Death in Darkness

by Nell Goddin

  “Yes, madame. I’m Gisele. Have you seen my little sister?”

  “She ran through a little while ago, but not since. I hope she didn’t go outside, because it is absolutely ridiculous out there!”

  Gisele laughed. “It’s my little sister who’s ridiculous. Anyway, thanks.” She moved through the guests without attracting any attention as Molly watched.

  Lightning flashed across the sky and a crack of thunder was so loud the guests gasped. Molly thought the storm was a happy bit of luck for the hostess—it made the night exciting and unusual, and gave everyone something to talk about. She could already imagine years in the future, sitting on a stool at Chez Papa, and saying, “Remember that crazy storm the night we went to the Valette’s for the first time?”

  And the room did feel electric, or at least as electric as things got in Castillac. Every drop of the champagne was guzzled down, and every tidbit of crab gobbled up. The group shared gossip and jokes, and for once, no one had any bad news.

  “All right,” said Camille, with careful consideration to timing with the kitchen. “Shall we be seated?”

  At each place was a small card with a name written in an elegant script. The guests moved around, looking for the spots, all smiling from the champagne and anticipation of a delightful dinner. The gourmands among them noted the gilt-rimmed bread and butter plates, three forks, the two wine glasses at each place, and smiled to themselves at the luxurious promise of it all.

  Simon returned before everyone was seated. “As you all might have guessed, my father has not been himself of late. Ah, what would life be without a bit of drama?” he asked from the head of the table. Molly was charmed, glad that he did not seem ashamed of his father. But as she glanced to the other end of the table to the hostess, she saw to her surprise that Camille was staring at her husband with an expression of unalloyed hatred.

  It was only a split-second, but Molly was sure that was what she saw.

  9

  “In Paris, it would never do to have a dinner so unbalanced between men and women,” Camille was saying as she slid into her chair, held out for her by Lawrence. “But you know, Pascal was so kind to make my guest list, and hopefully Castillac is a bit more forgiving about those old rules than some of my friends at home.”

  “This is home now,” said Simon lightly from the other end of the table.

  “Oh yes. I didn’t mean…” Camille trailed off, her cheeks reddening.

  “I feel so special, making it to your list,” Lapin said to Pascal with a smirk.

  “I asked him to invite all the most interesting people,” said Camille. “And the best doctor, because of course the girls need looking after.”

  Dr. Vernay bowed gallantly and lifted his glass.

  “Of course, Castillac is not nearly as exciting as Paris,” Lawrence said. “But I think you will find we don’t die of boredom, one way or another.”

  “It’s a big adjustment, for sure,” Frances said, in English. After living in the village for nearly two years, she could understand French quite well, but tried to get away with speaking in English whenever she could; she guessed correctly that the Valettes were fluent, and so from that point the conversation swerved back and forth between the two languages, depending on who was talking to whom.

  Ophélie came in with an enormous tray, which she placed on a sideboard.

  “I skipped lunch,” Marie-Claire whispered to Ben. “I have a feeling this is going to be a magnificent dinner.”

  “You’ve eaten Merla’s cooking before?”

  “Only once. It was unforgettable.”

  Molly was on the same side of the table as Ben, but she leaned forward to say something to him and saw Marie-Claire whispering in his ear. Well, that’s just rude, she thought, remembering that Marie-Claire had been Ben’s girlfriend when she first met him, and then chastising herself for feeling like a jealous teenager.

  As Ophélie began to move around the long table serving small plates of salmon rillettes on a bed of endive, Violette came to the doorway and paused, then leaned down to Camille. “I’m so sorry to intrude on the party,” she said in a low voice, “but I cannot find the girls anywhere. I’m not worried, I’m sure they’re just hiding someplace, but wanted to let you know.”

  “You don’t need to bother Camille with that,” said Simon from the other end of the table, guessing what Violette was saying. “I’m sure they’re off playing somewhere out of the rain.”

