An air of mystery revolved around her but it had nothing to do with her family's ancient history. This was something else entirely. I recognized part of myself in her, and what puzzled me was my inability to identify precisely what it was about her that resonated within me. Perhaps it was this riddle that kept me in her thrall.
“Stop here.” I knocked on the carriage's roof.
I stepped off at Quai de la Tournelle and walked home the remaining streets.
As I strolled down the road, vivid images poured before my mind's eye, one after another. Every single one of those scenes belonged to her. There was no escaping the gleam of her green eyes and unique mischievous smile.
The moment I held her in my arms on the manor's stairs remained engraved in my mind. And the rush of excitement coursing through my veins quickened once more as I summoned its memory. It overwhelmed my senses. My spirit twisted and rebelled against the thought of leaving la Ville Lumière.
Our farewell's nostalgia lingered perilously close to my heart. It was too soon. I needed time. The cosmic dust would settle once again, soon enough. Besides, there was another issue at hand I meant to deal with. Tonight, as I returned home, I hoped Alisa and I could set aside our dispute and focus on the promising adventures lying ahead of us.
The truth was, I had no clue as to how I could win her back. Ever since that Pritchard fellow had appeared in our lives, I could feel her growing farther from me each passing day. And what frightened me the most was knowing that the tear between us was real, and nothing could be done to mend it. I wished I was wrong, and that there might still be a chance to save whatever remained of our affections.
How odd... A carriage stood by the house's gates.
As I crossed the street's corner, it drove off.
“Bonsoir, monsieur.”
“Bonsoir, Leix,” I said under my breath as I handed him my coat. “Is Miss Lockhart awake?”
Leix gave me a nonchalant shrug. “Miss Lockhart has just left, monsieur,” he said.
“What do you mean? At this hour? Where did she go?”
“I do not know, monsieur.” Leix closed the door. “But I believe it was Miss Rinehart's coach that picked her up.”
The name sounded familiar. Yes, Miss Rinehart, from the Friday Salon meetings... they were friends.
“At what time will she return?”
“She did not say, monsieur.”
“Very well. Thank you, Leix.”
Miss Rinehart picked her up? At ten o'clock in the evening? This was entirely inappropriate! What was she thinking? Every artery in my body throbbed as I paced my room in circles, mad as a wild mastiff.
Why would she do this to me? Going away without notice, without leaving word of her purpose or whereabouts? This was most strange and completely out of Alisa’s character... Leix had not mentioned any luggage, so it could be safe to assume she had not run off, but how could I be sure? What if she had no intention of coming back? What if she had left with Pritchard?
Perhaps I had truly lost her, and this time forever.
My breath shortened. I could not bear the thought of being left without her. Tears loomed in my eyes; fear and frustration took over my heart and toyed with it as they willed.
Heat built up in my body and sizzled in my fingertips. With one quick swing of my arm, I swept away every single object on my writing desk. I growled and slammed my trembling hand on the wall.
My pulsing fingers slipped through my hair. Alisa was determined to cause me grief. Tonight, she had played her cards right. She had hurt me more deeply than I could have ever anticipated. Uncertainty is by far a greater punishment than pain.
Hopeless, I plummeted on the mattress. My eyes fixed on the ceiling for a minute or two, trying to ignore the vicious voices screaming in my head. I slid to the side and bent over, reaching with one hand the night table's door. I pulled out a bottle of Bordeaux I had hidden there, just in case.
With every intention of keeping watch all night if I had to, I went to the balcony. I sat on the floor, my head leaning against the railing; my eyes fixed on the street, ready to witness her return—if, in fact, she did return.
I took a swig of wine. Its coarseness burnt my throat and I chocked.
“Where... are... you?” I muttered.
Midnight chimed on the clock downstairs. I opened my eyes. The wine was long gone. In my stupor, I drifted in and out of consciousness.
Horse hooves clanked in the distance, tearing me away from my stupor. I sharpened my gaze as much as I could.
