That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  A dark man, wild eyed and flashily dressed, prowled up with the bouncing step of an athlete. He stood watching the entertainment with a gentle smile. Another quarrel had broken out. A couple of the spectators had placed bets; one of them, realising he had backed the losing side, now pretended otherwise. This dispute was however, limited to threats. Meanwhile, the others greeted the newcomer respectfully.

  Nobody interfered with Émile until Georges tapped his shoulder. “Bon, ça suffit! No-one deserves to drown in piss and shit.”

  Émile whirled about, staring wildly. Gradually he released his grip on the man, threw him to one side, and stood up gasping, blood trickling down his face from a gash at his hairline, shaking his head.

  The stranger smiled his understanding, as though Émile were only guilty of a lapse in taste. “They call me Marcel Sly Boots, by the by. Now, why do they do that?” He laughed as at a great joke. “What are your names?”

  Émile hesitated only a second. “I’m Gilles.”

  “Georges.”

  “Marcel; I want to buy you a drink, mes amis, for a piece of work well done.”

  The scene was fading; Émile was stirring and muttering.

  “Lumme!” said Mr Kit. He hadn’t been able to follow any of the French. The sounds were anyway muted, though he caught a whiff of the urine in the puddle in which Émile had ducked the man’s head.

  Émile wrenched his own head from Mr Kit’s grasp. Mr Kit realised how tightly he had been clasping him. “That was a nice little fight, Gilles.”

  “That is one way of putting it. It was confused to me, so mad with battle lust was I …Curse that Kenrick. I haven’t had one of those jaunts in a while. I hoped I was free of them. Kit, am I mistaken in thinking my body remained here all along?”

  “You did, and sleeping like a baby.” Mr Kit glanced nervously at the ceiling. “What was it?”

  “It was one of those little trips through time of which I warned you when I made you my irresistible offer. So, whatever part of me travelled through time, this body remained here. Yet Sophie’s family found her missing from her bedroom when it happened to her. She retained a full awareness. I think her case different, as she was not there already. More of memory was left with me this time, yet I was too full of bloodlust to let it deter me.”

  He sighed. “Kit, I should never have been selfish enough to marry Sophie, though we were like to break our hearts over each other.”

  “It is done now.”

  Georges came briskly up the dark hallway, without a light. He looked in. “What ails you two?”

  “I clean forgot, Georges has just come and told me he’s gone and become one of these Man Vampires, too.” Mr Kit told Émile. “Before I saw them pictures I doubted, but now it seems to me that anything could be true.”

  “Saw what?” Georges stared about suspiciously.

  “Mr Kit saw a return of the little disagreement we had with those fools when we first arrived in Paris led to my joining Marcel Sly Boots and the Professor’s band of outlaws, while you went in with the others.”

  “What we all need is a drink.” Georges made the suggestion with a naïve freshness, as though he had never made it before.

  Mrs Kit stirred the hot toddy. “I will tell you straight, Gilles Long Legs, when Kit told me as some woman sucked your blood –”

  “En flagrant délit?” Émile suggested sourly from where he leaned against the fireplace.

  “I don’t know any of your foreign talk, but does that mean improper’? I said she must have been touched and you got wild ideas about vampires from her antics. As for being pulled into the past, for all I know one of these wicked people what meddles in the dark arts could do as much. It’s not so different from Agnes telling the future with her Tarot. But I’ve seen you change, Monsieur Gilles, and now I believe you. I’m sure I don’t know where it’s going to end.”

  “I thought to tell you in the morning about Georges, there being something I wanted to talk over with ma femme, but Georges now having enlightened you, I suppose I should ask you if you still want to stay, Dolly? I don’t know if you are fond enough of bats to wish to live in a household with an increasing population.”

  “We can’t let a friend down, Doll.” Mr Kit intoned.

  Georges grinned at him. “I knew you would say as much.”

  Dolly straightened her mob cap and her front*. “You are in trouble, Gilles. These Kenrick’s are nasty pieces of work for a surety.”

