Page 62 of Lady Gambit
Desire unfurled in her belly. “I lay awake last night, wishing we were still in your quaint little room above the Old Swan.” Wishing they were making love.
Heat flared in his hypnotic brown eyes. “We may have cause to return there again this afternoon. The description of the man who came looking for me is somewhat vague.”
According to the landlord, the mysterious visitor had a West Country accent. The silversmith next door thought he hailed from West Sussex. Both agreed he had a forgettable face. Both said the man refused to discuss the private nature of his business.
“Then we should not delay.” Excitement gave way to trepidation when she glanced at the entrance to Seymore Court. The narrow alleyway led to Monsieur Chabert’s premises. The place where her darkest memories might be revealed. “Although before we visit the Old Swan, we must gain the answers we need from Mr Powell.”
Dorian gritted his teeth and cursed Mr Powell to Hades. “Damn the devil. He’s been playing us for fools. If we don’t get the truth from him today, I’m taking him into custody for hindering the investigation.”
Judging by the anxious look on Mr Powell’s face when she suggested he had a problem with liquor, he would comply.
Not wanting to be late for the appointment, she approached the alley. All four doors in the dim passage were painted black. The tall brick buildings loomed over her like silent soldiers, forever watchful, the weight of the chilling things they’d witnessed hidden behind the stone facade.
A shiver crawled over Delphine’s shoulders when Dorian stopped walking and gestured to a door. There was no shiny plate outside alluding to Monsieur Chabert’s business. No wooden plaque bearing the mesmerist’s name or profession. Whatever occurred behind the door of Number 20, Seymore Court was a guarded secret.
“Are you certain this is the right place?” She hugged Dorian’s arm tightly, her thoughts like frenzied whispers telling her not to proceed.
Theo’s warning echoed in her mind. What horrors had occurred here? People said mesmerism was akin to witchcraft. Would she lose something more precious than her memory? Would her attachment to Dorian fade like a morning dream?
Dorian faced her, though his fetching countenance did little to settle her nerves. “I’ve had dealings with Chabert before. He’s skilled in the complex workings of the mind.” He glanced at the entrance to the alley, making sure they were alone before kissing her tenderly on the lips. “He will help you understand why you cannot remember anything about the first ten years of your life. Though it could take months to unravel every thread.”
She swallowed past a lump in her throat. One’s memory was a delicate instrument. “In unlocking the door to the past, I may forget other things. What if these last few weeks become a blur? What if I forget about you?”
What if they were gambling with their future?
She had expected another kiss to reassure her but noted an element of fear in his eyes. “I’m sure that won’t be the case, but we will seek Chabert’s advice before we proceed.”
He turned to the ominous black door and knocked three times in quick succession. He counted to five and knocked again.
“Anyone would think we’re meeting the Crown’s best spymaster.” She tried to sound jovial, but the mysterious ritual played havoc with her nerves. It didn’t help that Dorian had consulted the Frenchman as a last resort. “Why the secrecy?”
“People are distrusting of things they don’t understand. Chabert was attacked in the street by a client’s husband.” Dorian paused upon hearing the clip of footsteps in the hall beyond the door and looked at her. “Chabert is a quirky fellow. His methodsmay seem unusual, but we can trust him. If there’s a way to unlock your mind, he will know.”
The scrape of metal and the jangle of keys preceded the door creaking open mere inches. Large brown eyes peered at her through the tiny gap. “Can I help you, madame?”
Dorian stepped closer. “It’s me, Chabert.”
Recognition dawned. “Of course. Forgive me. I sat on my spectacles this morning and broke one lens.” He opened the door and scanned the deserted alley before beckoning them inside. “Come into the sitting room. It is more comfortable there.”
Monsieur Chabert was a short, slender man with wavy black hair. Though he looked to be around forty, he had an innocent, boyish face. They followed him along the sparse hallway. He moved slowly, almost gliding in an effort to remain silent as he led them into his unusual sitting room.
Red velvet curtains and dark oak furniture added an element of warmth to the gloomy space. The console table was littered with strange objects—a picture of an eye, a musical box shaped like an egg, a wooden tower with a hundred steps circling the structure. Her gaze drifted to the painted mural filling one wall. A Japanese woman stood on a footbridge over a river, staring at a path that disappeared into a forbidden forest.
Once the introductions were made, the Frenchman said, “May I fetch refreshment?” He motioned to the plush sofa and invited them to sit. “People, they say it is a warm summer’s day, but they have never lived in Toulouse.”
They laughed before declining his kind offer.
She could barely breathe, let alone drink.
“You should have a dram of something to settle the blood, madame.” He used his thumb and forefinger to indicate a small measure, though it was the subtle insistence in his voice thatmade it impossible to refuse. “I sense your hesitance, but you must have faith in the process for it to succeed.”
She inhaled slowly to calm her thundering pulse. “I shall do whatever you advise, monsieur, but there are questions I must ask before we begin.”
He anticipated her first question, saying, “There is nothing of the supernatural in my methods.” He moved to the drinks table, his steps as seamless as a ghost’s. “Imagine the mind. It is like a warren of corridors with an endless series of doors. Some are open. Some are closed, but they open with ease. Some are locked, barred to all intruders. Even to you.”
Seated beside her on the sofa, Dorian touched her arm gently. “We tend to suppress what is too painful to process.”
“Or we label it as something it is not. Jealousy is just a mask for fear.” Monsieur Chabert returned to the sitting area and gave her a small glass of sherry. “Often a memory can be distressing, but the emotion we attach to it is the key to opening the door.”
