That Scoundrel Émile Dubois

by Lucinda Elliot

  She pleaded for Ceridwen to turn away from hate and cruelty, using the most practical advice she could. “Look to the light; don’t expect darkness.” Indeed, Ceridwen’s eyes took on an expression of wonder, but what she saw, she could no longer tell anyone. Her pupils were dilating. The great eyes emptied.

  “May she find peace.” Sophie whispered. Then she looked at all that remained of the arrogant Man Vampire’s Kenrick and Arthur, sprawled in their own blood on the floor, while nearby the lenses of Kenrick’s broken glasses caught the swirling lights. “And they, too.”

  It was a great comfort to her now she believed in a Creator of infinite mercy; that Lucifer and his demon host waited bored in an empty hell until such time as they chose to turn towards the light themselves.

  Sophie could not understand why she cared so for the death of a woman who had treated both herself and Émile so cruelly. Convention held she must hate a rival who had made Émile unfaithful after less than a month of marriage. Perhaps it was seeing the woman’s longing for her lost baby.

  Émile was kneeling behind Sophie, fondling her hair with soiled, bloody fingers, while she revelled in his touch, not caring how blood smeared he was.

  He was staring into the room, and Sophie saw the candles were out now, but the flickering continued. Émile said, “To safety now, mes chères, the power builds again.”

  Then, suddenly he froze, releasing her hair, and stood up slowly. She knew what was happening even before she followed his gaze.

  Émile’s siblings stood close to one another, next to the sparkling, threatening, broken chandeliers and mirrors. They seemed to be partially in this time and partially in another. They were relaxed, not confused. Rather, they seemed to be assured messengers.

  They were the ages they must have been at the time their Château was razed, but they looked at Émile as he came to them with an empathy far beyond their years. They didn’t seem to see the broken bodies of Kenrick, Ceridwen or Arthur or to see Sophie and the others either. They seemed unaware of Émile’s bloody state.

  Émile moved towards them as one in a trance again. Sophie was in terror of what he would do, for she could see the Château, imposing and unburned, flickering on the ceiling, reflected in the broken mirror. She tried to call to him but her throat wouldn’t open. She seemed frozen; for that matter, so were they all save Émile.

  She might lose him now, for what if he could go back in time with them – if that is where they were? – or did they come from beyond?

  Bernard was as grand as ever in his finery, yet somehow more approachable. Charlotte was blonde and slight, as she had been as the child who had befriended Sophie. Like Agnes, she exuded a combination of bossy common sense and spiritual awareness. Small Marguerite, brown haired and alert, somehow resembled Katarina, as Émile had said.

  Émile was with them, trying to embrace them all at once, then seizing Marguerite and picking her up, while the others crowded about him. Charlotte was kissing his face and Bernard was hugging him.

  They could move, though Sophie and the others were frozen.

  “Idiot!” Sophie could hear Charlotte’s voice, though her lips didn’t move, as in dreams. “You are supposed to be clever. Cannot you see how things are? You have a brother and sisters once again, a wife and a family to come. It is time to let us go.”

  She said – or rather, communicated – something else. What it was, Sophie could never recall, though she sensed it was something even more important.

  Émile turned his head; his eyes met Sophie’s.

  The candles flared up again and colours burst down from the ceiling. Émile gave Marguerite a kiss on top of the head and handed her to Charlotte, whom he kissed too. Then he seized them all in a last embrace. He threw himself free. He was back with Sophie and she could move and speak again as she caught hold of him.

  The flashing light increased. The figures of Émile’s siblings were dissolving – were gone. Émile and Georges were bundling Sophie, Agnes and Katarina back from the door. Émile paused to push Ceridwen’s body back inside. The corpses were illuminated by the pulsating, throbbing violet light. Émile slammed the door and tried to wrap himself about Sophie and Katarina while Georges did the same with Agnes. There came a massive thrusting at the door as if a dozen monsters hurled themselves against it, while the floor shuddered beneath their feet.

  None of them said anything. Émile released Sophie and Katarina, but Georges went on holding Agnes and she kept her arms tight about his neck. It seemed that she was willing to overlook his being a ruffian just as she ignored the blood smeared all over him.

