Elementary (24 page)

“Of course,” M. Rupier said. “It will be delivered within the hour.”

With many bows and compliments, he saw her out.

At her departure, Aurelia felt as though the room had enlarged once again. She exhaled. Her master turned his smile on her.

“Mme. Goltier is an intense experience, whether in concert or conversation,” he said. “I suspect you are in need of some fresh air. I have a few errands for you to run. First, of course, take the lady's parcel to her apartments. Then, I wish you to inquire as to the progress of our next order of bottles from the Cristalleries. It will be good for you to get to know the staff of the glassworks, so in future years you will know which master or journeyman to ask for when you have a special request.”

“Yes, monsieur,” Aurelia said, enormously relieved. With more haste than was probably necessary, she fled to the cloakroom to retrieve her summer hat.

 • • • 

If the Parisian summer was hot out-of-doors, Aurelia was stunned at the heat generated within the confines of the Cristalleries Baccarat. Though the kilns and ovens were in the rear of the building, their fire could be felt everywhere. While she sat in the showroom, waiting for one of the staff to serve her, tendrils of hair escaped from her severe coiffure and curled on her cheeks and forehead. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief.

A young man seated in another of the high-backed seats against the white-painted walls leaned over and sniffed.

Offended, Aurelia drew her back more erect than ever. “How dare you, monsieur!” she exclaimed.

“I could not help it, mademoiselle,” the youth said. He was very tall and thin, with a shock of black hair that resisted brilliantine as well as the comb. “I could not help but detect an exotic aroma. That is Mme. Goltier's scent, is it not? I apologize. I work for the House of Bourjois, and we are all trained to notice perfumes of distinction.”

Aurelia realized that the sample Mme. Goltier had sprayed had touched all of them, and she must smell of musk and calendula. Since the lady was so very famous, Aurelia couldn't help but preen. She put a hand to her modest bosom.

“Yes, indeed. She is a client of the House of Rupier. I am M. Rupier's apprentice. Mme. Goltier was in this very morning.”

The young man's sea-blue eyes widened with admiration.

 • • • 

When she returned with good news of their order, she also told her master of the encounter with the apprentice from the rival house. “He was very impressed,” Aurelia said proudly.

Instead of being pleased, M. Rupier's eyes flashed like green fire.

“Are you a common flower seller?
Never
talk about our customers with anyone else!”

Aurelia was deeply taken aback. She bent her narrow body into the very shape of atonement. “But it helps to shine the star of your repute, sir. Others know that you have retained these very famous clients and they cannot steal them.”

M. Rupier threw up his hands. “Oh, they can. And they do.”

Aurelia lowered her face so she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “How could they compete with your wares? Do any of them do magic?”

M. Rupier smiled his cat smile, his temper assuaged. “No. But let our wares and the words of our devotees speak for themselves. Be above such petty things as gossip and publicity.”

With advertisements in every newspaper, and journalists from the social papers stopping by all the time to see who was where, that was a self-defeating policy in Aurelia's eyes. But she was willing to admit that she had been wrong. She kept her head bowed. “I apologize, monsieur. I am yet very young and inexperienced.”

He patted her on the wrist. “You will learn, my child. You will learn.”

 • • • 

The local church bells tolled five of the clock. Alfonse turned the sign on the shop door from “
Ouverte
” to “
Fermée
.” Mindful of the scolding she had received, Aurelia had removed herself from M. Rupier's presence for the remainder of the day, and concentrated on tidying the shop and putting away all the ingredients that had been used. For his part, M. Rupier had secreted himself in the workroom that was hidden to all eyes but those who were touched by the Elemental Magic. But she needed his permission to depart. Summoning all her courage, she peered in the door.

“All is in order, monsieur,” she said. “May I go home now?”

He glanced up from a large marble mortar in which he was grinding herbs. He smiled at her. “Of course, my child. I will see you on the morrow. You did good work today.”

“You see?” Alfonse said, as he unlocked the door to let her out. “All is forgiven. Nothing has been done that cannot be undone.”

