The Conjured Woman

by Anne Groß

  There was a longing in the golem’s eyes for the comfort that Adelaide promised. Sure of her success, Adelaide was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the creature opened her rosy mouth. “Like I told the other guy: I don’t speak French,” she said adamantly, in French.

  The golem’s voice, as loud and as lovely as a church bell choir, was startling. “What other man?”

  “What did I just say? I don’t speak French,” she repeated and put her hands on her hips. “You people just don’t get it.” She turned on her heel and walked out of Adelaide’s dream.

  When the hackney cab rattled to a stop, she woke with a start. “The Quiet Woman, Miss,” announced the driver from his bench in front. Adelaide waited for him to open the door and place the steps before she gathered her satchel and descended into the dark street.

  It had been a long and tedious trip, starting with machinations for funding that included an embarrassing entreaty to a certain wealthy client who hadn’t yet abandoned her, and a disguised visit to her banker’s home. Once the ticket was bought, the coach trip to Calais hadn’t been too terrible. On the contrary, it had been a relief to put Paris, and all of Fouché’s police force, behind her. It was the passage across the channel that had left her green and swooning. As to be expected, the weather at sea was tumultuous and her stomach, ever since her schoolgirl days, was sensitive.

  She stayed overnight in Dover at an inn to recover. The innkeepers spoke a little French, it being nearly a requirement for them to do so for the sake of their business, and after dinner helped her to create an itinerary for traveling the rest of the way to London. Despite the relief of having specific plans for the rest of her voyage, it had been difficult to fall asleep in the little room she rented. When she closed her eyes that night, she physically felt the memory of the rising and falling sea as she listened to the surf that made its way in through the cracked open window. The salty air calmed her spirit while the English food she’d been served earlier frothed in her already roiling digestive tract. The next morning she bravely took the carriage to London, hoping to put the heaving shoreline as far behind her as possible.

  Adelaide pressed a coin into the outstretched hand of the hackney driver, who looked at it in distaste. He said something in English and waved the money at her in anger. She raised her hands in the universal gesture of, “take it or leave it,” and in response he spat in the gutter before climbing back to his bench. Although unfamiliar with the driver’s language, Adelaide was still able to recognize some of the more colorful English words he was sputtering as he drove away.

  She looked across the lane to the front of the building with the squeaking wooden sign as she carefully lifted her skirt over the mud. A man finished urinating against the wall next to the door and tipped his hat. Her nose wrinkled in distaste and she pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket to hold over her face. It wasn’t that English urine smelled any worse than French urine, it was just that English men seemed to be able to produce so much more than French men.

  When she opened the door, she paused at the threshold to let her eyes adjust to the darkness within. An old man, huddled deep in a chair by the fire, shouted something at her in an insistent and angry voice that cut through the dining hall so that all eyes lifted and fixed on her. She shut the door behind her.

  A plump barmaid with a halo of blonde curls escaping the intricate braids she had pinned to the back of her neck rushed to her from a nearby table. She said something to her in English, lilting the sentence upwards in a question. Adelaide looked at her blankly. The barmaid repeated her question and Adelaide told her in French that she didn’t understand. A frown passed over the maid’s face and she pointed to the door before stomping over to it and holding it open. She then made a sweeping gesture out the door, indicating Adelaide should leave. The old man in the armchair near the fireplace started yelling again and the barmaid yelled back. Her voice reminded Adelaide of the unpleasant chills that come from grinding sand between your teeth.

  “Shee eez my seestair. Shee weell eet zee deenair weef mee.” A tall, thin man stood from a table located near the bar and gestured to an empty chair beside him. Adelaide squinted. She couldn’t see his face through the smoky room, but she knew exactly who he was.

  The barmaid smiled widely. “Seestair?” she repeated with the same accent, as though it made her more easily understandable. With raised eyebrows, she pointed to Adelaide, then to the man, who, with theatrically long legs, stepped away from his table. Dodo, she thought as he approached. Quel connard. Adelaide wasn’t sure what relationship she had just confirmed with the barmaid, but doing so seemed to put the pretty woman in better spirits.

