Of Knives and Pearls

She was the sun to my moon, the night to my day, the sword to my shield, and the knife to my throat.

At that precise moment, she was most definitely the last of that list. I’d just stepped into the shadow conveniently provided by the large oak tree in the garden when I felt the cold kiss of her blade against my throat, the warmth of her body against my back.

“Foolish,” she whispered into my ear.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.  And as I did, I grabbed her wrist, twisted, pulled, and in a matter of moments had her pinned with her back to the rough bark of the tree, her hand with the knife in it pinned by my own above her head. She gasped, and looked at me defiantly.

Then I kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. Long enough for her to relax into my arms. Long enough to have both of our hearts racing. Long enough for her to place her second blade in the small of my back, and press just hard enough for me to feel it.

I broke off the kiss with a sigh.

“I suppose this means our dalliance is postponed for this evening?” I asked her, releasing her hand.

“We have a job to do,” she reminded me, straightening her skirts and returning her knives to their hiding places in her gown. “And you always forget that I have two hands, and more than one knife.”

“Who said I forget? Maybe I let you keep the second blade to make you feel secure.”

She snorted in a very unladylike fashion, and stepped out from the shadow, into the light of the lamps that burned, hanging from the eaves of the deserted summer house.

“Have you completely ruined my makeup?”

I looked at her carefully, hungrily, running my gaze from the hems of her heavy, ornate gown, up the length of her body, seeing the curve of her waist and breasts, held tight by the boning in her bodice. Along the graceful curve of her neck, adorned by a collar of gold and diamonds. To her artfully arranged hair, and what had been her carefully painted face.

“Only your lips.”

I stepped forward, and with my thumb wiped a smudge of lip stain from her cheek.

“But your lips are quite red enough from my kisses now, so the lack will not be noticed.”

She snorted again at this, and stepped forward.

“I seem to have left most of it on you,” she said, as she in turn wiped the marks from my face with her delicate lace handkerchief.

“Ah,” I laughed. “Perhaps it is too early in the evening for such adornment! Later though…”

“Is that a promise?”

“For you, always.”

She reached up to straighten my cravat, running her hands down my chest to smooth the fabric of my coat. It was my turn to gasp as her hands ran over my breasts, bound tight as they were.

She smirked at me.

“Come then, monsieur,” she said. “You shall escort me to this party.”

Sweeping my sword and coat tails aside, I made a low, sarcastic bow and offered her my arm.

“As mademoiselle commands.”

She pinched me, hard, in the inner arm, as we walked along the garden path, towards the terrace and ballroom.

The Comte de Mielville always threw the most fashionable parties, attended by the most fashionable people, in the most fashionable of clothes and jewels, and that night was no exception. Inside the ballroom, a string quartet was providing music for the dancing, while out on the terrace, the guests were taking their ease in the warm summer’s night, eating, drinking and flirting. It was early enough so that the guests were still keen to see and be seen, yet late enough for the food and drink to have dulled their senses somewhat. Later, they would start to disappear, in twos and more, off to more… private locations. And that is when we would strike.

No, our quarry was not to be found adorning the necks, ears, fingers, wrists or chests of any of the guests. Though I will confess that I at least made careful mental notes of who was wearing what. That collar of sapphires worn by the Baronness de Guise, for instance. Or the rope of amethysts and freshwater pearls looped thrice around the neck of Mademoiselle du Paix – declaring that once again she had found favour with an exceptionally highly placed lover. Or the ruby and diamond broach pinned to the aging décolletage of Madame Valcke.

No, our quarry that night was not on display. Its appearance would provoke far too much scandal, it was safely tucked away somewhere in the mansion, of that I was sure.

And even if we were hunting something on display, which we had done in the past, such things were more dangerous quarry. Even the drunkest noble would eventually note the loss of the gems from their own person, and a hue and cry was not what I had in mind. My plans for the evening were simple. Some wine, food, dancing. Some polite conversation, a minor bit of burglary, then home and to bed with my love.

Of course, such things never go entirely to plan, do they?

I had taken a brief respite from the dancing and conversation in the library and was eyeing up the locks that kept the more valuable books safely locked away in their bookcases when I heard footsteps approaching. I had just enough time to take a few swift steps to stand beside the fire, snatching up a discarded volume that lay on the side table, when the door swung open and a giggling girl and her equally excited young man came into the room. They shut the door behind them, and for several moments were so engrossed in each other that they did not notice I was there.

