That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  Georges smiled teasingly, glancing down at the title. “Pourquoi, is it something forbidden? ‘On the Use of Imitative Representation.’ What the Devil is that? When me and Agnes was struggling to undress you we found it on you and put it there – Eh! What ails you?” Émile was up, snatching the book from him.

  Émile looked startled himself. “That book don’t concern you, Georges.”

  Sophie wore the grey dress to meet Émile in the music room. In the alleys of Paris, it became soiled about the hem; somehow, that dirt was gone. She fussed more than ever over her appearance and her hair. Still, with her eyes and cheeks glowing, she looked far better than she might, given her lack of sleep.

  “Is glowing you look this morning.” Agnes sent her on her way with a pat on the bottom. “See if my cards don’t prove right.”

  “Agnes, you must take this afternoon as a holiday to go and see your daughter.”

  As Sophie made her breathless way to the music room, she thought she showed a pathetic lack of guile in being five minutes early, but Monsieur Émile was there already.

  Her heart lurched as he came to take her hands. She was surprised at how quickly he moved, having been so ill hours only before. He looked paler – the freckles across the bridge of his nose standing out – and much thinner, his already prominent cheekbones jutting. He was newly bathed, his hair washed and styled and dressed once again magnificently yet negligently.

  “You still look too ill to be up, Monsieur Émile.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Do not fuss, Sophie. All nurses are by nature bossy, and as such an excellent one you must be also. You know why I am here. I want to thank you, firstly, for looking after me so kindly and so undeservedly when I was ill and spewing disgustingly, too. Katarina has told me all about the cure that you were trying to get me to retain, and a thankless task you had of it.” He shuddered. “Faugh! Those rank weeds.”

  Sophie had found them fragrant. “It was a pleasure, Monsieur Émile.”

  He kissed her hands as passionately as on that first evening, but then sighed and let them go. He went to stare out of the window.

  Outside, the outlook was as dismal as on the day when he had come to her to make offers as disreputable as the ones she hoped he was about to make would be reputable. Gusts of icy wind buffeted the stark trees, flinging hail against the window pains. The sky was leaden.

  “I can’t look at you when I say this. Sophie, you must forget me. I have ruined my own miserable existence nicely, and I deserve no sympathy, neither. You and petite Katarina warned me enough. I must be unselfish for once and urge you to forget me, love you as you know I do. I may come to be a danger to those close to me. You don’t want to marry a monster. I must take myself off somewhere.”

  Sophie came up behind him, and reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. “When you asked for me the first time, I was somewhat at a disadvantage; you said you would never ask for me again, but that was when you thought I was lying.”

  He muttered, “I was very insulting to you. I hope you will forgive me?”

  “Do you know, I think I can…and I would be so happy to give you my own answer to a certain question, if you were to ask again?”

  He turned about, eyes alight. “Alors, you deserve to be asked with all due punctilio, though I think I see some splinters on the floor, which I will avoid, as my springing up with a yell would detract from the gravity of the occasion.” He went down on one knee and took her hand. “Mademoiselle Sophie, will you marry me?”

  “Yes, Monsieur Émile. How can you doubt it? You must know how I love you!”

  His eyes glowed. Leaping up, he seized both her hands. “Ah, Sophie, you know how I love you.” She met his kiss. When they broke off he exclaimed, “Your ingénue’s kiss! When I kissed you in this room before, it felt as in Paris. To think that I feared you must be an adventuress making a fool of me for her own entertainment, though how this squared with your being ma Tante’s companion puzzled me quite. Will you really take the risk with me? Ah, my lovely girl, can I put you through this? You deserve much better.”

  He took a ring from his little finger, and put it on her ring finger. “Voila. That is much too big for you, but must do as a pledge until I buy you one that fits. I want you to have my sister Charlotte’s necklace and rings, too.”

  She could almost purr like Jem the kitten. “I must wear this ring on a chain about my neck, I think; I don’t want to lose it. I would be so honoured to have Mademoiselle Charlotte’s jewellery, Monsieur Émile. I met her but once and she was so amiable. Oh, I am so happy I do not know what to say!”

