The World Crashes In

CHAPTER 9: The World Crashes In

The words of M. Lancaster swirled through my dizzied brain, through the frantic beating of my heart and the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I never would have sent you to that damned chateau if I knew you would do this to yourself! I fixed my eyes on the dark orbs staring down at me and clutched my fingers around the lapels of M. Lancaster’s autumn coat as my knees failed me. The arms of this stranger wrapped firmly around my person and prevented me from fainting directly to the floor of my chambers. I was swept up and carried to a nearby chair, where the window doors were thrown open to the autumn breeze.

I caught sight of Madeline Howard, standing behind M. Lancaster’s shoulder. Her eyes were opened quite wide, their orbs moving ceaselessly from myself to my rescuer. It seemed the wheels of her brain were turning in motion at his confession, a notion that she was most certainly unfamiliar with in regards to my presence at the inn. Her complexion was pale and her person trembled. “Are you well, mademoiselle?” she asked, taking my hand within her own.

My eyes passed from M. Lancaster to Madeline, whom I stared at as if she were my dearest lifeline. I sought to convey to her my unease and deception without utterance. I clamped upon her hand like a vice, seeking desperately to urge her to disappear quickly and send for a car to return me to my apartments in Paris. I no longer wished to seek the countenance of the Lady de Chagny, or to learn any of her secrets, only to flee from the illusion of the man before me. “Madeline, please send them away,” I whispered, pulling her as nigh as I dared.

She nodded, removing herself from my grasp and pulling firmly on M. Lancaster. “Please, monsieur, let us leave the lady in peace for a moment. Jean Luke, please bring Mlle. Leroux a bit of meat and bread with some tea, if you would.” Madeline directed the last to the young man near my age. He waited, his eyes fixed upon me, as the others cleared the room. M. Lancaster was hesitant to leave; he lingered by the doorframe and stared at me with great intensity. “Jean Luke, take M. Lancaster to the library, and,” here she beckoned the man over to whisper to him, “have Richard stay with him. I will not have him upsetting Mlle. Leroux again today.”

Jean Luke took M. Lancaster firmly by the arm and directed him from my chambers, much to his hesitation and protestations. The sound of his voice echoed down the corridor as he was taken to the east wing of the house to be kept in the library. Madeline crossed the room and latched the door, bolting it firmly in place. When she returned, she set herself on the footstool at my side and took my hand in her own once more. “What would you have me do, mademoiselle? I see that you are sorely upset and I would do all that is in my power to remedy that.”

“I wish to leave,” I replied, my heart beating wildly in my chest and my person trembled and shook in waves. “I wish to return home.”

Madeline nodded and watched me closely. “I see. I will see you settled with something to eat, and then I will call for your car. Will you need assistance in gathering your belongings?”

“No, but thank you. I would, however, like to send word to the concierge at my Paris apartments. Please request that he have my things gathered by the time I return and reserve a place on a flight returning to London tomorrow morning.” I shuddered as there was a knock on the door, and Madeline went to answer it. Jean Luke passed a tray through the opening before retreating back downstairs. She brought the tray to me and bid me eat. “If you would, Madeline, find my father, M. David Leroux. He is a professor of art history at Oxford University. I would like him to meet me at the airport.”

Madeline nodded absently as she began scouring the room for my possessions and bringing them over to the bed. My luggage was pulled from the closet and packed with meticulous care. She was careful to gather my toiletries from the bathroom and my papers from the bedside table. I watched with guilt as I made short work of the meat and bread provided by Jean Luke. “Please don’t do that, Madeline. I will be able to do that in a moment. Just let me get my feet back beneath me and I will be fine.”

Nodding once again, she continued to pack my things without regard to what I had said. Her gentle hands slipped beneath the quilts of the bed and under the pillows, where she pulled into view the journal and Queen Anne’s Psalter. She smiled softly before placing the journal with my luggage and laying the Psalter on the bedside table. “I will return that to the chateau in the morning. We shall miss you, mademoiselle.”

Once Madeline was assured that she had gathered all of my belongings, she slipped from the room to send for my car.

I felt such ease when at last I was safe in the back of a taxi that was on a sure course back to the busy metropolis of Paris. Although I resisted the urge to look back upon The King’s Bed, with its great oak door and multitude of portraits of Anne Boleyn, once more, I felt the searing eyes of M. Lancaster upon me. My senses knew his presence on the front balcony as he watched the taxi down the winding drive and off into the distance. Blood boiled in my veins at his treachery and my thoughts swam in fear at the ease with which he beguiled me. How could I have been so fooled? I asked myself. What naïveté does reside in my bones!

I wanted to climb beneath a rock and be sick. I had wanted so desperately to believe in the mystery of the Lady de Chagny and to embrace the fact that such a handsome and charming man as Nicolas Lancaster could find me attractive. So much of my life had been spent in libraries, hidden away behind piles of books, papers, and research materials that I had little experience with men. I was unsure of how to proceed around them, especially one as charming as Nicolas. My stomach clenched and bile rose in my throat as I grew more and more disgusted with myself.

I swept past M. Rigalto without so much as a word or glance in his direction. The elevators seemed to take longer than usual to arrive, and when it did, I felt as if I would collapse against its walls. Tears poured like streams down my cheeks and I desperately needed to find my apartment, feeling the bile rise higher in my throat. I broke into a stumbling run as soon as the doors opened, the tears streaming and the sick fighting to break out of my body. My body trembled as I scrambled to fit my key into the lock. I barely made it in the door before I was sick on the floor.

© 2008, The Mistress Snape