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Three of Swords Short Stories:

In Which Lucien Baptiste Is Seduced by Society, and Learns to Seduce It Back
(Excerpt)

 

Summer 1880 - 8 years prior to Volume I
London, England

...Society meant people. I was painfully shy, with good reason, as evidenced by my latest suppertime fiasco. Such a thing, if it had occurred in the presence of society, might have actually killed me with humiliation. Besides, if Dr. Maxwell wanted to keep his business, he’d know better than to show me about. A clumsy seventeen-year-old who was all arms and legs and eyes, and was likely to bring an entire dance hall crashing about his ears by a mere sneeze. No, thank you, I said to that, and I remained fairly content carrying about the doctor’s tools and making myself scarce.

Thus, I was surprised when, later that evening, the doctor called for me to make a house call by myself.

“Me?” I gaped at him, my knees beginning to knock together. “Sir, I-I can’t—”

“Don’t be frightened, Lucien, it’s not what you think. I only need you to deliver a medication to the Thomingtons’ on Paisley Street.” He gazed at me over his spectacles, looking concerned again. “But only if you’re certain you feel well?”

“N-No, I’m well, I only—” I stopped short when the doctor thrust a clinking wooden box into my hands, and I glanced up at him in fear. “Sir, the medicines, I’m sure to break them—”

“Lucien,” Dr. Maxwell interrupted, grabbing my shoulder and giving me a slight shake. “How will you ever be able to do anything if you quake with terror every time you’re given a new responsibility?” When I flushed and dropped my eyes, the doctor shook his head. “This childhood awkwardness will soon pass, but you will never overcome it unless you are willing to take chances and be brave. Now, do you remember how to get to the Thomingtons’?”

I did, for I’d been there often enough with Dr. Maxwell, carrying along his black bag and trying to be careful. Mr. Thomington was long dead, and Mrs. Thomington seemed set on following him soon. She’d had the consumption for many months now. Her only child was a daughter named Marianne, whom I’d only seen a number of times, though she was the older lady’s primary caretaker. Except for them and a few servants, the house was very empty. I always waited in the hall, for Dr. Maxwell forbade me to enter Mrs. Thomington’s sickroom lest I saw her coughing up blood—or worse, caught the disease myself. I did have quite the knack for catching every illness that came my way, and it was beginning to wear on the doctor’s nerves.

He told me to be careful not to enter the lady’s room, only to give the medicines to Marianne Thomington, along with verbal instructions on her mother’s dosage. I hurried as fast as I dared to the Thomingtons’ home, terrified that I’d somehow drop my precious box of medicines. I found myself in quite a dilemma once I reached their door and could not spare a hand to ring the doorbell. I stood silent, panicking, until Misère took pity on me finally and pulled the cord with his beak. Within moments, the door opened and Marianne peered out at me in the light from the streetlamp. “Yes?” she said softly, looking up at me and blinking slowly.

My face flushed immediately. “Miss Thomington, I was sent by Dr. Maxwell, with medicine for your mother.” I swallowed hard, avoiding her direct gaze. I was never used to girls and they made me even more nervous than usual.

“Ah, yes, you’re his assistant...Lucius, was it?”

“Lucien, Miss Thomington.”

“That’s right, something in French. Do come in.” She held the door wider and I stepped inside, glancing about at the ornate wallpaper in the foyer. “Mother’s been resting, as the doctor said. All the servants have gone to bed; it’s only I still awake to care for Mother.”

I nodded and followed her in, up the stairs and to the hall outside her mother’s bedroom. I set the box of medicines carefully upon a small side table and opened the lid. The bottles of reddish liquid stood lined up as they’d always been, not one of them broken. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is that your funny black bird?” Marianne asked suddenly, a barely-subdued laugh in her voice. Misère ruffled his feathers indignantly.

“Yes, yes, he is,” I replied hurriedly, glancing up at Misère then back down at the medicines. “Now, Miss Thomington, Dr. Maxwell bade me tell you the instructions for the consumption elixir. Your mother is to have one tablespoon three times a day. If her cough gets any worse, then you are to increase the dosage to two tablespoons.” I looked up at Marianne and blinked. “She must always take it with food or tea, but no milk...or her cough will be aggravated...and once she starts to get better, you can...um...that is...you....” I stopped, having lost my train of thought. I’d been reciting Dr. Maxwell’s words perfectly, so it was no fault of mine.

