That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  The kitten was less enthusiastic in its greeting; it hissed and hid under the sofa. Émile didn’t seem to notice, but even as she enjoyed his kisses Sophie wondered if its hostility was to do with further changes in Émile himself, or whether the atmosphere of Plas Cyfeillgar still hung about him.

  Émile took her chin between finger and thumb, gazing into her face. “Ma chère, I forbade you to worry about me and you have defied me… I rode up to enquire after Morwenna on the way home, and she is neither better nor worse.”

  She squeezed her arms about his neck. “My dear, if only she rallies…Émile, what happened with Kenrick?”

  “He and I came to an agreement of sorts. There was no help for it, and do not think I enjoy the prospect of working with him. I must submit for now.”

  Sophie searched his inscrutable face. “Did you see – That Woman?” She was still worried her weeping had made the contrast in beauty between Ceridwen Kenrick and herself dismal. Somehow, the sharp-eyed Émile couldn’t see it; those eyes delighted in her.

  “She came to the laboratory. I gather Madame entertains herself with Arthur in the gallant Captain absence. Previously, I thought her viciousness was the nature of a vampire, but now I become one myself, I know how little I have changed.” He didn’t notice Sophie flinch as he gave her a self-congratulatory smile, caressing her hands in savage tenderness.

  “Kenrick stood giggled and triumphed over me. To safeguard my humans I have no choice but to endure such usage. I should spirit you away, but I will defer that as long as I can, as I dread the prospect of being apart from you.” His eyes were momentarily more human. “I must feel a spark of sympathy – even for him – in his wish to undo the past.”

  “We could both leave the area, Émile!”

  His drew back in outrage. “I am sorry you believe I would run away.”

  She sighed. “Of course you would not. I dread being apart from you full as much… My dear, I know what a temptation the thought of changing the past is for you. Yet it is such dangerous work, and I fear what may happen. Purely for myself, I fear to lose you, one way or another, but there may be terrible consequences generally – Ow!” He had squeezed her hands.

  “Forgive my roughness, I must be careful, which also applies to what Ma Tante terms these Mischievous Experiments as much as my strength, chérie, given you have poor taste enough to fear the loss of your wicked brigand. You must not worry; the last thing I want is to wake up at Plas Uchaf knowing that following our Quarrel in the Music Room, dismay at my ungallant offer has led you to accept a proposal from some sneaking curate.” He kissed her again.

  She pulled her lips away. “Émile, I must know what is happening!”

  He chucked her under the chin. “But how, chérie? As you are no mathematical blue-stocking,* for which I am thankful – imagine being married to such a one – how could you begin to comprehend what Kenrick is about?”

  “What are you drawn into, Émile, by him and by That Woman too?”

  “My girl, I said this morning, I must either go there or I send you away. You made your choice.”

  He smiled. Sophie realised his Man Vampire self managed to put his worries about Morwenna aside. He was even playful. “Ma femme shows signs of becoming a domestic tyrant already. I must forestall her, or else we shall fall to quarrelling. No more on this, Sophie. To add to our concerns, Mr Kit has suffered a misfortune at the hands of some locals.” He told her of the ambush.

  Guto’s knock cut short her exclamations. “Dr Powell has made the examination, Sir.” The kitten, fur erect, rushed out from under the sofa and dashed past him out of the room.

  “Show him into the drawing room, then, Guto. For sure he deserves some hospitality for coming out so soon in this weather. My little captive looks dissatisfied.”

  “Émile, it is awful about Mr Kit! It must be particularly disturbing for you.” Sophie broke off, thinking how this attack by the villagers must bring back memories of the riots for him. “I am sorry, yet I have to speak of this other trouble. Even though I cannot I understand the theoretical side of Kenrick’s activities, surely you could tell me more. You try and protect me: you shouldn’t.”

  She squealed as he snatched her up. He held her up above his head effortlessly. His strange laugh was alarming. “Still haranguing me? What shall I do with this domineering little human?”

  “Stop!”

  He walked about, holding her up high, shaking with wild laughter. “Shall I put her somewhere where she can’t get down?”

  Sophie gasped. He went on walking about with her, overcome by inhuman laughter. “Shall I kiss her? What a sweet neck, how am I supposed to resist it? And it is through my not resisting it I can best protect you, stubborn, church-going, adorable little fool as you are –”

  “Stop it, Émile!”

