Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  A knock on the door. To say it startled him, was putting it mildly. He jumped to his feet – a mistake, but he managed – and opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

  It was Camille. Pretty Camille, with her black hair and her reasonably ... ample ... corset. Camille, who was always so nice to him, and looked pretty and fresh, without finery. He should really appreciate her more. “We are retiring,” she said. “Is there anything else you will require, Inspector Audley?”

  There were different ways to interpret that question. He was imagining some of them because he was drunk. But he just leaned into the doorframe. “No, thank you. I will be fine.”

  “You are sure?”

  No. “Yes, thank you.”

  She curtseyed. He was too dizzy to even acknowledge it. He watched her leave, shut his door, and collapsed on his bed to what he hoped would be a dreamless sleep. He would be quickly disappointed.

  ~~~

  Sunday meant church. It meant the town gathered to socialize, to observe each other in their piety, and possibly nod off during the sermon. It was the one day of the week when the marquis lowered himself to sit among his neighbors, as he sat in the front row beside Sir DuBois and the Rousseaus. Inspector Audley at his best would scope the church and take a seat where he had the best vantage point to observe the parishioners, watching them interact. Robert Audley, slightly hung-over and feeling slightly repentant about the contents of his dreams, was not at his best. He rose for the annunciation of the host, which managed to catch the colored light streaming in from the little stain-glass window above. Some traditions even the revolution had not destroyed – the quiet moments of the beauty of God, or at least the notion that a higher spirit was watching over them, deserving of praise. He was not a religious man, but he had his ideals. Justice was one of them. Morality, another. It was the axis his life revolved around, perhaps more than others because of his profession.

  The ladies of Mrs. Robinson’s School for Women were not present. They were good English Protestants, after all, with their Book of Common Prayer. His father had given him a copy when he turned sixteen out of some primal Englishness but did not expect him to use it. He did read it a few times. The girls would be bent over theirs in their own private chapel, listening to the sermon in English, all hellfire and –

  No, he was distracted again. No good. Especially in the house of God.

  He stepped outside after the main ceremony as quickly as possible for a breath of fresh air. The adults hadn’t left yet, but children were running around unsupervised in the field beside the church.

  “Boo!”

  He did jump a little, not at the child approaching him but at the strange sight of a child in a crude wolf mask made of cloth. The boy held his fingers up like claws and howled at him. Some of the other children joined him.

  Audley smiled at them and turned away. The townsfolk were coming out the front doors of the church, spilling into the square as the marquis shook some hands before climbing into his carriage. Audley hung back, exchanging pleasantries but making no earnest attempt at conversation. He was watching the crowd. One topic dominated all: the hunt.

  The marquis, it seemed, had put a prize up for the largest wolf caught on Tuesday’s hunt. The number of francs, while no dent in the marquis’s wallet, was stunning to anyone Audley saw before him. And what good would it do? There were probably a few wolves in the woods to hunt and kill, but Audley was positive that that would have little effect on his murder investigation – unless this brought the Wolf out, which it might do.

  “Joining us, Inspector Audley?”

  Sir DuBois slapped him on the back, breaking Audley from his reverie.

  “Oh, yes,” he answered quietly. “But not as a hunter; merely as an observer.”

  “Well, you’d best bring a rifle nonetheless, something could happen to you if we do find that wolf nest up the hill.”

  “Is there one?”

  “We’ve thought so for years. There are always a few wolves around, so there must be a lair somewhere, and the marquis sent his huntsman out to try to locate it.”

  Audley merely said, “I’m sure he’s said so.”

  “Between you and me, Inspector, he could be letting wolves loose out there tomorrow for all we know, just to make sure someone comes back with something, and ends this town myth about the Wolf.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  DuBois punched him in the arm. “Don’t be so glum, Inspector. Not when there’s a hunt on the week’s schedule! Oh – are you a city man? Never been on a hunt?”

  “Hardly. I grew up shooting geese with my father in Normandy as they came over the channel. But hunting wolves to stop a rumor – that is another matter entirely.”

