Chapter 10- Barely Even Friends
...
Emilie and Jean glanced over at their unwelcoming host, pleasantly surprised. He wanted to eat with them!
"Luc! That's great! I'm glad you finally want to break your hunger strike." Jean said. He stood up and fixed another hearty plate. "Could you join us at the table, like the gentleman I know you are?"
Luc accepted the plate and gave Jean a silent scowl, but he proceeded to join the two at the tiny table. Emilie tensed as the unkempt man sat with them. They ate silently and awkwardly. When they finished, Emilie gladly stood up to do some dishes.
"You should come over to my parents' place again," said Jean. "My brothers have been asking about you. They want to know if you're all right."
Luc didn't answer, nor give Jean any eye contact. He went to plop back on his chair facing the fireplace.
"We're heading off, Luc. Emilie will come by in the morning." Jean glanced apologetically at the young woman, who was visibly cringing as she dried the last of the dishes. They bid adieu to the man still staring morosely at the fireplace.
...
"I'll pay you two livres extra, Emilie. The man is sick, he needs a nursemaid to save his life," Jean said pleadingly to Emilie as they headed across the city in a cab carriage. "Think of it as...kind, Christian charity. Think of your reward in eternity for caring for 'the least unto these.'"
"I suppose you're right. It's an act of charity, but-"
Jean took coins from his pocket and gave them to her. "Here. And just remember how much he charmed you on first meeting. Who knows, once he feels better, you might grow to like him."
"Like him? I don't want anything to do with him!" Emilie said angrily. "Not because he was stricken like I was. It's his horrible attitude."
"I understand. But the more time he spends alone in his apartment, the less likely he'll improve and want to go back to work with me. I have ulterior motives, I guess. The man hired to work in Luc's place cannot do a thing."
"Only for three days," Emilie said with a sigh.
...
Emilie knocked on the apartment door in dread. Jean had just dropped her off at Luc's place before he had to go to work. There was no answer, but the door was open. She let herself in.
"Monsieur Avenant? It's me, Mademoiselle Fortier. I'm here to cook you breakfast." She found him lying face-up on the floor, lifting a heavy wooden bench up and down.
"Oh...I'm sorry, Monsieur! Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"Doing my exercises," he said gruffly.
"Oh...all right. I guess doing exercises can help you to get your old job back. I mean, Jean really hopes you do," Emilie said tentatively, trying to encourage the man. For Jean's sake, not his.
"Jean needs to not depend on me so much at work," Luc argued, standing to his feet and placing the bench upright on the floor. "I doubt I'll ever go back there again. There's eggs and smoked fish in the larder, by the way. Less talk and more cooking."
She sighed and set to cooking, thinking that Luc's demanding attitude wasn't all that different from Evangeline's. After she'd made him breakfast, she self consciously took a seat next to him. The man's table manners were much to be improved on; 'boorish' was the word that came to mind.
He glanced up at her with a scowl. "I'd rather you not look at me."
"I can go outside for some fresh air, then. Is there anything you'd want me to bring you?"
"There are a lot of things I want, Mademoiselle. But someone like you would be unable to provide them. So on that thought, I just want to be alone," he said slowly through gritted teeth, trying to control his urge to yell in anger.
"So you want me to leave for awhile," she replied calmly.
"What do you think?" he spat.
"I think I'll be very happy to take your leave for now. I'll be back at one." She gave him a little relieved smile, to emphasize the point she'd rather be anywhere else but with him.
Emilie walked out of the apartment and outside to the stair landing, keeping her bonnet low upon her face; a self conscious habit. She had brought a carpet bag bearing her sketchbook and pencils, plus a little bit of mending with spool and thread. Not wanting to sit in boredom, and with no money left to buy anything, she found a spot on the building's staircase and started to draw the buildings across from her.
She began to enjoy herself again as she became absorbed in drawing. Horses and buggies rushed past; a few busy people walked by. None gave her any mind. An old man was approaching Emilie's side of the street pushing a cart. Shyness coming over her, Emilie hunched over her sketchbook.