Aurelia heard the door shut behind her, then felt the protections necessary to conceal what was within slide closed like a pair of heavy curtains. She had plenty of time to walk to the Cathedral de Sainte-Chapelle for evensong.

 • • • 

It was her habit to compose her mind from the pressures of the day as she went to church. She rolled over in her mind the blessings she had received, thanks to the Good Mother Marie, and counted the small transgressions for which she would ask forgiveness.

The Rue du Faubourg Sainte-Honoré, the small and very chic shopping precinct on which the House of Rupier stood, was filled with people leaving their places of business. Many women, some with children in tow, departed from the elegant stores, leaving behind bowing shop assistants, the men in old-fashioned tailcoats and the women in modest but good dresses like hers. The August sun was still high in the sky. Aurelia was delighted that she would have hours of sunlight after the service.

She walked southeast along the Rue des Halles, enjoying the mild weather. As she turned onto the Pont au Change that led to the bridge over the north branch of the River Seine, a whirlwind of fabulous fabrics and scents bore down upon her and grabbed her by the arm. It was Madame Goltier.

“For the love of God, my child, hide me! He is sniffing for me! He knows what I did!”

“Madame!” Aurelia exclaimed. Her surprise vanished in a moment, replaced by sympathy for a fellow being in trouble. “There is only one haven none will violate. Come with me!” She seized the lady's hand and pulled her the rest of the way over the bridge. They all but ran, their heels tapping impatiently on the paving stones. Looking this way and that for what may have been the hounds of hell, she opened the cathedral door and pushed Madame Goltier into the companionable darkness therein.

The boom of the great doors shut the wider world away from them. In the embrace of the church, Aurelia felt a confidence she did not have in the shop. The blessed saints would not allow anything to befall her or anyone who sought sanctuary within those walls.

“What is wrong, madame?” she whispered as she guided the distraught Mme. Goltier up the stairs to the chapel. Instead of entering the holy chambers, they remained beside the door, out of the way of other worshipers entering for evensong. “Who is pursuing you?”

The lady gave her a curious look. “Did your master not explain my mission?”

“Mission?” asked Aurelia, her heart beating faster than a bird's wing. “No.”

Mme. Goltier produced the small bottle Aurelia had seen her put in her glove. She uncorked it. The air filled with a strong aroma. Aurelia instantly identified rosemary, myrrh, and a dozen other scents, the likes of which she had never known to be combined.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Aide de mémoire,”
Mme. Goltier said, with a meaningful look at her. “It is a charm for strong memories. Your master formulated it for me.”

“A charm?” Aurelia asked, aware that she was blinking stupidly. She was outraged at the notion that bubbled up within her. “You
know?”

“I do. And you must be a magician, too, or he would not trust you so deeply.”

“Why?” Aurelia demanded, feeling as though she had been stripped naked. “Why would he tell you? It puts him and me in terrible danger!”

“We serve the same causes, Mlle. Degard, those of truth and our beloved France,” Mme. Goltier said, folding her hands around Aurelia's. “And I swear to you, mademoiselle, I am in as grave a danger.”

“From whom?”

A subtle noise near the bottom of the stairs interrupted them. Someone was sniffing the air. Surprised at her own boldness, Aurelia took the older woman by the hand and dragged her into the dimly lit sanctuary. They hurried along the side illuminated by Sainte-Chapelle's famous stained-glass windows and all but fell into a pew that was occupied only by an elderly woman in a black lace veil. Over her shoulder, Aurelia saw a man enter. He wore a dark suit and had a shock of untidy hair. The way he moved his head told her he was Mme. Goltier's enemy. He must have been following her by her very distinctive perfume.

Her hand flew to her bag. Within it, she had vials of rare oils that M. Rupier wanted her to study. Not only were they important ingredients in perfumes, but they had magical properties.

The strongest-smelling was sandalwood, but she needed more than that to hide Mme. Goltier's signature scent. Among the other bottles were lemongrass and sweet bay. Quickly, she dabbed drops of the heady attars onto her small, plain handkerchief and anointed the other woman's wrists and throat with it, all the while praying fervently.

