Unholy Fire

by Robert J. Mrazek

  As she turned, the dressing robe parted at her right side, revealing a slim, naked thigh. At the top of the stairs, we turned left down a well-lit hallway. I could hear low voices coming from behind the first door.

  At the end of the hall, we went through an open doorway into a candlelit sitting room. Going straight to an armoire against the far wall, she pulled out several articles of clothing.

  “Please wait here,” she said, before disappearing through the door beyond and closing it behind her.

  The room extended under the slope of the back roof of the house. There was a dormer window at each end. Under the side roof, a French door led out to a little second-story porch. A coal fire was burning in the grate of the fireplace. Two inviting chairs sat in front of it.

  A massive walnut sleigh bed dominated one corner. Next to the armoire was a walnut dressing table with matching mirror. There were no pictures or other adornments on the white plaster walls. Aside from a leather suitcase that lay on top of the armoire, I saw no personal objects of any kind.

  It was very warm in the room. I removed my greatcoat and slung it over one of the chairs. The door to the armoire was open. Most of the space inside was empty. She had fewer than a dozen dresses and other outfits. A drawer at the base of the armoire contained an assortment of neatly folded silk undergarments. I heard the far door open and turned to see her coming toward me, her hips barely moving as she walked.

  “Does my room pass your inspection, Captain McKittredge?” she asked, with the lilting French accent.

  “I’m surprised at how little you seem to have,” I said coldly.

  Her rose-high complexion seemed to color slightly before she responded.

  “It is good not to have too many things,” she replied. “Then it is not so hard to leave them.”

  She had changed into a simple white shift. It fell from her shoulders in the style of an old Greek engraving. At her neck she wore a band of lace-trimmed ivory satin. There were two matching satin bands around her wrists, each of them fastened by mother of pearl buttons.

  Her hair was still wet, and it shined like polished ebony in the candlelight.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Anya,” she said. “She was very greedy, but I liked her.”

  “I gather it runs in your profession,” I said, feeling another surge of anger.

  She smiled at me as if I were a disobedient child and sat down in one of the chairs near the fire.

  “So you are an investigator,” she said, making the last word sound important.

  I nodded.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “What does that matter?” I said.

  “You seem quite young to be involved in a matter of such importance.”

  “I’m twenty-one.”

  “Then you must be good at what you do,” she said.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Eighteen,” she said.

  “Then you must be good at what you do,” I said with sarcasm.

  “I am,” she replied evenly.

  “When was the last time you saw Miss Hagel?”

  “The night of General Hooker’s party,” she said.

  “Why were you there?” I asked, not pausing to think.

  Her brown eyes searched mine with a puckish air.

  “Why would you ask me that question?” she said. “You already know what I am.”

  I tried not to look as stupid as I felt.

  “Did you leave the birthday party together?” I said.

  “Yes,” she replied. “When it ended, we both went to a more … to a smaller party.”

  “And then?”

  “I did not see her again after we arrived.”

  “Did you happen to meet a woman there named Mavis Bannister?”

  “There were a number of other women there. By then the guests were not exchanging last names,” she said.

  “Where was this second party?” I asked next.

  “At a country house … I have no idea where.”

  “And you never saw Miss Hagel after you arrived at the second party?”

  There was a knock at the door. The girl called out, “Entrez,” and the old woman came into the room, gabbling something in the same strange language. The girl nodded but said nothing. The woman left.

  “Do you have a watch?” she asked then.

  I removed it from the pocket of my uniform blouse.

  “It is two-fifteen,” I said.

  “One of my responsibilities is to see that the other girls are accounted for by now. One of them appears to be missing. Hopefully, it will take no more than ten minutes to determine why. Then I would be happy to answer the rest of your questions. Is that all right?”

  I nodded.

  “May I wait here?” I said.

  “Of course.”

  As she was going out the door, she looked back and said, “My hired woman spent an hour heating water for my bath. Perhaps, while you are waiting, you would like one, too?”

  I had not had a bath in a week. The mere thought of it seemed like a chimerical illusion. Then an image of Val crossed my mind, the omnipotent gray eyes glaring at me from his hospital bed. I was about to say no, when she added, “It’s just that I can see you are very tired.”

  What could be the possible harm, I thought, already regretting my sanctimonious air. Who was I to judge anyone else, considering what I had become after Ball’s Bluff?

  “Thank you,” I said. “I would appreciate that.”

  “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, the tub is right there in the trunk room,” she said, pointing to the door beyond. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

  The trunk room was nothing more than an unheated windowless alcove under the raw undressed beams of the roof. In the light of a small oil lamp, I could actually see my breath in the air. It made the still steaming bathwater even more inviting.

  The burnished copper tub was large enough for two people and shaped like an inverted top hat with most of the brim cut away. Quickly unbuttoning my uniform, I laid it on the table and stepped into the bath, sinking down into the soapy water until it completely covered my head.

