As she stepped into the dining room of the inn, Lizzie found herself wistful. Contemplating her escape from this place suddenly made it seem so much more homey. The dingy interior and well-worn accoutrements took on a nostalgic air as she tried to force herself into thoughts of escape.
Well enough to know she had to go away -- for Tilney's good as well as her own -- but more difficult to actually act upon the knowledge. I can easily ride away, today or even tomorrow, Lizzie told herself.
But who would take care of Tilney?
Stop it, Lizzie thought with a shake. Tilney is well enough now, clearly on the way to recovery. He doesn't need you, she scolded. Lizzie did her best to ignore the stabbing pain in her chest. It didn't mean anything at all.
"Monsieur," she asked the landlord, lowering her voice mid-word as it had crept up to a higher register than usual. "If I could trouble your for some sustenance for my friend--"
The kindly landlord turned from his attentions to the glasses with mild surprise. "Ah, oui, oui. I have some lamb stew that is magnifique, even if it is I saying so." His smile was superceded almost at once by a more serious look, however.
"I have some news to share that you may not find so palatable, monsieur."
Lizzie started. "What is it?" The last thing she wanted was more surprises.
"The magistrate has arrived."
"The magistrate?" That didn't sound good, Lizzie thought.
"Oui, he arrives periodically to review local disputes and such like. He has come a bit earlier than usual, however. I do not know for certain, but I fear that perhaps someone may have told him about the duel. One suspects that he may be more interested in the principal duelists themselves, of course," and he gave a little Gallic shrug at this, "But one can never predict the actions of petite bureaucrats."
"Indeed," Lizzie answered, her voice ringing hollow in the empty room. She watched the landlord bustle around scooping some of the stew into a tureen while her thoughts ran like spring colts around the corridors of her mind. Magistrate! Law, bother, difficulties -- exposure! For both of them no doubt. This could not be borne.
"Merci, merci," Lizzie muttered as she took the tray from his hands. She made her way up the stairs as swiftly as it was safe to do, testing a wide variety of scenarios in her head as she struggled up the steps trying to keep the tureen level.
She burst through the door, startling Tilney who had a book open in his lap.
"We must depart today!"
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Pigeon Flu
Your esteemed authoress believes that she may have come down with a fashionable disease of some kind, which her gentlewoman's gentlewoman has declared to be the au courant sniffles otherwise known as pigeon flu among the haute ton (seemingly indistinguishable from a head cold by all but the most perspicacious). For that reason, your humble narrator of these exciting adventures begs your pardon while she recovers from this malady, for it will delay the latest episode of this most enthralling serial adventure, which ought to continue with regularity next Sabbath.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
16.1
"I must say," Tilney drawled from far too close to Lizzie's ear, "that I find this unexpectedly comfortable."
Lizzie's eyes popped open and she sat bolt upright. After a moment's confusion she realised that she was lying in the bed next to Tilney. Were it not for the fact that he lay under the duvet and she on top of it, Lizzie might well have fainted with alarm right there.
"I-I—" she began stammering as she slipped off the bed. "It was the surgeon. He insisted I rest. I did not wish to make him suspect anything was amiss, so I followed his orders." She feared that her face had probably turned scarlet.
Tilney stretched and yawned. "Well, I feel unaccountably better. And hungry. Do tell me I will be able to eat something now. Don't want that infernal sawbones to be forbidding me to put on the feedbag."
"No, not at all. In fact, he was telling me to be sure to make you eat. Let me run down to the landlord and ask him for your supper." Lizzie stepped toward the door, whisking away the lock of hair that decided to cover her eyes.
"Wait, Bennett," Tilney said, his voice softer than before. "Don't run away just yet."
Lizzie paused, attempting to compose herself before she turned her face toward his. "What is it, Tilney?"
To her surprise, his face did not reveal the usual lazy grin, but a rather more serious expression. "I knew I fell asleep like a child while you were telling me your life story, but I do hope you will enlighten me to the cause of your present ticklish situation. I do want to know."
The warmth that flushed her cheeks made Lizzie even more eager to depart. "I shall," she managed to say, her voice higher than usual from the strain of suppressing her conflicting emotions. "Do let me get you some sustenance, first."
"Bennett," Tilney repeated. "I want to know everything." His smile returned but it was almost shy and his eyes had a kind of warmth in their gaze that made Lizzie blush further. She nodded her head, not trusting herself to answer with words and hurried out the door.
