That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  Émile stalked off, turning up the stairs.

  Sophie told Katarina, “Your tutor will be here soon, dear. To the library with you!” Over the last couple of weeks, Émile had increased Katarina’s lessons and done away with her housework to the point where she was more a family member than part-time parlour maid.

  Sophie turned to Guto. “Oh dear, is that nice stand quite broken?” He mumbled.

  Mrs Kit came up. “The second parlour maid has taken herself off, Mistress Sophie.”

  Sophie sighed. They were indeed beginning to resemble the Kenrick household.

  Georges stood at one of the windows in Émile’s bedroom, watching Agnes and Sophie down on the terrace. “I hear horses.”

  Émile, sitting at his desk, listened himself. “I hear ‘em myself now…Georges, I cannot write the words to my Cousin warning him. For all the world, it is as if an enchantment has been cast over me.” He bit his lip, perhaps thinking of how the idea would once have appealed to Morwenna, and threw down his pen to join Georges at the window.

  “Our little humans are about mischief.” Georges said. “Bien sûr, they are searching for the amulet I threw from the window. Agnes was stooping over something just now; I hope she ain’t found the thing.”

  “Le Diable, these girls are relentless. I could scarce believe it when I surprised ma femme advancing on me with that thing. Even touching it irritated my fingers.”

  “Beware your clothes. Agnes planted one in my waistcoat, my skin was crawling some while before I realised what it might be. I gave Katarina my mind. She was shameless, speaking of acting for my own good, like to some master as he brings out the whip.”

  “I must go to submit to the humiliation of Kenrick’s orders to protect our humans, who weep and berate me, though I endure it for love of them. Doubtless Madame will suspend my will as before.”

  Georges sniggered. “You deserve no sympathy there. Such bubbies and derrière as Madame has!”

  Émile ran his hands through his hair. “Ma pauvre petite must not find out! We haven’t been married a month.”

  “Le Diable, maybe you ain’t in a mood to speak on this, what with your worry over Mademoiselle Morwenna, but weren’t it good, yesterday, when we took some from them floozies? It is torture to look upon these pretty necks. You talked about ‘gentle persuasion’. It ain’t working. Agnes will not endure me near her.”

  “Vraiment, my patience is become wearied by the freedoms these aggressive humans take upon themselves. Les femmes joining us is the best way to protect them from Those Others. Yet petite Katarina presents a problem, as it would be disgusting to safeguard her so. The idea of Kenrick getting his teeth into any more of them! It must not be.”

  “They defend themselves fiercely with them Superstitious Artefacts and poison.”

  “We know a way about that, as used by the jeune fille on you, and myself on Éloise.”

  Georges flashed his sharp teeth in a leer. “Of the girls working here only Agnes has a sweeter neck.”

  Émile looked indignant. “Keep your teeth away from her, Georges! But she will only take her cross off for me. Tomorrow, we –” He broke off, staring with dilated eyes out on the side lawn.

  Georges followed his wild stare at Sophie and Agnes. Two whirlpools of light shimmered and swirled behind them.

  Kenrick snatched Sophie’s hand even as the muted flash still brightened the sunlit bushes about her. His fingers, seemingly flabby, were stronger than Émile’s. Before she knew it, his eyes had hers trapped while his voice dripped with oil. “My dear Madam.”

  She couldn’t wrench her away gaze. Panic seized her as, unable to scream, she watched his eyes grow.

  Arthur Williams moved towards Agnes, smiling, crooning to her in Welsh. With his reddish-fair hair and bright blue eyes, he looked the picture of a strapping, handsome, upright looking country servant. Agnes scrabbled wildly in her apron pocket. He winced and halted, looking disgusted.

  There was something in Kenrick’s eyes Sophie knew she must discover, even as she became aware of more flashing light and Émile rushing Kenrick and Georges rushing Arthur. Both came up against some invisible barrier, so that the force of their attack hurled them backwards and they almost fell.

  Kenrick’s eyes moved from Sophie, breaking the hold on her will. With a sob of terror, she stumbled backwards herself as he released her hand.

