CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Marie

AFTER THE PERFORMANCE she went straight to her bedchamber to write a letter to the duke, her script oversized and looser than usual in her hurry. With no need for an envelope, she just folded the page in half and pressed down upon the seam. Then she walked to his study. This action could jeopardise the whole arrangement, but she would not stand for being confined by his whims any further. She had completed the commission; the show had begun. Her candle wavered with the pace of her stride and seemed to burn the brighter in sympathy with her cause.

This letter formally requested permission for Regington to visit Welbeck.

At the study she knocked once then waited by the door. Nothing. The duke may not have been roused from his stupor yet. Another growl of thunder, and her flame flared bravely. The valet must have put him straight to bed.

But then, on the edge of her hearing … a high-pitched wheeze, like a pair of dusty bellows being opened. Then silence.

She leant closer to the door. There came a thud, then another, interspersed with a scraping sound as if something heavy was being dragged across the floorboards from the far side of the study towards her. As it drew closer, she distinguished short, halting steps that reminded her of an invalid’s shuffling feet.

Who would make such a noise? She pulled back from the door, eyes still upon it as if by will alone she could see through. What would make such a noise? Surely it wasn’t the duke, unless he had been injured by his fainting spell.

She paused, her hand creasing the letter. A marble of fear lodged in her throat as the footsteps reached a crescendo then stopped on the other side of the door. The paper softened in her damp hold. What was she afraid of? The sight of the guillotine alone had made some of the bravest shake in their boots, but not her. She had endured. She could face this man who dared treat her as inferior, but even so … Her courage faltered. The man was a lunatic. What if he came at her with that sword?

The silence from behind the door had taken root and grown, stretching up to fill the frame with foreboding. Perhaps he was waiting for her to speak. The letter was now a soft ball in her hand. She smoothed her skirts and knocked again, inadvertently reaching for her throat as the doorknob turned with a squeak, paused, then turned again.

Stepping forward, she held the candle in one hand while the other lightly opened the door further. There was no resistance. She heard a soft tread. The room was dimly lit, and she saw a figure retreat to the corner.

Marie shut the door behind her and leant against it while her eyes adjusted. Her breathing rasped in her ears. Whoever was in the corner did not move.

‘Your Grace?’ she ventured, but even as she said his name she knew that it was no man who hid in the shadows. Something twinged at the edge of her consciousness. There was something not right or wholesome or –

Whoever it was, they were afraid. Trying to hide. She had the advantage, and she would use it.

She stepped away from the door and raised the candle, advancing further into the room. ‘It’s Madame Tussaud – I wanted an audience with His Grace …’ She stopped as the flickering light fell fully upon her creation. What words to use? What turns of phrase to convey the frantic galloping of her heart like a wild horse that urged her to flee? It was monstrous but it was beautiful. She was alive but she was dead. She was afraid – while Marie, now that the first bolt of fear had been delivered, was mesmerised.

‘It’s you,’ Marie said. A heartbeat later, ‘Do you … can you speak?’

Elanor shook her head, once, and Marie thought she heard that wheeze again, as if mechanical joints flexed beneath the wax surface.

‘I made you,’ whispered Marie. ‘And now you …’

Elanor stepped out of the shadows, and Marie, as if meeting her own child, stepped towards her. The girl held her hand over her heart and beat upon it with her clenched fist.

‘Alive,’ Marie said. ‘You are alive! I gave you breath and now … life! But – Can I touch your hand?’

Elanor reached for Marie’s hand and clasped it tight. Marie registered the strange touch in texture and form of the skin. The creature pressed her hand so that Marie’s small joints began to fold in upon themselves.

‘I know you must be afraid,’ said Marie, and gently laid her hand over the top of the girl’s. ‘But I’m here now and I will look after you.’

The pressure lessened but the grip did not.

Marie swallowed. ‘You are not dead.’ She stroked the back of that hand. So smooth. So cold. ‘You are alive, but you’ve changed. You are beautiful, my dear, but you do not know it yet. Has His Grace seen you?’

The girl nodded.

‘And he has left you?’

Another nod.