In the dark of the corridor, Lizzie exhaled with relief. Why oh why, did she have to be kidnapped from her uncle's funeral, exiled on a white slaver's ship, rescued by pirates and nearly drowned in a storm just so she could run into Tilney in a small coastal village of France. It was as if some guiding influence willfully threw her into one adventure after another for its own amusement.
If only she had not been thrown into Tilney's path! If only he had been a dullard and a fool! She would not be in the situation she was. Resolutely, she turned to head down the staircase. It would be best to get away from Tilney as quickly as possible. Lizzie could not bear to wrong him or herself. The less he knew, the better.
She would have to give him the slip, as they said, leave his side and go to the King of Naples. It was the only way. Yet her steps were heavy as she descended to the main floor.
Lizzie's eyes popped open and she sat bolt upright. After a moment's confusion she realised that she was lying in the bed next to Tilney. Were it not for the fact that he lay under the duvet and she on top of it, Lizzie might well have fainted with alarm right there.
"I-I—" she began stammering as she slipped off the bed. "It was the surgeon. He insisted I rest. I did not wish to make him suspect anything was amiss, so I followed his orders." She feared that her face had probably turned scarlet.
Tilney stretched and yawned. "Well, I feel unaccountably better. And hungry. Do tell me I will be able to eat something now. Don't want that infernal sawbones to be forbidding me to put on the feedbag."
"No, not at all. In fact, he was telling me to be sure to make you eat. Let me run down to the landlord and ask him for your supper." Lizzie stepped toward the door, whisking away the lock of hair that decided to cover her eyes.
"Wait, Bennett," Tilney said, his voice softer than before. "Don't run away just yet."
Lizzie paused, attempting to compose herself before she turned her face toward his. "What is it, Tilney?"
To her surprise, his face did not reveal the usual lazy grin, but a rather more serious expression. "I knew I fell asleep like a child while you were telling me your life story, but I do hope you will enlighten me to the cause of your present ticklish situation. I do want to know."
The warmth that flushed her cheeks made Lizzie even more eager to depart. "I shall," she managed to say, her voice higher than usual from the strain of suppressing her conflicting emotions. "Do let me get you some sustenance, first."
"Bennett," Tilney repeated. "I want to know everything." His smile returned but it was almost shy and his eyes had a kind of warmth in their gaze that made Lizzie blush further. She nodded her head, not trusting herself to answer with words and hurried out the door.
In the dark of the corridor, Lizzie exhaled with relief. Why oh why, did she have to be kidnapped from her uncle's funeral, exiled on a white slaver's ship, rescued by pirates and nearly drowned in a storm just so she could run into Tilney in a small coastal village of France. It was as if some guiding influence willfully threw her into one adventure after another for its own amusement.
If only she had not been thrown into Tilney's path! If only he had been a dullard and a fool! She would not be in the situation she was. Resolutely, she turned to head down the staircase. It would be best to get away from Tilney as quickly as possible. Lizzie could not bear to wrong him or herself. The less he knew, the better.
She would have to give him the slip, as they said, leave his side and go to the King of Naples. It was the only way. Yet her steps were heavy as she descended to the main floor.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
15.9
"What on earth do you mean?" Alice demanded. It was more than a little provoking to find that while she had been kidnapped, the ransoming process had yet to begin. "Very bad form," Alice added with a sternly disapproving look. "Very bad form."
"I don't think you comprehend—" Gilet de Sauvinage began to say, but Alice cut him off with an admirably peremptory gesture.
"I am displeased," was all she said, however. But she began to understand the commanding tone her rather diminutive mother had learned to adopt. It was surprisingly effective with many members of the public.
"I appreciate that," de Sauvinage began, but Alice interjected once again.
"You may appreciate that," she said with what she hoped was a studiously severe look, "but I do not appreciate it. Such a thing is not at all to be tolerated."
"I did not of course mean 'appreciate' in quite that sense, you understand—"
"It is immaterial," Alice continued, allowing herself a very brief time in which she reveled in the thought that the word had sprung so easily to her lips. "Quite immaterial. I have a reputation to maintain and a family who misses me to distraction, I am certain." Though it was likely to be something less than the case, and in fact Alice suspected that the one family member who might well miss her a great deal was also missing and in dubious company—oh, poor Lizzie!—she nonetheless thought it rhetorically important to maintain such a façade, even if she could not quite recall the word "rhetorically," the concept was certainly clear enough in her thoughts.
