The Unknown Mistress - An Erotica and Romance Paranormal/Historical Novella

by Mayfair, Dorian

  “I’m sorry,” Jany said, straightening her face. “But those stories sound like fairytales.”

  The guard looked at her with concern. “Did you hear about the man who fell from the sky and crashed through the roof of a restaurant last night?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jany shook her head in dismay over the incredible tale. “That was such a crazy story.”

  “I’m not so sure I’d doubt that rumour,” he murmured.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was sitting two tables away when it happened.” He gestured at the entrance. “Now hurry on. If I were you, I wouldn’t want the duke’s mood to get any worse.”

  *

  Jany walked slowly across the large courtyard while mud and water flowed over the cobblestones around her feet. On her sides were long rows of shops, their windows shuttered and barred. Rain fell off their roofs like small waterfalls; the drizzle was turning into new downpour again. The shops were run by duke’s staff, a small army of servants and artisans, horse keepers and bakers, tailors and tanners, carpenters and masons.

  A year earlier, Jany had taken notes on a supposed theft from a smithy, and she remembered the courtyard as a busy hive of activity. Tonight it looked abandoned and derelict. Only the smell of tar and dung, still strong despite the rain, suggested that the space usually was more lively.

  On the other side of the large yard was the main building, a towering bastion of pale stone surrounded by a second moat. Each of its four storeys held over forty rooms and chambers, or so the maids said. Many of its windows were lit, but the downpour dimmed the lights and made them look faint and fluttering.

  She could tell that something was wrong. There were no lights or movement from behind the shops’ windows, even though she knew that many lived there. Apart from a cat that had sought cover under a cart, she was alone in the courtyard, surrounded and isolated by high, dark walls. Most people were somewhere else, and she suspected where: They were hiding. If the duke had allowed it, they were probably inside the castle, waiting for the witchfinder to proclaim his judgement.

  And she was there to record the maid’s sentence. The court might even decide that she had to witness the execution. The idea made her weak with uneasiness. Up to this point, her trade had been endurable, but now she cursed the day she had taken on this task.

  When she neared the massive double doors, they were opened by a pair of uniformed men. Both of them were pale and wide-eyed. They must have watched through a peephole as she crossed the courtyard, and now they looked at her as if she was a bringer of the plague. She knew the reason behind their expressions; most occasions that needed her presence meant ill news. Perhaps they thought her arrival cemented the deaths of the imprisoned women. Maybe they were right, too. Without a word, they waved her inside and slammed the doors shut behind her.

  The hall in which she stood was large and circular, its ceiling too far above to make out in the faint light from the oil lamps near the doors. The smell of tar and mud changed to wet stone, perfume and sweat. Two dozen guards stood huddled close to the lamps. Some of them looked at her as if expecting her to turn into a monster. Their drawn weapons gleamed in the faint light. Even in here, the sense of fear was strong.

  Soon Jany made out shapes in the murk, and she saw mounted around the room countless stuffed animal heads, row after row. Hunting trophies, hundreds of them. Most of the trophies were probably French, but in the gloom, they looked to her like beasts made of pure shadow. A wide staircase in dark marble started in the centre of the room and led straight up to another pair of doors. Raised voices and angry shouts came from the doors at the top of the stairs. It sounded like the market square at Place du Capitole on a Saturday morning, only with a strong tone of panic.

  “They’re in there.”One of the guards gestured with his sword at the doors at the top of the stairs. “All of them except us. And a few unlucky sods in the dungeons,” he added under his breath. “Unless they’re vampire fodder by now.”

  “The duke too?” Jany asked, wondering if all the guards were this superstitious. Then she wondered what had set these men on edge so much; the city’s guards were known for their bravery. What had they seen or heard? The shadows in the room seemed to stretch and creep towards her while she listened to the racket from the room above the stairs.

  The guard nodded. “The duke is there, along with the witchfinder, his followers, and around fifty or so aristocrats who’ve come for the ball. Oh, and a crowd of staff, servants, and other people. I can’t tell who is the angriest. And I think they’re waiting for you.”

