Chapter Nine

My Grandmother Muldoon lived with my parents while my mother carried me. Granny was old and crippled and there was nowt' else for her to go; Gramps Muldoon had quit the earth many years before. One wonders if not to escape Granny.

My birth was not an easy one for my mother; she was worn and tired from carrying the large child I was, and still had several more running underfoot, needing care. She had experienced pains and problems that had never bothered her once with the preceding five pregnancies.

Then I was born with the cord wrapped twice firmly about my neck, as blue in the face as granny's favorite irises. As my mother tells the story, my father cut the cord, unwrapped it from about my neck, and grabbing me by my wrists and ankles, swung me hard around him, like one does a lamb who isn't breathing. Da said it was something he learned from the Gypsies who frequently workedthe lambing season up in Northern Ireland.

I gasped for breath after a turn or two, and turned pink, as a baby should be. However, I would not allow my mother to cuddle or touch me, except to nurse. Even then, I was all business, tucking my hands beneath my sides and yelling bloody murder whilst I was burped. I yelled nightly for months, only to be soothed when my Da would walk with me, all hours of the night, through the dark barns. There I was gently sniffed over by the gravid mares, fat with spring foals. Then to the stallion shed, where the four sires commiserated with Da about the folly of the male's lot in life. I gather I would then allow my father several hours of uninterrupted sleep in an accommodating chair whilst holding me, before needing nursed, changed and walked through the barns yet again.

Mam called me her revenge upon my Da for saddling her with yet another bairn when she was worn with children and work already.

But Granny Muldoon called me a 'jeh raie'...'dark child', a soulless demon, a false person. The entire episode gave Granny near fits whenever she would speak of it. "You were born dead, and dead you should 'ave been," she would hiss at me. As I grew older and began my campaign against the Catholic hypocrite who served as priest in our parish, my granny would whisper to me "Dark Child, get thee' hence!"

My earliest memory is after my fourth birthday, which is in the fall, and therefore my mother made my favorite birthday treat, squash pie. It was the squash pie that finally roused the demon inside me. I kipped a piece after bed one night, only to be cornered by Granny Muldoon. She cursed me thoroughly, hissing and the saliva dripping from the vast open spaces between her two bottom teeth.

I cowered against the wall from the painful grasp of her fingers yanking at my hair and digging into my shoulder. "'Jeh Raie'! Ye smell sick wi' death...yer soul stinks o' rot. Ye are t'evil in this hoose! Ye 'ave brought death to this family! I would cast ye 'oot, drive ye from this hoose but they canna' see ye! But I do, damn ye, and I curse ye, soulless one! May yer eyes ne'er close, and yer 'eart be barren! Pah!"

She threw me to the floor, and spat upon me...

And in that moment she released the demon in my soul, and thus began the ravening of the tender child I might have been.

Already a shy child, I became fearful of the monster that was obviously inside me, lurking, like a tapeworm in the stomach or a deadly passable miasma. Always I feared it would show itself, that others would see that evil as Granny did, that dark bairn, the stain of stinking abomination, and I would suffer their horror or fear, ridicule and rejection.

That my own granny was so blatant in her fear and abhorrence of me, made me doubly vigilant of any sign of the same thoughts from my parents. Any slight, no matter how small, loomed enormous in my mind. I saw my mother's overwhelming preference for the boys; my father's increased avoidance, begging lack of time. There was the fact that even when among my siblings...I was one apart. I did not like dolls, or physical play of any sort unless it involved the horses. I preferred solitary slinking about like a cat in the dark. My older sister was in school by the time I was old enough to do much more than sit in the dirt within sight while my parents worked the horses. My days were spent alone, in the hayloft reading books, or out in the woods and fields dreaming up my own reality. The older I became the more it seemed I lived in two worlds; one foot in this world, and the other in an imaginary world of fantastic creatures and fantasy friends.