It was Marianne. She was standing not far from me, listening earnestly and nodding her head, but there was something in her lovely face that indicated she was not very much interested in consumption medicine. She had a perfectly heart-shaped face, with reddish-gold curls framing a wide forehead, and round, dewy brown eyes which blinked lazily every four seconds or so. Her pink dress hugged her hips and small waist, framing her shoulders and coming round to a neckline that revealed more than a hint of décolletage. She was so petite that I quite towered over her, but she was doing something that made me feel...odd.

“You know, I do already know the directions for this medicine,” she said after a very awkward silence. “Dr. Maxwell has prescribed it before. If you please, I’ll take it to her now, and then I shall see about showing you out.” She held out her hand for the bottle, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

I did not even ask what she meant by that last phrase; without a word I turned back to the box and fumbled for the bottle. I’d been doing so well in the first few moments, but all was lost now. I picked up one bottle, only to have it smash to the floor before I could think about being careful. “Forgive me, miss! I’ll take care of it!” Handing her a fresh bottle, I knelt down and wiped up the mess with my handkerchief. Marianne breezed past me into her mother’s room, her skirts rustling inches from my face.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Misère hopped off my shoulders to where I knelt on the floor. He peered up into my face quizzically with his shiny grey eye. I shook my head violently. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The same as always, no doubt. Ah, don’t look at me like that, dear fellow, I feel ridiculous enough as it is.” I finished cleaning up the spilled medicine and broken glass just as Marianne came back out, still smiling that queer smile.

I stood up and closed the medicine box, apologizing again for my clumsiness. She only laughed and shook her curls. “No need to apologize. Mother claims she’ll be better long before the medicine runs out, so I don’t believe we’ll need them all.”

I had heard Dr. Maxwell say otherwise, but I didn’t tell her that. “Well, if you do not need anything else, I’d best be on my way,” I said, bowing and taking Misère on my arm. I waited for her to dismiss me with a curtsy, but she remained still, looking at me.

“How old are you, Lucien?” she asked suddenly.

I blinked. “Seventeen.”

“And do you live with Dr. Maxwell?”

“Yes, with him and Mrs. Maxwell.”

“Do you think he’ll miss you if you stayed late for a cup of tea?”

I stared at her, surprised. Usually I avoided social activities at all costs, but unexpectedly I deeply desired to stay as long as she let me. I glanced up at the grandfather clock across the hall, just as it chimed eleven o’clock; Dr. and Mrs. Maxwell would have gone to bed a half hour ago. They would never notice what time I returned. “I don’t...suppose he will.”

“Very well.” Marianne turned away, walking down the hall, then stopped. “I take tea in my bedroom...you don’t mind, do you?” She looked back at me over her shoulder, her chin curving seductively downward.

I didn’t mind. In fact, I found there was very little I did mind. Marianne had a little sitting room adjoining her actual bedchamber; the latter could be seen through a set of French doors, a large fluffy canopy bed covered in a white lace spread. At her bidding I sat awkwardly in one of her brocade sofas, accepting the cup of tea she handed me. I expected her to sit on the opposite sofa, facing me, but to my delight she settled down right beside me, stirring her tea slowly. “Do you like honey or sugar?” she asked.

“Honey will do, if you please.”

Instead of handing me the honey jar, Marianne spooned some into my cup herself, stirring it with her own spoon which she then delicately licked clean. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, and she noticed and laughed. “Come now, Lucien. Say something. I know you are thinking, so speak.”

“I don’t know what to say, Miss Thomington,” I said, looking down into my cup.

“First, you can say my given name, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

My eyes darted to her face in surprise; she was laughing at me. I felt my face grow hot. “I will call you Marianne; it’s no trouble at all. If you want to know what I’m thinking....” I tried to withstand her gaze, but I couldn’t, and stared back into my tea, “...that’s quite another matter.”

“Be frank with me, then. Look, if it makes you feel any better, I shall be honest myself.” She drew up her legs onto the sofa and leaned over me, her hand toying with my hair. “I asked you to stay because I find you an intriguing young man...and also because I’ve a weakness for pretty boys like yourself. I’ve no pretenses, Lucien. I only need to know what you’re thinking, because I must know if we’re in agreement.” She smiled.

I didn’t look up from my tea. “I think you’re extremely beautiful, and...and I’ve a sudden longing to...to....” My voice trailed off; I’d lifted my head to see Marianne’s face close to mine, her warm breath on my lips. I looked into her eyes a second before my gaze was drawn away to her lips. “To kiss you,” I said quickly, and she moved forward just as I spoke, her lips meeting mine. The kiss was very slow and careful at first. I had no way of knowing whether my clumsiness would apply here as well in order to more fully humiliate me. But Marianne was not clumsy or careful. She had experience in the art of kissing.

