The haunt embraced me tightly, and I found my nose being tickled by the duke’s cravat and its cologne of tangerine, basil, and star anise.
“Now we can be together forever, my love.”
“Let’s approach this calmly—”
Before I could speak, it pressed the duke’s lips against my own. It wasn’t a pleasant kiss since it was from two men: an ardent boy still in love with someone else, and the other a confused aristo held against his will. I couldn’t help myself; I gave them both a resounding slap.
“Nicole, Nicole, have I angered you?”
“Unhand her!” Charlotte pressed the point of her cane sword into the back of the duke de Archambeau. On the floor was the discarded casing. The manager wrung his hands, repeating, “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
A lot more suddenly happened.
The rack of glasses shattered, and dishware fell off the wall behind the serving bar. It was a hallmark move of a Noise Ghost— a poltergeist— which uses the kinetic energy of the living to cause havoc. And like the one in Archambeau’s office, they could be terribly temperamental and violent.
It shoved me backward as the haunt spun about, using Archambeau’s forearm to bat away the rapier. The blade went spinning out of the doctor’s hand, clattering on the tile floor.
There were several screams and a stampede to the back door.
Charlotte grabbed the coffeepot as the haunt lunged for her. Using it, she hit him hard on the temple and they both came crashing to the floor, where the duke’s head made a resounding whack onto the tile.
It was deathly quiet now, and the shop owner peered over the bar where he had retreated to hide. I commanded the shop’s owner as I came down to kneel beside Archambeau. “Wet a clean towel.”
Mysir de duke was trying to sit up, and his hand reached up to where blood was running down a cut at his temple.
The ghost had made quite a scene, but they can’t sustain the amount of energy needed to move physical objects, even when draining it from their hosts. From experience, I knew an episode like this would leave the duke exhausted and disoriented. Only time would tell if the entity had completely left him or not.
“How do you feel?”
He removed his hand and, squinting at me, said in his natural voice, “You slapped me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that, Your Grace.” Over the duke’s head, the manager handed me the wet towel, but at the words “Your Grace” he bolted like a frightened rabbit for a doorway that removed him from sight.
“Here, let me see the damage.” I gently cleaned his face. “You interfered with my reading and the ghost took advantage of you. I’m very sorry, Your Grace, but don’t blame Charlotte. Dr. LaRue was trying to get the ghost to unhand me. She wasn’t attacking you.”
“Madame Chalamet, you are a lunatic.” He tried to get his feet under him, but they weren’t under his full control just yet. They splayed out like a newborn colt, causing him to fall on all fours.
“Charlotte, maybe you should take a look at him?”
“I can see him from here,” she said. “I’d guess a concussion, but his head doesn’t seem cracked.”
“Please, Charlotte.”
The doctor came over and gingerly searched his head and looked at his eyes. “Hm. He’s got a lump and a cut. The face bleeds easily, so that needs a plaster. Now let me see his arm.”
The blade had sliced through the duke's coat, and blood was seeping through. “Help him out of this jacket, Elinor.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you are not. Be a good boy and let her look.”
Archambeau complied sullenly, but weak as he was, he really had little choice. We helped him sit in a chair and wrestled off his coat.
“Elinor, get me some alcohol from behind the bar and a clean towel or napkin.”
I did as she asked. The duke sucked in hard when she sluiced the wound with liquor, but otherwise said nothing. Charlotte bandaged it with what I could find.
“I’d suggest getting him home and replace that dressing. Some pain-killer would be good. Probably a mild concussion, so monitor him.”
Because I doubted he would thank her, I did. I asked, “Can you hail a quick-cab for us, Charlotte?” After snapping her blade back into its case, she exited out the front door, and I heard her shout for a cab. “I thought you would want to be home, but do you need more time before we go?”
“We must go. I’ve already wasted enough time on finding you, and I have a meeting with General Somerville in the next half hour. This is enough public humiliation for me today.”
“Come along,” I encouraged him. “Lean on me, but take it slow. Use the chair to get up.”
Gripping the chair’s back, and with my help under his arm, Archambeau regained his feet. Without his coat, he looked very vulnerable, especially with the white shirt sleeve stained with blood. The bell on the door jingled, and Charlotte poked her head inside.
“I have a cab. I’ve asked the driver to help us with him.”
With the doctor holding the door, and me at Archambeau’s side, we carefully maneuvered him onto the sidewalk. The confusion of being possessed made him weave about like a baby first walking.
“What is this neighborhood coming to? A sad thing to see men fighting drunk before nightfall,” said the driver, shaking his head.
“I am not drunk!” Unfortunately, the duke’s slurred speech did nothing to convince the driver, who gave me a wide wink behind the duke’s back.
“Of course not, mysir, my mistake. Now take it easy up this step. Here you go. Lean back like a good boy.” With the duke seated inside, the driver became very solicitous towards me. Dr. LaRue must have given him a good tip. “You sure you don’t want to catch a different cab, madame? Get a rest from the husband before going home?”