  As domineering as ever, Émile put Sophie and Katarina back and cautiously opened the laboratory door. As he stood looking, Sophie and Katarina crept up to peep round him.

  The bodies of Ceridwen, Kenrick and Arthur, the mess of blood and the equipment were all gone. Émile’s duelling pistol had gone too. A couple of scorches on the flooring and an overpowering smell of burnt wax were all that was left of the time travelling schemes of Goronwy Kenrick, Ceridwen Kenrick and mile Dubois.

  Émile had Sophie in his arms again, adoring her with his human eyes, his freckles as obvious as she could wish. “Sophie, you brave girl, to come here. I would not change you for the world, and I do not care if that is a cliché, neither. I can see now what a monster I have been, though through much of it, I moved as in a dream. Ah, but there are the other things too. How can you ever forgive me?”

  She put her arms about his neck. “Do you know, I believe I can.”

  After some more passionate kissing, he turned to give Agnes and Katarina a different sort of kiss. “You mad girls, following too.”

  Sophie smiled on them. “We have all risked ourselves here for each other. Gracious, for Katarina to see such horrors!” She was anxious at the shocks she had undergone herself, but took comfort in her female relatives’ whispers that a de Courcy never miscarried. “Émile, we must tend to these wounds; Georges, you still bleed.”

  Georges, always the dandy if only sometimes the valet, had brought changes of clothing for himself and Émile, should they survive to need them. Émile and Georges washed at the laboratory pump and went back into the storeroom to change.

  Emile searched about. “Luckily for me, Williams carried only one of my pistols, Georges, which vanished in the explosion. I cannot find the other, neither. I will look far to find a set that suit me so well.”

  “I recollect me you said you wished to retire from violence, Monsieur Gilles?”

  Sophie, Agnes and Katarina waited in the laboratory, holding onto each other and glancing about nervously, Katarina still sniffing over Arthur, while Sophie patted her hand. “I know, dear. It is all such a waste.”

  Agnes found some old sheets in the storeroom and wrapped the soiled clothing up in it, tearing up part of the rest for bandages. Georges climbed stiffly out of the window and threw the bundle down the dry well shaft outside.

  Sophie hoped nobody was watching. Certainly, all this while there had been no sign of the staff. Katarina led them all to the kitchens. Here, they found the remains of Kenrick’s household in a silent group.

  Émile told them there had been an accident in the laboratory, with Kenrick, Ceridwen and Arthur Williams vanished in a strange explosion, whilst he and Georges were been injured.

  Kenrick’s staff must have overheard some of the noise. How far they believed the story of the accident, Sophie didn’t know. None showed concern at the disappearance of Kenrick and Ceridwen, though they murmured sadly in Welsh over Arthur. They broke out in English about their wages due.

  Émile cut this outcry short by assuring them that he would pay them. At this, the man in the grotesquely ill fitting livery managed a smile, but a little kitchen maid – Katarina’s replacement – burst into tears.

  Agnes, questioning her, learned she was scared of not finding other work. Émile spoke to her kindly, offering her work at Plas Planwydden.

  She cheered up at once, but Katarina bit her li
p in jealous fury. Monsieur Émile was only allowed to rescue one kitchen maid from Plas Cyfeillgar, herself.

  Sophie, though her legs still felt like jelly, surprised herself not only by noticing Katarina’s outrage, but by being able to deal with it. She took her hand. “Katarina, you are become as a sister to Monsieur Émile, not a maid. Did you hear what Mademoiselle Charlotte said?”

  Katarina stared. “The blonde lady? I understood her, but what language did she use, Madame Sophie?”

  “Perhaps she didn’t use one.” Sophie smiled. “But you must try and be kind to this poor girl, who has probably been ill-used, even as you were.” Katarina nodded grudgingly. She suspected this kitchen maid was not besotted with her own hero, but already disposed to worship Georges, with his flashing dark eyes and rascally winks of reassurance.

  The man in the ill fitting livery accompanied them to the stables to borrow a couple of horses. There were no shadows in the hall. As they came out into the gardens, a blackbird sang.

