sirenssong_132-Xe3.htm

by Siren's Song (lit)

  Nicolette gasped, "You mean to have Laurent killed? You think I will marry you then? Have you lost your mind completely? You will be a murderer. How could you do such a thing?"

  "I would do anything to have you, the title, and, of course, the money. It’s everything I have ever wanted," the menace in his voice was unmistakable. "Now, it will be mine! But I do not intend marriage," John Pierre laughed.

  "I am not Genevieve. I am her daughter, Nicolette. Nicolette!"

  Her uncle only smiled, "You should be relieved that I have always loved your temper, Genevieve, and your other assets as well." His gaze moved back to the top of her bodice, "Or I would punish you for speaking to me in such a manner, so be cautious. Understand? Nothing will stop me from having you this time. Nothing."

  She shook her head in disbelief, then looked at Philippe to see shock etched across his face from her uncle’s words. It was almost as if John Pierre had forgotten his conversation with Philippe and his anger. It was as if they were alone in the room.

  Philippe remained intent on their earlier conversation, "John Pierre, before we were interrupted you spoke of Madeleine. I must know what happened, and I believe you know the answer."

  "You are quite a nuisance, Philippe. I have tried to shield you all these years," he sighed. "Of course, if you wish then I shall tell you. Sweet, innocent, compliant, little Madeleine."

  John Pierre smiled then took a sip of wine, "Unfortunately, I have a matter of the greatest importance. Excuse me a moment. When I return we will discuss her. I must find something I have in the library. Something that I would like to give you."

  After he left the room Philippe sat silently, then gazed at Nicolette, "I’ve been a complete fool, and am afraid that I have sadly misjudged John Pierre. I left Madeleine with him, believing that he would keep her safe. Now I have made the same mistake with you. He ruined her, I am quite sure of it," he shook his head. "I was going to do no less to you, then flaunt it, hoping to give your brother as much pain as I have endured. I am ashamed to realize I am so jaded. For years all I have cared for was my perverted desire for revenge. John Pierre is correct in his judgment of me. I am no better than that debauched madman."

  He put his head in his hands for a moment then sat back in his chair, "I am indeed a coward, afraid to learn the truth. I have been such a fool. I failed to keep Madeleine safe, but perhaps I can right that wrong now." Silence fell as Philippe gazed into her eyes, "I think he means to have you Nicolette. Do you understand what I am saying?"

  She nodded. She had never felt quite so helpless as she did at this moment. Fear raced through her and she began to shiver.

  "Good girl," he took a deep breath. "I will do everything in my power to stop him. I promise you that much, but you must realize he is insane. If I fail, be ready for what is to come. Prepare to do whatever you must to survive." Philippe whispered, "God help us both."

  "I understand. Philippe is there nothing you can do to help Laurent and Jamie?"

  He shook his head, "Sadly not, Chere, they are prisoners of the Bastille, and even Forester or your uncle cannot free them without an order from the King. Later we will ask for their release, but for now I must think of your safety."

  John Pierre sauntered back into the room, "I cannot stay with you long. My guest in the library grows quite restive, and requires my presence. However, I do have a gift for you."

  An evil smile spread across his face. The earlier odor emanating from her uncle had suddenly become almost overwhelming and Nicolette gagged.

  "Philippe, your memory of Madeleine is quite flawed. I find it surprising that it took you so many years to put the pieces of the puzzle together. How tiresome you are!" he saluted Philippe with his goblet, then took a sip of wine. "What is even more amusing is the way that I could manipulate your childish jealousy and hatred. Watching your aversion to Laurent grow was like tending a garden, adding seeds of lies and half truths, feeding you with loathing, until nothing remained but a twisted, corrupt beast of malice, and revenge. Every time I would dig in our garden you grew more decadent, each little thrust exposed the true perversion of your dissolute soul, until finally, you were as despicable as I," John Pierre laughed.

  Philippe whispered, "I can’t believe I trusted you. You, the King’s friend and advisor, champion of France, defender of the people."

  "Friend of the King. Indeed, and what favors are given."

