“Pritchard! Of course... He has lived here for the last five years. Came on the whim of pursuing the Grand Tour, but settled here early on. His father, Sir Rowland Pritchard, has summoned him back to England several times but he will not hear of it!”
The amount of information pouring out of Bertrand's mouth flabbergasted me. I wondered if I might put his skill to good use; perhaps he could shed some light on the matter of the Red Devil?
“He was kind enough to introduce us to a friend of his, Miss Juliette Deveraux...” I said it. Her name was out there. And now, we wait.
Bertrand pressed his lips and cleared his throat. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the napkin as the dinner service was cleared from the table... How was it that this man was at a loss for words?
“Do you know her?” Alisa said. “Do you know her family?”
“Not personally, no. The Deveraux's are an old family, rather selective when it comes to their social acquaintances.”
“Have you any idea of why they call her the Red Devil? I assume it has something to do with her hair but—”
“The Red Devil, yes.” Bertrand stood. “Port, or perhaps Brandy?”
“Of course.” I waved at the footman and he rushed with the bottle to satisfy Bertrand's digestive hankering. “You were saying... about the Red Devil?”
“Oh, yes... dreadful business. I believe the nickname is related to the family's ancestry and the terrible tragedy attached to it.”
“Tragedy?” Alisa said.
“I would not give the rumors any significance, Miss Lockhart,” Bertrand added. “It is probably best to leave it at that.”
“If the rumors are not to be trusted, then surely no harm could come of talking about them,” she pressed.
“Why, yes. I—I suppose you are right.” Bertrand rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “The story goes that one of the Deveraux's ancestors, Mme Camille, was tried for witchcraft two-hundred years back or so. She was found guilty and sentenced to death during the Valais trials...”
“Sentenced to death?” I mused.
“Burnt at the stake, yes... Hmm, terrible thing,” he whispered. “The lady in question had red hair as Miss Deveraux's from what I gather, which is why the infamous nickname passed onto her.”
Growing up, I had heard many stories of witch trials, but never one had sent such an eerie rush down my spine as it did now. The burden of the social stigma it entailed remained unfathomable to me.
“How distressing,” I mused.
“Rumors, my good man…,” Bertrand said. “Rumors are what feed our vicious society. It is in all probability ancient myth and there is nothing more to it. And dare I say, in this fast and modern world we live in, who cares about what happened two centuries ago?”
The answer was simple.
She did.
8
Black Feathers
In an effort to win back Alisa's good opinion of me, I came up with a splendid idea.
A few days ago, I had received the most coveted invitation to Mme Bonnemaison's annual charity event. In her letter, she called it “un dîner entre amis”, a dinner amongst friends, but she was clearly pursuing her friends' purses on behalf of the Hôpital Général's housing for the poor. The Parisian elite thrived on such functions. It had been the sole theme of conversation for the last three weeks, and it would continue to be the talk of the city for weeks to come, by the looks of it.
But that was not all. In her message, Mme Bonnemaison had been kind enough to remind me that as part of the evening's central event, she would have the honor to introduce to us Letizia Leone, a prodigious opera singer who was coming all the way from Venice for the single purpose of delighting us with her exquisite interpretation of famous musical arias.
Now, as fate would have had it, I had happened to come across Signorina Leone a few nights ago. Needless to say, I had found her mesmerizing from the start, and not solely because of her bright blue eyes and light golden hair… The corner of my lips curled as I recalled that evening.
Although I cared enough for music and much appreciated the wondrous achievements of tenors and sopranos, I knew Alisa's sensibilities in this area exceeded mine by far. I knew she would be ecstatic as soon as I told her I had received the priceless invitation.
Clearing of the dinner service began.
“I have good news,” I said.
“Oh?” she replied with an air of indolence. “What is it?”
“Our presence has been requested tomorrow evening at Mme Bonnemaison's charity event. I've already accepted... Happy?”
