Chapter 71 Parlour Games

Chapter 71 Parlour Games

The women had taken the same train from London to Hastings, arriving en masse late in the afternoon.

Barbara brought along Bessie Rayner Parkes-Belloc, her closest friend and editor of The Englishwoman's Review, a weekly that she co-founded with Barbara.

Bessie hailed from a family of political radicals. Her grandfather was a leading dissenter, her father a reforming politician. Madame Belloc proved to be a woman of not only extreme intellect but also a cutting sense of humor.

"Darling Gabrielle, finally we meet! Barbara has enlightened me of your situation. Hiding in the woods from a dark and brooding masked composer, sounds more like that dark romance novel from Augusta Evans Wilson than true life, which makes you infinitely more interesting."

"Bessie, really now!" Barbara's eyebrows practically shot to her hairline.

"Oh, do forgive me for my rudeness, I cannot help but love a good drama," apologized Madame Belloc.

"Beware, lest you find your drama in print," Elizabeth's droll expression told me that no one's experiences were altogether safe from her writer friends.

"Where shall we place our belongings, Gabrielle?" asked Mary Ann, ignoring the good doctor's remark.

"Anywhere you like. For the next two days we will do what we please, wear what we please and say what we please. What is said in this cottage stays in this cottage," I said.

"Oh, this is going to be jolly good fun!" Bessie exclaimed, and slapped her hands together.

"I have provided soft and comfortable down pallets for sleeping. Where I come from, we call this a 'slumber party.' Usually girls get together in a home, enjoy treats, drink hot cocoa or wine, tell stories and have fun. That is what we are going to do, be girls, grown up girls."

"Sleeping on the parlour floor? How novel," said Barbara with an air of cautious intrigue.

"No rules, no schedule, no worrying about decorum. Do you ladies think you are up for such debauchery?"

"And how!" said Mary Ann. "When do we start?"

"Immediately!"

My guest stacked their belongings in neat piles around the parlour. This type of fun, being new to my guests, made the possibilities even more appealing.

Once the entire gang was gathered, I served tea, coffee and light refreshments. We chatted and relaxed.

"It had come to my attention that since we shall be sleeping dormitory style, we'll need a suitable place to change and see to our toilette. Gabrielle, have you unusual accommodations for that too?" Mary Ann shot me a rare smirk.

"Have no fear, Madame, I've thought of every little thing. While the facilities are at your disposal, I have created something that will eliminate your need for the constant changing of clothing to suit both lounging and slumbering."

Raised eyebrows and 'oohs' and 'ahas' conveyed my good guests' curiosity. They must be wondering what the strange American was up to now.

"They're upstairs; I'll be back quick as a wink." I grinned and rushed off to retrieve the pajamas I had made for each of them. I'd left them on the bed, a neat stack of colorful and soft flannel loungewear in various sizes to fit each woman's unique figure. As I gathered them up, I heard Mary Ann's gentile voice behind me.

"Gabrielle, I need to speak with you a moment."

"Why yes, certainly. Come in.""I did not want the others to be alarmed, but what I have to tell you is a matter of urgency." She wrang her hands and glanced about the room, reminding me of those spy movies where people look for hidden microphones.

"What is it, Mary Ann?"

She closed the door before approaching me. "He is coming to London. He wishes to call on me."

" He, as in Erik?"

"To be sure."

I motioned for her to take a seat on the small settee while I sat on the edge of the bed and rested the flannels in my lap.

"Go on."

"I received his letter just yesterday. Monsieur DuPuis writes that he is aware of my loyal advocacy to you and of my supreme position to help further your career. It is only natural that you and I are in communication; therefore, he plans to call on me in the coming week. I do not fear him Gabrielle, and I will explain to him that, out of concern for my safety, you and I no longer see one another."

"But, Mary Ann, he knows you're the one who forwards letters to me, how will you explain yourself? You'd? Best not lie to him, such things unleash violent reactions in Erik." I warned.

She shrugged, "I'll tell him that I leave your mail in a box at the post office and you pick them up at will. We can obtain a blind box for you, so it is not a lie."

"We have become experts at vagueness, haven't we?"

"You deserve time to sort out your thoughts and feelings in order to make a wise decision, Gabrielle. Men are reluctant to offer women that most basic courtesy, even a man as liberal as your Erik."

My Erik. Hearing that phrase pricked my heart with melancholy longing.

"Yeppers, Erik wants what he wants when he wants it." I rose to my feet and brushed off the momentary pang of emotion.

"George will be close to home these next few weeks, won't he?" I asked.

"We have discussed the matter and he has agreed to be close at hand…and armed. George is an excellent swordsman. I've no fear of Monsieur DuPuis, dear."

"If you stay calm and rational, you'll have no problems with Erik. He's not one to harm women. And if anyone has the grace to hold herself in sticky situation, it's you Mary Ann."

"Absolutely…" she held her head up with pride, "…for I am the queen of restraint."