I became that 'dark child' in truth, the one who spent her free time alone, lost in books, or drawing or simply thinking. I had no friends; the fact that we lived well away from the school or the small town adjacent did not help. I spent time with the mares, with two in particular, my favorite confidants. On those terrible nights when sleep was elusive and the darkness besieged my mind, it was there my Da would find me in the morning, tucked in either stall amongst the hay and sometimes cradled beneath a sleeping mare's neck.

I loved books, and my mind refused to stay within the sharply defined boundaries prescribed by the Church. My curiosity was not to be denied, and therefore more than once I was caught by the nuns with books that were anathema to the good Catholic; Biology, Astronomy, Theology, Anatomy. I read every book in the 'sciences' section of the town lending library, and twice, I had been caught by the nuns leaving with books that made their faces red, voices strident and loud. "You, Aislyne Maire Butler, you take that back right now or I'll be telling the Father!" I clutched the book on Evolution, or Anatomy close and ran home. I had no fear of the nuns, only that they would grab the book and I would not be allowed to read it.

I walked the woods fearlessly at night, and animals did not fear me, nor did they seek to harm me. In the old ways, I would be considered a 'changeling', a kelpie; a lost soul who had taken the form of a child. Perhaps the old ways were truer than we know, and I should have died, then, at birth.

As I reached my early teens I frequently felt my body was not mine and there was no comfort in the living I did. I was awkward and ungainly through most of my early puberty, always a head taller than anyone else. As boys became men around me, I still kept my height advantage, and to my chagrin, I seldom had partners who were not a brother, or that my da did not have to 'buy' for dances. Yet I was strong, healthy and as comely as one could be with minimal breasts and legs that seemly grew out from my shoulders. My father called me his "pollairean" which in the 'ald tongue was a long legged bird that spent it days in mud pits.

There were many nights as a child when I would not sleep, but lay, exhausted and wakeful, as angry faces and hurtful words cycled across my memory; the whispers behind hands, the knowing looks, the giggles and unkind laughter of my peers, classmates, the nuns. Increasingly I was being shunned by all but my family.

Little did I know that someday I would know even that.

I was not an affectionate child, as I did not feel deserving to receive what I could not give. There was a hollowness inside me that made anything I gave in return feel counterfeit and worthless, an insult to the intended recipient. How I longed for the love and affection of my parents, wished to have friends, wanted to be accepted, despite the darkness and wickedness that seemed to have my very soul in thrall.

Eventually I pulled away from everyone, closed myself to any but the creatures that inhabited my imagination and nighttime world, and my sisters and brothers who seemed oblivious to the dark evil within me. By my thirteenth year, I frequently contemplated my own death. We had moved from Ireland to London by then, due in part to my troubles with Catholic neighbors and the religious faculty at the only school. As a result, I no longer had the broodmares and woods for company and solace. There were weeks and months when I could see no color in my world but grey and black; nights so bleak they granted no rest.

I prayed that I would not live a long life. There was no way that it could ever be a happy one.

Breakfast was nowhere near as entertaining without Abriguan there to push de'Chagny into rank immaturity. Together they were annoying and childish, but de'Chagny was as dull as mud alone. Madame de'Chagny was 'indisposed' and having a light breakfast in her room.

I was fatigued and dispirited, and my eyes were ringed 'round with the bruises of a near-sleepless night.

I imagine de'Chagny took one good look at me and decided he would leave me to the demons that assailed me, instead of offering himself as fresh meat. I have no doubt I would have chewed him up and spat him out like a hungry dog does a leather shoe had he engaged me in contentious debate. My conversation with his wife, the resulting need to rush to procure her competent care, even as I pulled at the bit to free my 'patient'...

I was feeling overwhelmed.

I think I became somewhat unpleasant with him at the table after he administered the third noncommittal grunt from behind the racing gazette, his only response to my attempts at divining information as to when, where, how, and so on. Twice he flashed measuring peeks past his paper to see if I was moving to assault him (I am guessing). He certainly looked wide-eyed enough.

I finished my toast, poured the tea down my neck, and with a curt 'pardon me' abruptly departed. Upon reaching my room, I called upon Mariette to help me dress in my summer riding habit, and went to troll the stables for a likely mount.