"Good day, Mademoiselle! Would you care for some apples?" Emilie had to look up. The old man's cart was filled with bags of apples, flour bags, and a few overripe bananas.
"I have no money on me, Monsieur," she replied.
"Oh, but they are not for sale! They're free," the ragged-clothed man said with a kind smile. "And you look like the sort of young lady that loves to bake apple patisseries and tarts. Do you like to bake with apples?"
Emilie had little tolerance for peddlers, knowing the 'free' part had a catch to it. But she wasn't sure how to get rid of him without being rude. "I do, not as much as my sister, but I'm really not-"
"Here. A bag of my best apples, and I'll throw in this as well. A bag of finely ground wheat flour! Perfect for making a pie or patisserie!" Despite her protests, he set the food items on the stair step beside her.
"Merci. You're very kind if this actually is free. But how can you possibly earn a living, if you're giving away your wares?"
The old man laughed and grinned. "You ask too many questions, child. I am fine, you needn't worry about my welfare. But could I ask you one thing?"
"What is that?"
"Sit right there where you are," He reached into his rickety cart again, beneath the bags of apples, bananas, and various foods, and pulled out a large hand mirror. He held it out for her to see her reflection.
"Please, mademoiselle, look into this mirror for a brief moment, would you?"
She recoiled back, catching her reflection. "I don't like mirrors."
"Just for one second. Close your eyes, if you would like." Emilie closed her eyes uncomfortably, allowing the man to point the mirror at her in an odd manner. When she opened them, he'd put it away.
"Merci, my dear. Enjoy your apples!" He gave her a kind smile and rolled the cart away.
"Monsieur, may I ask- what is your name? I'm Mademoiselle Fortier."
"Gladly. My name is Monsieur Aloysius Armand Guérisseur, at your service!" He tipped his hat to her before disappearing around a corner.
Emilie went back to her sketch of the building across the street, adding the detail of the odd gargoyle statues near the crumbled brownstone's top gables. When it came time to prepare her charge's lunch, she took a deep breath and carried the bags of bounty up the stairs to face Luc again.
...
Aloysius returned back to his suite in the top floor of a crumbled brownstone on Rue Trois. As soon as he was in his own private quarters, he took out his magic wand and pointed it at himself, changing his tattered peddler's clothes into a black waistcoat and breeches. He took his Magic Mirror out and set it levitating in midair while he settled on a plush Rococo settee.
He pointed his wand at the Mirror. "Contactez Mademoiselle Agathe!" Within moments, the Mirror glowed and Agathe appeared in it.
"Aloysius, tell me, how are things with Luc?" She had transformed again to her young and pretty self, looking much different than when she'd left.
"You look lovely, dear cousin! How is Prince Adam, and his new wife?"
"Doing very well! They are getting ready for their first Christmas coming up in a matter of weeks. I spent a day overseeing the people of Villeneuve. They're all living happily. I only had one brief moment where I was annoyed enough with a rude person to cast my magical wrath on him. But how is Luc?"
"Good news! Luc is eating again, and I saw him doing exercises lifting a heavy bench. He is still alive, and it seems he's overcome the worst of it. I think he's going to keep improving. A little gruff and mean to the poor girl, though."
"Which girl?"
"Emilie. The one we observed before, the smallpox victim. Here is a picture of her." Aloysius gave the Mirror a wave of his wand and showed a photographic image of Emilie that he'd taken, using the Mirror.
"Oh, yes. That poor, unfortunate girl! Does she seem to you to be a kind, caring person?"
"Most definitely, Agathe. I saw so much inner beauty in her, just from our brief conversation today. I gave her a bag of my apples."
"With potion inside, I presume? Aloysius, what kind of potion did you put in it?" Agathe said in shock. "I don't want you to meddle with Luc or anyone else too much! He is my case, not yours!"
