Doctor Royer-Collard extinguished his candle between thumb and forefinger and sighed loudly as he lay back on his bed. His steely eyes scanned the modest, yet comfortable room that he had been accommodated to, and a small snarl of disgust curled his lips. He had only been at Charenton a while, but already he was beginning to tire of the place. The inmates that childishly rambled during the day and moaned at night grated on his nerves, and the sickeningly naïve Abbe de Coulmier infuriated him. He was too kind with the inmates, too gentle. No-one would ever purge their demons by painting.
Despite his insistent summons, sleep escaped Royer-Collard. Anger always kept him awake, and with astute decisiveness he rose from his bed and quickly dressed, preening himself in the mirror to perfection. Sweeping his cloak about him, and seizing his hat and cane, he opened his door and prepared to visit his previous home for the night.
When he heard the quiet knock on his door, the Marquis uncurled from his sitting position and stood at his desk, two glasses of wine ready poured in front of him. He relished in the sound of the key unlocking the door, the slight creak as it opened. A knowing smile highlighted his features, and he held out one of the glasses to Victoria. She must have been quite ill, for her skin was positively ashen. Her hair was tousled with sleep, her whole image tainted with the inevitable scruffiness of the sick.
"My dear, I *am* sorry to hear of your illness. Come, sit down, you look as though you are about to faint."
The Marquis beckoned towards a chair situated next to his own, and both he and Victoria took a seat. She took the wineglass from de Sade, and took one ginger sip before taking a larger swallow. All the time, the Marquis watched her, silently rejoicing in her gullibility.
"I heard you had a medicine for me." Victoria's voice was thick with fatigue. The Marquis set down his glass and nodded, shifting his chair closer to Victoria.
"Yes, yes. This brandywine is actually quite an efficient medicine, although it is not the one I have planned." One of his arms encircled her shoulders, the other hand gesturing towards his shelf that was cluttered with his overly graphic statues.
"You see these figurines, coquette? Do you ever wonder what they symbolise?"
Victoria peered over her wine glass with wide eyes, slightly uneasy with the way the Marquis could see right through her. She had previously pondered over the ornaments, their positions, and their anatomy. She took another swig from her glass and then set it down on the desk in front of her.
"Sometimes. I've not had much…experience to base it all upon anyway. Never been in men's company before, really."
The wine had already begun to loosen Victoria's tongue, much to the Marquis' delight. The hand that was draped oh so casually over her shoulder inched closer to her chest, flimsily covered by her cotton nightgown.
"Well, there's no time like the present, is there? How old are you, dearest? Sixteen?"
Victoria nodded, a small frown knitting her eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"
A distinct brazenness tinged her voice, and the Marquis used it as an opportunity to move even closer to her. "Just my curiosity getting the better of me, sweetpea. Now, I am going to ask you quite a favour." He pressed his lips against her ear, whispering conspiratorially. "You know Madeline and Abbe, don't you? Just nod for yes." Victoria nodded, the movement almost involuntarily due to the wine's effect. "Now, I am writing a new story- one quite to your liking- and I am using them as…templates. I want you to 'watch' them for me. Just for my own inspiration. Do you understand, Victoria?"
Again, she nodded, except this time there was a spark of comprehension in her eyes.
"You're asking me to spy?"
The Marquis widened his eyes in faux shock, the slightest twitch of a smile lifting his lips.
"No no no, of course not dearest, I just find our beloved darlings utterly inspiring." He gestured toward the stack of parchments upon his desk, a glass vase exploding with quills. "And unfortunately, my little story isn't running quite so smoothly as planned. So I thought that the goings-on within Charenton may fuel my…quill, yes?" He leant back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head, forming a makeshift pillow.
"You must leave me now, for I'm sure that Valcour's suspicions will be more than aroused, and I want you to start your little observations as soon as possible. Charenton does come alive at night, after all."