  “How do you expect to do get anything accomplished in London if you cannot speak the language?” Dodo grumbled. He led her back to his table and pulled the chair out for her.

  “What have you done with my grimoire?” Adelaide demanded as she sat. “You will return it to me this instant.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more pleasant to have dinner together first?” The maid returned without having been called to take his order. It was obvious he had placed some sort of enchantment on her—her eyes were outrageously round when she looked at him, she wet her mouth with her tongue before replying to any of his questions regarding the menu, and curtsied exaggeratedly to better display her deep décolletage. If Dodo noticed any of the barmaid’s contortions, he wasn’t moved to respond. He dispatched her to the kitchen with a callous wave.

  It took mere minutes for her to return with the steaming bowls, which Adelaide found suspicious. If the food was already ready to serve, how long ago had it been prepared? Had it been sitting over the fire for days or weeks? Her stomach had calmed a little from her passage over the channel, but the long carriage ride, followed by the tiny hackney cab had set her bowels on edge. She peered into the brown sauce and sniffed hesitantly at the floating nourishment. The smell was sweet and turned her suspicion into hope. It had been an interminable time since she’d last eaten.

  “The food here is horrible—nothing but boiled beef and turnips,” Dodo said. Adelaide felt her stomach rumble disappointedly. “What I would do for a simple poireau, you’ve no idea,” he continued. “Yesterday I begged for a roast capon in lieu of the regular fare. La Grosse in the kitchen stuffed it with apples, onions, and eggs. Can you imagine?”

  Adelaide shook her head sadly and spooned a slippery thread of the beef from her stew. “One cannot expect the British to be as well versed in the culinary arts as the French.”

  “Perhaps not, but really,” Dodo made a languid and irritated gesture over the bowls in front of them, “culinary arts? I think not. This food is only fit for English barbarians.”

  “The food fits the fortunes.” Adelaide indicated a group of men at the next table, who were thin in body, clothes, hair, and, apparently, thin on soap as well. One noticed her looking and broke from the lively banter of his comrades to salute with his knuckle to his forehead and give her a saucy wink.

  The sound of Dodo’s spoon clanking down on the table drew her back to the conversation. “I cannot accept the excuse of poverty for this pig’s slop,” he said in disgust. “I have seen a farmer’s wife do more with a basket of onions, stale bread, and a bit of broth. But, of course, that was in France. I say it is a poverty of mind, not of material.”

  Adelaide nodded absently as she spooned the stew into her mouth. Startled by the flavor, she looked up past the bar where La Grosse was perfectly framed by the kitchen door. She was gesturing with a butcher’s knife to someone hidden behind the wall. Adelaide spooned more of the stew into her mouth and felt it spread across her tongue and slide down her throat in a way that made her eyes close and her chest heave in a sigh. Whatever the cook had done in her cauldron was magic. The beef was no longer beef. The turnips were no longer turnips. They were something other, something never before classified but wholly better. When she picked up her pot of beer and swallowed a chasing sip, the flavor rolled like melting butter. She
broke a corner off the slice of bread she’d been given to slow the pleasure and reconnect with the conversation at hand. “As I recall, the last meal we shared was less than satisfying,” she said, dunking the bread into the sauce.

  “If you are referring to our stay with dear Jean-Tout-Simple, I must apologize. It was imperative that we initiate a rescue of the golem at once so that Fouché’s men would not find her first. I sacrificed the completion of my own projects and acted immediately, without thought. I should have made you aware of my plans and found you a more suitable place to stay while I attempted to retrieve our quarry, but there was no time. I hope you will forgive my hasty departure. As you can see, it was advantageous. I believe I arrived much earlier than any of Fouché’s agents.”

  Adelaide looked at Dodo warily, unwilling to accept his apology. He obviously thought she was still a naïve young woman, just starting her life. She wondered briefly if he pictured her as a sixteen year old when he looked at her. That would have its advantages. “Have you seen our quarry?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I saw her yesterday. She walked through the dining hall with her head down, trying not to draw attention to herself. Of course, everyone looked. She was all anyone talked of for the next hour. ‘Bloody spindle-shanked lass,’ they called her.”