  He did some more Inhuman Chuckling as he put her down. “Now, we must stop this dallying, for I must to Dr Powell.”

  Anyone would think she was begging him to carry on with such treatment. Breathlessly, she stuck to her point. “Émile, I must oppose you over this!”

  His eyes hardened, though his wolfish smile remained. “Any more and I shall become angry. Après tout, ma petite ingrate, you wish to remain here and remain human too, yet you berate me for doing my best to protect you.”

  She squealed again as he pinched her cheek hard enough to bruise. She couldn’t tell from his glittering eyes if he had done it on purpose. “Yet it is such a sweet defiant human, she melts her demon lover’s heart yet. Let us not quarrel, ma chère. I will be back as soon as may be to play some chess with you.”

  Sophie chewed her fingers as he vanished in a flash.

  “Dead as a doornail, as you English say.” Éloise – her neck for once covered – was talking to Agnes as Sophie came upon them in the passage leading to her bedroom.

  Agnes looked shocked, but couldn’t let Éloise’s mistake go. “I’m Welsh. When did this happen?”

  “They say last night. Her sons found the body –” Éloise broke off to curtsy to Sophie, her eyes taking in the details of her tear ravaged face.

  Sophie put on a cheerful tone. “Agnes, it is time for me to dress for dinner.”

  Agnes frowned at Éloise. “Éloise and me was just agreeing the upper shelves in the library needs dusting terrible, weren’t we now, Éloise?”

  “Do they? See to it sometime over the next couple of days, please, Éloise. Mrs Kit has troubles enough at the moment.”

  Safely in her dressing room, Sophie said, “Goodness, Agnes, we are spoilt for choice as to what to worry over! Who is dead?”

  Agnes returned from the dressing room with Sophie’s favourite blue dinner gown. “Is a woman on the Denbigh Road has been found dead and they do say there were marks on her neck.”

  “Horrible, Agnes!”

  “I must find out more; you know how these stories get about. But is proper worried everyone is now about the goings on at Plas Cyfeillgar. They say a giant bat was seen there at that time, but…” She broke off.

  Sophie smiled wanly. “Monsieur has just told me about poor Mr Kit. It must have to do with the people connecting us with Plas Cyfeillgar, I think, though Monsieur has only been back there for the first time today.” She bit her lip.

  Agnes paused in unfastening her dress to give her a quick pat, and Sophie sighed. “I think the story has got out about what happens here, with Monsieur and Georges acting strangely, Monsieur locked away doing odd experiments and so.”

  “Is disloyal.”

  “I cannot see it so. Though Monsieur may be generous, do any staff get riches enough for their masters to deserve unquestioning loyalty? But you and Georges are different, Agnes. I think of you as my friend though I rely on you to do my hair and my costumes. Now I must say something while I have the courage.” She swallowed. “I knew from the beginning that we might not find a cure, though I trusted we should. I have made my bed and must lie on it – Monsieur Émile would probably make a grotesque joke about my ma
king my coffin and lying in it – while little Katarina worships him so she would follow him to the gates of hell.

  ‘Your case differs entirely; I shouldn’t ask you to endure this, and things must become worse. I know he wants to reward you for your kindness to him when he was ill. Why not accept that present, Agnes, and leave while you can, particularly as now poor Georges is become a Man Vampire too?”

  Agnes smiled. “You shan’t persuade me to leave, Mistress Sophie, but is like you to try.” She stroked Sophie’s back hair. “These are such pretty back curls, I am sure Monsieur Émile loves them.”

  “I must be braver and fight harder.”

  “That’s the spirit, Mistress Sophie!”

  Sophie’s clenched her fists. “He will go to that dreadful place, Agnes. I don’t like to speak against him, but I believe it was that connection as much as anything made him so sinister and unfeeling only now. He thought I was enjoying his rough sport as he lifted me near to the ceiling! My kitten has turned against him, too. Luckily, the horses have not yet done so.”

  “It isn’t speaking against him when we are trying to Save Him from Himself, and Georges, too. Well, as men can be insensitive, Man Vampires must be worse. Katarina should have the amulets ready tomorrow.”

