prudish to her ears but she didn’t take it back.
Tristam didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled the little door open, and a cloud of dust and cobweb billowed into the room on the stale air. It smelled of mice, mold and mushrooms—icky gray ones with little cone hats. He stepped back with a grimace and closed the door, shutting off the unpleasant odors. “Most of the evidence is empirical. Vellacourt is nothing like La Voisin. I have found no impedimenta of witchcraft, though there are devices for hunting and torturing witches. Those aren’t in the garret, though. The only suggestion of witchcraft is a vague reference to Vellacourt having read the Grimoire of Pope Honorius.”
“A grimoire?”
“Yes, but it isn’t here, unfortunately, so we can’t see what, if anything, he took from it. No, when I say ‘sexual torture chamber,’ I think the violence that was done here was mainly…Well, there was nothing horrible done here, as odd as this man was. He was harmless, I think. The whips I’ve found are mostly made of velvet. Mostly. There are some leather tawses. Some little golden manacles are lined with beaver pelts, though there are larger ones that would fit a man that are made of iron. Some paddles have illustrated leather. The tooling is actually quite nice on some of them, although still rather, um, limited in theme. There’s even a padded rack that can be adjusted for comfort and multiple positions, which is Hugh Vella-court’s own invention. I know this because he left journals complete with bad illustrations to explain it, a sort of owner’s manual for the dilettante sadist. All in all, this mansion houses an excellent collection of late seventeenth-centuryerotic paraphernalia—perhaps the only such set in America,” he summed up calmly. Golden eyes twinkling, Tristam asked, “Shall we go up now? Or would you rather face it on a full stomach?”
Well, she’d asked to get the pain over all at once, Karo admitted to herself. Still, this was a lot. “Maybe later,” she replied. “I guess I’m still feeling a bit faint from the ideas of whips and chains, sex and witchcraft. No point in facing every challenge at once.”
Also, there was something else. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted to a living soul—or even a dead one—but a part of her had always been a bit fascinated by the idea of bondage. Here was her chance to actually look it in the face. But she wasn’t ready to see this room with Tristam English beside her. No, that would be too much. She would make her first visit alone.
But, the black arts? That had never interested her at all. She didn’t believe in the Christian Devil, but she did believe that there was such a thing as evil, and that it could linger. If this house had been used for evil purposes, which was possible, no matter what Tristam claimed, she needed a little while to work up the courage to face the scene of the crimes. A torture chamber!
Tristam’s brow creased as he studied her. He seemed apologetic for anything he might have said that was beyond the pale and she was annoyed with herself for letting her shock be so apparent. “I quite agree. Let’s make sure you are at full strength before we shock your system with any visuals.”
“So,” Karo said, trying to make some joke toshow that she wasn’t entirely upended by this development but drawing a total blank. She often thought of herself as a sophisticate, but she didn’t know how to begin rationally discussing Vella-court’s hobbies, much less how to market them to a tourist crowd. She had a sudden image of the gargoylelike man in the portrait parading up and down his torture chamber wearing a red leather waistcoat and a pair of high-heeled shoes with paste buckles and paisley socks. It was pure Monty Python silliness, and the thought made her feel better. Dev ils got smaller when you laughed at them.
“Yes?” Tristam prompted.
“Are…are we certain that this wasn’t the summer villa? A
Tristam didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled the little door open, and a cloud of dust and cobweb billowed into the room on the stale air. It smelled of mice, mold and mushrooms—icky gray ones with little cone hats. He stepped back with a grimace and closed the door, shutting off the unpleasant odors. “Most of the evidence is empirical. Vellacourt is nothing like La Voisin. I have found no impedimenta of witchcraft, though there are devices for hunting and torturing witches. Those aren’t in the garret, though. The only suggestion of witchcraft is a vague reference to Vellacourt having read the Grimoire of Pope Honorius.”
“A grimoire?”
“Yes, but it isn’t here, unfortunately, so we can’t see what, if anything, he took from it. No, when I say ‘sexual torture chamber,’ I think the violence that was done here was mainly…Well, there was nothing horrible done here, as odd as this man was. He was harmless, I think. The whips I’ve found are mostly made of velvet. Mostly. There are some leather tawses. Some little golden manacles are lined with beaver pelts, though there are larger ones that would fit a man that are made of iron. Some paddles have illustrated leather. The tooling is actually quite nice on some of them, although still rather, um, limited in theme. There’s even a padded rack that can be adjusted for comfort and multiple positions, which is Hugh Vella-court’s own invention. I know this because he left journals complete with bad illustrations to explain it, a sort of owner’s manual for the dilettante sadist. All in all, this mansion houses an excellent collection of late seventeenth-centuryerotic paraphernalia—perhaps the only such set in America,” he summed up calmly. Golden eyes twinkling, Tristam asked, “Shall we go up now? Or would you rather face it on a full stomach?”
Well, she’d asked to get the pain over all at once, Karo admitted to herself. Still, this was a lot. “Maybe later,” she replied. “I guess I’m still feeling a bit faint from the ideas of whips and chains, sex and witchcraft. No point in facing every challenge at once.”
Also, there was something else. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted to a living soul—or even a dead one—but a part of her had always been a bit fascinated by the idea of bondage. Here was her chance to actually look it in the face. But she wasn’t ready to see this room with Tristam English beside her. No, that would be too much. She would make her first visit alone.
But, the black arts? That had never interested her at all. She didn’t believe in the Christian Devil, but she did believe that there was such a thing as evil, and that it could linger. If this house had been used for evil purposes, which was possible, no matter what Tristam claimed, she needed a little while to work up the courage to face the scene of the crimes. A torture chamber!
Tristam’s brow creased as he studied her. He seemed apologetic for anything he might have said that was beyond the pale and she was annoyed with herself for letting her shock be so apparent. “I quite agree. Let’s make sure you are at full strength before we shock your system with any visuals.”
“So,” Karo said, trying to make some joke toshow that she wasn’t entirely upended by this development but drawing a total blank. She often thought of herself as a sophisticate, but she didn’t know how to begin rationally discussing Vella-court’s hobbies, much less how to market them to a tourist crowd. She had a sudden image of the gargoylelike man in the portrait parading up and down his torture chamber wearing a red leather waistcoat and a pair of high-heeled shoes with paste buckles and paisley socks. It was pure Monty Python silliness, and the thought made her feel better. Dev ils got smaller when you laughed at them.
“Yes?” Tristam prompted.
“Are…are we certain that this wasn’t the summer villa? A