  “Some people might question your sanity, as I was bad enough before That Woman attacked me, and not just in France, neither. Do you want to hear about my crimes, because you should know who you are accepting? I have done terrible things. Of course, you must suspect it, having met me as Gilles Long Legs.

  ‘That first winter in Paris, I saw a dead cat lying with its entrails frozen to the road; so was how I felt, for a long time after what happened at the Château. That made it easy for me to lead so brutal an existence. And yet, I flattered myself that in robbing purely from those who could afford it, I was better than those of my class who for centuries have sheltered behind the law to rob from the peasants, who cannot.

  ‘Then I met you and you melted the ice about my heart quite, but when you vanished, it made things worse. Then, when it was finally over with mes parents, Georges and I escaped only to find Charlotte dying.

  ‘Thus, I continued to live as a scoundrel in England for some months, which in light of my émigré position, was ungracious, to say the least – though you may be surprised to hear that I am an Englishman born – at Oxford. My excuse was my financial affairs were in a legal tangle, I did not want to sponge upon others and again I only targeted the wealthy.

  ‘But truly, being a villain was become a habit with me; I combined society life and roguery at that time. I will open my heart to you as to no-one else, Sophie moi, and tell you how I longed for somebody to do both myself and the world a good turn and rid it of my worthless carcase.” He stood, stroking her hands, and staring down into her eyes.

  She squeezed his hands in return. “Don’t say that! No, Gilles Long Legs, no more. It would not stop me loving you and only make me sad. But I do hope that you did not keep any money you made so and that – well, I sound as sententious as a character from Richardson – that you are sorry?”

  “When you call me Gilles Long Legs, Sophie, it takes all the sting away. I gave the money away, ma petite. But I fear that I am a scoundrel by nature. Then there is the slight problem of the chances of my taking to flapping about and asking for a bite of your neck. I am glad that you wear a cross, ma chère, for who knows but you may have need of it, incredible though that seems to me now?

  ‘I was talking to Katarina earlier. She has faith in those herbs; Cousin Ynyr would be delighted. Besides, she assures me that even should they fail, she has other tortures for me at her disposal. It seems even untreated I will never be a fully fledged, coffin sleeping vampire because Madame did not see fit to kill me outright. She was obliging enough only to poison me by leaving her teeth in too long. Katarina believes that at worst I must only be a Man Vampire, though that sounds bad enough. She tells me that we will not know for a month how far the cure has worked.”

  “That is what I gathered.” Sophie went on tiptoe to take his face in her hands and kiss him softly on the cheek.

  That led to them kissing more passionately. After a time he pulled away, laughing. “And I was worried that I was like to become a eunuch after – never mind! – Sophie, even apart from the fact that I don’t know how long it will be before I start flapping about and squeaking at you, I want to marry you as soon as may be. Do you insist upon a grand wedding?”

  She glowed. “No, I would be happy to marry you as quickly as you wish, Monsieur Émile.”

  “Who? Sophie, that terrible habit of calling me ‘Monsieur Émile’ and even worse, �
��Sir’ must stop immediatment. You can call me ‘Gilles Long Legs’ now and then should I show signs of forgetting what a rascal I am. Alors, my lovely girl, I will write to your brother John at once, and I must ask permission of Madame ma Tante too. I must see about a special licence, and I will have to find a suitable house for us, mine all being let.”

  “I will give you the Chester address directly. I am sure that John will wish to give me away. But, I would like to ask you one thing.”

  “What, chérie? You look serious.”

  “When we had that quarrel, before – The Bat – came, you believed I must have a Guilty Secret. You will think me foolish, but I do want to know; had that been true, would you have despised me?”

  He chucked her chin with that condescending gesture, but so tenderly that she didn’t mind. Besides, he knew so much more of life than she that she thought that he was entitled to it.

  “Somehow, that is typical of your sweetness, Sophie. When I was living as Gilles Long Legs, I knew many women who lived with men outside marriage who had babies too, and I had more respect for them than for many so-called respectable women, the Mistress Pamela’s who barter their virtue in exchange for a good offer.