  Another flash followed by a loud crack of thunder, and the guests looked out of the window to see the sky lit up again and again as the storm rolled through. As Molly’s eyes came back to the table, she noticed Lapin looking at Violette in something of his old, lascivious manner. She watched him lick his lips as though the nanny herself might be on the menu. Not wanting Lapin’s new wife to feel wounded by this display, she stretched her leg out to give Lapin a swift kick from across the table, but kicked something much closer. A small yelp, and Molly realized that at least one of the Valette daughters was under the table. Lapin was still staring so Molly gave it another try, this time connecting with his ankle. He startled and looked away from Violette but did not meet Molly’s eye.

  The nanny was no beauty, but attractive enough, Molly thought, watching the young woman go back to the foyer. I wonder how that plays out in a marriage, with a third adult—young and unattached—in the household. Must take a lot of confidence on the wife’s part, she pondered, looking back at Camille and doubting she had it. Pretending to drop her napkin, she peeked under the table and saw the two girls huddled against a central support. Chloë held a finger to her lips and Molly nodded with a grin.

  “It is wonderful how you used smoked and fresh salmon in this dish,” Edmond said to Camille. “It makes the texture so much more interesting.”

  “I can’t take any credit,” said Camille. “Merla deserves it all. Though I did put together the menu—what a struggle that was! You never know what the weather’s going to be in September, do you? And so many other considerations. I didn’t want to serve the standard dishes of the region, which you’ve all had a million times. Or something so fancy you’d think I was—” she stopped in mid-sentence, realizing she was saying things better kept to herself. “Anyway,” she said, trying to recover, but could think of nowhere to turn the conversation.

  “Would it be terribly impertinent for me to ask what the main course will be?” asked Lawrence, trying to come to her rescue.

  “Lamb,” Camille said, but was too off-balance to say anything further. She gulped a bit of the lovely Château Latour Ophélie had poured and busied herself spreading rillettes on a toast.

  “I adore lamb above all things,” said Dr. Vernay from down the table. “I do wish my wife had been able to come—she is a great lover of lamb as well. But she did not want to pass along her head cold to the children. And a nasty cold it is.”

  “Marie-Claire, not to talk shop, but have you finalized the schedule yet? Classes start next week, for God’s sake.”

  “Really, Rex, we don’t need to talk about that right now. If you have anything to offer besides wanting to rush me, you may call me at home tomorrow.”

  Rex shrugged. “Only want to do the best for our talented students,” he said, with a notable edge of sarcasm.

  It wasn’t the most successful dinner party ever, that was true—the conversation ambled here and there, sometimes diverting but never captivating. There was laughter, but not very much. The guests outdid themselves in eating, however, enjoying the seven-hour roast leg of lamb and all the vegetables that came with it, infused by the meat drippings and herbs. The wine was of very high quality and Ophélie generous in refilling glasses, and towards the end it seemed as though just maybe, the party was going to reach that state of contentment and conviviality where the jokes start coming faster and everyone starts to feel a great deal of warmth for the others in the group.

  It almost got there.

  Ophélie was just coming into the dining room with an
impressive looking pair of mocha dacquoise cakes when a crack sounded even louder than the others, a series of flashes ripped across the sky, and the lights in the house went out.

  There was a quiet pause, no more than a fraction of a second, as people tried to assimilate this new fact, that the dining room was lit only by three candles. The other guests’ faces seemed to flicker for a moment, as though they were images in a film and not actual people, and then a gust of wind coming from the direction of the foyer blew out the candles and they were all in darkness.

  The fourteen people at the party could literally not see their hands in front of their faces.

  Or tell who was screaming.

  10

  Lightning flashed again but it was over too quickly for people to get their bearings. Chairs scraped as some guests pushed away from the table and got up. The screaming tailed off and then stopped; all at once, everyone began talking.

  “Please, everyone, stay calm. It’s probably just a blown fuse. Electrical system is old,” said Simon, again using the calm voice he had used with his father.

