Velvet Shadows

by Andre Norton

  “Some words with you, Célie.”

  The woman snorted angrily. “Eet ees time for vork, not for talk. Come een zee morning as always.”

  “When you shall be deeper in trouble than you are now, Célie?”

  At Mrs. Pleasant's question the woman stared. She might have been about to protest and then her eyes narrowed, her painted mouth closed. A moment later, in a much lower voice, she asked, “Vat you mean—trouble? Me—een trouble—”

  “Right now you have under this roof a young lady of good family, taken from her relatives and friends. One word of that, Célie, spoken to Captain Lees—and with the anger of a very important family to spur him on—”

  “You are wrong! I ‘ave no von as you say—no von!”

  “Perhaps you have been told a false story. That might just save you when Captain Lees comes, if you can make him believe it. But knowing him, Célie—and knowing he will be spurred in this case to do his whole duty—do you want to risk it?”

  “Lees! Ha!” Célie laughed. “Vat do I care for him? Do you know who comes here? Lees vould take a look into my parlor—then he vould run, like a puppy, vith his tail between zee legs!”

  Mrs. Pleasant smiled. “Come, come, Célie.” She might have been warning a boastful child. “You know the Captain as well as I do. I tell you in this case the pressure which can be brought to bear is such that none of your valued clients would dare lift a finger in your behalf.”

  Célie had been studying the other's face, which now wore its most benign expression, as if she were trying to assess how much truth there was in that threat.

  “You know ziss?” The bombast was gone from her voice.

  “Would I be here at this hour if I were not certain? We have been acquaintances a long time, Célie. Because of that I have come to warn you. What story you have been told, I do not know. But the truth is exactly what I have said. If it were known that this girl was under your roof it would rock this city from top to bottom. We have come for her. Once she is away all will be forgotten.”

  “He said—she ees his wife—” Célie bit her full lower lip, rubbed her hands together. “He vill be most angree—”

  “There are those who will be even more angry, ones who have the power to make that anger felt. Keep her and you will have no house, perhaps you shall even finish your days in prison, Célie. You know well enough there are those in this city whose wills can supersede even the law.”

  “She has said ziss also—zat she ees his wife.”

  “Which he doubtless forced her to say. I have brought one with me who knows her well, can persuade her to go with us.” Mrs. Pleasant gestured toward me. For the first time Célie glanced in my direction.

  “Ziss von—she ees only a maid—”

  “A maid, yes. But one who knows enough to make your guest remember who and what she is. Let them be alone for a space, then we shall leave and you will have nothing to fear.”

  “Except him! And he ees a bad man—a veree bad man.”

  “He shall also be taken care of, I promise you, Célie. Captain Lees dislikes troublemakers, he shall be informed.”

  “Ah, you have an answer for all!” Célie flung at her.

  “Except what you have already been given, Célie—the gold paid for this service. Better return that and be sure of a less troubled future. I would advise no greediness in this case—”

  Angry as the woman was, for some reason she did not set her will against that of my companion. As she turned abruptly to the concealed door she said, “So. Let eet be. Come viss me—you!”

  It was me she addressed and we went back along the cupid-lighted corridor, to a continuation of the back flight of stairs.

  “Up—eet ees zee first door.” She went swiftly away, her heavy skirts whispering over the carpet.

  I groped my way up, feeling unequal to the task ahead. However, when one is faced by a disagreeable or dangerous duty, it is best to move without delay.

  A single gas jet gave light enough to see the door. I turned the knob, more than half expecting to find it locked. It was not and I entered.

  “Christophe!” A name, murmured softly, reached me.

  Victorine sat on the edge of a bed, wearing only a filmy wrapper which made her look as wanton and shameless as those dreadful pictures below. When she saw me her eyes went wide.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  I had forgotten my disguise. Now I swept off that bonnet with its fringe of false curls.