"No potion. I promise. They were just plain, ordinary apples. I did not infuse them with my elixirs. I wanted to, though."
"I have an idea, Aloysius." Agathe said.
"What is that?"
"Emilie can be your case, while Luc remains mine. If you want to help her with magic, you may. But don't do anything to Luc, whether it's a punishment or a reward. I want him on his own without magical involvement for a long time. The less I do for him right now, the better."
"Very well. Good bye, Agathe, I will see you sometime again soon, won't I?"
"Perhaps within a few weeks, Aloysius. Good bye."
"Adieu."
Agathe watched Aloysius 'hang up' from his side of the communicating Magic Mirrors, disappearing from view.
She was enjoying some needed time off away from Luc, and the impoverished apartment in Paris. Her aged and aching body was traded for her young healthy one, for the time being. She went outside her secret cottage in the forest, and mounted a white horse that she'd just acquired by Transfiguring a wild mouse.
The first snow of the season had fallen in the Villeneuve region. Agathe rode along a quiet, wooded trail, going to the castle again to call upon Belle and Adam. She wanted to know if they or the staff needed any magical assistance. She still felt a burden of guilt for those servants who'd almost died last summer. She would stop at nothing to aid them, but only if they wanted any help. If they didn't want her around she would leave. She still held a great fear that Enchanted authorities had gotten word of her doings here, and was prepared to erase Sans-Magie memories for self-protection.
She rode in solitude in the gentle snow, thinking of what to do about everyone's still-fresh memories of the Beast and sentient objects. She pondered what to do, or what not to do about her newest project of 'Luc.' In the pocket of the silver fur coat she wore, she kept a brass button that she had taken from Gaston Legume's military coat. She'd taken the button when he had been with her in the makeshift tent, the previous summer after he had 'died.'
Agathe had set a magical charm on the button. If its color changed to black, it would indicate to her the sad news that 'Luc' had died, possibly by his own hand.
But if it glowed bright red, it would mean that Luc was not only alive, but was experiencing an unselfish moment. A kind emotion for someone else, perhaps even a kind deed.
Agathe took the button out and held it in the palm of her hand. It was still golden brass, but she could see a faint, pinkish tinge appear over it. Pleased, she put it back in her pocket.
After riding for a while, her solitude was interrupted by two men riding their horses toward her, coming from the other direction. One of the men was quite familiar to her; a stout young man with a pleasantly round, rosy-cheeked face. The other man was very young; tall and lean, strikingly handsome, his black hair in rolled curls beneath a fashionable plumed hat.
She gave the two riders a kind smile in passing. The stouter one spoke to her, and then she remembered.
This was Lefou, the closest friend of Gaston Legume! A tense conversation ensued. Monsieur Lefou confronted Agathe with a series of questions. Questions she was not prepared for.
"Please. With all due respect, do you have information for me on what happened to his body after he fell from the collapsed bridge? You're my last hope of someone who can tell me."
Before she knew it, Agathe found herself telling him part of the truth. She immediately regretted doing so.
"You DID something to Gaston?" "You made him disappear? Why did you 'make Gaston disappear'?"
Mortals could never understand the ways of the Enchanteds. Lefou's reaction was typical. Agathe wanted to make certain that her deeds- spells, enchantments, and even terrible curses- resulted in good in the end, as long as the Enchanter was good. He wouldn't understand.
Using her prior knowledge of this man, she brilliantly steered the subject to one which made him feel a sense of guilt. Finally, she had no choice but to slightly alter Monsieur Lefou's memory, as well as the memory of his companion, Stanley. She used a charm to remove from their minds the things she'd accidentally told them.
Gaston Legume was believed to be dead. And she had to keep making them believe that he was dead. At least two hundred and thirty miles of distance separated 'Luc Avenant' and the people who knew him in life. Few of them were likely go to Paris. It was even less likely they'd ever run into him there.
That was the assurance she needed.
...
