The week after he got his new job at Belle de-jour café was a blur of tea, wines and macaroons. Working as a server was the most exhausting thing he had done in his life. Perhaps it was having to deal with snooty rich people that took such a toll on him.

It was almost midnight as he strolled out of Belle de-jour after a particularly punishing day. However, it had been worth it, for it was the end of the week and Philippe had just earned his fist salary at the café.

The roads in the well to-do areas of Paris were clearing out, but it seemed like the poorer parts of the city were just waking up. Other men like him who worked long shifts for a pittance, were pouring into the streets, crowded into the scattering of brothels where they could afford drinks.

Those men would probably spend the little money they had on alcohol, stumble home and beat their wife and children senseless. He knew what it was to be one of those children. Everyone he heard his neighbor's family scream, a pang of pain would hit him in his heart.

But of course, Philippe didn't need to worry about social injustices since Robespierre and Danton were at work now.

Supposedly.

All that Philippe could make out was that they spent all their time holed up in the National Assembly or in cafés like the one he worked in, preaching about of Libertè and La Patriè, and the rest of the time they spent plotting how they could knive each other in the back.

Philippe tried to push his morose thoughts away. He concentrated on the coins jingling in his pocket-- his money.

Knowing Maman, she would've probably stayed up to have him walk into a joyous household that would congratulate him. After an entire month of economic uncertainties, the money earned would provide great reprieve.

He was in the mood to spoil himself when he came across a stall that sold candy. The shopkeeper was in the process of winding it down for the night when he went over and bought three pieces of the cheapest candy of the lot.

He was as excited as a child when he grabbed the small leaf package it had been wrapped in and quickly scurried home, eager to share the rare treat with his parents.

*
Philippe lay under the stars after a dinner of boiled vegetables and a piece of candy.

They weren't really stars, of course. Just little white dots on the ceiling that Maman had painted for him while he was younger in one corner of the house. But to Philippe, they were the stars.

Maman had been ecstatic, and Papa moderately joyous. As soon as Philippe entered the house, she'd ambushed him for the money counting it carefully and then putting it into a tin can under the cot. She would be in charge of it from then on.

Papa had, in characteristic fashion, kept a steadfast silence until Philippe announced that he had bought some candy to celebrate. And then he'd lightly commented that his son had the priorities of a five year old. But the ringing insult had not been missed by Philippe.

He had snidely replied that he'd have brought wine if not for the fact that it may lead to Papa breaking the arm of yet another girl in a drunken rage.

That had ruined the mood. No one talked after that. They are their dinner in stoic silence and hurried away to sleep as soon as they were done.

The past wasn't something any of them were comfortable with. Especially Papa.

"Philippe," Maman called him, putting an abrupt end to his stream of thought. "Someone is here for you."

He saw a man he did not recognize standing at the door. His mother was holding it open, glancing at the man with unbridled curiosity.

Groaning, he got up and walked towards the door, ignoring the questioning look etched on Maman's face.

"Do I know you?" Philippe asked tiredly, leaning on the door. Maman had walked away, but he knew that she would press him for details later. The man in front of him stood unnaturally straight-backed.

"You are Philippe Fitzgerald, yes?" the man asked flatly, looking thoroughly disinterested.

"Jr.," Philippe felt the need to clarify.

"You were in the Army?"

"Yes," Philippe said, stiffening. "How do you kn--"

"You have been selected for the tailoring job you applied for," the man said, casting a look at Philippe that almost shouted at him not to ask questions. "Madamoiselle Marie will meet you three hours before noon for your appointment with her." He shoved a piece of parchment into his hands.

"I can't read," Philippe stated.

"It doesn't matter. You give this to the housekeeper, Vafara Eustis, when you come in for the appointment. Please enter the d'Aramitz mansion through the servants' door at the back."

"I didn't apply for a tailoring job in the first place!" Philippe exclaimed, confused.

What was going on?

A sense of urgency and desperation flooded the man's tone and he gazed at the sky frustratedly. Frowning he said, "Oh, but didn't you ask Maurice Bernard to procure a job for you? He applied on your behalf for the job, but the Madamoiselle was unable to give you a response until now." Philippe didn't miss the emphasis on his friend's name.