Out of the thick gray fog, a carriage emerged and stopped before the house's gates. As soon as the door opened, a gown's blue silk skirt peered through the gap. She stepped off the carriage, concealed under a black hooded cape, and waved farewell to someone inside.
Within seconds, I rose from the floor and ran to the doorway. But just when I reached the room's threshold, I stopped.
Against every fiber of my being, I refrained from running downstairs. I had no thoughts of what I would say or do, I only knew I had to see her, and that deep inside, I was happy to know she had returned. In that moment, I cared little to know anything else.
Her light footsteps approached the bedroom hall.
I opened the door and leaned against its jamb with folded arms over my chest.
She drew back the hood and turned to face me. Her widened gaze held not an ounce of defiance. Instead, Alisa's deep-blue eyes shimmered with fear, terrified of what my reaction might be.
This sent a rough blow through my entire being and left me disarmed. I did not want her resentment, but I certainly did not want her fear either... I’m losing her. The mere thought wounded my mind and broke my heart. Could I ever win her love once more?
Neither my spite nor my pity seemed enough to reach her. In that moment, I gave up hope.
“I'm glad you're back,” I mused. “We'll talk in the morning.”
Paralyzed, Alisa fixed her eyes on me and the fear in them vanished little by little.
I closed the door behind me and landed on the mattress, my body heavy as stone.
As morning light pierced through the window drapes, pain pounded in my head with heavy repetitive strikes. Sluggishly, I reached for the bell and called the service.
She knocked on the door.
“Avez-vous appelé, monsieur?
“Oui, Marguerite,” I said under my breath. “Bring me...” Wine, more wine, I wanted to say, “...breakfast and tea. Rosemary tea, s’il vous plaît.”
“Oui, monsieur.”
Last night's events dropped on my brain like sharpened hail, frame by frame—Letizia Leone, the black feathered mask, Juliette Deveraux, how enticed I was by her natural appeal and how much I wanted to see her again. But then, heavier facts outshined the rest. Alisa's mysterious disappearance late at night took hold of my every thought from that moment forward.
Prepared for a hectic day, I went downstairs, much relieved from my crapulous state after a morning bath and the miraculous effects of rosemary tea.
“The mail, monsieur.” Our butler offered me the silver tray with a small pile of letters.
I snatched them on my way to the parlor. “Thank you, Leix.”
Formalities lay ahead as we reached our last day in Paris. Not only did I have bills to pay, which included our servants' fees, but a long list of preparations awaited me in order to ensure our trip tomorrow.
I sat behind the desk, ready to send word of our travels to our landlord in Rome, telling him to expect our arrival.
As soon as I opened the drawer, something seemed amiss. I could not determine what it was. I extracted pen and paper and then, it hit me—the money I kept for emergencies was gone, twenty Louis d’Or to be precise.
No one but Alisa knew where I hid that money.
No one but her could have taken it.
Alisa's flawless morals impeded her from committing such a deed. Righteousness and virtue were the building blocks of her personality. There had to be an explanation. Bu
t then, I reminded myself of her secret rendez-vous last night... Why would she risk everything—her good name and reputation—for anyone?
This was not the woman I knew.
Laughter outside my window pulled me from my pensiveness. I drew back the curtains to find Alisa sitting in the garden, smiling and nodding, a cup of tea in her hand. Her eyes gleamed with such happiness as I had seldom seen before. Radiating contentment, she was engaged in conversation with—oh. It was him. What was he doing here?
Pritchard sat on the chair beside her, and though I could not make out the details of their conversation, he held her captivated with it. It bothered me. He reminded me that I had lost my ability to make her smile.
“It shouldn't matter, as long as she's happy,” I mused as I shut the drapes. But my words failed to convince me.
I returned to the desk, bothered and disconcerted, and resumed my correspondence. And as I finished the last letter, their voices moved towards the hall.
