Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

  “Tell me about Simon Roux,” he said, his voice more demanding than it had been since he arrived.

  “I’ve already told you everything. He tried to rape two girls from my school, and I stopped him in time for them to escape. That didn’t go reported because though it would have possibly gotten him hanged, it would have hanged the school as well. What father wants to send his daughter to a seminary meant to be an experiment in forced nunnery that instead lets its girls have their virtue stolen by common ruffians?”

  She started walking again, and he realized he had to continue their pleasant stroll to keep up with her, even if they were circling the same land again and again. “Why didn’t you report it?”

  “To my father? Or any of my wealthy and powerful relatives? I would just be brought home, and Lady Littlefield would be left at the mercy of the marquis.” She looked at him again. “She doesn’t want to marry him.”

  “Does she know about Sophie?”

  “Not the whole extent of it, no. But she has learned of his temper first hand. Literally.”

  He paused. “He yelled at her?”

  “Worse.”

  “He ... hit his own betrothed?” Audley could not believe it. Was this the same man who had almost wept when discussing his dead wife the previous afternoon?

  “He did give her makeup to cover the bruise so she could rejoin the dinner. You can ask Sophie; she applied it.”

  They walked in silence for a moment as he digested all of this information. Miss Bingley seemed to have returned to her proper girly self. Was she playing with him? She definitely was, but he could not tell which half was doing the playing. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Why did you investigate the marquis? Why did you question his servant? Why do you seem to keep your own school open – a school you are obviously bored with – just so you can do all this? Why are you protecting her?”

  “Because,” she said casually, “she asked me to.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” She added more seriously, “When someone asks me for help, especially someone without any allies and many people lined up against her, I give it.” The sound of the bells interrupted them. “That would be my class in Italian. It seems our little walk has come to an end, Inspector Audley, because I would rather not miss this lecture. I have fallen a bit behind.”

  “We will continue,” he said, a little more harshly than he intended, “another time.”

