Ruling Rue Royale
Chapter Four
Louis wandered into the far room and encountered something extraordinary. A cypress coffin with weeping angels at all four corners! Louis lowered the lid, there he saw a large crucifix flanked by St. Dominic and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Mon Dieu! Louis screamed, but no noise came from him. It was the very design of the coffin he had commissioned for Paul, with Monsieur Lermontant, in 1791! He released the lid as if it were red hot, it sprang back to its open position with a soft creak. Fearfully he looked down into the coffin. There was Paul. He lay there as fresh as if he had just died minutes ago. His head took the same appalling contour as it had then, from being smashed at the back on the bricks.
'No, not possible!' Louis sank down on a nearby bench, but could not tear his eyes from Paul's face. The walls of the parlour at Pointe du Lac took shape around him. He heard a voice.
"Michi? . . .Michi Louis?"
He saw himself, mortal, young, grieving, kneeling at this same coffin. "Yes?" he answered without turning his head, nor taking his eyes from Paul.
"You all right?" An older black woman came into the parlour. One of the slaves, Josephine. She had been brought to the house to take care of Louis when she was young. She had stayed in the house, taking care of Marie and then Paul, and had grown older with them. Louis loved her. She was his "Momé," his nurse, his nanny, his mammy. Though now he was a man, and the master, which was not easy nor comfortable. But it was the way things were. He did not question the circumstances, he thought only that he himself had to be extra vigilant, lest he fail in his duty, in his responsibility.
"Oui, je suis bien." His voice sounded hollow.
"There anythin' I can get for you?" She came closer.
"Non."
" . . .You be goin' to bed soon?"
"Non, I'll stay here with Paul."
"Michi, it long after sundown. You should be sleep." She stood behind him.
"Paul is sleeping well enough for the both of us, don't you think?"
Her eyes were tearful and her voice was soft. "Michi Louis, you not gonna bring Michi Paul back. Not by wishin', or prayin'. Not by takin' no food or gettin' no sleep."
Louis hardened his expression, lest he break down in tears again. "You may go, Josephine."
She covered a small smile at his commanding tone. She put her hands on her hips. "Michi Louis, I put you to bed when you was a pup, an' I can put you to bed now!"
Louis rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Go away, Momé, I am not in the mood for arguments."
She knelt beside him. "Non Michi Louis, I s'pose you not. . . .Michi Paul loved you very much. He'd not like to see you suffer so much."
"Paul believed in sin. Paul believed in penance." Louis looked back at his brother's face.
"What you mean, sin and penance?"
"I have to pay. It was my fault." Louis said in an accepting, defeated tone.
"Non, Michi Louis, it was NOT!" Josephine said heatedly. "I tol' you what Emile an' Jocaste saw. Evette saw it too, from upstairs. He walk to the stair steps, he look up an' he fall down to the bottom. He FALL Michi. It wasn't nothin' to do with you. You still in your room when he fell."
Louis shook his head slowly. "He wouldn't have fallen if I hadn't been so unkind to him. I upset him deeply and he was disappointed in me and distraught. That is WHY he fell."
"Non Michi -"
Louis turned, finally, and looked at her. "It is no use, Momé, everyone knows it is true. Even Maman . . .she has told les gendarmes, you know. They will come for me tomorrow."
"Non, Michi!"
He nodded. "It is true. She told them it was my fault. She told them something horrible happened in my study. She told them that I had been cruel to Paul and I had fought with him and angered him just before the fall. She told them . . .she called . . .she called me a murderer."
Josephine took his arms. "Michi Louis that a LIE!"
"It is true."
Josephine let go of his arms and took his hands. "Non, non she insane with grief. You know how Madame was 'bout Michi Paul. She don' really believe you ever do anythin' to hurt him."
"She does, Momé," he looked into her face, his green eyes were large and held a hint of fear, beneath the misery and guilt. "I think she wants them to put me in jail. . . I think she wants me hanged."
"NON MICHI!"
Louis bit his lip and looked back at Paul. "She is right. I was cruel to him."
"I don' believe it. You loved petit Michi Paul more than life itself. You cut off your own right arm 'fore you ever harm a hair on his head."
The tears began to fall. "I was, Momé. He requested something from me and I denied him."
"Michi you give him everythin' he ever wanted. What he ask for?"
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that he wanted it, desperately. He begged for it, and I wouldn't even listen." Louis's voice broke.
