That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  Kenrick turned the page and smiled on Émile. “Gone forever, Monsieur!” The scene at the Château des Oliviers ran down the wall and disappeared as Kenrick snapped the book closed. “Now, have we an agreement?” He seemed to find collusion in the bitter look that Émile turned between his eyebrows, for his smile was oily. “To work.”

  They discussed the irregular appearances of the surges of power which created a gateway to the past and of possible explanations, speaking with icy politeness. Émile worked for some time on one set of calculations, while Kenrick tackled another.

  Once, he turned to Émile. “While I may not have your gift for higher mathematics, should you try and play tricks upon me, Monsieur, I am not such a looby I will not suspect as much, and I will regard you as having broken the terms of our agreement.” No doubt thinking of where that must lead, his mouth began to water, and he took out a handkerchief to dry his lips.

  Émile didn’t bother looking at him. “I am not such a looby as to try.”

  As the courtyard clock struck the hour, there came a knocking at the door.

  “My little wife wishes you offer you some refreshment, Monsieur Gilles.”

  Émile stiffened, but said smoothly, “You must give Madame my regrets. I am previously engaged.”

  Kenrick shrugged and went over to unlock the door. Ceridwen Kenrick was there in a low plum coloured dress, her cheeks flushed, her slanting dark eyes shining, lips parted in the smile of a young girl looking forward to a party. As ever, there was something indefinably inhuman about her, even apart from the sharpness of her eyeteeth.

  “Here is the dear little thing to receive your excuses, Monsieur.” Kenrick stood by the open door, his sneering grin a caricature. Émile sullenly went into the corridor.

  “I keep your weapons as surety, Monsieur Gilles.” Kenrick slammed the door behind him.

  Émile made his bow. “I cannot accept your invitation, Madame.”

  “Oh, dear.” She dimpled. “You are angry yet. I cannot blame you. I was careless enough to leave my teeth in you long enough to poison you, and to scratch savagely besides. Truly, I did not mean to be so wild. You must blame your attractions. Such a nice form as you have, rivalling the Captain’s, even better than Arthur’s. Then, I think you may have seen the images of your former life as a ruffian, and taken offence.”

  She was trying to catch his eyes, still dimpling.

  “Au revoir, Madame.” He made his bow and turned away.

  “Viens ici, salaud.” Her tone was soft. He stopped, and struggled, wild-eyed and swearing while she laughed at him. “I order you to stop. You cannot fight your urge for me. After we have lunched together, you will be overcome by bestial lust and pleasure me.” She approached him warily, for he was still breathing hard and trying to escape.

  She enjoyed watching the outrage in his eyes. “You arrogant creature, there is no point in fighting to go home yet to your insipid little wife. You are lost. I see you do have a conscience of sorts; I should have realised as much from how you remained in France for years, fighting to save your parents.”

  Chuckling happily, she stood watching him struggle against the blanket that came down between him and his faculties. Then, seeing his eyes glaze, she came and took his hand. “Come to the morning room.”

  In the morning room, a table was laid for two. Outside, a formal garden was desolate with winter, silent save for the buffetings of the chill wind. Here, even in the summer, bees sounded but none of the visiting birds sang.

  Though a bright fire burned in the grate, the room was chill. “Sit down.” She smiled. Émile sat wordlessly. Ceridwen went out into the corridor and screamed down a flight of stairs leading to the basement.

  A sullen male voice yelled something back.

  “Hurry up, twpsin! (fool) I am hungry!” She frowned, clearly hearing something else, and screamed again, “I understand what you say, take care! If you annoy me I might lose my temper and begin to bite, and who knows who? Bring the food at once!”

  She returned smilingly to the table, where Émile sat staring blankly at nothing. As she approached he ran his eyes over her body with a dull sort of interest. She caressed his face, stroking the faded freckles about his nose so adored by Sophie, while he looked at her emotionlessly. “You are uncharacteristically quiet, Gilles Long Legs. Come a little bit to yourself, not enough to regain your willpower, but enough to speak, as I do not wish to lunch with an automaton.”

  His eyes were stirring. His tone was almost normal. “From the way you used me before, I suppose you hate men.”

