The Forbidden

by F. R. Tallis

  ‘Yes. It was most distressing.’ I paused for a moment and felt some strange compulsion to invite harsh judgement. ‘I fear that I may have been complacent, too willing to believe that I had developed a cure, when in fact my achievement was much less impressive.’

  ‘Do not talk like that, monsieur! Annette and Tristan are so much better than they were.’ She reached out and somewhat awkwardly took my hand and pressed my fingers. I had not been touched like that for a very long time and I was disturbed by a sudden frisson of desire.

  ‘I will make up the infusion,’ I said, pulling away from Hélène, although my withdrawal was delayed by a slight tightening of her grip. It was as if she didn’t want to let go. I went to the cupboard, took out some bottles and set about mixing the ingredients. Outside, the dogs began to howl.

  We looked at each other and Hélène said, ‘What a noise! I hope they don’t wake Annette.’ She sat down on the divan and I saw that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Through the thin silk of her red stockings I could see her ankles and toes. I tried to stop myself from stealing glances but found it almost impossible. She did not notice this liberty because she had turned away from me and was gazing directly at the chest. After a few moments, she started and said, ‘1 beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said nothing, madame.’

  She seemed a little disorientated and when she noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes, she stood up abruptly and shook her skirt to ensure that her feet were properly covered. I pretended not to see what she was doing and kept my head bowed. When I had finished, I handed Hélène the infusion.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I will drink it before I retire.’ She picked up her candle and walked to the door. The howling of the dogs had grown louder and she tutted before saying, ‘What is the matter with them?’

  ‘I don’t know, madame.’

  ‘They often bark, but I have never heard them howl like this.’

  She stepped into the library and glided through the darkness like a ghost. When she had gone I marched over to the chest, slammed my hand down on the lid, and hissed ‘Stop it! Stop it! Leave them alone!’ An image flashed into my mind: Hélène Du Bris lying with her legs spread apart, naked but for a pair of red stockings. I withdrew my hand so quickly the lid might have been a hotplate.

  22

  The following morning I went to see Annette. She was in fine spirits and seemed almost recovered. I had wanted to give her the amulet, but Monique was hovering, and I decided that it would be wise to leave it until we were alone. Although I was hungry, I wanted to clear my head, so I went for a short walk around the gardens before returning for breakfast. As I entered the courtyard, I saw Louis and Monsieur Boustagnier lifting one of two large trunks on to the back of the trap. Du Bris came out of one of the rear doors; he was smartly dressed and propelled himself forward with a cane. There was something about his confident swagger that reminded me of Charcot.

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Clément.’

  ‘Good morning,’ I replied. ‘Are you leaving us?’

  ‘Yes, just for a few days. Tours.‘He paused, deliberating whether to say any more, then added, ‘I have to sign some documents.’ The smell of his cologne was somewhat overpowering. It occurred to me that he had taken more care over his appearance than was customary for an appointment with a notary. Du Bris straightened the carnation in his buttonhole and asked, ‘How is Annette?’

  ‘Very well. There are no complications.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ He then looked at me as if to say, ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I was wondering,’ I began, affecting a casual manner, ‘did you get a chance to talk to Madame Odile?’

  ‘What about?’ A trace of impatience had hardened his voice.

  The book I mentioned.’

  Oh that! No. I’m sorry, I didn’t. I’ll ask her when I get back. Now, if you don’t mind, Clément, I really must go. I need to catch the diligence.’ He climbed up onto the box and Louis tugged the reins. The trap rolled off and Monsieur Boustagnier threw me an amused glance.

  After eating breakfast in the kitchen, I went to Annette’s room, meaning to give her the amulet, but when I arrived she was not there. I discovered from Mademoiselle Drouart that Annette was feeling much stronger and that she had gone for a walk with her mother. On returning to my study I wrote to a hotel in Paris, before sifting through my belongings, separating those things I must take with me from those that I might leave behind.

