Jo Graham - [Numinous World 05]

by The Emperor's Agent (epub)

  Which resulted in nothing at all, except some blank looks and the names of two midwives.

  I was still trying to decide how to proceed a week later when I came out of the stage door to find Maurice lounging against the wall. He ambled over to me and leaned in. "The gentleman would like to know what you've done."

  "I don't know where Fraser is yet," I said. "I've asked some people, but I don't know anything."

  Maurice sneered. "You'd better work a little harder then. The gentleman doesn't like for people not to work hard."

  "I see," I said, trying not to shudder as he leaned into me with his rank breath. "I'll have it for him. Soon."

  "You'd best," he said.

  "I will."

  And so I began my enquiries again.

  I had lunch with Doreé the next day, sitting in the spring sunshine just off the Palais Royale, and casually professed that I had forgotten the address of a doctor that Lisette had recommended many years ago, did she happen to know of a Dr. Fraser who specialized in women's complaints?

  "Oh, you mean the old Scotsman?" Doreé shrugged. "I heard he was expensive. But he's a good doctor, people say."

  "Do you know where he lives?" I asked. "I do want to find him."

  "If you need a midwife," Doreé said, tossing her dark curls back, "I know a good one too."

  "I think I really want a doctor," I said. "I've been irregular for years and I'd like to see what he thinks. Lisette recommended him and said he'd helped her."

  "I think he's in Rue Hubert," Doreé said. "I think he lodges there. In the third or fourth block."

  "I'll look for him," I said.

  That afternoon I walked that way. Surely there could not be so many lodgings in a few blocks of Rue Hubert. It was a quiet, respectable neighborhood, not too far from where I had first lived when I came to Paris, in the small house belonging to Moreau, the one he had bought at bottom prices from people condemned by the Committee of Public Safety. Most of the houses were not for rent. There were only two that seemed to take in lodgers.

  I was lucky the first time. The old lady seemed somewhat deaf, but she knew who I meant. "Dr. Fraser? Oh yes! He lived here!" She gave me a wide smile, her eyes almost milk white with cataracts over clear blue.

  "Did he move, Madame?" I asked. "If so, I would appreciate it if you could tell me where he now lodges."

  "Where we must all lodge someday, even you pretty young things!" She grinned again, and I thought that she could not see me properly at all, if she was taking me for so young. I was twenty-seven, and scarcely a girl. "He died a year and a half ago."

  "Oh no!" I said.

  "Did you know him then? Or more like, that girl of his, Laura?"

  "No, I didn't," I said. "Do you know what he died of?"

  "A winter fever. It went in his chest, you know. I helped his daughter nurse him and we laid him out at the end. Poor man! It happens even to doctors! And my, he was a good one! He made my Simone's dropsy go straight away!" She sighed, and looked a little less ecstatic now. "But then his Laura picked up and moved out. Went to live with her aunt, she said."

  "Do you know if she took all his papers with her?" I asked. "Or perhaps some things were left with you, Madame? And where did she go?"

  "Aberdeen," the old woman said cheerily. "Oh gracious yes! Laura only came here because her father was so stubborn about the Pretender and all. Once he was gone she went straight home to Aberdeen to live with her aunt. Said she'd had enough of Jacobite nonsense. And no, she didn't take a thing with her. Burned the whole lot of his papers, except for his medical books that she sold to pay for her passage home. She said it was just a mess of receipts and bills he'd never be able to collect."

  I took a deep breath.

  The old woman squinted at me, as though trying to see me better. "This doesn't have anything to do with secret maps to the Bonnie Prince's lost gold, does it?"

  "I truly don't think so," I said. Though who could tell what Fouché might be after.

  "Burned the whole lot," she repeated with satisfaction. "Nothing but a mess, Laura said."

  "Thank you for your help, Madame," I said, and gave her a small coin. Fouché might not like what I had found, but it was at least information. It did not seem there could be any mistake that Dr. Fraser was dead. I hardly thought the old woman would be lying, or mistaken that she'd helped lay out a corpse.