  She smiled coldly. “No, I was merely enjoying you, after the fashion of we half humans. Hatred is a human emotion, like love. As regards my view of men, Monsieur, one man can ruin a woman’s trust, if he works hard enough. I decided I wanted my husband dead and–” for a second human emotion showed on her face, “And something else – and I set into motion forces of which you begin to be aware. I realise I should have waited rather than taking the first means appearing in the form Kenrick.” She fiddled angrily with a knife. “Yet, his assurance of youth and beauty for so long was tempting indeed.”

  Oddly enough, here Émile spoke, showing his patriarchal prejudices. “Put that down; I never like to see a woman with a knife.”

  “Humph!” she said. “Such a domineering male it is! Yet, I believe it must go with having a penis. How unfortunate such a strange organ is necessary to a woman’s pleasure and fecundity.”

  Instead of spluttering into his wine, Émile said flatly, “Vraiment, Madame.”

  With a bang, the manservant with the grotesquely ill fitting livery came through the door, staggering under the weight of a laden tray. As he approached, he nearly slipped, but with a backwards flapping heroically regained his balance. This triumph was reduced by the sound of his jacket tearing. He approached resentfully, while Ceridwen glared at him.

  “Get out of my sight, idiot!”

  The man breathed heavily as he left the room, a rip showing across the top half of his jacket. Ceridwen screamed after him, “Cease that infernal wheezing or I might feel the urge to change into a She Wolf!”

  The man almost dived from the room.

  “As yet, I feel no urge to change shape.” Émile said tonelessly.

  “Pour the wine.” She lifted the lid of one of the dishes, revealing beef that had been cooked for perhaps a few seconds, lying in a pool of blood. “Help yourself, my adorable cut throat. You feel no urge to do what? I hope you are not referring to pleasuring me? Oh, to shape shift into a wolf or bat. No, but I see it in you already.”

  “You came to Plas Uchaf as a bat.”

  “Yes, and I saw you this morning, when I was a wolf. You will make a nice wolf for your Little Red Riding Hood, Indeed, there was always something wolfish about you, with those green eyes.”

  They ate heartily, Émile’s trance state having no effect on his appetite. On finishing, Ceridwen stretched and sighed. “That fool can cook well, if nothing else.” She smiled at him. He watched her breasts swelling and lifting under the tight bodice of her dress. A vague apprehension showed in his eyes.

  Seeing it, her inhuman smile became indulgent. “You look almost alarmed; so amusing in a rake! No doubt it is unfortunate I won’t let you be faithful to that insipid creature you have married, but really, I am sure like my own scoundrel of a husband by the time she is big with your first child you will be unable to contain yourself any further.” She got up, and wandered over to him to caress his face once more. “Do you love her?”

  Even in his trance state, Émile seemed reluctant to answer.

  “Come, I demand an answer!”

  “I love her more than I have ever loved anyone, ever.” This was said dully.

  She blinked. “Once I felt so, for the wretch I married, later paid out so deservedly by Kenrick. If suppose if I remained much of the human, I might be jealous, as you are an appealing rogue; I might order you to stop loving her.”

  Alarm definitely moved in his eye
s now, though he could do nothing, not even remove his gaze from her wonderful black eyes.

  “Still, your mind would put up such a resistance it would be tedious work trying to overcome it. I cannot be bothered to attempt it. I only care for one, and she is dead.

  ‘Kenrick wishes you to keep working with him on travel through time. You must do so. Yet beware, for I think he means mischief against you too, and I do enjoy you. Now, you can think of nothing but your lust for me. Come and pleasure me.”

  He jumped to his feet, breathing heavily and rushed to take her in his arms to kiss her, one hand going down to pull up her skirts and caress her full bottom. She pushed him away. “Come, you must wait at least until we get upstairs.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “There now, cariad, do not take on so. It is not in them nasty folks’ interest to harm him.” Agnes was hugging, stroking and patting Sophie, who was nearly bawling.

  “Oh, I am being like the feeble Lucasta in that novel ‘Madoc the Magnificent or the Vampyre’s Curse’. I laughed then, for all she ever did was faint and cry and plead with her fiancé Eugene not to tackle the vampire. Oh! Eugene never got bitten himself, of course. Ah!”

