Chapter 7
Of course he did not,” Fernand roared. Several workers, including Michel, appeared in the factory’s doorway to peer out at us.
Fernand made an effort to calm himself. “Yes, Claude behaved like a fool over the signora, but that was months ago, Emile. Claude has finished with her. He’d never have murdered a man because of her.”
Emile blinked. “Forgive me, Uncle. I know absolutely that Claude did no such thing, but I thought that was what you feared.”
“Never.” Fernand spoke stoutly, but his rapid breathing and flushed face told me otherwise.
“It is easily solved,” I said. “If Claude was far from the Pont Tilsit, or indeed the entire Presqu’?le, last night, then he need have no concern.”
From Fernand’s continued scowl, I gathered that Claude would not be so fortunate.
“I do not know where he was, but it does not matter,” Fernand snapped. “A Devere would not do this.”
Emile opened his mouth, perhaps to argue this point, but Fernand glared him to silence and swung on me.
“Emile and Gabriella tell me you rush about London seeking criminals to send to the gallows, Captain. We have the gendarmerie here—you do not need to interfere. Go back to your villa on the hill and await the wedding. There is no need to have Claude arrested for his imprudent passion.”
Fernand balled his fists as he made this speech, which I realized were beefy and scarred, a man unafraid of labor. Fernand was on his own territory, with many to aid him, and I was an interloper.
Brewster stirred, as though ready to step between us, but I forestalled him.
“I assure you, I have no intention of spoiling the wedding,” I said to Fernand. “But Claude should clear his name as soon as he can, so that he too may attend.” I gave Fernand and the distressed Emile a stiff bow. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
I turned, nearly colliding with Brewster, who stood close beside me. He stepped away, and we walked out of the courtyard together. The large Michel emerged to dog us until we were through the gate.
“I don’t know what you were going on about,” Brewster said as we reached the road. We’d spoken in French, Fernand too agitated to translate. “But Mr. Devere was ready to come at you, with his workers to back him up. Tough blokes in there. So of course, you had to go and rile them.”
“Fernand fears that his nephew Claude murdered Signor Gallo,” I told him as we headed northward. My leg began to ache, punishing me for not hiring a hack or cart to bring me out here.
“Does he, now? Not without reason, I take it. Else he wouldn’t have shouted so loud.”
“I thought the same. If there was no possibility at all, Fernand would not worry. Emile seems sanguine that his cousin is innocent, but there must be a reason Fernand is not as certain.”
“He knows summat, you mean.”
“He must.” I scanned the dusty road and the pile of buildings of Lyon, with the gleam of wide river dividing around it.
“The best way to make certain Claude is innocent is to find out where he was last night. I hear the police are quick to arrest suspects here. If we can keep Claude free, it will do much to alleviate the family’s worries. ”
“You mean find out who really killed the man, don’t you?”
I nodded. “If it comes to that.”
Brewster heaved an aggrieved sigh, his gaze going heavenward. “Here we go,” he muttered.
I managed to convince a farmer trundling his goods to the city to allow me a ride on the back of his cart the last half mile to Lyon.
I had to give him coin and promise him a cup of wine at Beaumont’s shop, but he nodded and let me repose among his crates of onions.
My aching leg eased, though my eyes watered a good bit.
Brewster trudged behind the cart, a scowl on his face. He was fed up with me putting myself in danger to find the answer to puzzles, but I ignored his disapproval.
Helping clear Emile’s cousin of this crime should not be too difficult, I told myself as we rocked along—unless, of course, the lad actually committed it.
I’d do what I could. I’d come to like the Deveres and did not want to see them distraught. Also, it would never do for Gabriella to begin her new life with Emile’s family locked in scandal.
The carter let me off at the end of the Pont Tilsit, now free of Gallo’s body and the blood he’d spilled. I returned to the wine shop for a bit of rest and a cup of earthy wine, then Brewster and I climbed the hill to the villa.
Donata had hired a house that she called too small, but it will do and I called a grand country mansion.
The home had been built within the last century, and bore many windows and glazed doors to let in light and provide easy access to the garden.
