by L. C. Son
A loud knocking at the door jolts me awake in a panic. Bewildered, I stare around the room and try to gather my senses, but I cannot. My mind is still rummaging about with haunting nightmares too chilling to tell and too painful to recount.
Dark, looming thoughts riddle through me as I try to make sense of my bearings and note my surroundings. Gripping the cottony soft blue duvet at my chin, I look around the room and try to establish some familiarity, but I cannot. There is nothing faintly familiar about this place.
Instead of the stench of pipe cigars and port, the smell of freshly baked bread and the sizzling crackle of what I make to believe is salted pork, waft past my nostrils and my stomach grumbles in response. Although all signs point toward breakfast, the darkness surrounding me gives no quarter to the sun’s light.
Thickly drawn curtains hang just inches from the crown molding, lengthening long enough to sweep the floor. The dark gray pattern is so thick, I am certain not even the sun’s rays can permeate the suite. The pillowy soft bedding is comforting to the touch, but the frame of the bed is larger than one I’ve ever known, swallowing my petite frame in its center. I can’t help imagining if one were to sleep on a cloud, this bedding should mirror its likeness.
Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness and even in such a dim view, I see this room is vastly different from my suite in the saloon. Flickering images of my tussle with Monroe and my raging with Mother flood my memory and then my mind forms a sharper image. Dalcour Marchand. Thoughts of him rescuing me from the makings of what sought to be my demise, settle my gnawing ire.
But there is one more memory. Marius. My heart warms with delight as I reminisce on the sweetness of our kiss and my eyes instantly glass knowing it was likely our last. Still, my heart rejoices that amid such despair the fates would grant me at least a modicum of happiness. And for that, I’ll forever be thankful.
As my mind continues to replay the events of last night, I jump out the bed, planting my feet hard on the floor when my hand searches the bed, I notice my beloved sister is nowhere to be found. I land hard on the wood floor and the pacing of my heart quickens as the knock on the door ceases and I see the golden doorknob slowly turns.
The door opens and the bright light from outside my suite is almost blinding. Before I have a chance for my eyes to adjust to the new light invading my space, I hear a lilting chuckle and a hearty laugh break through, lessening my angst.
“You see, Armando, I told you she would be up. My sister never sleeps too late,” I hear Chalmette giggle as I watch her shadowy form saunter into the suite.
“Well, she is certainly up, but why is she standing still in the dark? And why is she looking at us like she’s about to strike,” Armando quips, carrying a large metal serving tray.
“I agree, Armando. It is rather dark in here, sister,” Chalmette laughs once more as she goes to the curtains and draws back one side.
Still trying to make sense of it all, I turn about and toss on a robe I see at the foot of the bed. Chalmette is all smiles as the sun reveals her lovely round face as she posts near the window. Her smile widens from ear to ear as Armando sets the tray of food at my bedside. He barely looks at me as he does but shuffles quickly to the threshold.
“I will leave you two now. I would say enjoy your breakfast, but its way past the hour. Help yourself to whatever you like in the wardrobe after you have eaten and washed. Lord Marchand will be up from his rest shortly. Madame Chartreuse, he will be expecting you in the parlor. I shall keep the company of young Chalmette in the study.” Armando is out of the room before either my sister or I have an opportunity to respond.
“I guess Armando isn’t much of a morning person,” I mutter while examining the array of food on the tray.
“Morning? Please, it’s well into the afternoon, missy! You slept the morning away. Besides, he’s only huffy because I beat him again. He honestly thought he could win his money back from last night,” Chalmette laughs, dipping a biscuit into the small saucer of jam and stuffing it into her mouth. “But trust me, he’s actually quite friendly,” she adds through full cheeks.
“I see, you two have made fast friends. Anyway, why did you let me sleep so long? After Dalcour said we’d rest the night in one of his itinerant estates, all I recall is falling fast asleep,” I respond as I try to recount the details of the evening.
“We both did. But when I awoke, I just had to tour the grounds. This place is rather grand, Chartreuse! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Chalmette’s eyes dance as she speaks, and I can tell she’s quite impressed. While I know I should be equally ecstatic, I am not.
