The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series)

by Vicki Hopkins

  * * *

  Muffled voices, footsteps, and clanging noises echoed in the recesses of Suzette’s mind, eventually bringing her back to consciousness. She opened her eyelids and blinked a few times, until she focused on the white plaster ceiling above her bed. After a quick glance down at her body, she discovered herself wrapped up in a blanket. Her pounding head rested upon a pillow.

  Her first waking thoughts gave way to confusion. Why was she there? Like a cold bucket of water splashed in her face, the shock of her earlier discovery came flooding back.

  She flung the covers off her nightgown-clad body and ran out of her room down to her father’s bedchamber. She pleaded like a child the entire way. Please, God, let it be just a terrible dream. When she entered the doorway, an empty bed greeted her swollen eyelids, and the sick realization returned.

  Suzette stood shrouded in grief for a few moments, and then turned and wandered into the kitchen. The floor shift beneath her feet, as she fought a sickening dizziness. Monsieur and Madame Pelletier were speaking to one another unaware of her arrival. She stopped in the doorway and exhaled in anger.

  “Where is he?”

  “Oh, dear, you’re up.” Madame Pelletier came to her side and gently brushed the unruly curls from her face. “Are you all right? We were worried about you. Grief overcame your senses, and you fainted.”

  “Yes, I’m all right. Where is he?” she demanded again.

  Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand on her forearm in reassurance. “He’s at the funeral parlor down the street, Suzette. I took the liberty of having their staff take your father’s body from the apartment to a more appropriate place.”

  Gone. They had taken her father away, and Suzette felt lost.

  “You’ll have to go there later today, dear, and make the arrangements,” Madame Pelletier informed her. “Don’t worry, though. My husband will go with you, so that you don’t have to do this horrible task all alone.”

  “I don’t want to be alone,” Suzette replied, as a tiny tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Are you sure there is no one to help you, Suzette? Maybe a friend, perhaps, or your father’s coworkers?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answered, trying to think of anyone she knew. “Perhaps people at work, but my father never spoke of anyone in particular.”

  “Well, what about friends? You know, people your father visited.”

  “We rarely socialized with others. He said he was always tired when he came home from work, and we just kept each other company.”

  “The Parish, perhaps? What about Father Joseph? I’m sure he will help you during this difficult time.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure he would help me,” she agreed. Suzette turned and looked at Monsieur Pelletier. “What should I do next?”

  “I’m afraid, my dear, much needs to be done. You should dress, have something to eat, and then we’ll go to the funeral parlor to discuss the matters that need to be arranged.”

  “All right, then,” she responded, acting like an obedient child. She felt dependent upon her neighbors for help and guidance. Suzette had never dealt with such ominous matters before like funeral arrangements. Her mother died when she was a small child, and her father took care of all the details of her burial.

  Bewildered, Suzette returned to her room to dress and closed the door for privacy. She stood in front of her long mirror with a blank expression upon her face. Her eyes were red, and her complexion looked pasty white. Suzette’s wretched appearance confirmed what she felt inside—a part of her had died, too.

  Her hands shook as she reached for the hem of her nightgown, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to her feet. Naked, cold, and alone, she stood shivering, stripped of all that she had loved. It would take some time before Suzette would be ready to accompany Monsieur Pelletier to the funeral parlor to take care of her father’s remains, because once again hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Chapter Two

  “Mademoiselle, I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Suzette looked at the man who stood before her dressed entirely in black. His facial expression appeared sympathetic, but she wondered if he truly felt compassion, or if his words were merely routine in nature. Wary of his sincerity, Suzette refused to politely acknowledge his greeting.

  Monsieur Pelletier had escorted Suzette to the funeral facility were they had taken her father’s remains. Upon entering the building, she felt death greet her at the door. It felt reminiscent of the cold presence that followed her in the dream the night before. She shuddered over the similarities.