Four hours later I cantered back to the stables after an action-packed morning spent working the kinks out of the fine grey-going-white Arabian mare I had talked the stable boy into allowing me ride. I knew nothing about her other than the fact the boy was sure she would kill me. I liked her looks, she was definitely sound and old enough to ride (I looked at her teeth), and she was tall and wide enough to use up my long leg. I was my usual arrogant horsewoman-type self, and demanded tack; the boy was not going to gainsay me, but certainly did not offer to help kit her out. Once saddled, the mare and I worked on her manners. Within half of the first hour she was standing quietly, keeping teeth and heels to herself, and I mounted up. We made several rounds of the paddock, working on 'Whoa' and 'Go', and the boy opened the gate at my signal.

It was an exhilarating ride, and I felt renewed and at peace upon delivering the lovely, now biddable mare back into the tender care of the stable boy. Upon entering the side entrance to the de'Chagny home, I met a fuming de'Chagny at the door.

"Where the hell have you been!" he yelled. I expected him to start hitting things and dancing around in a circle like an angry little kid.

He struck the side table several times with his knuckles, as if beating the answer out of me, and walked a circle or two about the entrance hall.

I offered a civil show of contrition, "I went for a ride. I do apologize, and request you do not punish the young man currently at the barn. I demanded a horse, and then I rode it."

The Vicomte stopped, and seemed a bit bemused by my answer. "You went for a ride? Alone?"

I snorted, and swung my riding crop at my skirt.

"May I ask which horse you rode, as we have no ladies' mounts, or any saddle horses at all!"

Oh! I thought about that. "Well, you have a perfectly good saddle broke Arabian mare…now. Although, I don't recommend her to any 'ladies'" I leaned heavily on the last word. I had no patience with his chauvinistic attitudes today.

His jaw became somewhat wide as he clenched his teeth, and I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs to change, all the way feeling as ill-bred as I had acted. At the halfway mark, de'Chagny decided to respond to my statement. "The only Arabian mare we have belonged to my brother. She has never been ridden since arriving, as she was considered far too high-strung for him to ride anyway."

I turned on the stairway, and thought how terrible I was to have ridden his dead brother's horse, without permission. I might have stammered an apology. My face no doubt matched the de'Chagny livery in color.

The Vicomte held up his hand to still me, and continued, "And several messages were received for you while you were gone. One was delivered from the Director of a Women's Hospital about an hour ago, and the man who delivered it is waiting for your answer in the kitchen."

Excusing myself, I made an unladylike rush down the stairs and headed for the servants hall and the kitchen.

Mariette assisted me in cleansing myself of dust and sweat, and I dressed for an afternoon to be spent in the Paris suburb of Batignolles, an industrial center on the Right Bank area of Paris.

Of the messages received, two were direct offers to fill the position from individuals, and one an invitation to meet with the Nurses' Society of Paris in a weeks' time to request applicants. I discarded the NSP invitation, and put the requests on the desk. My acquaintance at the Hôpital de Pour was deceased, as per a very civil note from the new president of the society. The last, however, had set wings upon my heart; a personal note from the Directress of the Hôpital Charitable pour des Femmes, located near one of the more desperate areas of the city.

Louisa Thériault 'nee Owens, had worked with me for several years at Nettles, while the Home was under the uneven management of a German doctor of psychiatric. This brute had thwarted many of our efforts to institute the new order of compassionate care as advocated by Jean-Baptiste Pussin, of the Asylum de Bicêtre, in Paris. The 'Hun' sorely tested my resolve to continue in my career. Louisa reminded me that we had nothing else but time, so we simply outlasted him. He finally left under a cloud with charges brought against him by several patients and nearly all the female staff. I was chagrined to note at the time I was the only woman he had not pressed his degenerate attention on, including the fully mustached female morning clerk.

Louisa and I spent many days with Lucinda Abrigaun during the end of her illness, spelling each other at her bedside as the pain and nausea wrung the last bit of life from Lucinda's body. Louisa developed a few of her more militant ideas at the bedside of this little woman, having been given full disclosure of the ugly secrets of her case.

