That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  He turned with eyes as near solemn as she had seen. He drew her up with him. He did some chin-chucking. “You are in the right, Sophie.”

  Her voice wobbled. “Katarina says this herbal remedy has an equal chance of success or failure. If the worst comes about, Émile, and you do develop a – longing for blood – Heavens, this is grotesque – I wonder if I should let you take a little at a time for me, to satisfy your thirst?”

  “You are a brave girl to speak of it. I cannot judge yet, but I fear that restraint with you would be no easier for me in that than it is with the other sort of desire…Katarina tells me that if they escape being dispatched, the Man Vampire ages so laggardly that he may go on for two hundred and fifty years. Bien sûr, I would not like to live so long without you, but I will hazard that if our fears are realised, my devout girl would never agree to join me through religious scruple.”

  “Oh, my dear.” She squeezed his hands. “I should think it over before giving you my answer, yet I think you guess truly, Émile.”

  The clock tower chimed one. He sighed. “Alors, my lovely girl, we will talk on this dismal topic again. I am determined that should I turn to a monster, you must be in a position to live apart from me. Accordingly, I have instructed my lawyer to settle such monies on you as shall make you independent and comfortable.”

  “Ah, Émile, it is so good in you, but don’t speak of that.” She sighed too, and they kissed some more.

  Soon it became passionate. “Come, Sophie, we must to lunch or I will be back to suggesting we anticipate our marriage vows.”

  Émile and the Dowager Countess finally compromised about the timing of the wedding – Émile was to marry Sophie by special licence, but not for ten days, rather than within the week. Émile, having rushed to get the licence, hurried to set about renting a house called Plas Planwydden (Plane Tree Mansion)* outside Llandyrnog on the Denbigh Road, which the owners had only left days since.

  He took Sophie to see it, along with their full staff so far, Agnes, Georges and Katarina.

  Sophie knew Émile had written to a man in London whom he wanted to be butler and his wife to be housekeeper. The second chef at Plas Uchaf would condescend to be cook. Sophie felt so timid at the idea of running her own house that she was glad that Émile was taking care of much of that side of things.

  Katarina ran to look over the gardens. Georges and Agnes went to look over the servants’ quarters. As Sophie and Émile walked through the reception rooms, she exclaiming in delight at it all, Émile looked dubious.

  “Believe it or not, this is one of the largest houses in the area after Plas Uchaf. But we shall be cosy enough here, and will tuck your redoubtable maid and my companion in wickedness up somewhere together. Do you like it?”

  Sophie supposed someone who brought up in the Château des Oliviers might think this mansion cramped. “I love it! It is perfect, and so light!”

  “I suppose it is a comfortable enough place. Can you endure remaining in this area a while, ma chère? I know the proximity of that Monster Bat household is repellent to you, as it is to me, but I think we must stay. I feel I should –” he paused before going on effortfully, “Try and destroy him, thought it seems disgusting to kill him for being the monster that I – I am sorry to dwell on this – may become myself. Besides, if I were careless, which hopefully I am not, it could lead to my going to the gallows. For some reason, that might distress you.”

  Sophie seized him to kiss him. “Oh, don’t!” Then, she remembered Kenrick’s own shuddering pause when he was about to speak of the destruction of vampires.

  “Gilles Long Legs is suffering from moral scruples, my angel. Can this be the affect of your sweetness upon me? Yet my qualms become irrelevant when we think what a menace Kenrick must be to people hereabouts. Alors, we know the Vampire couple are away at present.”

  She thrust these horrors aside. “I love the house, Émile! It is perfect. Not at all too small! I am so lucky!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Some might contend that. Let us see the stables. You wish for a couple of donkeys, Sophie; they are stupid, stubborn creatures, but if you want them then you shall have them.”

  Sophie accompanied him out to the stables. While he strolled critically about, she hoped that he wouldn’t decide against Plas Planwydden due to inadequate stabling. She was already in love with the place. To her relief, he decided they would take it until Dubois Court became free.

