by C H Chelser
Mercedes shook her head. “No, I wish to retire early. Light the candles and the hearth in the bedroom, and help me undress.”
Blissful relief filled her lungs as much as the full breath of air when Amélie undid the laces of the corset and helped her peel off her clothes down to her undergarments. She was especially happy to be rid of the crinoline.
You should have a big doll in the shop wearing it, so you won’t have to.
The soundless reply to her silent musings filled Mercedes’ head like warm milk. It didn’t startle her to receive it, not when the one who spoke was so familiar. She concentrated, so that her mind saw what her eyes could not.
A little girl with honey blonde hair and a brilliant white dress sat on the chair by the dresser, her thin legs dangling a hand’s span above the floor. Mercedes smiled at the child as much as to herself.
“Shall I braid your hair for the night, madame?”
The maid’s coarse voice came as an explosion on senses attuned to words too fragile to hear. Mercedes hid a wince.
“No, thank you, Amélie. I will do that myself.”
“As you wish, madame. Anything else I can help with?”
“Not at the moment. I will call if I have need of you.”
Yes, madame.” Amélie curtsied, properly this time, and left.
Mercedes shut the bedroom door as soon as the maid had gone. She checked the lock twice, but remained motionless until she could hear the servants going about their chores elsewhere in the apartment. Satisfied, she turned to the chair that appeared empty to her eyes.
“Hello, Danielle,” she whispered. “I had hoped you would come by when I saw you with Antoine playing downstairs. Is he not with you?”
The little girl shook her head, but gave no further explanation.
They shared a comfortable silence while Mercedes took off her undergarments and changed into her nightgown. When she removed the pins from her hair, Danielle hopped off the dresser chair and nudged the hairbrush. At the invitation, Mercedes began to brush out her long hair, which she then tied in a loose braid. All the while, the child stayed close.
Mercedes cherished the delicate warmth of Danielle’s presence, and even more with every moment it lasted. The slightest interruption might spoil the subtle balance. Eventually, something always did, but until then she wanted to hold on to that warmth.
“Shall I read to you?” she asked. It was a bittersweet pastime they rarely had a chance to indulge in, so Danielle’s eager nod was a reward in itself.
Mercedes put the candle on the bedside table and let her fingers run across the handful of books she kept there.
“Papa was a bit cross with me today, so how about we make a good impression on him?”
She sensed the girl didn’t care which book she would select, so Mercedes chose the one that made up for her weaknesses. Perhaps if she read from the Holy Bible, that small virtue would drown out her guilt over sensing Danielle’s presence at all.
The flimsy pages fluttered when she opened the tome in her lap. At random she sought a chapter and a verse and, in a soft voice, began to read. The parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, as it happened to be.
“This man, I tell you, went home again justified; the other did not. For everyone who raises himself up will be humbled, but anyone who humbles himself will be raised up.”
Her lips formed a wry smile of recognition. Her mother, a devout Catalan catholic, used to quote that verse to her, saying that a good wife was a humble one. Growing up, Mercedes had always wondered about the difference between humility and humiliation, but asking had only earned her young self a scolding for insolence. A memory she would prefer to forget.
“People even brought babies to Him, for Him to touch them,” she went on, playing with her intonation as if she read Danielle a bedtime story instead of Bible verses. “But when the disciples saw this they scolded them. But Jesus called the children to Him and said…”
Her throat constricted as her eyes recognised the verse she knew by heart. Stupid! She should have chosen another page the moment she had opened this one.
Only she hadn’t, had she?
She forced her mouth to shape the next sentence. “He said... He said: ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God bel—’ Oh!”
The book slipped from her hands and off the bed. She grabbed it before it could fall to the floor, but its covers folded as soon as she had caught it. When she hauled the tome back into her lap, she had lost her place. Beside her, Mercedes felt, more than saw, the defiance on the little girl’s face.
“Not that verse?”
I’m staying!
Mercedes bit the inside of her lip. She reached out to caress those perfect little cheeks, but her fingertips met only air.
“You know... we both know it is not right that you come to me.”
Lips that no eyes could see pouted. Should I go?
“You...” ‘should’, she meant to add, but her will failed her. “No, my love. Please stay. Having you here makes it all bearable.”
The child put her little head in Mercedes’ lap, disregarding the tome that already occupied it. Read me something else?
How could she resist? Only she did take care to open a chapter of the Old Testament and scan it for any reference to children before she settled herself against the headboard and continued to read to the intangible girl at her side.
At some point Danielle’s attention drifted off, and with it her presence. Mid-sentence, Mercedes stopped.
“Danielle?”
The reply she got was distant, an acknowledgement but not a return of interest. Reluctantly Mercedes let the girl go. The spot beside her felt like it was becoming cool after someone had lain in it, although the sheets were undisturbed. It hurt that Danielle’s visits left no evidence, no sign from which to prove her worst fear unfounded. That, perhaps, was the hardest to bear. She kept reading to distract herself from the sudden loneliness, but none of the words stayed with her for longer than a heartbeat.
