Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  The marquis looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight around where he stood, not making eye contact. “On the full moon, obviously.”

  “Obviously. And would you care to give me a description of the killer I’ve been searching for, if you are so interested in forwarding my investigation?”

  The marquis motioned for them to go back inside, where Audley quickly retrieved his notebook and inked his pen as the marquis paced around him. “He attacked me.”

  “Unprovoked?”

  “Yes, unprovoked.”

  “When was this?”

  “About two in the morning.”

  “What were you doing up at two in the morning?”

  The marquis said calmly, “I’ve not slept well since this all began.”

  “So you went on a walk?”

  “Precisely. As I’ve said before, I don’t believe in werewolves, so I had no problems with wandering my own grounds, which are well patrolled, no more on a full moon than any other night. I was attacked in my garden.”

  Audley skipped the obvious question and merely asked, “What did he look like?”

  “It was hard to see, but he was wearing a wolf skin – over his head, shoulders, arms, legs - and had a white shirt and breeches on, otherwise.”

  “How tall was he?”

  The marquis estimated, “I would say, about your height.”

  “How was he armed?”

  “Claws. Presumably taken from the wolf he skinned.”

  “What color was this wolf?”

  “Grey – the typical color of wolves in this area.”

  “Did he speak?”

  “No.”

  “Did he growl?”

  “Yes. And howled. But not totally inhuman – he seemed simply to be very good at what he was doing.”

  Obviously. “So – you could not identify this man if you met him?”

  “I could not say in all honesty that it was not you, Inspector Audley,” the marquis said without hesitation, “between the disguise and the poor light. Though I highly doubt it was.”

  Audley gave him a false smile. “Thank you for your trust, my Lord.”

  “Of course.”

  “And he attacked you totally unprovoked?”

  “Yes.”

  That the marquis was withholding at least something, Audley did not doubt. In fact, he could not be sure if he could hold the story in any veracity whatsoever. It would be a convenient cover story for many other things, and the marquis was clever enough to first attempt to conceal it, and let Audley think he discovered it. “Is there anything else you’d like to mention?”

  “No. Now, what about my proposal?”

  Audley put aside his pen and closed the ink jar. “If you do arrange a hunt, I will join you on the hunt for observational purposes. But this is not an official action of my office and I will not aid you in hunting down some innocent wolves for the purpose of public relations.”

  “So you side with the wolves?”

  “You know very well that the situation is far more complex than that, my Lord.”

  “Very well.”

  The marquis seemed to miss that Audley hadn’t said, “No.”

  CHAPTER 6

 

  Robert Audley removed his hat and held it respectfully over his breast as the priest recited the benediction over the grave of Mrs. Bernard. A few people from town had come forth for this event on the warm Saturday afternoon, far more than for Simon Roux. Mrs. Bernard had been a lonely widow, but had supported herself with a vegetable garden and was considered a kindly neighbor, always visited by the local children. She did not deserve this, he thought. Of course, no one deserved such a death, especially not a kindly old widow, but added to that was the additional frustration that he knew who’d killed her, or at least the person who had given the order, and could prove nothing.

  Yet.

  He left quickly afterwards on a mission of mercy. Returning to town, he quickly discovered from Camille that Sophie’s parents lived on a farm just outside of town. As much as he preferred walking, he saddled the horse he had been loaned by the department in Paris and rode until he found the fields of the Murrell family. They had been laid to waste by the passing of soldiers and bad years of harvest, and stood unsown, as had been described to him. The house itself was in good enough repair, with smoke rising from the chimney indicating life inside. He cautiously knocked on the door, and then bowed to the old woman who was cleaning her hands on her apron when she opened the door. “Monsieur?”

  “I am Inspector Robert Audley,” he said, removing his hat. “I am here to speak with Miss Murrell, on behalf of a friend, if she is here.”

  “What sort of friend?” she asked cautiously.

  “Miss Bingley.” Clearly, saying ‘the marquis’ would not get him in the door. And besides, this was a favor to Miss Bingley.

  She disappeared back inside, closing the door behind her. This woman was no good at deception, if she was even trying to make the flimsiest attempts to disguise her daughter’s whereabouts. She reappeared quickly. “Come in, Inspector.”

  He entered the small house, and was ushered into the living room, which was no grand place but was respectable enough, all things considered. She offered him a tiny glass of afternoon wine, which he accepted. Sophie Murrell emerged from wherever she had been in the back of the house, and he rose to greet her. “Miss Murrell.”

  “Inspector. I was not expecting – ”

  “I am here on Miss Bingley’s behalf,” he said. “She wanted to know that you were well despite your dismissal.”

  “Yes.” She sat down, wringing her hands nervously, and he retook his seat. “I have no income now, but I suppose I will find something ... Anything is better than staying in that house.”

  “How did it come about, precisely?”

  She would not look him in the eyes. “He accused me of stealing his red coat and then spreading rumors about his activities on the night of the full moon. Please, Inspector, I did neither of those things.”