Crenelations and cupolas lined the roof, to bring to mind the medieval age of chivalry and the grand dukes that had once ruled this area.
I’d come to enjoy the place, though it had been decorated inside with a plethora of clouds, cherubs, and gilded plaster ribbons winding across the top of every room.
Donata was awake, Bartholomew informed me when I entered the echoing ground floor hall, though still in her chamber. Grenville, on the other hand, had arrived, and waited in the rear drawing room.
I joined him in that sunny chamber, the windows open to let in the cool breeze. The clouds that had gathered while I’d traveled to the ironworks had broken apart again, becoming puffy and picturesque.
“The entire city is agog with the news of this murder,” Grenville told me as I thankfully took a seat on the comfortable sofa. He imbibed coffee, which Bartholomew also brought me.
“They were still speaking of it in Beaumont’s wine shop,” I answered. “The men there favor the cutpurse theory.”
“The ideas are rather different on this hill. Anyone I encountered on my way up was avid to discuss it. Those who’d been at the comtesse’s soiree are certain that Signora Ruggeri hastened down to the city last night and killed Signor Gallo.
Outraged at him, they say, for nearly ruining things for her with the comte. ”
“Nonsense.” Donata floated in, waved off Bartholomew who approached with the coffee pot, and sank down next to me. “Signora Ruggeri spent the entire night as the comtesse’s guest. She is the one person in Lyon who could not have murdered Signor Gallo.”
“Her guest?” I asked in surprise.
Donata settled her summer-light gown and nodded in gratitude when Bartholomew presented her with a glass of sherry.
“This happened after the pair of you and Gabriella departed,” Donata said after a refreshing sip.
“When the hour grew late, the comtesse declared that it would be too dangerous for Signora Ruggeri to venture home, with Gallo out there threatening her. So the comtesse put her in one of their many chambers with her own lady’s maid to wait on her.
Signora Ruggeri could hardly refuse. You miss much when you retire early. ”
I had indeed retired after Gabriella had gone home, though Grenville had departed to spend the rest of his evening with Marianne and her friends.
“Signora Ruggeri might have slipped out,” Grenville suggested. “Left after the household had gone to bed, met Gallo, and then nipped back before anyone missed her.”
“The chateau is well guarded,” I said doubtfully. “With only the one gate. It would be difficult for her to escape notice.”
“Chateaus like the comtesse’s are riddled with hidden doors,” Grenville said with the confidence of long experience.
“Ways for tradesmen to come and go without disturbing the family. You’d be amazed at the many entrances in the cellars.
A boon for thieves, if they aren’t sure to lose themselves in the labyrinth of old passageways. ”
I wondered if Brewster had scouted these hidden entrances at the comtesse’s home, and made a note to ask him.
“I can discover whether anyone saw her slipping out,” Donata offered.
“Though, if I had killed Gallo, I’d have flung the knife from the bridge and fled the city instead of creeping back into a house where I was not wanted in the first place.
But who knows? From all reports, Signora Ruggeri is still at the chateau.
The comte himself has retreated to his hunting lodge, Jacinthe tells me. Wise man.”
Jacinthe, Donata’s lady’s maid, would have dutifully reported the gossip on the matter while she’d helped Donata dress.
“It is an odd business,” I said with a welcome swallow of coffee.
“Comtesse Lejeune is rather fed up with them all,” Donata continued. “Her husband, his lover, the lover’s lover. But the comtesse will weather it. She has no choice, does she?” Her eyes tightened.
Donata had endured her first husband, Lord Breckenridge, parading his mistresses under her nose for years, and she’d had no option but to look the other way.
She’d behaved wildly herself in retaliation, though her husband had never noticed.
Donata had only been released from this unhappy situation by Breckenridge’s sudden death.
I slid my hand to hers where it rested on her silken gown, and squeezed it. Donata sent me a quick, but grateful smile.
“The comtesse is quite a lady,” Grenville said with admiration.
“The comte deserves her not. On the other hand, Lejeune himself might have ended Gallo’s life, perhaps seeing Gallo as a rival.