"You must have had good reason," Josephine said, reassuringly.
"You don't understand! It isn't that I denied him. I had to. It is that I didn't do it as I should have! I laughed at him, Momé!" Louis cried. "I laughed at him and now he's dead!"
She reached and gathered him into her arms. "Hush Louis, hush child. It's alright. Maybe you make a mistake, but everyone make mistakes. You been run this family and the plantations for nigh on nine years with nary a one. You raised Paul from a little child -"
"And now I've killed him!" Louis sobbed into her shoulder.
"Non, Louis, non. You listen to me now. You been sit here and stare at him for too long. You not eaten, you not slept, you sayin' crazy things. You ALWAYS been a good brother to Michi Paul, an' to Mamzelle Marie too. You been a good son. You a good master. You not got a mean bone in your body!" She kissed his cheeks. "Now a terrible, terrible thing happened. An' now everyone confused and upset. An' your Maman, Madame Bernadette, you got to remember how she was when the fever took your poor Papa, Michi Jean-Michel. Remember, Madame cry an' scream an' pull her hair out? She call the doctor a murderer, remember, Louis? What about poor petite Marie, cryin' her own eyes out, and Madame too mad to take care of her? An' you yourself hold her and rock her every night, 'cause it took all four of us just to get Madame to bed. An' bébé Paul, he keep askin' for his Papa, an' you had to explain it to him over an' over, an' keep him away from your Maman 'cause she be crazy mad with his questions. Remember Louis, she went all through the house in a fury, searchin' for your Papa's watch, claimin' the doctor stole it, an' when you tried to get her to stop an' calm down, she fell on you and scratched your arms. Remember Louis? She slapped your face hard, it was bruised at the funeral mass an' Monsieur Freniere ask you about it. Remember that, Louis?"
Louis quelled his sobs and lifted his head from her shoulder. "Yes, I remember, Momé. But the doctor wasn't her own son, and she never went to les gendarmes about him. She may be grieving, but she knows what she believes, and she has everyone else believing it too. She has told everyone in the parish. Everyone looks at me with suspicion. Everyone believes her. . .and I believe her, Momé, I believe her myself."
"Michi Louis, you must stop this now. All this lies not doing Michi Paul no good, an' they like to kill you your own self. An' then what Madame Bernadette an' Mamzelle Marie do with no man?"
"I don't know, Momé. Please. I don't know. I cannot answer any more questions, truly. Please just go to bed and let me be."
"I can't go to bed an' leave you sit here. I toss an' turn all night with worry over you."
Louis sighed wearily. "Do what you will, then."
"I sit right here 'til you go to your bed, Michi."
"Momé, why must you trouble me and vex me this way?"
"You need to be take care of, Michi. But you won't let me do it, so I got to devil you 'til you do!"
"Oh Momé. What is it that you want?"
"Michi, I want you to take some tea an' some bread an' then go to sleep."
"Fine, bring it." Louis looked back to Paul.
"Non, Michi Louis, not in here. You come to the table."
"Non."
Josephine stood up and towered over him, demanding his attention. "I am NOT havin' you EAT in Michi Paul's lying-in room! Don' you know it bad luck to eat in front of the dead? I TOL' you that before. You gonna upset Michi Paul's spirit an' turn him into a haunt!"
"Please, Momé, either bring me the tea or go to bed."
"I put the tea an' the bread on the table. I bring you the butter too. But you come to the table or I come back an' sit right here with you. An' I can sit here long as you can, Michi Louis. Prob'ly longer!"
Louis exhaled loudly in frustration. "Alright, fine, bring it to the table."
"You comin' to the table?" Josephine asked, her hands on her hips again, not moving.
"Oui, Momé, I'll come." Louis looked up at her.
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. "Tres bien. I bring you a praline if you eat the bread."
"You made pralines?" Louis asked, in spite of himself. He found himself following her.
"Mmm-hmm, I thought that might perk you up some." She said, knowingly. Louis had an insatiable sweet tooth, and pralines were his favorite. She pulled out a kitchen chair, and he sat. She put the tea on. "I gonna bring you some chicken too, you eat that up."
"Momé, I'm not hungry," he protested weakly.
"You won't eat my good fried chicken?" She asked in a hurt tone.
"Just bring me some pralines, and I'll eat and you can go to bed."