  ‘No, it was because I thought you lied and acted a part that I was so furious. Do you know, I think that you could have twisted me round your little finger and got a proposal soon enough, for all my ranting, even had you accepted my terms. Still, I find it delightful that you are such an ingénue.”

  Remembering his insistence he had never debauched a virgin, she supposed that it was a novelty for him. As they went back to kissing, she could hardly wait for their wedding night herself. After a while, she forced herself to think of spiritual matters. She pulled away in turn. “Émile, will you do something for me?”

  “Almost certainly; what is it?”

  “Will you let me pray for us both? Now and at other times? I suspect that you are irreligious, so maybe I will seem priggish to you, but it would be a great comfort to me.”

  He gazed down at her for a moment with combined cynicism and tenderness. “You are foolishly devout, and I take the whole. Therefore, allez-y, my lovely girl.”

  He went to stand staring out of the window again – looking, she thought, towards the roofs of Plas Cyfeillgar. He drew from his pocket a knife – a very sharp, savage looking instrument – with which he pared his nails as he looked over the view.

  Feeling foolish, she dropped down to her knees. While she murmured a prayer, his face was as unmoved as if she were reciting the details of a laundry list.

  She finished. He turned about, as though coming back from a reverie, and came over to raise her to her feet. “Now, my lovely girl, I want that address. I shall write to your brother directly and then I must to Madame ma Tante as an act of courtesy. Ynyr is inclined towards you himself – as who could not be? – and I suppose he will be put about at the news, but nothing serious, I trust.”

  “Fancy you accusing me of rejecting your offer because I was angling for Lord Ynyr! I can confess now that I have been besotted with you since we met at that wedding when I was eight.”

  “I remember you as the sweetest little thing, too. I made that accusation through jealousy, of course, Sophie. I would not wish jealousy on anyone after my brief experience of it, least of all my Cousin Ynyr.”

  Sophie thought of Morwenna, but kept a discreet silence.

  The Dowager Countess had just settled down in her sitting room with a new sentimental novel and a cup of chocolate when Émile tapped urgently.

  Sighing, she hid the novel. “Entrez!”

  She started to her feet as Émile rushed in, alarmingly haggard and excitable. “Émile! What do you out of bed?”

  “Madame, I have come to ask you something. Do not worry, I am well enough.”

  “You look far from well to me. You should be in your room. Dear me! Sit down, ma cher. Why didn’t you send a servant?”

  “I want to marry Miss Sophie as soon as may be.”

  “What?!” The Dowager Countess forgot her romantic mood and hurried to test his forehead.

  He jerked his head impatiently. “It seems, Madame, that I will be thought still raving for some time to come. Someone else did that this morning. Alors, the fever is gone. It is scarce a compliment to ma pauvre petite that you think I must be delirious because I wish to marry her.”

  The Dowager never expected to see such spectacular proof of the cliché that a woman who cared for a man when he was ill could win his heart. “Really, Émile! How long has this been coming on?”

  “From within minutes of our meeting.”

  “But you have been so distant towards her, Émile – though generally you permit such shocking familiarity from inferiors – that I intended to remonstrate with you.”

  Émile waved this aside. “That was due to a misapprehension, Madame, but we now understand each other and I want to marry her as soon as may be. I was thinking of applying for a special licence.”

  “Mon Dieu! I cannot understand how anyone could quarrel with Sophie, and when you had only just met her, too...Have you spoken to the girl?”

  “Yes, and she is happy with whatever I chose.”

  The Dowager Countess suspected if Sophie wasn’t careful, Émile would be saying that obliviously for the rest of their lives together.

  He jumped up. “Do I have your permission to marry her, Madame? I do adore her; you need have no concerns regarding that.”

  The Dowager Countess thought how tiresome she had always found the passions of Southern men. Émile, seemingly detached and cynical, must have that side to his nature, too.