Many pages later, the fire in the hearth had died and the candle burned low. When she heard heavy footsteps walking around in the flat, Mercedes put the Bible away and waited for Eric to come to her. Time passed. The candle wick burnt out and extinguished itself. Beyond the walls, the silence broke as metal ticked against porcelain.
Both hearth and candle stub had long since cooled when at last the bedroom door opened and Eric sneaked in, his shoes in hand. He carried no light and didn’t attempt to make any. He simply undressed in the dark and put on his nightshirt. Through the open bed curtains, Mercedes watched his black silhouette against the grey wall. The mattress dipped when he climbed into bed.
“Did the ledgers not add up, that they kept you so long?”
“Oh.” He froze. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You did not.”
“Hmm, good.” In the dark, his searching fingers found the creases of her nightgown. “Were you about to go to sleep?” His hands caressed her arm, asking another question altogether.
“Not necessarily,” she said sweetly.
At her invitation, Eric crawled closer and pressed his body against hers. Thin, wet lips traced a path of kisses from her mouth down to her neck. She giggled when the stubbles on his chin tickled. His touches were eager, but he held her with the clumsy tenderness of a man who had learned that patience was the key if he wanted this act to be pleasurable. Long fingers hitched up her nightgown and explored her naked body. He wasn’t being overzealous today, but his fumbling hit enough soft spots. By the time he prepared to enter her, Mercedes welcomed him.
They were silent but for the occasional moan and the creaking of the bed as they moved. The act was simple, quick and born of a mutual need rather than loving attention to each other. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his pelvis for her own comfort more than his, and his deep thrusts weren’t for her pleasure. It didn’t matter. In t
he end their grinding served each other’s purpose just as well.
By luck more than design, their hushed panting pitched in unison. She tensed around him and he spilled inside her, shuddering all over before he collapsed on top of her. Mercedes still panted to catch her breath when he pressed a close-lipped kiss to her jaw.
“Thank you.”
She rolled them both on their sides. “Likewise,” she said as she detached herself from him. Eric didn’t notice. As usual, he was fast asleep already.
Even so, Mercedes waited a few more minutes before sliding out of bed and straightening her nightgown. Her bare feet made no sound on the floorboards as she crossed the room, lifted the jug from the washstand and sneaked out.
To her eyes and ears, the house was quiet. The rattle of a carriage passing through the street below punctuated how little noise she heard after it had gone. Yet the atmosphere was that of a crowded market: busy and tense with so many people. People she only saw with her mind, but who felt very real nevertheless.
Most of the insubstantial figures she passed on her way to the kitchen were unfamiliar to her. Passers-by, visitors gathering here for no particular reason. They came almost every night. Some came so often she had learned to recognise them. She let her senses wander. No, Danielle wasn’t among them tonight.
In the kitchen, she put the jug on the table. By the moonlight that shone through the narrow window, she took a clean towel from the cabinet and tipped a small measure of water from the jug onto the fabric. Then she poured the rest of it into the big kettle on the stove. The wood inside still had some burning time left, so she took out the tinderbox and lit a fire.
While she waited for the stove to heat and the water to boil, she willed her stray guests to give her some privacy. They complied with the astral equivalent of turning their backs, and she went about washing herself. Eric’s seed trickled down the inside of her legs and the sensation disgusted her. A lady shouldn’t have to tolerate bodily fluids sticking to her skin, her own or anyone else’s. Besides, the semen was useless. Or it would be, once the water was hot.
When she felt acceptably clean, she tossed the used towel on the heap of dirty rags that Gagnon hadn’t put in the laundry basket yet. Such sloppiness warranted a reprimand, but the negligence was too convenient for her own purposes to draw attention to it.
From the top shelf of the high cupboard she retrieved a mug, a tea infuser and a small, black tin. She shook the tin.
A hollow sound answered.
“Merde!”
She scrunched up her nose as she opened the lid and peered in. Why had she permitted herself to forget replenishing it after last time? The piteous amount of chopped tea leaves and herbs left inside barely sufficed for one serving.
Given the hour, it would have to do. The remaining contents fitted into the tea infuser without overflowing. She closed the tin and put it back in its corner at the rear of the shelf while making a mental note to go shopping for more as soon as possible.
The water in the kettle gurgled and steam began to rise from the spout. Not yet boiling, but hot enough for her purpose. She put the infuser into the mug and poured the water. A few more minutes for the herbs to steep and then her brew would be ready.
Mercedes strolled around the kitchen, arms folded against the nightly chill. The rooms beyond now teemed with ghosts, she noticed. None of them stood out enough to be identified, nor did they seem to want contact.
“What are you all doing here?” she said. “Why are there so many of you?”
It’sdarkoutside
The instant response came as a condensed emotion, which took her a moment to decipher. While she did, the figure and the face belonging to this person appeared in her mind. It was the bloodied face of the English soldier.
“You here? And what do you mean, it is dark? Of course it is dark. It is night-time.”
afriendlyface·isprecious·likelight
“Please, slow down. I need words, not mere notions.”
The young soldier nodded like a chastised boy. a·friendly·face... a·friendly face... He repeated the same phrase several times before he got the pacing right. A friendly face... is precious... like light.