  Surfacing, I luxuriated in the cleansing heat, feeling it soak into my sore muscles and feet. After a few minutes, I lay my head against the back of the tub and closed my eyes.

  “Are you still alive?” came a voice from a long way off.

  I awoke with a start. She was standing in the open doorway of her bedroom.

  “I fell asleep,” I said.

  “The water must be quite cold by now.”

  “It is,” I said.

  Through the shift she was wearing, I could see the clear outline of her figure against the light behind her. She showed no sign of moving, and I felt a sudden stab of arousal. The bathwater hid my growing erection.

  “If you’ll give me a minute …”

  She smiled and shut the door.

  I vigorously toweled myself dry. When I went to the table to put my uniform back on, it was no longer there. Obviously, she or someone else had taken it while I was asleep. Feeling like a fool again, I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the door. She was sitting at the dressing table, brushing her hair, which ran all the way down to her waist.

  “Tante Louise is pressing your uniform,” she said, without turning to look at me. “It is a service of the house.”

  “Please have her bring it now,” I said.

  “Of course,” she replied, pulling the bell rope that hung next to her table. “In the meantime, I put a robe for you behind the door.”

  As she glanced at the reflection of my image in the mirror, her eyes suddenly widened. It took me a moment to realize that she was staring at the network of livid weals on my abdomen. Quickly turning to the side, I returned to the trunk room.

  A silk robe was hanging behind the door. I recognized it as soon as I removed it from the hook. The robe was
emblazoned with beautifully embroidered gilt dragons on a field of purple. General Hooker had been wearing it when I met him for the first time in the lavatory of the Washington Insane Asylum.

  I put the robe on, belted it, and went back into her room.

  “Very becoming,” she said, standing up from the table and coming slowly toward me.

  “Who brought you down to Falmouth?” I asked, trying to control my new bout of rage.

  She saw the anger in my face, and halted in the middle of the room.

  “I would prefer not to answer that,” she said.

  “Who brought you down to Falmouth?” I repeated.

  She stood motionless, her hands at her side.

  “Was it General Hooker?” I asked.

  “You sound like you know him.”

  “Well enough to know that I’m wearing his robe.”

  She could not hide the surprise in her eyes.

  “And what about Laird Hawkinshield?”

  She reacted as if I had slapped her.

  “He owns this place,” she said.

  “And you?”

  “No one owns me,” she said almost defiantly.

  “Did he bring you and Anya down to Falmouth?”

  “You do not understand,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “This involves men of … great reputation.”

  “Maybe I don’t understand,” I said, “but Anya was murdered down there. That should mean something to you.”

  I was shocked at the intensity of my desire for her.

  She must have seen it in my eyes because she came toward me again, stopping less than a foot away. The crown of her head came up to my chin, and I could smell the fragrance of honeysuckle in her hair.

  I forced myself to look directly into her eyes.

  “Was it Hawkinshield?”

  Her uplifted face was inches from mine.

  “Do you have a girl?” she whispered, her full lips barely parted.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  She raised her lips toward mine.

  “Have you ever made love to her?”

  I could feel the sweet ebb and flow of each breath as she stood close to me, our mouths almost touching. Then she pressed her lips lightly against my mine. They seemed to soften before slowly parting.

  Her mouth tasted like warm caramel.

  I felt my nervousness disappear as a wave of pure sensation rippled down my spine. She groaned something incoherently against my lips, stepping away only when there was a light knock at the door. The old woman came into the room carrying my newly pressed uniform over her arm. As if there was some silent signal between them, she laid it on the back of one of the chairs and left. Amelie followed her and locked the door. Picking up a brass candelabrum from the dressing table, she carried it over to the stand next to the bed. Then almost shyly, she came toward me again.

  When we were facing one another, she loosened her shift. I watched it fall away. Except for the silk embroidered band around her neck, and the matching bands on her wrists, she stood naked before me.

  Untying the belt of General Hooker’s robe, she slid it down over my shoulders. I began to run my fingers through her thick hair, kissing the tendrils, and inhaling the scent of honeysuckle as her lips caressed the nipples of my chest, and slowly began to move lower. At the same time, the tips of her fingers grazed my thighs, and I felt a violent surge of desire.

  With great tenderness, she began to kiss the scars that crisscrossed my belly. For the first time since I was wounded, I felt the shame of that disfigurement start to ebb away. A moment later she took me into her mouth.

  The needles of raw sensation were so intense that I had to pull her head away, not wanting this time with her to be over too quickly. Raising Amelie to her feet, I stroked her pear-shaped breasts before picking her up and placing her on the bed. Lying together, we kissed for a long time. I had never felt so alive.

  Suddenly, I was inside her. She gently wrapped her slender arms and legs around me, and our bodies began to move as one. Her fingertips seemed everywhere at once, now tracing my neck and shoulders, a moment later my inner thighs. The edge of my desire swept away every trace of reserve or control. I was falling. As I exploded within her, my cheek happened to come to rest over her breast. While my own heart was pounding like I had just run a race, hers was beating slow and constant.