“Mother Marie, preserve your daughters. Give us the protection your beloved son wanted for all the world.”

She wished fervently at that moment that she had Alfonse's talent for Earth Magic, that she could form a wall of power around them to keep harm away. Instead, she used her Air talent to draw the fragrances from the oils and mix them between her gloved hands. The fresh perfumes took on a life of their own, forming a cocoon around Mme. Goltier. In a moment, there was no trace of the musky aroma that was her signature scent. Aurelia tucked the bottles away, then pressed her hands together in grateful prayer. She had never done magic within the confines of a church before. So it was true, what M. Rupier said, that God condoned the use of her talents for good. The relief she felt was truncated by the appearance of the dark-coated man in the nearby aisle. He hid his large nose behind a handkerchief. Aurelia remarked that he looked like a foreigner, with dark brows oversized on his square face.

He stopped beside the two women. Mme. Goltier kept her face buried in her hands. He sniffed at the air, his large brows making him look severe. In her mind, Aurelia willed him to go, to go away! It seemed an eternity until he did. She whispered her gratitude to Heaven.

It was not Aurelia's day for confession, so she would not have to tell the priest that she might be sheltering a criminal. She wanted to know more, but an extended conversation in the pews would cause an acolyte to come over and chastise them. Mme. Goltier did not move until the service was at an end. Both women crossed themselves and rose.

“Come with me,” Mme. Goltier said. “I need to write all I know as soon as is humanly possible.”

Aurelia tried to withdraw, but the other woman put her arm around her and pushed her in the direction that she wanted to go.

They crossed from the Ile to the south bank of the Seine, passing through the fourth
arrondissement
, into alleyways where Aurelia did not normally tread. Discreet bronze plaques announced government offices that she had never heard of.

“We are not walking toward your apartment,” Aurelia said. She had been there only that morning with the bottle of perfume. “Where are we going?”

The face that Mme. Goltier turned toward her bore no trace of the celebrity singer, only a frightened woman like herself. “Please, do not ask me in public. Only wait!”

They turned up a narrow passage and were admitted through a creaking black-painted iron gate by a man in a severe suit. Mme. Goltier did not speak to him, only urging Aurelia up flight after flight of stairs.

“Well?” inquired a nondescript man also in nondescript clothing, who occupied the office they finally entered at the top of the building.

“Well. Give me paper and pen!”

“Who is this?” he demanded, looking at Aurelia.

“A friend. A true friend.”

Aurelia was quite forgotten as Mme. Goltier threw herself into the chair before a battered desk illuminated by one of the newest of electric lights. The anonymous man supplied a ream of paper and a box of writing implements. The lady seized a pen and wrote out page after page after page of small, close writing. Aurelia could not believe that anyone could possibly have that much to say. No author could compose at such speed and make any sense. She sidled close to try and read over Mme. Goltier's shoulder, but the man gently urged her back. He gestured her to a straight-backed chair against the wall. Aurelia sat, fearful even to move from the spot.

Hours passed before Mme. Goltier put down the pen and massaged her hand. She smiled at Aurelia.

“Is that all of it?” the man asked, gathering up the papers.

“Every word,” the lady said. She looked exhausted but certain.

“France thanks you, madame,” he said, with a bow, the first human gesture Aurelia had seen him make. “If only we could protect you.”

Mme. Goltier rose and straightened her back. She took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped away a trace of sheen from beneath her nose. “Then this is likely to be the last time we meet, my friend. I have no choice but to go tonight, perhaps to my death.”

The man dipped his head. “Your service is deeply appreciated, madame. Go with God.”

With head high, the lady walked toward the stairs. Aurelia scrambled to her feet, and raced after her.

“What did he mean, madame?” she asked, her whisper hissing in the stone stairwell. “Where are you going?”

Mme. Goltier stopped and put her finger under Aurelia's chin. The strong fingers trembled slightly. “Where I must, child.”