The Star and the Strange Moon by Constance Sayers

Author:Constance Sayers [SAYERS, CONSTANCE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

16

Gemma Turner

“1878”

Amboise, France

Like a drowning victim, Gemma searched for air. When her lungs finally, blessedly were infused with breath, she sat up in bed, gasping.

Clutching her throat, eyes wide, she searched the room. The wooden cross was still in front of the window. The scene looked the same as yesterday. Yet, everything had changed.

Roman had killed her. Yet, she was still here.

How was that possible?

She was both overjoyed to be alive and disappointed to be back in this room. Had she thought dying would free her?

Outside her door, Gemma heard creaking as something moved across the floorboard outside of her door. Sometimes a clawing sound commenced, deep in the wood, only for her to find that in the morning, the door was untouched. Convinced that someone was on the other side—Roman, Avril, Monsieur Batton—she quietly slid out of bed and put her ear to the door.

It was a sound, not unlike the wind, but familiar. “You.”

Jumping away from the door, she heard the keys on the typewriter begin to clatter.

Mademoiselle Turner:

Well, that scene was certainly exciting! Bravo! Of course, we can’t have our heroine dying, so we’ll need to do it again, but I think you’re getting the hang of it. Squeeze every bit of drama out of your performance. That’s what your audience wants!

The sound at the door ceased, likely chased away by the sound of the typewriter keys.

Leaning over the desk, she typed:

Fuck you.

Immediately, the typewriter responded:

Tsk, tsk. We can all benefit from constructive criticism. Unfortunately, your previous performance was flat. Try again. You keep thinking you know the outcome of the story, so you aren’t giving your portrayal of Gisele your “all.” That is hubris, and we can’t have it. Remember: Flat performances cause repeat performances.

—A

“I’ll show you a flat performance.” She sniffed. Until dawn she paced, finally deciding how to play the scene today.

She dressed as a soldier would, her clothes leaden with a weary sense of upcoming battle. Gazing at herself in the mirror, the woman that stared back at her had hollow eyes, as though she’d been sickly for months. Finally, with a heaviness in her bones, she descended the stairs slowly.

“There you are,” said a voice. Manon carried an envelope in her hand. “This just came for you.”

Gemma paused, studying the maid’s face, looking for any signs of déjà vu from the woman. Taking the envelope, Gemma tried to prompt her. Did anyone else realize they were doing scenes again and again? “What did you do last night?”

“I read the Bible,” said Manon. “Said my devotions. Locked my windows, as requested by you.”

“Good,” said Gemma. “Do it again tonight.” She slid the letter off the tray and studied the familiar handwriting. Before she opened it, Gemma held it to her head like a stage medium and closed her eyes for dramatic effect, “Let me guess, this is Pascale asking me to dinner.”

“You have not been over to his house since your father died. It is good to see you back in the social season, mademoiselle.

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