Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “What do you mean by that?” the constable, who was not particularly speedy in his thoughts, finally replied.

  “I mean there are – and always were – two killers, Constable. The Wolf and a copycat trying to blame Mrs. Bernard’s murder on the Wolf. Perhaps this man, perhaps one of his associates. He met up with the real thing sometime before or during the storm, and lost.” Claw still in hand, he turned to the constable. “Can we get anyone who can identify this man?”

  “If Lambert cleans him up, I suppose we could get some people to look at him. Doesn’t look familiar to me, though.”

  “How about the bandits? I mean, ‘gypsies’,” he corrected himself sarcastically. “In the woods?”

  The constable rubbed his chin. “Could be one of them, I suppose. In fact, from his clothes, most likely.”

  The man was in worn and stained clothing, part of it from bits of various uniforms. He did have a striking enough appearance that, Audley guessed, if he was from around here, he would be easily recognized by the constable, but he was not. “Get Monsieur Lambert.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to the people with a body on their lawn.”

  ~~~

  His entrance frightened the Murrells – wife and ailing husband, both in the kitchen. They relaxed a bit when they saw it was him and not someone else. “Where’s Sophie?” he said, making no pretensions of why he was there.

  “Gone,” said Mrs. Murrell.

  “To her relatives in Mon Richard?”

  “Yes, Inspector,” said Mr. Murrell, a pale man made even paler by the events surrounding him.

  “When did this happen?”

  “The first night of the rain. We didn’t even hear it – we were both asleep until she came back in the house, soaking wet. She said she had to leave – that the Wolf told her to leave, that her life was in danger if she didn’t. It all happened so quickly – she was gone within the hour.”

  “And the man in your fields?”

  “She made no mention of it. Please, Inspector, she might not have known. It was so wet and dark and hard to see! We didn’t know of it until this very morning.” Mrs. Murrell rose, and grabbed Audley by his sleeves. “Please, Inspector, leave him alone!”

  “Who?”

  “The Wolf. He has done so much for Sophie. He protected her the other night, he gave her money for the road – ”

  “Money for the road?” he said. “How much?”

  “Twenty francs.”

  A considerable sum for them, probably. Audley just nodded. “So she spoke to the Wolf.”

  “She said she did.”

  “Did she describe him?”

  They both shook their heads. Audley did not believe them to be lying. “You know, he has now killed two men.”

  “And saved our Sophie! Oh, please be kind to him! We know he’s a murderer but – you know there are people in this town who are so much worse!”

  He could name one, just off the top of his head. “I will do what the law requires, Mrs. Murrell.” He added, “But I will not put your daughter in harm’s way. However, I must find her immediately to learn what really happened here. I fear she held much back from you. You are sure of where she went? To her relatives in Mon Richard? The tailors?” They nodded. “Thank you.” He doffed his cap before putting it back on. “I must be off – to make sure your daughter is safe. If anyone asks where I have gone, I have gone to find the Wolf – you understand?”

  “Of course we do,” Mrs. Murrell said. “Godspeed, Inspector Audley.”

  “I hope He grants me speed,” he said, and excused himself.

  ~~~

  “What? You cannot go.”

  “I am doing a terrible job of discovering the Wolf here. Perhaps I will have better luck elsewhere,” Audley said as he stuffed his satchel with supplies. “I will be gone for a few days – a week at the most. When I return, I expect that someone will have identified the body if anyone knows him. Can you see to that?” Are you competent at all at your job, Constable?

  “Y-Yes, I suppose.”

