The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

against one’s body is nevertheless…
well
…so…”
    Elöise smiled, or at least made the attempt, but Miss Temple saw the woman’s lower lip hesitantly quiver.
    “It is just…you see, I do not
remember
…I know I went to Tarr Manor for a reason, but for my life I cannot call it to mind!”
    “It is best we keep on our way,” Miss Temple said, glancing to see if the quivering lip had been followed by tears, and breathing with relief that it had not. “And you can tell me what you do remember of Tarr Manor. Miss Poole mentioned Francis Xonck, and of course Colonel Trapping—”
    “I am tutor to the Colonel’s children,” said Elöise, “and known to Mr. Xonck—indeed, he has been most attentive ever since the Colonel disappeared.” She sighed. “You see, I am a confidante of Mr. Xonck’s sister, the Colonel’s wife—I was even present here, at Harschmort House, the night the Colonel disappeared—”
    “You were?” asked Miss Temple, a bit abruptly.
    “I have asked myself if I inadvertently witnessed some clue, or overheard some secret—anything to entice Mr. Xonck to curiosity, or that he might use against his siblings, or even to conceal his own part in the Colonel’s death—”
    “Is it possible you knew who had killed him or why?” asked Miss Temple.
    “I have no idea!” cried Elöise.
    “But if those memories are gone, then it follows they must have been worth taking,” observed Miss Temple.
    “Yes, but because I learned something I should not have? Or because I was—there is no other word—seduced to even take part?”

    Elöise stopped, her hand over her mouth, tears gleaming in each eye. The woman’s despair struck Miss Temple as real, and she knew as well as anyone—after her experience of the book—how temptation might sway the sternest soul. If she could not remember what she’d done, if she was here stricken with regret, did the truth of it really matter? Miss Temple had no idea—no more than she might parse the relative state of her own bodily innocence. For the first time she allowed a gentle nudge of pity to enter her voice.
    “But they did not enlist you,” she said. “Miss Poole told the Comte and Caroline that you were quite a nuisance.”
    Elöise exhaled heavily and shrugged Miss Temple’s words away. “The Doctor rescued me from an attic, and then was taken. I followed, with his gun, and tried to rescue him in turn. In the process—I’m sorry, it is difficult to speak of it—I shot a man. I shot him dead.”
    “But that is excellent, I’m sure,” replied Miss Temple. “I have not shot anyone, but I have killed one man outright and another by way of a cooperative coach wheel.” Elöise did not reply, so Miss Temple helpfully went on. “I actually spoke of it—well, as much as one speaks of anything—with Cardinal Chang, who you must understand is a man of few words—indeed, a man of
mystery
—the very first time I laid eyes upon him I knew it was so—granted, this was because he was wearing all red in a train car in the very early morning holding a razor and reading poetry—and wearing dark spectacles, for he has suffered injury to his eyes—and though I did not know him I did remark him, in my mind, and when I saw him again—when we became comrades with the Doctor—I knew who he was at once. The Doctor said something about him—about Chang—just now, I mean to say, in the theatre—I didn’t make sense of any of it for that abominable shouting and the smoke and the fire—and do you know, it is a queer thing, but I have noticed it, how at times the extremity of, well,
information,
assaulting one of our senses overwhelms another. For example, the
smell
and the
sight
of the smoke and flames absolutely inhibited my ability to
hear
. It is exactly the sort of thing I find fascinating to think on.”
    They walked for a moment before Miss Temple recalled the original drift of her thought.
    “But—
yes
—the reason I spoke to Cardinal Chang—well, you see, I must explain that Cardinal Chang is a
dangerous
man, a very deadly fellow—who has probably killed a man more often than I have purchased shoes—and I spoke to him about the men I had killed, and—well, honestly it was very difficult to talk about, and what he ended up telling me was exactly how someone like myself ought to use a pistol—which was to grind the barrel as tightly into the body of your target as you can. Do you see my point? He was telling me what to
do
as a