  “I’ve met worse, but they tended to be human; still après tout, in those days, so was I.” Émile reached over to pat her arm.

  Dolly looked down at his talons. “Georges was showing me his nails and all. Kit wouldn’t forgive me did I drag him away from this. Then there’s silly young Mistress Sophie, marrying you despite all. We will stay. What with that wench going about biting folks and with you wicked young bucks, we must be extra careful about crosses, Kit.

  ‘Look at Georges there, preening himself at turning into some sort of a bat! I never thought to meet with such goings on in the middle of nowhere. It’s all this Kenrick’s fault for bringing back this nasty stuff from the foreign place with the outlandish name – Tran –”

  “Transylvania.” said Georges. “That’s where his wife died.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sophie woke to a sudden chill. She must have sobbed herself to sleep.

  Now Émile was in the room, and she opened her eyes to the candle guttering and the fire suddenly dying down.

  She sat up, pushing back her hair. “You gave me a start, Émile.” Even as she spoke, she realised how feeble that sounded in the circumstances. His otherness had intensified.

  He still wore his robe. Instead of getting into bed with her, he knelt down by it. There seemed to be a horrible parody here of her own nightly devotions.

  Now the fire and the candle burnt normally again.

  “Sophie, forgive me for my temper outburst earlier. It is hard for me to accept you would condemn me to centuries without you, as I said then, when I think on how it was when I lost you before. I dread now you want to leave me. I hope I don’t appear to you as abominable as the fiend Madoc the Magnificent? Please don’t scream like the ladies in that novel, but I do so long for you to join me.”

  She took his hands, feeling the talons against her palms. “Émile, I would never leave you. I wish I could join you, as it would be a comfort to you, yet, as I said before, if I agreed to it –” She saw the trap too late. Debate with him must always hazardous, when her beliefs were based on intuition, and she had been educated to decorate a drawing room, not to dispute ideas.

  “Exactly – Come here, Sophie!” He followed his verbal pouncing on her with a literal one. As she dodged back he caught hold of the sleeve of her nightdress. It gave a ripping sound and a ribbon burst open.

  Émile breathed heavily as he stared at her shoulder and partly exposed bosom. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t really want to join me.”

  She looked down. He took her chin in his hand and began to force it up.

  “It will not hurt, ma chère.” It was like a parody of a seduction. His eyes met hers. They grew larger. She tried to shut hers, but the lids wouldn’t move.

  She began to struggle, but she knew she couldn’t escape. His fingers had been strong as a human. Now, they were alarmingly so. Overcome with a horrible passion, he began to move his lips down her face, nibbling the flesh without sinking his teeth in, going down her throat.

  At this attack, she was frozen, no warmth flooding through her.

  He came into contact with the cross.

  Again, he found touching it uncomfortable, although, unlike Madoc the Magnificent, he didn’t yell or leap back. He gave his head an irritable jerk, then released her hands and began to try to undo the clasp. His fingers were shaking, and he fumbled. She snatched at his hands, grazing herself on one of his claw like nails. “Émile, No! Stop! Don’t force me!”

  There was a crash, and stumbling foots
teps up the nearby stairs. “Merde!” Then there came a thud, as a body redounded off a nearby wall. It was Georges, going up to bed drunk.

  “Ce putain de mur!”

  Émile started. Even in the dim light, she could see the change in his eyes. He let go of her, and sank face downwards on the bed.

  Through their ragged breathing, she listened to more thuds and bad language as Georges completed his journey up the middle stairs.

  Sophie put a hand on Émile’s shoulder. “It is not your fault.”

  He muttered something into the bed covers she didn’t catch. She stroked her hand down his back. He twitched angrily. Touching him being disallowed, she said, “I love you anyway.”

  He didn’t reply, as if she had done him a wrong and not the other way round. After a time he fell asleep.

  Sleep was impossible for her. She knew this was merely the beginning, and as she had entered into it with her eyes open, she had no right to feel sorry for herself. For all that, she did. After a while, the cock on the home farm crowed and some jackdaws sounded the beginning of the dawn chorus.

