“I’m going to destroy you.”
“You don’t frighten me.”
Cousins Reginald and Jacque Penn were stood close. Reginald, the elder, scowled most severely. Jacque returned the sentiment. They squared their shoulders against each other. Middle cousin, Jean Luc, stepped between them.
“Alright, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s keep this civilised.”
The tension on Reginald’s brow smoothed as he started to laugh.
“You talk a good game. Let’s see how good you really are.”
On the lawns of Penn Estate in Luen there was always a game of rugby when the family got together. As head of the family, Reginald, reigned from Coldford City. Visiting home meant he had to show who was still in charge.
Jean Luc took a coin from the pocket of the shorts he wore
“Jacque? Call it,” he requested before flipping the coin and covering it on the back of his hand.
“Heads,” Jacque declared. “No … tales,” he decided. “No wait, heads,” was his final call.
Jean Luc uncovered the coin. It was in fact heads. Jacque cheered. It gave him first pick of his team.
“Simon?” he called to the middle born of Reginald’s triplet sons, teenagers at this time. “You’re with me. Let’s show the old man what us young bucks can do, ah?” he declared confidently.
Pleased to be picked first Simon joined his cousin. Jacque clasped his head and planted a kiss on his brow.
“Marcus?” Reginald called upon the eldest of his triplets. “You’re up, my boy.”
Turning to Emmerson, Jacque beckoned.
“You join us. I want your strength in the second row.”
Reginald craned his neck.
“Junior? Where’s Junior?”
“He was over with his mother, sir,” Emmerson explained.
Reggie, or Reginald Junior, had just dropped from a tree close to the main patio where Rita Penn and some of the other women were enjoying the afternoon sun. He had dropped from quite a height so he had startled his mother.
“Are you alright, baby?” she asked.
“I’m fine mother,” Reggie beamed. He held up a neon green frisbee he had retrieved. He passed it to his little cousin Nicholas, Jean Luc’s nephew. Nicholas hugged him.
“Thank you, Reggie. I thought it was lost for good.”
As the youngest of the triplets Reggie was used to being treated like a baby. When their little cousin, Nicky, was around he enjoyed the opportunity to be the one looked up to.
“I think your father wants you for the game,” Rita told him.
“Junior!?” Reginald was calling across the lawns.
“I should play too,” Nicholas decided.
Mrs Ramier, Nicholas’ most affectionate and dedicated nanny, objected.
“Oh no, not at all my little duckling. You could get hurt. You will get your clothes all filthy.”
Nicholas was determined.
“I’m getting older. I should take part in the game. It’s a tradition,” said he.
“Look after him,” Rita told her son.
Reggie rested an arm around Nicholas’ shoulder.
“C’mon, duckling,” he teased.
Nicholas was the youngest of the group and quite a delicate thing in comparison to the rest of his family. Still the boy was determined. He waited enthusiastically as the rest of the team was selected.
“Pick me! Pick me!” Nicholas kept insisting as the other players were selected. “I can play.”
Finally, at the last, when there were no other players left, it was up to Jacque.
“Fine Nicky. You’re with us.”
“Saving the best for last,” the boy assumed.
Jacque clapped his shoulder.
“Yes. That is exactly what I was doing,” he jested.
Pointing to a far section Simon instructed, “that’s your position. Don‘t move from it. You guard that spot.”
Nicholas agreed most enthusiastically.
“Yes, the spot. It is a precious and important spot. I shall guard it with my life.”
“Just stay there,” Simon warned.
The game commenced. Team Jacque charged forward with Simon throwing the ball to Emmerson. He managed to skip a tackle from Reggie to be met with Marcus. Before he stumbled he threw the ball back to Simon who dashed away from his brother.
Meanwhile, watching them from a distance, Nicholas called, “well done. The spot is still safe you know.”
Simon yelled something back but the distance was so much he couldn’t really hear him. He would much rather have been among the game where he could see Reginald throw Jacque to the ground. Jacque was quickly back up on his feet and charged into Reginald. He slammed his shoulder into chest causing Reginald to gasp.
“You asshole, Jacque!” Reginald called.
“Don’t have a heart attack old man,” Jacque teased.
The game continued and Nicholas still watched from afar. He had started to edge towards the game but Emmerson warned him to stay put.
“Guard your spot,” he cried across the field.