The aroma of baked apple tart filled the tiny apartment. Luc's mouth was watering as he dug in to Emilie's culinary creations. As they ate together, Luc noticed Emilie's sketchbook sitting on a sideboard, open to a drawing of buildings.
"Who drew that? Is that Jean's?" he asked in an incoherent mumble through a mouthful of apple tart.
"Actually...it was mine. I drew it."
He glowered at her. "But you're a mere woman. You need an education to draw like that."
"I never had much schooling. But I taught myself to draw. You learn to find ways to pass the time when you're the daughter of a shopkeeper in a little general store. I spent my childhood with my sister helping him, sitting at the counter minding the store when Papa did the bookwork and stocked shelves. When I became skilled at it, customers even offered to buy my artwork."
"So why are you a lady's maid and not some famous artist then?" Luc asked, smirking a little.
"I'm a mere woman."
"Oh...of course. Obviously."
"I draw portraits too. Do you want to see some?"
Luc gulped up the last of his apple tart, washing it down with a glass of warmed milk in a stoneware mug. "Sure."
In a much more relaxed mood, Emilie took the sketchbook and flipped through the pages. Luc was intensely interested in one drawing in particular- that of a lovely young woman with hair piled in curls atop her head, wearing a dress festooned with ruffles and bows. A faux 'beauty mark' graced her left cheek.
"Mon Dieu, that's beautiful. She's amazingly beautiful! Who is that?"
"It's Her Ladyship. Evangeline de Brumagne. Daughter of the Marquis de Brumagne. The man who commissioned the hotel you used to build?" she added inquisitively.
"Wait...I met her..." he said in a flat voice, and his countenance darkened again.
"Monsieur Luc, is something wrong?"
His head snapped back up to make eye contact with her. Despite the facial scars, his hazel-eyed gaze with its brute, masculine intensity made her hair stand on end.
"She is a hard woman to please, that's all."
"I know. I'm her lady's maid, remember? She's difficult sometimes. God help the poor nobleman who has the misfortune to marry her. She's being courted by someone right now. I hope it all works out."
A sour expression crossed Luc's face, but he seemed to brush it off with a shake of his head. "Aren't you jealous of her?" he asked. He lazily leaned back in his chair, his now-much-thinner arms tucked behind his head. He'd lost muscle from the illness and his 'hunger strike.'
"Jealous of Evangeline?" she asked.
He gestured to the portrait. "Her beauty and wealth. She has everything a woman could dream of. Wouldn't you want to be her?"
Emilie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess...in a way, but actually...no! I love my family. My sister, Maman and Papa."
"My parents are dead," he said matter of factly.
"I'm sorry. How did they die?"
"They got sick during one of the worst plague years. I can barely recall them."
"So your Aunt Agathe is a sister of either your Maman or Papa. Whose sister is she?" Emilie asked casually.
Luc's mouth opened a little, then closed. He narrowed his eyes toward the ceiling. "Damn...I don't even know," he whispered, seeming almost frightened.
"Are you all right, Monsieur?" She instinctively reached out and touched his elbow.
"Don't touch me," he said irritably, pulling his arm away. "I am afflicted in nearly every way! I am a danger to everyone, lest they come in contact with me! It isn't just the smallpox I had!"
Emilie drew back, feeling tense. "I can't get the smallpox a second time," she reasoned. "I'll be fine."
Luc put his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. "Something is just not right with me, Mademoiselle. I am a doomed man, doomed to die-"
"Like I told you yesterday, you have to snap out of this attitude," Emilie said calmly. "Your skin and face is not your life. You are still you. Don't let the smallpox kill you after all!"
"I SAID, it's not just smallpox!" Luc slammed his fist on the table angrily, sharply. Emilie jumped back in fear. Tears welled in her eyes.
"There is something wrong with my mind! Right here!" He poked his index finger at his forehead, two or three sharp jabs.
"I'm sorry. You can tell me about it, I mean, if you want," she babbled. Anything to calm the 'monster' which had resurfaced, she thought.