  He said he would use the billiards room as his study. This was a shadowy room not far from the servant’s quarters. Sophie wondered at his taste. “But my dear one, it is not at all one of the better rooms. Why not take the delightful bright one with the parquet flooring at the front?”

  “No, this is just what I am looking for. It’s quiet, and out of the way.”

  Something about his look made her ask as they went into the dining room, “Émile, I so hope you have no further strange experiences with time?”

  He did some cheek pinching. “I think that it was a lingering influence which with luck will not happen again. Here is the dining room. We will have us a butler rather less stiff than Roberts, eh?”

  Sophie laughed, gloating at the thought of the two of them dining alone together. Then she forced herself say, “Émile, for all you say, I feel so guilty about keeping what has happened a secret from Lord Ynyr and Her Ladyship, when they have been so kind.”

  Émile looked at a stained glass window, which dropped splashes of red, blue and yellow on the floor in the winter sunshine. It depicted a knight kneeling in apparent subjection to a dark, arrogant looking woman who put Sophie in mind of Ceridwen Kenrick.

  “Why burden them with a horrible secret about which they could do nothing? Besides, even supposing we could convince them, would Madame ma Tante be likely to agree to your marrying a potential Man Vampire? Do you suggest I confide in the Vicar, perhaps at one of his Good Dinners? ‘My dear Monsieur Dubois, I would not contradict you, though these beliefs of yours clearly border on the heretical, but please do recollect you how you have lately suffered a high fever.’’”

  Sophie sighed. She was having made up for everyone at Plas Uchaf a tiny steel cross and chain as a leaving present. It used up most of her savings, but it salved her conscience a little about not warning people of what she knew. Agnes had gone about saying these were powerful good luck charms. The Dowager Countess thought it eccentric; Mrs Brown said it was Papist.

  Sophie burst into admiration at the view of the Famau Mountain from the bow windows in the front rooms. “There are window seats, too, Émile!”

  He laughed. “I see keeping you happy will scarce take much effort.” He leaned on the window seat, gazing over at the mountains, purple in this light, and then looked at her, a slight flickering at the back of his eyes. “Ynyr admitted to a certain tenderness for you, ma chère. I do not blame him, but I am happy to have got you first.”

  Sophie had to smile. He made it sound as if there had been a stampede of admirers jostling each other to be first to cast themselves at her feet. It would have been gratifying to her pride if it had been so, though of course she would have rejected them all for him.

  Upstairs, they came to the nursery apartments. Sophie was eager to see them, though too shy to suggest it. Émile was shockingly direct as he opened the doors, “We may with luck have a small resident for these before we leave.”

  Sophie, as a Proper Young Bride, cast down her eyes. Inside, she thrilled with eagerness. He went in for some more condescending chin chucking at her primness.

  Then, a terrible thought struck her. What if none of the cures worked? Did Man Vampires father partially Vampire babies? Yet she could not mention it to Émile, cheerfully oblivious to such a dread as he was. It might make him delay the wedding while he investigated further; then, should there be any doubt over the matter, it might make him resolve that the best thing that he could do for them all would be to ‘take himself off somewhere’ as he had threatened.

  She decided to do so
me research of her own and place her faith in the cures.

  Katarina hurled herself up the stairs to join them. “Monsieur Émile, it is wonderful here! You must take it! There is a sunken garden with steps down and a sundial, stained glass in the dining room and an aviary!”

  “Certainment that must settle the matter, ma petite. An aviary, eh? Sophie, I hope you do not want a flock of parrots and a monkey besides the donkeys, kittens and, of course, your tame bat.”

  “Georges will do for the monkey.” Agnes said, joining them and noting Sophie’s horrified look.

  You will not be a bat! You must not be!

  Sophie refused to believe Émile could ever turn into a blood sucking being. The idea seemed as ridiculous as it was horrible. He was surely as human as ever, though perhaps his nails did look a little sharp, and he no longer liked herbs and avoided garlic. She tried to believe that was all part of the cure. Hadn’t Katarina more or less said as much?

  “Agnes, it doesn’t mention babies at all.” Sophie thought her maidenly blush was ridiculous in the circumstances as she put down ‘The Legend of the Vampyre’.