  Kenrick and Arthur sniggered. Georges, eyebrows in his front curls, goggled in mortification, while Émile snatched Sophie and held her tight. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs and she suffered for him again in his helpless fury and anguish.

  Kenrick said, “For a clever man, you are slow to learn, Dubois.”

  Émile breathed hard and held Sophie for a moment longer, before pushing her in the direction of the house. “In!”

  Georges was reaching for Agnes, but stopped, wrinkling his nose in turn. Kenrick giggled. “What a wicked little puss it is! She is proof against us all.”

  Émile seized her arm and pushed her after Sophie. “You too, girl.”

  Kenrick’s eyebrows shot up. “You endure her stink bravely.”

  Reluctantly, Sophie and Agnes moved towards the house. Émile spoke hoarsely to Kenrick. “I can’t serve you as I would for that attempt on my wife and maid, but I can tell you to take your experiments –” He broke off, looking astonished.

  Kenrick spread his hands, speaking unctuously. “For shame, Monsieur Gilles, I was merely giving the little creature my condolences – whatever am I saying, Arthur? – I mean my felicitations. You call my word into doubt. For a certainty, you are become unused to the customs of gentleman, save for Gentleman of the Road. I was in Llandyrnog on business, and about to leave my card with a message. Arthur, I ought to call in at that house near Denbigh where that healthy corpse was murdered – doesn’t it make you sick to think on it – but it is out of my way.” He and Arthur exchanged smiles.

  Georges – longing to outstare Arthur, yet knowing the power of the experienced Man Vampires’ hypnotic gaze – marched about in wild rage, cursing Arthur and Kenrick in French. He broke into English. “You filthy bastards!”

  “Bastard yourself, Frenchman!” Arthur sneered. Georges bunched his fists while Kenrick clicked his tongue.

  “We must attempt to control our lackeys, Dubois. I came to urge you to call at my little house as soon as may be. You scarce need me to tell you of the increase in the escaped power. We must to work betimes.” He ran his eyes over Émile’s face. “Mrs Kenrick would have me give you her kind regards. For some reason, the ladies like you well, despite those ugly freckles. Confess, Monsieur, there is something ridiculous about a vampire with freckles.”

  Émile didn’t react, but Georges muttered, “One as needs spectacles looks fool enough.”

  Kenrick took off his glasses and held them up for Georges’ inspection. “Plain glass, fellow. I needed them as a human, and can’t get out of the way of them as vampire. Until then, Monsieur Gilles. We tethered our horses ourselves, there being no stable hand to be seen. Have both the lads you stole from me deserted you already, the ingrates? Come, Arthur.” He was gone.

  Georges hit out at some of the swirling motes of dust. Émile paced about. He paused to say, voice unsteady, “Georges, it turns me sick to think how near a thing that was for Sophie. She was falling under his influence… Ah, boy, he is just left us.” This last was addressed to Kenrick’s ex-stable boy, who was trotting towards them, his face chalky.

  “Sir, I couldn’t warn you, I feared he might take me.” Having hidden in a pile of hay, the boy had strands of it adhering to his hair like a caricature of a country bumpkin.

  Émile ruffled his head, smiling, only his eyeteeth indicating his limited humanity. “Don’t worry, boy, you were right to hide. Go and ask the cook for a treat – no, he is left us, ask Mrs Kit.”

  The boy ran off, and Émile turned to Georges. “Did you note, I couldn’t finish when I was telling Kenrick to take his experiments to th
e Devil? For sure we cannot mention the Christian symbols, but it is coming to something if we cannot mention one whom we are rumoured to follow.”

  Georges, pacing about, hardly heard him. “Gilles, no man has ever treated me so!”

  Émile gave him a weary smile. “Alors, women and children now treat us worse, Georges. It is time to assert ourselves before we are beaten down quite. A freckled vampire may be laughable, but a hen-pecked one makes for a true object of pathos.”

  Sophie rushed to Émile as he and Georges, perhaps in deference to human feelings, came in through the side door. He took her in his arms and they breathed in each other’s scent a while.

  Agnes and Georges watched each other warily. She told him, “My garlic is gone. I suppose you put someone up to it? Is lucky the scent lingered and sickened Williams.”

