by L. C. Son
Shutting my eyes as I do, fearful of what position I’ll find my young sister in, I shout her name, hopeful at least her calling reply settles my growing angst.
“Treuse?” Chalmette whispers back to me in almost a chuckle, I fear what I’ll see once I open my eyes. Opening one eye and squeezing the other shut, I am hardly prepared for what I see before me. “Are you well, sister?” Chalmette asks in her normal quiet and syrupy sweet tone.
I am surprised to find my sister and her tipper seated at her table with a deck of cards in their hands and copper tokens spread before them.
“Um, Chalmette, I—I was just coming in to check on you,” I say, gazing around the room and taking note her bed is still well made and her hair kempt.
“By barging into my suite, Treuse? Surely you are not well,” Chalmette replies with a warm smile.
The gentleman across from her keeps his sights steady at the table as if I never entered the room.
“We’re playing Faro!” Chalmette says with a lilting chuckle. “Armando is teaching me!”
“Armando is losing,” the gentleman answers gruffly, studying his cards.
“And you—you’re okay?” I ask, staring back and forth between the two.
“Why, of course I am, Treuse!” Chalmette says, tossing three cards down to the table and moving the token. Armando mutters some curse in French, throwing his cards over his shoulder, obviously upset at his loss.
Jumping up from the table, Chalmette saunters toward me and rests her hands on my shoulders and smiles. Nervous energy rages through me as I search her face, trying to understand the cause at her now giddy state.
“Well, it’s just as you’ve always said, sister. He really did come to rescue us! I am so happy, Chartreuse! Thank you for always taking care of me!” Pulling me in for a tight embrace, my thoughts scatter and I try to make sense of her words.
“Rescue us? Who? What?” I question as flickers of my encounter with both Mother and Monroe rage through my mind. Chalmette keeps her tight hold on me as she now peers over my shoulders, looking behind me.
Turning around I see him. Dalcour. For a moment everything with Monroe, mother, and thoughts of my sister giving herself away for the first time were the only thing holding my mind captive. Just that quickly, I forgot Dalcour was here.
Leaning on the doorframe with Scotty standing like a large shadow behind him, Dalcour smiles wide with his arms folded across his chest.
“I suppose had you let me finish back in your room you would’ve known that your sister is safe. I’ve had Armando keeping her company tonight,” Dalcour says in a charming yet censuring tone.
“Armando lost all his money tonight,” Armando seethes as he cleans the cards from the table and puts them in a small leather case.
“Oh stop your whining, old friend! You know you’ll earn it all back and then some,” Dalcour snips over my shoulder to Armando. Armando mutters something back in French, huffing as he does and Dalcour laughs.
“Wait—you two are friends?” I ask.
“Why, of course,” Dalcour begins with a bright smile. Chalmette hugs me tight at the waist and her smile beams from ear to ear. Her eyes say it all, she’s swooning. And rightfully so.
“I don’t understand, Dalcour. Why are you here?” Although I’ve dreamt of this moment for what seems like my entire life, I need to hear him say it.
“You already know, Chartreuse. I am here to take you with me. Home.”
Chapter Six
Home. My mind ponders the word. Not since my father’s passing has any place truly felt like home. While my eldest sister Calida did all she could to maintain a sense of normalcy in our lives after father’s death, even she couldn’t bring back what we had lost.
“Yes, home, Chartreuse—for you and young Chalmette. Victoria is married, yes?”
I nod at his inquiry, but a part of me wants to tell him of her dire state. She needs rescuing just as much as Chalmette and me.
“Then gather any items of importance and we shall leave this horrid place at once!” The lightness of Dalcour’s tone is botched when both Chalmette and I turn to find Mother standing at the door.
“I will not allow it!” She shouts. “You will not take my children from me!”
“We are not your children! And you have never been a mother!” Chalmette snaps back, charging toward Mother. I pull her back, stepping in front of her as I watch Monroe stumbling from behind.
“Neither of you is going anywhere with this demon nigger!” Monroe yells back.
