Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 6: Darla
Luc stood at the window of the newly furnished room and stared out at the night. Across the city, lights twinkled in windows and on the streets, and the great bells of Notre Dame rang out nine o'clock.
He turned, closing the dark blue curtains, and surveyed the room. New blue wallpaper, and covers and curtains for the four-poster bed which had been manhandled up the stairs. A closet, standing half-empty – Luc opened the doors and examined the rich dresses which were folded carefully there, fingering the silk gently, before shutting them away again and adjusting a vase on the dressing table nearby. A cloth hung over the mirror. The occupant of this room would need it no more than the master of the house needed his mirrors. Yet there was a new set of hairbrushes set out on the table itself, and a flask of perfume.
For a moment, a spark caught fire in Luc's heart, and he contemplated placing a bottle or three of Holy Water in between the sheets of the bed, or nailing a crucifix to the wall. But then it died again, and he picked up the wood polish by the bed and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
There had been little or no disruption to life since he had carried the dead bodies of the duchesse de Chateauroux and her English companion out into the night, abandoning them in a dark alleyway. But Luc's nights had become restless, after he crawled into bed after midnight. He slept badly if at all and woke in a cold sweat, his dreams full of blood and death and the laughing eyes of his employer.
Now, the door of Angelus' study was open as Luc passed it, and he caught a glimpse of the vampire pacing up and down inside the room, waiting.
It was another hour before Luc, sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book open in front of him, heard the rattle of wheels in the forecourt. He closed the book, drained the wine, and hurried to the front door, opening it as Angelus appeared down the stairs. His master was dressed in his best, and he stood in the hallway as the coachman reined in the horses and jumped down from the box to open the door. Steps were placed ready, and the coachman held out a hand.
A small, begloved hand took the large one of the coachman, and a delicate foot in a dove-grey shoe ventured out of the carriage. Skirts of a slighter darker grey followed, and then Luc drew in his breath. Blonde hair, and a sweet, petite face; a smiling mouth and dancing eyes.
"Thank you," the vision said to the coachman. "My bags?"
He nodded, and began to reach them down from the roof. The woman smiled to herself, and came towards the open door. Luc bowed.
"Welcome to Paris, madame."
She paused, and looked at him, and smiled again, laughing. "Thank you." And then she looked up and past Luc, and suddenly the smile was gone.
Angelus bowed too, taking the woman's hand and kissing it. "Darla."
"My darling boy," she said. "So this is where you've been hiding from me."
Luc let the English conversation wash over him and helped the coachman carry Darla's bags into the house, and then paid him and watched the coach rattle away again before closing the door.
Angelus broke off a lingering kiss, which made Luc's cheeks blush scarlet and his ears hot. "Darla, my love, this is Luc Tarpeau. For now, he's my only servant."
"He's human," Darla said, her voice low.
"Always useful, don't you think, to have someone who can run errands in the daytime? He knows. He's wonderful."
Darla wandered closer to Luc, who kept his back straight and looked at the wall beyond her, determined not to show them his fear. She came up to him and folded down his collar, examining the scar left by Angelus' teeth now so many months ago. "Hmm."
Angelus grinned. "Hmm what? Don't you approve?"
Darla's touch was soft and cool, and Luc started as he felt her hand brush his. "I approve entirely. Now he can take my things to my room, and you and I, my boy, will go and find someone to eat. I'm famished."
"You heard her," Angelus said. "Take Darla's bags to her room, unpack them, and then you're free."
"Yes." Luc nodded his head. "All right."
Angelus took his hat from the table by the door, and offered his arm to Darla. "Madame?"
She laughed again, showing perfect white teeth. "Monsieur." Taking his arm in hers, they left.
It took Luc five journeys to lug the suitcases, bags and one particularly heavy trunk up the stairs to Darla's room. Once there he perched on the end of the bed for a moment to catch his breath, and then began methodically to unpack.
Darla seemed to have a hundred dresses of different hues, all beautifully made, though Luc noticed that several were old-fashioned. He folded them in the closet, and then began to pile hat boxes on the top shelf. Shoes, next; ten pairs, all tiny and delicate. Gloves and scarves went in the chest of drawers along with piles of underclothes, some of which made Luc's cheeks go red all over again. In a valise he discovered makeup and jewellery, and placed it on the dressing table before surveying the room again. It almost looked lived in, he mused to himself, before shaking his head and remembering, and starting to take the boxes away to store them in an empty cupboard.