  Jany thanked the guard and walked towards the stairs. Her hands shook so hard she could barely hold on to her journal and her writing tools. Had there been any chance to leave the city unnoticed, she would have run. Swallowing hard, she did her best to scrape off the worst of the dirt from her shoes and then walked up the stairs, feeling as if she was heading towards her own execution rather than someone else’s. If the maids really had wounds that looked anything bite marks, there was little hope for them, regardless if they had been attacked by dogs or just injured themselves by falling down the stairs. This much hysterical fear could only lead to misery.

  Her heart raced as she reached the top of the stairs. The noise from the room beyond the doors was almost deafening, a chorus of shouts and curses that seemed ready to burst out like an avalanche. Tread carefully, she told herself. Stay observant. Watch everything. Trust in your head and your heart.

  Holding that thought firmly in her mind, she tried to control her breathing and opened the doors.

  *

  As she had expected, the doors opened to a large room, but she still gaped at its size. At least seventy steps across and with a high ceiling painted with colourful landscapes, it had to be the ballroom. Large white marble tiles covered the floor, and the walls were decorated with tall frames of carved wood and purple tapestries the size of boat sails. Two gigantic suspended candelabras with a myriad of candles bathed the room in a soft but bright glow. On her left and right were arched windows, four on each wall and each as tall as three men, which offered views over the storm that was rolling in over Toulouse.

  The room was also crowded beyond belief. Not only were there more aristocrats here than she ever had seen gathered in one place, but there were also over a hundred guards, many more servants, and a great number of other people. Adding to the throng were a dozen magistrates and judges in blue livery who were engaged in a heated debate among themselves. It was as if everyone in the castle had gathered here, along with every soul in the nearby area who knew the duke well enough to gain entrance to his home. Which, she thought, probably was exactly the case.

  The duke was easy to spot. Surrounded by men in medal-laden suits and women clad in extravagant dresses that defied both gravity and reason, the bearded man sat on a throne-like chair and watched the pandemonium in silence. Known as a proud man with a temper, he looked as if he had left angry in the dust hours ago and galloped onwards into furious.

  Towards the back of the room was a woman who stood out from the other ladies clustered near her. Tall, blonde and regal, and sitting in a chair only slightly less ornate than the duke’s, she looked like the calm queen of felines lumped in with a group of fretting farmstead cats. The deep green dress she wore was more lace than cloth. Her age was difficult to tell; her bearing and apparent confidence suggested that she was in her early forties, but her light, perfect skin and rich hair made her look many years younger.

  One thing was for certain: she was not happy. Her face could send thunderclouds running for cover. Without doubt, she was the visiting aristocrat whose servants supposedly had been corrupted by Satan. Letting her gaze linger on the woman’s stern face, Jany was glad she was not the devil; given half a chance, that Lady would probably give him an earful.

  And in the middle of the room, standing on a broad table like a preacher behind his podium, was the witch hunter. Gaunt and willowy, with a thin and well-waxed moustache adding d
ark lines to his reddened face, he swayed as he barked at the people in the room. His clothes were a mishmash of clerical clothing and haggard traveller’s garments, all greys and charcoal blacks. A large crucifix hung in a thick silver chain around his neck. He could have been a local fool from any village, but his eyes gave away the depth of his madness: red from his zealous fire, and very likely from strong drink, they spoke of a rabid mind.

  From what Jany could make out of the man’s cries, he was condemning all people in league with the devil, those who were related to such people, and also their friends and their neighbours. Possibly the room itself was at risk of being corrupted. There was no mistaking the message: no one was safe. Everyone was suspect. And now, the man crooned, evil had slipped into the very heart of the city, finding its way to the duke’s court where it had perverted the servants of a valued guest.