  Sophie dreaded more fearsome playfulness from Émile when they met in the drawing room, but he looked grim as he greeted her. “Dr Powell tells me Mr Kit will soon recover himself, but Dolly is resolved that they must leave, Sophie.”

  Sophie was astonished at the stab of regret she felt. “Oh, dear!” she realised that she had come to like them as she had become very fond of the wicked Georges.

  His insensitivity continued. Looking over her chess game, he laughed outright. “For sure these opponents are well matched in foolhardiness, Sophie. Can you really not see the folly of your white bishop venturing there? These Black pawns are taking pawn sacrifice to the point of absurdity.”

  “Then I am happy to give you a little diversion.”

  Over dinner Émile was largely silent. Sophie supposed him to be brooding over Morwenna.

  She realised how torn his feelings must be. She knew he blamed himself for not warning his relatives at Plas Uchaf. She suspected the part of him which remained human must dread Morwenna’s death the more for knowing a transformation to a full Vampire must happen and would be hideous for her relatives. He must feel he ought to advise them on the horrible tasks necessary to prevent that, yet knew too his nature would stop him. Throughout, and at the same time, she suspected his Man Vampire part thrilled at the thought of Morwenna’s change.

  She felt for him in this grotesque dilemma, trying to divert him with some light remarks. He responded politely but discouragingly.

  During one of the long silences that fell over the long table, Sophie’s eyes strayed to the garish stained glass window, now illuminated by light from the chandelier. For some reason, now she felt fascinated by its lurid depiction of a mediaeval knight kneeling to a woman standing dominant over him, their eyes locked. Her hard expression and her black hair often reminded Sophie of Ceridwen Kenrick; this evening it did so more than ever.

  Sophie thought of how she tried not to detest That Woman for what she had done. After all, she couldn’t help what was now her nature, any more than could Émile and Georges. She forced herself to pray for Mistress Kenrick every night along with all other vampires, yet towards her, her heart felt cold and unforgiving.

  As she gazed, it came to her that since that first terrible visit to a glazed look sometimes came into Émile’s eyes that differed from the inhuman flaring. The picture of Kenrick’s cold grey eyes, trying to catch hers, stirred in her memory. There came to her mind a phrase from the book, ‘The vampire possesseth strange powers of persuasion, connected, tradition has it, with the eyes.’

  Émile followed her gaze. “A terrible piece of artwork.”

  Another idea stabbed at her.

  He implied today he saw little of Her. I don’t believe him. He came to me newly bathed, though the workings with Kenrick are surely not malodorous; he might have felt polluted by his visit, of course, and longed to wash that away. Still, I fear Other Reasons for his taking time to bathe.

  Émile lingered over his port, while she comforted herself with music in the drawing room.

  When he joined her, he was unfeelingly playful again. “I have been listening to you, Sophie. I want you to sing the aria you played in the music room the time I made an attempt on your virtue – a sad song – sung by a captive. Now you are mine, I shall enjoy listening to that. Even now, you not as fully mine as I would wish. You seem always to be resisting my wicked advances one way or another.” He leered.

  “Lascia ch’io pianga (Let Me Weep My Unhappy Fate)?’” She spoke lightly, but as she began to sing, her voice wobbled and she missed a note.

  Émile clicked his tongue as she stopped playing. “This will never do, my girl! Your tutor Mr Jenkins would be shocked. Start over.”

  Sophie felt inclined to snivel, but controlled herself. This time she kept her voice steady. At first, he smiled ironically, and seemed to revel in his own nastiness. “Isn’t she just like a caged bird?”

  Then, as she sang and played on, he began to stir uneasily. Finally, he went to lean on the fireplace, staring down into the fire. She felt as sorry for him as she did for herself.

  She finished and as he remained there without turning round, she jumped up and came over to caress his shoulders. “I meant it when I said I always shall love you, Émile, no matter what.”

  He sighed, and turned round to caress her face, eyes anguished. “You will have your work cut out, my girl. I do adore you so I must have you with me no matter what, which is a torment to both of us.”

