Red Temptation

Chapter One

He left the town house, smiling in anticipation of his forthcoming pleasure. His tongue running softly over his teeth. For the last five nights he'd been watching her – Anna – as she scrubbed floors, ran errands, slipped and grazed her knee and bit her fingernails. Always wiping her mucky hands on her grey skirt.

She reminded him so much of Rose, the way she curled her blonde hair through her fingers. He had to know her better.

His ears picked out the squeaking of a rat before it ran across his shoes. The damn thing had left scratch marks on the soft Italian leather. He thought about stamping on it, then spotted her walking slowly towards him. Above him a window opened.

He'd almost forgotten, jumping aside as the woman above shouted, “Garde l’eau!”.

He leapt towards the girl and sunk his teeth into the side of her neck. All his senses were focused on her sweet blood coursing down his throat. Not the reeking smell of the slosh bucket. Now he truly knew her: he saw her, with each mouthful of blood, he was able to take in everything. He saw the argument she'd had with her bed mate. Then felt the calm of her stolen moment in church as she prayed for her mother. The excitement of her brief kiss with John moments before. More blood coursed down his throat. He was back with her, he felt her heart beat quicken, as she noticed him sauntering down the street through the muck, he smiled at that, and some of her blood poured onto his white shirt. Drat.

He flicked the blood from his shirt; not even a shaving cut would be able to explain away the dark red patches spreading across it. He let Anne slump down, her blonde hair sliding through his fingers.

He would have to be quick if he was to make it back to Lady Beaufort's soirée.

He jumped up onto the nearest window sill and climbed up the drain pipe. He was then running along the rooftops, over the tenement buildings through the smoke and smog. Swinging down guttering, he landed on the North Bridge. His fine leather shoes were now caked in dirt.

Chapter Two

As he crossed the threshold of his town house, a tall dark-haired woman appeared at the top of the staircase. Appraising the dark red patch on his shirt with one beautifully raised eyebrow, she swept down the stairs, her silk skirts rustling after her.

“Honestly Antoine, there's a time and a place for your amusements. We're running late.”

Pushing a curl that had escaped from its decorative perch, she continued,

“Ralph, you had better fetch me another glass. If I know Antoine, we'll be here another half hour at least, before he decides upon what shirt to wear."

Grinning, Antoine retorted, "It will only add to the rest of the evening’s entertainment, Charlotte."

Ralph's broad shoulders stooped to pour her drink. He had worked for the Rothchilds for many a year and a slow smile played on his lips at this fresh spat. Charlotte caught his smile and swatted him with her fan.

One hour later, the Rothschilds’ horse and carriage drew up in front of the house. Antoine and Charlotte stepped into the carriage. The butler stared at them in awe, never able to get over how exquisite the pair looked.

The deep red gown, bordered with white lace, complemented Charlotte's almost Spanish looks. Her long black hair was tied up in a bun, loose ringlets floating around the base of her porcelain neck. Her eyes, like Antoine's, were jet black. Every so often, people who looked into them would swear that there was a hint of amber, but a double take generally made them believe that they were seeing things.

Antoine wore a deep black tailored suit with red brocade and lining. His crisp black shirt contrasted with his complexion, which was the same as Charlotte's. His tousled hair gave him an almost foppish appearance.

***

The carriage bounced across the cobbled streets, making its way through a mist that was tinted orange by the torches lighting the way. After several minutes, they turned a corner and their destination shone out through the murk, brightly lit from the inside. The house itself was an impressive new building on the edge of town. Twelve carriages were already positioned in front of it, the footmen playing cards while they waited. At their approach, one sprang up and opened the Rothschilds’ door.

Antoine and Charlotte were shown into a grand drawing room. Light green walls were overshadowed by an ornate ceiling, embellished with fruit and dancing lions. In the corner, a decorative piano forte was being eclipsed by the young red-haired girl siting behind it, giving her recital to an avid group of listeners, the cream of Edinburgh’s bourgeoisie.

The butler announced their arrival to Lady Beaufort, a formidable grand dame: robust in appearance, as well as character. Her powdered wig was adorned with a string of diamonds, which matched the brocade of her jet black mourning gown. She motioned to her two guests to sit next to her.

“Antoine, I know it’s fashionable to be late but tonight you are pushing the boundaries. You missed an excellent roast game, and my daughter had to put up with Edward Hampton as a dinner companion,” she said, casting a withering look at the gentleman in question, a lanky dark-haired man with a walrus-like moustache, now rising to turn the page of her daughter’s music book.

Lady Beaufort gave Antoine a playful hit with her fan and Antoine whispered back, “My apologies Madame. The delay was only contrived because my sister could not decide which gown to wear tonight!”

Charlotte made no apparent movement but quickly dug her sharp fingernails into the sides of his ribs.

“It’s so good to be back at your recitals. Charlotte and I have missed them immensely,” Antoine said to Lady Beaufort, smiling.

“This last month has seemed like an age. Two more weeks and I’ll be able to wear something as sumptuous as your sister’s gown. You should wear red more often my dear, where on earth did you get that exquisite lace?” Lady Beaufort said.

“Thank you, madame. I felt equally envious of the lace you wore to the Lipscombes’ dinner last week,” Charlotte replied.

“Madame, you still outshine all the ladies here,” said Antoine, looking at the older lady through the tops of his eyelashes.

Lady Beaufort again swatted him lightly with her fan.