Yet she pulled away after a minute or so. “Is this not your first kiss?” she demanded breathlessly.

“It is.”

“No one would ever know,” she said in a complimentary tone, and regarded me with interest. “I am wondering something, Lucien.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I am wondering how much of this I am going to have to initiate. But then again, I am five years your senior, and all things considered, you’re but a boy. I can’t expect too much of you, can I?”

I looked down at her white shoulders, at the cameo locket in the hollow of her throat, rising and falling with each breath she took. “I don’t believe I understand.”

“It’s all right. I find it a novelty, that is all.” She reached forward without further ado and began to undo the buttons of my waistcoat.

My teacup dropped to the floor and rolled away, leaving a trail of milky brown liquid sinking into the pale carpet. I wondered distantly if it would stain, but soon forgot about it in the thrill of Marianne’s overtures.

The sun was coming up by the time I returned home to Dr. Maxwell’s. I dashed up the stairs and into my room, grateful that the doctor and his wife were yet asleep. I bathed, changed, and hurried down to breakfast just as Dr. Maxwell joined his wife at the table.

“Lucien! What time did you get home last night?” Mrs. Maxwell asked as soon as she saw my face. “I never heard you come in.”

“I don’t remember the time; it was fairly late,” I replied, starting to pour cream into my tea.

“You look tired, boy,” Dr. Maxwell said. “I hope you did as I told you and avoided Mrs. Thomington’s bedroom?”

“I never set foot in Mrs. Thomington’s bedroom.”

“Did the medicines arrive safely?”

“All but one, sir.”

Dr. Maxwell nodded. That was about the best he could have hoped for, and he was satisfied.

“Lucien! The cream!”

I started at Mrs. Maxwell’s exclamation; I’d continued pouring long after my cup had overflowed onto the table, and now thick white droplets were spattering my trouser legs. I sighed.

“Your last pair of blue trousers,” Mrs. Maxwell lamented. “You’ll have to wear your Sunday black on house calls today, while I have Eliza send off your laundry.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Did Marianne understand the instructions you gave her?” Dr. Maxwell asked abruptly.

I looked up at him, surprised. “Yes, sir. She already knew them.”

“Did you leave the box with her or with one of the servants?”

“With her, sir...the servants had all gone to bed.”

Dr. Maxwell nodded, looking down into his plate and slowly continuing to spread marmalade on the same piece of toast.
“Marianne Thomington is a beautiful girl,” Mrs. Maxwell said matter-of-factly, then lowered her voice to a gossipy tone. “Though, I do hear that she gets around, if you know what I mean. It’s a rotten shame, a nice girl like she.”

“She is a nice girl,” I said, absent-mindedly, holding up a bit of tea-biscuit for Misère to nibble. My mind was on Marianne, sure enough, but nothing I would have related to either the doctor or his wife. I had sense enough to be discreet; I didn’t know what they might have done if they’d known, but I had no desire to find out.

I had liked being with Marianne. It wasn’t anything like I’d expected—surely not nearly as wonderful as these things were reported to be, at least not in any poetry I’d ever read—but it was nice and I hadn’t embarrassed myself in any way. Marianne was very kind, besides, going out of her way to make sure I felt all right about it. She’d taken a liking to me, in her own way, and I was as fond of her as I’d ever been of anyone. And, strangely enough, she did take quite an interest in my future.

“What do you suppose you’re going to do, Lucien?”

I glanced at her over my shoulder, nearly losing my balance as I pulled on my right shoe. “Do about what?”

Marianne was still lying in her bed, the blankets covering her to the neck, her white arms stretched above her head, her eyes trained on the ceiling. I’d slipped to her house in the night, as had been my practice of late, and was obligated to leave soon lest Dr. Maxwell miss me. “About your life. Surely you’re not planning to become a pharmacist, as you said?”

I turned around then, buttoning my shirt. “I suppose I am. What else could I possibly do? I don’t have that many options in life, Marianne,” I laughed, turning once again to face the full-length mirror.

“Oh, nonsense. You’d make an outstanding ladies’ man.”

“A what? Don’t be ridiculous....”

“I’m not. Since when am I ever ridiculous?” Marianne sat up, and I could see her behind me in the mirror, slipping a dressing gown over her silk chemise. She walked over, planting her hands on my shoulders and turning me around. “You’re a fine-looking young man...tall, slender, a darling face. Eyes that could make women cry. Have you ever thought of entering society?”

