FicWad

“Come now!” A drunken Monsieur Barbant shouted to a slightly tipsy Edward. “We have but one more place to visit before home!”

“Where is it, Thier…Thierry. I do hote...hone...hope it is not far from my new home.” Edward said, slurring slightly.

Just as Monsieur Barbant promised, he had taken Edward out for a night that he was surely not to forget. First, he had taken him to a small restaurant in Montmarte by the name of Cafe Leblanc, explaining how many an evening the faculty would meet there and enjoy each other's company among good food and decent wine. Edward greatly enjoyed his dinner, finding the cuisine of Paris to be appeasing to his sensitive British tastes. From Cafe Leblanc, the duo headed to a small tavern to enjoy some of France's finest liquors and wines amid the company of Paris' finest gentlemen and some of the most beautiful women Edward had ever laid eyes on, all of them making his dear Miss Blythe pale in comparison. However, it was this remembrance that kept him repeating the specific mantra of “I am happily engaged to my fiancee in London” to all that inquired about him.

“I say, Edward,” Monsieur Barbant slurred as they continued walking, “I have never known you to be so appealing to the mademoiselles! It is usually I that has to fight off the hordes!” Edward, whose face was already a light crimson from the amount of liquor he had ingested, blushed harder.

“Oh it is nothing to be embarrassed about!” Monsieur Barbant exclaimed, slapping Edward on the back. “I just think it is wonderful how the women were surrounding you-- as though they have never seen an Englishman before!”

The two continued walking until they returned to Rue d'Ange; now Edward, even in his drunken state, began to wonder where Monsieur Barbant could be taking him before they returned home. From what Monsieur Barbant told him, in addition to his home and a several other residences and shops, there was a small church and a maison du tolerance; now he was sure that Monsieur Barbant would not be taking him to a church and he severely hoped Monsieur Barbant would not be taking him to a brothel. Oh how unfortuneate that he was mistaken for Monsieur Barbant stopped suddenly in front of Le Chambre du Papillion.

“Ah...ah...here we are, Edward!” Monsieur Barbant exclaimed as the duo paused in front of the entrance.

“Thie-thierry...what is this place? I do hope this is not another tavern.” Edward asked as Monsieur Barbant rapped a steady beat on the door.

“Here? A tavern?! Nonsense!” Monsieur Barbant yelled in his drunkenness.

“Then what is this? Oh Thierry...please tell me this is not that Chambre place...” Edward said as Monsieur Barbant continued knocking. His question was finally answered a few seconds later when the oaken door was thrust open by a medium-sized woman who looked no older than twenty-seven, with smooth skin (compliments of her mixed Algerian heritage) and a face set into a scowl.

“Ah...ah...it is the lovely......lovely....Mademoiselle Fatima...Avril…” Monsieur Barbant slurred as he tried to kiss her hand. No such luck, for the hand he was reaching for went up and rapped him on the head.

“Ah, and it is the drunken Monsieur Barbant,” Fatima admonished rather loudly, “bringing with him an equally drunken friend! Thierry, I have told you on several occassions /do not come here drunk/!”

“Ah, Fatima, so lovely yet still shouting bullets through my delicate skull,” Monsieur Barbant grinned as he tried to steer her away from the subject of his drunken appearance, “now if you are done I would like to introduce you to my colleague Edward Wellington from London.” He then motioned in Edward's direction.

“Edward Wellington? Is this the one whose room I designed?” Fatima asked, peering at the Briton with her dark amber eyes. Even with Edward's bleared vision due to this drunken state, he could tell that this woman was quite lovely. Black hair framed a smooth, round face while long eyelashes bordered those inquisitive amber eyes, a nose that was quite typical of an Algerian, high cheekbones, and a pair of soft, brown lips. Just ever so briefly, he mentally compared her countenance to that of his fiancee. He then continued studying the young woman, especially her figure: it was not a body typical to an English or French woman with her voluptuous figure and rather prominent bosom. He found himself captivated.

“Fatima, if this how you treat those that drunkenly grace the door of your fine establishment, it is no wonder you never have enough business! First the yelling and now the staring!” Monsieur Barbant exclaimed and Fatima slightly blushed at this.

“I am sorry, Monsieur Edward, it is just when Thierry told me about you, he did not mention how young...and handsome you are.” Fatima said, averting her eyes from the young Englishman's gaze.