The recitals had come to an end. Charlotte found herself next to Edward Hampton, and, after five minutes of listening to him prattling on about the appalling conditions in the high street, she began to wish that she was there herself rather than listening to his sanctimonious chatter.

She glanced over at the grandfather clock: only ten to nine. Still too early to leave politely. Charlotte excused herself from Edward, feigning a need for some fresh air whilst stealing a glance towards Antoine. He was still deep in conversation with Lady Beaufort but he acknowledged her exit with a barely perceptible nod.

Charlotte's eyes swept across the room, and, after a moment her gaze fell upon Lady Beaufort's daughter. With a room small smile, she crossed the room and touched Alice lightly on the arm. The girl turned, smiling politely while her blonde friend looked at Charlotte with irritation.

"Will you take a turn with me out on the balcony, Alice?" Charlotte asked.

"Of course."

From across the floor, Antoine's dark eyes watched them both leave the room, and then he also politely excused himself. Alice’s friend Natalia observed all of these exchanges before she too left the room.

Charlotte and Alice stepped out onto the balcony, the cool crisp air bringing a welcome relief from the smoky, heated drawing room. Charlotte leaned over to Alice.

“I have a secret I’ve been meaning to share with you; it concerns both myself and Antoine.”

Alice looked up with a quizzical expression on her face. Charlotte leaned in once more, and now she could see the small flutter of Alice’s vein pulsing in her neck. She looked into Alice’s eyes.

“This will only take a minute more of your time,” she said.

Alice stood there transfixed as Charlotte inched closer to her. Suddenly, she felt a small piercing sensation at the side of her neck, like she had been stung by a wasp. Charlotte licked the side of her lips.

“Mmm. Now, wasn’t that the most delicious secret,” she whispered.

Alice felt her body go cold, apart from the small throbbing vein on her neck that violently pulsed. A wave of dizziness passed over her and she gasped, clutching at the railing in a vain attempt to steady herself. She could see images from the evening in her mind, almost as if she were seeing them for the first time. Each recollection flashed in her mind before it was replaced by another. As her vision began to fade, she saw Antoine appear on the balcony and kiss his ‘sister’ on the lips. Again she felt another sharp pain and, with a whimper, crashed to the floor before mercifully passing out into blackness.

Chapter Three

Charlotte blew softly onto Alice’s puncture wounds. Sealing them up so that all that remained were two small pin-sized marks. Antoine quickly walked back into the drawing room leaving Charlotte holding onto Alice.

“Lady Beaufort, come quickly – I think your daughter has fainted.”

Lady Beaufort hurried onto the balcony, ushering one of the footmen with her. She let out a small gasp when they arrived, Charlotte clutching onto Alice.

"Oh thank goodness, I didn’t think I could hold her much longer.” Charlotte said, her body shaking.

"Quickly Robert, Antoine, help me carry Alice up to her chamber,” Lady Beaufort said, putting a hand to her daughters cold and clammy forehead.

“I’ll get Simon to bring you something for the shock, Charlotte.”

***

A short while later Charlotte and Antoine made their excuses and left, with Lady Beaufort promising to let them know of Alice’s progress. Once safely inside the carriage, Charlotte sighed.

"Well, I’m exhausted after that evenings little amusements.”

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to join me in a little light in the vaults tonight?” Antoine asked.

 Charlotte took off her long black gloves.

“No, and I don’t understand how you can still go back to that place after I pulled you out of it. It disgusts me, this nostalgic attitude you have towards it.”

Antoine grinned.

“Yes, it is disgusting, but I enjoy its more open pleasures to the tight-lipped society you frequent.”

With that, he pushed open the carriage door and jumped out. At this hour, the rows of cobbled streets were completely deserted and no one was around to hear the loud hiss in response to his departure. Nor was anyone around to notice the blonde figure following him covertly from a distance.

Chapter Four

Antoine moved quickly through the New Town. With each footstep the houses deteriorated in both fashion and style, becoming more densely populated and packed together. The streets, which had minutes earlier been a neatly laid tapestry of cobblestones, now gave way to a wash of straw and sewage.

He crossed the North Bridge, avoiding the paupers, drunks and other various citizens of Edinburgh's underbelly huddled in its recesses. Skipping along the parapet, he was unmindful of the drop into the gardens below.

Although the fog was densely packed, the street’s torches still gave out a dim glow. Antoine jumped off the parapet, passing over the head of a sleeping urchin. The boy woke with a start, shielding his face as Antoine landed in front of him, doffed his hat, and continued down the Royal Mile. The downward cobbled slope was caked in filth and washing hung across the tall, ramshackle tenements. He turned right onto Niddry Street and had started making his way down the cobblestones when a faint splash from behind made him stop abruptly mid-stride. Standing still for a few moments, he stopped and listened, but, hearing nothing more out of the ordinary, he carried on.

Blackfriars Street was not a place that decent members of society would frequent. It wasn't the grey buildings with their shuttered windows which put them off, or the leftover animal innards on the ground. The remnants of the plague still lingered here, and every other door had a blackened mark on it. The blonde figure started humming the old nursery rhyme:

“A ring a ring o’ roses, a pocket full of o’ posies.”

A soft sweet voice sang back in answer. A taller blonde woman emerged from a doorway, leaning in towards the girl and kissing her on both cheeks.

“Well met daughter.”

“He's almost here.”

The woman led her daughter inside.

“You've done well, Natalia; let’s get ready for our guest.”