Tasha Alexander - Dangerous to Know

“No one talks about that anymore,” she said. “I asked on account of knowing you’d want to know about any other suspicious deaths. ” She emphasized the words with such careful effort I had to bite back my amusement. “There’s nothing interesting to report. She’s buried at the château, you know.”

“The Markhams’ château?” I asked.

Meg nodded. “Unmarked grave. So as not to trouble the lady of the house. Who, if you’ll forgive my impertinence, hasn’t been able to, well…”

“Have children?”

“Yes, madam, thank you. I don’t like to say it, you know. Specially after…”

“That’s all right, Meg. I do appreciate it.”

I guzzled my tea and dressed as quickly as possible, eager to set out on the day’s mission. Mrs. Hargreaves agreed we should try to locate Lucy, and felt Sebastian a worthy companion for me while conducting my investigation. She, of course, didn’t want me doing anything dangerous, but did not object to my plan to return to the asylum and search Edith’s room again.

“You’re a terrible rogue,” Sebastian said as we climbed into the carriage and waved to her as it pulled away. “She wouldn’t approve of you looking for Girard’s house. Or doing any of the other things we’re bound to do once you start getting carried away.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do not, Sebastian, make me regret bringing you,” I said.

“You can’t regret bringing me. You wouldn’t have been allowed out of the house on your own.”

Allowed. Again. He was perfectly correct, however, and given what had transpired the night before, I wouldn’t have dreamed of going off on my own. Colin’s mother had sent word to Inspector Gaudet first thing in the morning, asking him to come round and search for evidence of whomever had followed Sebastian. None of us expected him to unearth even a shred of something useful.

I don’t approve of lying, and it’s certainly not a habit into which I’d like to fall. Sebastian and I were, in fact, going to the asylum. It was theoretically possible we—and the police—had missed something in Edith’s room, and it wouldn’t hurt to make another pass through it. But I also knew someone amongst the staff would be able to direct me to Dr. Girard’s house, and I had great hopes for finding a clue there that would point the way to Lucy’s guardian.

Order had been restored at the asylum, though the previously disheveled nurse was nowhere to be found. Another one, whom I’d met only in passing the day Dr. Girard died, greeted me warmly, and was quick to show us Edith’s room.

“They’ve all been through here more times than I can count, you know,” she said.

“The police?” I asked.

“And the doctor, of course, as soon as she’d disappeared. And then the police again after they found her body.” She covered her mouth. “Oh, you’re the one, aren’t you madame?”

“I am.”

“I do hope you can forgive me,” she said.

“Don’t think on it,” I said. “There’s nothing more to be said on the topic. Did anyone else look through her room?”

“Let’s see…there was her friend, Monsieur Myriel.”

“When was he here?”

“Right after Mademoiselle Prier’s death,” she said.

“Do you know where he went when he left?” I asked, excitement building in me.

“Oh, no,” she said. “He didn’t talk much. He was awfully upset about Mademoiselle Prier.”

Sebastian stood absolutely still in the corner of the room, not appearing to have paid the slightest attention to the conversation. “Did Edith’s family collect her belongings?” he asked.

“No one came immediately after we heard of her murder. Her brother did eventually, though.” She turned back to me. “He’s the other one who came and searched her room. Him and that writer fellow.”

“Monsieur Leblanc?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. Monsieur Leblanc. Wasn’t sure I could remember his name. But it’s hard to forget his moustache.”

“When was he here?” I asked.

“The day after Dr. Girard died.”

“Did he find anything?” I was surprised Monsieur Leblanc hadn’t told me of his visit.

“I don’t think so. The thing is, madame, we’d cleaned out the room real good after she left. And again after we got word she’d died. There wasn’t anything left.”

“Not unless you’re clever enough to know where to look. I have a great breadth of knowledge when it comes to furniture construction—people think they’re awfully clever when they hide valuables in pieces that don’t have drawers,” Sebastian said. He walked slowly through the room, examining every object it contained. Then, his brow furrowed, he crossed to the bed and began to unscrew one of the finials on the metal headboard. Once he’d removed it, he put two slim fingers into the post before returning the finial back to its place and repeating the procedure on the other side. This time, he pulled out a tightly rolled bundle of papers. “Sometimes, my dear girl, you need a gentleman who can think beyond the ordinary constraints of decency.”

“Love letters,” I said, smoothing the pages on my lap. We were all sitting on what had been Edith’s bed in the small, spare hospital room, reading words so tender and sweet and true they brought tears to my eyes. Sebastian, however, was unmoved.

“He’s a maudlin sense about him,” he said. “Not nearly romantic enough. I did much better by you.”

I shot him what I hoped he would recognize as a disapproving glare. “Jules. That’s Vasseur,” I said. “So he knew she was here. But no one called that ever visited her?”

The nurse shook her head. “You saw me check the records again just a minute ago. No one admitting to be him was ever here.”

Sebastian sighed. “Isn’t it obvious he’s your mysterious Monsieur Myriel?”

“It doesn’t fit with the time he was away in the Foreign Legion,” I said. “And furthermore, if he was so close, wouldn’t he have spirited her away soon after she…” I didn’t want to mention the baby in front of the nurse. “As soon as he realized she was here? Why would he have left her here?”

“She needed treatment, madame,” the nurse said. “There was no question. Some days she hardly knew where she was.”

“So he took rooms nearby, under an assumed name, so he could visit without drawing her family’s attention. It became clear to him the doctor was at least trying to help her, so he didn’t press her to leave immediately,” Sebastian suggested.

“Did her condition improve at all during her stay here?” I asked.

“I can’t rightly say,” the nurse said. “Mademoiselle Prier was one of those patients whose condition changed constantly. Some days she was as normal as you, the next she was seeing ghosts. She couldn’t have gone home.”

“But Monsieur Vasseur—Monsieur Myriel—might have thought otherwise,” I said. “Or perhaps…” Again I stopped myself and reset my focus. “Do you know where Dr. Girard lived? I’m wondering if he had any personal correspondence with Monsieur Myriel.”

“Wouldn’t the police have found it?” she asked.

“Only if they knew to look,” I said. “Surely it would be all right for you to help us find the house? It’s not as if we’d be disturbing him.”

“I suppose not,” she said, twisting the ends of her apron in her hand. “He can’t be hurt any more than he’s already been.”

Soon, we were banging on the door of a quaint single floor cottage, a quarter of an hour’s drive down a narrow, unpaved road from Dr. Girard’s asylum. Shoots of green peeked from the top of the thatched roof, and the half-timbered walls gleamed from recent whitewashing. A neat pavement of smooth, round stones led the way from the road, and as with nearly every country house I’d seen in Normandy, hydrangeas filled the garden to bursting.