She sighed and dabbed the corner of her lips with the napkin.
“I wish you would have consulted me sooner, Ivan,” she said. “I'm afraid I cannot possibly go.”
“What do you mean by that?” I said. “This event is the talk of the month! You yourself mentioned it to me weeks ago. I expressly remember you saying how much you wanted to listen to Letizia Leone's interpretation of Dido's Lament!”
“That was weeks ago,” she mused. “I've had other engagements since.”
I moved my plate aside. With the back of my hand, I covered my lips and held my breath for a moment. Spite compelled her to say those pernicious words. A quick shift from pain to anger defined my character, but no matter how frustrating I found her answer, I restrained every ounce of agitation brewing in my chest before it burst out of my mouth in a vomit of poisonous words.
“Whatever it is—your previous engagement—are you sure it cannot be postponed?”
“I am quite sure. It's impossible,” she mused. “I'm sorry, we cannot go.”
A hint of longing in her eyes gave away Alisa's inner turmoil. Whatever reasons lay behind this refusal, they tortured her soul. Was she so determined to punish me she would decline one of her most cherished desires?
Her sullen demeanor and self-possessed poise infuriated me.
“I'm very sad to hear it,” I said. “However, I will try to enjoy myself, even though your presence shall be missed.”
Her eyes widened. “What—? Do you intend to go by yourself?”
“It's not what I would have liked, but... I guess I'll have to. I'm certain I will meet some of our acquaintances there. All members of Parisian gentry and nobility will attend... Lady Cisseley will be there, I'm sure.”
“Please, excuse me. I'm suddenly quite unwell.” She rose from the chair although she had barely touched her dinner, and walked out the door.
“Two can play this game, ma chère,” I whispered, pleased with my strategy.
I pulled the fruit plate before me. The grapes' ripeness satisfied my palate even more than I would have thought, because they tasted of triumph.
Though it pained my heart being here without her, I could not go back. My presence at Mme Bonnemaison's was an essential part of my plan. This was my one chance to prove that I would not be bullied into dejection. I had endured enough of it at Viktor’s hands; I would certainly not go through it again, not with Alisa.
Loud and merry voices merged and echoed in the manor's great hall. Music rose above the cacophony of mingling society. Violins and cellos entwined their soft notes in an adagio, harpsichord beat as I moved past the jolting crowd.
“Splendid of you to have come, Mr. Lockhart!”
“Lady Cisseley, how good to see you,” I said. “And how do you do, Miss Esther?”
The girl fluttered her large eyelashes, petrified as she fixed her hazel eyes on me.
“I am afraid Lord Allen is engaged in conversation with M. Bonnemaison,” she added. “I do not see Miss Lockhart with you. I hope she fares well.”
“She is a bit under the weather, but nothing too serious.”
“She must regret not being here...”
“Oh, I'm sure she does,” I said with a hint of a smile, then I rephrased, “I mean, Letizia Leone... you know. I will be sure to send her your regards, thank you.”
“Look, there she is!” Esther's gaze pointed to the grand room, where the
virtuous singer prepared to begin the evening's central entertainment. “She is beautiful.”
Of course she was.
“We must find the best seats,” Lady Cisseley said. “Come, dearest Esther.”
“Mr. Lockhart...”
“Yes, Miss Esther?”
“Would you sit by my side?” She slipped her hand around my arm.
“It would be my pleasure.” I welcomed her gesture and led us to our seats.
The murmuring voices receded until silence prevailed. Within minutes, all available seats in the room were filled.
Letizia Leone appeared at the end of the hallway, draped in a gold brocade and black velvet gown with a plunging neckline. Her middle-parted blond hair was arranged in tight curls fixed to both sides of her crown, with loose heavy locks that hung on her back. Perhaps most intriguing was her chosen mask for the evening—a black velvet Colombina mounted with exquisite black feathers and a delicate row of diamonds embedded around its eye sockets.