  Loud laughter from the Molly and Lawrence end of the table.

  “Molly?” said Ben.

  “I’m here. I’m just hoping that cake survived, I had a quick glimpse and it looked amazing.”

  More laughter, more scraping of chairs. Giggling from under the table followed by “Ssshhhh!”

  “I think I’ll go up to the landing on the stairs by the window, chérie. I want to see if any trees are down,” Anne-Marie said. No answer from Lapin.

  “Camille?” asked Ben. He was out of his chair, feeling his way towards the door, thinking he might be able to give Simon a hand with the fuse box. No answer from Camille.

  “Get out!” a voice thundered from upstairs.

  “That must be Monsieur Valette,” said Anne-Marie, about to leave the room but changing her mind, having no desire to run into Simon’s father and his fire extinguisher.

  “Everyone’s all right? I’m going to find Simon and see if I can help,” said Ben.

  “No, I am not all right!” shouted Edmond. “I don’t like this, I don’t like it at all. The darkness is…is suffocating us all!”

  “Good heavens, just breathe,” said Frances. “See? You’re not suffocating. Maybe you’re hoping that cake tips over so we won’t be comparing it to yours?”

  Chuckling from somewhere.

  “Pascal?” said Marie-Claire, though not from the direction she had been seated. No answer from Pascal.

  “Does anyone have matches?” asked Nico. “We could just re-light the candles on the table. Can somebody on the window side of the room make sure the windows are all the way closed, so they don’t get blown out again?”

  They were in the kind of darkness you don’t experience except in the less populated areas of the world. No stars or moon could be seen thanks to the cloud-covered sky, and no light from the village. They could see no better than with their eyes closed—no shapes, no contour, no shadow. Just absolute pitch black in every direction.

  “This is getting a little ridiculous,” said Rex Ford. “I have half a mind to go home.”

  “Lapin?” said Anne-Marie, listening out to see if the coast was clear of the senior Monsieur Valette. No answer from Lapin.

  And then, without warning, the lights came back on, brighter than before since the switches had all been turned on by people flipping them to see if they worked. Everyone squinted, making exclamations of “Finally!” along with laughter.

  Another pause while they adjusted to seeing again.

  Rex Ford was standing in the doorway to the library. Edmond was sweating profusely and nearly panting, having never realized before that he was profoundly afraid of the dark, or at least the dark in the Valette’s dining room.

  “Where is everybody?” said Molly. She looked under the table but the girls were gone. The only guests still at the table were she, Lawrence, Frances, and Nico.

  “How many dinner guests does it take to change a light bulb?” said Frances, and then howled at her own joke.

  Molly got up and went into the foyer, where she found Camille standing by the small table from which the champagne had been served.

  “It’s ruined now, isn’t it. Monsieur Ford just ran out—he left with barely a word.” Her shoulders slumped down and she turned away.

  Molly was normally full of sympathy, but something about Camille struck her as self-pitying, which didn’t go down particularly well even after that incredible lamb.

  No, she thought, it’s not self-pitying, exactly—it’s that I haven’t once seen her say a single word to either of her children. Well, maybe she’s just preoccupied, having a dinner party with a pile of strangers. I suppose anyone would be rattled.

  Marie-Claire Levy came downstairs, her heels tapping a brisk rhythm. “I just took a look out that big window on the landing,” she said. “It looks as though the storm is not letting up one bit.”

  “Get out!” shouted Monsieur Valette, loud enough that Molly stepped back even though she was all the way downstairs and not close to him.

  “The storm must be very upsetting for him,” said Molly to Camille, but Camille didn’t seem to hear, and she went off to the kitchen without another word.

  At one end of the foyer, under the stairs, was a door to the basement through which Pascal suddenly appeared. “Well, I got it straightened out,” he said to Marie-Claire. “Very thankful that the previous owner had left a packet of fuses right on top of the fuse box. And for the mini-flashlight I keep on my key-ring.”