Mercedes smiled when his thoughts turned to her in particular. “That is kind of you to say,” she whispered, “but what about your sister?”
A... A friendly face is precious like light when it’s dark outside.
His attention flitted to the world beyond the house. She understood that his advertence was neither to the absence of light nor the peculiar energy inherent to the night. He meant something else, something that had, for lack of a better word, spooked him.
And not only him. The ghosts she sensed huddled together like scared kittens in a corner. She asked them what had caused such a stir. In vain. They heard her, but refused to answer. Even the young soldier.
“Have it your way,” she said, and went back to her mug of tea.
The strong scent filled her nostrils before she took the first sip. The infusion’s bitter fluid tasted as vile as ever. Still, knowing the only alternative gave her the courage to drink. She rinsed the empty mug with the hot water left in the kettle and wrapped the wet leaves from the infuser in one of the rags Gagnon had used for the dirty dishes, hoping the stench of the rag would overwhelm that of the herbs.
Once the kitchen was clean enough for her satisfaction, Mercedes quietly made her way back to the bedroom. The ghosts still hung around when she shut the door behind her. Their fear hadn’t diminished, but she was confident they wouldn’t bother her. Even ghosts tended to leave a friendly face in peace.
***
Like all parasites, he preferred to prey on the living. A matter of efficiency. Mass consisted of energy, and physical beings consisted of little else. This human in particular. Better yet, it possessed other traits befitting his appetite. He was pleased with himself for having tracked such a fine, fat specimen.
He reached out to feed on the abundant, if bland energy. Long talons came down with exquisite care, when suddenly the presence of another interrupted him. He looked up. Something observed him from a distance. Something that cast… a light.
Without moving, he lashed out at the white spirit’s aura and carved his thoughts in the fog between them. Ever the advocate of plain speech, no one mistook his intentions when he spelled them out thus. Even the densest of ghosts understood this to be their first and final warning, and in his experience these luminous creatures that called themselves “guides” were quick to catch on. This one was no exception.
The meddlesome light vanished. A relief, but his concentration had suffered all the same. The brief encounter had drawn him away from the physical world, far enough to lose sight of his so promising prey. Only two options were left to him: trace the corpulent human again or select a different target to hunt down. Either way, he had to start over.
How vexing.
He shifted through the fog until Paris rose around him, forever painted in faded greys. Dawn was still a long way off and the atmosphere vibrated with potential targets. In his hand, a thick cane manifested itself. The hunt was on again.
Chapter III
Mercedes woke to find Eric’s side of the bed empty. And cold. Yet another day saw him awake and dressed hours before dawn, while she hadn’t found sleep until as many hours past midnight. She yawned and buried her face in the soft pillow. Dozing a few minutes longer would be grand, but morning, like duty, was relentless.
With her maid’s assistance, she wrestled herself into crinoline, corset and dress. Despite the awkwardness of youth, Amélie was good with a brush and hairpins, and she had fixed Mercedes’ long hair in a becoming bun in a matter of minutes. Meanwhile Mercedes applied some make-up according to current fashion: subtle enough to be decent yet visible enough to make a difference.
Only poor men started a day on an empty stomach, but what little Mercedes had by way of breakfast was not worth the trouble Gagnon had taken to set the table. Still chewing the last m
outhful of bread, Mercedes headed downstairs for what promised to be a regular Saturday.
The workshop and sales floors bustled with activity. The seamstresses who had taken on the extra work had made good progress, so that when M. Leclerc arrived – much earlier than agreed – his order was ready. As always, the atrocious man hid his surprise behind money, overdone compliments and a pledge for future orders, all of which naturally pleased Eric no end.
That bit of staff gossip delighted Mercedes, who now had her own reasons to be thankful to M. Leclerc. His financial generosity made for a perfect sugar coating to help her husband swallow something he would be far less keen to accept.
Mercedes left her present client in Nicole’s capable hands and slipped through to the office in the workshop, where she knew Eric would be taking a break with coffee and today’s newspaper as a reward for a job well done.
“By the way, I shall be out this evening,” she said without pre-amble.
Eric peered over the rim of his reading glasses. “Will you now?”
“For a long-overdue visit to a friend. I have put it off too often already. I will not be long, just an hour or two.”
“I see. Well, of course you cannot leave until after closing time.”
“I did not plan to.”
“Very well. Then there is no harm in it, I suppose.”
He continued his perusal of the paper, and Mercedes was about to leave when he suddenly shot up.
“Where does she live, this friend of yours?”
She raised a brow. “On the Cité. Why?”
“What? Among the rabble?”
“The isle houses more than rabble, mon cher. My friend lives close to the Palais de Justice. It is a very calm neighbourhood.”
“It’s not the crime rate that worries me. Magistrates and justice cannot prevent everything.” Eric pulled off his glasses and held out the newspaper to her. “That mysterious disease that the Moniteur has been reporting about for the past months? It’s not relenting. Every day more people drop dead without cause or sign of illness.” He gave her a stern look. “Most cases happen to be reported in the oldest parts of the city.”