Fic: Winter Music

[vignette]

Right... I'm slightly nervous about posting this, but seeing as quite a few members have expressed a desire for fetish stories with historical settings, I thought some people might enjoy this. It's Part One of what will hopefully be a longer, complete story and is set in Paris, 1848. Feedback is very much appreciated.

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‘That coat won’t keep him warm,’ Lucille thought to herself, staring out of the window of the dressmaker’s shop at the young man across the street. The long coat that covered his tall, slim frame was of the type worn by most of the students in Paris. It would once have been very thick, fine protection against the cruel winter weather. But now it was worn, patches of it were threadbare and there was a tear on one of the cuffs. It would not do much to keep off the bitter wind that whipped down the streets of the capital. It was a wonder that his fingers were still able to move over the neck of the violin that he played, and that his bow still danced over the strings so nimbly. Lucille felt her stomach twist as she watched him; the young man must really need the money to be busking in such conditions.

He played outside the shop where she worked every Wednesday and Thursday afternoon. Although Lucille had never heard the music he played, she looked forward to his arrival. Being able to watch him through the shop window was a welcome distraction from the tedious work of hemming and mending that she was set everyday by Madame Garnier. He knew that she watched him; once or twice he had smiled at her, and Lucille had looked down at her work, blushing at being caught staring. But that did not stop her watching him, and she had taken the young man to her heart. She felt a jolt of happiness when a passer-by dropped a few coins into the hat he placed in front of him, and pangs of sympathy when a carriage drove by and threw water from the gutter over his worn-out shoes.

“Lucille, have you finished the hem of that skirt? Madame D’Autry will be along soon to collect the dress and I haven’t even began to attach the bodice yet!” Madame Garnier rushed into the workroom on her short, plump legs. Lucille paid little attention to her flustered nature. Her employer became overwrought at the least provocation. Doubtless Madame D’Autry would not arrive for another two hours.

“I have just finished,” Lucille told her, handing over folds of deep blue material.

“Good, I will sew this to the bodice, then I must leave it to you to finish it,” Madame Garnier continued. “I have an appointment this evening.” Lucille did not press the other woman for details. In the first instance, Madame Garnier’s life did not interest her in the least, and in the second, she would lay what little money she earned on her employer having a meeting with Monsieur Regimbart, who owned a café a few street away. As her employer rushed back into the other room, Lucille picked up the crimson gown that another lady had brought in to be mended, and looked back to the young man over the road.

He had stopped playing and was holding both his violin and bow in his left hand. His right hand was searching for something in the pocket of his coat. Lucille watched even more intently as he pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth, tilting his head back slightly. The young man stayed in that position for a moment and then sneezed twice, powerfully, hunching his shoulders as his head snapped forward. Straightening up, he rubbed his nose with the handkerchief before replacing it in his pocket. His cheeks looked flushed and he shivered slightly in the chilled air.

“He’s caught cold,” Lucille whispered, as the man tucked his violin underneath his chin and continued to play. Little wonder, really. If he to play his violin on the street on a cold February day, then he couldn’t be living in a nice warm town house. It was most likely a damp apartment with a window that let in drafts. Lucille could picture him sitting in it, pouring over his books by candlelight. She invented his surroundings as she mended a tear in the lining of the dress.

“Lucille! I must go, I must hurry! I will be late!” Madame Garnier announced her return and Lucille looked up at the clock; she had been daydreaming for the past half hour. Silently rebuking herself for being so distracted as to lose track of time, she turned to face her employer. “Keep the shop open for half an hour or so,” Madame Garnier continued, putting her cloak on. “If you don’t have any more customers, close early. It’s too cold for people to come out.”

“And Madame D’Autry?” Lucille asked.

“Oh, yes. I’d made a mistake about the day; she will come tomorrow after all. Goodbye, Lucille – don’t forget to lock the door!” And with that, she disappeared into the street. Lucille watched her leave and sighed. At least she could close early, walk home before it got too dark, and she had the shop to herself. She began to hum a tune under her breath as she moved into the front of the shop to finish her mending and greet any customers that arrived.

No more customers came into the shop and after half an hour Lucille flicked the sign on the door over to closed. As she did so, she caught sight of the student packing his violin into its case. He looked even colder than before and Lucille felt awful for him. What he needed, she decided, was to go inside somewhere and have a hot drink before he walked home, otherwise he would catch a chill on top of his cold. Lucille looked up at the clock again, as if to check the time had not changed in the last few moments. Madame would not be back for hours yet, there was no one on the street that would see what she did and tell Madame. Besides, she could always pretend he was asking for directions, and he did look so very dejected out there.

“Monsieur!” she called, leaning out of the door. The young man opposite her looked up and glanced around, as if he was looking for whoever she was calling to. Lucille smiled at him and waved. “Monsieur! Come over!” Looking rather surprised at being called to like this, he picked up his violin case and walked across to where Lucille stood.

“You were called me, Mademoiselle?” His voice was deep and husky, yet more evidence of his cold, and his deep brown eyes looked deeply into Lucille’s.

“Yes, I… I wondered if you might like to come in and have something hot to drink? It’s been very cold outside today,” Lucille replied.

“Oh, thank you, but I really couldn’t impose on…”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Lucille told him. “I was just about to make some coffee for myself, and I would be very pleased if you would join me, Monsiuer…?”