  She gently turned Émile over, and held him so his head was cradled in her arms. There were so many points of adoration to be wondered on during this inspection – this tour of love – her nightly ritual.

  He had long dark eyelashes a girl would envy, unusual in someone fair. She could look forever at his profile, the long, firm sweep of the jaw and the lines of his nose and chin. In the candlelight she could make out the fading freckles on the bridge of his nose she so adored. She told him so, repeatedly.

  People would think her mad, doting like this on a vampire. Nobody was as kind to Madoc the Magnificent. He was always greeted by cries of, ‘Fie, you foul fiend!’ No wonder he was so unpleasant.

  “I am so glad I married you, whatever happens…I would never do the things I do with you with anyone else…”

  Émile sighed and stretched out, the corners of his lips turned up. She wondered of what he dreamt.

  He woke her kissing and caressing her. He was back to as nearly his normal self as he could now be. The wild flaring in his eyes was subdued compared to last night and he concentrated his attentions on parts of her other than her throat. She didn’t know if he remembered what had happened, but was happy to surrender.

  Half an hour later, she tried an oblique reference to it. “Georges was very drunk.”

  She knew from his guarded look he remembered. “Eh bien. Sophie, I will tell you at once; he is become a Man Vampire.”

  “But how? Surely you didn’t –”

  “No, I am not that way inclined, nor yet so thirsty.” Sophie tried not to shudder. He went on, “My poor girl, this will upset you further. It was the farm girl who was bitten before Georges and I came here. She has been feeding on him this last week.”

  “Oh, goodness! I must get some of the herbs, though we mustn’t worry Katarina.”

  He sighed with impatience. “Surely you do not cling to the hope of those miserable plants having any affect on him after such proof of their ineffectiveness on me? Anyway, he would not consent to it. Before pauvre Katarina was taken sick, he was avoiding her in case she should guess and pursue him with them. It seems he envied me my new state.” He looked at her wistfully. “It is nice someone appreciates it.”

  “It is too bad of him. It is too bad of you to speak so.”

  Those new eyes regarded her as though she were being bigoted. “We are fast becoming rivals to the Kenrick Ménage, Sophie. Perhaps other households will begin to tempt away our staff in turn. It seems scarce fair not to warn them of the Bat Invasion, but –”

  “Oh, Émile!” Sophie wailed.

  “I am sorry, chérie, it is no joking matter for you, but you know my way. If I were to warn the household, it would be tantamount to standing in the square at Denbigh or Ruthin and making a public announcement through a trumpet, and would probably only cause Ynyr and Madame ma Tante to contact a London doctor to come à la hate for a discreet look at us both. From the human point of view that would be unfortunate, given Kenrick’s activities.” He took her chin between his finger and thumb. “I fear I behaved badly myself, my lovely girl. I am sorry I tried to force you. It was too like to rape for me to be anything but ashamed of it. It is happy Georges’ clamour brought me to myself.”

  She noted he made no mention of how uncomfortable he had found the cross. She guessed too he would be apologising for an attempt on her neck often from now on. Worse, what if the time came when he saw no need?

  She forced herself to speak. “Émile – recollect you my suggestion if you did become a Man Vampire then you might take only a little blood from me at a time? Surely I should let you do so now? I must not put my own convictions or safety above that of others.”

  Besides – on a less elevated note – she feared he would take blood from other women. Insanely, the idea made her jealous.

  “I know for sure now, I could not trust myself to stop in time to keep you human. Believe your favourite monster when he tells you now, as he may not be able to say as much again.”

  “Agnes, I am so sorry. It is all so dreadful.”

  “Well, Mistress Sophie, it is just as well he’s no longer my lover.” Agnes’ fingers were shaking as she worked on Sophie’s hair. “I never did like bats, and for sure I could not endure the thought of one about me. I could tell he was up to mischief and I should have guessed what from his ghastly look.”

  “I only hope that Katarina has more cures, but we must keep this from her until she is better.” Sophie glanced down at the book. “Here it only mentions the Charged Wine and later on, amulets.”

