The Masque
A Hellfire Club Erotique
Kristabel Reed
Copyright © 2011 by Kristabel Reed
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Chapter One
Paris, France
December, 1793
The Reign of Terror
Not a soul voiced it, or acknowledged the fear in any manner, but it breathed just beneath the surface of every face she passed in the streets. Fear permeated the very fabric of Paris, added a distinctly sour scent to her once beloved city. Heart pounding, Olivia Reynard continued down the avenue and wondered when she’d last not felt terrified.
Despite the bitter winter wind whipping through the streets, Olivia forced herself to walk casually back to the small apartment she shared with her Aunt Louise. She and Louise lived a life she never conceived they would have to: a life of hiding and secrecy. No longer were they part of the royal court, once able to walk through any door in Paris without fear or hesitation.
Now she had to be careful not to hold eye contact for too long, lest someone on the streets become too suspicious. The streets teemed with police spies who listened to every word of gossip, always searching for those not enthusiastic enough about the La Grande Révolution to arrest as traitors. So Olivia smiled and nodded to those she passed, ensuring she blended in, that others saw her as merely another Citizen.
A woman beside her dropped one of the boxes she carried and Olivia, with a quick glance from beneath the hood of her cloak, bent to pick it up. She quickly nodded as the woman expressed her thanks, added a hasty “You’re welcome, Citizen,” then hurried on.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure none followed her, that no ambitious police spies dogged her every move, Olivia blessed the winter wind. It lashed out at the masses and prevented many from looking up, from noticing her. Nonetheless, she changed directions.
Of all days, today was not the one for her to be arrested. Today, with whatever luck had kept her and Louise alive these last four years, they’d leave France. The merchant had been recommended as one sympathetic to Royalists but it had taken months first to find and then forge a relationship with him. While he seemed willing to smuggle the both of them out of the city, his price proved exorbitant.
The man had never asked why, never asked the reasons as to why she’d rather secretly leave Paris than boldly stride out the city’s walls. His silence was no doubt best for the both of them.
Finally, today Olivia paid him one quarter of his fee.
Low on funds, and unwilling to risk selling more of their jewels for francs, Olivia had offered him a small emerald ring. Louise had been most unwilling to part with it. Sentiment her normally not sentimental aunt claimed. But they had no choice. Rather, Olivia would not accept Louise’s solution to get her, Olivia, out of France and across the Channel—they’d go together or not at all.
Olivia felt the nerves tightening her chest begin to ease as she turned another corner. By now, she knew the signs of someone following her and was relatively certain no one did. Her fingers were frozen despite her gloves, and she desperately wished for the fur-lined cloak and gloves she once possessed. But she couldn’t afford the memory of such luxuries. When Louise had spirited her from their townhouse, they’d left such finery behind.
Now the two of them rented a small apartment, fine upstanding Citizens of La Grande Révolution, and lived in constant terror of discovery. Frankly, they should have left France years ago. However, Louise had been certain la Révolution would end quickly and normality would once again be restored to France.
Olivia slowed before a row of street hawkers and blindly stared at their wares. She had no spare change for a frivolous purchase but couldn’t be seen in too much of a hurry. The cold froze her clear through; her hands shook and it hurt to take a full breath.
Despite knowing she wasn’t being followed, Olivia knew the cold wasn’t the sole reason for her shaking. Such a fine line she needed to tread these days, and it grew more and more difficult with every passing hour.
She feared their neighbor would turn them in. Olivia had seen the woman speaking with several National Police and police spies, and knew it to be merely a matter of time before the woman testified against them on dislike rather than with any true suspicion. Even Louise, who possessed the blithe confidence of one born to nobility and was long used to others catering to her every whim, had taken to staying in most days except when she went to her clandestine Hellfire Club meetings.
Louise had insisted her allies in the Hellfire Club could get Olivia out of Paris, that she’d arranged it. But Olivia refused to leave her beloved aunt, the only surviving member of her family. Louise had too many powerful enemies; enemies cultivated over years of playing dangerous French political games and treacherous court intrigues. Olivia believed some of aunt’s enemies would stop at nothing to see both of them on the wrong end of Madame Guillotine.
And, too, Olivia suspected the mood of the revolution would turn once more.
Nearly eighteen months ago the police had arrested clergy, suspect merchants, and nearly every noble Olivia had once known in Paris. That night Louise realized the truth; things could never be restored to what they once were. Shortly after the arrests, the battle along the Austrian border turned and another wave of fear rolled through the city. Fearful the Austrians would break through the lines and release the enemies of the revolution, the prisoners had been butchered.
Reluctantly parting with a coin to purchase a bouquet of flowers, Olivia offered the obligatory “Good Day, Citizen” and continued her roundabout way home.
She had to speak with her aunt about their arrangements before Louise left for the Club.
Finally in front of her building, Olivia crept up the steps to the second floor. Stepping over a particularly noisy tread, she held her breath, careful not to disturb their neighbor. The woman was a vicious shrew and the less Olivia saw of her the better. She hoped.
