“Our situations are entirely different.”
“Simply because you’ve only suffered one loss to date.” The sun was high and hot, the air heavy with humidity. She pulled a linen handkerchief from the lacy cuff at her wrist and dabbed her glistening brow with it, unwilling, it seemed, to wait for the next obliging breeze. “Such things can plague a mind when they’re repeated ad nauseum.”
I winced at her words, but her tone lacked any criticism, as if she’d exchanged chagrin for compassion. “We can hope that won’t happen.”
“Sometimes I forget how young you are,” she said.
“How did Madeline’s mother handle her daughter’s difficulties?” I asked, not quite ready to continue the conversation she’d begun.
“Better than I would have thought,” she said. “But of course, she’s had more trouble with her nerves than Madeline.”
“How many siblings does Madeline have?”
“None who survived to adulthood,” Mrs. Hargreaves said.
“Like me,” I said.
“The two of you have more in common than I’m comfortable admitting.”
“I need to talk to her.” Earnest with enthusiasm, I sat next to her. “Will you come with me?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, although the color in her cheeks hinted at her being less horrified at the prospect than she wanted me to think. “I don’t like prying into my neighbor’s private tragedies.”
“But you help your son?”
“He’s exceptionally persuasive,” she said. “And trying to beat you at your own game. How could I deny him assistance? You and I shall read Greek together. We shall discuss poetry. Someday, perhaps, we shall travel to Egypt with each other. But I will never, ever help you emerge victorious over my darling boy.”
“Did you know Toinette will be descending upon us soon?” I asked my husband that afternoon as we crossed on to the main road from the house’s drive on our way to visit the Markhams. Patches of dense forest divided the lush pastures and fragrant orchards surrounding us, and in the midst of the tall trees with their dappled light and cool, sweet shade, I felt homesick, reminded of England.
“She told me no fewer than twenty-seven times,” he said. “A sweet enough girl. I must tell you, though, she has suddenly changed her plans. It seems you terribly disappointed her by deciding to come back with me.”
“She has a crush on you.”
“Girls like Toinette don’t have crushes,” he said. “They have designs.”
“So she has designs on you?”
“It would seem so,” he said, grinning.
“You shouldn’t encourage her. You’re so handsome you’ll ruin her for other gentlemen. Her expectations will never be met.”
“I would never encourage her.”
“But you do enjoy her attentions,” I said.
“They’re mildly amusing. She’s entertaining and pretty and foolish.”
“I didn’t think you liked foolish,” I said.
“I don’t, Emily. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be occasionally diverted by it.”
“Diverted?” My hands, starting to sweat, slipped along my reins.
“Nothing more than that. And certainly nothing alarming.”
“I wasn’t aware that you required—” I stopped, unsure of myself. “I thought we—”
“Don’t go looking for trouble, my dear. You’ll never find any. I’m more devoted than any other husband in England.”
“We’re in France, Colin.”
“I didn’t think you’d be impressed by claims of fidelity in relation to that of the average French husband.”
“You’d better not let Cécile hear you talk like that.”
“She’d be the first to approve,” he said. I laughed and shook my head, knowing he was undoubtedly correct. He leaned towards me and put a steady hand on my arm. “You’ve no need to doubt me on that or any other count. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” I said. “You know I’d trust you to the ends of the earth. But does that mean I’m not allowed to dislike Toinette?”
He laughed. “Of course not.”
We were approaching the château, and I could hear Madeline arguing with a gardener as we crossed the bridge to the main drive. She was begging him to see the merits of keeping bees; he was making no effort even to appear interested in dealing with any stinging insects. I slid down from my horse and handed him off to a waiting groom as Colin did the same. Together we followed Madeline’s voice to a small, informal garden a short distance from the dovecote. I did not let myself look at the looming building.
“Ce n’est pas possible!” The gardener’s voice grew louder. Madeline saw us and waved.
“We’ll discuss it after the bees arrive,” she said. “Leave me to my guests.” She rushed over and embraced us both with genuine warmth. “It is so good to see you again—your absence was felt keenly. Did you enjoy Zurich?”
“We were in Rouen,” I said, hesitation in my voice.
“Rouen?” She tilted her head and frowned. “But you promised to bring me chocolate.”
“I—” I looked at Colin, unsure what to say.
“There was none even half good enough for you,” he said, stepping forward and kissing her hand. “I fear the Swiss have lowered their standards.”
“I suspected as much,” she said, laughter returning to her voice. “And am glad, then, that you won’t present me with something bound to disappoint.”
“We’d never dream of it,” I said, going along with Colin’s story. “But we do have some news I wanted to discuss with you and George. Is he here?”
“He is. I’ll summon him and we can have tea. You’ve time for a nice long visit, don’t you?”
“We’re in no hurry,” I said.
Colin shot a telling glance at me. “I suppose as long as we’re home in time for dinner.”