I gave a polite cough, and was gratified to see them jump apart as if scalded. Both relaxed when they saw it was I, however, and not some disapproving chaperone.

“My apologies,” said I, essaying a polite bow. “I would be happy to leave you in peace, but I fear that you are blocking my only exit.”

The girl giggled, and eyed me up and down. As did her young man. Both were dressed very richly, and both were obviously somewhat the worse for wear with drink.

The boy bowed politely, and the girl curtseyed. They exchanged a look, and the girl came towards me.

“What are you reading?” she asked, daring to take the book from my grasp. “Pah! A collection of sermons? How dull!”

In her décolletage she wore an exceptionally fine emerald pendant. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at it, and she misconstrued my interest. She shared a mischievous glance with her paramour, and stepped closer to me, dropping the book on the floor.

I winced. One should not mistreat books so.

“I am sure,” she said, lowering her eyes and looking coquettishly at me, “that there must be something more entertaining for you at my father’s party than a book of dry, dull, old sermons.”

“Mademoiselle,” I replied, mustering what flattery I could, “with so much beauty on show, one must take respite in dullness where one can find it, lest one get completely overwhelmed.”

She giggled, and stepped closer, and I found myself perilously close to being hemmed in between her and the fireplace.

“Are you finding yourself overwhelmed, monsieur?” she asked.

“Indisputably,” I said, eyes returning to that pendant.

She raised her hand, and imperiously beckoned her paramour over. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms familiarly around her waist, looking at me over her shoulder.

He had a particularly fine gold and sapphire ring on his finger. It caught the firelight as he moved his hand to stroke the side of her neck.

I must have looked like I desired them, rather than their jewels, because they exchanged an amused look, and then he kissed her in front of me.  He dropped his lips to kiss her neck, her shoulders, all the while watching me with amusement. She in turn, stared directly at me, lips parted.

I thought for sure that she was going to try to kiss me, and was trying to figure out a way to extricate myself from the situation with the minimum of awkwardness, when the library door swung open again quietly.

In the doorway stood my love. At a glance she took in the entire scene, and I could see her smile wickedly, relishing my discomfort. I sent pleading glances her way, as the girl gave into impatience and leaned in to kiss me.

As soon as her lips touched mine, my love shrieked in outrage.

“Jean-Luc, how could you!” she cried, rushing into the room in great agitation. “I leave you for but one moment, in the peace of the library, only to return and find you with another woman! How could you do this to me?!”

The young couple gaped at her as she continued to berate me, expertly sweeping around beside them to grab my arm and pull me away from them.  Without breaking in her tirade for a moment, she chivvied me, looking suitably abashed, out of the room, firmly shutting the door behind us.

As soon as the door was closed, and we were safely away, she burst out giggling.

“Oh, the look on your face!”

“I am glad I provided you with some amusement,” I responded, trying to gather the shreds of the dignity that remained to me.

“Oh, do not fuss, my love,” she replied. “I am sure you would have extricated yourself before too long. It was just perfect timing on my part, so, so sweet.”

“How goes the hunt?” I asked her, changing the subject.

“I have seen the Comtesse, and, as we thought, she does not dare to wear it, so it must be secured somewhere in the building,” she said. “And, as you have seen, the party has reached the stage where the young and the eager are seeking places for their assignations.”

I offered her my arm.

“Shall we do the same, my dearest?”

She smirked at me.

“But of course. Though I do warn you, if you get propositioned by another young lady as delicious as that one, I am not sure that I will rescue you a second time. I might prefer to watch!”

We searched the house thoroughly, and I will confess I took full advantage of our roles as lovers searching for a private spot whenever we came across any other party goers. My love enjoyed it too, if the flush on her cheeks and gleam in her eye were anything to go by.

The pretence came perilously close to reality as she was picking the lock of a bedroom door and I was standing guard, when we heard drunken footsteps staggering around the corner. Quickly I pulled her up from her crouch, and crushed her to me, lips glued to hers. She melted into my embrace, hiding her lock picks in the voluminous folds of her skirt.

The intruder, an elderly man, very drunk, and with wig askew, paused to clap me companionably on the shoulder in congratulations, before staggering away down the corridor.

I was not so engrossed in kissing her that I failed to feel the extra lumps in her bodice.