  She stirred uneasily under Agnes’ fingers as she read. ‘He who has been Transformed by numerous Small Attacks rather than one Weighty one will experience these changes the sooner.” She put up her hand to squeeze Agnes’.

  Jem the kitten was on the window sill, watching a robin singing in a tree outside.

  The birds have not gone, anyway. Sophie tried to stop such thoughts but her mind raced on: Is it the vampire presence or the magic that has driven them from Plas Cyfeillgar? Now, Émile begins to do such things here.

  “I don’t know why I snivel!” Agnes pulled out her handerkerchief.

  Sophie patted Agnes’ hand. “Agnes, you must be worried constantly about baby Eiluned. I know Katarina has been over to protect the cottage, yet still you must be concerned.”

  “Mam takes care with their crosses. Is fortunate she learned enough through Nain to believe in things of mystery – Now, then! No piddling in there!” This last was addressed to Jem, now sniffing about in a corner.

  “Georges, I should send Sophie away, but I can’t bear to be parted from her.” Émile and Georges were in the workroom leading off from the kitchens, sharpening their knives and swords on whetstones.

  “She wouldn’t go.”

  “Didn’t she swear to the Creator in whom she places such trust to obey me not long since?” Émile paused in his slashing to regard him. “How do you feel now?”

  “I become strong enough to take on two of them Mad Inventors at once. Was Kenrick always deranged, by the by?”

  Émile smiled. “What is madness, Georges? Reliving that little frolic in the café, it seems to me I was not demonstrably sane then myself. Kenrick was ever a cold fish, his ideas more real to him than people, except it seems this lost wife. I understand his desperation to see her again, but the way he and That Jade have gone about things has put me out a trifle. Eh bien, everything could be happy enough yet, if only I can bring ma petite round.”

  They paused, hearing something. “It is Agnes.” said Georges, “Going down to the wine cellar.” He thrust his knife back into his pocket and made for the door.

  Émile, filing his talons with the tip of his blade, said after him, “I take it you have not yet the biting urge? It is early, yet it comes of a sudden.”

  A couple of minutes later, the boy who had let Émile and Georges into Plas Cyfeillgar, now installed t
o clean the boots and knives and hide things from Mr Kit, came up the corridor, candle aloft. Taking in the open basement door, he dodged down the first few stairs to peep down at who was inside.

  Seeing Georges and Agnes illuminated by her oil lamp, talking below, he darted back up the steps to lock the door.

  “No, Katarina, you must keep to your bed until you are eating properly. Try to finish that nice soup and bread or Mrs Kit will scold and not allow you any of the syllabub we had at dinner.”

  Sophie spoke sternly, but Katarina – whom Émile allowed to empty the apple stores for the donkeys and climb on the furniture – said, “You could tell her.”

  “I go in fear of Mrs Kit, Katarina, and besides –” Sophie broke off as the fire began to die down and a chill wind swept through the room, bending the flames on the candles and casting whirling shadows on the walls.

  Katarina was bolt upright in bed. They both stared at the windows as though trying to see through the drapes. “It is One of Them.”

  Sophie and Katarina clutched at each other, both screaming before they knew it. Mrs Kit appeared at the door. She must have guessed from the extinguishing fire and candles what it was, for she shrieked loudly enough to be heard in the village.

  As a tumult broke out downstairs – doors flung open, voices raised in enquiry – Sophie heard the bounding steps of someone taking the stairs four at a time.

  “Can it get in?” Mrs Kit gasped.

  There was a flicker of light and another blast of icy air. A figure stood in the room, tall and athletic, with dark curling hair. His eyes were flashing as Émile’s when predatory while his teeth gleamed in his sea-bronzed face as he grinned.

  Captain Mackenzie made a snatch at Sophie and she leapt back, pushing Katarina behind her with one arm. “Come here, my lass!” he was trying to catch her gaze while she averted hers, backing away.

  Mrs Kit rushed forward, pulling out the chain of her crucifix and thrusting the cross towards his face.