We giggled like girls as we made our way back down to the parlour where the rest of the ladies waited for their Gabrielle originals.

My esteemed guests reacted to their handmade gifts with curious delight and gratitude. Never before had the women come across garments that afforded such ease of movement and comfort.

For the majority of first evening, we gorged ourselves on my gourmet cuisine and chatted about the latest gossip. I plied my esteemed guests with good wine and brandy while I sipped on café au lait. By eight o'clock their tongues were plenty loosened. It was time for a rousing round of Truth or Dare.

"Before me sit the world's cream of the crop of brilliant, progressive women; tell me, Mesdames, who among you is anything if not brave?"

"Brave or crazy, perhaps," Bessie quipped.

"Indeed, remember the time we donned the Turkish ladies ridding habits and attempted entry to the stylish Le Restaurant Fin?

"We were nearly arrested, Bessie. When Eugene discovered our folly, all he could do was shake his head in amazement. Remember what he said to us?"

"I do believe it was something like, 'darlings, if you must risk imprisonment, please do so for a more noble purpose than your need to dine.'
Peals of laughter rang from the parlour walls.

"See there, we have what it takes to play this new game that is all the rage in America. It's called Truth or Dare," I said.

"This should prove to be a rollicking good time." Normally mild-mannered, Mary Ann took me aback with her enthusiasm to play my revealing game.

"A cakewalk compared to what we women are subjected to daily by polite society's relentless efforts to discredit our accomplishments and intellect."

"Then I take it that you're all game for the game?" I laughed at my horrible tongue in cheek reference.

Three heads nodded their agreement.

"This is how it works; everyone takes a turn asking a player 'truth' or dare.' If the queried player answers "Truth," then the questioning player asks a question of a personal nature of the queried player; otherwise, if the queried player answers "Dare," then the questioning player asks the queried player to do something, usually silly. Be creative," I smiled.

Three blank and anxious faces stared at me.

"Here, I'll go first, and then we'll go around the circle. Mary Ann, ask me 'truth or dare."

"Certainly, Gabrielle. Truth or dare?"

"Truth, now ask me something you've been dying to know."

"Hum, let's see now. Oh, yes, would you really return to America?"

"Okay, I'll choose to answer. Yes, if I could find a way to support myself while there. Your turn. Truth or dare, Mary Ann?"

"Truth."

"Name something that you wish you had never done." I could not believe my luck that fate was allowing me to question one of the greatest literary minds of all time.

"One thing I wish I'd never done is to allow the artist Mayall to paint that appalling portrait of me when I was younger. I vowed never to be copied again in any way as I am afraid of outward images lest they should corrupt the inward."

Poor Mary Ann, never described as a handsome woman, portraiture in the mid to late 1800's was anything but flattering to even the most attractive of women.
"Very good, now, Barbara, you're next."

She turned toward Bessie, who sat on her left, tucked her bare feet beneath her and address her best friend. "What will it be, a truth or dare, dear."

"A dare, I think."

"My, you do put me on the spot. Why don't you…stand and sing us an original improvised opera song!"

"My word, woman, you call yourself a friend?" said the middle-aged Madame Belloc. She rose to her feet, eyeing each one of us in turn and began to sing in a fractured soprano about lost love between a banty rooster and his beloved hen, Henrietta. Her squeaking had us, every one, holding our stomachs from laughter.

"Elizabeth, it is your turn. What is your pleasure, truth or dare?" said Bessie with a gleam in her eyes.

"Heavens, let me thing a moment. I am known for my boldness, truth."

"Tell me, doctor, what is your proudest moment as a woman?"

"Simple, giving birth to my children and receiving my medical degree from the Paris Medical School. Can you believe I was once denied admission to an anatomy class at Aberdeen because the instructor thought dissecting-rooms and anatomical theatres highly unbecoming for women? The professor imagined he was protecting fair ladies who shouldn't be brought into contact with such gruesome scenes. For this reason alone, he believed that ladies would make bad doctors at best.

"As if childbirth were not gruesome, far more so than dissecting a frog or a cricket," said Barbara, who stole a glance at me. "Oh dear, I don't mean to frighten you, Gabrielle, this is your first child after all."

I could not tell them that as a green news reporter, I had witnessed far more gruesome scenes than the miracle of birth.

"Think nothing of it. I'll be too busy grunting and screaming to watch."

"I should say! Can you imagine if men were allowed to witness their wives giving birth? They would surely pass out!" said Barbara. "Or if many could see themselves in the throes of passion. Crying out the Lord's name repeatedly while turning red, screwing up their faces before grunting one last satisfied grunt and collapsing on you in a crushing, sweaty heap." The rest of them burst into guffaws. Remembering Erik's impassioned and indefatigable lovemaking, I feigned my laughter.

By day two, everyone had let their hair down, literally and figuratively. We each baked our favorite sweet treat; talked about individual projects we each had in the works, and of our hopes for the future.