Or, he might have viewed the killing as doing his beloved mistress a favor.
Lejeune is old enough to recall the days when lordships could be allowed almost anything. ”
“True, but such a thing would be out of character for him,” Donata answered. “I find him a rather lazy man, with minimal imagination. I doubt the comte would do something so dramatic, even for passion. He prefers to avoid all difficulties, which is why he took himself to the hunting lodge.”
“Where is this lodge?” I asked. Even if Lejeune was too placid to stir himself, he might have sent a faithful retainer to do the deed for him.
“Near Saint-Genis-Laval.” Donata named a village south of the city. “Only a few miles from the Deveres’ ironworks, in fact. Close enough for someone to nip into Lyon and commit the murder, it is true.”
“I went to the ironworks this morning,” I said. While Donata and Grenville regarded me with surprise, I explained Fernand’s odd behavior and Emile’s revelation that his cousin Claude had formed an attachment to Signora Ruggeri.
“Claude,” Grenville mused when I finished. “He is the dark-haired young man with the perpetually sullen expression, son of Giraud Devere, correct?”
“And a hothead, by Fernand’s reaction,” I answered. “It is clear that Fernand fears Claude has done something rash. Emile seemed more certain Claude would never commit such a deed, but I have not spoken to Claude himself, yet.”
“When you do, I urge you to tread lightly,” Donata said. “The Deveres seem to have much influence in this city, not to mention Gabriella now has a strong connection to them. I hope Claude had nothing to do with it, but be careful, even if he did.”
“If Emile’s cousins are in the habit of stabbing those who anger them, I’d prefer Gabriella not to be connected with the family at all,” I returned.
“I agree,” Donata said. “But you do tend to rush in like a bull, Gabriel. I only warn you to be discreet. Gabriella truly loves Emile, and you do not want her to shut you out for upsetting everything.”
That was the last thing I wanted. I’d missed much of Gabriella’s life, and I wished to miss no more.
“Gabriella is no fool,” I said. “If she discovers that the Deveres are a dangerous lot, she’ll hesitate about tying herself to them. But I’d prefer she did not discover this too late.”
“She’d hesitate, even if it breaks her heart?
” Donata argued. “I was young once and very stubborn about the man I would marry, no matter what signs I saw to the contrary. I ran headlong into my own folly, didn’t I?
I do believe you right about finding out whether Emile’s cousin did this dreadful act—I am cautioning you about distressing your daughter. ”
Grenville had sat silently during this exchange. Now he laid his cup into his saucer with a soft click.
“I too have become fond of Gabriella,” he said. “I am willing to help discover whether they are a family who deserve her. I also agree with Donata that we must do it quietly. I offer my services in this quest. Command me, and it shall be done.”
“That would be welcome,” I said in gratitude. “Perhaps you could discover whether the comte truly was at his hunting lodge all night.”
“I will endeavor.” Grenville nodded and lifted his cup once more.
“I will return to the comtesse,” Donata said. “We should also determine Signora Ruggeri’s whereabouts without doubt.”
I thanked them both. Donata and Grenville were each skilled at coaxing information out of others without those they interrogated taking offense.
As for the Deveres themselves, I had to wonder why Fernand was so certain that his nephew had committed the deed, in spite of his protests to the contrary. And also why he’d been unhappy that I’d turned up at the ironworks at all.
There was something odd there, and I wanted to know what.
I managed to turn my thoughts to other matters that afternoon, while Grenville and Donata left to call on acquaintances and begin to poke about in their easy fashion.
I pondered my encounter with Moreau, and wondered if I should speak to him again.
I did want to know more about what had happened that night, to fill in the gaps I’d forgotten.
I was not certain why I wanted that piece of my past to resurface, but perhaps I’d finally be able to forgive all concerned and put it to rest.
Bartholomew interrupted as I was sitting down in the study to write to Moreau, and thrust a note at me.
“This just come, Captain. Boy was in a tearing hurry to get it to you.”
In consternation I opened the paper. On it was printed a message in English.
Vernet has arrested Claude. Please help.
It was signed,
Emile Devere.