“She is positively furious she did not get that mask!” Pritchard mocked.
“Poor thing, she must not fret about it,” Alisa said. “I am sure she meant to please me. You see, I had told her I fancied having Letizia Leone's mask, as a precious souvenir of my time in Paris.”
“Well, now that explains it,” he said. “Too bad Cisseley failed... I hear Miss Leone has already returned to Venice, perhaps you will have better luck there.”
“Perhaps...”
“Ah, there you are, Lockhart!” he said as he peered into the parlor.
“Pritchard, how are you?” I rose from the chair and met him at the doorway. “What brings you to our home so early?”
“I have just come to invite you to dinner tonight, as a farewell treat,” he said. “The Allen's will be there of course, and sweet Esther as well, so you can expect to have fun.”
“I thank you for the invitation, Pritchard,” I said. “But as you can see, I am swamped in errands, preparing for our journey. I make no promises. I will do my best to join you, but I'm afraid you must spare me if I cannot attend.”
“Come on, Lockhart!” He patted my shoulder. I could have bitten his hand off. “There are always lawyers to take care of these things, would you not agree?”
“I would, Pritchard, if indeed I had a good one to rely on. Unfortunately, I do not. I'm afraid these days an honest lawyer is as difficult to come by as a virtuous putain.”
“It is rather a harsh comparison; however, I cannot disagree,” he mumbled. “Well, I must be off. Hope to see you there! Thank you for the tea, Miss Lockhart.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Pritchard.”
Pritchard followed Leix's footsteps. Alisa straightened her gown and clasped her hands together as she watched him leave. Once the front door was closed, she sighed and turned away towards the stairs.
“Alisa...” I said.
“I do not wish to quarrel with you,” she replied.
“Neither do I,” I said under my breath. “But you can certainly understand why I would be concerned after what happened last night...”
“I can.”
“And you can certainly see why I would want to know the reasons for your wandering away from home so late, as well as your whereabouts...”
“I do.”
“Then tell me, where did you go last night?”
“I cannot say.”
“What—? Hmm... all right.” Breathe. “Why can't you tell me?”
“I promised I would not speak a word.”
“And to whom did you make such a promise?”
“I cannot tell you...” Tears loomed in her eyes.
I lost all patience.
“You must tell me!” I seized her wrist. “Twenty Louis d’Or are missing from my desk's drawer… Did you take the money? Why did you take it? Alisa, I must know!”
“You're hurting me!” she cried. “Please...! Do not torture me with questions I cannot possibly answer! Let me be!”
Confused, I released her from my grasp. She ran upstairs immediately.
“A M. Mirabile is here to see you, monsieur,” Leix said.
“Send him in, please.”
“Bonsoir, M. Lockhart,” he said.
The old man stood in the doorway, holding a case between both hands with as much care as if he carried a newborn child. There could not have been a better timing for his presence; the very sight of him in this house washed away all anger from my being.
“Please, come in M. Mirabile!” I rose from the chair and greeted him at the parlor's door, so happy to see him.
“Thank you, monsieur.” He gave me a brief smile. “This belongs to you.”
M. Mirabile removed the velvet cloth and revealed the case as he set it before me on the desk. My eyes grew wide, astonished by its beauty.
“It is...” I said, “...perfect.”
I ran my fingers over the lid and captured every detail of its exquisite craftsmanship. Unique, beautiful.
“It’s inside, designed according to your specifications.”
I had forgotten about it! My attention lingered on its precious casing.
An irrepressible smile emerged on my face as I opened the lid.
“It’s just as I wanted,” I mused. “A true work of art, M. Mirabile. I must congratulate you.”
The master jeweler bowed in appreciation.
Her footsteps echoed in the hall. I closed the lid quickly and covered the case with the velvet piece of cloth.
“I’m off to—oh, I didn’t realize you had company,” she said. “Bonsoir, monsieur.”