  It seemed to her that lately he used all his energy to cause trouble. If he wasn’t falling out with disagreeable neighbours by stealing kitchen maids, he was coming home violently ill or threatening to marry her companion. She was puzzled as to how he had grown up to be so impossible when Poor Dear Armand had him whipped regularly as a boy.

  She felt a twinge of indigestion and gave up hope of drinking the hot chocolate. “Would you care for this drink, ma cher, as I have not touched it, and you look thin? No? I think Sophie should have some choice in her wedding arrangements, Émile. Surely she wishes to have her brother at least give her away? I do not wish to upset you when you have been so lately ill, but truly, I am far from sure you are in a suitable state of mind to marry an innocent young girl like Sophie. This is all much too sudden, dear me!”

  He began to pace about. “As to that, Madame, I know I will never be good enough for her, but as she is happy to have me –”

  “Émile, do not exhaust yourself, rushing about so! Regrettably I must remind you that Sophie is not a kitten, to be given to you on a whim.”

  He shot a resentful glance over his shoulder and came back to the desk to speak evenly. “I do not think of her in so insulting a light, Madame. I hoped that you would be happy to give your permission, but have to confess that I have already written to John de Courcy, requesting his consent and inviting him to give his sister away.”

  The Dowager Countess looked as though she had been sucking a lemon. “You know that John de Courcy will be so delighted at a Dubois making his portionless sister an offer that he will dash off his consent by return of post.”

  A quarrel seemed unavoidable.

  Émile suddenly smiled. “Madame, the last thing I wish to do is quarrel with you, when you have been so kind to me. I know this is sudden, and I understand why you have misgivings in handing over Miss Sophie to me so quickly. I know you are become most fond of her and I am doing you no favour in depriving you of her. Would you like to speak to her? She is nearby.”

  When Sophie came in, transformed by joy, her eyes and cheeks glowing as she turned a worshipful glance at her roguish admirer, the Dowager Countess felt herself giving way. Impossible as Émile could be, her companion would never again receive such an offer as this. Had she herself treasured Sophie less, she would have thought of it as a misalliance.

  As it was, the Do
wager Countess saw that Émile – having already entertained society with his rakish adventures – could now give it an episode to delight romantics.

  Lord Ynyr whistled as he worked on his cures. When Émile hurried in, the Count was as shocked at his appearance as the Dowager Countess. “Émile! Should you be up already?”

  Émile smiled. “This becomes repetitive, Ynyr. I wanted to be the one to tell you my news. I have been in love with Miss Sophie since we met and today she accepted me –”

  Lord Ynyr spilt a good deal of his precious stock of dried sage and St John’s wort on the laboratory floor. “What? Émile, this is beyond anything!”

  “Thus, as you confessed to me, Cousin, to a certain softness for her yourself, I do hope you are not too distressed by this news?”

  Lord Ynyr was still staring. “But Émile! I am all astonishment!”

  Émile took him by the arms, looking into his face anxiously. “Never mind your astonishment. I want to know if you are distressed, Ynyr, because I do not want you to hate me, and for sure had you won her I would find it hard not to hate you for it.”

  Lord Ynyr didn’t know what he felt apart from amazement and a sense of grievance. “I scarce know what I feel, Émile. Why did you not tell me when we spoke before? Besides, you have been so distant to her.”

  “I was trying to control my feelings, Ynyr. I wish I could have confided in you.”

  “So do I, Émile. Well, I must congratulate you.” As he gazed on his cousin’s concerned look he managed a smile. “I must be delighted for you, Émile, though I cannot help but feel some envy, as frankly, while the world may say you have married an inferior, anyone who knows Miss Sophie realises otherwise.”

  Émile tightened his arms about him and Lord Ynyr noted with surprise how much strength he still had. “But you are thin, Émile! Should you even be up?” Then he remembered Émile’s rudeness over his herbal remedies, and felt less sympathy. “However, it is the part of your fiancée to fuss over your health.”

  “Ynyr, I will help you to collect these herbs.” Émile went down on his knees. Then, as he put out his hands, he suddenly froze, and watched Ynyr gather them up instead. “This is the second time today that I have been grovelling on the floor.”