  “Good.” He debated on bringing the travelogue book. It didn’t weigh much – it was rather small. Eventually he stuffed it in his bag, shouldering it. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

  He left before the constable could say anything. Downstairs, they had packaged food for him as he requested. Camille blew him a good-bye kiss, but he was unaffected. He saddled his horse and rode on.

  ~~~

  Sunday services in the little cathedral in Mon Richard ended relatively early. One woman stayed in the pews, her hands clasped together in prayer, staring up at the wooden Christ statue. She was startled out of her reverie by the noise of shuffling in the seat beside her. “Inspector Audley!”

  “Miss Murrell,” Audley said, giving her a half-bow while still sitting. He was too tired to get up. He knew he must have been a sight – traveling for over two days by horseback, sleeping by the side of the road. He had whiskers on his cheeks and his blond hair resembling a bird’s nest. His clothes were durable, but they needed a good wash. “Don’t worry – I only have a few questions for you.”

  “You’ve come a long way then, for a few questions.”

  “They are very important questions.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, as both of them privately gathered their thoughts.

  “So – you can probably guess why I am here,” he said. “The story you told your parents – either what they told me was incomplete, or what you told them was incomplete.”

  Sophie didn’t speak immediately, but then she quietly told him, “I was inside, sleeping when a noise on the roof woke me up. My parents don’t hear very well. I went out to the porch and a man dropped down in front of me – I recognized him.”

  “You did?”

  “He’s one of the gypsies that live in the woods. Or, he was. I don’t know his name,” she said in a whisper. They were, after all, in a church.

  “How did you recognize him?”

  She looked at him in confusion. “The bandits come by the manor house occasionally. The marquis must have some kind of deal with them.”

  “Somehow, that does not surprise me in the least,” he said. “Though, I wonder why no one thought to mention this to me.” He lowered his head. “It is my belief that one of the bandits murdered Mrs. Bernard, but tried to make it look like it was the Wolf.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I don’t think it’s impossible, now that I think of it,” she said, playing with her long braid of hair nervously. “The man who attacked me – he had these sort of metal claws. He had a pistol as well – but I do think he intended to kill me with those claws.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, Inspector.”

  “But he did not kill you. The Wolf saved you.”

  “Yes. I do not know why the Wolf seems to protect me, precisely. Surely the Wolf has better things to do with its time,” she said. “But it came out of nowhere – it leapt off the roof of the porch and landed between us. They fought briefly and then it – killed the bandit.”

  “And you spoke to it.”

  “Yes.” She bowed her head shamefully. “It told me to run to safety, as fast as I could, and tell as little of this as I could to my parents. The rain would give me time to escape.”

  “Because the body would not be found,” Audley noted. “Go on.”

  “There is not much more to say. I packed my few things, said good-bye to my parents, and left.”

  “Did the Wolf say when it would be safe to return?”

  “When the marquis is dead.”

  That hung in the air for a considerable silence.

  “What did he look like?”

  The question seemed to take Sophie by surprise. “It had a wolf’s skin over its head. I could not tell you a thing about its upper half – except it – he – had a brown shirt on of some kind, and breeches. Oh – and sandals.”

  He stopped writing in his book. “S
andals?”

  “Yes. Wooden ones, too. I have no idea how he managed to fight in them.”

  “Wooden? You mean, clog shoes? Like the Danes wear?”

  “No, Inspector. I mean sandals – but they were wood. I can’t describe them well. The Wolf was covered in mud and I didn’t get a good look at him.”

  He sighed. “But you know who he is.”

  Sophie looked away. “No.”

  “Did you know it is illegal to lie to an inspector of the law?”

  She turned to him, her braid whipping around, her eyes cold. “Why do you persist?”

  “Because I was told to find Simon Roux’s murderer.”

  “You were told to do so because the marquis probably paid off your officer. He wanted you to dispel these rumors about him being a werewolf by finding some man to hang. Only you refuse to do it – why is that? You could find a likely suspect easily. Many people disliked Monsieur Roux. He was a gambler and a womanizer. He tried to seduce wives and girls from the school. But you are obsessed with this wolf business.”

  “And I will continue to be obsessed – until this stops, Miss Murrell. It is my duty to see that it does. Are you more loyal to a murderer than to me?”

  “The Wolf saved my life twice while you have done nothing but alert the marquis that I might be engaged in suspicious activity. So yes, my loyalty does lie elsewhere, Inspector. Can you blame me?”

  He blinked numbly and said, “No, I cannot. But I must have my answer.”

  “Then figure it out for yourself. The Wolf has given you enough clues. He said that himself.”

  “He spoke of me?”

  “He did. He said you were quite intelligent, but easily blindsided, or you would have solved this case long ago. Or maybe you have no real desire to solve it.”

  He was officially taken aback. “Did the Wolf explain what he meant by that?”

  “No,” she said simply. She wasn’t lying, but she was holding something back. She knew something else, and it gave her power. Here, far away from the marquis, she had some strength in her. “We are both under the Wolf’s spell. It is not human, even though it is.”

  “Oh?” he said. “Then if the Wolf is so magical, does he know if I will solve the case?”

  “He said you will regret it when you do.”

  “Miss Murrell – ”

  She stood, wrapping her shawl around her. “Inspector, since you have been so good to come out here to find me. I will ask my aunt and uncle to open their house to you. But you will get no more from me. I promised. The Wolf promised to protect me and it did. Now I must keep mine to protect it. I’m sorry, Inspector Audley, but you have come for nothing.”

  “No,” he said softly, “I am here on Miss Bingley’s behalf. Like you, I prefer to keep my promises.”

  She smiled.