He was in bed, dozing fitfully, when Darla and Angelus returned. He heard laughter from below, and turned over, putting a pillow over his head to block out the sound. The laughter seemed to go on for a while, and Luc drifted off to sleep with it ringing in his ears.
In the morning, he continued with the cleaning of the house. Not for the first time, Luc found himself wishing he was not alone in having to care for such a large building, as he cleaned windows and dusted furniture. He was standing in the parlour wondering whether to beat the carpets when Darla entered and stood just inside the door, watching him.
Luc broke off his contemplation of the carpets and glanced up, startled.
"The curtains?" Darla said, her voice soft and strangely accented.
Luc nodded, and went to close them, sighing as the daylight was shut out. Darla came into the room and sat down, watching Luc as he began to roll up the smaller carpets.
"Are you happy here?" she asked, after a while.
He straightened up and turned to her, examining her pretty face in the half- light of the shadowed room. "That depends what you mean by happy, madame."
She waved a white hand in the air. "I hoped you'd know, you're the human one here. Content. Pleased to be alive, if you can possibly be pleased to live."
"I'm kept busy. I send some money to my family," Luc replied guardedly.
"But you're scared of my boy, aren't you?" She smiled, seemingly pleased by the thought. "But of course you are, who isn't?"
Luc piled a carpet on top of another and considered. "You'd know if I wasn't, though, wouldn't you, madame? And would it matter?"
"If you weren't scared?" Darla fiddled with the lace edge on her flimsy robe. "Matter? I don't know." She stood up, and stretched. "Got any books in this house?"
Luc told her where the library was, and she wandered off in the right direction.
He soon found that looking after two people, and one of them female, was far harder than looking after one. There were more clothes to wash, for starters, and Darla's elaborate dresses took hours of washing and ironing. Luc seemed to spend all his days with his sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in soapy water with a washboard by his side. To make matters worse, both Angelus and Darla now seemed to get more stains on their clothes, reddish- brown stains that needed rubbing and bleaching to be got out. On the plus side, for a while there were fewer evenings in the house to organise, and Luc began to be able to escape for a drink with his friends more often. They questioned him closely on his life, and he managed to laugh most of the questions off. He continued to send money home with falsely cheerful notes for the priest to read to his parents and heard back that the doctor's son had indeed proposed to his sister. One day he bought her a necklace with some of his savings, and sent it to her with a promise to make it home for the wedding. Part of him knew that he would not be able to get away, but his stubborn streak continued to hope.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said one night, bidding his friends farewell. They raised tankards of wine at him.
"No parties?" said one.
"Not till Saturday," Luc replied. "Then there's a big one planned."
"Till tomorrow!" they called, and he waved and made his way out of the tavern into the night.
He was halfway home before he became aware that there was someone following him, footsteps hurrying along at double the pace of his. Eventually he stopped, and turned around, his hand on the wooden stake he always carried outdoors these days.
"Monsieur Tarpeau!" The priest stopped walking, and stood panting a little. "You walk fast."
Luc glanced around. "There are strange things out at night."
"Evil things," the priest said darkly. "Luc, we had reports of a woman hunting with Angelus. Do you know anything about it?"
"Darla?" Luc said, automatically. "I …"
"How long has she been here?" the priest asked, taking his elbow and steering him into a corner. "Why did you not come?"
Luc twisted out of the priest's grip. "You must know what happened, Father? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever came to this city, sorry I wasn't happy at home watching my father's sheep with the sea air in my lungs. But I want to get out of here now, and I won't do that by talking. I doubt he'll ever let me go."
"I understand, Luc." The priest looked genuinely sorry for him. "But just tell me. How long has Darla been here?"
"A fortnight," Luc said eventually. "Just a fortnight. I don't know what they've done. What are you going to do? Send someone else to get killed?"
The priest smiled. "That's not for me to decide."
Luc opened his mouth to reply, thinking of getting safely back to the house before the night got too late, and of all that he had to do the next day. Then he felt something around his neck; an iron grip cutting off his breathing, and a soft voice said, "this is all very interesting. Isn't it, my love?"
Darla took the priest's hand in hers thoughtfully. "It's fascinating," she replied.
Luc twisted to confirm that the arm around his neck belonged to Angelus, and thought about struggling for a moment. But his vision was going blurry, and he did not think he would make it very far. He saw the blurred Darla's face undergo that terrifying change, and her teeth sink into the priest's neck before he blacked out. His last thought was that he had never asked the old man's real name.