  Philippe shook his head, "I am shallow and so ignorant! I adored my association with power! I admired your influence with the King to the point that I blinded myself to everything else." His eyes flashed, "Mon Dieu, I believed you were my friend, but you are the one who ruined my sister. I know that now. I gave Madeleine to a degenerate because of my lust for power. I blinded myself to your perversion, and believed you to be my trusted advisor. In my desire to protect Madeleine I helped you to ruin her. I only allowed one man to be alone with her and that was you, an evil, despicable monster."

  John Pierre smiled, "Indeed."

  Nicolette’s voice was shrill, "Why would you do such a thing, Uncle?"

  He turned toward her and enclosed her hand in his. Her stomach began to churn.

  "Do you not remember, Genevieve?" John Pierre smiled. "The Marquis stopped us at the footbridge. Except for him, you would have been mine."

  Confused, Nicolette shook her head, "What do you mean? Philippe helped you at the footbridge."

  For a moment John Pierre seemed confused, "No, not Philippe, his father! The Marquis Louis de Berges found us at the footbridge. He thought I was abducting you, and refused to believe that you wished to come with me. He forced us to return to the estate."

  John Pierre shook his head, "That was when father gave me this chateau and told me never to come home. Never! Can you imagine? And the allowance he gave me to live on was a mere pittance. How I hated and despised them all! But I have had my revenge." He laughed, "First your father, Philippe. Then mine, and finally my brother."

  John Pierre glanced at Nicolette, "I am so very sorry you were in the carriage, Genevieve. My plans were completely thwarted. It was supposed to occur while you remained at home. Nevertheless you are well now, and here with me where you belong," he sighed. "Yes, first I took my revenge on the Marquis de Berges, then on his children. Do you not see? I had no choice. There was no true satisfaction in seeing the Marquis die. It was over so quickly! I had years of disappointment and it did not seem quite fair. He had thwarted me so thoroughly and my desire for retribution remained ungratified. I needed more satisfaction. When I met Philippe at court I realized that I could finally have the joy of true revenge. He was such an innocent in those days."

  Nicolette slowly pulled her hand away then wiped his touch away with the napkin.

  Philippe took a sip of wine, "You are quite mad, old man."

  John Pierre laughed. The wicked sound caused a shiver to course throughout her body. An ominous feeling invaded the air. Suddenly, Nicolette wanted to scream for Philippe to run.

  "Old man?" John Pierre cleared his voice. "Let’s continue our earlier conversation, shall we boy?" he smiled. "Truthfully, I was often alone with Madeleine, but she was no innocent, not after I finished with her," John Pierre smiled again, wickedly enjoying his words. "In fact, Philippe, a finer courtesan I have never known. I enjoyed her thoroughly and I proved to be quite a good tutor. To be honest, I often shared her favors with others at court, and she did not mind. She liked to be watched you see."

  Philippe stood, with both hands resting on the table. His eyes were nearly bulging from his head, his pulse visibly raced in his neck. "How dare you insult her! How dare you defame, and debase her memory!"

  John Pierre laughed again, the sound even more frightening than before.

  Nicolette noticed the nearly imperceptible nod of his head to a footman, and the man left the room. "No!" she stood.

  "Sit down!"

  John Pierre’s high-pitched voice startled her. Then he smiled sweetly, "Genevieve, be quiet. This doesn’t con
cern you, do not be anxious!" His gaze moved to her breasts, "I have plans that you will truly enjoy later."

  John Pierre’s attention returned to Philippe, "I hate to be the one to tell you what a wanton she was, but that is the truth." His voice was quiet, "In fact, she spoke of her pregnancy and begged that I marry her, but by then she had been in bed with half the men at court and I was forced to refuse. You see, many of us had her one memorable evening, together. Yes, one right after the other while we all watched, here in this very chateau. It was great sport," John Pierre took another sip of wine. "How can I say this delicately? Ah well, I think I cannot." His wicked laugh echoed across the room. "She loved being treated like a trollop and we obliged her. Indeed, I have a small keepsake of the evening, in fact each of the participants do, a memento to never forget our evening together."

