The Inheritors: Chapter Ten - A Touch of Comedy

A Meeting with the Duc

The Duc de Mersch's opulent apartment, tucked away near the bustling Italiens, felt strangely hushed. It was a lavish display of plush and purple, a stark contrast to the bright Parisian streets outside. The air, thick with the scent of exotic flowers, seemed to amplify the silence. My meeting with the Duc was preceded by a surprising encounter – a furious tirade, delivered in rapid French, that escaped my comprehension entirely. A stunning woman, with piercing blue eyes, then emerged, clearly intent on sharing her own opinions, before abruptly disappearing behind a locked door. Her dramatic exit, punctuated by a mysterious "Peeg, peeg" at the keyhole, injected a welcome dose of absurdity into the otherwise serious atmosphere.

This unexpected interlude shifted my perception of the Duc. He had initially seemed a tiresome philanthropist, but this glimpse into his private life made him more human. The incident also provided much-needed amusement, lifting my spirits from a state of near-despair over the article I was tasked with writing.

An Interview and an Apotheosis

The Duc, with his bland manner and commercial English, spoke at length about his Arctic colonization project. He presented himself as a latter-day Solon or Aeneas, though his dull discourse seemed to lack intellectual sparkle. He overwhelmed me with statistics: miles of railway laid, sewing machines distributed, and the purported eradication of man-eating and fetich-worship. He portrayed a utopian vision of Greenland, a land transformed by European ingenuity and organization. Yet, the image of the fiery woman and her locked door lingered in my mind.

The Duc, surprisingly, seemed almost suppliant. He needed me, the power of the press, to solidify his public image. In that moment, I felt the strange power of the journalist – a conduit between the powerful and the public. I, a nobody from a small room above the Parisian rooftops, held a peculiar sway over this man who sought to reshape continents.

"I will do my best," I promised, echoing the power I represented, not my personal commitment.

A Night at the Opera and a Sinister Encounter

After filing my rather lyrical, perhaps overly enthusiastic, article at the Hour office, I found myself unexpectedly dining with the paper's foreign correspondent, a bubbly, well-connected individual. He seemed eager to impress me with his knowledge and connections. Our evening culminated at the Opera, a world away from my usual cheap seats high in the rafters. The opulent setting, with its swirling crowds and tawdry marble, felt both fantastic and ironic.

As the performance ended, I spotted the Duc escorting an older woman – my aunt. And then, a chilling vision: a woman, radiant and sinister, descending the grand staircase. Her face, bathed in light, held a threatening beauty as she spoke, her voice seemingly carried on the rustling of the crowd: "You come to me tomorrow."

Suddenly, the Duc and his companion seemed like family, a connection I hadn't felt in years. The enigmatic woman, my "sister", intrigued rather than repelled me. But then a furtive exchange between two men near me, overheard mentions of my name and "de Mersch", hinted at underlying tensions and a world of whispers I had yet to understand.