Floats the Dark Shadow (51 page)

BOOK: Floats the Dark Shadow
13.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Theo thought how Averill shied from the sunlight and how Casimir had said she drove him deeper into the shadow. She glanced at the telegram sitting on the table. “My father wants to take me to Italy.”

“Go. See all the beauty that you can. I will be going to Vienna this summer for a convention on the new methods in psychiatry.” He paused. “And there is a chance my father has hidden Jeanette there.”

Theo had spared little thought for Jeanette these last days, but she knew his sister was precious to Averill. “You will keep searching for her?”

“Yes, though I think it is hopeless. Father will have given her another name whether she is still in France or in some other country. He will have hidden the records far better. She may be well tended, or abused. I do not know. But I must look.”

“I will help.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps later.”

She nodded, feeling as hopeless as he did. Averill came to her and kissed each cheek in a formal salute. “It may be months before we see each other again.”

He needed those months, she realized. But surely this wound would heal. He smiled sadly then turned and left her alone.

~

 

Theo cried after he left, but only briefly. Averill’s loss was greater, and she felt a sham indulging hers. Going to the table, she started to compose a telegram of acceptance to her father. There was a knock. When she went to the door, it was Matthieu. He looked at her closely, but didn’t question her red-rimmed eyes, any more than she ever questioned his. “Maman is making
bouillabaisse
, mademoiselle, with many fish. You are invited.”

Theo wanted to be alone, but alone she would be miserable. “Thank you, I love
bouillabaisse
.”

“The Inspecteur is coming.”

“Is he? That will be nice.” Michel had come by once already this week to make sure they were doing all right.

“He promised to bring his guitar.”

That was hard to picture, Michel strumming a guitar. Would he let her sketch him while he played? “I’ll bring bread and wine.”

“At seven tonight, so we can hear some songs first.”

“At seven, then.”

After Matthieu left, Theo washed her face and walked down to the Pommiers to buy bread and bring news. But Averill had been by earlier, so instead she listened to their praise and agreed that he was the kindest of gentlemen and brave as a lion.

“He rescued my Ninette from that evil Satanist—a vile, slithering snake who should go to the guillotine,” Madame Pommier declared. “But they may only send him to Devil’s Island like that traitor, Dreyfus.”

“It has been a terrible time,” Theo said. They agreed most earnestly.

Baguette in hand, she made her way to the vintner’s shop and chose a rich, silky red from Margaux for the shared dinner. Back home, she still felt at odds and ends. Going to the wardrobe, she began to lay out clothes that she might take to Italy. The decision made, she wanted to leave as soon as possible. But before she left, she had two favors to ask Michel.

When Theo went downstairs, he was already there, sitting on a chair tuning his guitar. It looked old but carefully tended. She greeted Matthieu’s mother, who was chopping parsley and thyme for the soup. Theo handed over the bread and wine, and made her usual offer to help. But Madame Masson was possessive of her kitchen and shooed her away. Matthieu was in his room, finishing his schoolwork before dinner. Theo went to sit beside Michel.

Looking up, he asked in the careful English he’d begun practicing with her now that he was more friend than
flic
, “How are you this evening, Miss Faraday?”

She shrugged off that unhappy answer and said, “I will be going to Italy. My guardian is taking me to see the museums and artists’ workshops.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes but he only said, “I understand why you wish to leave.”

“Yes, for a time. But I’ll worry about Matthieu. Could you come by sometime?”

“I will come at least once a week,” he said.

“Thank you.” She felt both grateful and puzzled that he would promise to visit so often. “Are you always so kind?”

“No.”

She waited but he said nothing more. Feeling awkward, she added, “I’m sorry if that sounded insulting.”

He returned to French. “Someone helped me when I was a boy. I think perhaps it is time for me to help this boy in return.”

Again Theo waited for Michel to explain, but he resumed tuning his guitar. Quietly, she said, “I have another favor to beg.”

Her choice of phrase made him look at her sharply. “If I can help, I will.”

“You remember that Averill’s father told him Jeanette was hidden away?”

He understood instantly. “If she is in France, I might be able to find some record. But his father is also in a position to circumvent such rules.”

“I know.”

“Monsieur Cochefert, the chief of the Surêté, will be sympathetic to the situation,” Michel said, “since Monsieur Charron was falsely accused.”

“Thank you.” Theo was glad he made the acknowledgement himself.

He frowned, then said hesitantly. “I know a man of many resources who may offer assistance.”

Theo waited for more, but Michel only asked, “Does Averill have any clues?”

“He told me he is going to look in Vienna, but he believes she may still be here in France.” Theo’s sense of hopelessness returned. When Matthieu emerged from his room, paper in hand, she welcomed the distraction to look over his work. “Only one mistake.”

He gave her a smile, then began to set things on the table.