“I had no idea she performed in maschera,” I whispered.
“Oh, yes. Every time, Mr. Lockhart,” Esther said.
“And that is a strange hairstyle. What is it called?”
“That is the Hurluberlu; people say it may catch on. You do not like it?”
“Perhaps I will, once it 'catches on'. But for now, it eludes my understanding of good taste,” I finished with a teasing smile. Oh, the cynic that I was. I could have cared less for the hairstyle, nothing could have diminished Letizia’s beauty.
“Then I shall never wear it,” Esther said with a flick of her lace fan.
Letizia Leone reached the center of the room and stepped on a raised platform. A warming ovation resounded in the audience, and Miss Leone bowed in gratitude with both hands crossed over her chest.
Stillness prevailed once more.
The harpsichord's first notes struck. Letizia Leone's unique voice shone through the silence with the opening of Dido's Lament.
Irrevocably, the melody summoned Alisa's image to my mind. This was her favorite aria. A bit mournful for my taste, a heartbreaking theme. Dido is abandoned by her lover Aeneas, and devastated by the rupture, she plunges a knife into her chest and dies as his beloved sails away on the horizon... For a moment, I closed my eyes and envisioned her singing in her room early in the morning; she had always been prone to somber melancholic tunes. Her heartfelt singing voice had brought me to tears on more than one occasion.
I opened my eyes. Letizia Leone froze the room with her voice's pristine clarity and potency. Not a single soul dared to move as she reached the melody's end, except for one person. In the farthest row behind the singer, I became aware of the figure as it attempted to leave the room.
The woman's golden gown got stuck on the door's jamb, preventing her escape. Frustrated, she turned back and reached for the fabric to untangle it.
I caught a flash of green eyes.
A standing ovation followed the melody's last chords. Lady Cisseley and Esther approached la femme en question, whereas I seized the opportunity to disappear amidst the crowd and begin my chase of the mysterious woman who had left the room minutes earlier.
Through a long narrow corridor, with scarce lighting but that which filtered through the lining windows, I followed the sound of her footsteps until I reached the end of the hallway.
I pushed the door open. Darkness extended to the room's every corner. A soft citric scent filled my lungs as I moved past the doorway. A few beams of torchlight filtered through the southern wall's vertical glass windows.
Following the narrow stone pathway lined with lemon and orange trees, I found her at the end of the greenhouse. She was leaning against a wooden table and held an apple in her gloved hand. The second our eyes met, Juliette gave the hint of an enticing smile... she was the embodiment of mischief. Back in the Garden of Eden, I had thought her Eve's incarnation when all this time, she had been the serpent.
“It seems we are destined to meet each other in gardens,” I said, closing the distance between us.
“Good evening, Mr. Lockhart,” she said.
“May I know the reason for your skulking?”
“I do not skulk,” she said. “I merely needed the fresh air... And where is Miss Lockhart?”
“She could not come—”
“How very fortunate,” she teased... or did she?
I gave a short quiet laugh and stepped close enough to whisper in her ear. “That's quite vicious... even for you.”
“Is it vicious to rejoice in having a dear friend's company for oneself?”
“Perhaps not,” I said. “But then, you have a way of painting good on evil in the most convincing manner.”
“Do I?” My phrasing amused her. “We should go back. Would you not mind being seen with me?”
“I would be happy to walk by your side,” I said as I offered my arm.
Even though she smiled, sadness loomed in her eyes with its light gray veil. Bertrand Forrester's account came to my mind—the Valais witch trials, the social stigma she carried. Society repudiated her family's history, but not their money.
As we returned to the grand room, Letizia Leone's presentation had reached its end. Dissonant voices emerged once more from the stirring crowd. Reaching the other side of the room seemed an impossible feat.
“Mr. Lockhart, there you are!” Esther's delicate figure plunged into the aristocratic horde and squashed her way to where we stood. “I thought I had lost you!”