She laughed. "Non, non, you not gettin' away with that. Drink this tea."
He lifted the cup she brought to his mouth and drank. He looked at her accusingly. "What is in this?"
She was outraged, or at least she seemed to be. "What you mean, what's in it? That good tea, your Mamere's best!"
"Tastes strange."
"That 'cause you so thirsty. Eat this bread an' butter." She put the plate before him. "I bring you some more tea."
"Bring me some wine."
"Oui, Michi Louis, that probably help you sleep, but first you eat this chicken leg."
"Bring the bottle." He called after her.
She returned with the bottle and a glass. She opened the bottle. "You eat all that bread already?"
"I thought you wanted me to eat it!"
"You didn't need to eat it that fast." She poured the glass full. "Here, wine."
"Merci."
"Don' tell me when you not hungry, I know when you hungry." Josephine mumbled just loud enough for Louis to hear as she cleared the bread plate. Louis rolled his eyes.
"You want a praline?" She called from the kitchen.
"Oui, s'il te plait."
"Here." She returned and handed him one. "Don' drink that wine so fast it go right to your head."
Louis felt her fingers in his hair. "What are you doing?"
"I am TRYIN' to untangle this hair so I can untie your ribbon, Michi Louis."
"OW!"
"I tol' you to let me comb it out yesterday morning, but you would not-"
"Momé, don't pull!"
"-listen to me, non. An' now it all in knots. Eat your chicken."
"I, OUCH!, did."
"You want some more? Lord, Lord, I gonna have to cut this out I think."
"Non, no more chicken," Louis said, then he felt a sharp pain in his scalp. "Stop!"
"Hold still now child, I almost got it untwisted! There, now! Let me go fetch a comb. Eat another praline."
"Just leave it."
"I will not! It be even worse tomorrow. Here, drink another glass of wine, I be right back." Josephine climbed the stairs to retrieve a comb.
Louis went into the kitchen and found the plate of pralines. He also took another bottle of wine. He brought these back with him to the table. He sat in the chair, cast a glance to the parlour, and took up the open bottle of wine and drank it all. Then he opened the second bottle and poured himself a glass.
Josephine reappeared with the comb. "Here, now, just sit quiet an' I have this combed out nice in no time." She cast a disapproving gaze at the table. She decided to let him get away with the pralines. "You drink all that wine?"
"Oui."
"You open that other bottle?"
"It is my wine, Josephine. I shall drink it if I wish."
She acted as if it didn't bother her. "Now Michi, no call to get foul tempered. I just ask you. This might pull some."
"Then don't do - OW!"
"I know, that was a tight one." She said sympathetically. "Just a few more now."
"Would you stop!"
"Patience, Michi Louis, patience." She watched him drink his glass of wine, and fill it to the top again. She ripped the comb down through his snarled hair.
"Ow! OUCH! Jesus Christ, woman!"
"MICHI LOUIS! You should be SHAMED!"
"That hurt!"
"You best watch your mouth with God's angels this close to the house." She pulled the comb free.
"Ow." Louis said, in a quiet, chastened voice.
"There, all done now." she stroked his ebony waves. "Looks so pretty. Like fine black threads of silk, Michi."
Louis sighed. "Are you happy now, Momé?"
"I be happy when I can get you into bed."
"Fine, let's go." Louis said, rising. "Bring the bottle."
"Oui, Michi Louis. Now you know, you drink this whole bottle, you be sick at the mass tomorrow."
"Bring the bottle." Louis repeated, turning towards the steps.
"Well don't come to me for no fix-you-up elixers when you done gone an' got yourself drunk an' your head poundin' like a drum."
"JUST BRING THE BOTTLE!"
"Louis?" Anne put a hand on his shoulder.
Louis leapt to his feet and whirled around. Anne stepped back, alarmed.
Louis's eyes focused, and he recognized her. "Oh, Anne. I apologize. You startled me."
"I guess so!" She smiled. "You were sitting here so still for so long, I thought maybe something was wrong."
"Non, non, just thinking."
"Ah," Anne nodded. "Me too."
"Michele?" Louis asked, pulling her close to him.
"Yes. And you?" Anne put her arms around Louis.
"Paul."
"Oh." Anne squeezed him tight, and they stood there for a long moment pondering.
"We'd best find David." Anne said, breaking the silence.
"Yes," said Louis, releasing her. "And no one's keeping an eye on Lestat."