Victoria, surprised by the sudden break in contact, rose unsteadily to her feet, her head swimming with fever and tipsiness.
"As long as I won't get into any trouble," she murmured, trudging to the Marquis' door and shutting it behind her. He smiled wickedly, digging his nails into an unpeeled orange upon his table.
"Trouble? I hope you shall enjoy it," he mused, excitement already beginning to stir in his stomach.
Madeline sighed as she uncovered more bleached linens to fold, the flickering flame that provided the light in the room accentuating the dark, tired hollows under her eyes. Upon her sigh, Charlotte cast her ever-meddlesome eye over Madeline. In truth, she was jealous of the younger maid- her vibrant, youthful sensuality, the admiring looks she would get from the guards as she walked down the corridor, laundry basket on her hip. Tutting loudly, she raised her voice for the other maids to hear.
"Tired, Maddie? Too many late nights, I think. Who's your chosen bedmate, then? Anyone we know?"
There was an underlying slyness to her voice. Charlotte had seen the lingering gazes that were often shared between the Abbe and Madeline, and felt that familiar pang of bitterness and jealousy.
Madeline was unprepared for her interrogation, and blinked as she raised her head in Charlotte's direction.
"Why are you so interested in my supposed love life? Always thought you were a bit fanciful, Charlotte, but I never thought you'd turn your gaze to *me*."
Michette made no effort to smother her giggle, and a flaming blush appeared on Charlotte's sallow cheeks. Other maids in the room made their amusement less known, and Madeline was not to know that her retort would provoke Charlotte to her next statement.
"I'm sure that I wouldn't be entirely inaccurate if I could guess who you wish it was, Madeline." An infuriating smirk contorted her bitter features. She raised her voice to an even greater volume. "I bet it's our beloved Abbe de Coulmier."
Madeline trembled slightly, but she shoved her hands back in the linens and scowled at Charlotte.
"Such whimsical accusations, Charlotte. Please keep your overactive imagination to yourself."
With that, she hurriedly folded the last few linens and quickly walked out of the laundryroom, hoping that her embarrassment wasn't too evident. In her haste, she didn't notice the two figures lurking in the darkness. Doctor Royer-Collard smiled satisfactorily to himself, and Victoria quickly made her way back to the Marquis' cell.
Despite his insistent summons, sleep escaped Royer-Collard. Anger always kept him awake, and with astute decisiveness he rose from his bed and quickly dressed, preening himself in the mirror to perfection. Sweeping his cloak about him, and seizing his hat and cane, he opened his door and prepared to visit his previous home for the night.
When he heard the quiet knock on his door, the Marquis uncurled from his sitting position and stood at his desk, two glasses of wine ready poured in front of him. He relished in the sound of the key unlocking the door, the slight creak as it opened. A knowing smile highlighted his features, and he held out one of the glasses to Victoria. She must have been quite ill, for her skin was positively ashen. Her hair was tousled with sleep, her whole image tainted with the inevitable scruffiness of the sick.
"My dear, I *am* sorry to hear of your illness. Come, sit down, you look as though you are about to faint."
The Marquis beckoned towards a chair situated next to his own, and both he and Victoria took a seat. She took the wineglass from de Sade, and took one ginger sip before taking a larger swallow. All the time, the Marquis watched her, silently rejoicing in her gullibility.
"I heard you had a medicine for me." Victoria's voice was thick with fatigue. The Marquis set down his glass and nodded, shifting his chair closer to Victoria.
"Yes, yes. This brandywine is actually quite an efficient medicine, although it is not the one I have planned." One of his arms encircled her shoulders, the other hand gesturing towards his shelf that was cluttered with his overly graphic statues.
"You see these figurines, coquette? Do you ever wonder what they symbolise?"
Victoria peered over her wine glass with wide eyes, slightly uneasy with the way the Marquis could see right through her. She had previously pondered over the ornaments, their positions, and their anatomy. She took another swig from her glass and then set it down on the desk in front of her.