Louisa decided marriage and childbirth were for women who were genuinely without other inclination, and not to be forced upon one. Therefore, women had to be given the same rights of education, occupation and social station whatever their marital status. She swore no man would ever use her as a punching bag. She developed a self-defense program based upon boxing as well as a plethora of dirty tricks and low blows, and taught the class to an interested group of local women.

I shudder to think the first time any of this dubious 'defense' was used upon an attacking male; if he survived the eye-gouging, gonad-thumping and instep cracking, I'm sure he would then kill his tormentor. I, personally, advocated a sensible system of minimization of risk, and screaming like a bin sidhe if accosted. I also liked the idea of a small pistol in one's handbag and a keen desire to use it when necessary.

Throughout the difficult years Lou had been my sounding board while I raised my three little sisters and one spoiled brother, usually giving me reason to bless the fact they were not all boys. My poor mother had raised that lot herself. We had become close enough I had explained my 'dark child' legacy, and she was kind enough to not pronounce it hogwash and my grandma Muldoon a cracked thunder jug.

Dressed appropriately demure for a visit to a charity hospital, I directed the de'Chagny carriage to the Hôpital Charitable Pour des Femmes, located in the eastern side of the city. The afternoon had turned warm, with a zephyr of breeze. This was to prove a blessing once we had turned into the St. Denis area, as the ghastly smell of the metal manufacturing plants filled the air. I employed a hanky and cursed my burning eyes.

The Hospital was very large square structure, originally built to serve as a warehouse or manufacturing plant. Windows were plentiful across the front on every floor, and the lowest level was concrete with red-brick overlay. Despite the warmth of the day, every window was tightly closed. The carriage driver cautioned me several times to 'watch my bag' as we approached the drive to the entrance, and then assured me he would sit tight until I returned. I asked that he water the horses, at least, as I knew I would be at least an hour.

I was directed to Directress Thériault's office by a young lady who sat behind the desk at the clinic entry. She was neatly dressed in a light blue uniform, with a white apron pinned to the front, and small kerchief affixed to her hair. All the staff that I saw thereafter were similarly dressed. I was thus reassured that Louise had not changed; she felt that cleanliness and appearance fostered confidence and trust between care staff and their patients. The hospital was also quiet, with no agitated patients screaming or moaning. Again, Louisa believed a noisy patient was one who needed attention, and attention was the first order of any healing.

Located right at the end of the busiest ward, I found her office; the door proclaiming the inhabitant as "Louisa Thériault, Directress." After a shy knock, I opened the door, and peeked into the room, only to be immediately snagged by my ears and dragged into a warm, remembered embrace.

I am ashamed to admit I burst into tears, but wish to point out that Louisa did the same. It took us over an hour to catch up, and another to trade salacious gossip about the people, professionals or patients, we knew in common. Remembering the time, I rose to speak to the driver of the de'Chagny carriage, wherein Louisa insisted she would see them sent on their way, offering her carriage to see me back to my 'lodgings. As nervous as this made me, I could only accept. I was certainly not returning to the de'Chagny's without a list of names!

Louisa brought us to business, by handing me a carefully written list of women she felt were reliable, uncomplicated by sin or vice, and available at short notice to accept the position. There were four names, with addresses and present employment noted. I looked it over briefly and looked up to express my heartfelt appreciation, but Louise made a gesture of impatience, "now put that in your bag, and give me but five minutes to make my case for the person I believe you should send to the de'Chagnys' for the position.

I gave her my complete attention, asking, "I am to assume her name is not on this list?"

"No, it is not. She is not a nurse. She is a psychiatric research student, currently living in Paris, and working here, at the hospital as an aide. You do remember what your first year as an aide was like, yes?"

I nodded, and made an unpleasant face.