“Oui, the spot. So important.”
Reginald managed to catch Jacque in a choke as they continued to fight over the ball. He kicked at his calf and threw him to the ground. He then proceeded to heave the ball down on Jacque’s gut.
Jean Luc blew a whistle in warning to which Reginald responded by laughing heartily.
Nicholas had grown so bored by this point he was fidgeting with the waistband of his shorts.
“The spot is still secure,” he called. “C’est securise!”
The game heated up. The players were tackled, thrown and beaten. The mud was churned up. Jean Luc found himself stepping in again when Reginald and Jacque started to throw fists. Jacque argued with Jean Luc so Jean Luc blew his whistle and asked him to leave the field. Jacque shoved him so Jean Luc gave him a stinging whack across his face, blew his whistle and pointed more determinedly to leave the field. Jacque laughed it off and departed, raising a finger to Jean Luc.
The game continued and the ball finally came soaring towards Nicholas. He caught it and called to his teammates in exuberance.
Simon said something in return as he and Emmerson tried to hold back Reggie and Marcus.
“Quoi? What did you say?”
Simon repeated what he had said but it was still a struggle to hear from such a distance.
“I can’t hear you Simon.”
“Run!”
Finally the cry was clear.
“Merde! Shit!” Nicholas exclaimed.
Marcus broke free. They were now charging towards him so he did as was instructed. He may not have had the same strength as his cousins but he was speedy for a young boy. He managed to dash to the opposing side. Help was provided by Emmerson heaving opposing Loyalists back. Nicholas dropped the ball and covered his ears as he felt the charge descend upon him. There was a cheer. Was he responsible for that cheer? He was tres magnifique. He was a sportsman!
Reginald was congratulating Emmerson on his determination when one of the staff from the estate interrupted the game.
“Phone call for you Emmerson.”
***
When he arrived in the main lounge the housekeeper, Analise, was already holding the receiver out to him.
“Merci,” he said as he took it from her.
Analise was a woman of mid fifties, filled with the essence of serious service. She often scolded the triplets when they were being overly rowdy, especially Reggie who could be particularly unruly. She was a kindly woman though. She always treated the lads from Coldford well. She departed the room respectfully as Emmerson took the call. It rendered him a little nervous. In his experience calls would only come directly to the Penn estate when there was something serious to discuss.
“Hello?”
There was a sigh on the other end. It was the voice of an older man. Life experience read in his tones.
“Claude? Is that you?” he asked. The Luen accent carried the words across the distance between them.
“It is. Oui. Who’s this?”
“It’s Laurent.”
Emmerson’s lips traced a smile. The rise of the emotion was involuntary. His heart beat a little faster as the recognition of the voice swept over him
“It’s been a long time,” was all Emmerson could think of to say.
It had been a long time. A few letters had been exchanged but communication had been limited.
“It has my dear boy,” Laurent agreed.
As Laurent continued to speak, Emmerson tried to shake himself from the daze the phone call had sent him into.
“I’ve missed you terribly,” Laurent said.
Emmerson sniffed. He held the phone receiver away from him. Giving a quick glance around the Penn lounge. The family were always surrounded by old fashioned things that reminded of an elegant, bygone era. The receiver he clasped was part of an old rotary telephone. It had a rattling ting whenever someone called. Emmerson was surprised it hadn’t left the housekeeper with tinnitus having to listen to it. It had been passed down from Olivier Penn who held the Auction House through the industrial age.
Emmerson drew himself from his retreat into the past which was difficult to do when it was a voice from his past that was calling to him.
“I tried to reach you in Coldford. They told me you were in Luen,” Laurent explained.
“Maybe you should just tell me what you want, eh?” Emmerson prompted.
He could hear Laurent sigh again. Emmerson was regretful his voice had sounded harsh.
“You’re a good boy, Claude,” Laurent assured. “You know I’ve always loved you.”
“It’s her isn’t it?” Emmerson interrupted.
“It is,” Laurent agreed. “I’m afraid it’s now quite urgent.”
“I’m grateful for the chance to speak to you although we don’t need her permission. The Madame Le Comtesse has held on to your collar long enough.”
“We’d like to see you,” Laurent put to him. “You’re in Luen now. Now is your chance. Please Claude, for my sake. I wouldn’t ask it of you if it weren’t important. She really doesn’t have long left. It would mean a lot to her.” He could hear Emmerson grumble so he continued. “It would mean a great deal to me.”