  “Monsieur Émile will be safe enough. Georges said Kenrick wants him for them sums as he needs for this nasty magic with time.”

  “That is near as bad!” Sophie hiccoughed. “I know how he longs to undo what happened to his family. In the beginning he and Lord Ynyr laughed at Kenrick’s odd ideas, but when he was drawn into this, it must have brought back the old torment. I think at the first too, he may have hoped to alter what happened the day That Woman changed him, but now he becomes happy to be a monster, Agnes!” She sobbed again outright.

  Agnes put her arms about her again. “There, there…Georges is the same. Is too bad they are not only a pair of rascals, but vampires, too.”

  “Agnes, you do not whine, and I know you still care for the rascal.”

  “For sure I must put Eiluned first.”

  Sophie went on hysterically, “Yet, it was Émile’s being bitten brought us together, and my ending up in Paris. I would not change that. It is all so complicated. I fear his meeting with That Woman, when they are the same now.” She glanced anxiously in the mirror. “I look awful. I must stop crying, or I’ll look even plainer in contrast to her.”

  “He don’t like her, for sure. He’ll be back betimes. I am going to make you some tea.” Agnes gave Sophie a last squeeze, and got up to rummage in a drawer for another handkerchief.

  In the kitchen, Agnes heard unsteady, heavy footsteps in the hall. Remembering Émile’s dramatic return from Plas Cyfeillgar, even though he could hardly be turned into a Man Vampire twice, she rushed to open the door.

  Mr Kit, his face covered in blood, swayed in the inner porch.

  Georges patrolled on the terrace, which gave a view over the grounds and beyond to the mountains now whitened with snow and the lane which Émile must take on his way back from Plas Cyfeillgar. Georges was oblivious to the bitter North East wind buffeting him. Now and then he broke of from his angry puffing on one of Émile’s cigars to swear.

  He saw the distant, mounted figure. “Stupid bastard!” His form wavered and came back. On the second attempt he vanished with a flashy whirl of iridescence.

  Émile rode into the stable yard, looking sour but healthy, as the stable clock struck three. He jumped down and handed the reins to the stable boy. “Georges, I return betimes. Here, boy, some oats in his fodder, he deserves it. For sure those stables are near as dismal as the house. Avoid those people at all costs, boy.”

  As he walked with Georges from the stable yard, Émile cursed. “I called to hear the news of Morwenna on my way home. There is no change. My head felt oddly muddled as I set out from Kenrick’s accursed place…Georges, I cannot believe it!”

  “Gilles, I warn you, you do stink of perfume. Petite Madame Sophie might be put out. How fares the skin of your back, this time?”

  Émile disarranged his hair in his fury. “That Jade must needs be a witch, Georges! It is unaccountable otherwise.”

  “Is it, given her looks? There is no need to make excuses to me. I am jealous merely. She would have been welcome to cast a spell upon me, though with such a body she doesn’t need such to tempt me.”

  Émile breathed heavily in his indignation. “I did want to be faithful to Sophie, you lout. That Jade reduced me to a beast, slobbering with lust, my head empty.”

  “Then you are not so in general with the ladies?” Georges sniggered. He went on laughing under Émile look of fury. “I’ll run you a bath, before you get into disgrace with Mistress Sophie.”

  Émile shook his head. “Alors, Madame used a deeper version of the trance, merely.” His look changed to become – ludicrously in an Eye Flashing Man Vampire – sheepish. “I cannot complain of That Jade acting so to gratify herself, when I did the same for a sup of blood. I hardly knew what I did, and I think it so with us when it comes upon us. We cannot stop ourselves. I only took a couple of mouthfuls from the barmaid Alys and from ma petite Éloise, so they will not join us. I don’t want you biting Éloise, neither.”

  Georges whistled. “So you have taken from her?! She dangled after you from the first.” He sneered. “Except for La Belle Lola, I never wished to go where you have been before; that applies to where you have had your teeth as much as your member.”

  “Hold your noise, Georges; I am in no mood for your puerile ramblings!” Émile vanished in a flash.

