a big present. What would people say?”

  “Don’t tell ‘em.”

  “Monsieur is so kind that were I was less shy I would kiss him.” Éloise made a show of putting the notes in her bosom. Georges shifted, muttering. Émile’s gaze intensified. “Best that you do not, Éloise, for I may not have turned into a eunuch quite.”

  Madame Blanch called, “Éloise!”

  Éloise pulled a face, curtseyed, and swayed towards the door, pausing to smile over her shoulder as she went out.

  Émile laughed. Georges pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “What she sees in you, I cannot imagine, and sweet Mademoiselle Sophie, too. By the by, I gather from the way Mademoiselle grinned from ear to ear this morning you have mended matters between you.”

  Émile put down his knife. “What happened was so odd that I could not believe it.”

  “Doubt me not.”

  “I don’t mean anything like that, you di
rty minded rascal. I suppose this next will appeal to you: it still sickens me to think of it, though, so let us not go into details, but you remember I said earlier That Jade pleasured herself by showing pictures of things I did in Paris on her ceiling? The canopy of the bed had been removed, I do recollect me.”

  “Ten to one you were in a fever already.”

  “It was part of the nightmare that led to her sucking my blood. I ain’t going to whine about that, I brought it on myself, the girls warned me. Those pictures appeared last night, pulling Sophie and I into my exemplary life back then.”

  “You are raving again.” Georges put his hand on Émile’s forehead.

  “Quite cool, ain’t it? Besides, Miss Sophie ain’t been in a fever. We relived that evening, or I did. I had a feeling of déjà vu at times. It was all new for ma pauvre petite. She was telling the truth throughout, and I was too stupid to connect it with Kenrick’s talk about thought forms and travel through time.”

  Georges shot an uneasy look at the ceiling. “Merde! Kenrick should be locked away.”

  “Unlike you and I, Georges? Yes, I only hope that was the last of those living pictures and Madame’s torture. More of that anon. I am besotted with Miss Sophie, Georges. Even before, I could not but love her. It has been torment. I want to marry her at once, but how can I, save she keeps me as a pet flapping about in the attics somewhere? I don’t suppose ma pauvre petite wants to spend her wedding night in a coffin.”

  Georges laughed. “You will get the better of this foolishness once she has accepted you. Alors, I won’t speak of some folk’s odd tastes for coffins. Gilles Long Legs, when I allowed myself to run on so about Agnes you said, ‘Spare me these sentimental effusions’.”

  “I was a bitter man then. Now, I am a lovesick bat.”

  “Merde! Eat the rest of that petit déjeuner. You will need your strength back for the wedding night, and not in a coffin, neither.” Georges wandered over to the bureau just inside the open dressing room door, and picked up an old book.

  Émile’s head turned quickly. His tone was sharp. “Give me that, Georges!”