Holding the flowers in one hand, Olivia dug in her reticule, worn and colorless, for the apartment key. Her fingers, still cold, tried to grasp the long brass key, and she cursed. She didn’t care what kind of life they led in England, be it in another small apartment or a townhouse the likes of their former residence. All Olivia wanted at that moment was a lovely fire to sit by and warm her hands.
Unlocking the door, though why they bothered locking it in the first place Olivia didn’t know; the lock was flimsy and she suspected any key would work. After she dropped the key back into her reticule, Olivia kicked the door closed and pushed back the hood of her cloak. Careful not to harm their delicate winter blooms, she set the flowers onto the small table.
The small apartment was cold, the fireplace holding only a small flame for boiling water. The pot boiled over, and Olivia quic
kly removed it. It wasn’t like Louise to be so careless. No matter, by tomorrow morning they’d be gone from this place and out of Paris. She tugged off her gloves and flexed her fingers, rubbing them together in a vain attempt at warming them.
“Aunt Louise?” Olivia called. “I have it all arranged and I want no argument from you. We leave tonight.”
Frowning, Olivia set the steaming pot onto the stones before the fireplace. “We can’t take much,” she continued, concern knotting her stomach when she received no answer. “I suggest we double the clothing we wear.”
But the apartment remained suspiciously silent. Had Louise gone to her Hellfire Club early? Perhaps; her aunt seemed hell bent on getting her out of Paris through whatever connections remained within the Club. But would Louise leave without at least leaving Olivia a note as to where they were meeting?
Nothing. Not even a cryptic message should the police, or a noisy neighbor, enter and rummage through the rooms.
Calling herself a fool, Olivia removed her cloak and left the meager warmth of the fire. She looked around the room again, but nothing seemed out of place nor did she see a message from Louise. Wherever Louise had gone, she clearly intended to arrive back before Olivia did.
Lighting a pair of candles, she waited until they caught before crossing the room to their single bedroom. Since she’d secured the merchant’s assistance, she’d made lists of what they could bring a dozen times. There wasn’t much in this apartment she wanted to take with her, however. While she did lament the loss of several family heirlooms, Olivia had long since moved beyond that.
She crouched on the floor in front of the armoire and reached beneath it for the small stash of jewels they still had. Not the best hiding place for items of such value—and potentially damning—but the small apartment didn’t boast many secret alcoves.
Inside the armoire, carefully folded to minimize wrinkles, Louise’s Hellfire Club dress and masque sat. So she hadn’t gone to the Club yet. At least not for the final ball they were to have this evening where only members in appropriate masques were to be smuggled out of Paris.
Olivia sat on the bed and opened the satchel. A strange object caught her eye and she slowly turned. She knew every inch of this apartment and knew they didn’t keep anything on that side of the bed. Blinking to clear her vision, Olivia saw it was a foot.
Her heart skipped a beat as she jumped up, rounding the bed. Louise lay on the floor between the bed and outer wall, unmoving.
“Louise?” Olivia called, quickly wedging herself by her aunt’s side.
She was too late. Even as she tapped her aunt’s face, called her name, felt tears blur her vision as she tried to revive her, Olivia knew she was too late. Louise lay cold on the floor. Blood stained the front of her gown and her unseeing blue eyes stared upwards.
The poniard, dark with Louise’s blood, lay on the floor above her head. The intricately carved handle, inlaid with wood and rubies, mocked her in the dim candlelight. Olivia sat there, sobbing over her aunt’s body, mind blank but for the grief suffocating her.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there; all Olivia knew was that when she rose, she’d be alone in this world. Holding her aunt’s head on her lap, dress stained with Louise’s blood, Olivia stroked the other woman’s hair, unwilling to let her go. A noise, a shout or call, something roused her from her grief and she started. Slowly, every muscle aching, she wiped tears from her cheeks and carefully slid Louise’s head from her lap.
Olivia tried to stand, but her legs cramped and she fell against the wall. The shout came again, galvanizing her to move should the noise be the police coming here. She had to hide the jewels, cover the masque and gown—
Olivia stopped and collapsed onto the bed. She dug a handkerchief from her reticule and, though her hands shook, cleaned herself up. The police. If they came here, even if they didn’t find evidence she and Louise were nobles, were once wealthy, they’d ask questions. Maybe even accuse her of killing her aunt.
She licked her lips and looked to the window, the dirty curtains covering even filthier panes. Ignoring the tingling in legs that barely held her, Olivia squared her shoulders and opened the curtains, confirming her worst fear.
It was too late to meet the merchant now. Though well before evening curfew, he would have left long ago, unwilling to draw attention to himself by lingering around the city’s gates.
Unable to help herself, her eyes drifted to her aunt. Who had killed her? This was no random accident, not with a bloody poniard on the floor and nothing missing from their rooms. Someone had deliberately done this to her aunt and Olivia had a suspicion she knew who.
