“Several weeks after that, Jean came to visit me. He was probably about your age, and completely overwhelmed with the responsibility of his father’s estate. He was aware of both the letter and the will his father had given me. He asked me to take over the management of the Chastel estate. He wanted me to run it. We would have split the profits. And I did actually consider it. Not for me, but for Jeanette. Death often comes unexpectedly: I wanted to be certain that Jeanette would be cared for if something happened to me.”
“And yet, you didn’t accept his offer,” Devin said. “Why?”
Armand leaned back in his chair. “Because it would have broken my grandfather’s heart. As long as he lives, he deserves my loyalty. He and Mäìte raised me, Monsieur Roché. My mother died when I was born.”
“And so you hate Jean Chastel because your grandfather hates him?”
Armand nodded.
Devin shook his head. “When Chastel told me that your grandfather was Emile Vielle, he omitted the fact that the first Jean Chastel was your grandfather, too.”
Armand shrugged. “It isn’t a fact that I am proud of, and I give Jean credit for keeping it to himself.”
“But how long will the animosity go on?” Devin asked. “You continue to taunt Jean with that werewolf nonsense, even though the same blood runs in your veins, and Jeanette’s.”
Armand’s hand grasped the front of Devin’s shirt and yanked him closer.
“If you ever repeat that,” he snarled. “I will call you a liar to your face! All of this may seem like foolishness to you, but a man’s family is very important here!”
Devin met his eyes without flinching. “It’s important in Coreé too, Armand. Ombria doesn’t have the corner on family ties!” He pried himself free of Armand’s grip and stood up, putting some distance between them. “Does Jeanette know?”
Armand shook his head, his anger visibly dissipating. “No, if I feel she needs to know, I will tell her myself. But I think that, perhaps, it would be best if the knowledge dies with me. Every family has secrets that are best kept hidden, Monsieur Roché.”
Devin took a deep breath. “I pray there are no such volatile ones in mine.”
Armand grunted. “If you think your family is exempt from secrets, then you simply haven’t discovered them yet.”
CHAPTER 34
Undercurrents
Picoté arrived before breakfast the next morning, asking for Devin and Marcus. Adrian knocked gently on Devin’s door to tell them of his arrival. Marcus was already dressed but Devin was still in bed. He’d spent a restless night agonizing over his argument with Gaspard and wishing he had handled it differently. Sleep had finally come near daybreak and hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. He slid wearily into yesterday’s wrinkled shirt, buttoning it as he followed Marcus downstairs, barefoot.
Armand was pouring coffee but Picoté stood facing the fire, his hands clasped behind him. He turned as Marcus and Devin entered. Picoté took one look at Devin’s rumpled hair and hastily donned clothes, and raised his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep, Monsieur Roché,” he remarked sarcastically. “Country people rise early. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t be up yet.”
“Monsieur Roché and I worked very late last night,” Armand explained, a mug of coffee in his hand. “I told him we could delay our lessons this morning.”
“And yet, I find you presentable and ready to start the day,” Picoté pointed out.
Armand simply extended the mug. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked.
Picoté shook his head, his eyes still on Devin. “No, thank you, I’ve already eaten. I just have a few questions for Monsieur Roché.”
“Have you learned anything more about the murders?” Devin asked, sitting down at the table.
“Unfortunately, no,” Picoté said, parting the tails of his coat before seating himself across from Devin. “No one remembers seeing any strangers in the village last week. The killer or killers appear to have vanished into thin air.”
“If they were professional assassins,” Marcus observed darkly, “they would be careful not to be seen and they wouldn’t have left any evidence behind.”
Picoté nodded. “I’m sure you are right. I’m afraid I have little hope of catching them now.”
Devin wondered, apprehensively, whether the killers had vanished that night, confident that they had achieved their purpose in assassinating the Chancellor’s son and his companion. Or, had they lingered long enough to realize their mistake? Perhaps, even now, they were planning another more successful attempt.
“The people of Lac Dupré have no knowledge of professional assassins,” Picoté continued. “They would not know how to contact such persons, let alone commission them to carry out such a crime. The only conclusion I can reach is that you, Monsieur Roché, have drawn these men to our small corner of the province and placed all of us here in jeopardy.”
Marcus stepped forward, towering over Picoté. “No one is currently in jeopardy except Monsieur Roché and his companion.”
Picoté’s eyes were cold. “I believe Robert Foulard and George Matisse would disagree with you if they were able.” He shifted to glance behind him. “By the way, where is Monsieur Forneaux?”
“I think he is still asleep,” Devin answered.
“Ah,” Picoté commented, his eyebrows arching a moment before resuming their normal position. “Was he also up very late last night?”
Devin barely restrained his annoyance. “You said you had some questions for me? I trust they are more important than my friend’s sleeping habits.”
“My sources have informed me, Monsieur Roché,” Picoté continued, his gaze fixed on Devin, “that there was an unsuccessful attempt made on the Chancellor’s life last week. Do you think it had any connection to the murders here?”
Devin didn’t even remember rising to his feet. “What did you say?” he asked, his heart beating unsteadily.