  Georges looked guilty. “Agnes, I never thought that they would make an attempt on you in daylight!”

  Sophie was still clutching Émile’s shirt. “What did he say?”

  “His usual drivel. I have no choice but to go, so no more on it, Sophie. Like Mackenzie, he penetrated Katarina’s defences, and as Georges says, in daylight. I think she said our own presence here must weaken it. I don’t want you out in the grounds save when we can take you from here on.”

  “But, Émile –”

  “After that I have no choice, chérie. Promise me.”

  Sophie swallowed. “I cannot.”

  “I thought not.” Émile smiled amiably. He took her wrist and drew her briskly along with him down the corridor. She could either resist, and be pulled along, or allow herself to be led. She berated herself again for leaving the clove of garlic Agnes had given her wrapped in a handkerchief in a drawer in her dressing room.

  “Swine!” Agnes trotted after them. “Where are you taking her?”

  “I conduct Madame to her sitting room for while I’m away. You can keep her company.”

  Besides her panic, Sophie had to struggle against her fury with Émile. As he led her up the stairs, she longed to slap his face. As they came to the room she said, “So I am to be a prisoner!”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Ma chère! Only yesterday –”

  “Yes, then you suggested I leave, knowing I wouldn’t desert you. If you lock us in, we won’t be able to escape should one of The Others come for us, and may they not be able to enter the house now, too?”

  “I think they will still need invitation, and Georges shall be in calling distance throughout. I trust him to care for you as I would myself. Do come in, Agnes. I wouldn’t have your little mistress lonely. Where is petite Katarina?”

  Georges ushered Agnes into the room, closing the door behind them. Eyes sparking, she aimed the slap at his face Sophie longed to give Émile.

  He jumped back. “Katarina is with the tutor till midday, having her head filled up with nonsense from books. I last spoke to her when I gave her my mind about planting them magic things on me. We supply les femmes with some of them silly novels to keep ‘em happy.”

  “Perhaps ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’, Émile?’”

  “Do I sense a gibe, Madame Dubois? You may also warble like a caged bird.” He indicated the piano.

  “Émile, this is beyond anything! Earlier, you accused poor Lucien of playing out a scene from a Gothic novel! You cannot keep me prisoner so. Whatever will the servants think?” In her outrage Sophie met his eyes. As she wrenched her gaze away, he laughed.

  He came to whisper softly in her ear. “You cannot avoid my gaze forever, my pretty prude, nor will you want to. Your adorable throat has been well worth the wait, just as were certain other delectable parts of you. I refer, of course, to your knees and your toes, with which I am still besotted.” He gave her chin a chuck of taloned condescension.

  Now, instead of a treacherous flood of warmth, her insides turned to ice. “Émile, you gloat like a vampire Mr B*. It is too horrible!”

  He laughed heartlessly. “Alors, you show a worthy bourgeoise concern for the opinion of the servants, Sophie, in asking me what they will make of this, but unless you cause a commotion, they will make nothing of your seclusion. I will say you are indisposed, and for sure you have looked a little pale these last couple of days. If I was a jealous vampire, I might become suspicious. Georges will only lock the door if you try and leave the room, so you can ring for service at any time.”

  “Women make water and so as well as men.” Agnes remained earthy and practical.

  “Georges will escort you to the closet, if necessary.”

  “Oh, how mortifying!” Sophie bit her lip, fighting back tears. “We are invited out to dinner tonight, Émile –” She broke off at a sudden twinge of nausea.

  “I must send a messenger with our apologies. We shall the four of us have a cosy night in together. What books should you like? I am relying on ma petite to maintain some decorum before the staff.”

  Georges burst out suddenly: “Ah, ma petite Agnes, that ridiculous retrousse nose of yours melts me quite! I still love you for all you have treated me ill. Gilles Long Legs will bear me out; I have never been so besotted about any wench before.”

  Sophie was too busy struggling against the wave of sickness to note Agnes’ expression, and heard her sharp retort as at a distance. “Then, help us!”

  “That ain’t reasonable, Agnes. You tried to force your so-called cures upon us, so there is no injustice in our forcing you in turn.”