Les Chroniques Parisiennes – Chronique 6: Darla
Luc stood at the window of the newly furnished room and stared out at the night. Across the city, lights twinkled in windows and on the streets, and the great bells of Notre Dame rang out nine o'clock.
He turned, closing the dark blue curtains, and surveyed the room. New blue wallpaper, and covers and curtains for the four-poster bed which had been manhandled up the stairs. A closet, standing half-empty – Luc opened the doors and examined the rich dresses which were folded carefully there, fingering the silk gently, before shutting them away again and adjusting a vase on the dressing table nearby. A cloth hung over the mirror. The occupant of this room would need it no more than the master of the house needed his mirrors. Yet there was a new set of hairbrushes set out on the table itself, and a flask of perfume.
For a moment, a spark caught fire in Luc's heart, and he contemplated placing a bottle or three of Holy Water in between the sheets of the bed, or nailing a crucifix to the wall. But then it died again, and he picked up the wood polish by the bed and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
There had been little or no disruption to life since he had carried the dead bodies of the duchesse de Chateauroux and her English companion out into the night, abandoning them in a dark alleyway. But Luc's nights had become restless, after he crawled into bed after midnight. He slept badly if at all and woke in a cold sweat, his dreams full of blood and death and the laughing eyes of his employer.
Now, the door of Angelus' study was open as Luc passed it, and he caught a glimpse of the vampire pacing up and down inside the room, waiting.
It was another hour before Luc, sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book open in front of him, heard the rattle of wheels in the forecourt. He closed the book, drained the wine, and hurried to the front door, opening it as Angelus appeared down the stairs. His master was dressed in his best, and he stood in the hallway as the coachman reined in the horses and jumped down from the box to open the door. Steps were placed ready, and the coachman held out a hand.
A small, begloved hand took the large one of the coachman, and a delicate foot in a dove-grey shoe ventured out of the carriage. Skirts of a slighter darker grey followed, and then Luc drew in his breath. Blonde hair, and a sweet, petite face; a smiling mouth and dancing eyes.
"Thank you," the vision said to the coachman. "My bags?"
He nodded, and began to reach them down from the roof. The woman smiled to herself, and came towards the open door. Luc bowed.
"Welcome to Paris, madame."
She paused, and looked at him, and smiled again, laughing. "Thank you." And then she looked up and past Luc, and suddenly the smile was gone.
Angelus bowed too, taking the woman's hand and kissing it. "Darla."
"My darling boy," she said. "So this is where you've been hiding from me."
Luc let the English conversation wash over him and helped the coachman carry Darla's bags into the house, and then paid him and watched the coach rattle away again before closing the door.
Angelus broke off a lingering kiss, which made Luc's cheeks blush scarlet and his ears hot. "Darla, my love, this is Luc Tarpeau. For now, he's my only servant."
"He's human," Darla said, her voice low.
"Always useful, don't you think, to have someone who can run errands in the daytime? He knows. He's wonderful."
Darla wandered closer to Luc, who kept his back straight and looked at the wall beyond her, determined not to show them his fear. She came up to him and folded down his collar, examining the scar left by Angelus' teeth now so many months ago. "Hmm."
Angelus grinned. "Hmm what? Don't you approve?"
Darla's touch was soft and cool, and Luc started as he felt her hand brush his. "I approve entirely. Now he can take my things to my room, and you and I, my boy, will go and find someone to eat. I'm famished."
"You heard her," Angelus said. "Take Darla's bags to her room, unpack them, and then you're free."
"Yes." Luc nodded his head. "All right."
Angelus took his hat from the table by the door, and offered his arm to Darla. "Madame?"
She laughed again, showing perfect white teeth. "Monsieur." Taking his arm in hers, they left.
It took Luc five journeys to lug the suitcases, bags and one particularly heavy trunk up the stairs to Darla's room. Once there he perched on the end of the bed for a moment to catch his breath, and then began methodically to unpack.
Darla seemed to have a hundred dresses of different hues, all beautifully made, though Luc noticed that several were old-fashioned. He folded them in the closet, and then began to pile hat boxes on the top shelf. Shoes, next; ten pairs, all tiny and delicate. Gloves and scarves went in the chest of drawers along with piles of underclothes, some of which made Luc's cheeks go red all over again. In a valise he discovered makeup and jewellery, and placed it on the dressing table before surveying the room again. It almost looked lived in, he mused to himself, before shaking his head and remembering, and starting to take the boxes away to store them in an empty cupboard.