Picoté’s smiled smugly. “Ah, you didn’t know then, Monsieur Roché? When did you last hear from your father?”
“Two days ago,” Devin stammered. “Is he all right? Was he hurt?”
“Not seriously,” Picoté replied, obviously relishing his knowledge of the event. “An assassin hid on the seventh balcony of Council Chambers. Fortunately, light glinted off the barrel of his rifle when he aimed. The man was shot in the head before he could fire. The Chancellor was thrown to the floor by his bodyguards. I believe he only suffered bruises and a minor head injury.”
Devin wheeled to look at Marcus.
“Did you know this?” he demanded.
Marcus nodded, his eyes locked with Picoté’s.
Picoté’s mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “And so I ask again, Monsieur Roché, do you think the two events are connected in some way?”
“How could I possibly know that?” Devin retorted. “There has been conflict among Council members for some time. My father indicated in his latest letter that he had received a personal threat. I did not interpret it to mean someone had actually made an attempt on his life! But obviously, I did not receive the same information you obtained.”
“Do you know which Council members might pose a threat to your father?” Picoté asked, flourishing his notebook.
He could compile quite a list, Devin thought grimly, but he was unwilling to lay random suspicions before Jacques Picoté. He shook his head, and sank back onto the bench.
“I can provide you with names,” Marcus replied. “Although, how that will help your small investigation here…”
“My small investigation?” Picoté interrupted angrily. “Two good men are dead, monsieur. Perhaps that doesn’t matter in the overall scheme of things, but it matters very much to me!”
Armand intervened. “He meant no offense, Jacques. It is just that if this crime has repercussions as far away as Coreé, surely, it is out of your hands to solve?”
“It occurs to me,” Picoté replied fu
rtively, “that Monsieur Roché may bear some culpability in the matter.”
“In what way?” Armand demanded, frowning. “He came here as my student.”
“And yet, he was aware of a threat to his life. He should have informed me as soon as he arrived in Lac Dupré. Two murders might have been averted!”
“I have my own security,” Devin replied, his mind still reeling, imagining the assassination attempt in Council Chambers. He wished Picoté would leave so that he could question Marcus further about exactly what had happened. “I trust Marcus to see to my protection not the local authorities!”
“And yet, I am entrusted with the lives of the people in this village, Monsieur Roché,” Picoté replied. “Your bodyguard has no authority here.”
“In that you are wrong,” Marcus said, pulling his packet of official papers from the neck of his shirt. He slapped them down on the table. “I believe the Chancellor’s dispensation supersedes your authority.”
Picoté’s face paled. He reviewed the papers silently, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“You are quite right,” he murmured, handing them back to Marcus. “Your authority exceeds mine in this matter.”
“Since you have eliminated any local suspects or motives for these murders, I hereby advise you to cease your investigation,” Marcus said. “Coreé has been informed and is taking action as we speak. You will be informed when and if the perpetrators are apprehended.”
“And will they be returned to my district for trial and sentencing?” Picoté asked.
“I doubt that’s possible,” Marcus muttered. “The attempted murder of any member of the Chancellor’s family is a treasonable offense. It carries the death sentence just as any murder charge would. Be assured, the assassins will be executed, whether they are tried here or in Coreé.”
Picoté stood up and bowed stiffly. “I will make an official note of our conversation, Monsieur Beringer. Should the magistrate have any questions about the investigation I will refer him to you.”
He hesitated uncertainly for a moment. “I actually came here this morning regarding another matter. I feel it is my duty to inform you that Monsieur Roché is not well liked in this community. Many people hold him personally responsible for Robert’s and George’s deaths. There are those who intend him physical harm. You should be aware of that and take appropriate precautions.”
“I already have,” Marcus replied. “But allow me to remind you that, anyone implicated in a threat against the Chancellor’s son, will be dealt with very harshly. Be certain that your people understand that. I will show no mercy to anyone involved, should Monsieur Roché be hurt.”
Picoté’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget, you are a long way from Coreé, Monsieur Beringer.”
He retrieved his hat from the table, and was gone.
Devin only waited until he heard the front door slam before he turned on his bodyguard.
“Damn you, Marcus!” he said angrily. “Did you think it was a mercy for me to hear about this attack on my father from a pretentious small-town shérif instead of from you?”
Marcus took a deep breath. He glanced down at Devin and lowered his voice. “Your father never intended for you to hear about it, at all. He asked me not to tell you unless absolutely necessary.”
“And what else are you keeping from me?” Devin snapped. “If I can’t trust you, Marcus, who can I trust?”
Marcus leaned over, his mouth only inches from Devin’s ear. “This isn’t the time or the place,” he hissed. “These are private matters between you and me.”
“But surely, there is no need for so much secrecy!” Devin said breathlessly. “My God, my father could have been killed! Would you have told me then?”
Marcus’s hands latched onto Devin’s shoulders. “Come upstairs,” he ordered. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
Devin yanked away. “What you can? Do you plan to dole out just enough information to keep me satisfied until the next crisis? Sometimes, I suspect I am in more danger from you than these villagers!”