“Fine,” Emmerson agreed. “I’ll come and pay my respects.”
Laurent was relieved.
“I’ll send a car for you. I’ll ask the Penns permission for your leave.”
“It’s fine. I’ll arrange it myself. I still remember my way. I’ll be with you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Merci! Merci! I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll have lunch together. We have much to catch up on.”
“How long does she have?” Emmerson asked of the comtesse – a title here meaning countess, a lower ranking noble of the land.”
“They are arranging her execution now. I’ll know better today,” Laurent explained.
“Did she ask you to call me?”
“Not specifically.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Emmerson confirmed. “If anything it will give us time to talk.”
“I would love that,” Laurent said with some glee consuming the somber tones of uncertainty he had spoken with earlier.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Emmerson rang off, replacing the receiver, giving himself a moment to register the voices and names from his past. He jerked with fright when the telephone cried out its rattle again. He felt the housekeeper urge him aside.
“I’ll get that,” she ushered. “It will be the bakery with junior’s biscuits. That boy loves his sugar. It’s no wonder he’s bouncing around like he’s possessed all day,” she quipped. She lifted the phone. “Madame Rosley speaking. Oui, comment ca va?”
Emmerson stepped outside leaving the housekeeper giggling with the baker. He was met by two of the triplets, Simon and Reggie.
“Jacque is still arguing with Jean Luc,” Simon explained. “Nicky got a bloody nose so Mrs Ramier is taking to get cleaned up.”
“We weren’t even playing,” Reggie put in with a laugh. “He tried to throw the frisbee.”
“Are you coming back to the game?” Simon asked Emmerson.
Reggie had leapt onto his back. Simon responded by heaving him aside and the two fell into a tackle.
“Save it for the game,” Reginald interrupted. “Go on,” he told his sons. “Take it to the lawns.”
The two triplets darted off with Emmerson reaching his foot out with a playful kick towards Reggie’s backside. Although his energy was low he managed to pull himself together.
“Everything alright?” Reginald asked.
Emmerson managed a smile.
“Just some business to attend to. I’ll be fine, sir. I do have a favour to ask. I need to visit Le Grange before returning to Coldford. The Comtesse Du Maurier has asked for me.”
“When word broke of her arrest I thought she might want to see you,” Reginald surmised.
Emmerson explained, “word is she won’t see out the week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Reginald stated sincerely. “You do what you need to do. We’re here for you. Take all the time you need. We’ll send the comtesse our best wishes. In the meantime you look after yourself. There’s a car waiting if you want to leave now.”
“It‘s fine, sir, thank you. I said I’d travel up in the morning.”
Reginald nodded.
“Anything you need just ask.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emmerson returned. “I’d like to go finish the game if we can.”
“You’re on,” was Reginald’s reply. He squeezed his shoulder with the same affection he would his own sons and together they returned to the field.
***
The following morning Emmerson made the drive north from the Penn Estate to Le Grange, home of the Comtesse Du Maurier. He was greeted upon arrival by Laurent who came rushing from the main house. He embraced him warmly with a kiss on both cheeks.
“It’s so good to see you,” he assured.
“It’s good to see you too, uncle,” Emmerson returned with equal affection.
“A fine man you’ve become,” Laurent was commenting as they headed towards the house. “She’s in her study.”
“I had better not waste any time then.”
Laurent sensed some sarcasm. They shared a look and Emmerson laughed.
He was taken to the Madame le Comtesse’s private rooms. The lighting was low and somber as though a death had already occurred. Fresh flowers had been laid too. There was an arrangement of blue orchids that had been sent by Rita Penn. It was filled with the scent of vanilla bringing Emmerson back to the childhood days spent there. Resting in a wine coloured, wing back chair was a slender woman of elder age. She was wearing a harsh expression. Her features were much like Emmerson’s but without the personable charm. A chambermaid had just poured a glass of wine. The pretty young girl remained by her mistress’ side.
“Young Claude is here to see us mama,” Laurent announced excitedly.
“I can see that,” was the old woman’s reply. “I’m neither blind nor senile.”
“How are you feeling grandmama?” Emmerson asked with some caution in his step.