  I wrote down all that I had found out, and gave it to Maurice as I left the theater that night. He took it without a word, and was back the next day with a purse full of small banknotes. It seemed that Fouché's agents certainly didn't get rich at their work. I should make as much in one evening with a big spender. Still, I hadn't done very much, and I failed to see how anyone else couldn't have done as much. What was the point, I wondered, of playing heavy handedly over so little?

  It was several weeks before I discovered more. I almost thought Fouché had forgotten about me until I had a knock on my door early one morning. It was Maurice, and freshly shaven and dressed in clean clothes he looked almost respectable. He even took off his hat as I opened the door.

  "The gentleman would like to see you. If you will accompany me?"

  Of course I did, and not entirely without qualms. But it was daylight, and there was no one except Maurice in the hired carriage. I wondered if even he might be disposed to talk.

  "What is it this time?" I asked him in a confidential manner, friend to friend, as though we were colleagues at the theater. "The last was tedious but not difficult."

  Maurice leered. "I think this one probably involves fewer clothes."

  "Oh," I said, and sat back in my seat and said nothing else.

  Instead of the intimidating bulk of a prison, we came to a very reasonable second floor office in one of the buildings surrounding the Place Vendome, busy with tradesmen and clerks coming and going, their Morocco cases of papers under their arms. I waited in a green-papered antechamber with four or five people for the better part of an hour before a clerk called for me, and I went into what was obviously Senator Fouché's office.

  "Madame St. Elme," he said, and this time gestured with one hand to a chair drawn up on the other side of his desk. "I see that you are fledged in my service."

  "Yes, Monsieur," I said, and thought it best to say no more.

  He looked me up and down, glancing over my plain day dress. "Have you nothing more feminine than that? Something pink, perhaps?"

  "Yes," I said, though very little of my wardrobe ran to frills and ruffles. "I have a pink dress."

  "Good, because you are wearing it tomorrow to plead your case to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Monsieur Talleyrand."

  "Oh good Lord!" I exclaimed. "Why in the world would I do that?" I had met him once or twice when I was with Moreau, but I hardly knew him.

  "Because I am telling you to, Madame," Fouché said politely. "You will confide in him all the details of your sad case, and let him know that you will do anything, absolutely anything, to be allowed to stay in France. You will make yourself very amiable. Do you understand?"

  "I do," I said evenly, though I felt the blood rush to my face.

  "Good." Fouché steepled his hands, as though over a dossier. "He likes blondes, and he has a particular weakness for damsels in distress. Especially generously endowed damsels in distress. You will wear a dress lower than that, Madame. And make yourself most persuasive. Your goal is to insinuate yourself with him to such a degree that in time he will talk freely to you."

  "I understand," I said.

  "He is not an easy man to please," Fouché said. "But then I understand that you are quite adept at accommodating a variety of vices. See that you make yourself agreeable to whatever he might propose. I do not want to hear that you have disappointed him."

  "Of course," I said, wondering what he knew. There had been that time with Moreau and Therese that half a dozen people had witnessed….

  "Good. You may go." He half turned away, as though already moving on to the next case. Fouché g
ave me one last glance as I gathered my skirts. "And do try to cry. He likes tears so very much."

  On that note, I was dismissed.

  Three Rivals

  I went to see Talleyrand the next morning, wearing my pink dress with a little lace shawl. It was very thin, and while one might call it intended for modesty, it revealed far more than it concealed beneath its tiny scrap of dainty lace. I waited nearly two hours in his antechamber, wondering if my curls would hold up in the warm room, until at last I was called.

  The Minister of Foreign Affairs had a very grand office, with a great marble desk in the style of the ancien régime, while behind him the windows were bathed in enormous blue velvet curtains that might as well have been sprinkled with fleurs de lys. He looked up from his work as I was announced, and made no attempt to disguise the spark in his eye as he looked at me. His gaze was frankly admiring as I swept in and the clerk closed the door, so I wasted no time.

  I threw myself on my knees beside his chair, begging and kissing his hand.

