Page 98 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Graham Franklin to Monsieur Etienne Boucher.

Louis,

I took it upon myself to pay a visit to the wife of your old master. The lengths I will go to for you surprise even me sometimes.

The vile creature lives out of pure spite, I am certain. I think the devil does not relish her nagging tongue in hell so keeps her alive, if barely. She looked far too pleased with herself but even my presence could not induce her to give me anything of interest. Perhaps because there was nothing to give, though I admit my gut tells me otherwise. Sadly, even my villainy draws the line at menacing sick old ladies. Though if I ever changed my mind on that, she’d be the woman to do it. How did you survive her? And to think she terrified you less than the old man. You had balls of steel, mon amie, even as a child. I think I shall have nightmares.

I have nothing to report that we did not know. She relished giving information to your Mr Knight’s informers, naturally, boasting of all the things she had told them. Sadly, none of it was untrue, though I am certain she presented the information in the worst possible light. I promised her I would dance on her husband’s grave on your behalf. I would have said her son’s too, except then I remembered that there had never been a body retrieved from the ashes, and not because we hid it.

As far as I can tell, the dead are still dead, but there was that smug look in her eye that haunts me still.

―Excerpt of a letter from Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

I do not know what is to become of me. I feel I am living some strange half-life. I am Persephone, tricked into eating pomegranate seeds that condemn me to spend half my life in the underworld. My father believes that is where the man I love belongs. I cannot deny there is truth in it, for I see the darkness in his eyes. I always have. Now I am lying to my family, pretending I have banished him from my thoughts when he consumes them from the moment I wake, and I cannot escape him, even in my dreams.

The moments when I am not with him, I am restless and miserable, consumed with the craving to be with him again. I never knew such desire, such a profound physical connection, was possible. When he is near, I am too reckless, so thoroughly under his spell I fear what I might do. I fear what he wants from me and wonder if I can keep denying him.

When did this happen? How did I fall so thoroughly under his sway? I crave him as some crave opium and that frightens me. I do not want this madness that infects my blood and makes my body ache with the need for him. I long for his touch, for his kisses. How can I bear it? How can I marry a man so full of secrets, a damaged, beautiful man who I can forgive for murder without a second thought? What else would I forgive, what else would I turn a blind eye to, just to keep him? How can I turn my back on my family and do the one thing they have forbidden me to do, and how can I live the rest of my life when I know Papa is right? He will take me into the darkness with him. Yet I fear I love him too much, want him too badly to keep saying no.

―Excerpt from the diary of Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

Wolf,

He’s not dead. He’s not dead. Mon Dieu. Either that or I am losing my damn mind. Perhaps the devil animated his foul corpse to torment me. He’s been in my rooms. More than once now. I can feel him watching me. I have come home again tonight to the smell of those filthy cigars lingering in the air.

My brother, my friend, and my valet huddle together and whisper about me, for they think I am becoming paranoid. They think my mind is unravelling. I cannot pretend that isn’t true. I have just torn the place apart, certain he had left something, some tangible proof he had been here. You know how he loved his little games. I found nothing, but I know it’s here. I know it’s here. I cannot sleep and jump at shadows. If only he would show himself so I might kill him again and make certain he stays dead. He will succeed in killing me this time if I do not strike first. I would beg for you to pray for me, but we both know God stopped listening a long time ago.

―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen to Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere.

17th July 1842, Mrs Belvedere’s Ball, Bloomsbury Square, Holborn, London.

It really was an absolute crush with upwards of four hundred people in the ballroom alone, never mind those who were making use of the card rooms or walking in the gardens. Rosamund did her best to ignore the stares and none too subtle comments. Head up, she reminded herself she outranked many of the people here and that she didn’t give a fig what they thought of her. By the time Rosamund had caught sight of Miss Morcombe again and pushed through the crowd in pursuit, she was hot and irritated beyond endurance. With every step, she heard more whispers, gasps, and giggles from behind fluttering fans. Some people delighted in speaking loud enough to ensure she heard their vile insinuations, others just tittered and smirked, but there were those who stopped her and offered congratulations, or a kind word and an encouraging smile. She took heart from those encounters.

“Rosamund! Oh, I’ve had such a battle to get over here,” Evie said, hurrying up to her, flushed and breathless. “Are you well? Congratulations, Lady Hargreaves, I’m so proud of you, and all those tattle mongers can go and boil their heads,” she added, speaking loud enough that everyone around them could certainly hear her.

Rosamund laughed and took her arm. “Thank you, Evie, but come along, quickly. I’m in pursuit of Miss Morcombe. I must speak to her privately.”

“Oh, an intrigue? What’s happening?”

Not wanting to risk being overheard, Rosamund shook her head. “I can’t explain right now, but I must speak to her.”

Evie nodded, and Rosamund knew she was too good a friend to press her for anything more.

Instead, she nodded. “Very well. I understand.”

“Oh, we’ll never catch her in this crush,” Rosamund exclaimed as she glimpsed Miss Morcombe exit the ballroom through the press of bodies ahead of them.

“Well, she must be going to either the retirement rooms or for refreshment. Felix is a great friend of Mrs Belvedere’s son, you know, and I’ve been to the house several times. I know a shortcut. This way.” Evie grasped her hand and towed her in the opposite direction, the two of them forcing their way through the throng. The crowd thinned and Evie paused as she saw the Comte de Villen watching her intently from the far side of the room. The searing look in his bright blue eyes made Rosamund gasp and glance at Evie, who blushed scarlet.

“Evie?”

“Not now,” she whispered, her voice taut. “I can’t explain now either. Let’s find your Miss Morcombe.”

“Very well,” Rosamund said, following her, but promising herself a private talk with her friend as soon as possible. “Where are we going?”

“This way.” Evie opened a door into a private parlour and hurried through it to another door on the far side that opened onto a long picture gallery. They hurried past the paintings without so much as a glance at them, and out of another door.

To Rosamund’s relief, they eased back into the crowd near the refreshments room.