  “Hoighty-Toighty, Gilles Long Legs. You will be still more angry when you hear about poor old Kit’s beating.” Georges achieved a spectacular display with his exit, with shades of silver and blue to add distinction to the effect. As a novice Man Vampire he was proud of this, though he breathed heavily as he arrived in Émile’s dressing room.

  Émile had recovered his temper. “I must to my bath, Georges, or Sophie will be turning me out of the house to hang upside down in a tree.”

  “What did that cochon do?”

  Émile paced about. “You were right, I could not fight him; his man retained my pistols. He sniggered out his conditions. I must go along with them for now. I do not like what I learn from my calculations. There is a charge of power, as yet scattered and sporadic. Kenrick cannot realise the extent. It is why we have these excursions through time, and it seems he has been on one himself since his return. If it goes on, I may have to move the girls away.”

  Georges cut in. “You ain’t going to like this, Gilles, so I didn’t want to tell you at once. Mr Kit was set upon by a group of them villagers.”

  Émile came on Katarina in the passageway leading to Mr Kit’s room.

  “Monsieur Émile, you gave me a start!”

  “What? Ah, I appeared on a sudden. How is poor old Kit?”

  “Sore beaten – I am so glad that you are safe home!”

  “Yes, they were bound to make me a vampire all over again. No more tears, ma petite, or I shall increase your lessons. Dolly, how does Kit?”

  Dolly came to the door, glaring at him. “Them nasty yokels may count themselves lucky there were four of them with clubs, else he would have served them as they deserved.”

  “How bad is it? Let me have a look at him. Is Dr Powell sent for?”

  “Of course. This is all your fault, Monsieur Gilles, luring us up here with your promises when we would have been better off back home. You, child, go and see if there is any more of that tincture downstairs. Your precious master’s back, long teeth and all, that’s all you care for.”

  Katarina scampered off. Georges said, “Dolly, you ain’t fair. Gilles told you of the problems here.”

  Dolly moved over to the bed. “Not about gangs of murderous bumpkins he didn’t.”

  Émile winced as he ran his eyes over Mr Kit’s swollen face, eyes already half closed, nose bloody, lips split and swollen. He was lying back on his pillows in a sort of daze. At Émile’s query he stirred, grunted in pain, and muttered, “Lured me out, one of t
hem did, Gilles, and the others sprang on me.”

  “Do you think they’ve broken anything?”

  “Dolly says not.”

  “That settles the matter.” Émile smiled at Dolly, who glowered back at him. “Would you know ‘em again?”

  Georges’ eyes sparkled. His face fell as Mr Kit said, “They had their faces covered.”

  “Said they anything?”

  Mr Kit was moved to smile. “They spoke Welsh mostly, and no-one to translate for me. I did hear Kenrick’s name. As they left me on the ground they said in English, ‘Tell your master we don’t like that sort of thing round here.’”

  “What did they mean by that?” Georges was as indignant as if Émile’s and his own behaviour had always been exemplary.

  “What could they find amiss in a Frenchman turned vampire? Kit, what can I say? I’m sorry. This after all the favours you and Dolly have done me. Does my wife know of this?”

  Georges said, “Agnes wouldn’t have her troubled, she said the poor girl was upset enough already what with you going back to that place.”

  “I’ll to her at once. Ask Dr Powell to talk with me after he’s seen you.” Émile went out with Georges.

  When they were left alone, Dolly said, “Kit, the young bucks seem like they always were at present, but it comes in fits and starts. It’s horrible seeing Gilles vanish into nothing, and looking at you with them funny eyes and now Georges acts so too. Now, on top of all else, them locals try and kill you. You and I are going home as soon as you can travel.”

  Kit mumbled something.

  “What are you saying?”

  “How about honour?”

  “Honour? Don’t you come that with me. Do you think yourself one of the Knights of the Round Table? There weren’t any fat ones.”

  Émile found Sophie, swollen eyed but composed and wearing a new apricot silk gown, in her sitting room. The kitten Jem watched her as she tried to beat herself at chess. At the sight of Émile, she dropped her piece as she started up and he rushed to kiss her.