“My love,” I said to her, still holding her tight. “Have you been… acquiring things?”

“But a few trifles, my dearest,” she said.

“Hmmm…” I replied, releasing her to go back to picking the lock.

It was only a few moments later that she had tickled the lock into submission, and swung the door open. I showed her in, lighting our way with a candle from the hall and shut the door firmly behind us, bolting it, to discourage interruptions. I placed the candle on a table by the door and strode across the room to her, seizing her arm.

Her eyes danced with excitement.

“Now, my love, we do have work to do remember?” she reminded me.

She gasped in desire, lips parted, eyes closing, as I reached into her bodice and extracted the trifles she had stored there.

A fine gold ring, set with an emerald-cut ruby. A gold chain, holding a pendant that was a single pearl the size of a quail’s egg.  And a bracelet of matched topaz and diamonds.

“Where did you get these?” I demanded.

She shrugged.

“Would you believe me if I said they were just lying around?”

I scowled at her.

“Let us hope that the owners do not notice their loss and come looking for them, or us!”

She stepped close to me, reaching out to take the jewels and tuck them back into her bodice.

“Do you doubt my skill, my love? Trust me when I say that their loss will not be noticed ‘til the morning, if even then! I made sure that I was not overlooked, and the previous owners were all so drunk they were near insensible.”

She caressed my cheek.

“Oh, do not be so cross. I have not put our mission in jeopardy. Do not be angry! Look!”

She waved across the room to the heavy, ornate four poster bed, the matching carved wooden wardrobe and dressing table, the silk screen in the corner.

“We have found the Comtesse’s bedroom, I am sure of this. And look.”

She walked over to the dressing table, and picked up the heavy locked oaken casket on it.

“Here are her jewels.”

She took out her picks, and had sprung the lock in moments, tipping the contents out onto the bed. 

She rummaged through the jewels carelessly, pulling necklaces and bracelets apart.

“It’s not there,” I said, as she held a ruby broach up to the candlelight, admiring it.

“This would look very fine on your red gown,” she observed, and made to tuck it away in her bodice.

I grabbed her hand before she could hide the broach.

“And you know I could never wear it,” I reminded her.

“Not in public,” she said. “But for me…”

“Put it back, and relock the box,” I told her.

“But, it’s pretty!” she protested, giving me a pleading look.

I couldn’t help it. I relented, sighing, and gleefully she tucked it away.

“You will get us into so much trouble one day, my dearest,” I told her.

“And you will love every moment of it,” she replied archly.

I scooped the jewelry back into the case and placed it back on the dressing table as she wandered the room, searching.

The wardrobe was full of rich dresses, and other accoutrements, but no other gems. The same for the dressing table, and there were no hidden drawers or any such conceits that we could see. And believe me when I say, we had seen a great many of such things.

My love cast herself onto the bed in an attitude of dejected frustration, sighing.

“It must be here,” she said, the back of her hand to her forehead. “Where else could it be? She is not wearing it. We know she has it…”

She looked so dejected and delicious, lying there in a position of feigned woe upon the bed that I could not help myself. I cast myself on the bed beside her, sweeping her into my arms, and kissing her, pulling her on top of me.

It was not wise, but then I have never claimed to be wise. We had several delightful minutes in each other’s arms when my eyes were caught on something in the canopy above us.

She sensed that my mind was not fully upon her, and in revenge bit me on the neck. I gasped.

“What is it?” she asked.

I released her, and stood to reach up into the canopy, pulling down a wooden box.

“Could it be?” she asked, having quite forgotten my inattention.

The box was locked, but she made short work of picking it. Inside, nestled in a rich blue velvet cloth was the quarry we sought.  A collar of gold and pearls, five strands in depth, with one, perfect, teardrop pearl in the centre of it.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

I nodded.

Carefully I reached behind her neck and unclasped her collar of gold and diamonds, replacing it with the collar of pearls. I admired the glow of the pearls against the warmth of her skin in the candlelight.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“Magnificent,” I breathed, and kissed her.

“Ah, alas that I cannot wear it truly,” she sighed, reaching up to touch the pearls. “But it belongs to another, and they have greater need of it.”

She rose from the bed to sit before the dressing table.

“Beautiful,” she said, looking at it in the mirror.

I nodded in agreement, but I was looking at her, not the pearls.