  This seemed to Sophie to serve as a good an epilogue for the story of Kenrick and his associates as any.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They went home slowly, Émile and Georges stiff from their gashes and bruises. Sophie sat in front of Émile on his mount, delighting in his nearness and wondering how he handled the big horse so easily with an injured shoulder. He patted her now and then as if reassuring himself she was truly there.

  Agnes drove the cart she had come in with Katarina, but the horse wandered as she kept on exchanging looks with Georges, who had even raised no objection to her driving.

  They stopped outside Ferrm Seren to untie Sophie’s mount from the gates, where she still waited, undiscovered. Georges then rode her.

  Émile said, “Mes chères, I will tell you what happened, going into as little of this morning’s brutality as I can.

  ‘We knew we could not lay hands on our fellow monsters. Kenrick had assured me how as more advanced bloodsuckers, they could use firearms against arrivistes such as ourselves, and when I was in the laboratory they always had me covered with a pistol. Yet I had been able to cut Kenrick when throwing a knife to him when he first took my weapons, and I laid my plans accordingly.

  ‘When we realised that we became human apace last night, we knew we could fight them hand to hand, but knew also we must lose half our strength, while having no idea if we were yet human enough to use stakes – harken, ma chères; I can say that word again. Our ability to visit uninvited availed us nothing, given we would never be able to break in without their hearing. Before, surprise would have been our main hope; now it was our only one. Do not blanch, Sophie moi, we are here yet, though why you should wish it, after our recent behaviour, is a mystery.

  ‘I knew the physical form could travel back in time from how I retained that necklace you gave me, Sophie. I managed to affect it for myself only once, and that was but momentary. Now at the last, even as I despaired, I found a way about the problem of being drawn back betimes from a journey. I used Kenrick’s ideas to create a link with Kenrick’s laboratory. Georges and I travelled back in time by a couple of minutes, arriving in Kenrick’s laboratory before dawn.

  ‘We retained our memories throughout, as for various reasons I thought probable in a trip transporting us backwards through so short a period of time. We waited in the storeroom, Georges meanwhile disabling the lock sufficiently so we could not be trapped there. Had they come in, we would have had to fight them without the minor distraction I arranged through a crowd of our own forms appearing half materialised. It was an idea I worked upon after those visitations from poor Tom and nos amis from our smuggling days…Such a turn it gave me, when I heard your singing, Sophie, my foolishly brave wife!” He broke off to caress Sophie’s back with his new, blunt nails.

  “I can only guess at what happened when Madame used the time warp. Believe me, I did not intend that accident. For sure, I think it Madame’s carelessness created the time warp firstly.”

  Sophie gazed at him adoringly. “It was so like you to try to save her.” Then she sighed. “In making her human again, I suppose indirectly I killed her.”

  Agnes said briskly, “She was ruined, poor woman, from that man’s ill usage. Better off dead and ready to start again.”

  Sophie had long since gathered that for Agnes, death was a transient state, but the others looked puzzled.

  They rode on in silence. Sometimes Émile or Georges looked about suspiciously. Sophie supposed that if she felt that someone was watching them, it was a lingering effect from the atmosphere of Plas Cyfeillgar.

  They were rounding a corner in the lane only a quarter of a mile from home when Lord Ynyr came on them.

  Sophie’s first, incongruous, thought was that she had never seen him looking so lively and handsome. His grey eyes were flashing, his colour high.

  “Cousin!” Émile was delighted.

  A changed Lord Ynyr glared at him. “Dubois, you scoundrel! You monster!”

  Émile’s mount tossed its head and eyed Lord Ynyr’s Boris as if planning to emulate its late master’s old habits in taking a quick nip.

  Lord Ynyr’s gaze fell on Sophie. “Madam, I am sorry that I have to say what I must before you. But can you have been spared, living in a den of vampire criminals? Dubois, I see you and your man have been in some sort of brawl.”