  The surroundings, pleasantly decorated with palm plants, green settees, and landscaped art on the walls, did little to comfort or soothe her nerves. The manager appeared to notice her distrustful demeanor, and then attempted again to make her feel welcome.

  “Monsieur Lefevre, at your service.” He turned to Monsieur Pelletier and acknowledged his arrival with a nod. “Please, Mademoiselle Rousseau, follow me.”

  Monsieur Pelletier gave Suzette a reassuring look, and she followed the man clothed in black through a narrow hallway that led to his office.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair in front of his mahogany desk.

  Still dazed, she sat and glanced around the room and then loudly inquired about the whereabouts of her father’s body. “Where is he?”

  A bit surprised by her demanding question, he cleared his throat before answering. “He is in our deceased holding area, Mademoiselle. I assure you we have treated his remains with the greatest respect.”

  Embarrassed over her loud outburst, she sheepishly replied, “Thank you.”

  “Now, let us talk of funeral arrangements, shall we?” The director opened a black notebook. He picked up his quill and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk ready to write the arrangements for the sale.

  “Casket . . .” he said, in a businesslike manner. “We have a large selection of caskets, at varying prices.”

  “Prices?” Suzette squawked.

  “Yes, prices, Mademoiselle Rousseau.” After seeing the panicked look on her face, he replaced the quill in its holder, folded his hands on the desk in front of him, and leaned forward.

  “Let me ask you a question before we go further. How much can you afford? If I know what you can spend, then I can show you items that are in that price range.” He tilted his head and glanced over at Monsieur Pelletier with a smile.

  Suzette didn’t know the answer. Her father took care of financial matters, and she knew nothing about his private affairs. He gave her an allowance for clothes and shoes when she needed them. Other than that, the amount of money now in her possession was a complete mystery.

  She turned to her neighbor and confessed her ignorance. “Monsieur, I do not know where my father kept his money or where he banked. I have nothing inside my purse but a few coins. What should I do?”

  Monsieur Pelletier was not surprised. Suzette’s naivety was quite evident, and no doubt her father shared nothing about household finances. Edgar probably never revealed any of his private affairs. As a matter of course, men never discussed money matters with wives or daughters.

  He patted Suzette’s clenched hands in her lap to give her reassurance.

  “My wife and I will help when we return to your apartment. We’ll look through your father’s papers and see if we can find any financial records, money, or what bank he may have frequented.” He looked at Monsieur Lefevre and offered a suggestion.

  “Perhaps, Monsieur, you might show the lady your lowest prices possible for now. When we find more information about her financial situation, we will visit again to finalize the burial arrangements.”

  He sat straight up in his chair and reclaimed the quill in his hand. “A very good idea, Monsieur. Very well then.”

  After clearing his throat once more, he continued to discuss possible arrangements. “Mademoiselle, does your family possess a plot or crypt?”

  “We have no crypt. My mother is buried in a
plot, in the Père-Lachaise Cemetery.”

  “Is that a common grave or perpetual?”

  “I don’t understand,” Suzette replied confused.

  “When did your mother pass away, might I ask?”

  “Twelve years ago, Monsieur.”

  “And do you still visit her grave today, or has it been removed?”

  Appalled at the question, she responded in outrage. “No, Monsieur, her grave is still there, with a large marker.”

  “Ah, then your father must have purchased the plot in perpetuity.” It was obvious by the look on her face that she was still confused over his statement, so he explained further.

  “Those who cannot afford to purchase plots in perpetuity are buried in common graves that are exhumed after five years, and their bones relocated to the ossuary.” Giving her a moment to take in the information, he continued. “Since your father purchased the plot in perpetuity, it means your mother will not be exhumed. That is a choice now you must make for your father. Do you understand?”

  Suzette could not believe it! Bodies were exhumed and bones were piled in heaps? Of course, when her mother passed away, her father took care of the arrangements. They often visited her grave and brought fresh flowers or knelt and prayed.

  “Yes, I understand, Monsieur. I did not know about these things.”