No, it was no suspicion. She knew exactly who had done this.
Fredrick Rousseau. Louise had warned her about him, a man with a long-held grudge against both Louise and Olivia’s father. In fact, Louise suspected Rousseau not only had her parents killed at the start of the revolution, but had also targeted their townhouse. Of course many nobles were hunted down these last years and anyone could have spoken against them. But this was too different, this was not random.
Had it already been a fortnight since Louise had returned from a meeting with news that Rousseau remained in Paris? Until Louise had spotted him at the Club, they both believed the man either dead, caught up in the anti-noble sentiment spreading across the city, or gone, fled to England or Italy like so many others.
Voices shouted from below, and Olivia sprang into action. She wouldn’t let Louise’s killer find her here unawares. She owed everything to her aunt and would do as she wished. She’d leave Paris via the Hellfire Club and find her aunt’s killer. And use the same poniard on that murderer as he used on Louise.
Opening the armoire, Olivia removed the masque, a lovely full-faced creation of papier-mâché and painted gold. She slipped it into a velvet bag and removed the dress. With no choice, she struggled to don the beautiful embroidered gown of burgundy velvet. The bodice was cut low, enticing the swell of her breasts over the top of the material.
The bell sounded the hour, still early by old Parisian standards, but too close to curfew for her liking. Rushing, Olivia fixed her hair, repining it in what she hoped looked at least somewhat alluring. At this point she’d settle for neat.
Grabbing her cloak, she tied quickly tied both the bag holding what remained of their jewels and the one holding her masque to her waist and hoped the bulge wasn’t too noticeable.
With one last deep breath, Olivia retrieved the small bouquet she’d bought earlier. Steps heavy with anguish and reluctance, she knelt by Louise and said a quick prayer. Gently kissing her aunt’s forehead, Olivia set the bouquet in Louise’s hand.
Olivia reached over to the blade. Her hand hovered over the poniard, but with time creeping by she couldn’t think about it. Snatching the dagger from the floor, Olivia slipped it into the deep pocket of her cloak and left.
She needed nothing else in this place.
Olivia hurried through the streets of Paris, head down against the cold wind, but more for protection. Once, she thought she heard someone shout for her to stop, but she turned down an alley, hoping to lose him.
The Hellfire Club traditionally met in the catacombs of Paris, and she understood why they chose to hide their Club here. The back alleys that led to the old entrances were labyrinth and made it easy to spy and lose any who might follow her. Olivia had never been to a meeting; after chaos gripped Paris, the Club had closed its doors to new members, and even Louise, with all her influence and many allies, hadn’t been able to get Olivia in.
In the ensuing years, however, Louise had made sure Olivia knew what she needed to just in case. The thought of a club devoted to sex both intrigued and frightened her. She knew very little about sex, but could admit to herself, in the darkest nights when Louise went off to her meetings, that the idea aroused her.
Tears blurred her vision and Olivia blinked them away, not slowing her pace. Her actions tonight were sure to draw attention but she hoped any
National Policeman who saw her would assume she raced to get home before curfew.
Winding her way along a route long memorized but never taken, Olivia hoped this was the right decision. But then, she thought as she entered the catacombs, she really had no other choice.
Chapter Two
“Comtesse.”
The short man held a ledger and greeted her with a cordial nod and a slight bow. He held himself as if he owned these catacombs, the tilt of his head, the sharp look in his eye. Still, Olivia detected a hint of relief in his voice, as if he worried about her. Or Louise in this case. It had been hours since Olivia returned to the apartment, she’d long missed the final ball. Clearly he had expected her long before now.
“Good evening,” he said warmly. Your usual accommodations are ready for you. If you require anything else please do not hesitate to ask, Madame.”
The dichotomy of it all jarred her. One moment Olivia made her way through cold, dark alleyways and down ancient steps as the race of her heart echoed in her ears. Fear of discovery combined with the scuffling of rats and whatever other unknown creatures lurked in such places had her all but sprinting away. Then this massive door opened and the whole world changed.
Before her lay a world of the King’s court in manner and dress.
“Merci, Bernard.” Olivia’s words stumbled out as she placed him. Her aunt’s description had been most detailed, down to the mole near Bernard’s left ear.
With masque securely in place, Olivia walked by Bernard and his baroque desk, which would have been better suited in a Marquis’s estate rather than this dark and dank stone chamber. She held her head high as she sidestepped several members, wearing intricately painted masques also firmly in place, and walked through the arch of the entrance room into the main corridor.
People walked by her and nodded, some as formally dressed as if they did, indeed, attend the king’s court; others, Olivia noted, ate sumptuous pastries and meats the likes of which she hadn’t enjoyed in far too long. Tapestries covered stone walls and tall wrought iron candelabra illuminated the many passages leading in every direction.
Masque: A Hellfire Club Erotique Page 1