Mary Ann adored making and eating rich butter shortbread. Her work on the satirical Impressions of Theophrastus Such, kept her occupied as of late. Barbara created delectable pots du crème; both she and Bessie were eyebrow high in various writing projects, and with the newspaper. Dr. Garrett made the most heavenly chocolate Grenache. Her days were spent involved in work and research at both the college and the hospital, and Bessie was proud of her ability to prepare a bread pudding laced with Irish whiskey, which I decided I could have a bit of, liquor or not. Most of the women were dedicated mothers and spouses, the later at least in deed if not by law.

It was sometime in the young hours of Sunday morning when Mary Ann broached a question that I'd been, until now, masterful at sweeping under the rug. While Barbara and Elizabeth slept and read, quietly curled into a corner chair, we sat on the sofa where I was teaching her to play Crazy Eights.

"Gabrielle, I've a question that's been burning a hole in my mind for some weeks now."

"Ask me anything, we've no secrets." Not an entirely true statement, as I'm sure I would never get around to telling her about my trip through time.

"I do not wish to intrude, and I've only your heart's interest in mind, dear."

"Of course, what's on your mind?" I laid down a five of spades.

"Do you think Monsieur DuPuis is telling the truth about knowing nothing about a note detailing his intent to marry the Comtess?"

I sighed and rubbed my thumb over my hand of cards.

"At first I had no reason to think that he didn't send it. But now, well, I feel somewhat foolish. Erik is wont to shift situations to suit his own desires, but he's never lied to me. That I know of, that is."

"So from whose hand do you think the note originated?"

"I've heard that he was once addicted to opium, it's a hallucinogen; maybe he was overwrought to the point of re-indulging his old addiction. He could have dosed himself and written it then."

"As astute as the man is, could he navigate a typewriter after partaking of the devil flower?"

"Who knows what Erik can or cannot do. He's not like other men, Mary Ann."

"Suppose he didn't write that letter."

"Possible, but how could someone else sign his name to it?"

"A signature is not difficult to copy, wax seals are not difficult to break and reseal either."

I jerked my head up to meet her knowing gaze.

"Christine?"

"Who else?"

"No! How could I have been so daft not to consider wrongdoing?"

"Trickery was not something that you anticipated, dear."

"No and Erik is the antithesis of predictability. My god, a desperate woman would do anything, wouldn't she?"

When a man as passionate and fine as Erik was at stake, a desperate woman would go to the hell and back to claim what she believed belonged to her.

"Why didn't I see? Damn it, I'm so friggin' stupid." I dropped the cards in my lap and began to cry.

Mary Ann swiftly gathered me up in her gentle arms to comfort me. "There now, Gabrielle. When a heart is fogged with bruises, it is often difficult to see the obvious truth beyond the mist."

"Mary Ann, I have never loved anyone as I have loved Erik. He is so strange and difficult to know. When he left for Paris, he promised to return to me, but then I received that letter stating his intent to marry Christine. My heart was so raw that I believed—I mean, it's Christine, the woman who was his great love, the woman he was willing to kill and die for. Once he came face to face with her, why wouldn't fall under the spell of her charms?"

"Because he loves you. Listen, dearest, I have loved and been loved by a handful of exceptional men. You are more than Erik's eidolon, your love is authentic."
"Right, if it is so authentic, so wondrous and worthy, then tell me why it is so damned difficult?" I punched the pillow next to me on the sofa.

"Love is a battlefield to which there are no victors, only wounded. If the wounds are worth healing, then you have a duty to mend and triumph for the sake of all lovelorn creatures." Mary Ann's long, broad face grew sober. She implored me to search every crevice of my heart for the answer to her original question.

Silence filled the parlour for a long five minutes before Mary Ann resumed her discourse
"Will you return to the manor house, Gabrielle?"

There it was—the million dollar, unavoidable question.

Erik's last letter indicated longing, affection and madness. If I returned, what would be my punishment? Reformed or not, he was once the Phantom of the Paris Opera, would his desire for recompense abate so easily?"

I wanted to return, but so much had transpired in so short an amount of time that it was difficult for me to distinguish the real from the imagined truths in my mind. There was also a considerable amount of anger, which bubbled below my emotional surface, anger that would be irrevocably damaging if I did not work through it properly.

And to think, Erik used to call me the rational one!

"Oh, this hand is mine." Mary Ann laid down her final card, beating me in our game of Crazy Eights.

"Brava, Madame, you are the victor and I, I am afraid, am exhausted. I'm going to attempt to nab a few winks before the others rise," I said.

I craved sleep in the worst way. Concerned for my physical and mental well being, Mary Ann agreed, apologized for sticking her writer's probe in too far, and kissed me on the forehead as a mother would her child.

"Yes dear, rest. All will be clearer in the morning."

I rewarded her concern with a cheerless smile and collapsed on my pallet on the floor next to the other sleeping women.

And I did sleep, but it was not dreamless.

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Thanks again to Amy and Barb for their amazing beta talents. Please read and review for me. I'll have another chapter up shortly.

XXOO

-Leesa