  Louis had returned from the village with some letters, and among them was one addressed to me from Valdestin. We had maintained a very occasional correspondence since my departure from the Salpêtrière. This opportune communication would add legitimacy to the story I was concocting in my head, concerning the receipt of bad news of a personal nature and the regretful necessity of my return to Paris. I had resolved to make my announcement the next day, and for that reason found it impossible to dine with the family. Once again, I ate in my rooms alone and, as the sun was setting, ventured out for what I imagined would be my very last walk in the gardens of the chateau. As I was making my way through the Garden of the Senses, I heard the dogs starting to howl, just as they had howled the previous night. A few minutes later I entered the courtyard and saw Louis standing by the kennel. The dogs were kept in an enclosure consisting of a low square wall, on top of which were high iron railings.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with them,’ said Louis, removing a cigarette from between his lips. ‘I’ve never seen them like this before.’ Two of the dogs were standing on their hind legs, making a plaintive wailing noise, while the other three were crawling in circles, crouched low and whimpering. I shrugged, said, ‘Goodnight,’ and entered the chateau through the kitchen door. After passing through the dining room and parlour, I ascended the stairs and entered the library, where I took my seat at the table. I then went through my notes, checking my early transcriptions for accuracy – particularly those passages concerned with the construction of magical weapons. This was a demanding task, and the verification of hieroglyphs and symbols occupied me until the early hours of the morning.

  It was only when I paused to smoke a cigar that I registered the silence. The dogs had stopped howling. I should have been glad, because they had been making a frightful din, but instead the silence made me feel uneasy, as if every living thing had departed from the world and I was totally alone. The landscape beyond the library walls had become, in my imagination, a desolate, empty expanse. Opening my mouth, I released a cloud of smoke and watched it roll over the cracked pages of an illuminated manuscript. The minute hand dropped on the clock face and I noted the time: ten minutes past two. A faint pattering sound broke the silence, and I assumed that it had started to rain, but when I looked up at the window I saw no trails or droplets, and as I listened more closely, the sound became louder and clearer. Someone was running up the stairs. A moment later, I saw the glow of a candle and a figure wearing nightclothes entering the antechamber.

  ‘Monsieur?’ It was a young female voice, and belonged to Monique. She was obviously surprised to find me sitting up in the library.

  I stood and marched towards her, ‘What is it? Not another seizure, I hope!’

  ‘No. The little mistress is well.’ The maid’s hair was uncombed and stuck out horizontally in matted bunches. ‘Madame Du Bris sent me.’

  ‘Why? What is wrong with her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Annie wanted me to sleep in her room again tonight – and I did – and I was asleep, but Madame Du Bris woke me up and told me to get you at once. She looked . . .’ the girl hesitated, ‘not herself.’ This was a peculiar turn of phrase and she seemed a little uncomfortable. She looked past me into the library, and I could see that she thought it most irregular for a gentleman to be reading in the middle of the night.

  We rushed down the stairs and Monique led me through a series of connected rooms until we came to an elongated chamber that served as a kind of hallway, with doors running along either side. The maid
indicated one to our left, and glanced, rather anxiously, down an adjoining corridor. I gathered that she was worried about Annette.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You can go now, if you wish.’ She thanked me and scuttled off.

  I was standing outside a room that I had never been in before. It was not where Hélène and her husband usually slept. I was familiar with the marital apartment because Du Bris had come down with a chest infection the previous winter, and naturally I had spent some time at his bedside. I straightened my neck tie, combed my fingers through my hair and knocked on the door. There was a lengthy pause, and I was about to strike again, when Hélène called out, ‘Come in.’ I turned the handle and entered. The room was lit by a single oil lamp and smelled of lavender. Medieval tapestries hung from the walls, and the furniture – a large wardrobe, a dressing table and a chest of drawers – was solidly built. I could not see Hélène because she was concealed behind the drapes of a four-poster bed.