"If you do not manage to arrange for a proper ransoming, I shall not be responsible for the consequences," Alice warned with an admirable air of high dudgeon, before which her kidnapped quailed with surprising effectiveness.
"I don't see what you could possibly do," he retorted nonetheless, clearly unwilling to allow Alice to seize control of the situation.
Alice drew herself up to her entire height, which was less impressive than desired while she was seated for breakfast, but she did do her best. "If you do not properly dispatch with the necessary ransom note, I shall…" She paused.
After all, what ammunition had she?
A moment later, an imperceptible time for the tense circumstances, Alice smiled coldly. "If you do not properly dispatch with the necessary ransom note," Alice repeated, "I shall summon the ghost of that dead young woman and be absolutely certain that I set her to haunting you day and night so you receive no rest whatsoever. That is what I shall do." Alice folded her arms feeling rather smugly superior.
For his part, Gilet de Sauvinage gave every sign of having been beaten. "I will acquiesce," he said with obvious irritation in his manner. "But I assure you I will ask for a substantial recompense that will make all this folderol worthwhile."
Alice smiled. She might be forgiven for looking a trifle smug at that moment, but she had never quite triumphed in any kind of verbal exchange, so there was a quite an excuse for her gloating.
De Sauvinage bowed stiffly and backed out of the room. Alice felt a flush of excitement rise up to her cheeks, doubtless coloring them pink with delight. She had little time to relish her success, however, because a wispy voice rasped in her ear, " How shall we punish him, Miss Alice?"
There was no doubt about it: a ghost hovered at her side.
"I don't think you comprehend—" Gilet de Sauvinage began to say, but Alice cut him off with an admirably peremptory gesture.
"I am displeased," was all she said, however. But she began to understand the commanding tone her rather diminutive mother had learned to adopt. It was surprisingly effective with many members of the public.
"I appreciate that," de Sauvinage began, but Alice interjected once again.
"You may appreciate that," she said with what she hoped was a studiously severe look, "but I do not appreciate it. Such a thing is not at all to be tolerated."
"I did not of course mean 'appreciate' in quite that sense, you understand—"
"It is immaterial," Alice continued, allowing herself a very brief time in which she reveled in the thought that the word had sprung so easily to her lips. "Quite immaterial. I have a reputation to maintain and a family who misses me to distraction, I am certain." Though it was likely to be something less than the case, and in fact Alice suspected that the one family member who might well miss her a great deal was also missing and in dubious company—oh, poor Lizzie!—she nonetheless thought it rhetorically important to maintain such a façade, even if she could not quite recall the word "rhetorically," the concept was certainly clear enough in her thoughts.
"If you do not manage to arrange for a proper ransoming, I shall not be responsible for the consequences," Alice warned with an admirable air of high dudgeon, before which her kidnapped quailed with surprising effectiveness.
"I don't see what you could possibly do," he retorted nonetheless, clearly unwilling to allow Alice to seize control of the situation.
Alice drew herself up to her entire height, which was less impressive than desired while she was seated for breakfast, but she did do her best. "If you do not properly dispatch with the necessary ransom note, I shall…" She paused.
After all, what ammunition had she?
A moment later, an imperceptible time for the tense circumstances, Alice smiled coldly. "If you do not properly dispatch with the necessary ransom note," Alice repeated, "I shall summon the ghost of that dead young woman and be absolutely certain that I set her to haunting you day and night so you receive no rest whatsoever. That is what I shall do." Alice folded her arms feeling rather smugly superior.
For his part, Gilet de Sauvinage gave every sign of having been beaten. "I will acquiesce," he said with obvious irritation in his manner. "But I assure you I will ask for a substantial recompense that will make all this folderol worthwhile."
Alice smiled. She might be forgiven for looking a trifle smug at that moment, but she had never quite triumphed in any kind of verbal exchange, so there was a quite an excuse for her gloating.
De Sauvinage bowed stiffly and backed out of the room. Alice felt a flush of excitement rise up to her cheeks, doubtless coloring them pink with delight. She had little time to relish her success, however, because a wispy voice rasped in her ear, " How shall we punish him, Miss Alice?"
There was no doubt about it: a ghost hovered at her side.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
15.8
"Have I done what?" Gilet de Sauvinage asked with irritation.
"Why," Alice said, her tone suggesting that he ought to have know exactly what she meant, "I meant exactly that. Have you sent a ransom request to my family?"
De Sauvinage blenched at her inquiry. "How can you ask such a question?" he asked, his voice losing all trace of Gallic sanguinity.
