madame sherri's

Jay Gatsby may have been a figment of Fitzgerald’s imagination, but New England has its very own, very real version of the larger-than-life character: its local queen of scandal, Madame Sherri. The glamorous eccentric threw fabulous parties at her “castle” in the middle of the forest, and drove around town in a custom-made cream Packard car, with a monkey perched on her shoulder. These ruins are all that’s left of the elaborate house she had built, which fell into disuse when she ran out of money. After falling prey to vandals, the castle was destroyed by a fire in 1962, leaving behind only the foundations and a section of the staircase. Madame Sherri died in poverty only three years later, a ward of the state. 📸: Photo by Atlas Obscura user Skygazer69

I never write, but remember this being a bit of a requested prompt.

Jamie sat reclined with his boots resting on the blotter of the desk twisting the quill between his fingers.

He could hear Claire down the hall asking Magnus to ready the carriage. She would be going to Master Raymond’s apothecary to replenish her supplies before her duties at L’Hospital tomorrow. There was always another wee herb for her to add to her collection.

He glanced over at the ledger that lay open. Not a bad day. Two cases of port to Monsieur Duverney, and three casks of sherry to Madame Elise’s salon. Ah, Madame Elise’s.  How many more nights would he need to spend there, encased in the reek of French perfume and false coquettishness, when he truly long to be in his wife’s bed. He must find a better plan to get information from the Bonny Prince. Perhaps gain access his personal correspondences.

Claire opened the door to the study. “I’m off, but shouldn’t be long.”

Christ, she glowed when she was with bairn. Mo duinne.

She leaned down, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and left a tender kiss on his wide lips.

“Take Murtagh with ye so that I dinna worry. Aye?”

“Hmmm, be back soon.” And with a shuffle of skirts she was out the door.