  She took his hands. “Émile, I know you are suffering too on Morwenna’s account, and I can guess how difficult it is for you. If the worst comes about, I will take on the task of telling them what must be done –”

  His eyes dilated, and he winced, his hold on her hands tightening, making her wince too. Softening his hold, he bent to kiss them, and spoke hoarsely. “Thank you, Sophie, you melt your monster quite by your underserved kindness. If it comes to that pass, I must tell them the beginning of story, though I cannot go on to the end. But firstly, I will try and spare you by trying to write it down…Play something cheerful now.”

  Émile’s tender mood lasted through the rest of the evening. He read to Sophie, and took her to bed early. As he removed his shirt and she admired his body she saw his gashes healed; even the scars were fading. She gasped.

  Catching her eyeing him, he laughed. “You are become shameless, ma chère femme. If you are going to eye me so, then it is only fair for me to do the same by you.”

  She forgot her fears, and the feeling between them was nearly as it was on that first night. But afterwards, she thought he went back to looking as though he was tempted to bite her. She drew away in dismay.

  He looked offended. “For all what you have sworn, I am become a monster to you.”

  She was sorry, for all this reproach was so unreasonable, and took him in her arms and Ooh’d and Aah’d over him for some time…

  …Until she realised that he was trying to undo the clasps of her crosses, only his fingers fumbled as though it burnt him…

  She squealed and jumped out of bed.

  He cursed and seized her arm, speaking as though she were overreacting. “Calm down, my girl. Your religious artefact protects you from your thirsty bat.”

  She was wakened in the small hours by his fingers at her neck. Though his eyes were closed, and he seemed asleep, his hands were busily trying to undo her cross. She flinched away, and his clawed fingers pursued her, reaching for her neck again. His eyes opened a slit, showing a glare of inhuman green, and his lips were drawn slightly back, so that his eyeteeth showed.

  She settled down far away from him. The hands wandered a while, and then gave up.

  Plas Uchaf

  Famau Mountain

&
nbsp; “Wishes to see me?” Lord Ynyr, eyes heavy with lack of sleep, stared at Roberts.

  “So he says, Your Lordship. I told him I doubted you could see him and he should see someone else and he said, ‘Mais non!’” Roberts looked contemptuous.

  “Has my Cousin sent him?”

  “He did not say so, Your Lordship.”

  “I suppose I can spare ten minutes; show him in, Roberts.”

  As Roberts tried to bow out, his back made such a cracking Lord Ynyr winced and forgot his fears for Morwenna for a moment. “Truly, Roberts, have I not told you to abandon ceremony when we are alone? It pains me to hear you.”

  As Roberts left, the Count spent a moment wondering how to persuade him to retire without hurting his pride before he went back to worrying about Morwenna. Then Roberts was back with the Count’s former under chef Lucien.

  The Count addressed the man in French, as always. “I trust all goes well at Plas Planwydden?”

  “Your Lordship, forgive my intrusion. I have reason; I believe Monsieur Émile is become a vampire.”

  Lord Ynyr jumped up and went to stare out of the windows. After a minute he was able to speak. “Explain yourself, man!”

  The man irritated the Count by ticking off points on his thick fingers. “He went to the Kenrick house, for reasons I prefer not to mention, for I know We Should Not Judge the Weaknesses of Others.” He looked meaningfully at Lord Ynyr.

  The Count stared back coolly. What the Dowager Countess called Émile’s ‘incontinence’ (and Ceridwen Kenrick’s too) were old stories, though he was outraged the fellow should mention them.

  Lucien went on, “Your Lordship knows what everyone says about Kenrick and his wife. When he came back, Monsieur was ill. Then he sent down asking for no more garlic or herbs in his food. He has never taken them since, though before he liked his food seasoned like a civilised person. Before, again like civilised people, Monsieur Émile liked his meat rare, but now he takes it near raw. His teeth and nails are altered.

  Then he gave orders the staff is to wear crosses, only I have witnessed since he cannot say the word, and he wears not one himself, though Madame does. I am a good Catholic anyway, but some of the others objected. Mr Kit – and he is a strange man to be butler, as Your Lordship must know, but that is neither here nor there – tells us it is because of the Kenrick household. ‘You cannot be too careful.’ But now I have seen Monsieur vanish into thin air when he thinks nobody sees. I think he has bitten one of the maids. Either he, or Monsieur’s ruffian of a valet, for I believe he is become a vampire too, for today his nails –”