Regretfully I reached to unclasp the collar, and wrapped it back in its cloth. I replaced her necklace around her neck, pausing to drop a kiss on her collarbone, then replaced the now empty, but relocked box, back into its hiding place.

Our quarry found and secured, there was nothing left but to make our escape from the party. Fortune, which had so far smiled upon us, decided then to turn mischievous. It is ever thus!

With my love’s hand on my arm, we made our way out of the private areas of the mansion without comment or notice, and from there, across the ballroom and out onto the terrace, to take the air, like so many others at the party. Walking slowly through the garden, we returned again to the summer house. But where before it had been deserted, this time a strange little scene was playing out before us.

“Look,” whispered my love in my ear. “Is that not your little admirer from earlier?”

Sure enough, it was she, in the company of her young man, and an older woman.

“La, it is the Comtesse,” my love continued. “And she is fiercely angered!”

The Comtesse was indeed berating both her daughter and the young man attending her in a most intense fashion, yet carefully calculated so as not to arouse attention from the other party-goers.

“Come, my love,” I said, attempting to steer her away, before we were spied. “We find ourselves at the centre of a potential scandal, and that is most definitely something we should avoid.”

Obstinate woman, she resisted me. And that moment of resistance cost us, for it was that moment that the young man spied us.

“You!” he called, pointing at me. “Madame la Comtesse, it is he! The thief!”

My heart leapt at his accusation, my hand twitched towards my sword hilt.

“What shall we do?” I hissed to my love. “Should we run?”

She squeezed my arm.

“No, to run would be to announce our guilt. Let us brazen it out.”

The young man called again:

“You, yes, you, monsieur!”

Not having to feign confusion I gaped at him, then looked behind me, as if to suggest that he was addressing someone else. Alas, there was no one there to be pointed to, other than myself.

The Comtesse beckoned us over imperiously. We dutifully attended, my love curtseying and I bowing as we drew near.

Closer up, we could see that the Comtesse, unlike her daughter and her guests, had not imbibed too freely that night. She fixed us with a steely glare.

“Madame la Comtesse,” I said, trying my best to be gracious and ignoring the young man. “How may we be of assistance to you?”

“I come in search of my daughter,” she said, indicating the offending creature with her fan, “to find her scandalously embraced by this young man! The only thing preventing me ordering a horsewhipping is that he has declared his intentions to be honourable, and she has declared that he was merely comforting her after a great shock in the library.

“She claims, monsieur, that as she was reading a book of sermons in the library, a man stole a kiss from her against her wishes, and that Monsieur le Vicomte du Joussaime came to her aid to rescue her. And Monsieur le Vicomte has just this moment identified you as the offending creature. Now what do you have to say about that, pray?”

I exchanged puzzled glances with my love. Now that I knew the cause of the accusation, my heart returned to a steadier beat. I knew we would indeed be able to brazen it out. But I needed to leave such things to my love, she is far more adept in such matters than I.

“Your pardon, Madame la Comtesse,” my love replied. “But Monsieur le Vicomte must be mistaken, for I have been with my husband every moment this night, and at no time has he even set foot in the library, let alone been in the company of your daughter.”

The daughter, who had already been weeping, burst into noisy sobs.

The Vicomte du Joussaime blustered.

“You lie! It was indeed your husband, and you were there also to see it happen!”

My love let go of my arm, and took a step back, as I reached for the hilt of my sword, taking on the familiar role of the angered husband.

“Have a care, sir,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “For you offer insult to my wife, who is a paragon of virtue, and will answer for it.”

He swallowed and took a nervous step backwards, looking at his beloved. The sight of her must have given him strength, for he straightened, and his hand went to his own sword.

“I… I stand by my words monsieur. I claim that you indeed pressed unwanted attentions upon Mademoiselle de Mielville, and that your wife is indeed lying to protect you from the consequences of that! And I will defend the Mademoiselle’s honour with my life!!”

“And I will so defend my wife’s honour and my own from your scandalous allegations!” I countered angrily.

We stared at each other for a long moment, bristling like two tom cats on a garden wall.

Our posturing was interrupted by the Comtesse’s acerbic tones.

“It seems we are at an impasse,” she said. “And, given that we have not had proper introductions made, I do not see how we can proceed further.”

I turned my attention to her, still with my hand upon my sword hilt, and with more than half an eye on the young bravo. In the corner of my eye I could see my love’s hands hidden in the folds of her gown. Folds that I knew held her razor-sharp knives.