Memories of Dalcour’s otherworldly face stir the core of me. I know what he is. Vampire. In all my rage toward both Monroe and Mother, I gave little thought that perhaps bringing Chalmette around Dalcour is simply trading one monster for another.
Sure, I have romanticized him rescuing us to her countless times over the years, a part of me never thought the day would come. Now that it is here, I fear I must still protect her from yet another threat. One even more dangerous.
Clearly, I did not think this through.
“Chalmette, sister, you should not have left this room without me! Much less traipsing through this estate as though it were our home. It is not!” I snap as thoughts of Dalcour’s venomous fangs flicker through my mind.
“But I—I thought you said,” she stutters in response, dropping her biscuit back onto the tray.
“Look, sister, I know what I said, but please understand, you cannot do that again!”
It’s not safe! As much as I want to utter the words, I do not.
Chalmette gazes at me, her wide, doe-eyes filled with both shock and fear. I never meant to scare her, but I will not risk her safety by playing down the possibility of our peril in the hands of Dalcour Marchand. And for as much as I hate it to be true, there is some truth to Mother’s words. We lost Calida as a result of her dealings with Dalcour’s brother Decaux.
I do not wish to lose another sister.
“The ham is good,” Chalmette says in a restrained tone as she nestles into a parlor chair adjacent to the window. She’s mad at me. Thankfully, Chalmette is good at not sulking. No matter how difficult things get, she is strong-willed and refuses to let circumstances or people make her feel small. I love that about her. “Try some.” Her tone is far more commanding than normal, but I know it’s just her way of moving past this awkward place.
Slicing a crisp corner, I fork the meat in my mouth and smile. Despite all the foolery that had become our lives, my sister and I have always relished in a well-cooked meal. Over the years, we would imagine ourselves in fancy establishments, enjoying the most decadent of courses without regret. Mother, however, always chided our attempts of indulgence, fearful we’d fatten. I suppose doing so made us cherish mealtimes all the more.
“It is delicious,” I mumble between chews, stuffing another portion into my already full cheeks.
“No need to force it, Treuse! There’s more!” Chalmette teases, tossing a linen napkin at my face. “Wipe your dribble,” she laughs.
“I’ll do just that,” I quickly reply, wiping my mouth and throwing the napkin back at her. She smiles as I do, and my heart is thankful knowing all is well between us once more.
Chapter Eight
After Chalmette and I freshen up and gather attire from the wardrobe as Armando suggested, we make our way downstairs. Although I am still bothered my sister toured the grounds without me, I do enjoy hearing her recount Armando’s disclosure of the rare antiquities and paintings Dalcour has arrayed throughout the estate.
I am surprised to learn Dalcour has such an affinity for antiques and art. It’s strange to think of vampires enjoying such human things.
I have always had an eye for fine art. Calida always did well to pique my interest in such things, but after her loss, Mother did all she could to deter me away from it.
A tall, crystal vase catches my attention as we walk down th
e long marble floor near the foyer. “Auriferous sand!” I gasp as the twinkling, gold iridescence shimmers through the vase.
“Au-what?” Chalmette questions, as she glances back and forth at me and the vase, confused.
“Rare gold deposits found in sand,” I whisper back with my eyes still locked on the shimmering wonder before me.
“Ah, so you’re much more like Calida than I thought,” I hear Dalcour’s lush tone call from behind us. His voice startles me, and I almost fall, turning on my heel to see his bright smile beaming back at us. “Continue, Chartreuse. What else do you know about these curious golden sands?”
Trying to recount my learnings from one of the books Marius dropped off at my room, I remember a few of the things I read about various minerals. “I don’t know much, I’m afraid. But I do believe some of the gold we use today was collected from auriferous sand. Am I correct?” I ask.
“Yes, young one. You are quite astute it would appear. Very learned, much like Calida, indeed,” Dalcour replies, rubbing his chin in apparent interest. His eyes dance once again like they did last night, and I wish I knew what musings were happening behind the crimson ring of his almond-shaped eyes.