  “It is Tamaris, Victorine. I have come—”

  She stared at me, then tensed, her mouth twisted in a ugly way. This was not the Victorine I knew. Only I was given little time to assess the stranger for she burst out, “Go away, do you hear me—go away! I do not need you. Where is Christophe, what have you done with him? If you do not go I shall scream and scream. Then, when they find you here—you shall be sorry, you pinched-faced little cat my brother set to watch me!”

  She laughed in so wild a way that I thought of drugs. If Amélie had been left to die, then perhaps Victorine had been given something which had turned her brain. My horror of that was so great that for a moment I could not answer at all. Then I knew that I must depend upon the weapon Mrs. Pleasant had given me. Otherwise I could never get Victorine out of this terrible place.

  The handkerchief was in my hand. But I must get closer to the distraught girl before I could use it.

  “Victorine”—I strove to hold my voice steady—“truly I mean you no harm. We have been so worried—you left us without a word—”

  “You lie, Tamaris.” Again she laughed. “All you worry about is that Alain will blame you because his plans are spoiled. He hates Christophe, he swore we should never be together. But Alain is not le bon Dieu!” Again came that wild laughter. “There are many things he cannot control, for all his money and power. Now I stay with Christophe. And when she knows what is due me she will pay more and more. Alain shall also give us money—you will see. Christophe is not a nothing Alain can sweep from his path—he knows much. Alain shall pay, more and more and more—”

  The hysteria in her voice was plain. I had myself under control, knew what I must do.

  Then Victorine began to repeat words strange to me, allowing her robe to slip from her shoulders until she was nude to the waist. She reached beneath her pillow and pulled forth that serpent necklace, fastening it about her throat so its evil head hung between her breasts.

  Her preoccupation with the necklace gave me the chance I needed. Moving swiftly, I flipped the handkerchief in her face. The yellow dust struck her cheek and chin, adhering thickly to her skin. Victorine gave a startled cry which turned into a cough as she inhaled or swallowed some of the powder.

  As she continued to cough her hands fell into her lap. Now she stared straight ahead, her eyes vacant.

  “Victorine?” I spoke her name gently as I drew the wrapper up about her. If she heard me she made no answer.

  “Victorine!” I endeavored to awaken some spark of recognition. “You must get dressed, we have to go quickly.”

  Slowly she arose. “Get—dressed,” she repeated as might a puppet. Still staring ahead, not even looking at the garments for which she fumhled, she did dress. I tied laces, buttoned, and hooked as fast as I could. For a moment I could only think that she was manageable now.

  I was in the midst of hooking her bodice, while she stood like a doll, when the door opened. Terrified by a faint creak, I looked over my shoulder. Had it been D'Lys I would have been lost, but Mrs. Pleasant stood there.

  She studied Victorine and nodded as she picked up from a chair a hooded cloak. I made no attempt to order Victorine's hair, which still spilled across her shoulders. But with the cloak on and its hood pulled up, she was well hidden.

  “We must move fast,” Mrs. Pleasant warned. “The virtue of those herbs does not last long. If she rouses the house we might be in trouble.”

  I needed no other spur. Together we urged Victorine down the stairs and s
he went like a sleepwalker. During the rest of our journey through the house we met no one; perhaps Célie had arranged that.

  Our charge had to be led across the yard, pushed through the fence gap. Mrs. Pleasant moved with quick energy. I wondered in what strange undercurrents of this city she swam. That she might have two sides to her character I already believed. But her help tonight was beyond price.

  The hack still waited in the alley. Three on its seat was a tight fit as we put Victorine between us. I hoped we could continue to manage her when the effects of the powder wore off.

  How late was the hour I did not know. There were no open shops about, and most of the houses we passed had a secret, well-shuttered look. As if what lay behind their windows were no normal life.

  I had intended to defy Mrs. Pleasant and return with Victorine to the hotel. Now I knew that I could not do that. However, I clung to a thin hope that Mrs. Pleasant might relent and agree with me even yet.

  “I do not see how we can get her back to the hotel—”

  “But we are not taking her there, child. For the time being she will be much better at Washington Street. No one will know she is there. And as soon as Mr. Sauvage arrives in the city, he will be notified and can come for her. He will be able to provide a believable story for her absence and carry it off.”