  He sighed and then stood to his feet. “Most do not, Mademoiselle. Death is not a subject that is often discussed, nor arrangements made ahead of time in many cases. Unfortunately, as you have discovered,” he expressed sympathetically, “death visits us when we least expect its arrival, and difficult decisions must be quickly made.”

  He walked to the other side of his desk and suggested another course of action. “Perhaps it is better if Mademoiselle first inquires about your father’s finances and then returns tomorrow. We shall continue to hold your father’s body until I hear back from you. Would that be sufficient?”

  Relieved that she did not have to make any immediate decisions, she nodded in agreement. “Yes, thank you. That would be more than helpful.”

  Suzette turned to Monsieur Pelletier. “Will you assist me with these matters?”

  “Yes, of course.” He stood up, held out his hand, and aided Suzette to her feet. After polite goodbyes, they returned to search out the matter of Edgar Rousseau’s finances.

  * * *

  Suzette spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in bed. Her lack of rest did nothing to help her present state of mind as she sat before the solicitor’s desk. Her body shook, and her knees bobbed up and down from nerves. She placed her cold hands upon her bony joints to suppress the movement, but failed to stop the jerking. It was a horrible nervous reaction she struggled with her entire life, which caused her to blush profusely with embarrassment.

  The evening before, Monsieur Pelletier and his wife assisted Suzette as they rummaged through her father’s desk looking for answers. To their dismay, they discovered little—only a few bank registers revealing miniscule funds. Bills from debtors were stuffed in drawers, which Suzette found disturbing. Her father’s personal papers were stacked in no semblance of order. After an hour of searching every inch of Edgar’s desk, they had only gleaned a bad case of frustration.

  However, among the clutter they discovered a business card bearing the name of Edward Dupree, Solicitor. Monsieur Pelletier hoped it was her father’s personal solicitor, who handled his will and other financial matters. They set out the next morning to the gentleman’s office in hopes of discovering answers to their questions.

  Finally, after minutes of Suzette holding her knees down, a tall, young male clerk entered the waiting area. “Monsieur Dupree will see you now. Please come with me.” He led the way to a large office, where an austere man greeted them with a stern expression.

  “Mademoiselle Rousseau, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He looked at her companion, because no introduction had been made. “And what is your relationship to the young lady?”

  “Forgive me, Monsieur, but this is my neighbor, Monsieur Pelletier,” Suzette apologetically clarified. “He has been graciously helping me, in order to ascertain my father’s financial situation.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.” He offered a weak handshake. “Please have a seat.” After they had situated themselves, he continued. “So, how may I help you today?”

  “Well, Monsieur,” Suzette began in a shaky voice, “I found your card among my deceased father’s belongings.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her quivering lips in an attempt to control her emotions. After inhaling a deep breath for composure, she continued. “My father passed away yesterday.”

  “My sincerest condolences,” he interjected. A concerned look furrowed his brow as he waited for her to continue.

  “I—we,” she corrected, looking at Monsieur Pelletier, “have gone through my father’s desk, checking his financial matters and found your card. We thought perhaps that you might know of a will he possessed or might have information about his finances.” Suzette paused for a moment. “I need to bury my father, Monsieur,” she spoke, lowering her gaze to her lap. “But I do not know where I can find my father’s money in order to take care of the arrangements.”

  Monsieur Dupree looked at Suzette and then glanced at Monsieur Pelletier. He knew they both wished to hear good news; but, unfortunately, he would be the bearer of bad. He stood up and walked to the window and glanced at the street below to avoid the forthcoming pained expressions upon their faces.

  “I’m afraid, Mademoiselle Rousseau, that your father has no money,” he said coldly. He watched the numerous carriages passing by outside for a few moments in order to collect his thoughts before continuing to explain the sorry state of affairs. Finally, he turned around and faced Suzette.

  “I have been hired by his creditors to collect his debts—one way or the other.”