  Agnes’ bright eyes were solicitous. “You look so pretty all pink that is no wonder Monsieur Émile falling head over ears for you…Is plain silly of that writer to miss out what matters. Well, Katarina doesn’t remember any Half Vampire babies in her village, but is worrying for you that you don’t know for sure.”

  Sophie got up to pace about, fondling the family ring Émile had given her which she kept on a chain about her neck. “I may be being selfish in taking such a risk should we have children; still, I fear I love him too much to let such a dread deter me.”

  Agnes went over to poke the fire, and then turned. “Is annoyed I am, about my Tarot pack refusing to give sensible answers to me this last while about all this. I have never known it act so. Nain used to say that happens sometimes.”

  Sophie, who’d been secretly hoping for some reassurance from the wicked Tarot pack, felt a stab of disappointment. “Yet perhaps Monsieur Émile will be long free of this by the time – there is need for concern. To be sure, my mother waited three years before John arrived.”

  Despite the menace hanging over them, Sophie went about singing. She might be living in a fool’s paradise, but she couldn’t stop herself. She sang for most of the day that Émile slipped on her finger a beautiful sapphire and garnet ring and she gave him back his other ring.

  Nobody objected to Émile’s reading to them ‘The Lost Treasure of Count Boldino’ instead of ‘Madoc the Magnificent or the Vampyre’s Curse’. It rivalled the other in histrionics, and as it wasn’t about the supernatural, the Dowager Countess preferred it.

  On that day, too, John’s letter of consent arrived.

  Honoured Sir,

  It is with tears of Joy in my eyes, My Dear Sir, I take up my pen to accede to Your Request. A Marriage between your most Distinguished Self and my sweetest Sister is a Blessing that must Crown every other Hope...I cannot express my Delight at the idea of giving my Most Treasured Sister away at the Ceremony that will Join Your Souls as you have already joined Your Hearts. Being Privy to my Sister’s Hopes as ever I was, I do know it is with you that she trusts her Worldly Happiness resides. I am entirely confident, Honoured Sir, to Give her to you with my Devout Blessing… I would further like to give you my Assurance that the Females of my family being all of them Excellent Breeders, I send her to be Your Wife confident that she will present you with a Son and Heir most speedily…”

  The Count wrote to John (not even through his secretary) inviting him to bring Harriet to stay at Plas Uchaf as long as they wished. Sophie could imagine how that letter had been passed about John’s whist club and Harriet’s sewing circle.

  To Sophie’s disappointment, John and Harriet didn’t bring the children, but they brought presents and so much affection that Sophie could almost believe she had been wrong in feeling that at Chester they saw her as a burden.

  In awe of Émile at first, they were overwhelmed by his easy manners. If he repressed a smile at times at what they said, he was so affable to them that Sophie fell on him to cover his face with kisses of thanks whenever she was alone with him.

  Perhaps a fulsome streak is after all a family characteristic.

  Agnes made mouths about Harriet. “I am Glad that I do not work for That One.”

  Harriet advised: “Do not let That Forward Girl Take Advantage. That little girl Monsieur Émile has adopted is near as bad, while that valet of his is beyond anything! I caught him eyeing me as though I were a servant myself. He is a handsome wretch, to be sure. Sophie, you must put your foot down.”

  Far from it, Sophie wanted to make everyone happy.

  Agnes said to her, “That Éloise wants to come to Plas Planwydden, but for sure you don’t want such a flirty baggage making mischief.”

  Basking as she was in Émile’s adoration, Sophie felt no threat from the girl. Besides, she couldn’t credit that Éloise was debauched enough to have aimed to be Émile’s mistress. Overwhelmed by a superstitious fancy that if she was kind to her former rivals, Émile wouldn’t turn into a vampire, she said, “Oh, I’ve no objection.”

  Agnes raised her eyebrows. “I would not advise it, cariad, I mean, Miss Sophie.”

  Georges swaggered up and made his mocking bow. “Mademoseilles.” Agnes frowned. Sophie went away, singing.