  That Alain was capable of that I had no doubt. I should have felt an overwhelming relief at such a sensible suggestion. Except that I could not forget that I had not fulfilled my trust or my duty. That we had had to enter such a place to find Victorine—

  Célie's talk of her marriage to Christophe, that must only have been an excuse he used to enlist the woman's aid. Though perhaps the girl might even believe she had gone through a form of marriage. If so, Alain knew how to deal with that. But if even a rumor of this night's work ever reached those circles in which Victorine was to move—she was lost.

  Thus I was not relieved, only tormented by a sense of anxiety and foreboding, as I once more entered Mrs. Pleasant's own domain.

  We did not return to her sitting room, rather climbed a second flight of stairs to the third floor. There our hostess showed us into a bedroom which was not luxurious, but comfortable enough to suggest she treated her maids—if this was a maid's chamber—very well.

  I steered Victorine ahead of me. But, as Mrs. Pleasant closed the door, that sound acted on my charge like a waking bell. Victorine twisted out of my hold and swung around. In the light of the lamp Mrs. Pleasant carried her face was contorted with fury, her crooked fingers reached to score the flesh of my face.

  “Let me go—!” Her voice scaled into a screech.

  Mrs. Pleasant moved swiftly behind her. As we struggled, my strength was not enough to save me from a smarting scratch on the side of my chin. But our hostess seized and held Victorine's upper arms.

  In Mrs. Pleasant's grip Victorine still fought. But the older woman was even able to clap one hand over the girl's mouth, reducing her cries to muffled sounds.

  “Over there.” Mrs. Pleasant gestured with her head.

  “The bottle on the shelf. Sprinkle a few drops on a handkerchief and hold it to her nose—quickly!”

  Victorine's struggles were now so violent she dragged Mrs. Pleasant back and forth. I hastened to obey. But when I turned back, bottle and cloth in my hands, she stopped fighting. Above Mrs. Pleasant's muffling hand her eyes lost that feral glare which so frightened me.

  “She is better now. Victorine, I do not want to use this, I only wish to help you. If we let you go, will you be quiet, listen to us—please?”

  She nodded. Mrs. Pleasant released her. But, though the girl did not scream, nor try to attack me again, there was still something in her expression which did nothing to relieve my fears. She now regarded us with the kind of arrogance one in full authority might affect toward menials with whom she planned to deal in her own fashion and in her own time.

  Still saying nothing, she glanced from me to Mrs. Pleasant. One hand went to her throat, lay across the serpent necklace, either to shield it from sight, or as one touches a talisman to gain courage.

  Then, speaking in a stern voice, Victorine repeated a phrase of what sounded utter gibberish to me. Mrs. Pleasant looked faintly amused. I knew that I was witnessing a battle of wills on a plane I did not understand. One to which Victorine had come with full confidence, and from which she expected only victory. Once more those strange sounds issued from her lips with the cadence of a ritual chant.

  Mrs. Pleasant pointed to the hand Victorine had folded about her serpent necklace. Now she replied with a phrase which she did not speak loudly, yet her intoned words drowned out Victorine's chant.

  I saw the girl silenced. She shivered, both hands raised protectingly over her serpent. Her expression became that of a trapped animal, her eyes no longer steadfast on her opponent, but darting from side to side. She might be in a cage, frantically seeking escape.

  Mrs. Pleasant stepped back toward the door. Before she touched the knob she reached inside her seam pocket, brought out what looked to be a common piece of chalk. To my surprise she stooped, to draw on the drab strip of carpet a series of figures as crude as a small child might make. Then, never glancing at me, she quietly left, shutting the door behind her.

  Victorine stumbled to the bed, more fell on it than sat. She raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes. Believing she was weeping, I went to her. The purpose and meaning of that exchange, of Mrs. Pleasant's final action, were mysteries. But if Victorine would turn now to me perhaps some good could be gained from this terrible night.