“Not quite so much, my lord,” I answer dutifully. I am nowhere as educated as Calida.
Dalcour laughs at my sentiment and the heartiness of it reverberates throughout the foyer. A giddy, girlish smile blushes across my sister’s face and I inwardly groan knowing she’s quite enamored by his charms.
“Well, my dear,” Armando begins, now appearing suddenly at Dalcour’s side. “It’s time we let the adults converse. You and I shall retire to the study.” Armando saunters slowly across the foyer, extending his hand to Chalmette and she smiles and places her petite palm in his.
“Now dear Armando, I hope you’re not planning to regain your earnings.” Chalmette gazes over her shoulder, winking at me as the two ambles down the hallway.
“No, my lady Armando does not wish to give anymore of his money to you. I haven’t nor the heart or the means to do so,” he replies with a witty chuckle. Chalmette rests her head on his shoulder and waves at me as they exit.
Smiling in return, I am somewhat comforted in the growing kinship between my sister and Dalcour’s attendant. Even though he comes across stoic, his eyes tell of an almost fatherly tenderness my sister has never known. For as brief a time it was, at least I have fond memories of my father. Chalmette, on the other hand, never knew hers.
“Armando always wanted a daughter,” Dalcour says, breaking my musing.
“I’m sorry, my lord?”
“A daughter. I think when he sees her, she reminds him of the daughter he always wanted.”
“Oh,” I say as I watch Armando lead Chalmette to the back open study. Pointing to a walnut bookcase, filled from top to bottom with books, Armando’s arm waves about as Chalmette pulls books from the casing, her love for reading showing. “So, does he only have sons?”
“No, he doesn’t have any children. In fact, he always said he never wanted boys. I think looking after me and Decaux all these years has been exhausting enough. After all the trouble we’ve given him, he believes girls would be an improvement,” Dalcour replies with another hearty laugh.
“Did he marry? Is he a widower? Could they not have children?” My inquiry rushes out of my mouth as I keep my sights on my sister and Armando, my curiosity gnawing.
Dalcour circles me, regaining my attention and blocking my view of Chalmette and Armando. “No, Chartreuse,” he begins, narrowing his eyes and searching my face. “Bulwarks do not marry, nor do they have children.”
“Bul—what?” I mutter, gazing at Dalcour, once more confused. Dalcour stares back at me, frowning slightly as he rubs his jaw.
“Walk with me,” he gently demands, opening his arm and allowing room for mine to loop in his. I do as he instructs, and he leads us down a narrow and dark hallway with a slender black door. Taking a large brass key from his side pocket, he unlocks the door and nods his head, gesturing for me to enter.
Lighting two oil lamps on the wall, I now see a small office with more books, a desk, and side chairs.
“Please sit,” he says quietly, shutting the door behind him.
Looking around the quaint space, the pacing of my heart quickens, and I am unsure why being alone with him makes me fret. With Mother’s hauntingly damning sentiment hanging over me, I can’t help worrying I’ve made the wrong decision. Even more, I fear I’ve brought Chalmette along for the ride.
Dalcour is seated at his desk faster than my eyes can blink and I gulp a heap of air as thoughts of his otherworldliness teases the timidity building within me.
“Do you fear me?” Dalcour says pointedly, as he cups his hands together on a large leather-bound book on his desk.
“Yes.” My answer escapes my mouth before I could form a lie.
“I’m glad you’re being honest with me, Chartreuse. But let me assure you, I wish you no ill.”
“And what of Chalmette?” I question. In this moment I care more for her safety than my own.
“Now, therein lies my conundrum,” Dalcour answers with a crooked smile that worries me.
“How so, my lord?” I do my best and work hard to remain dutiful, but inwardly know if he says the wrong thing, I will use all of my might to end him.
Dalcour laughs at my words, leaning back into his chair and tosses his arms behind his head, holding steady at the back of his neck.
“Well, one of the last letters your mother wrote explained that Victoria had left to be married. Yet, not once had she mentioned your sister. It was not until I arrived last night I understood who she was.”