"This exceptionally bright, compassionate, forward-thinking woman is now serving as the dogs-body for the Surgical-Prep ward, scrubbing flesh, feces and body fluids off the operating theatre' floors. She has never complained, has not missed one moment of work, and actually gives part of her meager wages to help support patients' families in need. She has schooled in medicine and psychiatric care, and worked as scientist, therapist, and research technician, having helped my doctors on several cases of nonspecific fevers.

"She is 28 years old, born and raised in Switzerland where her father is a respected jeweler, and her mother runs a girls' school. She has two younger sisters and one elder brother. She is healthy, unmarried, does not defile her body with alcohol, tobacco, narcotics or heavy food. She walks daily for 30 minutes as a way of de-stressing, believes in the sanctity of marriage, the rights of women, the necessity of two involved parents in a family, and the mandate for public education available for all children. She does not wear red, as it is the color of death, and deplores the current practice of women cutting their hair."

"She is a licensed Doctor of Medical Science in Switzerland, has a doctorate in Psychiatric Research in Germany, and hundreds of hours working in some of the basest bedlams in England, Germany, and France. She counsels women during our clinic on...ah ...health care. No, blast it, on birth control, also. She is skilled in infant care, partly because, like you, she found herself with two little sisters to raise as her mother was dreadfully involved in the running of her girl's school. As far as I can work out the ages, Simone was eight years of age when presented with the care of her last infant sister!

"Oh, yes...Simone was both home-schooled by her father, and self-taught until such time as she was accepted at the Marburg University, despite her gender. Simone also teaches math, natural sciences, and has done some wonderful illustrations for our classes on pregnancy and childbirth. Imagine, Aislyne! She dissected gravid females in medical school, and therefore can offer anatomically correct renditions of the birth process!"

"Oh..." I could not imagine...

Louise leaned forward and "Have I convinced you, yet?"

I closed my mouth and collected my thoughts. "I might have a question or two. Is it my turn now?"

Graciously Louisa inclined her head.

"She sounds lovely, although I might wonder why she would want to perform companion duties for a whiny eighteen-year-old prepartum."

"Simple. I have not asked her if she wanted to provide companion duties for a whiny prepartum…yet. Right now I am merely making you aware of a wonderful opportunity to provide the chance of employment to a thoroughly qualified and deserving woman."

"Oh, Lou, I see a 'righting-of-wrongs' situation in this. You may as well begin the sob story, as I will want to know why she is no longer in school anyway." My friends' rueful expression was gratifying. She had not changed a bit; still a sucker for a hard luck story.

Louisa rested her elbows on her desk, and her chin on clasped hands. "You are going to be shocked, 'Ails' darling, I know, but please hear me out." Having said that, she was silent for several seconds.

"Simone Nicollier is, as I said, a researcher with an endless curiosity for those things so overlooked by the established profession. She was dismissed from the Paris Women's College of Medical Arts due to a research project she and... ah... several other students participated in covertly, without the...sanction of her professors or the governing doctors.

Specifically..." Louisa reddened a bit and cleared her throat. "Specifically a study on women's sexual response. She and a...friend and several other couples, most of whom were married, ah..."

"Oh, Lou! No, no...!" I nearly felt out of my chair, I was laughing so hard. It was just like Louisa to believe a college student's explanation of an old fashioned orgy as being 'research'.

Louisa's finely shaped brows lost altitude and she glared at me. "I have not finished, Ails! WHY are you laughing? Of course, I thought your response would be a moral seizure, not to die of amusement."

I attempted to stifle, but of course, the pictures in my mind of naked flesh, a clipboard and stopwatch were just too much...

Louisa gave just the smallest of twitches to her lips before jumping back into her narrative, "Well, you have surprised me. Anyway, before you interrupted, I was telling you about the research project... "

I snorted, but firmly affixed my hands over my mouth.

"...from which Simone was able to glean quite a bit of information concerning female sexuality, and the clitoral versus vaginal orgasm, a subject that women just do not explore enough. She found that the average female orgasm lasts nearly twice as long as the average..."