  Tentatively I put out my hand to touch her shoulder. She shivered, dropped her hands to look up at me. With her darkened skin she was so unlike the Victorine I knew it was like facing a stranger. Also there was a subtle, unpleasant alteration in her expression.

  “Tamaris—Tamaris who is always right, always correct, always the lady!” Her voice was very low. “Tamaris!” She pointed a finger at me in an odd fashion, as if she so indicated me to something unseen now sharing this room with us.

  But that was only a morbid fancy, though I found myself looking around.

  “You have interfered grievously, Tamaris. So the black cock shall crow for you, and the white shall die. Though perhaps that you will not see. And He Himself”—her hand went once more to that sinister necklace, her fingers stroked the enameled scales—“shall come forth from the grave to—”

  “Victorine!” I interrupted that eerie singsong. “What nonsense are you saying?”

  She smiled. And for the first time I understood how a smile could be more terrible than a frown.

  “You do not know, do you? But she”—now she pointed to the door—“does. She thinks she knows so much. But beside Christophe's knowledge hers is nothing!” Victorine made of the last word a passionate cry.

  Fancies—my mind was too full of strange fancies, born of this dreadful night. Was this voodoo, this belief in the dark spirits from the unknown continent of Africa, grafted within the new world by slaves who needed to call up all possible vengeance against those who held them in bondage? Was voodoo at the core of Victorine's danger? Had she willingly, or under the influence of others, become so enmeshed in the wicked belief that she turned from those of her own blood and race, appearing now in spirit, as she did with her darkened skin, to belong to another people?

  In spite of myself I shrank back a step. Once more she smiled in that hateful way.

  “You begin to feel it, do you, Tamaris? Already you sense the power of the Great One. Shall I make you a `horse’ for the riding—so that a Loa can enter your body and wear it as you do a dress, use it as you would a piece of clothing? When that Great One leaves you, you must face what you have done, and with whom! Do you think my brother would then allow you to so much as touch the sole of his dirty boot? You watch him with those great eyes of yours, you think nobody knows your silly little secret—that you have a liking for him. But after a Loa is through—you shall be as the mud of the gutter
. The Great One likes such sport with those who deem themselves ‘good.’” The word “good” she uttered as if it were an obscenity.

  Now she leaned closer and began to speak with some of her old vivacity. But such talk. She used foul words I did not understand, then would smile evilly, or laugh, and define them. I covered my ears, but that did not stop her talking, smiling, laughing—

  This—this was not Victorine! The old tales of possession by evil spirits might thus be proven true. No young girl could have learned the filth she spouted as she swayed back and forth, her hands clasped about the serpent.

  How long that continued I could never afterward remember. Finally the door opened and Mrs. Pleasant returned. Seeing her, Victorine was silenced. I was crying from overwrought nerves, the fear of the thing which seemed to me to be now wearing Victorine's body.

  Mrs. Pleasant carried a tray on which sat a decanter of ruby Bohemian glass and two small glasses. She put this down on the chest of drawers.

  “I have received a message. Unfortunately Mr. Sauvage has not yet been located.” As she spoke she poured from the decanter into the glasses. “He is being diligently sought by those who have reason to be grateful to me. There has been much trouble on one of his properties, stirred up by someone who wanted him away from this city. As soon as he is found he will be brought here.”

  Picking up the nearest glass, she brought it to me. “Drink this. You will find it will revive your nerves.”

  I was so haunted, so sickened in mind, that I obeyed her without question. I was sipping again that drink she had said was distilled from clover.

  “Now to sleep with you. No”—she caught the anxious glance I turned upon Victorine—“you need have no worries here. She will be very safe.”

  It was as if I had not known a bed for days. I staggered toward the one she showed me and fell across it without even removing my clothing. Before my eyes closed entirely I saw Victorine standing, Mrs. Pleasant gripping her arm firmly. That utterly hateful smile was back. The girl raised her free hand, fingers spread widely apart. Between those she spat at me, as if she threw some curse and such hate as I could not believe that I had aroused in anyone.