  ‘Madame?’ I said tentatively. One of the heavy brocade curtains moved aside and I saw her, sitting up and supported by a mountain of embroidered pillows. ‘Madame?’ I enquired. ‘What is the matter?’ I stepped forward and peered through the opening in the drapes. Hélène’s eyes were half closed, the lids drooping, her hair a tangle of loose curls. She was wearing a nightdress, the neckline of which was low and revealing.

  ‘I could not sleep,’ she said. Her speech was slurred, as if she had been drinking, but I could not smell alcohol on her breath.

  ‘Do you want another infusion, madame?’

  Hélène continued as if I had said nothing. ‘And I have a pain . . .’ She touched her sternum and traced circles on her chest. ‘Here.’ Her legs became restless and her body seemed to twist and contort; her writhing did not suggest discomfort, however, but rather sensual abandon. Her other hand toyed with her curls before it disappeared beneath the counterpane, producing a wave in the crochet that rolled over her belly and subsided between her thighs. The small movements that followed were exploratory, and my head filled with images: a risen hem, an index finger curling between folds of flesh. I fancied that I could hear the whisper of silk and for no good reason supposed her to be wearing the same red stockings she had worn the night before. Desire ignited in the pit of my stomach and my loins burned.

  ‘Come closer,’ Hélène spoke softly. She reached out and pressed the palm of her hand against my tumescence and I gasped with astonishment. I knew that by submitting to her caresses I was acting dishonourably, but my admiration for her had always been complicated by deeper feelings. To be touched in this way, after so long, made her invitation to transgress almost irresistible. Yet, even as I stood there, trembling with expectation, I was also uneasy, and not only because of my guilty conscience. Since the dogs had stopped howling, everything that had happened had seemed unreal, like the disturbing events of a bad dream, and particularly so with respect to Hélène’s extraordinary behaviour. ‘Come closer,’ she repeated, the words carried on a falling sigh.

  She looked up at me and I recoiled in horror. There was nothing behind her eyes, only a terrible, submissive vacancy: a submissive vacancy that I recognized. I shook her shoulders, hoping to rouse her from the trance. ‘Madame, wake up – wake up!’ But it was no use, she simply fell back onto her pillow, moistened her lips with her tongue, and continued her sinuous movements. Once again, she touched her chest. ‘It hurts,’ she said. ‘It hurts.’

  I drew back, both fascinated and frightened by the spectacle of her sensual delirium. Her hand travelled through the air, the fingers making little grasping movements, as if she was hoping to attach herself to my person. Stepping backwards, I tripped on the rug and fell against the wardrobe. I did not know what to do and raced to the door, which I opened and slammed behind me. Before I had had a chance to compose myself, candlelight preceded the reappearance of Monique. She gave a little cry when she discovered me standing in the dark.

  ‘Monsieur!’ She placed her hand over her heart. ‘You made me jump!’

  ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘Have you seen Annie? Did she come this way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She isn’t in her room. I’ve been looking for her.’

  ‘Was she gone when you returned?’

  ‘Yes. I looked in the nursery, the chapel and the schoolroom. I couldn’t find her anywhere.’

  The door behind me opened, and Hélène stepped out. She had put on a night-coat and tied her hair up with a ribbon, but she still looked dishevelled and dazed. ‘Monsieur?’ she croaked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, ‘What is happening?’

  ‘Annette is missing,’ I replied.

  ‘Missing . . .’ she repeated.

  It seemed that she had no recollection of what had just transpired between us.

  ‘Yes,’ I continued, ‘however, I think I know where she might be.’ Hélène allowed me to take her lamp without protest and I marched off towards the stairs. ‘Monique,’ I called back. ‘Please carry on searching for the little mistress down here.’ I retraced my footsteps through the connected rooms, my soul full of dread. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard Hélène calling out, ‘Monsieur Clément. Wait!’ She had followed me and I turned to see her emerging from the gloom.

  ‘This way,’ I said, beginning my ascent.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘To my rooms.’

  ‘But why? Why would Annette go to your rooms. And at this time!’

  ‘She is sleep-walking – as before. Forgive me, madame, we must hurry.’