I stopped listening, as my blood was pounding in my ears, or perhaps smothering my shocked giggles accounted for all the noise. Whatever the case, I awaited Louisa to work herself back out of the fascinating subject of feminine sexual response, and my opportunity to speak.

She stopped to draw breath, and I pounced.

"Lou, I am indeed impressed; I look forward to reading her published results in the next edition of the British Medical Journal! How sad one married couple was just not married to one another! Wives are like that, even when the cause for a husband's infidelity is 'quote' research 'unquote'."

I beamed my appreciation for the story, and then pitched my voice to a high squeak, beaming undimmed, "And you believe this... young lady... would be an excellent role model, confidant, and companion for a young matron, nay, a mere girl, just hours from being brought to childbed? Louisa is there anything else you need tell me about this... remarkable young lady? Or perhaps your current mental state!"

Louisa glared at me. Then she sighed, and kneaded her forehead. "I will admit, the young chit seems to have thrown a brilliant career away on an unsavory bit of odious study. She had a stellar academic career before this bit of insanity. 'Oh, doctor heal thyself!'"

"However, my dear Ails', what recommends her is this: she has sisters, little sisters, that she writes to constantly. I frank her letters for her because I feel that has been her lifeline while cast adrift here in Paris."

"And what of her parents. It sounds as if she grew up in an affluent home. Her parents are not helping her?"

"Well, that's the charming thing about Mademoiselle Nicollier. She emancipated herself from her parents care when she was twenty-two, by formal document. She has the decree framed and on her wall. She says no woman should expect her parents to care for her past the age of twenty-one. She really is an amazing woman!"

Louise looked at me, her face hopeful. I felt a brute, scattering her hopes before the chilly wind of reality; "Lou, I am hearing of a young lady who has done nothing but reject the status quo at every step. I am seeking a calm, reasoned companion for a young lady who is just newlywed into a well-heeled family, having been but a penniless orphan prior. I do not need her head filled with... with sexual response and women's rights, self-support and all that. I need someone who will help this young couple deal with a very trying time, without putting notions of 'separate but equal' et al...'

"No, no Aislyne. You obviously did not hear me. Mademoiselle Nicollier is a passionate advocate for marriage. She believes in God's role for women, although she leaves some room for a bit of creative moral and vocational interpretation. However, more important, she KNOWS how to respond correctly to the emotional needs of a prepartum female, whatever their age. She has vast experience in raising children, and has a close relationship with her family despite the modeling problems she encountered through her mother. She has many friends in the student community..."

"Oh, I have no doubt!"

"Now, now, let us not be catty! It is SO unattractive in women our age... Simone is a woman of cool-headed competence in an emergency, having unshakable loyalty, and compassion for all living things. More than once, I have seen her give her gloves and coat to a freezing woman, even though it meant she would go without for weeks. She actually removed the whip from the hand of a drover who was using it on his cart horse, and offered to serve him in the same manner!"

I had to smile. Louisa made a case for Simone Nicollier that practically had me dying of curiosity to meet her, if nothing else.

"Lou, understand that it is not up to me to do more than advise the Vicomte de'Chagny on whom he should hire as companion for his young wife. And, again, I have to ask; why would this young lady be prepared to accept a position so far below her ability..."

"Ails', scrubbing tile floors on one's hands and knees is not exactly within a stone's throw of her chosen field!"

"Oh, yes. I forgot." I smiled sheepishly. "And if I were to say that I have very little time left to hire the companion for the de'Chagnys, when would this paragon be available for interview."

Louisa gave me a long considering look, and steepled her fingers before her face. "Aislyne, I get the feeling that your assignment, this nursing-companion position, I feel a reluctance in you to speak about it. What exactly have you taken on, my friend? Should I be worried?"

There it was. The question I had been expecting for hours. Naturally, I wished to tell SOMEBODY, but I knew so very little myself. I looked blankly back at Louisa, "There is really nothing to it, Lou. I will be accompanying an elderly family member of the de'Chagny's to a family property somewhere in Tuscany, I believe. The gentleman in question has become somewhat... difficult...of late, and made a cake of himself over a very young woman. As his health is also delicate, they thought it best to provide long-term care, for the foreseeable future."