  “We still wear our crosses, which burn you so!”

  Émile smile amiably. “I think I know how we may free you of those religious symbols.” He bent to kiss Sophie’s hand, murmuring, “My pauvre petite, you look terrified! It will be the same with us as it was on our wedding night, I promise. Au revoir, Madame Dubois.”

  The two vampires lounged out.

  Georges was soon back with some books. The one on the top was called, ‘Twelve Reflections For a Proper Wife’; Sophie supposed it to be an ironic thrust from Émile.

  “When may we expect lunch?” Agnes asked.

  “At the usual time, bien sûr.” Georges’ dark eyes glittered at the thought of the feast he and Émile would soon enjoy. He went out whistling, followed by Agnes’ curses.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sophie went over to the window and looked about. Agnes came and put her arms about her.

  Sophie squeezed her in turn. Then, she put one finger to her lips, went over to her bureau, took out paper, pen and ink and scribbled quickly: ‘Do not even whisper this, he may hear. I think we may safely escape through the window. Open it while I play.’

  Agnes, whom Sophie knew could read at least a little, frowned over it some moments and then nodded.

  Sophie, heart thudding, sat down at the instrument. Without thinking, she began the first noisy song which came to her, one she sang as a child with her brother and sister, ‘Frog Went A-Courting’.

  She didn’t know whether the window would make a noise as Agnes drew it up, and sang as loudly as she could. She could detect no sound above the clamour of her music. Still, possibly Georges could even hear their breathing through it.

  She finished and scribbled another message to Agnes. ‘Tie up your skirts.’

  She bundled up her own skirts and petticoats (the Dowager Countess would faint, had she known) as she went on to a rousing song from the opera by Mozart, Don Giovanni, ‘Il me Tradhita’ (‘I Still Pity Him’). She wondered if Émile was still somewhere in the building, listening.

  Then going over to the window, she climbed out onto the ornamental balcony outside. The cold wind buffeting her brought across the cries of the sheep from the surrounding fields. As she darted across the small balcony, willing herself not to look down, she dreaded equally its collapse and sharp vampire eyes upon her.

  At the other side, she scrambled up the gentle slope of the roof to the window of the flower room, where she worked on her table centrepieces. snatching wildly at any hold, dreading these too might give way. So lucky how nobody but she had noticed th
e defective catch on the window, which would not lock, and that while always resolving to mention it to a staff member, she had always forgotten.

  Agnes, behind her, started as the window squeaked softly as Sophie pushed it up. They paused, expecting Georges to appear. Nothing stirred in the room. Sophie opened the window some more and climbed inside in a swirl of lacy underwear. She turned about to help Agnes in.

  Agnes winked at her and went to open the door a slit to glance up and down the corridor. She froze, and Sophie tiptoed over to look over her shoulder. Georges was standing at the end of the passage, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar.

  “Drat him!” Agnes mouthed at Sophie.

  They waited while Georges enjoyed his cigar. Sophie had to fight nausea again.

  Finally, he extinguished the stub and turned the corner. Would he soon notice there was not even the sound of breathing or a page turning inside Sophie’s sitting room? Sophie pushed open the door leading to the middle staircase. Then they were scampering down it, as wildly as fleeing mice, not breathing, spines prickling, rushing on tiptoe. They dashed across the main hall to the front door.

  “Ma’am?”

  Sophie whipped about. Mrs Kit stood there. Sophie supposed she was ignorant of their captivity; no doubt if she stared disapproval it was at their running out without dignity or sufficient wraps. Sophie made some gesture at her and snatched at the front door.

  Agnes bent down by the boot scraper. “Here’s another bit of that garlic from earlier!”

  The next moment they were running across the cold damp of the front lawn, making for the yew walk leading across to the back drive, their gasping breath misty in the chill air.

  Georges was at the head of the stairs. “Dolly!”

  “What ails you, Georges?” Mrs Kit seized him by the lapels as he rushed up to her.

  “I heard Madame Sophie’s voice! Monsieur Gilles didn’t want them out, with Kenrick –”

  “Kenrick, eh? You rogue, what are you and he about? Who did Lucien mean earlier, eh?” She slapped his face.