  “What does that mean? Is that bad?”

  “It means she has not made many friends. Someone had treated her face very roughly I’m afraid, and other parts as well, judging by the condition of her habiliments.”

  Adelaide nodded, thinking of how the golem looked in her dream. The poor creature had been treated poorly the second she fell through the vortex, so it was likely she would be desperate to find a friend.

  “She’s been accompanied by the two hulking publicans, Le Blond et Le Brun ever since I’ve arrived,” Dodo continued, as though reading Adelaide’s mind. “Those two hover over her like new mothers. Then there’s La Grosse in the kitchen. Between the three of them I’ve not had the chance to speak to her yet.” He leaned forward, looking suspiciously around at the clientele at the next table and put his hand to his mouth to hide his words. “I have not seen her wear the scarab. I’ve no doubt it has been stolen from her.”

  “She still has it. I’ve dreamed of it.” Adelaide cleaned the bottom of her bowl with the last bit of her bread before eyeing Dodo’s untouched meal.

  “You do not reassure me. We all dream of jewels.”

  “What does it matter anyway? The jewel is not important. It is the golem we need.”

  Dodo laughed and shook his head. “Is that what they told you when they sent you to conjure the golem? Ma jolie petite imbecile, your knowledge of the political maneuverings of La Société could fit inside a thimble.”

  “I know more than you.”

  “No, you do not.”

  “Your own thimble of knowledge is sized to fit a child,” Adelaide spat.

  “And yours fits a mouse.”

  “You are the mouse, Dodo.”

  “No, you are.”

  Their argument was suddenly halted by a commotion from the kitchen. Everyone in the dining hall stopped what they were doing to watch two men, wrapped in a dramatic embrace, cross behind the frame of the kitchen door from right to left, then back from left to right, then tumble through the doorway. One of the men slammed the other against the edge of the bar and grabbing a fist full of blond hair, pinned his opponent’s face onto the hard wood as he shouted the same thing over and over. “Why did you do it? Why did you do it?”

  The cook came roaring out of the kitchen, as though mise-en-scène with the thunder of rattling sheet metal, and began to beat the two men indiscriminately with the head of a broom. From the back of the room, the barmaid came running to tug at the men’s clothing. Great clouds of dust rose as the cook swung her weapon down on everyone’s backs until, coughing and choking, the combatants untangled themselves from each other and stepped apart.

  When the fighting turned to yelling and finger-pointing, most men in the dining hall returned to spooning their stew and sipping their brews, watching the drama from behind the steam of their meals in the most surreptitious manner. At the next table, one man attempted to insert his own opinion, but La Grosse roundly shouted him down. “What are they saying?” Adelaide asked Dodo breathlessly.

  “It seems to be a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Over the barmaid?” She was quite lovely, with dimples and rolls that jiggled pleasingly.

  “Over a quiet woman. No, wait, I am mistaken. It’s a business quarrel.”

  “Yes, but what about our golem? Where is she?”

  Adelaide jumped when Dodo brought a fist down on the table in an expression of irritation. “I can’t hear what they are saying over your shrill voice. Do you want me to translate or not?”

  “By all means, continue,” said Adelaide as she slid Dodo’s bowl nearer to herself. His bread was untouched too, so she reached across him again and was rewarded with a slap on the back of her hand.

  “The man with all the hair—”

  “They both have lots of hair,” Adelaide interrupted.

  “The brown haired one—the smaller man.”

  “Smaller? Are you blind? Le Brun is much bigger.”

  “Yes, but Le Blond is taller. Please stop interrupting. Le Brun keeps asking ‘Why did you do it?’ and Le Blond is making excuses. He says that it was a sure bet, that he had the better hand but that he was cheated. They needed the money. He swears he did it for the Quiet Woman. ‘You told me I couldn’t sell what wasn’t mine.’ Le Blond says. ‘So I made it mine,’ he says. ‘I was sure she had more; that we would be able to end our debt.’” Dodo looked puzzled. “I think he’s speaking of two different things,” he said.

