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Post by Gerard Deloncre on Jul 7, 2008 1:33:03 GMT -5
Marquis Gerard Deloncre stepped down from his town coach. It was a fine thing of dark polish that bore his crest. It was driven by a man in livery and pulled by four fine white horses of excellent breeding. It might be regarded as unnecessary by some that he drive all of this way and to such an isolated place in such a style, but the maintenance of his appearance at all times was of vast importance to him. No one must ever see him--not even a forest creature or the white eyes of a corpse--in any other than the finest of the fine. He was the cream of society, titled and uncannily rich. People must never forget that.
He wore that day a fine suit and and coat and carried with him a sturdy silver-headed cane. The head of it was some grotesque Gothic animal that probably had no name in mythology for all of its original and creative horror. His boots were shined and his well trimmed hair and beard slicked neatly, shining in the dull light. It was always gloomy in this cemetery. He rolled his eyes heavenward and crossed himself with a sardonic smile. God save him, he was visiting his wife!
He had been in this place since his wife's death, for he saw no reason to avoid it, yet never for the purpose of pious visitation. He did not exactly know why he was visiting that grave today. He had a bit of trouble now, finding the location, but finally found it and now stood before it in his most domineering and haughty manner. He stared down at the headstone ominously. An anger welled up in him. He had some instinct that she had everything to do with Nicole's disappearance. It had been her purpose, after all! to turn their daughter into a harlot like herself. All of that racing about like some common milkmaid in the fields had enraged him to know end. It was not her place. She had never deserved to be a Marquise, but he certainly would not have ever let her taint his only offspring. He had by blows, of course. They were worth nothing. He needed a wife, soon, for he grew older and had no male heir.
No heir at all, really! Nicole had run off or been kidnapped by a band of cabaret dancers, or something equally shameful. He had to find her, for she was a constant blemish to his name. She had been promised to a man of standing and his word in business had value, damn it all! And this despicable woman over whose dead body he now stood had arranged it. He struck the blunt of his cane disdainfully into the ground and it sunk a bit. He smiled, imagining the look on that self-righteous lady's face. He could hear her infuriating voice running through his head: 'You've no right! I will not let you!'
Damn her. See where that philosophy got her. She had had a small triumph in sending Nicole away, but she would not win. He would get that girl back and she would be a credit to him, with her well-bred husband, and she would father sons that would be a credit to him as well! He would have his way.
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Post by Sébastien Dumont on Nov 10, 2008 14:27:07 GMT -5
Marcelle had wished to visit her parents today, and Sébastien had had no choice but to accompany her. He could not rightly let someone from his household leave and go to Paris unattended, especially a fourteen-year-old girl of his cousin's age. It would not speak well of him to so carelessly let the women he was to watch and care for wander about, would it? Of course not. So, they had travelled the few miles to the Parisian cemetery, and he had been so inclined as to give his driver a little money to go run his errands for him. There had better not be a piece missing! He didn't trust the driver enough not to count every bit he was given back and compare it with the amount of cost projected in his mind.
He truly had no clue what devil had entreated him to stay instead of to go into town for an hour while Marcelle mourned, but one must have, for he was still here, wandering pointlessly along the rows of the dead. What a waste of space. The dead were long departed for the most part here. He read the names and years on gravestones he was sure were not visited anymore. But people had their right to visit loved ones, and perhaps some had morbid curiosity to know who was here and to wonder what their lives had been like. Morbid romantics with hopes and dreams that were out of their league. There was no point to the stories he'd heard some of them weave. Why bother when life was never so kind? But let them be. They were none of his concern. He wondered, though, what Marcelle was spouting off at his aunt and uncle this very moment. Ultimately, it didn't matter since they were dead, but let her be.