“Then you would be wrong,” Marcus muttered, shoving him toward the door.
Devin was halfway down the hall, when someone turned the knob on the front door. He stopped angrily, assuming it must be Picoté returning. But Gaspard stumbled through the doorway, his forehead covered in blood. He wavered unsteadily for an instant before he fell forward into Devin arms.
CHAPTER 35
Sticks and Stones
Devin staggered, trying to support Gaspard with his left arm and slam the door with his right.
“What happened?” he gasped. “Are you all right?”
Gaspard righted himself, one hand pressed to his forehead.
“Someone hit me with a rock.”
Marcus took Gaspard’s arm. “Sit,” he directed, pushing him down on the hall bench.
Devin knelt beside him. “Did you see who threw it, Gaspard?”
He shook his head and then winced. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“For Christ’s sake, Devin!” Marcus growled, pushing him aside. “Get out of the way!”
Suddenly, Armand was there, too, both of them bent over Gaspard. Devin shifted up against the door, feeling useless, and yet wanting to help. He folded his arms over his chest, his breathing erratic.
“Shall I go for Dr. Mareschal?” he asked, after a moment.
Marcus spared him a look. “You are not to go anywhere! How many times do I have to tell you that?”
Armand glanced at Devin. “There’s no need for a doctor,” he said, quietly. “It’s just a gash. He’ll be all right. Jeanette’s on the terrace. Would you ask her to come in?”
Devin slid past them and ran down the hall. Jeanette was just coming into the kitchen, a basket on her arm.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
“Gaspard’s hurt,” Devin blurted out. “Your father asked for you to come. They’re in the hall.”
She put her basket on the table and rushed to help. Devin followed her at a discreet distance, afraid of incurring Marcus’s anger again but compelled to see for himself that Gaspard wasn’t seriously injured.
He stood in the doorway with Adrian. Gaspard’s face was deadly white except for trickles of blood which stood out vividly against his pale skin. Jeanette was dispatched for a needle and thread, and Devin grimaced. Gaspard always claimed that it was his good looks that consistently brought him luck with the ladies. Devin hoped the scar would be a small one.
He watched Jeanette’s small hands, so efficient, and yet gentle and comforting at the same time. He almost envied Gaspard his injury.
A few minutes later, Gaspard walked to the kitchen with Marcus’s help. Armand installed him in the rocker with a mug of red wine, and sent Adrian for Picoté.
Devin paced in front of the fireplace, his stomach churning.
“Why would someone attack you?” he demanded, after a moment. “I’m the one they’re angry with.”
“Most of these people don’t even know what you look like!” Marcus pointed out irritably. “They only know there are two young men from Coreé staying with Armand. All they want is someone to blame. One of you is as good as the other, I imagine. I’ve told you both before that neither of you is to leave the house without me. What was so important that you had to go out alone this morning, Gaspard?”
Gaspard took a drink before answering. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his watch. It dropped and spun on the end of the chain, the sunlight glittering off the links.
“I tried to sell my watch,” he murmured.
Devin’s stomach clenched. “Please tell me this has nothing to do with Chastel,” he protested guiltily. “I told you last night that I’d pay off the thousand francs you owe him.”
Gaspard let his head fall back against the chair, his eyes narrowed against the pain.
“You were so angry; I decided to take care of the debt myself.”
“With your watch?” Devin asked incredulously. “Gas
pard, it’s not worth a tenth of that!”
“It was a start, Dev,” Gaspard replied. “Give me credit for trying.”
“It’s not worth getting killed for!” Devin replied.
“And, I’m not dead, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Gaspard took a sip of wine, eyeing Devin over the rim of his mug. “It seems to me you are overreacting.”
Devin took a shaky breath. Perhaps he was overreacting, but only because of Picoté’s revelation earlier.
“Someone tried to assassinate my father, Gaspard,” he said.
Gaspard sat up. “God, Dev, I’m sorry. Is he all right?”
Devin nodded. “A man tried to shoot him in Council Chambers. According to Picoté, he wasn’t badly hurt. His bodyguards knocked him down in time.”
Gaspard drained his mug. “What does Picoté have to do with it?”
Devin glanced at Marcus. “Picoté’s the one who told me. Apparently, Marcus chose not to share the information.”
“Enough!” Marcus’s hand slammed down on the table. He stood up, his face suffused with anger. “Devin, I’ll see you upstairs.”
Acutely aware of Jeanette looking on in horrified silence, Devin reluctantly complied. He patted Gaspard on the shoulder.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he murmured.
Gaspard raised his mug. “God, I hope so,” he quipped. “Yell, if you need assistance. I’ll send someone up.”
Devin turned and walked down the hall, Marcus stalking behind him like an executioner. When he reached their bedroom, he turned his back and walked to the window.
“Sit down!” Marcus roared, slamming the door behind him.
Devin swung around to face him. “Don’t give me orders! Do you have any idea how angry I am?”
“That’s two of us, then,” Marcus replied. “Because it never occurred to me that you would question both your father’s judgment and mine.”
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