  “Of course, Inspector Audley.” She gave a proper little curtsey and skipped off towards the building. He did not bow in return. Instead, he stood there numbly until she was gone, then turned around and headed back to the mansion.

  ~~~

  “Monsieur Inspector! You cannot enter now, His Lordship is not – ”

  “I am not here to see His Lordship,” Audley said as he invited himself into the entry hall of the Marquis de Maret. “I am here to see a maid named Sophie, or Sophia. Is she here?”

  The butler looked a little flustered by the inspector’s behavior. He had never been so forceful in his mannerisms when dealing with the marquis or his household so far, and he was still carrying his rifle from the night before. “Yes sir – she will be fetched immediately. May I take your hat and coat, Inspector?”

  “No,” he said. “I will wait here for her.” As much as he would have liked to sit down and have a cup of tea. He wanted privacy and he wouldn’t get it within these walls.

  Something about speaking with Miss Bingley had set him off. It had taken him a moment on the road, sorting through his mental notations, to realize the scope of what she had told him – all things she had done on her own. Granted, she had had more time than him, and was acting under less scrutiny, but she also seemed to know everything about everyone. Her ability to toy with him – when he should have been toying with her – was maddening. While not particularly verbose, everyone else was at least giving him plain yes or no answers with plainly readable faces. He had noticed something amiss with Sophie in their initial interview, but he had not immediately pursued it.

  He forced himself into a calmer state when the maid was brought to him. She was a young woman, blond and dressed in the reasonable French fashions expected of a maid. “Inspector Audley.”

  “Perhaps there’s something you can assist me in,” he said. “I would like to have a word with you. May we go outside?” He forced himself to add, as a likely excuse, “The weather is very lovely.”

  She curtseyed and followed him out, to the clear disapproval of the housekeeper, who looked on from the top of the stairs. Well, he could deal with that. The grounds were indeed quite lovely, even if he had decided he had had enough of nature in the past day. They walked out to a stone bench beneath the shade of a grand oak tree. Was this where younger de Marets had romanced their intendeds?

  “Please, sit,” he said as he set his rifle down and removed his hat. When she hesitated, he realized. “Oh, of course.” He ruffled through his satchel and retrieved a dry cloth, which he set down on the stone for her to sit and not wet her dress.

  “Thank you, Monsieur Inspector.” She didn’t seem to know quite what to make of this exchange.

  “I apologize for my appearance. I’ve had ... quite a long night. And day.” He sat down next to her and removed his notebook and charcoal pencil, good for moments like these. “I have, if you do not mind, a few more questions.”

  “I – I did not steal the coat, Inspector.”

  Of course. Servants are always accused of theft. “I did not think you did. My questions are about the behavior of the marquis.” The mention of this particular subject did startle her, he noted. “You realize, I am an impartial investigator to the law and I do not answer to anyone here, not even the marquis. My investigations are private unless I choose to make them otherwise.”

  “Of course, Inspector.”

  “What I mean to say, to be perfectly clear, is that you can trust me. In fact, I am quite eager for your trust, for it will help me get to the bottom of this case. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she was quivering.

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “Now, did you know Simon Roux?”

  “No.”

  “Had you heard of him?”

  “I had heard his name once or twice in passing conversation in town, but otherwise, no, Inspector.”

  “Are you often in town?”

  “My parents live on the outskirts. My father is very ill.”

  He took down a note in his journal. “So you visit him. And I assume your work here is very helpful to your parents’ finances?”

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  So that explains it. “Now I must ask some delicate questions about the marquis.”

  She nodded slightly but said nothing, her body visibly tensing.

  “Please be assured – I do not answer to the marquis, unlike everyone else in the area. And I know many of the answers to the questions already – but I would like to hear them from you.” His voice was gentle, his blue eyes pleading. He had what his mother described as a ‘puppy dog’ face when he tried, though it would wither with age. For the moment, it was intolerably useful. “Has the marquis ever laid a hand on any of his servants?”

  Her eyes met his, and he watched them painfully search him for dishonesty and corruption before she finally answered quietly, “Yes.”

  “Did he lay a hand on you?”

  She turned away, burying her face in her hands. “Yes.”

  “Had he ingested a vast quantity of spirits when he did?”

  Sophie was not quick to answer, “The first time.”

  He sighed sympathetically and lowered his voice. “And the other times?”

  She shook her head. She was trying to hide it, but she was beginning to cry. He put a cautious hand on her shoulder. “I know, Miss Sophie, I know. You are not the first person this has happened to. I wish that it will be the last.”

  Sophie raised her
watery eyes to his again, “Oh please, Monsieur Inspector, don’t tell him.”

  “I will not speak a word of this conversation. I promise.”

  “He does know – he must know. There must be talk. But – I haven’t told him and I don’t know how to. Or even if I should.”

  He was not entirely sure where the conversation was turning. He only knew he had to pursue it. “You haven’t told him what, Sophie?” But she couldn’t answer. Now she was sobbing quietly into her hands. “Miss Sophie, are you with child?”

  She nodded.

  “And it is his?”

  Again, the same gesture. Audley sat back, tightening his grip on her shoulder protectively and sympathetically, but that was all he could do. They were undoubtedly being watched from afar. “Have you told anyone?”

  “No one. Not even my parents.”

  He stood up. He had too much tension in his body and he had to find an outlet for it. He paced in front of her – which would look much more inquisitional to anyone watching through a window – with his hands behind his back. “Miss Sophie, as I am sure you are aware, the marquis is a dangerous man.”

  “I know,” she whimpered.

  “Has he – done anything – to anyone else? Even just threatened them?”

  “No. Not that I know of, sir, please.”

  He frowned. “Do you have somewhere you can go, if I tell you to leave the manor for good?”

  “I need this work, Inspector – ”

  “Your life is more important than money, Miss,” he said. “And it may be in danger. Do you have somewhere you can go, if I asked you to go further than your parents’ house?”

  She looked puzzled for a moment before answering, “I have – a cousin in Mon Richard, and his wife and children. They would take me in.”

  “Their family name?”

  “Murrell. The same as mine.”

  He nodded, writing this down. “Miss Murrell, my duty is to the law and I am sure the marquis has violated it in at least two ways, but I need time to gather evidence. If I tell you to, can you be ready to leave for Mon Richard at a moment’s notice?”

  Hesitantly, she nodded.

  “Good. That will be all, Miss Murrell.” He offered a hand to help her to her feet, and implored her to use the clean side of his cloth to wipe her face before they headed back to the manor house. “Nothing will be said to endanger you, I promise. In fact, it will be very much the opposite, God willing.” She gave him a weak smile of thanks as they stepped up to the front door, where she scurried back into the house and to work.

  Audley left her at the door, ready to return to town – and finally, a warm bed and a change of clothes – when Monsieur Durand stopped him. “Inspector Audley.”

  He sighed. His awkward night of sleep and exhausting day was catching up with him. “Yes?”

  “His Lordship wishes to see you.” He added for emphasis, “Now.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Never one to question an order, especially when he was interested to know why someone had the audacity to give it without the necessary authority, Inspector Audley followed the butler in. This time he let the man take his coat and hat, and shelve his rifle, and he was invited into the sitting room where the marquis was apparently taking tea. “Inspector. Are you always in the habit of questioning servants without the master’s permission?”

  Audley sat down opposite him as a servant poured tea into a second cup. “I was not aware that I required it when I have been called in particularly to investigate a crime. Apparently I must read up on the new appendixes to French law.” He dropped a cube of sugar into his cup and held it, letting the heat warm his hands while he waited for the sugar to dissolve.

  “What did you question Sophie about? I was under the impression you already spoke with her.”

  “I did.” He took a sip, sure that his love of tea made him truly was a Brit at heart. “I will trade you the answer to your question for an answer to one of mine – what happened to your forehead, my Lord?”

  It had not escaped his notice that the marquis had a bruise and a nick on his right temple, not swollen but purple and blue, and that he was also wearing heavy gloves, odd for indoors. “I fell while gardening.”

  “Gardening?”

  “Yes. It seems I am not as talented as my wife, may she rest in peace. I slid on the wet stone and banged my head smartly on the ground before the gardener could catch me.”

  “Well, it must have been hard for him to see you in the middle of the night.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It is now - ,” Audley made an orchestrated performance of checking his pocket watch – “half-past two, and yet your bruise has healed enough that the swelling has already gone down. It is on its way to yellowing already, so I would say – and this is just an estimate – that you acquired it very early in the morning, while it was still quite dark.” He looked down. “Did you hurt your hands as well, during the fall in your garden?”

  Finally, the marquis looked decidedly put-off. Audley decided to revel in the moment of truly having the upper hand. “Inspector, you’re not buying into this werewolf nonsense, are you?”

  “I said nothing of the kind,” he answered. “It had not even occurred to me until you brought it up just now.”

  “Enough, Inspector,” the marquis said firmly, deciding to change the course of conversation as he pleased. “Now answer my question. What were you asking Sophie?”

  “I was inquiring about my investigation. You will recall the matter of that missing coat that caused all this trouble to begin with. That and a dead man with his throat slashed.”

  “Ah, yes. Did she steal it?”

  “No,” Audley said, pleased with himself for having avoided the real answer but still managing not to lie. “I am quite certain she did not.”

  “Hopefully your skills as a detector of thieves are better than yours skills as a medical examiner,” the marquis said as he rose. Very aware that he was being dismissed, Audley quickly gulped the last of his tea and rose with him.

  “My Lord.”

  “Inspector Audley.”

  Despite the earlier conversation with Sophie, Robert Audley walked out of the manor with a satisfied smirk on his face. The marquis, in attempting to intimidate him, had shown his hand. He might not be a werewolf, but he had some nocturnal adventure on the night of the full moon that was mysterious enough.