They had just reached the main showroom when the lid of the black coffin in front of them popped open. They jumped back. Lestat sat up, eyes closed and arms crossed. He turned his head and his eyes snapped open.
"Good Evening." He said, in a Bela Lugosi accent.
Louis wanted to be outraged at this behavior, but he was too busy trying not to laugh out loud. Anne had already done so, but was trying to pass it off as a coughing fit, in case Weisberg was anywhere near.
"I forgot how fun these could be." Lestat said, stepping lightly to the floor.
David had missed this display of morbid humor as he was engrossed in his search. He had found a beautiful oaken coffin, that he was very interested in. It had a rather large, intricately worked crucifix on the lid, under which was carved, "Requiescat in pace", may he rest in peace. At the head and foot and on each side were eucharistic verses, from the King James Version of the Bible.
"Verily verily I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man,
and drink his blood, ye have no life in you. Whoso eateth my flesh,
and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life." John 6:53-4.
"He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me,
and I in him." John 6:56.
"This is that bread which came down from heaven: not as your fathers
did eat manna, and are dead: he that eateth of this bread shall live
forever." John 6: 58.
"I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he
were dead, yet shall he live." John 11:25.
'Highly ironic,' David thought. 'And possibly inappropriate. But then again, isn't it fitting? Even if not, who will really see it but me? And I enjoy the irony.'
It was decided. Now that he was about to make his purchase, it occurred to him that "David Talbot", his former body, had already been buried by now. Someone in the Talamasca, probably poor Aaron, had performed this very errand for him, but with a much heavier heart. Even knowing what had taken place, in regard to the body switching, it still must have been difficult and sad to see the corpse.
'I wonder what sort of coffin was selected for me? Something far plainer than this, certainly. Something tasteful, respectful, staid. Something like that blue-grey varnished metal, with the white silk lined interior that has been present in every other display we have visited tonight. Something suitable for the Superior General.' David mused. He was taken by an intense wave of guilt. While he had been running about in Barbados, jumping in and out of beds like a rabbit, everyone he had known had been grieving for him.
"Would you care to sit down, sir?" Bubba Weisberg appeared helpfully at his elbow. He was quite used to mourners fainting, especially in the casket room. He had become very adept at reading facial expressions, and this guy definitely looked to be on the edge of toppling over.
"Thank you, no." David said, regaining some composure. "I believe we'll take this one."
"That's just fine. Would you accompany me to the office? We can get the paperwork taken care of and out of the way." Bubba said.
"Yes, let's do that." David followed him up the stairs.
In the room beyond, Anne was just getting herself under control. "Lestat! The funeral home guy is going to wonder where you escaped from!"
"Let him wonder," Lestat laughed. "Contrary to what my melancholy friend here would have you believe, coffin shopping need not be a depressing and serious event."
"You only think so because you have only bought them for the undead, never the dead." Louis turned to Anne. "Lestat has never even been to a funeral."
Lestat made a dismissive gesture at him.
"Really?" Anne asked. "What about your grandparents?"
"The old Marquis and Marquise were dead long before I was born. And the Italians, Mother's family, I never met."
"Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?" Anne asked.
"All dead or gone off somewhere. We had no money, as you know. The land could barely support us, much less a whole clan."
Anne was intrigued. "What about your brothers?"
"They died in the Revolution, I wasn't even in the country." Lestat looked at her oddly, he was sure she knew this.
"Yes, those, but I meant the other four." Anne explained.
"Oh, them. Well, Mathurin and Josselin both died before I was born. Céléstin died when I was almost four months old, and Ursin died when I was two. Mother stayed home from the mass with me both times."
"Augustin, Mathurin, Josselin, Céléstin, Ursin and Lestat? Who doesn't fit here?" Anne observed.
Lestat sneered, "There was also a Chauvin. The old man named them all to fit with his, Bernardin. Mother named me. She finally convinced him his names were at least unlucky, if not completely fatal."
"Your father, what about his funeral?"
Louis and Lestat looked at each other, but said nothing.
Anne knew that look meant something, "Okay, what? Tell me."
"Go on, tell her," Lestat said to Louis. "You know you want to."
"Lestat wouldn't do it." Louis informed Anne.
"Wouldn't buy a coffin?" Anne asked.
"Wouldn't buy a coffin, wouldn't have a mass, wouldn't buy a tomb, nothing." Louis clarified.
