Chapter 17
“Too strong. My voice needs to be softer.” In the study, I sit hunched over at the desk, critiquing the videos I filmed this morning. Are my expressions nuanced? Does my voice carry undertones?
I tap the space bar to pause the video and jot down a note. With the recording silent, I hear a tapping sound. Unlike random noises I sometimes hear in the apartment, this knock is firm and intentional.
Rolling back the office chair, I hurry out and am halfway to the stairs when the knock comes again, but from down the hall. From inside the mansion.
When Luci gave me a tour the first night, she told me her living quarters were right on the other side. But I check to make sure the door is locked before I answer. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” The voice is dulled by the thick wood, but I can tell it’s Luci. I turn the knob with a clunk and swing open one large panel.
Luci balls her hands together, like a child who’s got a secret they’re bursting to share. “Hi, are you busy?”
My head turns slightly, and I itch to get back to the videos. “Not really.”
Luci whispers as if we’re engaging in spy craft. “I thought you might like to tour the rest of the house. Everyone is gone to a board meeting. Well, except for Aunt Chantal, but she’s locked away in her room.”
“Why are you whispering?” I whisper. Then I clear my throat to speak in a normal voice. “If I’m not supposed to come inside without—”
“No, no.” Luci laughs and shakes her head. “I thought you’d be more comfortable without everyone around.” She rolls her eyes. “I definitely will.”
“You said Chantal is home, and she’s not my biggest fan.”
“Please?” She reaches out with both hands to grab one of mine. She’s acting the way she did earlier with André, cheerful, but almost childlike in her manner. Where is the poised and mature young woman I met on my first night?
But if a simple tour will make her happy, I can spare a few minutes. “Okay, let me get my shoes.” I’m not walking through the lavish mansion in my Kim Possible crew socks.
When I’m ready, she tugs me by the hand, an actual bounce in her step as she guides me down the hall. We take a turn into a room with silk-papered walls, and she points out the view of the gardens.
Moving and speaking with heightened energy, she takes me through room after room until they become a blur of lush fabrics and gold-framed paintings. Like my apartment, dark paneling runs throughout, the style somber and moody despite the daylight.
Luci gestures with her hands, spouting off names in French—galerie, logo du concierge, salle à manger. As we exit a room whose name I’ve already forgotten, I spot a blue book on a coffee table. I come to a stop. It’s not dark, but it gives me an idea.
If Rose did leave the journal in the apartment, maybe the cleaning staff picked it up. And if those people also clean the mansion, it’s possible they brought the book to the main house.
And put it in the most logical place.
I spin around to Luci. “Do you have a library?”
Something flickers behind her eyes. “Oui,” she says, breaking from her usual English. “Straight ahead.” She lifts her hand, pointing down the corridor, to another set of doors standing open at the end.
Instead of taking the lead, Luci drags a half-step behind and lets me enter the library first.
“It’s huge,” I say, my voice breathy with awe. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every wall, with rolling ladders to help reach the books on top.
“Amazing, right?” Luci’s hollow tone doesn’t match her words, but I’m focused on the grandeur of the room.
“Amazing is one word for it.” Turning in a slow circle, I take it all in. The library of every book lover’s dreams.
And far too many books for me to investigate. Not by myself. And I can’t ask for Luci’s help.
I sweep my gaze around the room, trying to home in on any blue books.
My eyes land on the fireplace, and the prominent portrait hanging above the mantle.
The man from the photo in the storage room.
He’s older, with more wrinkles and hair turned white, but I recognize his face, the sharp nose and brooding gaze.
And he’s wearing the same shawl.
I approach the painting, studying the wrap hanging around his neck. The painting is in color, red lettering popping against the black fabric. I can clearly make out the design. The letter V in a bold, Roman style, with an S within the angle.
No, wait. I step closer.
Not a letter, but a serpent. Rearing its head from inside the V, its long body forming an S-shaped curve.
The portrait commands attention, a picture light casting shadows on the man’s stern face. “He must be important.”
“Mm-hm.” Luci nods. “My great-great grandfather. He built Maison Marteau.”
Pretending I’m noticing for the first time, I point to the symbols on his scarf. “Is this some sort of family crest?”
“No.” She presses her lips together. “I…I’m not sure. Like a fraternity or something, I think.” She folds and unfolds her arms, body wired tight enough to snap. Standing in the doorway, just over the threshold.
Barely a step inside the library.
Even from across the room, I can tell how stiffly she’s holding herself, like she’s bracing for impact. She tries to smile again, but something makes her mouth twitch and her shoulders cinch tight. Something that tugs on my heart. Sadness. Insecurity.
Or damage.
She almost folds into herself, like an injured bird trying to hide. The look in her eyes takes me back in time, to a certain night. A horrific night.
She reminds me of Mackenzie.
Forgetting the painting, and the journal, and all of the mansion’s secrets, I walk over to her. I speak softly, because she looks like she might break. “Luci, what’s the matter?”
Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Nothing.”
Her voice is barely audible, so I inch closer and touch her arm. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”
Draping one arm over her stomach, she opens her mouth to respond. Closes it again.
Seconds pass as we stare at each other.
Then she blinks and breaks from the trance, as if somewhere a hypnotist snapped his fingers. She smiles brightly. “No, I’m fine. I’m just not much of a reader.”
I drop my hand. “Okay, but—”
She cocks her head, listening. “I think Chantal is up. We should probably go.”
By “we,” she means me.
Whirling, she retraces our route through the hallways, and I fall into step beside her. This time we take a direct path. No detours into rooms or commentary on the artwork. The tour is over.
A sidelong glance tells me Luci is still wearing a happy mask, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Not like it did when she came to my door.
As we move closer to my apartment, I feel an opportunity slipping away. The library was too big to search, and now I’ve wasted the time I had alone with Luci. Time I could have used to ask about Rose.
“Thank you for showing me your home,” I say, figuring out a way to broach the subject. “Am I special, or do you give all of your tenants a tour of the mansion?”
She scratches her cheek as if puzzled. “You mean Noah? He grew up here.”
“No, I meant the other people who stayed in my apartment.” My breath hitches. “Like Rose.”
“Rose?” Her tone leaps to a higher note. “Rose. Oh, the woman who lived here before you?”
“Yes,” I say, watching her closely.
“I met her once.” Her gaze darts to the side, past my shoulder, down to my chin. “How do you know about her?”
“I talked to her sister, Alice. She’s trying to find Rose.”
“Alice. Yes, she’s been a problem.” Luci frowns. “My grandmother and Uncle Victor don’t like her. She made them very angry.”
She tosses a glance over her shoulder, down the hallway. “Alice is not a good subject to bring up in this house. It’s probably best if you don’t get involved.”
“Of course,” I say, feigning indifference. “I was only curious.”
Letting that serve as my answer, I open my door and step through. “Thanks for inviting me over.”
“Je t’en prie.” Luci falls back on her French again, something she seems to do when she’s excited. Or when she’s distressed.
Shutting the door, I make sure the lock falls firmly into place and listen for the latch on the other side.
But all I can hear are Luci’s last words, telling me not to get involved.
She claims she only met Rose one time, but I get the feeling she’s keeping secrets. About Rose. And the strange symbol.
Growing up in the mansion, she must have seen the portrait many times, along with the photo on display in the main house. An exact copy of the one I found in the storage room.
The symbol is everywhere around the mansion and clearly held significance for Luci’s ancestor. Her entire family. So how could Luci not know its meaning?
And why was she so afraid of the library?