Confusion grips me once more and what was once building in me is crushing my resolve to be the protective eldest sister. “I’m confused.” My words are hardly above a whisper, but I know he hears me.
“As I began to tell you last night, I came for you.”
“For me?”
“Why, yes, young one. Once I returned from my dealings in Washington and London to finally put an end to the ocean transport of Africans to the Americas—”
“What? Wait a minute—you had something to do with that?”
“Ha! Ha! Dear one, you’ll find I’ve had my hand in all things civility as of late but that is beside the point,” Dalcour wittingly replies with another sly smile that meets his eyes and I feel myself just as charmed by his vices as my sister. “As I was saying, I looked through the letters I’d missed during my departure and noticed I’d received none from Catherine. At first, I thought perhaps it was a good sign that the man she was with was doing his part. That is, until an old post of a gorgeous woman headlining a gentleman’s saloon caught my eye.”
“Oh my! I didn’t know the postings of Chalmette reached New Orleans so fast,” I ponder.
“It didn’t,” he answers in a flat tone. Looking up at him, his eyes narrowed eyes lock with mine and a deep thread of concern inverts his brow to his now scrunched nose.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t understand.”
“Here is the posting that snatched my attention.” Just then, Dalcour slams a black and white posting of me on the table. Taking the paper in my hand, quivering dread builds once again within me.
Jumping up from the table a thousand questions plague my mind.
Is he no different than Monroe?
Did I truly trade one monster for another?
Did he take me to himself so that he alone could have me?
My breathing quickens and I feel the small room closing in around me. Vertigo sets in and I can hardly judge the distance of the exit from my hand. I need to get out of here!
I can’t believe all these years I thought of him to be my rescuer when he is no different than Monroe—just as Mother said!
“I am so sorry, Chartreuse.” Dalcour’s whispered words surprise me. My pacing heartbeat slows as I buckle at my knees, attempting to stop the room from spinning ar
ound me. Wrapping his large arms around my back, I am surprised to find him now at my side. “Please sit, young one. I did not mean to upset you,” he says softly, now sitting at the seat at my side.
Taking a small leather sack at his hip, he taps my shoulder, smiling as I lift my face to his. “Here drink this,” he demands. “It’s not water but I was able to stow away a few vats of Monroe’s rum punch last night. Hopefully, it will settle your nerves.”
Laughing, I am surprised to learn he stole from the saloon. Serves him right, I think to myself.
“Serves him right, indeed!” Dalcour repeats my hidden thoughts, and I laugh again. I suppose we were both thinking the same thing. Taking my hand in his, Dalcour grips it tight and a warm smile crosses his face as he gazes at me. “When I saw your face on that posting, I felt responsible for allowing you to come to such a state.”
“It’s not your fault,” I begin, but he loosens my hand, quickly rising up from his seat and paces back to his desk. Standing behind his chair, he grips the wood railing, squeezing it tight as he clinches his jaw.
“Had I not been on a campaign to aid in rectifying these atrocities here in the Americas perhaps I could have maintained my attention on matters that concerned you and your family. I promised you I would—and I have never gone back on my word. So when I saw your face—well at first, I almost thought it was Calida—I was flabbergasted! I didn’t know whether Catherine had died, and you were doing all you could to preserve yourself or if someone had taken you captive. All I knew was I had to come for you!”
“As you said you would,” I whisper back as a well of tears flood my face.
“Yes, young one, just as I said.” Dalcour’s tender smile is almost paternal as he looks at me and it slowly becomes certain, he is not Monroe. Breaking our eyes from locking further, he turns toward his bookcase and fumbles through it before turning back to me with his normal casual grin. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he leans against the shelves and continues. “Like I said, I had every intention of coming to save you from ruin. I had no idea whether Catherine lived nor did I care at this point. The plan was clear from the beginning, Armando would escort you to your suite just as he did Chalmette, and then I’d appear, and we would take things from there. However, when I arrived, I found postings near the saloon of a young girl who bore your resemblance.”