"I ask because I must know," Alice responded with more than a little forceful disapproval. As unaccustomed as she was to finding herself in a position of some authority, Alice nonetheless deciphered that there had been a kind of shift in the balance of power between the two of them. Invigorated by the story of the poor young woman's travails, Alice found herself determined not to give in to the same fate.
"Have you sent a ransom note to my family?" Alice reiterated. "Tell me now!"
Gilet de Sauvinage quailed. Visibly, this was apparent.
It was not, Alice was certain, in the nature of villains to quail before heroines. She was somewhat disappointed to find that this was the calibre of villain she had attracted. Somehow it seemed a poor reflection on her.
If I were a better heroine, I would have attracted a more accomplished villain, Alice thought sadly.
"I have had some delay," de Sauvinage began.
"Why?" Alice demanded.
"I do not have a normal household staff, for one thing," de Sauvinage blustered. "If you knew what kind of efforts were required to keep a situation like this running smoothly, you would be surprised to say the least, Miss – er, Miss."
Alice shrugged with a nigh on Gallic casualness. "As the kidnapped person, I have no responsibility for those details. However, as the kidnapped person, I am horrified to find that you have done nothing toward securing my eventual rescue and ransoming. It is too shocking, too shocking by half," Alice said with more than a touch of her mother's oft-exercised sense of high dudgeon.
"Do you know how long it takes to make porridge?" de Sauvinage asked with more than a touch of bitterness.
Alice raised an eyebrow in a gesture that would have made her sensible cousin Lizzie nod with approval. "It is not my concern to know what porridge requires. You must ransom me or let me go."
De Sauvinage looked more than a tad perturbed at her suggestion. "Let you go? When it took me so long to acquire you? I do not think so." He shook his head, but Alice was not yet daunted.
"Then ransom me," she reiterated. "My family will be grateful to have me returned to them, I am certain. I wish to be free."
"I'm not sure that can be arranged," de Sauvinage said with ominous intent.
"Why," Alice said, her tone suggesting that he ought to have know exactly what she meant, "I meant exactly that. Have you sent a ransom request to my family?"
De Sauvinage blenched at her inquiry. "How can you ask such a question?" he asked, his voice losing all trace of Gallic sanguinity.
"I ask because I must know," Alice responded with more than a little forceful disapproval. As unaccustomed as she was to finding herself in a position of some authority, Alice nonetheless deciphered that there had been a kind of shift in the balance of power between the two of them. Invigorated by the story of the poor young woman's travails, Alice found herself determined not to give in to the same fate.
"Have you sent a ransom note to my family?" Alice reiterated. "Tell me now!"
Gilet de Sauvinage quailed. Visibly, this was apparent.
It was not, Alice was certain, in the nature of villains to quail before heroines. She was somewhat disappointed to find that this was the calibre of villain she had attracted. Somehow it seemed a poor reflection on her.
If I were a better heroine, I would have attracted a more accomplished villain, Alice thought sadly.
"I have had some delay," de Sauvinage began.
"Why?" Alice demanded.
"I do not have a normal household staff, for one thing," de Sauvinage blustered. "If you knew what kind of efforts were required to keep a situation like this running smoothly, you would be surprised to say the least, Miss – er, Miss."
Alice shrugged with a nigh on Gallic casualness. "As the kidnapped person, I have no responsibility for those details. However, as the kidnapped person, I am horrified to find that you have done nothing toward securing my eventual rescue and ransoming. It is too shocking, too shocking by half," Alice said with more than a touch of her mother's oft-exercised sense of high dudgeon.
"Do you know how long it takes to make porridge?" de Sauvinage asked with more than a touch of bitterness.
Alice raised an eyebrow in a gesture that would have made her sensible cousin Lizzie nod with approval. "It is not my concern to know what porridge requires. You must ransom me or let me go."
De Sauvinage looked more than a tad perturbed at her suggestion. "Let you go? When it took me so long to acquire you? I do not think so." He shook his head, but Alice was not yet daunted.
"Then ransom me," she reiterated. "My family will be grateful to have me returned to them, I am certain. I wish to be free."
"I'm not sure that can be arranged," de Sauvinage said with ominous intent.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
15.7
"That's too horrible!" Alice exclaimed, leaping up in alarm. "Was it this very window?"
Gilet de Sauvinage shrugged in a not especially Gallic way. "I don't know which room it was, just that it was in this wing."