An idea crossed Philippe's mind. "Was it because she was busy with Carpentier's thugs?" Philippe asked slowly, hoping to find out that he was right about the 'tailoring job'.

The man's taut brows loosened. "Exactly that. I trust you will be there, then?"

"Tell Madamoiselle Eustis to expect me five minutes before the designated time."

The man gave Philippe a curt nod and turned on his heel, military style, and walked away. The man tried to blend in with the peasants, but like most other non-peasants, he failed miserably. His straight-backed march-of-sorts was particularly prominent since all the peasants around him were practically slumping to the ground after their gruelling day of work.

*

It hadn't been too tough for Philippe to wriggle out information of the d'Aramitz mansion's whereabouts from locals. It seemed like practically everyone knew where it was, not because many people worked there or it was the home of a significant Assembly member. It all had to do with the gossip surrounding Marie.

He had called in sick and was to arrive at work after midday. It had worked out well enough without a reduction in his salary, all thank to Renaudin and his forceful father.

He had learned that the mansion was approximately half an hour's walk from where he lived. It was located at the outskirts of Paris, where most of the other landed aristocrats-- a politically incorrect term, but convenient for factual accuracy--lived in the midst of their sprawling lands.

Philippe gazed at the d'Aramitz estate through the iron-wrought gates as he patiently explained his purpose to the guards, who were oblivious.

It was a large mansion--almost a castle--a pure white in colourThey refused to let him in despite all his explanations and pleas, for they believed him to be some sort of country bumpkin who wanted to steal from the gardens.

"I am here for a tailoring appointment. Madamoiselle d'Aramitz herself can confirm it, if you ask her."

"I find it quite hard to believe you are here empty-handed for a 'tailoring appointment', Monsieur," one of the guard said. He was young, probably around Philippe's age. As he examined Philippe from body to toe and landed on his tattered shoes, his irritation morphed into disgust.

Philippe gazed at his empty hands and sighed impatiently. "We are merely supposed to discuss what sort of dresses the Madamoiselle would like me to make today."

The guard who had asked him about his lack of equipment gave him a disbelieving look. Lowering his tone, he said menacingly, "You're not fooling anyone, get the hell out of here."

Philippe gave him a hard stare. His eyes not leaving those of the guard's, he pulled out the piece of paper he'd been given the previous day. "I believe the housekeeper is named Vafara Eustis? Give this to her, please, and she will support my testimony."

A feral growl rippled out of the man's throat as he snatched the paper out of Philippe's hand and handed it to the guard behind him. That guard, in turn, dutifully scurried away into the gates to deliver the note to the housekeeper.

Philippe endured what felt like an eternity under the scrutinizing glares of the guards as they waited for the man who'd gone in with the note come back. By that time, Philippe's mind had raced with thousands of possibilities. He began seriously contemplating the chance of this all being a trap. Perhaps Marie was going to hand him over to Carpentier and the men from Bordeaux in exchange for her life.

Right when he was about to apologise to the guards and walk away, the man who'd taken the note came jogging their way. Panting lightly, he handed the note to Philippe. " Eustis confirms his statement. She says that he is to be let in and that she'll meet him at the servants' entrance."

Philippe did not want to enter the estate. What if he was indeed walking into a trap? He knew that the nobility were cunning people from his experience in Bordeaux. Marie didn't seem to be like them, but he could never know.

As he stood at the entrance, shuffling his feet with uncertainty, the guard who'd interrogated him snarled, "We cannot hold the gates open forever. Get in now or I will stick my sword into your neck."

Despite the considerable nervousness gradually flooding his system, Philippe managed to throw a nasty look at the man as he walked past him.

Two paths seemed to diverge from the gate to the mansion. The bigger one of the two was well kept and led right to the entrance of the mansion. The path was wide enough for chariots to roll right down it. The other one, however, was located along the walls, practically invisible under the the weeds that grew over it. It arched right along the right of the mansion.

He supposed that this was the path to the servants' door at the back of the building.