“Oh, he isn’t my husband. Just a friend. A business acquaintance.”
His eyes quickly traveled to my hands, both free of any rings. His solicitous manner cooled. “All right, madame, as you see fit.”
Ignoring him, I scrabbled into the cab beside the duke, firmly closing the door behind me. I stuck my head out the window and told Charlotte, “You need to send the name of this ghost, or anything else you know about him, to me at the duke’s residence. The quicker, the better.”
“Will you be fine—?” She gave a pointed look to the limp figure beside me that could barely keep himself upright.
“I can handle him. But I need that information as soon as possible. Please.”
On the carriage ride back, I took the duke’s pulse and tried to examine the pupils of his eyes. He weakly slapped my hands away.
“Stop fussing.” His voice sounded more like his own, without the high youthful tone the ghost had spoken with. He was also sitting more upright. All were good signs that he was mastering his body despite the possession.
“Your Grace, I must explain to you that walking into a Manifestation, and addressing it, acknowledging its existence, opened a conduit between the two of you. It allowed the entity to possess you—”
“I wasn’t possessed,” he stubbornly insisted.
“Being a male ghost, your energy probably enticed it.”
“That boy? You call that a man? He was nothing but a puppy. I am a man!”
Archambeau gaped like a fish at the last words rushing out of his mouth. As I feared, the ghost was hitching a ride.
“Please, Your Grace, understand me. This young man died during a duel over a woman. It is best that you humor him until I can get him to leave. No insults about masculinity or any disdain towards women, if you please. He seems sensitive about those areas.”
He leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes. I asked anxiously, “You don’t feel nauseous, do you?”
“I didn’t until you said something.”
“Do we need to stop so you can be sick?”
“Stop-talking-about-that.”
I folded my hands in my lap, wondering what I could say to buck him up.
“Possessions aren’t forever. We need to find out what the ghost wants in order for him to feel at peace and ready to move on to the Afterlife.”
“Jolly,” muttered Archambeau.
“Dr. LaRue will send us what she can discover, but for now all I know is his unfinished business concerns a married woman named Nicole.”
The metaphysical glow that I had been observing emanating from the duke’s form intensified. “Nicole. I waited. Why did she not come?” cried the ghost, using the duke’s mouth.
I promised him. “We will find out, but you must give me time.”
Archambeau shook his head, opening his eyes. “Did you say something?”
“Not a peep,” I assured him.
When we arrived at the duke’s residence, Archambeau stepped out of the cab into the street under his own power and thus earned a low, admiring whistle from the cab driver. I paid him out of my purse because the duke ignored us, walking to the front door by carefully placing one foot after the other.
The cab driver touched the brim of his hat.
“Swanky digs, but in the long run, it's not worth it if you have to clean up his messes. Look after yourself, madame,” he advised before clucking to his horse and heading off at a brisk trot down the boulevard.
I caught up to Archambeau when the front door opened, revealing his sister, Lady Valentina Fontaine, and next to her, an older woman. From their walking dresses, they looked about ready to leave the house, but the duke was leaning against the door frame to remain standing and was blocking their exit.
“Are you drunk?” demanded the older woman.
“No, I'm told by a premier authority that I'm only possessed,” said the duke calmly.
“Tristan, how could you? It’s that woman leading you to this madness, isn’t it?” asked Valentina. She pointed her parasol savagely in my direction.
“Madame Chalamet, may I introduce you to my mother, the Duchesse of Chambaux. Mother, this is Elinor Chalamet, who is helping me with a case of importance to the king.”
That was quite a long speech, and by the end, he looked even paler.
“I believe His Grace needs to be seen too,” I said, concerned.
Ignoring my words, the Duchesse de Chambaux asked her daughter, “Who is this Chalamet person?”
“That’s the woman I was telling you about earlier, mother,” said Lady Valentina.
I was growing more concerned about Archambeau. Through the hallway, I saw General Reynard Somerville, with Jacques Moreau.
“Jacques, please.” At my plea, he looked first to the general and, receiving his permission with a nod, came to where we were standing.
“What can I do?”
“Can you help the duke upstairs? He banged his head and has wounds that need attending.”
Archambeau straightened, pushing away from the wall. “I can make it upstairs alone.”
“No, you can’t. Stop being stubborn,” I chided him. At my words, his sister gasped and his mother frowned. I ignored their outrage and told the duke, “Being possessed isn’t easy. It’s worse than recovering from the city cough.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge, madame,” he said sarcastically. “If I have your permission, can we go inside and stop making a farce for my neighbors?”
It was then I noticed the small group of people who had paused in their stroll along the boulevard who were gaping at our tableau.
“Mother, Valentina, Madame Chalamet,” Archambeau said politely before walking stiffly towards the bottom of the staircase. I waved Jacques to follow, and he stepped up beside the duke. But the stubborn man refused his offer of a supporting arm. Well, if Archambeau fell down the stairs, it wasn’t my fault.
The duchesse de Chambaux demanded, “Follow me, Madame Chalamet. I have things to discuss with you.”