  A servant entered the room with a quill and inkwell, set them on the table, then left the room quickly. John Pierre put a paper on the table and took quill in hand. "I have planned for you to be with your cherished friend, unfortunately it will be sooner than I expected. Think of the irony, the very punishment you planned for Laurent will be inflicted upon yourself," he handed Philippe a small painting. He laughed again, his head rolled back and his flabby lips quivered.

  Nicolette screamed as Philippe’s chair flew backward and he lunged toward her uncle. His eyes grew large as his hands wrapped around John Pierre’s neck.

  There was a loud explosion, then a strange gurgling sound, and a gentle thud as Philippe wobbled, holding his body up with his elbow on the corner of the table. His hand moved to his side as his gaze moved to hers, his eyes wild with fear. He raised his hand and looked down at the fingers. Deep, dark red blood dripped slowly onto the snowy white tablecloth. Philippe gasped then dropped to the floor.

  Nicolette screamed, backed away from the table and into the corner, pushing so hard against it as if to fade into the background of the wall. Grasping her throat, she felt as though she couldn’t breath. She looked directly into her uncle’s gaze, and jumped when the small pistol he held fell with a thud to the Aubussan rug, "You are a demon!"

  A stranger, in a red military uniform rushed into the room then looked down at Philippe. Shock registered on his face but only for a second.

  "It’s a good thing you are the King’s friend," he smiled. "Still we have to get the body out of here before your neighbors come to investigate."

  John Pierre nodded then turned to the footmen, "Bring Gourville to me immediately.

  Soon the Englishman held one arm and Gourville the other, as they dragged Philippe away.

  "Hold! We are making a trail." The English man looked around, then took several napkins from the table, walked to the corner of the room and jerked the bell pull from the ceiling. He pushed the napkins tightly against the wound and tied them around Philippe’s waist, "For now we will put him behind the bushes in the rear, and before dawn you will have to discard his body elsewhere."

  Their voices trailed down the hallway while she remained glued against the wall.

  "Nicolette, do not be overly disturbed. He wasn’t worth your consideration. I would never have allowed him to marry you, no my dear, I always have intended you for myself."

  John Pierre nonchalantly stood, "I must leave. I have business, but please finish your supper. I must meet with someone now, but I will come to see you later."

  She cringed at his words, gazed at the blood-spattered table, and wondered if he actually thought anyone could eat after witnessing the results of his insane temper? Then she realized that he called her Nicolette. Did he truly think her to be Genevieve at times, or did he simply jest?

  Her uncle turned and left the room, and she took a deep, shaky breath, then peeled herself away from the wall and walked to the table.

  She read the piece of paper he had left. "Another Lettre de Cache, signed by the King. All he has to do is fill it in with whatever punishment he desires." she whispered. There was no name, perhaps John Pierre had a wealth of these missives, and found joy in the lives he destroyed. Or, perhaps he had intended to send Philippe to the Bastille from the beginning. Instead, he killed him, and perhaps that was a kindness.

  Nicolette walked around the table and picked up the small painting John Pierre had given to Philippe. She wiped the blood away on the snowy white skirt of her dress. The shocking scene caused her to gasp, as she looked at the lovely young girl with long golden hair. She was naked and tied to a four-poster bed, her hands at the top, her feet wide apart, and surrounded by men in different stages of undress. One man stood smiling, with a hand on her leg, and a wine bottle in the other. Another man’s head was at her breast, and a man with long, black hair, knelt between her legs. Madeleine’s eyes were closed, and her face glistened, obviously wet with tears. Her mouth was wide and Nicolette could almost hear the scream. Only a depraved, perverted monster would hire an artist to paint such a scene. What kind of men were these, the great nobility of France? The stench that permeated her uncle was that of pure evil. Philippe’s words echoed in her mind. "Champion of France, defender of the people," her stomach churned at the thought.

  "Mon Dieu, how could he have done such a thing? He is a beast, far beyond mad, and a demon from hell!" she whispered. "What does he intend for me, much of the same?" her voice wobbled. She looked at the trail of blood that led from the room, and tears filled her eyes. "The last sight Philippe had of his sister was this!" Anger shook her to the core. She walked to the fireplace and threw the painting into the flames. "Devoted twins destroyed by pure evil, now may you know the unconditional, and all consuming love of heaven, and may God have mercy on your souls."