Michel finished tuning the guitar and turned to Madame Masson. “I am happy to sing for my supper, Madame. Do you have any requests?”

“Can you play
Le Temps des cerises
?” she asked. “They are no longer singing it in the streets, but I keep hearing it in my mind.”

Last week was the anniversary of the death of the Commune, Theo remembered. They called it
La semaine sanglante—
the bloody week. Appropriate in more ways than one.

Michel frowned, and Matthieu’s mother looked disconcerted. Michel was a policeman after all, Theo thought, and probably no friend to Communards and their sympathizers.

Giving him an excuse, Madame Masson said, “Perhaps you don’t know it?”

He gave her a small smile. “I think everyone knows it, Madame.”

Theo listened as his fingers plucked the melody from the strings. Then he began to sing the poignant song that was the emblem of the Commune. His voice was lovely, deeper than she’d have expected. Matthieu and his mother joined in.

Unexpectedly Theo felt the tears she’d conquered earlier return, stinging her eyes. Only two months ago, she’d been riding beneath the blossoming cherry trees, the same pink as the tea roses in the courtyard below. Two months ago, she realized she was in love with Averill. That same day she met Michel and discovered something malevolent haunted the streets of her beloved Montmartre. Two months and all of it was gone. The evil destroyed. Love destroyed. The beauty of the cherry blossoms had conjured an idyllic future—a future as much a pipedream as the aspirations of the Commune.

Her heart ached, but Theo swallowed back the tears and joined in the last verse.

I'll always cherish cherry season

a time I keep within my heart

an open wound

and Lady Luck, afflicting me

can never ease my pain

I'll always cherish cherry season

and keep the memory in my heart.

 

Acknowledgments

Floats The Dark Shadow was carefully researched in Paris and in dozens of fascinating books. But somewhere in these pages an error must lurk.  I hope the reader will accept this world as a slightly alternate universe in which the discrepancy is true.

Michel Colson’s marvelous
Fog On Montmartre
is our cover photo.
 
View his work or plan a photographic tour with him:

http://www.photoinparis.com

Fax Sinclair did my portrait.
 
You can see her gorgeous nature photography on line:

http://www.fax-sinclair.com

Special thanks to Captain Jay Jorgensen of the Albany, CA. fire department, for his expert advice.

A toast to the critique partners who offered advice on the full text: Mary Eichbauer, Tashery Shannon of Frogtown Bookmaker, Judith Stanton of cat crossing, Nancy Adams, Barb Schlichting, and my husband, Richard Anderson.

http://frogtownbookmaker.com

http://www.catcrossing.com

http://nancyadamsfiction.com

http://nancyadamsediting.wordpress.com

http://www.barbschlichting.com

http://deathbelowzero.com

Quotes from J. K. Huysman’s Là Bas are from the public domain translation by Keene Wallace.

Jon McKenny provided the moving translation of Cherry Time.
 
The epigrams for Chapters 3, 6, 7, 16, 18, 24, 30, 41 and 42 are his.
 
Contact him at:

[email protected]

Sonja Elen Kisa did the Maldodor translation from Chapter 40.
 
View it and her other work at:
 

http://kisa.ca

A.S. Kline gave permission for me to use his wonderful Verlaine translation for Chapter 13:
 
http://www.poetryintranslation.com

Mary Eichbauer did the translations of
Anna, Comtesse de Noailles
, and together we fashioned the poem about the Anatomical Venus.
 

Charles Sturm’s beautiful translation inspired the title. The epigram of Chapter 27 is also his.
 
Other public domain epigrams are the work of M.D. Calvocoressi in Chapter 4, Gertrude Hall in Chapters 18 and 35.
 
The mysterious Eugenia de B translated Victor Hugo’s prose for Chapter 36.

The remaining epigrams, The Anarchists’ Song, and The Danse Macabre translations are mine.
 
To discover more about the Belle Époque, visit my website.

http://www.YvesFey.com

 

 
 
 
 

YVES FEY has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Oregon, Eugene, and a BA in Pictorial Arts from UCLA. She has read, written, and created art from childhood. A chocolate connoisseur, she's won prizes for her desserts. Her current fascination is creating perfumes, including fragrances inspired by her novel. She's traveled to many countries in Europe and lived for two years in Indonesia. She currently lives in the San Francisco area with her husband and three cats. Writing as Gayle Feyrer and Taylor Chase, she previously published unusually dark and mysterious historical romances. For more about Yves Fey and the Belle Époque visit:

 
http://www.yvesfey.com

Other books

A Killing Resurrected by Frank Smith
Dreams of a Hero by Charlie Cochrane
The Parthian by Peter Darman
One Wrong Move by Shannon McKenna
Landfall by Dawn Lee McKenna
A Case of Spirits by Peter; Peter Lovesey Lovesey
The Quietness by Alison Rattle