“I’m more interested in what will happen after dinner,” I whispered as we started for the house. He drew a sharp breath and nearly lost his footing. He recovered elegantly, though, just as George called out from behind us.
“Ho! Can you wait for me?” he asked, whipping the straw boater from his head and sprinting towards us.
“Don’t make it easy for him,” Madeline cried, giggling. She grabbed Colin’s arm and set off at a fierce pace, pulling him with her while she held onto the brim of her black straw hat to keep it from flying away. Having no desire to run, I waited for the master of the house.
“She’s a beast, that wife of mine,” George said, out of breath when he reached me. “But bloody good fun. Apart from this new obsession of hers, beekeeping.”
“You’ll have excellent honey,” I said.
He laughed. “I suppose so. Have you come about the robbery?”
“Robbery?”
“Have you not heard? We were burgled two nights ago—the Monet is gone.”
“No! Dare I ask if Inspector Gaudet is on the case?”
“He is, my friend, he is. And eager as ever to fight for justice. Unless, of course, it interferes with a meal. Or a party. Or a walk on the beach.”
“Are there any leads?”
“I’m afraid only one that points to your old friend, Sebastian.”
My heart sank. “Why would he take the painting back after having gone to such lengths to get it to you in the first place?” Much though I would have liked to believe Sebastian would stand by the promise he made to Monet about not taking any more of his paintings, I knew him too well to think he’d be true to his word.
“We found another note—this one questioning our taste. Further analysis must have suggested to him our unworthiness as collectors.”
I would need to see the letter, but couldn’t imagine who, other than Sebastian, would pen such a thing. “I’m so sorry. He can be such a troublemaker.”
“It wouldn’t bother me so much if I hadn’t become particularly attached to that painting. A fine specimen.” His gaze softened. “I’ll miss it.”
/> “We will recover it, one way or another.”
“I do admire your spirit, Emily,” he said. “But tell me now. If you knew nothing of the robbery, what brought you to us?”
“Edith Prier,” I said. “There’s more to the story of her death than we’d anticipated, and we wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“You don’t think the murderer still poses a threat?” he asked, blanching. “I admit I’ve been uncomfortable about letting Madeline out of the house alone. We’ve someone looking out for her all the time.”
“Which is wise,” I said. “Although it does seem there’s no specific threat at the moment.”
“So tell me what more you’ve learned.”
“Did you know Edith is related to your wife?”
“To Madeline?” he asked. “The Priers? That can’t be.”
“From what I understand it’s a distant connection. They’re cousins of some sort.”
“I’m shocked.” He stopped walking and searched my face, confusion written all over his.
“Obviously there was no reason for you to have known this,” I said. “But because Edith suffered from a condition similar to that plaguing your mother-in-law, I thought you should know. Particularly as your wife…” My words trailed.
“Yes, of course you’ve noticed.” He closed his eyes. “I fear what will happen to her. It’s beyond devastating.”
“Edith’s family put her in an asylum not far from Rouen because of her illness.”
He cringed. “I can’t do that to my wife.”
“I’m not suggesting you should,” I said. “Although it might not be a terrible idea to speak with the doctor there—he’s more enlightened than I would have expected. It’s possible he would have some ideas about treatments—something that might help—”
“Of course. I’m sorry if I reacted badly. It’s just that when I think of what my darling girl faces—what I shall be forced to face eventually…” He sighed. “It shatters me.”
“It’s I who should apologize. I sprung this on you with no preamble.”
“No, it’s an excellent suggestion.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe Edith and Madeline…related. It’s stunning news.”
“There’s one more thing. I tell you this in confidence and must ask for your absolute discretion. Edith had a child—a girl—who went missing sometime before her mother’s death. The story’s bound to get out eventually, and I thought it might upset Madeline given her experience with children. Hearing it through gossip might prove painful.”
“You’re very kind to think of her, and absolutely right. She doesn’t do well with children. There’ve been none here since our long-ago unfortunate gardener left. Terrible story, you know. I still can’t stand to go in the dovecote,” he said. “The little girl died there, you see. She fell down the steps. Madeline had been in there playing with her. She doted on the child. Can’t bear to talk about it now, of course.”
“How awful,” I said, a dull pain in my chest.
“Madeline blamed herself. It was a bad choice of a place to play, and she shouldn’t have let her run on the stairs. There wasn’t a thing anyone could say to ease her guilt. Her mind was not the same afterwards.”
“Poor Madeline,” I said. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“It’s not the sort of thing one likes to share with the neighbors. We kept things as quiet as possible and let everyone assume the gardener was sent away because Madeline couldn’t bear to have the girl around. I don’t think she could have survived gossip on the subject.”
“Of course not.” I hesitated. “She told me a somewhat different version of the story.”
“Yes, I’m afraid her brain morphed it into another miscarriage,” he said. “It’s as if she forgot about the actual child altogether.”
“I’m sorry to have brought up such a painful topic.”