It was as he continued to make his way along the rows of graves that he happened to look up, noticing the back of a man. At this point, he had no clue whom he was, but he looked clean enough. He must not be a vagrant or a looter needed to be chased off. The man's presence noted, he continued on along the row he was in, his hand clasping the plain, black cane with the silver nob atop it. It was simple, but it did the job, though he had his eyes on another. As he rounded the corner into the next row he was faced with a dilemma. If he continued along this path, he would run into this unknown man. If he didn't, then he wouldn't but he also would have messed up his pattern. However, would it be appropriate to disturb the man? Nevertheless, such thoughts were cast aside as he recognized the man's profile and the presence of a cane.
Subtlety to hide his curiosity as to why the man was here (was it Nicole or that wife of his?), Sébastien continued slowly down as though appreciating the names or beauty of the stones and statues he passed until finally he reached Gerard Deloncre, the man who should have been his father-in-law by now as well as grandfather to his children with his daughter. But, no! Wait. Nicole had left before the agreement could be acted upon. It was by no trickery of Deloncre's, he was sure, but he had not spoken with the man on a regular basis for the few years since. As he neared the man, he looked at the grave before the man. "You mourn her, Monsieur Deloncre? Do you grow weak?"
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Post by Gerard Deloncre on Nov 11, 2008 0:12:12 GMT -5
Gerard listened without looking as a carriage pulled up, and mentally calculated the number of horse's hooves were pounding. He smiled slightly at the result--yes, a person worth meeting with, and the fact that he had (for once) visited his wife and been caught in doing so could only enhance his reputation. While he waited, barely able to keep patient, he listened to the new set of footsteps that sunk into the mud and read his wife's epitaph over and over again, quelling his scorn with an effort. Finally the man passed, and a glance at the cane from the corner of his eye afforded him the knowledge of the identity of the unexpected visitor. Now who could Dumont possibly be visiting? He was the type that let corpses lie. He looked up and was met with the sight of a skirt disappearing around the edge of a set of stones, and surmised that it was actually due to his ward.
Gerard did not afford notice until notice was given, then acted surprised to see him, with a bright social smile and bow. "The heart is always weak where it has loved and lost," He said, his tone flat. There was no reason to exert effort in convincing Dumont, as they were men of a similar mind and practicality. Having given the proper answer (though portrayed an entirely different sentiment), the Marquis was able to move on to the more important part of that question. Weak? He hoped that he had been referring to his character, and not his physical state. With the latter, it might be taken as commentary on his lack of an heir. He had long considered taking another wife, a young wife, who would give him a male heir, but scandal surrounding Nicole had preventing him from securing a wife of the proper status. Soon, he thought, with the recovery of Nicole and a proper interval of mourning being passed, he could take another wife.
Just in case, however, Dumont was still instrumental in securing an heir. He would be his heir upon his marriage to Nicole (for which Gerard still hoped) and their son would carry on his blood and title. If any man in Paris must be selected as heir, Dumont was surely him; Gerard had such a great disgust for every other foolish romantic fop available that he was glad to think of Sébastien Dumont is his place instead.
"I am quite well, I assure you, and very much myself. I am still unmarried, you might have heard, and I understand that you are in the same state," He began, hardly bothering to keep up the appearance of propriety. There was no reason not to be frank with this particular acquaintance, as they were partners in business of a certain kind. "I have reason to hope that my daughter is still alive and well... and in Paris. I wanted to come tell my wife the good news; our daughter will soon be safely home, I am sure. You will be just as relieved, I imagine?" The question could otherwise have been put, 'Do we still have an agreement?'
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Post by Sébastien Dumont on Nov 29, 2008 20:36:57 GMT -5
"The heart is always weak where it has loved and lost."