  “I suppose, but I’ll be out there with the rest of them. These sorts of things don’t come along every month.”

  Neither did murders. But Audley said nothing, merely nodding politely before finding a reason to excuse himself.

  “Hunt on Tuesday!” someone shouted. Audley recognized one of the marquis’s servants. “Open to all! The person to kill the largest wolf gets the reward!”

  If that was true, the marquis would hardly be willing to pay out for yet another murder. But Audley’s concerns were not for the unsuspecting wild wolves in the woods who were about to be decimated – they were dangerous predators anyway – but lay instead with the Wolf. How would he react? Would he ignore it entirely or try to turn it against the marquis?

  Was he among the crowd, planning it right now?

  CHAPTER 7

  Inspector Audley set out with the hunting party in a foul mood. He had accomplished nothing with the previous day’s inquiries. People were coming into town from afar to take part in the hunt (and perhaps win the prize), and though none of them were particularly savory characters, they had little to say about Simon Roux or Mrs. Bernard. Most of them knew the marquis only by reputation. As for the Wolf, they chalked it up to myth and superstition.

  “Do we still get the prize money if the biggest wolf turns out to be the marquis?” said a hunter from the next town. Everyone around him laughed; Audley did not.

  The group set out early, after a small gathering of pre-hunt celebration (sponsored by the marquis), as the sun rose. It was full in the sky when they entered the woods, totally disorganized and moving in all directions. Audley watched the hunters more than he watched the wildlife, but all that they seemed to be doing was scaring off what deer there were. Audley watched another one go by.

  And that was when he heard the first scream.

  The man ahead of him, a bearded leatherworker named Henry, had fallen into a hole with a crash. He was easily helped out by the other hunters as they gathered around the pit. Audley knelt to examine it. “A trap.” It had been hastily-dug and then covered with leaves and branches. Henry had sprained his ankle in the fall and cursed his rotten luck as he limped back to town. “And it’s been set recently. Those leaves wouldn’t hold up more than a few days.”

  “Someone doesn’t want us to win!”

  Audley rolled his eyes and sighed, and the hunt continued in earnest.

  The first shot was at something grey. It ended up being a large rock with cloth shaped like wolf ears attached to it. The bullet ricocheted off the rock and nearly hit DuBois. “Christ!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “It missed – I think. I’m not bleeding anywhere, am I?”

  Audley checked him over, and found only a tear in the cloth of his jacket where the bullet had grazed him. “You were lucky.” He turned to the others gathered around. “No more shooting at rocks!”

  There was some laughter at this despite the earnestness with which he said it, but it was a nervous laughter as they headed deeper into the woods. The ground sloped down briefly before heading back up, towards where the huntsman from the manor said there was thought to be a wolf’s den.

  Next, a man experienced the wonder of almost being hit with an arrow, which whizzed about
a foot over his head and embedded itself in the tree behind him. “Shit!”

  The others raised their weapons and furiously searched for the bowman, but found none. Following an instinct, Audley knelt on the ground, sorting through the dead leaves and brush to find the rope trap that the hunter had triggered. “Hold on.” He picked up the rope and pulled at it, seeing where it would take him. He gave it a strong tug and it led him into bushes. The others stayed back hesitantly with their guns raised until he re-emerged with the crossbow in hand. “Another trap. Someone does not want us to hunt these wolves.”

  Audley took note of the height of the arrow shot. It was far above the tallest man’s head. It was clearly not meant to hurt anyone, just frighten them off. However, he could not guarantee that all of the traps would be so harmless. “I am calling off this hunt.”

  The hunter who had almost been killed by the arrow approached him, his gun raised at his side. “You may be an inspector of the law, but unless you can prove that it’s illegal to hunt in these woods, we have every right to do so. And if you do want to do that, you’d best take it up with the town committee.”

  By “town committee,” the man obviously meant the gang of heavily-armed woodsmen that surrounded him. He knew how to pick his battles. “Then continue as you will, gentlemen. But I do not advise it.”

  They did not listen to his advice. As they walked up the hill, they heard the first howl, and Audley fingered the safety of his own rifle.