“I am glad you found me, Miss Esther,” I said. “Do you know Miss Juliette Deveraux? This is Miss Allen.”
“Enchantée,” Juliette said with a curtsy.
“How do you do, Miss Dever—?”
“Come away Esther, dear!” Lady Cisseley's hand clenched around her shoulder as she all but pulled her sister away. “I am terribly sorry, Mr. Lockhart, but Lord Allen is expecting us. We must leave now! Goodbye, Mr. Lockhart.”
She acknowledged Juliette with a swift nod. Within seconds, both women disappeared in the crowd.
It took me a while to understand what had happened. Lady Cisseley's rejection of Juliette came as a shock. Soon, I began to notice the spiteful glances all around us. People fixed their shifty eyes and wrinkled noses at Juliette. And still, this caused her seemingly no distress; however, I knew such irrational displays of reprobation hurt her more than she could abide to demonstrate.
I wanted to say something, to address the issue and strip from it any importance because it was complete folly! Why should anyone judge her by her family's past? However, if I spoke, I ran the risk of wounding Juliette's sensibility and thus, I remained silent.
“Come, Miss Deveraux,” I said. “Let me take you to your carriage.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lockhart. But there is something I must do before we go.”
Such an odd thing to say.
Genuine pleasure radiated from her smile as we left Bonnemaison's manor behind us. Laughter was inevitable.
The evening's cool breeze ruffled the delicate black feathers that framed her sparkling green eyes.
“You did it,” I said, astounded. “You have Letizia Leone's mask!”
“Unfathomable!” Juliette's eyes widened. Her laughter, natural and crisp, captivated my heart.
“It is. Every woman in the room practically begged for it. I even heard her refuse more than one offer for the mask's purchase...” I paused. “How did you do it?”
“You know perfectly well I had no hand in it,” she said. “It was all you… You charmed her, monsieur. And what woman would not fall for your enchanting smile?”
As we descended the manor's front steps, Juliette's feet faltered. Faced with her imminent fall, I seized her quick. One hand cinched around her waist and the other held her arm.
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes locked on mine. And although her lips parted, she spoke no words.
Juliette nodded.
Her light weight in my arms delighted my senses. Inches apart from he
r lips, I perceived the faint scent of roses on her skin, vaporizing in midair.
“Perhaps it might be a good idea...” I whispered, “...to remove the mask.”
In silence, she gave a slight nod.
I smoothed my hand behind her neck and reached for the black ribbon. With a light tug, the knot dissolved. Every second of her nearness challenged my limited self-control. My fingers had a mind of their own as they slid by her face. As I removed her mask, I held my breath; but once I breathed again, I helped her to her feet and stepped away fast.
“Thank you,” she mused.
“You're welcome,” I said, feeling awkward enough to avoid eye contact for a minute or so.
We reached the cobblestone pathway. I called her carriage with a quick wave of my hand.
“Shall we agree on meeting at the Luxembourg Gardens next time? It seems only fitting...”
My suggestion amused her. “That is entirely dependent on the day of your departure…”
“We leave this Wednesday.”
“There is no telling when you will return,” she said.
“I'm afraid it could be months.”
Juliette's carriage arrived. The footman opened the door. I offered my hand as she went inside.
“Then you must come back soon,” she said as she laid the black-feathered mask on her lap. “Return to Paris. You are most welcome to stay at Deveraux Manor.”
“I will, thank you.” I closed the door and signaled the driver.
“Walk on!” he said, and the Red Devil vanished from my sight as the carriage diminished in the distance.
9
The Secret
The circumstances surrounding our farewell left me with a bittersweet impression. For days, I had looked forward to our trip to Rome, but as of this evening, I no longer felt the same. Part of me wanted to stay in Paris and find out what would come out of pursuing my friendship with Juliette Deveraux. The idea of spending months away from her and the possibility of losing whatever strange bonds we had forged caused me great anxiety.
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part One. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 10