“Reinard. Nicolas Reinard,” the young man replied, holding out his hand. Lucille took it. “And you are?”

“Lucille Badeau,” she said softly. “Please, won’t you come inside?”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle Badeau, I would be glad to. It is very cold outside.” They both entered the shop and Lucille led Nicolas to the small workroom at the back of the shop. She motioned for Nicolas to sit down at the small table, as she busied herself with the kettle.

“So, will you be back tomorrow?” Lucille asked, then added as Nicolas looked confused, “Playing, I mean. You come every Wednesday and Thursday.”

“Oh, yes,” Nicolas said, sniffling slightly. “They are the only afternoons I do not have lectures.” Lucille smiled to herself as she placed the kettle on the stove; she had been right about him being a student.

“Are you studying music?” she asked, joining him at the table.

“No, law,” Nicolas said, laughing. “Like everybody else, I suppose. This,” he pointed to the violin. “This is just a hobby, and a way to make a little extra money.” He looked as if he were about to say something else, but a nervous expression entered his eyes and he sniffed sharply. His right hand went into his pocket, and Lucille knew what was coming. “Excuse me…heh…I… I…ehh…h-have to…” Nicolas stammered, and then snapped the handkerchief to his face. “Ehhh- Ishhuh! Hehshhhuh!” he sneezed violently.

“A vos souhaits,” Lucille said gently, as the kettle began to sing. She got up and turned her back on Nicolas, allowing him to tend to his nose with less embarrassment.

“Please excuse me,” he said a moment later, sounding very self-conscious.

“You sound like you’re catching cold,” Lucille told him, pouring the hot water into the coffee pot.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Nicolas nonchalantly. “Just a sniffle, from standing in the cold air.” Lucille had her doubts, but kept her mouth shut.

“Then I’m sure this will help,” Lucille replied as she placed the two steaming cups on the table.

“Thank you, this is very kind of you.” Nicolas took a sip of the hot liquid. “And the best coffee I’ve had in a long time.” Lucille laughed at his compliment.

“Now I know you’re a law student, you’re too good at talking,” she said. “So are you going to be a rich and famous lawyer when you finish studying?” Nicolas shook his head firmly.

“I want to go into politics, really change things,” he said fervently. Lucille shook her head and smiled; all these students were the same. They all spent too much time dreaming. “Did I say something funny?”

“No, only I should have guessed. You don’t look like the sort who would be satisfied with wealth alone,” she told him, softening her opinion slightly. Nicolas seemed happy with this explanation. He sipped at his coffee again.

“There’s so much injustice in this country!” he continued passionately. “So many people exploited, so much money in the wrong hands and I think…” He broke off again, with a familiar, distracted expression on his face. The sneezes came quicker this time, almost before he got the handkerchief to his nose.

“Eh-Heshhhh! Eh-kushhuh! Heh… HehUshhuh! Ehh…” The fourth sneezes did not materialise, leaving Nicolas to sigh and wipe his nose. Lucille noticed that he left the handkerchief on his lap; his nose must still be bothering him. “Please excuse me,” Nicolas apologised.

“Those would be sneezes to go with your sniffles, which means you have a cold,” Lucille said playfully. “You ought to take care of yourself.” Nicolas shrugged.

“Perhaps, I have been…” His breath hitched and he smothered another sneeze into his handkerchief. “Ehhh… huhhh…. EshUhhh!”

“A vos souhaits,” Lucille said again, clearing away the empty cups.

“Thank you.” Nicolas sounded even stuffier as he stood up. “And thank you for the coffee, Mademoiselle Badeau, and for the excellent company.”

“I hope you don’t have far to walk home?” Lucille asked.

“Oh no, I live on the Rue Amyot, about ten minutes from here,” he replied, picking up his violin. The young man walked towards the door and Lucille followed him, holding back slightly as he pulled it open.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Of course,” Nicolas said, smiling. “It was lovely to meet you. I hope this won’t be the last time we have coffee.” Lucille felt herself blush and cursed her lack of ability to hide her feelings.

“Take care,” she said, softly. Nicolas stepped out into the street and closed the door behind him. He took a few steps down the street and then stopped, turned around and waved to Lucille. She waved back, her heart skipping in her chest. She didn’t know how she would wait until tomorrow.

[count tiszula]

As Kingsley Amis noted, someone who knows that 1848 is not just a year; it's 1848.

A fine story; yet something leads me to doubt that Lucille will prove to have an attractive sneeze. I hope that you will soon prove me wrong. My recent fantasy about Trilby may have to wait a while; though she is a child at this date.

More , more; will Nicolas die in the snow or at the barricades?

{and are the Tiszas about to revolt in Buda, or indeed Pest]

[tma]

As I'm sure that you know *blush* I adore this time period. I usually lean toward English- not French. But your writing is wonderful.

It is very realistic- which for me is Huge. And the setting and the jobs that characters have work Very well with this story.

Love the whole guy brushing off being sick thing and being embarrassed- that just *Squees* (technical term.... lol!) me so much.

Thank you very much.

[Sneesee]

Wonderfully and beautifully written, vignette! I love poor, sneezy guys with colds. And the whole handkerchief thing is nice! Love this! Can't wait for the next installment!

Thanks for posting it!

Wonderfully and beautifully written, vignette! I love poor, sneezy guys with colds. And the whole handkerchief thing is nice! Love this! Can't wait for the next installment!

Thanks for posting it!