  "You must help me," I pleaded, his ringed fingers against my lips. "Oh, you must, Monsieur! You are my last and only hope!"

  "There now, Madame. What is this?" he asked, but he did not sound displeased. His hands tasted like powder and smelled faintly of lavender.

  "Monsieur de Talleyrand, you may be my savior! You and you alone! I do not know what I can do, and I have only your mercy to throw myself upon. Oh please do not fail me!" I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with tears, affording him a view straight down the neck of my dress. I wore no stays, and my buskin stopped just below my breasts, thrusting them up and out. I had rouged my nipples slightly.

  "Surely it is not so bad as that, Madame," he said gently, his eyes going exactly where I wanted them to go. "You may rely that I will hear you out, and that I will do what I may to alleviate your distress."

  "Oh, Monsieur, you are too good!" I said, blinking into his face with an expression I hoped showed a lack of good sense. "I am so very frightened."

  He took my hand in his. "Then tell me what is the matter, Madame." He wore fine clocked stockings with heeled slippers, an old fashioned mode of dress that reminded me suddenly and sharply of my childhood in Italy, of a friend of my father's that I had once seen making love to both my parents at once. One slipper was heeled differently, no doubt to compensate for the difference in the length of his legs that gave him a pronounced limp.

  I leaned in, my breast brushing against the inside of his thigh. "I was a very dear friend of General Moreau once, as you may remember. It was only for love of him that I was persuaded to leave my husband and my family in Holland and to enter upon a most precarious and libertine existence. But beauty wanes, Monsieur." I blinked at him again, dropping one shoulder to once again provide a glimpse of nipple. "Moreau cast me off. But now! Oh now! I can scarce bear to think of it!" I buried my face against his knee, pleased to see that I was at least having some effect on the state of his trousers.

  "There now," he said, and I felt his hand brush lightly over my blonde curls. "Moreau was a very great fool to do so."

  "I am glad you think so, Monsieur," I said, looking pleadingly at him again. "But now he stands accused of treason, and I am so very afraid! Monsieur, Moreau did not talk about politics with me! I had no idea he was involved in any kind of plot! Please believe that he never brought politics into the bedroom. He said that our time was for pleasure, and I should not worry about such things!"

  "And he was very right," Talleyrand said, playing idly with one long spiral curl. "You are much too beautiful to waste time talking about politics."

  "But now I am afraid, Monsieur! I am so afraid I shall be sent back to Holland, now that Moreau is fallen!" I rested my hand on his knee. "Oh please, Monsieur! Please don't let them send me away! I know nothing about politics, and only long to remain in Paris, where I shall not be punished for the license I have enjoyed." I held his eyes and did not blink, trying to let nothing else show there.

  He pursed his lips, and for a moment looked like nothing so much as a well-bred cat who has got a bowl of cream. "I am sure I can help you, Madame. It is such a little thing, really."

  "A little thing to such as you, a very great man, but a great deal to a young woman like me."

  For a second I thought I had overdone it, but he smiled complacently, almost kindly. "I will look into your case, Madame. Unfortunately, I have a luncheon appointment in a few minutes, but if you might return at two the day after tomorrow, I shall be pleased to review all the particulars of your case."

  "Oh!" I clasped his hand to my bosom and rained kisses upon it. "You are too good!"

  "Come then." He got to his feet with some difficulty, as I was between his knees, and helped me up. "Dry your tears. A woman as lovely as you should not cry. You may rely upon me."

  "Day after tomorrow?" I looked at him hopefully, trying to look up, which was more of a trick standing, as he was not tall, and I am tall for a woman.

  "At two," he promised, petting my arm. "I will see you then. Go home, Madame, and be of good cheer."

  "I shall," I promised, and made my escape.

  I reported all to Maurice when I left the theater that night, and the next evening he was there again, with the verbal message, "The gentleman is satisfied."

  Well, I thought. That was something. It was enough that I had arranged another appointment.