  “Shoot it in the head,” said the hunter. “That’s the best way to do it, city boy.”

  He smiled politely. “Thank you for your advice.”

  DuBois was proceeding more cautiously. He had an eyeglass, and was able to finally spot a wolf some distance away, up the next hill. “Don’t shoot it. We need to find the lair.”

  The crowd seemed to be more or less interested in following his advice. They closed in a bit and proceeded more slowly as he tried to track the wolf, which would disappear behind trees and shrubbery. He lost it a few times, only to re-find it within a minute, until they were close enough to start noticing tracks.

  The hunter Maurice, a burly man who did field work for the marquis in the spring, knelt down and tasted the dirt in the paw imprint. “Fresh.”

  They began to move more quickly now, so much so that Audley was almost running to keep up with some of them. Everyone wanted the prize but no one was sure how many wolves there were or which one would be the largest. Audley was fairly sure it would descend into chaos quite quickly after the wolves were dead. His heart was beating faster, the thrill of the hunt affecting even his own even temperament.

  The next howl broke all order they might have had. They ran forward, and a blast from a rifle somewhere to Audley’s left signaled that someone had taken aim at a wolf. A wolfish scream was heard, and then more howling in other directions.

  “Inspector! Help!”

  He turned toward the familiar sound of DuBois’ voice. In his peripheral vision, the wolves were emerging from the woods. The den could not be far away. But his attention was on the human, and he followed the pleading voice until he found Dubois, fallen into a pit – another trap laid by what he suspected was the Wolf.

  The difference this time—there was a wolf sniffing around it. If DuBois tried to shoot it, as he undoubtedly would, it would probably jump and kill the trapped man.

  Damnit! “Sir DuBois! Don’t shoot it!” He approached the edge of the pit cautiously, standing across from the wolf, and raised his rifle. The others had gone on ahead for the bigger kills inside the den, and this wolf seemed to have been missed. It did not appear agitated. Perhaps it is just curious.

  The wolf looked up at him, sniffing in his general direction. Audley aimed, but didn’t fire. The wolf had two different eyes, one blue and one brown, odd, but not unknown. It yawned, but still kept its eyes on Audley, apparently having forgotten about DuBois stuck in the pit.

  “Now!” Dubois whispered from his pitiable position. “Shoot it!”

  It was almost like a dog, at least one of the dogs that still looked like its wolfish descendents. Those hunting breeds with their unnaturally smooth skin – not enough fur to keep them warm in the winter – and those small dogs for women’s pets seemed now unnatural to him, a freak of nature. Or, more accurately, a freak of mankind. They’d taken a perfectly beautiful, natural creature and bent it out of shape to their will through centuries of breeding. He wondered if this wolf, so raw and wild, would even know what to do with one of those little dachshunds the women of Paris carried around with them. Would he feel something in common, or would he just eat it? He could probably scarf one up in a few bites.

  Audley lowered his gun. Instead, he stamped on the ground around him, shaking up the leaves and branches. “Go!” he said to the wolf, waving his arms to emphasize his size, as if he were a bear. “Go! Get!”

  The wolf got the message, and, seemingly startled by the strange movements of this strange but tall creature, it hesitated a moment before scampering off. Not with its tail between its legs – even it had a sense of dignity to maintain.

  “Inspector?”

  He knelt beside the pit and offered DuBois a hand. “Sir DuBois.”

  He helped the man out. The pit wasn’t especially deep, so it wasn’t hard.

  “What got into you? I suppose I should be thanking you – and trust me, I am – but this is a wolf hunt.”

  Inspector Audley replied calmly, “I am not here to hunt. Not that creature, at least.” I’m more interested in finding the creature that set that trap. Can’t you see that? “Go on, if you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

  “I’m not so easily startled, Inspector Audley,” DuBois said, raising his gun again. “Not while there’s game afoot.”

  And I think we’re the game, Audley thought as he saw DuBois run off in the direction of the shouts from the other hunters. Within half the hour, the small den was cleaned out, and though many of the wolves had scattered, there were four significant kills. One was too small, but the other three would have to be determined by weight for the purposes of the contest.

  “At least none of them are wearing a red coat,” DuBois said as they walked back.

  Audley smiled at him to be polite, but said nothing.