No sooner than the words leave Monroe’s mouth, Dalcour’s hand is once more at his neck with his fangs protruding. His velvety skin shimmers in a reddened glow and I watch terror fill Chalmette’s eyes and Armando is quickly at her side, turning her into his embrace. His protection of her seems almost parental and I wish I had time to consider how much they must have bonded in such a short time.
Plunging his way through the hallway with Monroe in his feverish grip, Dalcour hangs Monroe over the balcony. A few gasps echo through the hall but most are too enthralled with their own carnal dealings to notice Monroe dangling above them. Those who gathered in the hall scatter to their respective rooms and even those in the most drunken of state back away from Dalcour.
“I warned you!” Dalcour seethes, his tongue lashing against the sweaty skin at Monroe’s neck.
“Take your hands off him!” Mother protests, but Scotty pulls her back as Dalcour’s clawed fingers reach for her. A part of me is thankful for Scotty, although the look in his eyes tells me it is more for me than it is for her. Dalcour’s black, soulless eyes gaze between both Mother and Monroe, snarling as his fangs extend beyond what I thought him capable, and I know he has every intention on ending them both.
And everything in me wishes he would.
Chalmette’s cries behind me drown my desire to see them meet their demise. Gazing over my shoulder, Armando keeps her engulfed in the trenches of his hold, but her sobs puppeteer my heart strings.
“Please, no!” I plead to Dalcour and he growls, lashing his tongue once more at Monroe, holding him just shy above the chandelier. I know if he dropped him now all his entrails would spill onto the congregants below as soon as the sharp iron rods of the light fixture ripped through his ribcage. “Not like this!” I beg only for Chalmette not to witness such barbarity.
Stepping away from Chalmette and into the hallway, I look over to Scotty as he keeps a strong hold on my Mother. She gazes at me, and nothing but disdain mars her face as she pines for her foolish beloved. Why she constantly chooses him above her own flesh and blood is beyond me, but I will choose Chalmette before my own desire to see Dalcour end their lives.
“Please, my lord,” I call once more to Dalcour. Slowly, his fangs retract, and he pulls Monroe back over the railing and holds him against the large wooden pillar at his left.
“Are you certain this is what you want, young one?” Dalcour questions over his shoulder without taking his eyes off either Monroe or Mother.
“Yes, I am certain,” I say coming to his side, standing between both Monroe and my mother. “Their reckoning will come soon, my lord. And if fate should permit, I alone will see their reckoning at my hand.” The vengeful sentiment of my heart meets my mother just as I intend. Mother’s entire posture bucks at my words and sweat blazes her brow.
“So be it.” Dalcour tosses Monroe into Mother’s arms as Scotty pulls himself away from her. Even Scotty’s lips curl in disgust at the sight of Monroe cradled in the arms of the one who birthed me.
Monroe’s cries and curses remain muffled in the cavity of her hold, but she keeps her venomous sights set on me.
Looking at her, I have neither pity nor shame for her state. Her demise, as it were, is all of her own doing. Hers alone.
“Treuse!” Chalmette whines behind me as she races into my embrace. Armando allows a small smile to frame his otherwise stoic expression as he gives me a nod of what appears to be
approval.
“It’s okay, sister,” I say, comforting Chalmette as she digs herself deeper into my hold. “Today is your last day in this place.”
“Armando,” Dalcour begins. “Quickly gather their belongings and meet us at the carriage. We’ll need to make it to the other side of town before daylight breaks.”
“Yes, my lord,” Armando answers quickly, with a stifled bow.
“Only my father’s dagger, please Scotty,” I say to him as I see him scurrying to aid Armando.
“No, no Chartreuse! Don’t forget these!” Chalmette whines, pulling out of my grip and runs to her vanity and grabs an emerald and black jewelry box. “Here are Calida’s pearls!” she yelps as she races back to me, holding the long stringed set and tossing it around my neck.
“My word,” Dalcour mutters under his breath as he stares at me like he’d seen a ghost.