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”
“Excuse me for a second, monsieur.” I stepped out of the parlor and slid the doors close behind me.
“Yes. What is it, dearest?”
The return of my good humor did not surprise her at all. In fact, she seemed relieved. Anger never lasted long in me, and after years of sharing the same roof, Alisa knew this aspect of my personality quite well. A grudge, however, I could hold onto for years if I set my heart on it.
Although Alisa’s secret worried me, I knew I would get to the truth, one way or another. Secrets always have a way of revealing themselves. It was only a matter of time.
“I’m off to Pritchard’s for dinner, have you decided to come?”
“I’m afraid I can’t, dearest. You can see how busy I am at present...” I mused. “Go, take the carriage.”
“All right, I’ll see you later.”
She went out the door and I returned to the parlor.
“My work is done,” he said. “I will leave you now, monsieur.”
“I am most pleased with it,” I said. “You may well expect another commission from me in the near future, M. Mirabile.”
“Merci beaucoup,” he said with a bow before leaving the room.
Alone, at last. With no intention of attending Pritchard’s dinner party, as soon as I finished arranging the servants’ wages, I walked out the door.
No matter how many cities lay ahead on the itinerary, Paris would always have a place in my heart.
A few hours ago, the bridge was alive with jostling crowds, vociferous advertisements of mountebanks, dentists, and the clamor of poets. But as daylight drifted away, the place became deserted, calm and quiet, and this was the hour I enjoyed the most.
I took one hard look at the Seine’s panorama from my cherished spot on the Pont Neuf. Nestled in one of its small balconies, with both arms leaning against its stone balustrade, my eyes fixed on the river as a strong sense of peace built up in my spirit from the soothing sounds of its flowing waters.
As I walked back home along the riverside, I figured Alisa was having a much more pleasant dinner surrounded by her friends, free from my presence, as it seemed to upset her as of late.
Whatever the reasons for her behavior last night or the nights preceding it, I certainly hoped leaving Paris would help my cause—if only a little. However, I could not wait that long and therefore, I came up with a most devious plan to win her back. I coul
d only wish it worked.
“Leix, I’m giving you the evening off,” I said as I removed my coat and hat and placed it over the chair in the hall, “and to the rest of the staff as well.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” he said. “Will you take your dinner upstairs?”
“No, Leix,” I said. “I'm not hungry. Thank you.”
“Very well, monsieur,” he said.
I moved onto the stairway, ready to set up the scenery of my plan.
“Monsieur?” Leix said.
“Yes, Leix?”
“There's a man waiting for you in the parlor... a M. Bellard.”
“It's a bit late for someone to call... But, oh well. I'm in such a good mood, I shall see him.”
The parlor's warmth engulfed me as soon as I opened the doors. The crackling hearth drew me closer. He was sitting on the chair beside the fireplace and rose from his seat the minute his eyes met me.
“Good evening, Mr Lockhart.” His English was tinged with a strong French accent. “Please forgive me for arriving at such an inconvenient hour...”
“Excuse me, M. Bellard, but do we know each other?”
He laughed under his breath. “No, monsieur. We have never met. My name is Luc Bellard, perhaps you might be better acquainted with my wife, Mme Bellard...”
“I'm terribly sorry. I do not know her.”
“You might be more familiar with her maiden name, Miss Eliza Rinehart.”
“Yes, of course. Miss Rinehart,” I said. “Forgive me, I was under the impression that she was unmarried—”
“Up until last night, she was, monsieur,” Bellard said. “We were married last evening.”
I had no clue as to where this conversation headed. But he intrigued me, nonetheless. I sat on the chair opposite his.
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Thank you, monsieur.” He bowed his head in humble acceptance. “I'm afraid the circumstances surrounding our wedding were rather peculiar...”
“I can't see why this should be of my incumbency, sir...”
“It does concern you, monsieur. Please, hear what I have to say.”
“Very well.”
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part One. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 11