Alice blanched. "It could have been this very room. Oh, the poor unfortunate! Did her family demand justice?"
He shook his head. "They never knew what had happened to her. The terrible Comte Sangsue never even sent them a ransom note or any kind of threatening message."
"How awful!" Alice said, feeling an unaccustomed sense of faintness come over her. It had been some time since she had felt so weak. Perhaps she should eat more of her breakfast.
But there was also something niggling at the back of her mind. What could it be?
"Ever since," de Sauvinage continued, unaware of Alice's wandering thoughts, "many people have reported that they have seen wandering the corridors, a pale ghostly figure of a woman, searching, always searching."
"What is she searching for?" Alice asked as she ate some of the porridge.
"Perhaps her killer," he replied. "Or perhaps she just wants someone to blame!"
"Well, it's not my fault," Alice said with what had become her usual decided air. "She can't want to haunt me. I suppose this Comte is also dead."
De Sauvinage shrugged again. "I don't know. It's possible that he's still alive, but he is not here."
"Do you know where he is?" Alice set her spoon down as an idea occurred to her.
"I haven't the slightest idea," de Sauvinage said, sounding more than a trifle irritated with the line of questioning. "I suppose he returned to his estate, wherever that might be."
"I shall certainly tell the spectre if she returns," Alice said, returning once more to her porridge. "It is only fair that she know he is not here. She can seek her vengeance elsewhere." The latter was less than entirely distinct as Alice was still masticating a mouthful of porridge during the speech, a collision of activities that would have well and truly scandalised her mother and most of the household had they been there to experience it.
"Well, one never can tell with ghosts," de Sauvinage said. One might have caught a hint of irritation in his voice. Whether he was simply fed up with Alice's failure to be impressed with his tale or with her poor manners in speaking with her mouth full, it was difficult to ascertain.
However, he was startled when Alice suddenly dropped her spoon in horror. The utensil made an unpleasant wet smacking sound as it fell back into the porridge. She stared at de Sauvinage, her eyes round and her cheeks flushed.
"What is it, Mademoiselle Alice?" he asked, his voice choking up to a higher register and his French accent deserting him completely.
"Have you done it?!" she shouted in a most unbecoming way.
Gilet de Sauvinage shrugged in a not especially Gallic way. "I don't know which room it was, just that it was in this wing."
Alice blanched. "It could have been this very room. Oh, the poor unfortunate! Did her family demand justice?"
He shook his head. "They never knew what had happened to her. The terrible Comte Sangsue never even sent them a ransom note or any kind of threatening message."
"How awful!" Alice said, feeling an unaccustomed sense of faintness come over her. It had been some time since she had felt so weak. Perhaps she should eat more of her breakfast.
But there was also something niggling at the back of her mind. What could it be?
"Ever since," de Sauvinage continued, unaware of Alice's wandering thoughts, "many people have reported that they have seen wandering the corridors, a pale ghostly figure of a woman, searching, always searching."
"What is she searching for?" Alice asked as she ate some of the porridge.
"Perhaps her killer," he replied. "Or perhaps she just wants someone to blame!"
"Well, it's not my fault," Alice said with what had become her usual decided air. "She can't want to haunt me. I suppose this Comte is also dead."
De Sauvinage shrugged again. "I don't know. It's possible that he's still alive, but he is not here."
"Do you know where he is?" Alice set her spoon down as an idea occurred to her.
"I haven't the slightest idea," de Sauvinage said, sounding more than a trifle irritated with the line of questioning. "I suppose he returned to his estate, wherever that might be."
"I shall certainly tell the spectre if she returns," Alice said, returning once more to her porridge. "It is only fair that she know he is not here. She can seek her vengeance elsewhere." The latter was less than entirely distinct as Alice was still masticating a mouthful of porridge during the speech, a collision of activities that would have well and truly scandalised her mother and most of the household had they been there to experience it.
"Well, one never can tell with ghosts," de Sauvinage said. One might have caught a hint of irritation in his voice. Whether he was simply fed up with Alice's failure to be impressed with his tale or with her poor manners in speaking with her mouth full, it was difficult to ascertain.
However, he was startled when Alice suddenly dropped her spoon in horror. The utensil made an unpleasant wet smacking sound as it fell back into the porridge. She stared at de Sauvinage, her eyes round and her cheeks flushed.
"What is it, Mademoiselle Alice?" he asked, his voice choking up to a higher register and his French accent deserting him completely.