"I have dreams," Luc said with pain in his expression. "Every night. And they're real to me. More real than anything else."
Emilie was emboldened. She imagined herself as one of those circus animal tamers, gently guiding a fierce beast to a tame state.
"What do you dream about?" she asked.
He blew out a breath. "I never told anyone this before. In my dreams, it's like all my desires come true. I become a soldier. A brave war hero, taking down enemies and winning battles. I have a whole band of admirers who sing me songs, and my nights are filled with drink, and revelry, and fellowship. I would much rather sleep eternally than remain alive like this."
Silence filled the room as Emilie tried to ponder this. Luc spoke again. "What do you dream about?" he asked her.
"Me? Oh, mine are silly. I hardly ever remember. I've had a few where I...where I'm stuck in a dirty, smelly privy, with a giant bottomless latrine hole that I'm afraid I'll fall into. Like a filthy well I could drown in. It's unpleasant. I hardly ever have pleasant dreams."
"Oh," he said, smirking in slight amusement for a split second before his face returned to its troubled look. "I have horrific ones too. There's one I keep having about a horned monster. It jumps over rooftops, and I keep trying to kill it, but I can't."
"That sounds almost like dreams of the Devil," said Emilie, nervously. "You should tell a priest or minister about them. It must stand for something."
Luc waved his hand in dismissal. "It's all ridiculous nonsense. I'm an insane man, crazy as a loon. And now you know. I shouldn't have told you."
"If it's bothering you so, maybe you need to tell someone. And it's better you told me, because I can keep a secret. Few people care about what I think or say."
"You'd better keep it a secret!" Luc gave her a threatening look that made her break eye contact, cringing a brief moment. She willed herself to raise her chin, determined to not cower or be intimidated. "Don't tell Jean or Clémence, or your sister. I hope I can rely on you to not embarrass me," he added in a lowered voice.
"I'm surprised you remember my sister," Emilie pointed out. "When I met you, you asked Adelaide out for a carriage ride. But then you left without even speaking to her again, changing your mind! You aren't the most reliable person. Especially for someone who makes the kind of demands you do of others."
He shrugged and looked down at the table, fiddling with a fork. "Then maybe I should not exist in this world to demand anything." His dark, pathetic expression had returned, and Emilie was not going to fall into his trap.
"Jean said the next time you talk about killing yourself, he'd go to the church and consult a priest. I am going to tell him what you just said! He's done with work in an hour!"
"Ohh! I'm scared," said Luc mockingly. "So the minister will read me my last rites. It's what I need."
"You're impossible!" Emilie yelled in exasperation. She stood up and rushed to the door, slamming it angrily and running down the stairs.
Luc opened his mouth and was about to argue with her, but her exit was so abrupt he lost the chance. He stood up and went over to the small window, seeing the small figure in the grey-green striped dress and white apron, running across the street in quick steps. Her long brown ponytail bounced behind her until she faded from view.
Dimness settled over the dreary little apartment. Aunt Agathe was gone, Jean had no time for him, and now his little cooking companion who made the delicious meals for him was gone. He was painfully alone, just like he'd said he wanted.
It was just too damn quiet now. He was so confused.
She had been a great help to him, after all. It felt good to have someone cook for him. It felt good to eat again, and it felt good to have someone to bicker with, someone other than his old aunt.
He honestly hoped she would come back tomorrow.
...
A.N.- I'm terribly sorry for the long wait between chapters! I had lost momentum for writing this story. Busy with real life concerns, my kids, etc. Thank you meganangels and guest for reviewing and asking for updates! It helps to know there are still a few readers interested, so thank you.
Note about the break scene in Agathe's POV- I apologize for lack of dialogue detail when she talks to Lefou in the forest. That scene is part of another story. If you haven't read 'There's No Question,' the full detailed conversation between Agathe, Lefou and Stanley is in Chapter 20, the last chapter of TNQ.