Sébastien knew that there was no way that Gerard Deloncre meant that. It was commonly said, but the other's voice seemed to lack the meaning behind it. It was obvious to him. The man, as far as he knew, had married for much the same reason as he himself would choose to marry, and that wasn't for love. "Yet in public is not the place to make a display of it." Alone, no daughter and no son with him. What did that say of the marriage to this woman? It had been worthless, pointless. He had nothing to show for the years wasted with this woman. But then Gerard distracted him with news of Nicole. No, he would never make that mistake with Nicole should they apprehend her. She would be quickly put in her place. Running away had been her biggest mistake, and she would learn it or she would die doing so. It was as simple as that. Based on what he had known of her, she would learn it very well, very expediantly.
"Relieved, Monsieur?" Sébastien replied, smirking slightly. "Thrilled, I believe, is the word I would use." He knew full well what Gerard was getting at. Of course they still had an agreement. He was yet unmarried and a man of his word as well as one who did not enjoy being made a fool of. For Nicole to be found and then promised to another man would make him appear just that, and he knew it. Besides, what other match could he make? Nicole had been ideal to him--submissive, quiet, easy to run and control. She had equated easy prey to him, and Gerard's lust for an heir had made her even easier to ascertain. Her love had not mattered. It had never been an issue. He wanted a pretty thing on his arm to be his wife in public and to produce him children. Love wasn't a necessity.
Marriage was a practicality, something expected of him, and he may as well go with someone he felt he would be able to stand, and Nicole had been it at the time. Unless she had miraculously developed a backbone during her time away, the agreement was still intact. There was so much to ask, but here was not the place to discuss it. "Shall we take a walk? Your driver, perhaps, could watch for my cousin?" He doubted that he would mind unless he had developed some sort of pain that prohibited much walking between their last meeting and now, but why then would he have chosen to kneel before the grave of his deceased wife?
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Post by Gerard Deloncre on Dec 21, 2008 23:04:11 GMT -5
"Yet in public is not the place to make a display of it."
Gerard had to laugh at that, heartily, his hand clenching on the head of his cane. He watched the smirk overtake Dumont's face, and knew the answer before it was given. "Relieved, Monsieur? Thrilled, I believe, is the word I would use." The deal was still intact, then. He could hardly have expected less. The engagement had been made public, after all, and it was expected that the man had to either marry that girl or become a laughing stock. Most people supposed that Gerard had had something to do with the death of his wife, and many thought that Nicole had met a similar fate. He had sometimes wished that he could give himself that credit, but he could not, and would make that fact serve him well. His pretty wife had given him a pretty daughter, and his training had given her sense. At least, she had possessed sense, until she had run off. She would just have to relearn.
"Shall we take a walk? Your driver, perhaps, could watch for my cousin?" Gerard smiled congenially and nodded, lifting a hand to gesture to his driver, who was commanded to keep sharp at all moment. He swept his hand toward the shadow of the girl, and the driver nodded. He was a well-paid man. "Of course! The exercise will do me good. I am getting older, I fear, and cemeteries must surely remind me of my mortality," He did not feel old, and hated that he was; he had plenty of energy left to get things done. The gravel crunched beneath their boots; nice, polished boots, the kind that gentleman wore. When he was certain they were alone, he began again, "A curious painting came into my possession recently. One of my men found it out on the market near the Populaire, which I believe is the setting of the piece... here, have a look."
From his coat pocket he produced the little wooden tablet, on which was painted two smiling women in an opera box. One was Formorian Carlisle, the other, beyond doubt, Nicole Deloncre. "Clever, no, to remain in the one place she is closest to being found? I would be proud of her, if she were a son. However, she will soon learn, I have no doubt. This woman, here--" He indicated Formorian Carlisle. "I do not know her name, but I will find out, and will... take her under my wing. Nicole is a noble, silly little thing, you know, and will be drawn out eventually." He glanced at the corner, where the initials CC were drawn. "I will also find the painter. The man selling it claimed it was the costume maker, an Italian mute, who has been seen in the employ of the Marquise de Balleroy. I would not doubt that all this time, Nicolette has known where to find Nicole, and has sheltered her." He glowered. Oh, that woman made him seethe. She had seemed a harmless enough girl, stupid and leery, but harmless. Now, she was a constant thorn in his side. "Either way, they are women. They have weaknesses in each other, and it will not be long before Nicole is extracted from hiding like a stubborn splinter from my hand," He said it bitterly, then laughed, his eyes on Sébastien.