“Society? I’d make a fool of myself.”

“Well, of course, you’d have to learn not to trip over yourself...plus you could not be so shy, or people will be bored of you. But I’m sure if you worked on it, you’d do just fine. Besides, even if you’re not a noble, or from a good family, you’re not entirely without your own qualities. I would think young ladies would flock to you if you’d only show them some of your magic tricks.”

“They’re just tricks,” I said, shaking my head. I had shown Marianne a few of my odd talents, which she found highly amusing. “It’s nothing special, or amazing, or scientifically astounding,” I added with a smile, clasping Marianne’s hand to my chest quickly. She opened it again to find a wrapped piece of butterscotch taffy.

“You’d be surprised what people find astounding,” she replied, smiling back. “Now here...you know I don’t like sweets.” She unwrapped the candy and pushed it into my mouth. “I have been thinking, and I’ve decided to make you my project. I want you to be a socialite. It would grieve me to death if you became a pharmacist...what a waste!”

“Good luck with that,” I said, raising my eyebrows. I shrugged into my waistcoat; Marianne buttoned up the front before I could even touch it. “I believe it’ll take a lot more than magic to hide my clumsiness.”

But as much as I dreaded society, I began to think more carefully about how I carried myself. Marianne’s attentions had given me a bit more confidence, and I began to feel less nervous. At least, I hid my nervousness well. I congratulated myself after three weeks of walking up and down Dr. Maxwell’s stairs without a single trip or fall, and Mrs. Maxwell was glad to see that I didn’t knock things over or break glassware nearly as often anymore. If I was particularly tired, or otherwise at a disadvantage, the clumsiness was bound to return, but I managed to keep it under control.

“Well, that’s not enough!” Marianne exclaimed when I told her of my accomplishments. “So you can walk a straight line without killing yourself and others. Dear me, you need more of my help than I thought!”

I glanced down, slightly uncomfortable.

“Stop that. You can’t be ducking your head every time you feel silly.” She lifted my chin with her finger. “I know you really are a tender little soul, but no one must know that, or they won’t respect you. You need to develop a persona that people will see. Never mind the real you.” Marianne sat up on the bed beside me, and pointed to herself. “Do you think I act in society the way I act with you, Lucien? Not a chance. You must do the same.”

“I see,” I said.

“For instance—you’re going to have to get rid of the bird, Lucien. He’ll scare ladies and...well, I believe the general consensus is that ravens are rather dirty, my dear.” She folded her arms and looked at me expectantly.

I stared at her. “That will never happen.”

Marianne blinked in surprise. “He’s only a pet! You mustn’t be a child about it.”

“I could never get rid of him! He goes with me everywhere!”

“Not to parties, for God’s sake!” Marianne gasped in horror. “No one would let you in the door! No, if that’s the way you are about it, then it’s best you get rid of him entirely.”

“You don’t understand! I’m keeping Misère forever, he’ll go wherever I go, and that’s final!”

For a moment, Marianne looked stunned, and I was actually angry as I stared at her, Misère twittering proudly from my shoulders. Then Marianne smiled and put her head to my bare chest.

“Forgive me, Lucien dear,” she cooed, her curls tickling my throat. “Of course you shan’t give up the horrible old thing. Perhaps we can…work it to your advantage. I’ve much confidence in myself and I am sure we can make do with it somehow.”

I looked away, still not feeling quite warmed up again. It was tiresome being unable to explain my and Misère’s relationship fully to anyone. I could never call him a pet, but he was so beyond a best friend to me that I’d have sounded completely insane had I tried to put it into words. I couldn’t exactly tell Marianne that he was my familiar—that I heard his voice in my head—that he was a distinct, separate part of me that I couldn’t imagine living without.

Misère himself, however, was not a hundred percent in favor of my liaisons with Marianne. He thought it silly at best, dangerous at worst, and begged me constantly not to have any more to do with her.

“How could you ask such a thing of me?” I whispered to him as I lay in Marianne’s bed, watching her at her vanity. She sat upon the pink satin stool, her back to me, letting down her red-gold hair one ringlet at a time. “Marianne is the best friend I’ve ever had—except for you, of course. She likes me. She cares about me.”

Misère’s reply was icy as he vehemently denied my last statement. He thought I was nothing more to Marianne than a mere toy. A diversion, he added.

