Free The Oracle Glass by Judith Merkle Riley Page B

to disperse the eternal darkness. I had been brought out of bed, still clad in my nightdress, and was backed into the windowless inner corner of Father’s cabinet. Every drawer was opened in his desk, the books lay in heaps on the floor, having been methodically searched for scraps of paper between the leaves. A little coffer lay overturned and empty on one of the bookshelves. My uncle was tapping the panels and the furniture for any hollow sound that might reveal a hidden compartment. Before me was my mother, my brother standing behind her. They looked grimly conspiratorial.
    â€œWhere what is?”
    â€œDon’t play the innocent.” Mother’s voice was hard. “You know where the foreign account is. The money he hid from Colbert and the King. He told you where the treasure was before he died. I heard him whispering to you: He said ‘treasure.’ Don’t think you can hide my son’s inheritance to your advantage. Tell it now, or I assure you, you will not live to enjoy it.”
    â€œHe never told me anything of the sort. There’s no such thing.”
    â€œMy brother, she is obstinate, as I predicted.” Uncle turned from his work of vandalizing Father’s library and fixed his narrow, calculating little eyes on me.
    â€œI have your permission, Monsieur?” He turned to my brother, the new head of the house of Pasquier. Grown stolid and old with his new elevation, my brother nodded formally. It was then I saw my uncle pick up the long ash rod.
    ***
    The next few days were spent in the company of the mice in the locked tower room. They sent Marie-Angélique to whisper through the door, “Geneviève, Sister, we’ve always been friends, haven’t we? Just tell them, and everything will be all right again.” But I could hear Uncle’s heavy boots on the stair behind her.
    â€œSister, there isn’t anything. Father told me he’d left me with the treasure of philosophy.”
    â€œOh, Sister, then there’s no hope,” I heard her answer, sobbing.
    Then one evening, when I had lost track of time, the door swung open. My uncle stood stooped over in the low door, his walking stick under his arm, a candle in his uplifted hand. His shirt was hanging open out of his unbuttoned doublet. His breath was heavy with wine. His eyes glowed with menace.
    â€œTell me,” he said, in a heavy, intimate tone. “You’re wise to keep it to yourself. What has your mother ever done for you? It’s me—I’m your friend.” No one’s friend, I thought, repelled by him. “Dear little niece, how will you get it if you have no man to travel for you? Share it with me, and it will only be divided two ways.” He set down the candle and moved toward me. I backed away into the corner. He pressed me against the wall and began to paw at my breasts. I couldn’t escape the disgusting smell of his breath. “Tell me, tell me. We’ll share the fortune, we two.” Oh my God, I thought. He thinks that lovemaking will make me tell. I was horrified. “Come now,” he said. “You know you want this. All women do.”
    â€œThere’s no secret, Uncle. There never was,” I said, trying to push him away, turning my face from his. “Can’t you understand?”
    â€œThere must be. There is! You’re hiding it!” he cried, holding me tightly as he fumbled at my dress, as if I had somehow concealed the money in there.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I cried. “I have nothing. Can’t you see?”
    â€œThere must be a paper. You have a paper with the name of the banker,” he said, his voice slurred as he tried to force his hand into my dress.
    â€œGet off. There’s nothing!” I shouted, as I tried to push his hands away.
    â€œQuit hiding it, you little bitch! I have to have it!” He grabbed at my throat and tried to batter my head against the wall, but I hit him in