"Lestat, why?" Anne asked him.
"Why should I? And as I pointed out to Louis several times, there was no one to even attend! It was ridiculous!" He looked to Louis, "And besides, you know why, now."
"Yes, but you could have told me that at the time. I just thought you were a horrible son." Louis answered.
Lestat gave Anne a look of exasperation. "He begged me and begged me to 'give him a decent Christian burial'. He kept saying, 'But Lestat, I'll give you the money, all the money you want for it. You can send him back to Paris if you like' , on and on and on. I think I finally had to backhand him one to get him to shut up, didn't I, Louis?"
"As I recall, yes."
"Lestat! That's terrible!" Anne admonished him.
"You say that now, but you have never had to listen to him nag and pester and harass you for six nights straight about the same damn subject!" Lestat justified himself.
"Well I always liked your father." Louis interjected.
Lestat snorted. "You are an extremely poor judge of character, Louis." Lestat turned back to Anne. "But don't worry ma chere, I paid for it. He pouted for the next twelve nights."
"I did not 'pout'!" Louis said angrily.
"You did my dear Louis, and it was very annoying." Again Lestat turned to Anne. "He is one of those awful martyr pouters who won't meet your eyes, barely speak and sigh far more often than necessary. And then when you tell them to stop this irritating behavior, they act as if they have no idea what you are talking about. Sickening. I much prefer the ones who stomp about and slam doors."
"Like yourself." Louis added.
"Louis, why didn't you arrange a funeral for Lestat's father?" Anne asked, effectively cutting off any response Lestat might have made to Louis.
"I couldn't. I was dead, you see. And of course this was all occurring at the exact same time in which my sister and her husband were contacting the very same people I would have needed to contact, as they were making arrangements for me. It was impossible." Louis explained.
Anne nodded. "Ah, yes, I see."
"Of course, Lestat was right in the end, though." Louis said.
Lestat stood stock still. "Mon Dieu! Hell has frozen over!"
Louis laughed and affectionately took Lestat's hand.
"How so?" Anne asked.
"I see now that if he had done what I had asked him to do, it would have alerted the authorities, and my sister, and various other people that he was alive. They would have come asking him questions and such things. It would have caused all kinds of problems for us then." Louis said this to Anne, but he looked at Lestat.
"I was trying to protect you." Lestat said, asking, in his way, for understanding.
"I know. You COULD have explained that to me at the time, though." Louis gave Lestat's hand a quick squeeze.
"Out of the question!" Lestat told him imperiously. "You asked far too many questions as it was, no reason to encourage you with information."
Anne and Louis shook their heads at each other.
"We really should find David." Anne said.
"Yes, and the funeral director as well. I am going to purchase one tonight." Louis told her.
"Which one?" Lestat asked.
Louis led them back to the weeping angels coffin. "This one."
Lestat nodded, grinning. "Yes, it is very you."
"Do you think so? It should be; I designed it." Louis waited for the reaction.
Anne laughed, thinking it was a joke.
But Lestat knew Louis's expressions well enough to see that it was the truth. "You're serious, Louis."
"Oui."
"Tell me what you mean." Lestat said.
Louis turned to face the coffin. "I commissioned it for Paul. Cypress wood, weeping angels at the corners, crucifix flanked by the Virgin and St. Dominic on the lid. Of course his had a sliding lid, that was common then, but this is what I had asked for. See," Louis pointed to the model number, JJPDL1791. "the initials of the craftsman, Jean Jacques, my initials and the year it was commissioned. It is too much of a coincidence to be anything else. It must have been copied from his receipt book, or perhaps the Lermontants's receipts. Amazing isn't it?"
"Yes." Anne said quietly. "But are you sure, Louis? I mean, why would the same design still be made over a century later?"
"I do not know, but there it is, and how else would you explain the model number?"
Anne shook her head, "I can't."
Lestat put his arm around Louis and combed the short ebony bangs back from his deep green eyes. "Are you alright, Louis?"
Louis nodded. "It was a little shock at first, but I am fine."
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Anne asked, laying her hand on Louis's arm.
"Oh yes. Really." He looked from one to the other. Their thoughts were in their eyes. Equal worry and concern in grey and brown. "It doesn't upset me. I just think it is so . . .unbelievable."
Ruling Rue Royale - Chapter Five
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