"Gentleman? Elderly gentleman, no less. Are you not the least bit worried that you may find yourself in a compromising position while sequestered somewhere in the wilds of Italy?"

"Have you forgotten, dear Lou? I have no reputation to protect after working for years in asylums. I am confident that the gentleman in question will find nothing in me of the least interest. I am old, bony, and as appetizing as unsalted oatmeal."

"Aislyne, you are still as naïve as hell. And as blind. Tell me you are not going alone with this old jake."

"I am not going alone. I will have an escort of four of de'Chagny's men, and I will travel with the cook/housekeeper and her husband as well as my patient. Naturally, I have my years of self-defense classes given me by 'Badgirl Louey', a right...er... millwoman with her fists if there ever was one."

"Ho ho! Touche!" Louise clapped her hands and we both had a good chuckle. "You know, I never had to use any of that. I guess my reputation as a 'rounder was the best protection."

"And I often told you that a good offense was the better defense. That is why I just scowled and looked mean whenever I found myself in a compromised situation." Being six feet tall and looking as broad as a man did not hurt, either. I never had need for anything else. "I still embrace secret longing to stomp some likely fellow in the ba..."

"NO, no, Ails', stop!" Louise had tears in her eyes, and we both had to wipe our faces. "Please, Aislyne, tell me that you will write me, from your backcountry bolt hole in Italy. I have missed you so..."

"Lou, I will write weekly faithfully, if only to talk to the only sane person I know. Pray that I can find some way of actually franking and mailing letters. I've no idea what the postal system is like in Italy."

"And, Ails', do try to avoid the randy old fellow. It would not do for you to become embroiled with a pox-ridden old French rue. Of course, perhaps you will get your chance to try out the 'midbody blow' on the old fart, and thereby cure him forever of his noxious proclivities!"

"And, I will certainly do my best to appear as unappetizing as possible, Lou. You know what a natural I am at the performing arts!"

Louise was now tapping her chin, eyes on the ceiling. "I do have one question, dear Aislyne. I am wondering what could compel you to leave your position at Nettles' and travel this far to baby-sit an elderly adolescent. Have you gone and had an 'affaire' with one of the patients? Perhaps that nice Doctor Smythe? Care to spill your budget?"

I laughed, and shook my head. "Nothing so exciting, Louey-Luv'. I've kept myself pure of thought, word and deed, much to my dismay." I had to tell her, had to tell this one person I trusted. I was practically jigging in my chair...

Nowhere did the contract state the conditions were strictly confidential, and it was not as if Lou would tell anyone, besides her husband, the Baron, who was a recluse of the first order. Rising I checked the door to her office, peeking theatrically out the door to insure no one lurked nearby. I pulled my chair to her desk, and then told her, in a whisper, the details of the contract.

"Mon Dieu and Holy Mother Afloat in Heaven," she gasped loudly, slapping her hands to her heart and head. "Aislyne, that is a ridiculous amount of money. That is an INSANE amount of money!"

I shrugged sheepishly.

"My love, my concerns for your sanity are allayed; my conviction of your employers' insanity confirmed! I cannot but wonder WHY they are willing to be so generous if the position is so uncomplicated."

Fixing one narrowed eye upon me, Louise tightened her lips. "There is more, and Ails', you faithless baggage, you are holding out."

It was time for me to go. I popped out of my seat, and widened my eyes, waving my hands. "And look at the time, Lou! The de'Chagny's are probably frantic wondering where I've gone, or rather, if I've fled Paris completely!"

She nodded her head in understanding; she was well aware that I was under rule of confidentiality. "Perhaps some time you will tell me the rest of the story, yes?"

I stopped my mugging. "You know I would tell you all, if I could, Lou. I am in the unenviable position of knowing just enough to make it interesting, but not enough to know if I'll be sorry I took the job."

With that, we walked to the entrance, and Louise's driver procured a hansom for me. After some tears and promises made, I sent the driver on.