“Please, Fatima, I could apologize for the same. You have such a lovely face and...” Edward's face turned a lovely shade of crimson, not realizing that for the past few seconds his gaze had been lingering somewhere other than the girl's face. Though it was not entirely his fault, what with the amount of liquor he had ingested and the girl's gown was really just a shade too low cut...

“Well, if we are done staring and apologizing, I think it would be a good idea if Fatima would allow us entrance into this establi...establi...establishment.” Monsieur Barbant proclaimed as he grabbed Edward's wrist and made his way into the building.

Edward somehow found himself standing in the modest foyer of the bordeaux that was decorated quite tamely in emerald and onyx hangings. There was nothing too particularly special about this room with the exception of a large portrait hanging from the wall perpendicular the door. It was of a large, surly looking woman clad entirely in a uniform of rich emerald. She had eyes of harsh blue and her hair was a dirty brown, short in length. The woman's portrait seemed to hold some command over the room, for as soon as the small group entered, a somber air took hold.

“What a lovely painting.” Edward commented quietly after taking in the magnificent work of art.
“/Merci/, Monsieur Edward. It is of our deceased mistress, Madame Madonna Cecile.” Fatima said, bowing slightly.

“/Oui/, though I must say it was not much of a loss.” Monsieur Barbant remarked drily. Fatima frowned and yet again rapped the boisterous man on the head.

“Thierry, do not speak that way of Madame Cecile!” Fatima said sternly, causing Monsieur Barbant to look somewhat sorry.

“I am sorry, Fatima. You know it was very hard for me to get along with that woman, especially before I went to the University.” Monsieur Barbant apologized, bowing his head slightly.

“I should say Thierry, I do not recall Madame Cecile's opinion stopping you from coming here. If anything, it made you come more.” This new voice drew Edward’s attention away from the portrait to a young woman, perhaps the same age as Fatima, with long honey-blonde hair and grey eyes. Edward acknowledged that she had a pretty face: long eyelashes, lips the color of fresh English roses, an aquiline nose, and those grey eyes that were reminiscent of Pallas Athena. She was equally just as lovely as Fatima; however, whereas Fatima had a more buxom build and a heavier bosom, this woman had a slightly smaller chest and very prominent hips. For the second time that night, Edward found himself captivated.

“Ah, yes, Colette, I see you have managed to tear yourself away from the books long enough to meet our guest! This is Monsieur Edward Wellington, my colleague from London!” Monsieur Barbant said, shoving the Briton towards the woman called Colette.

“Ah, Monsieur Edward, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance; I am Colette Girard.” Colette said, giving a little curtsy.

“Mademoiselle Girard, the pleasure is mine.” Edward replied, kissing her hand lightly.

“Please, Monsieur Edward, I prefer Colette over Mademoiselle Girard.” Colette said lightly, rescinding her hand from Edward’s grasp.

“You and Fatima have a lovely home, it is very well decorated.” Edward acknowledged earnestly.

“Merci, though it was Satine and Madeleine who did most of the work.” Fatima said modestly, leading the way into a lavish parlor.

“Oui, they love to decorate and show off their earnings, especially in front of strangers.” Colette remarked drily, glancing at a rather ornate lamp that had been imported from Russia. Always the parsimonious one, Colette was, keeping the books and making sure everything added up at the end of the month. She hated making unnecessary and extravagant purchases, preferring only to buy the necessities and keeping the costs as low as she could find them.

Edward decided that he could never envision a room more elegant than the parlour of the Chambre du Papillion. A room swathed the finest pink silk, no doubt imported from a grand Oriental marketplace and furnished with fine mahogany furniture from Austria. Russian lamps and porcelain adorned the delicate end tables and a large Persian rug graced the polished hardwood floor. Elegant paintings of landscapes and whatnot bedecked the ivory coated walls. It was a room that Edward decided that must have rivaled a room at Buckingham Palace.

“Please, Monsieur Edward, take a seat.” Colette insisted, settling herself in one of the ivory chairs. Edward glanced off to the side and saw Fatima trying to settle Monsieur Barbant into a light rose colored settee. Sighing, he deposited himself gracefully in one of the matching rose colored armchairs.

“So, Monsieur Edward,” Fatima began when everyone was settled, “What brings you to Paris?”