  “Jolie Agnes…” He gave her nose a gentle pinch, but she jerked her head away. “Don’t, Georges! I’m too busy to talk. I will never get this gown finished in time.”

  “It makes no matter, she can wear something else.” He caressed her waist.

  She pulled away. “Stop it!”

  He crossed his arms. “Alors, tell me what I have done? Please do not mutter ‘Nothing’. Treat me to the torrent of accusations immediatment.”

  “Ow!” she sucked her pricked finger. “Look what you have made me do! Go away, Georges, I am in no mood for your nonsense.”

  His eyebrows were mingling with the wavy black hair he wore tumbling over his forehead. “Never before have I endured a women speaking to me so and returned for more. But I will endure it and more from you, chérie, and put it down to Good Enough Reasons.” He swung his muscular shoulders as he swaggered away.

  “Humph!” Agnes went back to her sewing.

  “I will be nervous at this dinner, Agnes. Everyone will be looking at me, trying to ascertain what Monsieur mile finds so special about his Aunt’s companion.”

  “There’s so lovely you look, Miss Sophie unless they need spectacles, they must see at once!” As she spoke, Agnes’ brown eyes sparkled almost as much as ever.

  Sophie pulled her thoughts from her own concerns. “Agnes, is anything the matter?”

  “It will pass soon enough, Miss. I am become much too fond of Georges; it is not what I planned. It was ill advised in me to let him meet Eiluned. He is too much of a rascal, and I must think of her.”

  Agnes was looking too sweet for it to occur to Sophie to be moralistic. Instead, she felt a stab of sorrow for Georges, whom Émile said was truly in love with Agnes. She realised how she liked him. “I cannot deny he and his master have been rascals both. But Agnes, for all he is so rakish, I know his feelings for you to be sincere.”

  “He will get the better of it directly. There’s a big difference between marrying a rich rascal and marrying a poor one, Miss.”

  However shy Sophie might be at the dinner, she saw that John and Harriet, seated in their places of honour, looked – for the first time that she remembered – content with their lot.

  Sophie tried not to gaze gloatingly for more than half the time at Émile, so magnificent in the blue coat she liked best. He was still so thin his cheekbones jutted, but as lively as ever.

  Dr Powell rubbed his hands. “Miss Sophie, you never thought where your stay at Plas Uchaf would lead you.”

  Lord Ynyr smiled brightly; John agreed vehemently, “Indeed not, Sir!” Morwenna looked as though she reserved her own
opinion about any plans the déclassé de Courcy’s may have had in sending Sophie to Plas Uchaf.

  Seeing Mr Lewis down the table, looking like a rejected spaniel, Sophie fell to wondering how to help him transfer his passion to someone else.

  The Reverend Smythe-Jones smiled from Sophie to Émile. “Apart from my pleasure at such a happy event involving–” he gave a sort of sitting bow to Émile, “Two such delightful new members to our little community, a wedding will distract attention from the ridiculous – almost Gothic – tales that are being put about.”

  In his distress, he needed to take a sip of claret and sign for another helping of the pie before continuing. “The shocking thing concerning it is, that they do not just come from ignorant farm workers, but from respectable people who should know better. The other day a shopkeeper actually asked me if I believed in vampires. You can imagine my response. I blame the circulating libraries, myself.”

  Morwenna put a handkerchief to her lips to hide her smile; Sophie looked at her plate. The others murmured polite agreement.

  “I can well imagine, Sir.” Émile’s eyes were twinkling. He was squeezing Sophie’s knee under the table, and it sent such delightful shivers down her spine she could hardly sit still. If there was an element of Otherness in him now which added to those shivers, she preferred not to dwell on why that was, merely enjoying them.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Merde!” Émile – naked and dozing off – opened his eyes to stare at the flickering about the canopy of his bed at Plas Planwydden. .

  He jumped up. “Is this a wedding present from That Jade or has it attached itself to me?”

  The images began to solidify, to expand, showing a wind swept heath, an overcast sky and a group of men in masks sitting about by their horses.

  Georges came through from the dressing room. “The coat you want for tomorrow – what in the Devil’s name –-!” He glared up in outrage rather than alarm.