  When we reached the antechamber my pace quickened, and on entering the library I started to run. As I passed the terrestrial and celestial globes, the door to my apartment came into view. It was, as I had expected, wide open. The child had made her way through the chateau in total darkness. ‘Annette?’ I shouted. ‘Annette?’

  I burst into my study and what I saw brought me to an abrupt halt. My heart seemed to rise up and stop in my throat.

  The lid of the chest had been raised and the neatly folded squares of fabric strewn across the floor. I saw a jar on its side, an upturned cash box and the glimmer of discarded keys. Annette was standing next to the chest, arms outstretched, the crystal in her hands. She was staring into its core, entranced by the thing inside – her features lit by a red luminescence that shone out from the crack on its surface. A distorted yellow eye looked at me from within the glass, and the sickening force of the demon’s malice made me stagger. The eye blinked and vanished as Hélène caught up with me. I gestured for her to stand back.

  ‘Annette,’ I spoke gently. ‘Annette, put it down.’ She did not hear me and continued to stare into the crystal. ‘Annette,’ I pleaded. ‘Listen to me. It is very important that you listen to me.’

  ‘What is she holding?’ asked Hélène.

  ‘Madame – please,’ I pressed a rigid finger against my lips and took a cautious step towards the child. ‘Annette? It is Monsieur Clément speaking – your friend, Monsieur Clément. It is so very important that you listen to me, so very important – Annette?’

  I took another step.

  ‘Annette!’ Hélène called out. ‘Listen to Monsieur Clément, he is talking to you!’

  She was only trying to help, but it was enough to startle the child. Annette dropped the crystal and when it hit the floor the glass shattered. There was a flash of red light, a whiff of sulphur and a sudden rearrangement of the darkness – as if all the shadows in the room had rushed towards Annette. The child’s legs gave way under her and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

  I set the lamp aside, scooped her up and laid her out on the divan. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse fast, and when I lifted her eyelids I saw that her pupils had contracted to two pinpoints. I tried to rouse her, but she did not respond.

  Hélène was standing by my side. ‘Monsieur, what is wrong with her?’

  My answer was redundant and evasive: ‘She has lost consci
ousness.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hélène. ‘But has she had another seizure?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what . . her sentence stopped abruptly and her brow furrowed.

  ‘Madame,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps you should sit down.’ Hélène withdrew a little and I continued with my examination, but a worried mother is never silent for very long.

  ‘Monsieur? What was Annette holding when we entered this room?’

  ‘A glass receptacle.’

  ‘Yes, but what was it? I recall you once said that you kept dangerous chemicals in your chest. But . . .’

  Annette began to mutter something and Hélène fell silent. When I listened closely, I detected snatches of Latin and Greek.

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked Hélène.

  ‘Yes, for the moment.’ I stood up. ‘Madame, you must excuse me.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Just next door. I won’t be long.’

  I went into my bedroom, sat on the mattress and buried my head in my hands. It had succeeded once again. It had taken me to hell.

  Rage boiled up inside me. I clenched my fists, looked up at the ceiling and directed a stream of abuse towards heaven. But such was my despair I then fell on my knees and joined my hands together in prayer. I was prepared to try anything for Annette. I was even prepared to entertain the slender hope that Bazile’s theology was true, and that ultimately there was no other choice but to abandon reason and place one’s trust in an incomprehensibly higher authority.

  ‘Please, God,’ I prayed. ‘Do not let her suffer more than she must. I beg You.’

  ‘Monsieur Clément?’ Hélène’s muffled voice came from behind the door. I got up and re-entered the study, where I saw Hélène standing over Annette. The child was mumbling louder than before.

  ‘Listen,’ said Hélène. ‘Listen to what she is saying.’ I crouched down and heard a string of obscenities. ‘Why is she talking like that? I did not think she knew such words.’ Hélène glanced across the room and stared at the splinters of glass that sparkled in the lamplight. ‘What did Annette take from your chest?’