  “‘So where is it?’” Dodo translated Le Brun’s question.

  “‘I’m afraid that’s where my plan went a little awry...’

  “‘Your plan?’” Dodo paused a moment while Le Brun resumed attacking Le Blond. As they careened towards a nearby table, the clientele stood and gracefully moved out of the way, taking their beers to some other area where spills were less imminent.

  “‘Did you even tell her?’” Dodo resumed his translation after the combined efforts of La Grosse and the barmaid pulled the overwrought Le Brun away.

  “‘Tell her what?’

  “‘Tell her that the Quiet Woman is gone.’

  “‘Of course I did. She acted like she didn’t care. She was ready to follow me all the way to America.’”

  Dodo fell silent as they watched Le Brun sink into a chair. He raked his dark hair away from his face. Two deep long scars that sliced through his features startled Adelaide. “‘What are you looking at? Who let another bloody woman in here?’” Dodo turned in surprise to Adelaide and she quickly looked down at the second empty bowl in front of her. “Shee eez my seestair,” Dodo said quickly. Le Brun snapped something in reply, which Dodo didn’t translate. The scarred man’s blue eyes lingered on them both for so long that Adelaide’s stomach began to churn again while Dodo played nervously with his slice of bread, rolling the soft white dough between his fingers into long snakes until the barman finally looked away. Soon the rest of the conversations in the dining hall came back into focus. Most of the others were finished with their meals. Some were lighting pipes. The barmaid was busy pouring, and attention had turned to her smiles, to politics and war, to factory unrest, to rights for Catholics, to the strange cold weather, to my wife’s ailing mother, to nothing but normal neutral. Even La Grosse returned to the kitchen, sweeping the floor with her weapon as she went.

  “‘Elise is yours now, and so is the jewel’ says Le Brun.” Dodo resumed his translation. “‘I suppose if you can find a buyer for the emerald, you’ll be able to pay off the brewery, even if there’s no dowry.’

  “‘That’s the trouble. She wasn’t very happy when I told her I needed it. She refuses to give back the jewel. You must talk to her and make her see reason.’”

  “‘Me? Wh
at makes you think she’ll listen to me? I pull no weight with that one.’”

  “‘Then you must take it from her!’”

  “‘I will not.’”

  Le Blond looked surprised at so brusque a response. Le Brun smiled wryly, “‘So it seems you’re still joining the King’s Army, the Quiet Woman is still going to the Brewery, Elise sells the jewel and goes where ever she wants, and the rest of us will go to hell. You gambled and lost. Again.’

  “‘You’ll be coming with me, won’t you?’

  “‘Oh, aye. Don’t you worry—we’ll be together ‘till the sorry end, even if that be hell. I’ve still my shackles. Where is your new bride? Did she bolt off already?’” Dodo pushed his chair back and half rose, awaiting the answer.

  “‘Actually, she’s not well. She said she was feeling terrible, something about headaches and a black-haired woman. I didn’t press her about it. She’s retired to her room.’”

  “She’s alone upstairs,” Dodo whispered and pushed back his chair, his eyes bright with excitement. As casually as possible, Dodo started to move across the dining hall towards the entrance to the inn. He had gotten as far as two tables away when Le Brun leapt to his feet. “Get that bloody Frog!” he yelled with a finger pointed straight at Dodo’s back. The sound of scraping chairs reverberated as everyone stood in unison. Adelaide screamed in horror when Le Brun advanced with the sleek lope of a wolf. A mastery of the English language was unnecessary to know that she needed to run for her life. She turned towards the door, but a grinning Rosbif stuck his leg out and sent her sprawling onto the filthy wooden floor. The jeering patrons of the Quiet Woman quickly surrounded her.

  Elise rolled the thin gold band around and around her finger as she sat up in bed. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She could be married in this time, but single in her own time. What happened here had no bearing on what was happening there. Nevertheless she couldn’t help but wonder how her decision was going to change her circumstances. Attaching herself to Richard, in retrospect, seemed less than ideal, even if it did get her a free ticket back to the States.