  ~~~

  Food and drink was ready when they returned to the town square, again sponsored by the marquis, who was awaiting their return. (“So we didn’t kill ‘im after all!”) The day ended as it had begun, in drunken revelry, as wolves were lined up to be weighed. Audley looked them over as they lay on the ground, and noticed none of them had two differently colored eyes. A part of him that he was not aware of before sighed in relief that ‘his’ wolf wasn’t among the dead.

  Audley sat down on the bench near the tavern door. He was not interested in jovial conversation, taking only enough wine to quench his thirst. The weighing came in – the one with brownish fur was the heaviest by less than a pound. The winner was Maurice. He held up his bag of gold as the rest drunkenly cheered him on and the marquis shook his hand. Then the wolves were hung up instead of being immediately skinned by their necks, for all to see. It sickened Audley, they were so much like hanged convicts to him.

  “A successful day, no?” the marquis said, sauntering over to where Audley was staring at the dead wolves instead of drinking with the crowd.

  “Only at making the deer so populous that they’ll ruin some of the crops,” Audley said.

  “Come now – you don’t think me that simple a man, do you?”

  Audley did not have the energy to toy out what he already knew. “So you have the Wolf’s attention, as if you did not before. There will be repercussions for this, and perhaps it will make him show too much of his hand, and perhaps not. But if men end up dead because of this – I’ll hold you on charges, my Lord.”

  The marquis was still in a good mood, so he did not respond unkindly. “Is that a threat, Inspector Audley? And how would you even connect the two enough to
charge me?”

  “I would find a way,” Audley said, perfectly serious as he put down his mug and went into the tavern, not even bothering to bow to the marquis as he left.

  ~~~

  Robert Audley retired that night frustrated and angry, but also thoughtful. Yes, the marquis was needlessly taunting the Wolf to try to draw him out – if Audley could see that, so could the Wolf, who may well have been in the hunting party today. He would have been able to avoid his own traps, knowing where he’d set them – or he could have set a few off as he went to make sure they were acknowledged. From what Audley could tell, aside from Simon Roux, he had not killed anyone. Even today the traps had been mainly harmless, except when they got the wolves riled up, and that was the hunters’ own fault. He could not stop the nagging feeling that the Wolf had saved him that night that he tried to approach the bandit camp.

  Audley briefly wondered if the Wolf had even killed Simon Roux. It was the most likely scenario, but not something Audley could say he was positive about. He had taken it for granted from day one. In fact, very little had changed since day one. Simon Roux had been killed by a man, not a beast, the marquis acted suspiciously but to the obvious aim of pleasing his fiancée, who had her best friend looking out for her by gathering information against him. To what purpose? Would she write Lady Littlefield’s family? Apparently Heather Littlefield herself had no power to call the wedding off.

  Or would she tell the detective who was investigating a murder case? The idea was unnerving.

  Opening his notebook, he looked at his notes again and drew a line between Georgiana and the Wolf, halted only in the middle by a question mark. Does she know who the Wolf is? She knew a lot, more than she was willing to tell Audley or Heather Littlefield. Maybe she didn’t know who he was but knew something about him somehow. Or maybe she did know, but was just another one of his playthings, as Audley knew himself to be.

  He paced. The Wolf wants me to chase the marquis. My job is officially to chase the Wolf. But I can’t do either with just the information I have. So he was back to the basics. Information gathering. Forget Simon Roux for a moment, he thought. This is all between the marquis and another man. Everyone else is a distraction.