  “Flashlight on your key-ring! I had no idea you were such a Boy Scout!” cried Molly.

  “Boy Scout?” said Pascal.

  Molly laughed. “Oh, it’s—just that you are so prepared, is all I mean. Is Simon still in the basement?”

  Pascal looked confused. “Simon was never in the basement.”

  Molly stared. “He wasn’t with you, fixing the fuse?”

  Pascal shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. So…what happens now? Are people just going home?”

  “I would rather like to, if it’s all right,” said Marie-Claire, and Pascal nodded.

  Molly drifted back to the dining room, where Nico and Frances were digging into the mocha dacquoise.

  “Franny!”

  “Well, it’s not like we just wandered in off the street. We were supposed to get a slice, right? Is it so terrible that we helped ourselves?”

  Nico just grinned and licked icing off his lips.

  Simon came trotting downstairs. “Thank you to whoever worked the miracle with the lights!”

  “It was no problem,” said Pascal.

  “I felt I should attend to Father first. Very much appreciated. Now, has anyone seen Violette and my daughters?”

  Marie-Claire and Pascal shook their heads. They wanted to leave, but now that Simon was back it felt awkward, so they stood in the foyer waiting to find out what next.

  “I’ll look for them,” said Molly. She had been enjoying her time at the Valette’s but thought it was rather sad the way no one seemed to pay any attention to the girls at all. Where had Camille disappeared to?

  In the interest of being thorough, Molly checked the basement first, then stuck her head in the kitchen. Merla and Ophélie were sitting down, having a glass of wine before beginning to clean up. No sign of the girls.

  Some of the remaining guests were in the dining room eating slices of mocha dacquoise cake under blazing lights. No one had bothered to re-light the candles and the uplifted mood of the dinner had of course evaporated, but they were all pleased nonetheless because the cake was indeed magnificent: a layer of almond meringue, buttercream frosting, and a topping of rum-spiked whipped cream, bits of which were seen on the cheeks of various guests as they dug in with fervor.

  “Anyone seen Lapin?” Anne-Marie asked.

  “Nope. Have some cake!” said Frances, pointing to the massacred remains with her fork.

  Anne-Marie shook her head, feeling wo
rried. She left the dining room and went into the library.

  And then she screamed.

  Molly leapt up from the table, followed quickly by Ben and Nico. All of them had a sick feeling in their stomachs, feeling pretty sure that Anne-Marie’s scream was not just melodrama or overstimulation due to the storm.

  They were not wrong.

  11

  Molly was first to the library. Anne-Marie stood with her hand over her mouth, looking down at Violette, who was stretched out behind a wing chair next to the fireplace. She was face-up, eyes closed. Her dress was not hitched up, her hands lay at her sides; it was almost as though the young woman had decided to lie down next to the fire for a nap, yet Anne-Marie and Molly both felt the situation was not so innocent.

  “Violette?” said Anne-Marie, squatting down next to her, and putting her hand on the young woman’s arm. Violette did not move.

  “Dr. Vernay!” cried Molly. The doctor hustled in immediately and bent down beside the nanny.

  Molly shot Ben a look and shook her head slowly. Ben nodded, then pulled out his cell and called Paul-Henri at the station. He was about to call Florian Nagrand, the coroner, but did not want to rush things.

  Meanwhile, the doctor had put his fingers on Violette’s neck to feel for a pulse, then put his head against her chest.

  He sat back on his heels. “I’m afraid…there’s nothing to be done,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What happened?” said Molly. “Can you tell how…how she died?”

  Ben went ahead and texted the coroner, Florian Nagrand, then looked around at the guests in the dining room. “Frances,” he said. “Would you go find Simon and Camille? There’s been a…well, to speak plainly, the nanny is dead.”

  Frances’s eyes flew wide open. “The what?”

  “Just go find them,” said Ben. Returning to the library, he waved at Molly, Vernay, and Anne-Marie standing by the body. “All right, all of you need to come this way. Don’t touch anything on your way out.”