“Ah, well, the Universite de Paris sent for me. As you may of heard, Monsieur Montfermeil passed away and they were in dire need of a impermanent professor of Classical Literature. I shall only be here for the duration of seven months or until they find a replacement.” Edward said, letting a slight smile play at his lips.

“Oui! And until then, we shall play the part of the hosts, showing Edward the sights of our wonderful city!” Monsieur Barbant exclaimed, growing red in the face.

“Of course we shall do everything to make your stay more enjoyable, Monsieur Edward.” Colette said, smiling.

“Oui, Edward. We want you to take pleasure in your stay here.” Fatima agreed.

Edward was just about to thank them for the kindheartedness they were showing him when the sound of the door opening and people talking interrupted him from doing so. It was the sound of two women, one who seemed to be cursing rather loudly and her companion who seemed to be disagreeing with what was said.

“Ah, it seems Satine and Genevieve have returned from the theater.” Fatima commented, glancing in the direction of the entrance hall.

“Satine and Genevieve are two of our girls. If you value your hearing, you won’t say anything to upset them—not that it stops Fatima and Thierry.” Colette remarked rather dryly as the two women made their way into the parlor.

Edward had to admit that he found the two mademoiselles to be quite unlike the women in London. Whereas British women were quiet and most modest, these two creatures were of the reverse—both were squabbling quite viciously and there was a strong scent of bourbon that seemed to waft about them. The shorter of the two women, with blazing burgundy hair and bleary green eyes whose voice was steadily growing shriller with each word from her companion, a tall brunette with a bosom to rival Fatima’s. Both were clad in exquisite dresses, the brunette clothed in a fine silk brocade and decorated with fine jewelry of bright gold, as for the other, a dress of silver velvet complimented with an ornate silver comb, contrasting with the burgundy of her hair.

The two women were arguing quite forcefully about some matter, even Edward, who was well versed in the French language found it hard to decipher their swiftly flung verbal jabs. Monsieur Barbant was finding it dreadfully difficult to keep from laughing out loud, while Fatima simply rolled her amber eyes and muttered something akin to grossier under her breath. It was the reaction of Colette that brought Edward the most interest; grey eyes slowly narrowing into slits and a disagreeable look tugging at her lips, he was briefly reminded of his fiancée back in London.

“Satine, Genevieve, whatever it is you are arguing, stop it now. We have guests.” Colette said icily, giving them both scathing looks.

“Oui, it makes you both look most childish and nobody wants a child!” Fatima added with a smug smirk.

“If anyone is the child, it is Genevieve! Thinking that Marius Rosier wants anything with a woman with such small breasts and too big a nose!” The brunette shrieked as she cast her finger in the direction of the one now identified as Genevieve.

“Oh? As if Marius wants someone as antique as you, Satine! /Retourner à votre culbuteur, mamie*!/” Genevieve said scornfully as she flicked her wrist at Satine.

“You both sound quite childish to me. And you both reek of liquor, as well! Tell me, did you bathe in bourbon before coming here?” Fatima said.

“Oh Edward, how I love it when Fatima et Colette are yelling at someone other than me!” Monsieur Barbant said suddenly.

“Hmph, Monsieur Boring** and his companion are here smelling of liquor and no one acknowledges!” Satine said disdainfully, shooting the man a most despicable look.

“Speaking of Monsieur Boring, who is this man that is cursed to be with him?” Satine sniffed, giving Monsieur Barbant a look that usually reserved for vermin.

“If you two had not been so busy filling our ears with your silly chatter, you would have found out. This is Monsieur Barbant’s colleague from London, Edward Wellington.” Colette said.

“Hmph, it is a Briton. If you brought him here for the night, let it be known I refuse to service a Briton, they are most inferior!” Satine voiced rather loudly before exiting the parlor.

“Oui, as I agree with Satine. Fetch someone else for him, I do not take to kindly to dealing with intimacy and Britons at night.” Genevieve remarked before she too left the parlor.

Edward was most shocked. Service? Intimacy? Had Monsieur Barbant really brought him here to this house in hopes of becoming intimate one of these…women?! It was quite good that Edward was already sitting down, for he felt very weak in the knees right now. It was also very good Miss Blythe were not here.

“I am terribly sorry, Edward. Genevieve and Satine are two of our best girls yet it has often been a mystery as to why.” Fatima apologized, patting him on the knee.

