Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN part 3

His Lordship, meanwhile, set about obtaining rooms at the hostelry, swearing to himself that he should soon set about on a little investigatory excursion of his own. With conspiracy in their mien, they took leave of one another. The tavern was quiet as Lord Seyton Clover first suspected it to be and it was with liberal salutations to the health of the French nation (paid for by His Lordship) later that night which obtained him snippets of gossip about Le Château des Amourettes which made him fair flush with anger and disgust! 

He had located the inn-keeper, a man of dour aspect on first appraisal, who had, however, a good command of the English tongue and a distinct disregard for the Château and its owner. Once this stout soul realised that the Englishman had reason to hate and abhor that particular ‘maison de plaisir’, he became eloquent enough.

“Pah, M’sieur! I should ’ave naught to do with THAT place if I were you! We locals suffer the goings on there because so many of ze idle rich - and our masters - despoil themselves there! Their fun, it fair makes ze good man spit,” – as if to convey more appropriately his feelings, he did exactly this, so that a steaming globule of saliva burned into the sawdust on the floor. 

“But, if you ask me, things they will change! We people are beginning to find our own voice now, oui ami. Why, there is a young man in zese parts he can wax lyrical and as profound as any college professor. Or, decadent judge! And the sooner they change, these things, the better if you ask me! Why, M’sieur, I could tell you tales I ’ave ’eard of THAT house and THAT woman, which would make ze ’airs stand upright on your ’ead! What does she term herself? Madame... Madame d’Esprit! Indeed, well she iz able to purchase many fine spirits I am sure, from cellars other than my own, paid for by her own traffickings with the Black One and by the poor jeune filles she ensnares! Spirits! Ghosts! I should think she must ’ave nightmares of a night with those of flesh an’ blood she ’as sent to ze early grave!” 

He leant, with filial familiarity, closer to Lord Seyton Clover: “Monsieur, there are those in zis neighbourhood whole young maids 'ave disappeared never to be seen again. And then, again, there are others in zis neighbourhood who have come across abandoned ones: once their novelty ’as worn thin, or they ’ave not been able to stand ze pace! ’Ow do you say? Zey ’ave been dried up, or driven within an inch - or sometimes into - ze Death by fornication! Ah oui! Dieu rest zeir souls! She is a very wicked woman, a very wicked woman! Zis Madame! Sometimes, we ’ear of girls who have been whipped near la morte, 'hoo have wandered the lanes hereabouts, witless, mindless! For she knows not mercy THAT one! Nor her fine friends, Comte this and Marquis that: those who trade and deal and buy the flesh she deals in, by ze minute, ze hour. Like ’orse flesh to be prepared for ze pot! Between ourselves, M'sieur." 

Pierre Le Bon, as the inn-keeper named himself, came half an inch away from Lord Seyton Clover’s face: “We shall soon see an END to THAT place. No, no M’sieur, I should advise you to enjoy your liddle ’oliday in La Belle France, but stay well clear of zat PLACE!” 

It was with a throbbing head and with direst trepidation in his heart that His Lordship laid his head to rest that night, on the unfamiliar but freshly-scented pillow of the Inn in the little village of Montérique, just a few leagues removed from the southern outskirts of Paris.