  He raised his hand to her protests. “Of course you did not. But if you would spare me a moment, I would like to know more – for your safety and for my investigation.” He did not take out his notebook for this interview. She was too nervous. “What did happen to the marquis on the night of the full moon?”

  “I do not know, sir. I was already asleep. All I know is that when I saw him in the morning, Monsieur Durand was caring for his wounds.”

  “What was he wearing? The marquis, I mean.”

  “Sir?” she asked. “He was wearing – I suppose they were the clothes from that evening, although without the coat. They were very soiled.”

  “And this was – how early in the morning?”

  “A little after the rooster crowed. Maybe an hour.”

  He continued his mental notation. “So one would assume he was up the course of the night.”

  “Yes. But I said nothing!”

  “Of course. I do not believe he dismissed you because of that. Miss Murrell, he is removing all of his liabilities – and you are one of them for reasons we both understand, whether he knows the whole of it or not.” He added softly, “Sophie, I believe you are in some danger, and it would be best for you to perhaps leave town. Can you be ready to leave at a moment’s notice?”

  Very hesitantly she answered, “You asked me before, and my answer is the same. I can, if my life depends on it.”

  “It may. I would not ask otherwise.” He rose. “If you will excuse me, I must deliver this news to Miss Bingley. She will be greatly relieved.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” she said. “I do not know why she has bestowed this kindness on a servant, but please thank her for me.”

  He smiled. “I will.”

  ~~~

  There were definitely advantages to a horse. He traveled easily back into town, and past it, down the road to the seminary, stopping only to compose a letter before realizing he could not deliver it to their post box. They were proper l
adies in a seminary where, no doubt, any mail not from their families would be opened and inspected by their headmaster. He would have to deliver it in person. He thought the plan admirable, and rushed to complete it before dark. It was Saturday, so the ladies of Mrs. Robinson’s were tending their gardens and walking along the paths nearby. He nodded politely to many of the girls, who curtseyed and then ran away giggling as his horse snorted. He did not see Miss Bingley, but came upon someone else he recognized.

  As he addressed her, Lady Heather Littlefield looked up from her picking of flowers, holding up her bonnet as she did so. “Inspector Audley.” She curtseyed properly as he de-saddled and dropped to the ground.

  “I was looking for Miss Bingley,” he said as he approached, holding the folded letter.

  “She is out walking. I do not know when she will return.” Her demeanor was different than he had encountered before, but then, he had only seen her when she was beside the marquis, or during an interrogation. Casually met, she was a pleasant girl, more at ease in safer surroundings.

  “Then can you deliver a message to her?” he said, holding the letter out for her to take. She did not do so.

  “Inspector Audley,” she said politely, “I cannot. A gentleman cannot correspond with a lady in such a manner.”

  “It is of utmost importance.”

  “Propriety is of the utmost importance. It is what protects a lady’s virtue.”

  When she didn’t seem to waver from her position, he sighed. “Then can I trust you to deliver the message in words? Do I have your confidence?”

  “Since you have so freely given yours in the past, I will offer mine,” she replied.

  “Miss Bingley wanted to know if Sophie is safe. I have just spoken with the lady in question and she is, despite being dismissed. That is the entirety of the message.”

  “Oh,” Lady Littlefield said. “Then, of course, I will gladly deliver it.”

  “Did you know Sophie?”

  “Only of her. I have had no time to wander about the manor as she has had, as the marquis pays me every attention and none to Georgiana.”

  So he does, he thought. “Miss Bingley has done quite a lot on your behalf. Did you know her before coming here?”

  “No, I did not. She grew up in Derbyshire and I in Sussex, but I became her companion when she arrived – ”

  “You? Her companion?”

  She blushed, clearly having said something she should have not. “Within the school, I mean. It is not of relevance to your investigation.”

  “You would be surprised as to what has relevance to my investigation. Please, do go on. You befriended Miss Bingley, not the other way around? Or was it mutual?”

  “We share a room, so it was mutual, but I am her only friend here. Not to speak ill of Georgiana, but the other classmates – they do not understand her.”

  “And you do?”

  “I do not attempt to. I accept her for who she is.”

  He was even more curious now. “And who is she?”

  “You can hardly expect me to answer so personal a question, nor even know the answer in such a short acquaintance. All I can say to you is that she is an outstanding scholar in everything but lessons in etiquette and the like, which she has no patience for, and she prefers solitude to conversation with the other girls.”

  “Did her parents send her, or did she want to come here?”

  Again, it was not a question she was eager to answer, but under his gaze, she did so. “She said quite clearly to me that she chose this place specifically and decided to come here as opposed to spending a year in London. She did not say why.”

  But all things considered, it was understandable. If she grew up with green trees and fields, she might not have wanted the city life that would be required of her while she searched for a husband. Or maybe, she was not ready for a husband at all and wished to put it off. That was what many girls did – the obvious exception being Lady Littlefield, who came to France to marry. “And so she agreed to accompany you to visit the marquis, and does so each time on the premise that you need a companion. And she has done much more beyond that, as we both know.”

  She averted her eyes. “Yes.”

  He didn’t have to ask why. Lady Littlefield did not want the marriage; Georgiana did not want to be completely lonely. They were united against the immediate world around them. “Thank you, Lady Littlefield. I am in your debt if you would deliver this message.” He bowed, and turned to his horse.

  After a pregnant pause, she ran up to him and blurted, “Inspector Audley! Please, I must say something.”

  He immediately stopped all pretenses of getting on the horse and leaving. “Of course. What is it, Lady Littlefield?”

  “You must stop this.”

  “Must stop what?” Because honestly, he could think of a dozen things she could be referring to.

  “Despite her appearances, Georgiana is a woman of wealth and stature from a great family. Between her father and her uncle, most of Derbyshire is owned by her family. On the other side of the family, her uncle is a knight of the realm. You can have no intentions for her that will bear fruit.”

  “Intentions?” he said, legitimately puzzled.

  “You know exactly of what I speak.”

  “You are mistaken, my lady. I have no idea of what you speak.”

  Her face hardened. “I refuse to believe that, Inspector Audley. But you cannot be after her inheritance, as you do not know of it, to my knowledge. But her father would never consent.”

  “Her father would never – ” He stumbled. “You think – No!” he laughed a little. “Goodness, no! Did I give that impression?”

  “You gave every impression, Inspector. I am not blind.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “Oh, no, no, please do not be mistaken. And make sure Miss Bingley is not mistaken – I am an inspector and I am investigating two murders, and I will question anyone concerned with them, and she has proven to be a very knowledgeable source, perhaps the most knowledgeable. And she has been willing to speak honestly with me. Nothing more.”

  She crossed her arms. “Do not be ridiculous. You walked with her, you laughed with her, and you had your eyes on her for the entirety of our meal together.”

  “It was only – ”

  “You may continue insisting, Inspector,” she said, smiling herself now, but very slyly. She was a woman, and she was in her element. “But I will still not believe you. Your face betrays you. Even now you are blushing.”

  He was surprised to notice he was. This of course only made it worse, and he had to look away. “You are assuming too much. I assure you, this is a professional matter only.”

  “Good,” she said, though not convinced, “because her heart belongs to another.”

  She turned away and seemed to be literally skipping down the path as he shouted, “Who?”

  “Oh, no one relating to your investigation, so there’s no reason for it to concern you,” she replied. “Good-bye, Inspector Audley.”

  He realized that was a dismissal, and bowed quickly before climbing on his horse and storming out of there at top speed.