  Two maids had become member of the devil’s brigade. The marks on their necks, he screamed, were plain for all to see, and meant only one thing. They were vampires, minions of death and bringers of destruction. Only one thing could save their souls: they had to be put to the fire. People had to show the devil what happened to his servants. There were no alternatives. Everyone’s life was at stake.

  As the man howled his judgement, gasps and half-shouted agreements rose from the crowd. The noise was deafening. Wondering where these supposed bite marks truly had come from, Jany found herself looking at the Lady whose servants were accused. Given how the stately, beautiful woman’s face was contorted with rage, the servants were probably doomed whether or not they were sentenced to death by the witchfinder.

  Seeing such anger on a face that beautiful was strange. That rich, golden hair and those large eyes were sharp contrasts to the wrath that rolled off the woman like invisible waves. What would the baroness’s smile look like? It would probably be irresistible. Those full lips would curve wide and make Jany weak in a flash. Weak, and more. The baroness’s graceful neckline and long limbs suggested a strong, beautiful body. Together with those lips, she could make anyone breathless. And naked, Jany thought, the baroness would look astonishing, with her –

  The image filled her mind in a flash and led to the kind of wishful thinking that always haunted her when she met beautiful women. Even these frightening circumstances could not stop her imagination. Watching the baroness’s mouth, perfect and sensual despite the woman’s stone-like expression, she pictured what it would feel like to touch those lips. What if the baroness is like me? What if she longs to have another woman caress her, make her quiver and sigh, press her lips to –

  Jany realized that she was staring at the baroness, and worse – much worse! – the baroness was looking back at her. The woman’s eyes were so blue they looked like the vivid colours on an artist’s palette. With an effort, Jany snapped her head away and turned back at the so-called witchfinder. The man was turning around with his arms spread wide, as if showering his unnerved audience with distrust. When his gaze found Jany, he stopped.

  Caught in the man’s wild stare, Jany felt exposed and vulnerable. Unconsciously, she took a step back, only to realize that someone had closed the door behind her. She stifled a curse. Being near this frenzied madman was bad enough; she did not want to be at the centre of his attention.

  “Aha,” the duke called out when he also spotted Jany. His call quieted the commotion around him, and everyone turned to look her way. “The scribe has arrived,” he announced. “At last, we can end this spectacle.”

  Hoping nobody would notice how she was shaking, Jany curtsied the way she always did when she was called to the court. Not that this was a courtroom, but unless she was wrong, a verdict would be passed here tonight.

  “How can I be of assistance, my lord?” Jany did her best to ignore the hundreds of sweaty, wide-eyed faces that looked her way.

  Cries of burn the witches, hang the devil worshippers sprung up from the nervous mass, but the duke waved everyone to silence. He stood up, wiped his face with a handkerchief and cleared his throat.

  “It appears that the darkness that plagues our town has come into my home,” he said slowly. “Somehow, two of the servants of my dear guest, the Baroness of Orable – ” The duke paused to bow to the baroness, who acknowledged him with a thin smile that could have frozen a bonfire in an instant. “As I was saying,” the duke continued, “two of the baroness’s maids have become victims to a terrible evil, and – ”

  “Vampire!” the witchfinder bellowed. “Unholy creatures, wretched abominations, ravagers of honest souls!”

  The duke cleared his throat again, this time more pointedly. The witchfinder fell silent and glowered at Jany.

  “We need to ask for the lord’s mercy as soon as possible – “, the duke began.

  “Praise the lord!” the witchfinder cried and pointed at the ceiling.

  “...but it is late,” the duke shouted, “and there are many hours left before the sunrise. The two women are locked in my deepest dungeon, and will be held there until they can be judged and sentenced.”

  Still reeling from the chaotic scene, Jany imagined the dungeons below the floor on which she stood. A web of hollows, burrowing into earth and stone like an ever-dark honeycomb. It had to be a nightmarish place. When she noticed that the duke still was looking at her, she tried to think of something to say. If only everyone would stop staring.

  “How will it be decided if the women are guilty?” she asked.