“My apologies, Madame,” I said to her, making a proper, if somewhat stiff and angry bow. “I am Monsieur Denvil. And an insult has been offered to myself and my wife, which must be withdrawn, or satisfaction must be given.”

“Hmmm….” The Comtesse looked at me long and hard, then turned to look at the young Vicomte and her daughter.

“Do you wish to withdraw your accusation?” she addressed him. “Else I think it is within his rights to demand satisfaction.”

Grimly, the Vicomte shook his head, looking sick. Behind him Mademoiselle de Mielville continued to weep.

“Very well,” the Comtesse said. “Foolish boy! Well, then. Have at you. But to the touch alone, lest I send for the guards and have you all arrested.”

I bowed to her formally again, then turned to my love, shrugging out of my coat. It was of fine silk, newly purchased, and I had no desire to see it ruined by the boy’s blood.

“If aught goes amiss, run,” I ordered her quietly as she took my coat in her arms.

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

“As if I would,” she whispered in my ear. “Thrash the boy for his impudence.”

I turned back to the Vicomte. He too had shed his coat, and drawn his rapier. I drew mine, and saluted him.

In truth, he was not bad, as the pampered sons of the nobility go. But I would wager that he had only ever drawn his sword in play or practice. Whereas I…  well, suffice it to say that this was not my first duel, nor would it be my last.

I did not press too hard at first, taking the measure of him. He was naturally quick, and surefooted, but these gifts that nature had given him were badly undermined by his overindulgence in the wine that had flowed so freely that evening. He thrust, I parried. He struck, I riposted. And so we went, back and forth across the grass.

I had got into the music of it, the duel, and that made me linger too long. My love coughed politely, and I caught her eye. The ringing of steel had caught the attention of other party-goers, and we now had the beginnings of an, admittedly drunken, audience.

Damnation. That was not what we needed. Bad enough to be forced to duel at one of the preeminent parties of the season – that alone would be enough to be the talk of society for weeks. But if one of the drunken audience were by some mischance to connect the duel with talk of thievery….

But my love had ordered to brazen it out. And so we must. But there was no call to linger unnecessarily.

I ceased playing, and with a twist of my blade on his next parry, stung his hand and sent his blade flying across the garden to land in a darkened shrub of some description.

He held up his hands in surrender as I pointed the tip of my blade at him.

The Comtesse applauded politely, as did, a few moments delayed, the late arriving members of our audience.

“He has you, Vicomte,” she told him. “And with such skill too.”

The Vicomte swallowed nervously, and speaking stiffly, apologised.

“I withdraw my earlier accusations, monsieur and madame, and humbly beg your pardon.”

I stepped back, lowering my blade, and nodded to him.

“Then the matter is done,” I replied, as my love came to me to help me back into my coat.

Once properly attired again, I made a polite bow to the Comtesse.

“Madame la Comtesse, I thank you again for your hospitality and wisdom, and apologise for any fault I might have had in this situation.”

“Oh, monsieur,” she said, casting an annoyed glance at her daughter and the Vicomte. “I am sure that no fault attaches to you, or your charming wife.

“Come!” she ordered her daughter. “Sermons? Really? Do you take me for such a fool, my daughter? I know well how you are inestimably bored by such things…”

The Comtesse and her daugher swept past me, back to the party, attended by several of our erstwhile audience. The Vicomte trailed after her, looking beseechingly at his beloved, but unfortunately for him she was too lost in her own misery to attend to his defeat.

My love and I adroitly avoided the remaining onlookers who wished to quiz us on the events that had so recently transpired, by the simple expedient of walking quickly down a shadowed path and looping back on ourselves to the shadowed rear of the summer house.

There, hidden by the deep shadow of the old oak tree, I gave into the emotions that always arise in me after a fight. I crushed her to me, feeling her kiss me back with a passion that left us both breathless.

Laughing quietly, she pulled back for a moment, before our passion overwhelmed us.

“A paragon of virtue?” she queried, high amusement in her tone.

“In a manner of speaking.”

I pulled her towards me again, intent on another kiss, and another, and another. She raised a hand, placed it on my chest and stopped me.

“Come then, husband, take me home, and I will show you how virtuous I can be.”

So I did. And verily, so did she.

 (First line donated by Gareth Lewis)