  Nicolette starred into the flames for some time then jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Gourville. She almost laughed with relief, "Thank God you are not John Pierre."

  "I am truly sorry, Mademoiselle," his eyes seemed to fill with sadness. "Please follow me." Soon, he opened the door to her room, and she stepped inside. "de Noilles wishes you to remain dressed," he walked quietly to the door. "He will visit you shortly."

  Nicolette rushed after him, but he locked the door before she could reach him. She leaned against it for a moment, quelling the panic she felt, then walked to the window. What did her uncle have planned? She shuddered as she thought of the painting of Madeleine.

  "Jamie!" she whispered. Jamie could not help her. She began to pray, but a knock at the door made her jump.

  Gourville entered with a tea tray, "Drink this, it will help."

  He gazed into her eyes, and she noted a look of pity in his, then suddenly tears began to flow.

  "Accept what you must to survive. Treasure life, not death," his voice was quiet, and gentle as he left.

  She poured the tea, then wrapped her fingers around the cup. She took a sip. Although the warm liquid seemed to soothe her and warm the coldness inside, it tasted bitter, and the taste seemed strangely familiar. She threw the teacup to the floor. She would not make it easy for him. No, she would face him without drugs.

  Nicolette stared at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. No longer did the reflection look like a bewildered, frightened girl. This was reality, cold, harsh, brutal reality, and resolve to fight her uncle’s evil intentions hardened. She paced back and forth then went to the dressing table, and picked up a heavy candlestick, walked back, and slammed it against the intricate ironwork encasing the windowpane. The sound of shattering glass seemed to echo in the dead silence of the night. She screamed, but there was no one to hear. The chateau was alone at the end of the boulevard. She saw no one outside and heard nothing, not a carriage nor a horse, or even footsteps on the cobblestones outside.

  At least she would not be a whimpering child. She would not allow him to do to her what he had done to Madeleine. She smiled then, as Jamie’s words seemed to swim in her mind. "Will you fight to the bitter end?" How many times had he called her Joan of Arc? Well he did not truly know her, for she was far more. Tonight, she would be part of
the courageous lineage of her grandmother from strength of will alone. "I will fight him. I will not allow him to win." Nicolette whispered. She began to pace, remembering Philippe’s words. No one could help now. It was up to her. Her hand moved down to her thigh, feeling the dagger at her leg.

  "Zut, Uncle, you are truly a beast! Damn the demon to hell then."

  Seventeen

  "Damning me are you?"

  Nicolette jumped then hid the candlestick in the folds of her skirt as she turned to face him.

  John Pierre closed the door, then leaned back against it. "Hoping to send me to the fires of hell? How very unkind my dear." The menace in his voice was unmistakable. "I’m not the devil. Indeed not," John Pierre smiled.

  He moved forward slightly, she heard the door click, then he tucked the door key into the pocket of his waistcoat and took a step forward.

  Nicolette took a deep breath, then another. Her mind raced as she prayed for a miracle but found none.

  Her head snapped up and a feigned bravado filled her voice, "You are so right, Uncle. I should have called you what you truly are. If you’re not Satan himself then you must be a demon."

  "Demon?" he laughed. "You think ill of me because of the incident downstairs? Believe me my dear, I had no choice. You saw the coward lunge at me. His death matters not at all. Philippe was insignificant, simply a court fop."

  Anger flowed through her, "No one is ever insignificant, Uncle. Philippe was a human being, driven to the brink of insanity over the death of his sister. Neither deserved what you did."

  "Ah, sweet Madeleine," her uncle pulled a silk handkerchief, and dabbed his plump lips on the lace. Watching him revolted her.

  "Indeed, Madeleine. I have no doubt you coerced her. No, no nothing so civilized. You forced her. That painting caused Philippe’s fury. His love for her and the guilt he felt over her death drove him beyond reason, all due to your evil interference in their lives. Indeed, you are to blame for everything that has befallen our family, Jamie, and Philippe’s family as well."