  “The demons will stand trial at dawn,” the witchfinder said, his voice now dropping almost to a growl. “Bound in chains, they will be put on a hill so that they face the Lord’s glorious sun. Then God will reach out through sun’s rays.”

  Unsure how that would prove anything, Jany nodded and tried to hide her frown as she wrote down the man’s words.

  “And then,” the witchfinder went on so sharply that Jany blotched her paper, “if the women are pure after all, the lord will embrace their souls and set fire to their flesh.”

  “Pardon?” Jany blurted, surprised. “My lord,” she added when the witchfinder’s eyes narrowed. “Is my lord saying that the women will burn if they are innocent?”

  The self-proclaimed holy man on the table changed his tone like an actor in a play. “The lord’s love is unending and second to none, but it is also demanding.” His voice turned lecturing. “The sheer intensity of such attention is like the sun. The destruction of one’s body is a small price to pay for such a reward, you see. I am sure you see how it all makes sense.”

  Jany wished this was a scene at a market theatre, but fear beamed from everyone in the room like a cold mist. This was real, and it was dreadful. That makes absolutely no sense at all, you deranged, unpleasant lunatic.

  “Of course, my lord.” Jany paused before she continued. “And what if the sun does not harm them?”

  “Then their guilt is proved,” the witchfinder said, now in a low and menacing tone of voice. “And they will suffer the flames like the infernal creatures they have become. It may sound cruel, but they are not worthy to exist. We must burn them as the villains they are.”

  Jany opened her mouth and quickly closed it again. More than one woman had found herself imprisoned because of explaining the obvious to those who did not want to hear it.

  “My staff will summarize the affair for you tonight,” the duke said to Jany. “Tomorrow, justice will be served at first light. You will take note of all that happens and document it in detail.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Jany produced her writing board and wiped her quill on a small cloth.

  The duke rose and addressed the room. “No one leaves until the morning,” he commanded. “The streets are too unsafe.”

  Jany felt her stomach plummet. No matter how nice a room the duke might offer, spending the night locked up with this near-berserk crowd was an unpleasant idea. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, “but I do not mind going home.”

  “That is not an option.” The duke stepped away from his tall chair and was immediat
ely joined by a swarm of nervous servants. “Everyone will stay here for the night. I will not have anyone’s blood on my hands. We must be vigilant and look out for more dangers, should the devil have perverted more people than the two unfortunate maids.”

  “Indeed,” said the baroness flatly. When Jany glanced at her, the woman was looking at the witchfinder, who in turn pranced as if basking in the baroness attention. His smile was fox-like and full of white perfect teeth. Either he did not notice the baroness’s barbed gaze, or he did not care. Both alternatives struck Jany as equally stupid.

  “And,” the duke added with a stern face, “no one must approach the dungeons. My best guards will man all doors. Now, my staff will see you to your rooms. Sleep safely, and stay alert.”

  *

  Jany was ushered out of the room in a flurry of dresses, uniforms, raised voices and alarmed cries. Guided by bowing and flustered servants, the nobles and their servants hurried away towards their rooms. Last to leave among the aristocrats was the baroness, who exited the hall with a pointed glare at the witchfinder. Jany wondered if she blamed him for what had happened to her two maids, or if she simply was too wise to be fooled by the fanatical man’s theatrics.

  The soldiers remained, scowling at everyone and fingering their swords. Those armed with crossbows watched the windows as if expecting monsters to crash through them. The story about the man falling through a roof came to Jany’s mind, and she shuddered.

  Before she had time to reflect on what had been said in the room, she found herself in a small damp chamber not much larger than the slim bed that occupied it. As soon as she was inside, the elderly maid who had led Jany to her room for the night showed Jany how to bar the door.

  “A lady can’t be safe enough,” she whispered and looked over her shoulder. “Too many strange things prowl the streets. Even the castle, now. Good thing the duke managed to lock up those vampire creatures. Tomorrow, they’ll suffer!” She nodded briskly as if to reassure herself that the danger was over, then hurried away and closed the door behind her.