“What?” I question, casting curious gazes between him and Chalmette.
“I knew you resembled her but seeing you now—in her pearls—you look just like Calida.” Dalcour’s muted words hang between us as he stares at me, his smile widening, and I see something at work behind his eyes I wish I could comprehend.
“And you’ll end up just like her!” Mother yells from the hallway, slowly rising from the floor with Monroe in her arms. “Dead! You’ll end up dead just like your sister! Better you be dead than my daughter! You’re dead to me girl! Dead you hear?”
Like a Spanish bull, all I see is red. Racing toward her, everything in me wishes to toss her and her beloved over the railing. Consequences be damned.
“No, young one!” Dalcour’s words halt my pacing as his swift motion carries him in front of my mother and Monroe in a flash. “Your time will come and when you are ready and should circumstances still necessitate it as so, you shall see their reckoning come. But not now. The hour grows late, and we must depart to safer ground,” Dalcour says looking around the hall at the throws of white faces staring at him with murderous intent. Although I am sure he could best any who came his way, he knows too well the climate of the south and in his most subdued state, chooses not to tempt matters.
I could do anything I want, but it is he who would surely get the blame.
Looking up and down the hall, Dalcour stiffens his posture. His fangs release and eyes darken, but not quite as black as before.
“We are leaving now, and I implore each of you to return to your affairs of night. Know you have seen nothing, nor have you ever seen me. Should any of you seek to pursue me or my companions, know this: death will come on swift wings for you. And I shall most willingly usher you to death’s door. Judging by your most immoral appetites I surely doubt there shall be any patron saints waiting to greet your arrival!”
At his words, the face of each man pales at the sight of Dalcour and every house girl watches me through both curious and fearful eyes.
Dalcour snaps his fingers and both Scotty and Armando follow quickly behind him as he trots down the staircase. Chalmette grips my hand in hers and we walk past our mother and Monroe and head down the steps. While most of the patronage seem somewhat unbothered by what occurred on the balcony floor, everyone seems to take note of Dalcour as he saunters through the saloon.
I am not sure how he made his way through without being seen before, but it is evident everyone sees him now. Crawley jumps up from the piano and races to the door, blocking Dalcour’s exit. Looking over his shoulder, annoyance fills Dalcour’s face, and I see the beginnings of his fangs lift beneath his incisors.
“Crawley!” I call in a cajoling tone, resting my hand on Dalcour’s shoulder, hopeful to douse his rage and avoid a scene. “This is Lord Dalcour Marchand—from—London by way of New Orleans. Our families have long been acquainted,” I say quickly.
Dalcour huffs, shaking my hand from his shoulder and exits abruptly with Scotty and Armando on his heels. Chalmette remains at my side and she looks around the saloon and her eyes grow wide as a lone tear drops to her cheek. It pains me knowing I must take my sister from the only home she has ever known, but I know it is for the best.
“Marchand-eh?” Crawley replies, raising a brow, swirling the chewing stick in his mouth. “And you’re leaving? For good? On your own accord?”
“Yes, Crawley. For good and our own accord. Farewell, my friend,” I say with a small peck on his cheek. He pats my head and holds the door open for me and Chalmette as we exit.
Just as the doors open, I hear my name from behind and the pace of my heart quickens. Releasing Chalmette’s hand, I nod for her to continue as I turn to find Marius holding a small barrel of port behind me. He drops it and looks around the hall bewildered.
“Chartreuse?” He says my name with inquiry. “What—what’s going on? Where are you going?” Peering over my shoulder, Marius looks between the cracked door Crawley holds open and his eyes spot Armando helping Chalmette into the carriage.
“I am sorry, Marius. This is goodbye,” I say quickly, turning on my heel. I need to get away from him before the waterworks begin.
“Goodbye? I don’t understand, Chartreuse. Tonight was our only hello. I had hoped—well, tonight was the first time you’d ever seen me. I had hoped—that perhaps we could—”
“I am sorry, Marius. We cannot. There is no we,” I stutter my words, rushing out the door. Pulling my arm from behind, Marius stops my movement and lifts my now waterlogged chin so I can meet his gaze.