“Nonsense.” I tried not to think about Misère’s words, for it stung to think of Marianne that way. “I’m not saying we love each other. I wouldn’t even know what that meant. She’s just….” I trailed off as Marianne approached the bed and climbed in, sliding her slender white legs beneath the covers. I leaned over to kiss her, but she barred my lips with her fingers.

“Lucien, I’ve a proposal for you,” she announced. Releasing a giggle, she added, “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” Her lips traveled along the side of my face until they found my ear, and she whispered her plans to me.

Marianne had an inkling that I could make something of a name for myself. It was her greatest wish that I enter society, and she was not about to have me enter it as the shy, invisible nobody I was. Since the Lucien she desired I be did not exist, she would have to create him.

Bits and pieces of Marianne’s ideas began to find their way into my head, and it started to make sense. After all, hadn’t it been my own mother’s wish that I become a socialite? And was it so very far-fetched to wish for it myself?

Misère said it was. He liked to amuse himself by responding to my vain hopes with simple dreams of his own—a nice place for the two of us to live, no more sneaking and lying, the life of medicine far behind us, making a living with my mediocre writing skills. Yet while the picture did retain quite a bit of charm for me, it seemed vague and impossible. Society had once seemed just as much a dream; but with Marianne’s help, it was soon to become a reality.

She took me to a magician show. It wasn’t much of anything, and no one of consequence was present. That was the whole point, she told me. Until I was ready, Marianne wanted me to watch and learn.

“Silliest drivel I’ve ever seen,” I muttered as we walked back towards the Thomingtons’ in the dark. The Maxwells never asked after me; I’d implied that I had taken to visiting old school friends, and they were just happy that I was pursuing healthy social activity. “And how could that fraud even fool anyone? I could see right through every one of those tricks.”

“So you suppose it looked easy?” Marianne asked.

“Certainly. He layered all the cards particularly so the audience would be fooled. But if you were quick enough, you’d see just how it was done. Of course, if it were I on that stage, I could touch the cards with my fingertips, concentrate, and come up with the correct suit—”

“If it were you on that stage, you’d go pale with fright, and pass out on your back,” she laughed. Shaking her curls, she said, “But what I meant was—do you suppose it looked easy to put on such an amusing show? To be an entertainer?”

I stopped in my tracks, struggling to make out Marianne’s face in the flickering light of the streetlamp. “What are you suggesting?”

“Don’t sound so affronted. You surely wouldn’t be lowering yourself, Lucien.”

My face flushed but I said nothing. Marianne had the kindness to look pained; she reached up and cupped her gloved hand against my cheek.

“I am completely serious. Lucien, what else do you have going for you? Would it not be less than you deserve, to become this pharmacist that Dr. Maxwell wants you to be?” She frowned, her dark eyes penetrating. “I can see you, you know, going down that path. Becoming this apothecary, in a little shop which you’d never own, smiling your bright, meek smile and handing people their medicines and skin creams. Some girl would fall in love with your face, marry you, and then henpeck you for the rest of your existence.

“I am not saying you would be grieved with such a life, Lucien, but…would you be happy?”

I hung my head. “Would I be happy entertaining people who would scorn me if they found out I wasn’t quite one of them?

“You could never be one of us, Lucien. You know that. I am only saying that you go as far as you can, where you can. I say you get in as an entertainer where you cannot as a member of the upper class.”

“That sounds terribly underhanded.”

“Ugh! You’ve no idea what underhanded means until you’ve seen the upper class,” Marianne scoffed. “You wouldn’t be the only one, you know. Everyone’s climbing the social ladder—and it does not end when you’ve got to the top. Even the aristocracy fight like mad to keep their spot.”

I eyed her, perplexed. “And this is supposed to make me want to enter society…?”

Marianne sighed in exasperation, swinging my arm up and down. “I see that nothing is going to get through to you until you try it for yourself. You won’t understand until someone throws it at you. Like getting you into bed that first time,” she said with a crass smile.

I had yet enough shyness to blush at that. In a way I often felt like such a fool in front of Marianne, partly in shock at her brazenness, and partly in constant shame that I let her walk all over me. The latter Marianne was quite conscious of, and never missed an opportunity to remind me of that fact. She was scandalized at how compliant I was—never questioning anything she said, always quiet and reserved, careful never to upset her. Granted, hurting Marianne’s feelings was not easy to do, and I never quite acquired the art. But she had no qualms about crushing mine if they happened to get in the way. And I let her, always.

I had a feeling that I liked Marianne a good deal more than she liked me.