"Then, she will be yours to deal with. I trust that you will not fail as I did, and be gentle with her. She has burned her bridges."
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Post by Sébastien Dumont on Aug 29, 2009 20:22:36 GMT -5
"...I am getting older, I fear, and cemeteries must surely remind me of my mortality."
The marquis gave his elder a polite chuckle, nodding. "But I believe for it not would make you seem to border delusional. A sad thing that we all must ever age." He continued to walk on in silence until the other man decided to talk. His head turned to look over, his eyes narrowing slightly as he was handed a painting. So close? So close all these years yet they had never discovered her--until now. How many had she told? How many had loved the idea of playing the murderer Deloncre and the proud Dumont to whom she had been promised as fools? But honestly, he knew not many could have known for her secret to have remained secret for very long at all. No, she was indeed as clever as her father had commented. Cleverness was something that had to be driven from her to make her a suitable wife, but how? A friend? A lover? Ha! The thought of Nicole having either made him want to laugh. She was so quiet, a perfect little mouse. What did she do? Help with the costumes? That had to be it. It was the only way she possibly could have gone unnoticed, right?
But at least she was cared for, not some sickly woman on the side of the street based on how the painter had portrayed her. But it was that other girl that caught her eye. She was the key if no one else was, and it seemed that Gerard had a similar thought, knew precisely what he was going to do. He had a plan, Deloncre did. This girl was a friend, someone that could be used to threaten Nicole to return home, and she would. She would never want to be the reason someone else was found dead. However, more information about this stranger was needed. They had gained at least two steps on Nicole through Deloncre's discovery and planning, yet she did not know. He was eager to see what would happen, eager to have his bride, his wedding, his heirs. There would be nothing Nicole could possibly do about it. Sébastien nodded, but shook his head at Deloncre's final words.
"Gentleness, Monsieur? After all she has done?" he asked in disbelief. "Very well, but I will not guarantee it in every way. I'm afraid this must be used to teach her a lesson she never learned."
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Post by Gerard Deloncre on Sept 1, 2009 13:40:16 GMT -5
Gentleness? Treat her with gentleness? Gerard's eyes widened and he stopped walking, turning slowly to face his fellow gentleman in order to inquire as to what he meant. Then, as realisation dawned on him, he smiled slowly.
"You have misunderstood me, Dumont. Gentleness was my mistake -- I was merely warning you, perhaps unnecessarily, of its ineffectiveness."
He contemplated, once more, the pleasant face of Formorian Carlisle. "She is pretty," he said, not clarifying who, but his eyes were directed upon her, clearly. "It will be easy to find out who she is. A pretty face is seldom forgotten, and the fellows in the flies have endless hours to examine them. I will not fail in this; the Marquise de Balleroy is throwing a masked ball in honour of the return of her husband, who is a well-known patron of the Opera. Surely, the artists of the Opera will attend, and I will be able to secure her identity from one of them at the very least -- if she isn't there herself, that is. I will have the blonde woman in my home under some pretense or another by two mornings after that ball, mark me, and Nicole will be rushing to her aid by the day after that. I will find a relative to jeapordise in order to convince her to keep her peace. We shall make quick work of them; I will send for you when your bride has made the decision to drop by."
He turned with that, and eyed his carriage in the distance, and Sebastien's young cousin within his man's sight. "I have some preparation to do. I expect that the whole business is to your satisfaction?" He asked, his hand loosening and tightening idly over the head of his cane. One brow quirked upward, and he smiled knowingly. It was easy to be frank with Dumont, something that was rare to find in other men. Without threats or intimidation, they always managed to see eye to eye, and it was refreshing to do business with a true gentleman.
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