  ~~~

  After washing up and shaving, Robert Audley took dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Murrell and their niece Sophie. It was a modest meal in a modest house, a step up from the Murrell family back in town. The conversation was light; Audley did not know how much Sophie had told them and did not want to violate her trust. She was lucky not to be showing yet, but he had no doubt that she would be soon enough. Audley talked a bit about Paris and his childhood in Normandy. After dinner, Mr. Murrell, who spoke no English, insisted on inviting him to the study for the “English way of doing things” – a cigar and port, or in this case, just a sweeter wine.

  Relieved to be back in civilization, Audley allowed himself to relax as he sipped his ‘port’ and slowly perused the small collection of books on the shelf. One title immediately struck him. “You have read Brian Maddox’s book?”

  “That? Oh, yes. When they translated it a few years ago, a bookseller came in a wagon selling copies. I’m awaiting the translation of his second book.”

  “So it is popular in this area?”

  “Very popular, Inspector Audley. Or it was when it came out. Though, I do assume he made up most of his tales. Some are simply beyond belief.”

  This was important information, but only useful in that it widened his list of suspects if everyone who could read had this book. “My copy is the English edition. May I see yours?”

  “Of course.”

  He plucked it off the shelf and rifled through it, putting his port on the shelf. He instantly turned to the pages of kanji – and the translations beside them. “I did not know he translated the Japanese.”

  “You say you have the English version? Perhaps he added them in a later edition.”

  Audley found the symbol he was looking for – and the French beside it. Wolf.

