Death Of A Maid
Who: Sibyl and a German Soldier
When: Early Evening
Where: Sibyl's flat
Summary: Sibyl gets some annoying news.
Complete
Rating: PG-13



Sibyl awoke to the sound of sharp knocking at the door of her apartment. Jerking slightly, water sloshed over the lip of her claw footed tub and splashed on the floor. With a frustrated sigh, she pushed herself upright and out of the now lukewarm tub, her irritation mounting. "Honora!" She called beyond the slightly ajar double doors of her bathroom. "Why did you let me sleep so long!" Outside, the windows were dark and no lights of candles burned within the apartment.

Making quick use of a bath sheet, she dried off and shrugged into a diaphanous crimson robe and slipped her feet into her house slippers. After pushing the doors wide, she stepped out into the living space and glanced around, finding no sign of her maid. Perfectly comfortable with the darkness, the pale woman glided across the hardwood floor with little more than a whisper to the side table. There, she took up a small silver cigarette case engraved with her initials and a matching lighter.

As she drew on the flame of the lighter she sighed out a wreath of smoke as the thumping once again rattled the door in the frame. With a second sigh, this one much more inwardly directed, she crossed to the door and opened it, leveling a rather bland expression on the young German soldier who snapped to awkward attention on the other side. In heavily accented French, he stammered while still managing to sound officious. "I regret to inform you Mlle. Taverneau that your maid, Mlle. Honora Despierre was shot this evening."

Sibyl was perfectly still, her hand still curled around the doorframe. For a long moment she merely intently watched the flush crawl up the neck of the young soldier. "Herr Freidel, why was my maid shot this evening?" She asked in a softly questioning voice. She had learned to keep all accusation out of her voice, even when dealing with these young ones. She knew him, he was assigned to patrol the area of the city that her building was located in. Honora had mentioned speaking to him while picking up Sibyl's brioche from the bakery across the street.

The young man's shoulders seemed to droop slightly. "She did not have her papers." He almost squeaked it out, and Sibyl came to realize that this was guilt, coming to confess at her door. "My man reported that she was without papers and became nearly hysterical when we attempted to detain her." He seemed to swallow past a lump. "Had I...had I been there, I may have smoothed things over, but there was a brawl at the end of Ste. Pierre and..." He shook his head. "I did not arrive in time." He bent to retrieve a paper and twine wrapped package from his feet and held it out to Sibyl. "I am sorry for your loss madame, Honor told me that she was rushing to return your altered garment, which she had been delayed in picking up. I understand it is for your new act this evening." He once again swallowed thickly. "I have no doubt that you will be as...divine as always." With that, he spun in his heel, jammed a rod of iron into his spine and nearly ran for the stairs.

Sighing, Sibyl ashed her cigarette into the hallway and, tucking the package under her arm, returned to the darkness of her parlor to dress for the evening.