As he walked down the path, he gazed at the gardens around him. Fruits weighed the branches almost to the ground. Flowers of all shapes and hues abounded, creating a bedazzling explosion of colours. The rains the previous night left the garden smelling of petrichor and sickly sweet roses.

However, the aesthetics of the garden did not appeal to Philippe. On first sight, no one would notice the plants trimmed and pruned with such symmetry that it seemed like a ruler had been used to do so. The floral plants had been carefully planted in such a way that they were in rows of darkening shades. Not a single leaf was on the carpet of unusually green grass that lined the ground.

Nature was in shackles in the d'Aramitz estate.

The mansion looked frighteningly sterile. The white rocks it had been made with were spotless. The mansion was awe inspiring, but aloof in its grandeur. It just amplified his reluctance to walk into Marie's home. His home, though modest, was a home. As a man whose feeling governed the way he felt, he felt intimidated by the mansion. The incident with the men who guarded it hadn't elevated his opinion of it either. The mansion was a marvel to a man like him, no doubt, but it was one he would've liked to admire from afar in an impersonal manner. One that he did not wish to walk into.

When he reached a wooden door at the back of the castle, elegantly carved but inferior in grandeur to the rest of the d'Aramitz residence, he deduced that it was probably the servants' entrance he was supposed to enter. Carefully, he pushed the door open and entered a stone passageway lit with torches on both sides. It led to a spiralling stairwell. At the top of it stood a woman with so pained an expression that could've only arisen from having a stick stuck up her arse.

She had her grey hair strained against her scalp in a simple bun. Gold rimmed pince-nez were placed at the very tip of her nose. She glared at the note clutched in his palm through them, like an eagle eyeing a rat.

"You are Philippe Fitzgerald, Monsieur?" she asked sharply as she eyed him suspiciously.

"Yes. I take it that you are Madamoiselle Vafara Eustis?" he enquired. When she nodded at him, he smiled and said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

She pressed her mouth into a flat line--what Philippe supposed was her version of a smile. "Follow me, the Madamoiselle is expecting you."

She led him through the cold stone passageways, all so narrow Philippe could barely fit through. The housekeeper, though, seemed to skip down them nimbly as she led the way.

Finally, they stopped at a small room, just a fraction smaller than his house. It's walls were unadorned and painfully stark. Two straight-backed wooden chairs were placed at what seemed to be the geometric centre of the room. A small window on the far left would be the only source of light of once the door was shut.

"Wait here," she said, shoving him into the room and shutting the door behind her.

He had barely sat down in the chair when the door swung open and Marie stood at the entrance, her red hair shining like a flame in the light.

"Bonjour, Marie, I hope you are doing well," he said as she sat down on the chair opposite to his.

"You really haven't been listening to the gossip then, have you? " she fired back, smiling.

"I must confess that I have, actually," Philippe said, smiling apologetically, "But it is a hobby of mine to hope against hope."

Marie laughed, the sound like the tinkling of a wind chime.

"So," she said, sobering up rapidly, "let us get to the crux of the matter we are here to discuss."

"The men from Bordeaux found me a week ago," Philippe said, wringing his hands uncomfortably. "Remember the man you killed, Theo? His brother--"

"Thibault, yes, I know." Marie interrupted, nodding, "He joined forces with the men from Bordeaux."

Philippe was dumbstruck. How did she know?

She seemed to read his mind when she continued with a tired smile on her face,"Isn't it too much of a coincidence that the police are investigating the Theo incident just a week after his brother was arrested by the police, Philippe?"

Bonjour! How are you lovely readers feeling? Thank you so much for sticking with L'appel du vide and for your wonderful response to my work! Honestly, your kind and wonderful comments really make my day.

We are at the tenth chapter of this book (half of this one was written while waiting for a train lol) and I'd love to know what you think of Philippe? Do you like him or hate him? Does he intrigue you? According to you, is he a good protagonist/antagonist? (I don't agree with a lot of things he does, tbh)

I will see you with a new chapter next week. If you haven't figured out yet, I update L'appel du vide every Friday/Saturday/Sunday.

Until then, au revoir!