‘You must forgive him. He suffered a fall then a great shock tonight, and may take some time yet to recover. But I will do all that I can to help you. Now let us sit and —’

The door opened, and Marie protectively stepped towards it to shield her creation from sight.

‘How did you get in here?’ the valet asked, sidling in and shutting it behind him.

‘It was unlocked.’ It was useless to try and stop the valet from seeing. She must be ready with an explanation.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I came to deliver a message to the duke and found I was invited in,’ said Marie. ‘I have been making the acquaintance of the new house guest.’ She turned to see Elanor now seated in the armchair by the fireplace. How swift on her feet she was.

‘Oh the commission,’ the valet said. ‘It really is most life like but I thought it was only for the duke’s exclusive entertainment. I didn’t know your tastes were —’

‘Another mistaken assumption. His Grace has seemingly abandoned her. It is late and she is a young woman who is confused and tired.’ Marie stood before Elanor’s chair. ‘And like any young woman, she needs rest and looking after. Have you a bedchamber made up?’

‘What a ridiculous proposition.’

‘I’m sure the duke is not so heartless as to keep her sitting here all night.’

‘I have not received any specific instruction from His Grace other than to keep the door shut.’

‘Well, I think it will benefit everyone concerned if I take responsibility,’ said Marie. ‘I am the one who knows her needs, and she needs to be laid to rest properly.’

‘It is impossible for the commission to be moved from here.’ The valet’s eyes shifted between Marie and the girl.

‘Where do you propose she sleeps, then?’ Did he know about the shrine underground?

‘In what it arrived in,’ he said, pointing to the far side of the room. ‘The coffin.’

‘That is not the response of a gentleman,’ said Marie, feeling Elanor’s anxiety from where she stood. ‘Or one who aspires to be.’

‘What are you suggesting? The duke’s wishes, in this regard, must be adhered to. He wants it to be kept here, in the coffin with the door shut.’

She must let him think that she was aiding him, was on his side. ‘Please do not trouble yourself about it, not now that you have me to assist. Imagine if His Grace discovers that your carelessness has ruined his commission.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Then all of your plans would be spoiled. Forever.’

The valet paused. ‘But it’s a wax doll, it —’

‘Look at what is before you. She moves without interference from us!’ Marie glanced at Elanor again, seated silently in the chair. Hard to fathom how quickly she had moved, how her hand pressed hers in such distress, how those eyes looked so haunted.

The valet stared at Marie for a long moment. ‘Are you trying to make me believe that this … this thing is real? I have no time for it.’

His impertinence made her temper flare and cast aside her earlier tactic. ‘Do not presume because we have an agreement that you can challenge me in this regard,’ she said smartly. He needed to leave immediately before she herself fell into a swoon in the shock of it all. She looked down at her hand, where Elanor had pressed it so tightly. It was not throbbing and was not discoloured, and yet she had been so sure just a moment ago that it was.

‘This is no trickery with smoke and projections – this is science and engineering combined with the supernatural or real magic or whatever it pleases you to call it, monsieur.’ Yes, she had said it. It was true. What she had seen, had felt, had experienced was so very real.

‘Then the thing you have made is an abomination, and the magistrate or the priest should be called to take it away at once. It’s not the natural order of things, even for one of the duke’s fancies.’

‘You said yourself you are not fit to judge another’s desires,’ Marie shot back. Her tiredness was allowing cracks in her composure for impatience to seep through. She was struggling to keep up the presence of mind that enabled her to maintain authority over him.

‘That was before —’

‘May I remind you of your position. I am in fact the paid artiste, the creator of this girl. You need not concern yourself any further with her, leave her to me. I will put her to bed.’

‘It’s not a girl.’ The valet retreated with a scowl to the door. ‘It is nothing but the product of a disturbed mind. I will give you the opportunity to place it in the coffin. Then, we will talk.’

Marie nodded and watched as he closed the door. She then manoeuvred Elanor to help her lay down in the open coffin. She was pleased to see it lined with soft padding. At least in there she could stretch her legs out.

‘Not to worry, dear,’ she said, and bent to stroke Elanor’s hand, which responded by pressing hers again. ‘I know how to deal with gentlemen like that. A change of plan is called for. Leave it all to me.’