  The following day I dressed carefully. I didn't want to wear the same dress again, so instead I chose a pretty sprigged muslin and added a broad pink sash, powdering my breasts and rouging my nipples. I debated whether or not to shave my pubis, but opted in the end for a quantity of lavender water, and a careful trim with a pair of little scissors. After all, I was not entirely certain of his tastes. An enormous hat with pink ribbons added to the effect, and I went to meet Talleyrand looking something like Madame de Tourvel in Dangerous Liaisons, only with a good deal less brain. I hoped that was his fantasy. It was a bit late now to switch to ambergris and black dresses.

  This time I did not have to wait in the antechamber long. It was only a few minutes before I was announced, and the clerk closed the door behind me with what might have been a smirk.

  I gave the Minister my best smile. "Monsieur, I am so grateful that you have given me even a little of your time today."

  "How could I not?" he asked. "You were such a charming suppliant."

  "I am gratified that I charmed you, Monsieur," I said, "As I have often heard that you are the most charming man in France."

  He nodded affably. "Then come and kneel by me again, as I confess this little matter of yours may be instantly resolved. You need have no fear because of your former association with Moreau. If every beauty were in the confidence of a man, there should be no secrets in France!"

  I came and knelt by him again, pooling my skirts about me pleasingly, and leaning forward a little to promote the view.

  "And we must take your hat off," he said. "Such lovely hair should not be covered indoors."

  "Here," I said, reaching up, "I will…."

  "Allow me." Carefully, Talleyrand untied the ribbon and drew out the hat pins, each curl I had spent ten minutes on that morning cascading from combs in charming disarray. "You do have lovely hair."

  "Thank you," I said, leaning against his knee. "I have been so fearful, since Moreau. You do not know what it is to live without a man's protection, Monsieur!" I was laying it on thick, but he seemed to like it.

  He ran his fingers through my hair, playing with each curl. "Not dyed. Your hair is as fine as a child's."

  "Thank you, Monsieur," I said, one hand gently caressing the inside of his thigh. He gathered my hair up, kneading to the scalp, brushing it the wrong way so that a chill ran up my back. I pressed my face against his leg.

  "I understand Moreau was very devoted to you," he said, and I heard the quickness of breath in his voice.

  "He was my master and my teacher," I said. So close, I could smell him, almost feel the heat of his arou
sal.

  Again the hands playing in my hair, drawing the spiral curls out. "And what did he teach you?"

  "This," I said, and began to undo the buttons on his breeches. "This, Monsieur." He was fifty, but still he jumped at my touch, and I gathered the weight of him into one hand, licking delicately at his swollen cock, laving it with my tongue while he gathered up my hair again. I felt his carefully trimmed nails on my scalp, and a great breath escaped him.

  I took him in my mouth, drawing with long, luxurious strokes, deep and slow as possible, while all the while he kept kneading at my hair, like a cat with a toy. A few dust mites danced in the light slipping between the velvet curtains, and the oriental carpet was soft beneath my knees. It seemed to take a very long time. He said nothing more, and my mouth was otherwise occupied. Just when I had begun to think this would surely go on all morning, he moaned, his hands clenching on my curls, and came almost silently.

  I swallowed convulsively, as nothing else would do in the precious neatness of the office.

  Wordlessly, he handed me his handkerchief, with which I wiped my mouth while he rebuttoned his breeches. "There, you are neat, Madame," he said.

  I hardly knew what to say to that, so I blinked prettily instead.

  He drew one long ribbon of hair across my shoulder. "I have left you in disarray," he said. "I have ruined your morning's work."

  My hair felt like a ball of yarn that has been batted about the floor. "It is nothing," I said, feeling vaguely sick on my stomach and wishing I could be gone.

  "Oh, but I cannot let you go out like that!" he said. "Here, let me take a hand."

  "It is nothing," I said again, wondering if I should ask if we could meet again, or wait for him to bring it up. "I do not mind."

  "I shall mind, if you leave here looking ruinous," Talleyrand said, brushing his fingers ineffectually over my draggled curls. "Come, let me restore you. Bend your head like a pretty thing."