  Sophie felt Émile’s sigh. “Ynyr, I owe you an abject apology for failing to take you into my confidence. It was that led to Morwenna’s danger. Yet you would scarce have believed me had I told you the truth. Yes, Georges and I were vampires – part vampires according to Katarina – but we were routed by these matriarchs with herbs and a final dousing in charged wine. Do tell me how Morwenna does, for –”

  “I cannot believe a word you say, Em – Dubois, or any of your claims. You truly are a smiling villain! You are capable of anything; you have trapped your poor wife nicely and cared not if you killed poor Morwenna!”

  Émile did some eye flashing himself. “We have just served Kenrick out for his threats to Sophie and the others and his attack on Morwenna.”

  The Count looked confounded a second. “You turned on your accomplice? For such he was, Dubois, do not try to deny it. Still, I suppose such perfidy all fits with your former career as highwayman.”

  “Oi! We was honest rogues!” Georges was outraged.

  Agnes’ bosom heaved, while Katarina tried to follow the quick speeches, looking outraged herself that anyone could speak so to her precious Monsieur, vampire though he may have been.

  Even through her growing sense of alarm, Sophie was conscious of an equal sense of waste and sadness. Ceridwen Kenrick, her baby girl, Kenrick, his wife, Arthur, Émile, his siblings, Morwenna, the other victims – why had any of the dismal saga of destruction and love gone astray had to happen? But the purpose of suffering was supposed to be a problem beyond human understanding.

  “I was an unwilling accomplice, Ynyr. Sophie and the others being human, he could use them as a threat to force me to carry out his wishes while his fellow watched me like a turnkey. But we laid our plans and he is gone.”

  “That is not all, Sir!” Sophie burst out. “I know that Mistress Kenrick had power over Émile through putting him in a trance.”

  Lord Ynyr hardly spared her a glance. Émile told her, “Get down, ma chère!”

  “No!” she hung on to him, guessing now that Lord Ynyr had a pistol. Émile tried to put her down. She clung on to him while the horse began to plunge. As Émile struggled – hampered by his gashed shoulder – to stop it rearing and to keep Sophie from falling under its hooves, Georges leaped on the Count from his own mount. They fell to the ground and rolled there while Agnes and Katarina screamed.

  The fall winded Lord Ynyr, enabling Georges to wrench the pistol from his inner pocket. He jumped up, cursing.

  “Don’t shoot, Georges!” Émile bawled, jumping clear of the horse, holding Sophie despite his injured shoulder, so that he nearly dropped her. He pushed her backwards. “S
tay back, Sophie! Georges, let me handle this!” He rushed towards Georges and Ynyr.

  Agnes screamed, ““Mackenzie!”

  Captain Mackenzie was by the hedgerow over a hundred yards down the lane, aiming his pistol at Émile. He wore nondescript clothes, but with his strong build, dark curly hair and handsome features, he was no less striking.

  Émile turned and shouted, “Mackenzie, it’s me you want, let me get clear of these others.” He started towards Mackenzie. Mackenzie levelled his pistol. Sophie rushed after Émile, the shot rang out and Émile dropped, the blood welling through the side of his frockcoat.

  Sophie knelt beside him, dreading a chest or abdominal wound.

  “That saved Your Lordship the trouble!” Mackenzie’s cry shook exultingly.

  Émile’s horse bolted towards Plas Planwydden and Lord Ynyr’s ran into the hedge in its panic. The horse harnessed to the cart plunged. Katarina and Agnes jumped from the cart, falling to the ground. Sophie’s placid mare only stirred nervously.

  Georges fired on Mackenzie with the Count’s pistol, but the silver bullet missed. He rushed towards Mackenzie, but the Captain disappeared in a burst of whirling specks.

  Lord Ynyr staggered up to grab the reins of the panicking horse, saving Katarina from its plunging hoofs.

  “Émile!” Sophie sobbed, taking him in her arms while the blood spread out over the side of his frockcoat. “Is it bad? Can you speak?”

  “Away from me, he may shoot again!”

  “No! Where are you hurt?”

  Agnes and Katarina joined Sophie in kneeling by Émile. “How can we staunch the bleeding?” Sophie was undoing his coat, her mind running automatically on torn petticoats.

  The Count staggered over, one eyebrow split and bloody, to kneel by Émile too. “Cousin! Oh, no, Émile, you are human!”

  Georges was back. “Out of the way, let me see.”