“I’ve had better days,” said she. “Come sit with me. The rest of you can leave.”
The others started to filter out. Madame le Comtesse seemed to give it some more thought and called the girl back. “Not you,” she ordered. “Fetch another glass for my grandson.”
“There’s no need,” Emmerson tried to object.
“Shoosh! You’ll have some wine with me and that’s the end of that. I haven’t seen you in so long.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So busy the years have passed? Bullshit.”
The chambermaid collected another glass from the cabinet, filled it and passed it to Emmerson, returning to her station without word. Emmerson accepted his glass with gratitude but held it in his hand without tasting any.
“You haven’t been back since your parents died. I have noticed that,” the grandmother commented.
Emmerson had no response so she went on. “I can’t blame you. It must be difficult coming here without your mama. She was always a buffer between us.”
“We rarely agree,” said Emmerson. “Mama stood as the devil’s advocate.”
“It’s because we’re so alike.”
“I would argue it’s because we’re nothing alike grandmama.”
The old lady chuckled at Emmerson’s challenging tone as though it confirmed her point.
“I’m glad you are here. I truly am,” said she with genuine affection that only someone as close as her grandson would recognise. “I’d hate to be here at the end of it all and for us not to have spoken. I would like you, above all, to know what happened. My marriage was one of convenience rather than affection. I had affections as a girl but I gave them all up at my father’s request. It was more important to marry wealth and status in this God forsaken place. Your grandfather had affections of his own. The difference was he didn’t give them up. He was discrete at first with respect to me. In return I lived a comfortable life. I played my part. I gave him a son, your Uncle Laurent and a beautiful daughter, your mama. I was glad Amelie managed to marry for affection. Maurice was a good man and a good father to you.”
Emmerson nodded in agreement.
“He was the best.”
“Our children grew up and had children of their own. I thought with my devotion to our union your grandfather would at least settle down as we aged. He did not. He got worse. He no longer cared to be discrete. I had served my purpose so he didn’t care for me either. It was disgusting. He was the talk of the whole court. It was an insult towards me too far. The biggest insult was him keeping my son from his rightful inheritance. Each breath he took was depriving Laurent from his birthright. He would do a much better job than a filthy old lecher.
One evening I fixed your grandfather a drink. I laced it with enough arsenic to kill a horse. I was surprised it all managed to dissolve the way it did. I suppose that’s what happens when you use cheap wine. Within minutes the blood began to pour from nose, his ears, his lips. I watched him writhe on the floor.
I didn’t deny it when his body was taken away. There wasn’t much point in that. I had reached the end of my temper as so many women before me have and there was no going back. The courts decided I will be beheaded tomorrow. Before that I wanted you to meet someone. Cora? Come forward and let my grandson get a look at you.”
The chambermaid took a hesitant step, her head bowed shyly. The old lady seemed pleased.
“Cora is the daughter of one of your grandfather’s whores which makes you relatives of sorts. I took pity on her. I’ve kept her in my service for some years. When I’m gone I’d like you to take her,” she said.
“Take her?”
“Put her to use. She can cook, clean, fetch, mend. It’s difficult to find a dutiful servant these days. I’m gifting her to you.”
Emmerson frowned. He leaned closer to his grandmother.
“I don’t need any kind of servant,” he stated. “Just let the girl go.”
“Cora,” Madame le Comtesse reminded him of her name.
“She’s not a pet, grandmama,” Emmerson groaned with frustration. “I’m not going to bond better by learning her name.”
“She’ll serve you well,” the grandmother maintained. “She’s not a whore like her mother. I was quite certain of that. You’re not a whore are you Cora?”
The girl stated quite clearly that she was not.
“I don’t need any help,” Emmerson told them, checking his temper. His own mother would have been able to insist better. She really did make a great buffer between them.
“Everyone needs help from time to time,” was the grandmother’s argument. “You’ve always been a terrible boy for accepting that. I’m trying to make peace with you. I’m trying to set my affairs in order. You could be more grateful of my gift.”
Emmerson grumbled.
“You can’t gift another person, grandmama.”
“You can if they are providing a service,” she returned.
“I will be dutiful,” Cora said.
The grandmother continued to speak as though Cora wasn’t even there.
“I like to make sure my things are taken care of,” she said.
By the same time tomorrow she would be gone so what did it really matter?
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