  The suspect list grew even longer.

  ~~~

  “You will be careful?” Sophie, despite her coldness to him during the previous day’s questioning, was genuinely concerned for him.

  Inspector Audley climbed on his horse the next morning, suitably refreshed for a long journey home. “Of course.”

  “The marquis is not pleased with your presence. You should be careful.”

  “As should you,” he said. “Miss Murrell, promise me you will stay here in safety until this is all settled.”

  “I promise,” she said, smiling at him. “And I always keep my promises.”

  He had intended to be off at first light, but was delayed by oversleeping and then Mrs. Murrell insisting on packing food for his journey. Whatever Sophie had told them about him, it was very good, and he didn’t question the offerings, thanking them profusely before saying his good-byes. Sophie watched him go, waving as he disappeared into the distance.

  Audley did have to return, but this time the trip was a bit more leisurely, mainly because he needed to concentrate a bit less on the road and more on the case. His questioning of Sophie had revealed just how little he knew and not much else. Was the Wolf really right in front of his face, as she implied? That only narrowed it to most of the town, and the marquis’s associates.

  Ah, yes. He had ruled out Lord Rousseau, unless he had a man doing the tasks for him. Rousseau was old, fat, and not particularly clever, or so he struck Audley in their brief acquaintance. DuBois was another matter – a battle-hardened warrior, perhaps looking for a new wife and using the marquis for access to one. It was obvious that Georgiana (when had she become that and not Miss Bingley, as she should have been?) worked for the Wolf to some extent. If DuBois was the Wolf, that made sense. Perhaps she sought to marry him.

  No, he struck that from his pool of ideas. Her heart belongs to someone else, Littlefield warned him, yes, but he could not imagine it to be DuBois. If that was true, then her playing with Audley’s emotions was just cruel. Who said she was playing with my emotions?

  Stupid Robert, another voice inside his brain chided him. Of course you don’t see what’s in front of your eyes. Admit it.

  I won’t, he answered. I can’t. Besides, she is promised to someone else – But who? Someone in England, surely. Then what was she doing in France? Was she fleeing her own demonic marquis? Was her obsessive protection of her classmates – to the point of putting herself in danger – merely the manifestation of her own aggression against her position? What awaited her when her term was up?

  Why am I thinking about this?

  He stopped midday to water his horse, and take a breather himself. He leaned headfirst into the tree, banging his head against the trunk to knock the images and ideas out of his brain.

  Give it up, Audley. You’ll never have her.

  But he just couldn’t.

  ~~~

  He made one stop on the way back to town, beyond what was necessary for sleep. Back in Mon Richard, he had requested directions to the estate of Sir Louis DuBois, and was given that information. Uninvited, he rode up to the front door and was greeted by a polite but inquisitive doorman.

  “Inspector Robert Audley,” he introduced himself. “I wish to speak to Sir DuBois, if he is at home?”

  “He is,” said the doorman. “Is this an official police matter?”

&
nbsp; “I have a few questions,” Audley said neutrally. The servant bowed, and called for someone to take care of his horse as he was ushered in. The DuBois house wasn’t as fancy as the De Maret manor, but it had its charm. When DuBois had said he liked to hunt, he wasn’t kidding. The walls were decorated by his kills – mainly deer, but a few bears, and a wolf. “I’d like to meet him in the library, if that’s not an inconvenience.”

  “Not at all, Inspector. He should be here in a few minutes – he is in the gardens. Would you like refreshment while you wait?”

  “I would be grateful,” he said, not hiding his exhaustion from the road. But that was not why he requested the library. As soon as he was left alone in it, he began a systematic search. Fortunately, it was alphabetized, and he found the Maddox travelogue easily enough, in the French edition. To his surprise, the second volume – in English – was by its side. He must have paid a small fortune to get it ahead of local printing.

  “I see you are admiring my poor collection.” Sir DuBois had returned from some outdoor work, from the look of his dress.

  Audley stood up. “Yes – I admit to being a fan of this Mr. Maddox, but I’ve not acquired the second volume.”

  “It’s not been translated into French or imported in English. I had to have it specially ordered from London, for I was too eager to read it. The translation process is very slow – the first volume came out nearly ten years ago. He is working on a third, I heard.”

  “What is the second one about?”

  “He goes to the Indias with his business partner before visiting Cathay, and then Japan, to buy silk. He’s made quite a fortune with these trips I understand. But his documentation is priceless.”

  “Do you believe it’s all true?” Audley asked as he quickly flipped open the French version and found once again, the kanji for wolf and the translation beside it. “He’s been questioned on his veracity numerous times by the press, but nothing serious.”

  “I believe it’s too bizarre not to be true. There’s a scene in the second volume where his partner decides to fight a man who is a master of martial activities in China, who is accepting all comers. Just as a joke, of course. Mr. Maddox immediately bribes the champion not to break his partner in half. Instead he’s knocked around a bit and given a nickname – Chinamen language for ‘red-furred monkey man.’” His smile faded. “But I assume you are not here to discuss travel literature.”