“Who? Who, Chartreuse is taking you from me? And so soon,” he asks, his eyes now forming glassy pools.
“Long lost family.” I lie but I can think of no better way to explain. Crawley’s brow raises at my pretense, but he turns his face away from us, still holding the door open. “I must go now. It’s for Chalmette. I cannot allow this to become her fate,” I continue, gesturing toward the saloon.
“I suppose I understand,” Marius begins, his countenance downcast. “Will I ever see you again? I mean—will you at least return to visit your mother?”
At the mention of her and the thought of her disgusting deeds tonight, I work to swallow the hard knot in my throat. I can’t tell him the truth because he deserves better.
“Chartreuse!” I hear Dalcour call my name from behind.
“I am sorry, Marius, but I must go,” I say turning away from him. Once more he pulls my arm, but this time he pulls me into his hold and crushes his mouth to mine.
This is my first kiss.
My first real kiss, that is.
Twenty-seven years and countless tippers over the last decade and this is my first kiss. A farewell kiss. Salty tears mesh between our mouths and I can’t distinguish his between my own. His sweet tongue wraps mine and the hint of rum punch and berry cobbler tickle my tastebuds. Holding my face between his palms, everything about his kiss is all encompassing.
All my fears, doubt, and the pain of both my tortured past and present state melt away in his grip.
As he kisses me, I recount the many days we passed one another or shared a laugh and I never saw him as I do now. How could I have missed him? He’s always perched himself near my suite, even though his room was in the cellar. He made sure the cooks kept the best in the kitchen for me and ensured Scotty gave me my meals after my evening entertaining adjourned. Every morning he greeted me with a warm smile and shared the morning news.
He has always been there.
And now whatever we could have is gone already. I cannot stay in this place. I will not keep my sister here for Marius or any man.
I will not become my mother.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he sweetly whispers, forcing a smile. His gaze is tender as he regards me, but it hurts more seeing the brokenness in his eyes.
“I wish you would have done that sooner,” I whisper back, pressing my face into his palm.
“Madame Chartreuse,” Armando calls behind me. “I am afraid we must hasten, lest we catch the sun.”
Pulling my face from his hands
, I take Marius’ hand in mine as he escorts me down the steps.
“Promise me something, Marius,” I say, looking up at him and trailing my hand over his face. “Don’t let this place become your home. Build your own. You are better than Monroe. You always have been. Promise me you will leave this place,” I demand in a tone stronger than I intend.
“I promise, Chartreuse. I will build something for us,” Marius replies, planting a soft kiss on my wrist as he and Scotty help me in the carriage.
“No, Marius. Build it for you. There is no us,” I answer resolutely. I hate the words coming from my mouth, but it is the only truth I can bare to him tonight. We can never be. Marius steps back at my sentiment and he turns away from Scotty, quickly wiping the tear from his face and makes his way back up the saloon stairs where he and Crawley enter.
Scotty looks up at me in the carriage and I marvel at the sight of the gentle giant who has ever been my companion and protector. “If only there was room for me,” he says staring inside the cabin, his eyes tender as he shifts his gaze back to me.
“I know, my friend,” I begin, patting his bulking shoulders. “Maybe I’ll get you on my next trip,” I answer in jest.
“Perhaps,” he replies, with his head down. “But I didn’t quite mean the carriage, poppet.” Scotty’s admission breaks me as he swats the back of the horse and backs away.
Tears flood my face as I witness yet another broken heart at my doing. This time, Chalmette holds me in her arms as thoughts of both Scotty and Marius rip my heart in two. Chalmette hums a familiar melody as she strums her hands through my hair as the carriage pulls away from the saloon. I faintly think I hear my name called in the distance, but I keep my face planted in her embrace.
For years, I’ve dreamt of nothing but leaving this place. Now the day has come, and I never thought leaving would hurt so much.
Chapter Seven