  ~~~

  The case. He had to think about the case. The best way to do it, logically, was to sit at the bar and order a stiff drink before beginning to look over his notes and record his conversation with Lady Littlefield, at least the parts that were relevant to the case. He began to read over his notes, looking at the underlined words, the charts, the names, the dates, and places. Around the fourth drink, he was willing to admit he wasn’t reading so much as looking at them.

  He ordered his last drink, downed it in record time, and headed up the stairs before it would become too difficult to do so. If he was going to be furious at himself and his case, he would do it in privacy. After all, he was a professional. He had that aura about him and he liked to maintain it. It gave him authority where he might not have it otherwise, being so young and un-grizzled for a famous inspector.

  H
e had made his reputation with the priest case and his keen intuition – but really, it had been a large case that fell in his lap mainly by happenstance. He really owed his career to that murderous priest. Otherwise, he could have easily spent decades in the lower ranks, filing case reports and following the senior inspectors around in the hopes that he might “learn something.” He didn’t find his business particularly hard. It simply required a lot of thought – preferably done when not drunk. Wolves, dead people dumped in the forest, bandits, the marquis, Miss Bingley – it all made his head spin. He couldn’t attack it. He couldn’t take the pieces apart and then reassemble them. At least if he had them together, he could see what was missing.

  The most frustrating thing, what every detective truly hated, was knowing the ending without the beginning or middle. He knew the marquis was a murderer (probably not directly, but he had certainly ordered at least one death) and a rapist, possibly a sadist. He knew there was a second person out there who was messing with the marquis – messing with both of them. The Wolf wanted the marquis dead, but couldn’t seem to do it, so he had other pieces in play.

  The thought haunted Audley. Was he one of those pieces?

  The marquis had called him in, he was sure. There was money behind it. The marquis had welcomed him into his home and assisted (somewhat) in his investigation. The marquis wanted the original murder – the one he wasn’t responsible for – solved. With the murderer found, an enemy of the marquis would be eliminated. Now it was more complicated than that. The wolf hunt would either do nothing or make it worse. Sophie was yet another complication. Lady Littlefield was no mere puppet, either. Today even she had played with him. How dare she suggest such a thing! How dare she insult his professionalism as a detective!

  He hurled his notebook across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the ground with a thud. That soft sound was sobering enough, and he slumped into his chair with a groan.

  It wasn’t Heather Littlefield’s fault. She was a daughter of a peer – she had been raised to be married, and would obsess about the notion until she did so. Then she would bear children, and obsess about their marriages. It was the way of life – how could she bring herself to think of anything else? How would she believe that his interest in Georgiana might be for strategic reasons? Because Georgiana seemed to have all of the answers?