“You couldn’t have known,” he said. “And I’m glad to learn of the familial relation. No doubt Madeline will want to call on the family to pay her respects.”
“Have you met any of the Priers?”
“I spoke to the son once at the opera in Paris, years ago. Laurent, if I remember correctly?”
“Yes.”
“Bit of a cad, I thought. Not sure I particularly like my wife being related to him,” he said. We’d reached the house, where I could hear Madeline’s laughter bouncing through the corridors. He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression measured and serious. “I am interested in speaking to this Girard. Could your husband introduce me?”
24
The next day, I was happily settled in the library next to my mother-in-law, working on our Greek. But I was unable to purge George’s story from my head. It made the shadowy figure of the girl I’d seen there all the more frightening. I closed my eyes, not moving until Mrs. Hargreaves’s voice pulled me back to the present moment.
“There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep,” she said. “Is this meant to be a commentary on my company?”
“Not at all,” I said, laughter on my lips. “It’s just a sentence from Homer I’ve always liked. Are you ready for more?”
“No time for that, I’m afraid,” Colin said, entering the room. “If we’re to see Girard before lunch we need to leave now.”
The previous day, Madeline had reacted with almost no visible emotion to being told about Edith’s child. This didn’t surprise me—she would be upset, of that there was no doubt. Most likely, though, the story would affect her most when she was alone, and had the privacy to react in whatever way she wanted to. Hearing Edith was a relative, however, inspired in her nothing but a sigh. “This branch of the family has no interest in the Priers, I can assure you,” she had said. George, however, still wanted to call on them, and suggested doing so after we were to see Dr. Girard. He discussed neither plan in front of his wife.
“I feel almost as if I’m betraying her,” he said, as our carriage clattered along the road towards Radepont and the asylum. “Her mind can be so fragile—if I tell her I’m consulting with yet another physician it might send her reeling again. And odds are despite having treated Edith, he’ll have little to suggest that we’ve not already tried.”
“If Edith’s condition was more advanced than Madeline’s, it’s conceivable he’ll know more about the later stages of the disease.”
“I’ve done all I can for Madeline’s mother, and she’s bound, given her age, to be worse off than Edith ever was.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Apologies. I don’t mean to deflate every possibility. But I feel I must prepare myself for disappointment. I’ve been let down more times than I can count.”
I leaned forward and patted his hand. “Absolutely understandable.”
“Girard’s innovative and sharp,” Colin said. “I have faith he will be able to offer you something.” We passed the ruined abbey and continued along the Seine to the hospital, serene in its setting, silent except for the sound of the river. Everything was as it had been on my previous visits except that no nurse immediately greeted us at the door. Colin banged the heavy knocker against the hard wood, and we waited. After a few minutes passed, he knocked again, still soliciting no response.
He walked to the edge of the stairs and tipped his head to try to look into the window. “Can’t see anything,” he said, and set off to investigate the other windows on the front of the building while George took over knocking duties. When at last the door swung open, we saw a disheveled woman, tears staining her face, a crushed nurse’s cap in her hand. I barely recognized her as the same person who’d welcomed me on my previous visits. In a few long strides, Colin was back with us, stepping in front of George.
“How can I help?” he asked, pulling out papers that identified him as an agent of the British Crown. Not something I should have thought would inspire confidence in the French, but clearly enough to satisfy the sad figure before us that it would be all right to usher us inside.
�
��I remember you from before,” she said to me, her voice shaking. “Dr. Girard liked you.” She looked at George. “Have we met?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said, his voice grave. “I’ve come to speak to the doctor about my wife. Is this not a good time?”
She didn’t reply, or say anything as we followed her inside. The corridor looked no different from when I’d seen it last, but everything felt off-kilter. The nurse’s uniform was a mess, full of wrinkles, and large rust-colored stains covered her apron.
“What has happened here?” I asked, alarm in my voice.
“Dr. Girard is dead,” she said, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “In his office…”
Colin waited for nothing further. He raced towards the closed door at the end of the hallway. I started to follow, but he motioned for me to stop. I sat down on a long wooden bench next to George, feeling frustrated, then bit my lip and turned to the nurse.
“Is that blood on your apron?” I asked.
She nodded.
“His?”
Another nod.
“What happened?” I asked. “Has there been an accident?”
“No,” she said. “There was a knife…” Her tears morphed into consuming sobs.
“Who was with him?” I asked.
“No one, not at the end. I found him there this morning when I arrived.”
“Who on the staff was here last night? Did anyone hear anything?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Where was he stabbed?” I asked.
George shot me a stern look. “Is this necessary? The poor woman’s upset. Can we not comfort her now and leave questioning to the police?”
“Oh we won’t need police, sir,” she said. “He did it to himself. The blade was in his hand.” Her face was gray, her skin cold. I looked around for something to wrap around her, and found a blanket in a cupboard partway down the corridor. Colin stepped out of the office and looked at me.
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