  “Debts?” Suzette squawked.

  “Yes, debts, Mademoiselle. It seems that some years ago, your father took out a rather large, unsecured loan, and in doing so, he became habitually behind on many obligations. My clients have been more than generous in giving him ample time to repay, but as time passed, it became increasingly clear that legal action needed to be taken.”

  “Oh.” Suzette shoulders drooped over the revelation.

  “Well,” Monsieur Pelletier interjected, “I assume such debts are cancelled now that he is deceased.”

  “Not necessarily. The law requires that his estate be sold to pay those debts, and I assure you that my clients will definitely sell all of his possessions to obtain some return.”

  Monsieur Dupree’s face turned dark, and Suzette could tell the man intended to carry out his threat. “We have very little,” she pleaded. “What could his debtors possibly gain?”

  “Satisfaction, I’m afraid,” he replied with a grim face.

  “But I will have nothing!”

  “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle, but those matters are not my concern. I am only here to carry out the wishes of my clients. Now that I am aware of your father’s demise, we will request a court order. The estate will be sold immediately in order to settle what he owes.”

  The solicitor sat back down behind his desk, picked up his quill, and turned his attention elsewhere. “My office will be contacting you shortly with an order from the court. Good day.” He had done his duty representing his clients and preferred to say nothing further regarding the matter.

  Frozen in her chair, Suzette turned to Monsieur Pelletier and whispered, “What can I do?” He only shook his head and stood up, offering her his hand.

  “Nothing. Come now. We must leave.” He held out his hand, which she took, and helped Suzette to her wobbly feet.

  * * *

  With no funds to give her father a proper burial, Edgar Rousseau, like other poor Parisians, faced eternity in a common grave outside the city walls. The spring day dropped cold rain upon Suzette’s covered head. She insisted on accompanying her father’s body to his final resting plac
e.

  His body, wrapped in coarse burlap, was placed in an uncovered wagon parked in an alleyway adjacent to the mortuary. Suzette sobbed as they lay his remains among other dead bodies. She followed the route of the wagon in a carriage hired by Monsieur Pelletier and his wife. It proceeded slowly down cobblestone streets, while onlookers gawked with curiosity as it passed by.

  Finally, they reached the outskirts of the city and pulled up to the common grave area near the vast Père-Lachaise Cemetery. Suzette exited the carriage to watch the burial. She stood shrouded in her black-hooded cloak, appearing like a mournful angel that had fallen from the gray skies above.

  The rain had thoroughly soaked the burlap bags, and the fabric clung to the naked bodies underneath revealing more than she cared to see. Suzette wished to turn her head away, but she kept her eyes upon the corpse that belonged to her father.

  In somewhat poor taste, workers stood waiting for the wagon to arrive with joking grins across their faces and shovels in their hands. A large, freshly-dug hole for multiple remains gapped open in the wet earth.

  Suzette watched while dispassionate men removed and tossed her father’s body into the ground, alongside other nameless people. When he hit the bottom with a thud, she recoiled at the sight. No one else had come to join them as other nameless corpses were dumped into the muddy hole. When the last body was tossed, the men took their shovels and flung clods of wet soil on top of the burlap mass of death.

  Suzette muttered, “Dust we are, and to dust we will return.” She tossed a single white lily in the grave and watched until it disappeared in the earth.

  Monsieur Pelletier tugged at Suzette’s sleeve. “We should go now. No need to watch such sadness.”

  “No!” Suzette pulled away and stood her ground. She patiently watched the workers fill the hole. It was difficult to believe that her father’s sacrifice had brought him to such a disgraceful end.

  Edgar Rousseau incurred a large unsecured debt in order to purchase a perpetual plot for his wife inside the Père-Lachaise Cemetery. He commissioned a sculpted weeping angel for placement over her grave. Suzette never knew the financial cost of his expression of love. In addition, he had taken out several other loans to pay for her private education, a governess, and household expenses.