  ~~~

  Audley returned to the Verrat as quickly as possible. He needed to recoup and record, and begin to sort the mess of information in his head, which was still throbbing from the knock last night. He was frustrated when, as he entered, Camille approached him with some urgency. “Monsieur Lambert is waiting for you.”

  The old mortician was not a tavern regular, so Audley was not wont to dismiss it, but he was also very tired. He found the ghastly pale man in the corner, and set down his rifle and satchel across from him, determined to do this quickly. “Hello, Monsieur Lambert.”

  “Inspector Audley. I found something that might be of use to you in my little collection,” he said, and brought something up from underneath the table. Audley was relieved to find the collection he was referring to was one of books, as an old tome was passed to him, its bound pages frayed with age.

  Audley opened it to a picture of what appeared to be some sort of wolf with chicken feet and the tail of a mule. The Beast of Gévaudan, it read.

  “You do not take this seriously, do you?” Audley said.

  “Despite my profession, I am not obsessed with the underworld or any creatures that may come from it,” Lambert said. “It is merely a book that I own. Have you read it?”

  “No,” he said, “but I recognize the picture. And I’ve heard of the Beast of Gévaudan. The legend of the mysterious beast that ate children in our woods – it must have been circulating for almost a century, now.” He flipped through the book despite his best inclinations. “I always thought it to be a metaphor for the nobility. Or a metaphor created by
the nobles for the revolutionaries.”

  “There was a beast that they killed. A wolf. They brought it to Versailles.”

  “Then it must have been missed when the place was seized decades later,” Audley said. “We are dealing with a human killer, Monsieur Lambert. Perhaps one dressed in costume, but human all the same.”

  “I thought there were two killers.”

  “There are,” he said, lowering his voice, “but it is best not to say it, so soon in the investigation, or the second one will not be so easily drawn out.”

  Monsieur Lambert put his boney hands up. “I will say nothing, Inspector Audley.”

  “That would be best, I think, for your own safety. Clearly one of our killers has a problem with people knowing too much.”

  ~~~

  Taking his food with him, Audley retired to his room while it was light, and called for some water to be warmed. They managed to get a bucket for him, which he dumped over himself, and after some scrubbing, began to feel human again. Refreshed, he ate his dinner and removed the contents of his satchel onto the table that served as a writing desk. He flipped through the book Lambert had given him, and promised himself that he would read it later.

  This is not about a beast, he thought as he opened his notebook, inked his pen, and began to flip through the pages of notes – names, places, recordings of conversations. There is too much at work here. Someone planned this. Either someone wanted to keep him from finding the men in the woods, or someone wanted to protect him from them – that much he had learned well last night. It could also be both.

  The wolf – protector. Protector of women? Audley wrote under wolf. It – he – had killed Simon Roux, a known villain and at least attempted rapist. Protector of him? Was it the same person who had “attacked” him last night? He was thoroughly convinced he had not been attacked by one of the bandits, otherwise he would be dead or at the very least, not carried and left in such a significant spot. But if the wolf had carried him, then the wolf was not one of the bandits. And the wolf was not the marquis, he was fairly sure. There was nothing to connect the marquis to Simon Roux.