“Yes, normally they know not to speak ill to the men in here unless they wish to have privileges revoked.” Colette added wearily.

“Hmph, that has never stopped them from doing that to me. Monsieur Boring indeed!” Monsieur Barbant spat.

“Oh no, it is I who should apologize,” Edward said, finally finding his voice as he rose from the chair, “I did not know Thierry would be taking me here, for if I had known, I would not have come. I am terribly sorry, but I have a fiancée in London who I love very much and it would be most improper for me to be here.” Oh how he hoped he had not offended them, but it was the truth, but noticing the astonished looks of Colette and Fatima, he could tell that was not the case.

“Thierry! Did you bring him in hopes of getting him a woman?!” Colette exclaimed, whipping herself around to face the flushed Frenchman.

“Wait, what?” Monsieur Barbant questioned, looking from the shocked faces of Fatima and Colette to the worried visage of Edward.

“Thierry,” Fatima began slowly, “Did you bring Edward here to rent one of the girls?”

Realization dawned on Monsieur Barbant’s face and he looked appalled at the thought.

“Qoi?! I would never subject young Edward to the torture of being with one of those girls! What if he were to get the Italian Disease*?!” Monsieur Barbant exclaimed, shuddering at the thought of being intimate with either Satine or Genevieve.

“Excusé moi, but our girls do not have that dratted Italian Disease, Thierry Barbant!” Fatima huffed, looking rather affronted at accusation that she ran a diseased brothel.

“Edward, I did not bring you here to buy a prostitute, I brought you here to meet my two dearest friends. I apologize if you were baffled, mon ame.” Monsieur Barbant apologized quickly.

Edward finally relaxed and let go of his alarmed feelings of the situation. So he was not here to get a prostitute, just here meeting Monsieur’s friends. He suddenly went from relaxed to ashamed.

“I am terribly sorry for the outburst, it was very rude of me to say…” Edward murmured, focusing his gaze on a speck of dirt on his left shoe, but Fatima waved his apology away.

“Please, do not apologize, it was a simple misunderstanding.” Fatima said, giving him a kind smile.

“Oui, it is nothing, forget it happened.” Colette agreed, resettling herself in the chair. “Would you care for some tea?” Edward nodded, sitting back down in his chair, feeling quite foolish about the aforementioned situation.

“Call Isabelle and have her bring a tea tray.” Fatima said, nodding slightly.

Within a few seconds of Colette summoning Isabelle, a small, mousy-haired girl appeared, dressed in a coarse linen dress and a smooth white apron. She looked as though she was quite young, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and an abundance of freckles on her childish face. She carried a dingy rag in one small hand, in the other, a broom.

“Oui, madame? Did you bid for me?” The young girl asked in a voice that was as small as she was.

“Oui, Isabelle. Would you bring us some tea, please? Oh, and when you have done that, would you fetch René his dinner? I do not believe he has eaten for the evening.” Fatima instructed as the young girl bowed deeply before exiting the room.

When Isabelle returned shortly with a tray laden down with tea and elaborate pastries and cakes, Edward was unsure whether to eat them or put them on display, for the tiny tea cakes looked as though they were made of wax. He was glad he decided to sample one, for they were most delicious. The Briton greatly enjoyed tea with them, especially Fatima and Colette. Unlike British women, they were well-versed in the dealings of politics and the going-ons of the world, having an education that went beyond the society pages of women’s magazines. He greatly enjoyed the conversations that he did not realize how late it had gotten and it was soon time for him to depart.

“Au revoir, Edward.” Colette was saying as she led the group to the foyer where Monsieur Barbant would lead Edward home.

“Au revoir. Edward, you should come by tomorrow evening for supper, so that you might become acquainted with the others.” Fatima said, grasping his hand.

“Ah, I think I would like that very much. Thank you for inviting me.” Edward said, smiling.“Anytime, Edward. If you feel like dropping by for dinner, please do so, for there will always be a place for you.” Fatima said, returning the smile.

“Au revoir, Edward, until tomorrow.” Colette said.

“Until tomorrow.” Edward said, before leaving behind Monsieur Barbant.



*/Return to your coffin, granny./
**/Barbant=Boring in French/
*/Italian Disease: French name for syphilis, I believe/

Sorry for the long delay, I had a massive case of writer's block. Please read and review!