"Have you done it?!" she shouted in a most unbecoming way.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
15.6
"Murder!" Alice said with alarm. That was rather more than she had expected. "Murder?" she repeated, her voice decidedly less audible. "Here?"
De Sauvinage nodded. "It was more than forty years ago, when this villa was still occupied by the Duke."
"Which Duke?" Alice asked, forgetting her terror for a moment.
"The Duke of this villa," de Sauvinage said with a touch of irritability. "I don't know his name."
"It's a rather important fact," Alice said, her tone conveying a distinct shade of disapproval.
"Well, it is not one that I possess," de Sauvinage said with finality. "About forty years ago -- no, I cannot be more specific than that," he added, anticipating another interruption from his audience. "The Duke was away on business, of some unknown type," he rushed to say, regarding Alice with a severe look, or so it appeared from behind the disguise. "His younger brother was in charge of the estate and had some very questionable companions allowed as guests in his brother's absence."
"One of these men was the notorious Comte Sangsue, a reviled man of irregular hours and unpardonable tastes."
Alice shivered. It was quite too horrible to contemplate.
"The Comte had, unbeknownst to his host, had his henchmen spirit away a noble young lass and he received her in secret in this very house."
"No!" Alice interjected. The horror of it all! She thanked her lucky stars once again that having had to be kidnapped, she had at least been spirited away by men who knew their place. Her heart went out to the poor unfortunate even as her finely honed sense of morality shrank from the likely (and only vaguely understood) fate the poor young woman suffered.
"Indeed," Alice's own kidnapper continued. "Sequestered in a room of this villa--"
"On this floor," Alice filled in, her voice breathless with terror and excitement.
"On this floor," de Sauvinage agreed, though once again reminding her, "but probably not this room, he had her secreted away to use her for his filthy Gallic purposes."
"How terrible!"
"Indeed," de Sauvinage repeated. "When night fell, he crept away from the other revelers and made his way to the room where the frightened young woman awaited her unspeakable fate."
"Unspeakable," Alice repeated with dread fascination.
"The story was told that she did her best to resist him, shrieking in terror and fighting off his advances with all decent outcry."
"And did he…?" Alice could barely bring herself to ask.
Gilet de Sauvinage leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "At the very last minute--"
"Yes?!"
"She evaded his advances--"
"Hurrah!"
"By falling out the window and plunging to a horrible death!"
De Sauvinage nodded. "It was more than forty years ago, when this villa was still occupied by the Duke."
"Which Duke?" Alice asked, forgetting her terror for a moment.
"The Duke of this villa," de Sauvinage said with a touch of irritability. "I don't know his name."
"It's a rather important fact," Alice said, her tone conveying a distinct shade of disapproval.
"Well, it is not one that I possess," de Sauvinage said with finality. "About forty years ago -- no, I cannot be more specific than that," he added, anticipating another interruption from his audience. "The Duke was away on business, of some unknown type," he rushed to say, regarding Alice with a severe look, or so it appeared from behind the disguise. "His younger brother was in charge of the estate and had some very questionable companions allowed as guests in his brother's absence."
"One of these men was the notorious Comte Sangsue, a reviled man of irregular hours and unpardonable tastes."
Alice shivered. It was quite too horrible to contemplate.
"The Comte had, unbeknownst to his host, had his henchmen spirit away a noble young lass and he received her in secret in this very house."
"No!" Alice interjected. The horror of it all! She thanked her lucky stars once again that having had to be kidnapped, she had at least been spirited away by men who knew their place. Her heart went out to the poor unfortunate even as her finely honed sense of morality shrank from the likely (and only vaguely understood) fate the poor young woman suffered.
"Indeed," Alice's own kidnapper continued. "Sequestered in a room of this villa--"
"On this floor," Alice filled in, her voice breathless with terror and excitement.
"On this floor," de Sauvinage agreed, though once again reminding her, "but probably not this room, he had her secreted away to use her for his filthy Gallic purposes."
"How terrible!"
"Indeed," de Sauvinage repeated. "When night fell, he crept away from the other revelers and made his way to the room where the frightened young woman awaited her unspeakable fate."
"Unspeakable," Alice repeated with dread fascination.
"The story was told that she did her best to resist him, shrieking in terror and fighting off his advances with all decent outcry."
"And did he…?" Alice could barely bring herself to ask.
Gilet de Sauvinage leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "At the very last minute--"
"Yes?!"
"She evaded his advances--"
"Hurrah!"
"By falling out the window and plunging to a horrible death!"
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