He was in bed, dozing fitfully, when Darla and Angelus returned. He heard laughter from below, and turned over, putting a pillow over his head to block out the sound. The laughter seemed to go on for a while, and Luc drifted off to sleep with it ringing in his ears.
In the morning, he continued with the cleaning of the house. Not for the first time, Luc found himself wishing he was not alone in having to care for such a large building, as he cleaned windows and dusted furniture. He was standing in the parlour wondering whether to beat the carpets when Darla entered and stood just inside the door, watching him.
Luc broke off his contemplation of the carpets and glanced up, startled.
"The curtains?" Darla said, her voice soft and strangely accented.
Luc nodded, and went to close them, sighing as the daylight was shut out. Darla came into the room and sat down, watching Luc as he began to roll up the smaller carpets.
"Are you happy here?" she asked, after a while.
He straightened up and turned to her, examining her pretty face in the half- light of the shadowed room. "That depends what you mean by happy, madame."
She waved a white hand in the air. "I hoped you'd know, you're the human one here. Content. Pleased to be alive, if you can possibly be pleased to live."
"I'm kept busy. I send some money to my family," Luc replied guardedly.
"But you're scared of my boy, aren't you?" She smiled, seemingly pleased by the thought. "But of course you are, who isn't?"
Luc piled a carpet on top of another and considered. "You'd know if I wasn't, though, wouldn't you, madame? And would it matter?"
"If you weren't scared?" Darla fiddled with the lace edge on her flimsy robe. "Matter? I don't know." She stood up, and stretched. "Got any books in this house?"
Luc told her where the library was, and she wandered off in the right direction.
He soon found that looking after two people, and one of them female, was far harder than looking after one. There were more clothes to wash, for starters, and Darla's elaborate dresses took hours of washing and ironing. Luc seemed to spend all his days with his sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in soapy water with a washboard by his side. To make matters worse, both Angelus and Darla now seemed to get more stains on their clothes, reddish- brown stains that needed rubbing and bleaching to be got out. On the plus side, for a while there were fewer evenings in the house to organise, and Luc began to be able to escape for a drink with his friends more often. They questioned him closely on his life, and he managed to laugh most of the questions off. He continued to send money home with falsely cheerful notes for the priest to read to his parents and heard back that the doctor's son had indeed proposed to his sister. One day he bought her a necklace with some of his savings, and sent it to her with a promise to make it home for the wedding. Part of him knew that he would not be able to get away, but his stubborn streak continued to hope.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said one night, bidding his friends farewell. They raised tankards of wine at him.
"No parties?" said one.
"Not till Saturday," Luc replied. "Then there's a big one planned."
"Till tomorrow!" they called, and he waved and made his way out of the tavern into the night.
He was halfway home before he became aware that there was someone following him, footsteps hurrying along at double the pace of his. Eventually he stopped, and turned around, his hand on the wooden stake he always carried outdoors these days.
"Monsieur Tarpeau!" The priest stopped walking, and stood panting a little. "You walk fast."
Luc glanced around. "There are strange things out at night."
"Evil things," the priest said darkly. "Luc, we had reports of a woman hunting with Angelus. Do you know anything about it?"
"Darla?" Luc said, automatically. "I …"
"How long has she been here?" the priest asked, taking his elbow and steering him into a corner. "Why did you not come?"
Luc twisted out of the priest's grip. "You must know what happened, Father? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever came to this city, sorry I wasn't happy at home watching my father's sheep with the sea air in my lungs. But I want to get out of here now, and I won't do that by talking. I doubt he'll ever let me go."
"I understand, Luc." The priest looked genuinely sorry for him. "But just tell me. How long has Darla been here?"
"A fortnight," Luc said eventually. "Just a fortnight. I don't know what they've done. What are you going to do? Send someone else to get killed?"
The priest smiled. "That's not for me to decide."
Luc opened his mouth to reply, thinking of getting safely back to the house before the night got too late, and of all that he had to do the next day. Then he felt something around his neck; an iron grip cutting off his breathing, and a soft voice said, "this is all very interesting. Isn't it, my love?"
Darla took the priest's hand in hers thoughtfully. "It's fascinating," she replied.
Luc twisted to confirm that the arm around his neck belonged to Angelus, and thought about struggling for a moment. But his vision was going blurry, and he did not think he would make it very far. He saw the blurred Darla's face undergo that terrifying change, and her teeth sink into the priest's neck before he blacked out. His last thought was that he had never asked the old man's real name.