"Sometimes. I've not had much…experience to base it all upon anyway. Never been in men's company before, really."
The wine had already begun to loosen Victoria's tongue, much to the Marquis' delight. The hand that was draped oh so casually over her shoulder inched closer to her chest, flimsily covered by her cotton nightgown.
"Well, there's no time like the present, is there? How old are you, dearest? Sixteen?"
Victoria nodded, a small frown knitting her eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"
A distinct brazenness tinged her voice, and the Marquis used it as an opportunity to move even closer to her. "Just my curiosity getting the better of me, sweetpea. Now, I am going to ask you quite a favour." He pressed his lips against her ear, whispering conspiratorially. "You know Madeline and Abbe, don't you? Just nod for yes." Victoria nodded, the movement almost involuntarily due to the wine's effect. "Now, I am writing a new story- one quite to your liking- and I am using them as…templates. I want you to 'watch' them for me. Just for my own inspiration. Do you understand, Victoria?"
Again, she nodded, except this time there was a spark of comprehension in her eyes.
"You're asking me to spy?"
The Marquis widened his eyes in faux shock, the slightest twitch of a smile lifting his lips.
"No no no, of course not dearest, I just find our beloved darlings utterly inspiring." He gestured toward the stack of parchments upon his desk, a glass vase exploding with quills. "And unfortunately, my little story isn't running quite so smoothly as planned. So I thought that the goings-on within Charenton may fuel my…quill, yes?" He leant back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head, forming a makeshift pillow.
"You must leave me now, for I'm sure that Valcour's suspicions will be more than aroused, and I want you to start your little observations as soon as possible. Charenton does come alive at night, after all."
Victoria, surprised by the sudden break in contact, rose unsteadily to her feet, her head swimming with fever and tipsiness.
"As long as I won't get into any trouble," she murmured, trudging to the Marquis' door and shutting it behind her. He smiled wickedly, digging his nails into an unpeeled orange upon his table.
"Trouble? I hope you shall enjoy it," he mused, excitement already beginning to stir in his stomach.
Madeline sighed as she uncovered more bleached linens to fold, the flickering flame that provided the light in the room accentuating the dark, tired hollows under her eyes. Upon her sigh, Charlotte cast her ever-meddlesome eye over Madeline. In truth, she was jealous of the younger maid- her vibrant, youthful sensuality, the admiring looks she would get from the guards as she walked down the corridor, laundry basket on her hip. Tutting loudly, she raised her voice for the other maids to hear.
"Tired, Maddie? Too many late nights, I think. Who's your chosen bedmate, then? Anyone we know?"
There was an underlying slyness to her voice. Charlotte had seen the lingering gazes that were often shared between the Abbe and Madeline, and felt that familiar pang of bitterness and jealousy.
Madeline was unprepared for her interrogation, and blinked as she raised her head in Charlotte's direction.
"Why are you so interested in my supposed love life? Always thought you were a bit fanciful, Charlotte, but I never thought you'd turn your gaze to *me*."
Michette made no effort to smother her giggle, and a flaming blush appeared on Charlotte's sallow cheeks. Other maids in the room made their amusement less known, and Madeline was not to know that her retort would provoke Charlotte to her next statement.
"I'm sure that I wouldn't be entirely inaccurate if I could guess who you wish it was, Madeline." An infuriating smirk contorted her bitter features. She raised her voice to an even greater volume. "I bet it's our beloved Abbe de Coulmier."
Madeline trembled slightly, but she shoved her hands back in the linens and scowled at Charlotte.
"Such whimsical accusations, Charlotte. Please keep your overactive imagination to yourself."
With that, she hurriedly folded the last few linens and quickly walked out of the laundryroom, hoping that her embarrassment wasn't too evident. In her haste, she didn't notice the two figures lurking in the darkness. Doctor Royer-Collard smiled satisfactorily to himself, and Victoria quickly made her way back to the Marquis' cell.