  It was a shock to discover that as wondrous as each moment had been for me, she had been in a different place, perhaps an unreachable place, cloistered from the raw passion she had aroused in me. At the same time, she seemed to take pleasure in the act of giving me so much joy. As our bodies parted, she cocked her head to the side in a glance of momentary appraisal. Seeing the total satiation in my face, she smiled.

  Something occurred to me at that moment and I laughed out loud.

  “What is it?” she asked, confused.

  “This is so crazy,” I said.

  “What is crazy?”

  “I came here to question you about the murder.”

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered, her face solemn in front of mine. “And I am telling you the truth when I say that I do not know who killed Anya.”

  “I believe you,” I said, wanting it to be true, but by no means sure.

  Perhaps, it will sound jaded, but at that moment I was too happy to even care. I fell asleep in Amelie’s arms, my fingers stroking her hair.

  In my dream I was back at Ball’s Bluff. It was the same hideous nightmare I had endured so many times in the year since the battle. I again saw Johnny Harpswell at the moment the Confederate bullet ruined his handsome face, with the force of it taking him over the gunwhale of the rowboat. Only one thing was different. When I reached out for him as he went over, this time I was able to grab him around the shoulders and drag him back.

  “I have you, Johnny!” I screamed.

  I came awake to Amelie’s gentle voice crooning in my ear.

  “You are with me now,” she said, her warm breast soft against my cheek.

  Afterward, she brought me a glass of icy water from the trunk room. The coal fire had gone out by then, and it was cold enough to see our breath in the light of the candle. It wavered as she lifted the covers to rejoin me in bed. Then she burrowed in next to me under the massive feather tick.

  “Go to sleep,” she murmured quietly, and I did.

  When I awoke next, it was to the moaning complaint of the wind as it whistled through the chimney. All the candles in the room had burned out, but there was a misty, diffused light coming from the windows. Without waking Amelie, I got out of the bed and went over to the nearest dormer. There were several inches of snow on the windowsill, and it was still coming hard.

  I wasn’t sure whether the packet boats would be running down to Falmouth in the morning, but even then I knew that I needed to take Amelie back down there with me. I believed her when she told me she didn’t know who killed Anya Hagel. At the same time, I was certain she had information that would shed light on the murder, perhaps without even knowing it. Fully aware of my own limitations, I knew I wasn’t the person to uncover that information or fit it into the other pieces of the puzzle. With the feelings I had for her, I was also reluctant to probe her relationship with Hawkinshield. My hope was that Val would have recovered enough to take over again by the time we reached Falmouth. I silently prayed once more that his neck wasn’t broken.

  Shivering with cold, I returned to the bed. Amelie was lying on her side, her right cheek resting on the palm of her hand like a little girl. Under the comforter, her knees were drawn up, almost touching her stomach. I felt a rush of tenderness toward her that was as intense as any emotion I had ever experienced. She stirred awake when I slipped back under the covers. Her eyes were like two dark moons in the murky light.

  “What would you like me to call you?” she asked.

  I remembered that she had only read my name once off the identity card.

  “My name is John,” I said, “but Kit is the name I grew up with. That’s w
hat most people call me.”

  “I would like to call you by the same name you cried out in the night,” she murmured softly. “Johnny.”

  I liked it. By then she could have called me anything, and I would have liked it. I stared into her eyes for a long time.

  “I want to help you, Amelie,” I said, finally.

  “Help me?” she said, with a sigh of resignation, as if she had heard the line before.

  “Help you leave this life.”

  “Don’t say that. You do not understand,” she said.

  “I understand.”

  “Do not try to be noble for me,” she said. “There is no point.”

  “I’m not trying to be noble,” I said. The next words came out by themselves. “I think I love you, Amelie.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she said harshly.

  “I already know the worst,” I said.

  Her eyes rose slowly toward mine and stayed there.

  “I was once the kind of girl you might have fallen in love with, Johnny … not now. Do not pretend that I am.”

  “I’m not pretending,” I said.

  “This is not a fairy tale,” she said, putting her hand to my cheek, “and the truth is all I have left. I will not lie to please you. Find another whore to play that game for you if you must.”

  “It is not a game. I love you, Amelie.”

  Her guttural laugh was filled with contempt.

  “Like so many other young soldiers I’ve known, you are merely in love with the romantic notion of falling in love. It is a fantasy … a delusion.”

  “I loved you from the moment I first saw you,” I said, knowing even then how callow the words must have sounded to her.

  “Tell me why,” she demanded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me what you feel for me … aside from my having given you physical gratification.”

  “That’s part of it.… But it’s everything else, too.… I’ve never been so happy in my whole life as I am right now. I don’t want this night to ever end.”

  Her frown slowly disappeared. She tousled my hair with her fingers.

  “You are easily impressed, Johnny.”

  “And everything is suddenly beautiful,” I said next.