Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “What is that?” Audley said, not daring to touch the wavering line in the steel.

  “The hame line – where the steel was folded to create the blade.” He closed it back up in a quick but elaborate ritual of drawing it to the side against the case and inserting it. “Not a great blade, but good enough to take a man’s head off.”

  Audley huffed. “That’s still an excellent blade.” He tapped the cane on the wood. “Is this – ”

  “- the walking stick I was given in Japan, yes. I added the English top to make it look the part when I returned.”

  “And you say it can take a man’s head off?”

  Brian smiled coldly. “As we discussed, I left things out of the book.” He put the cane back in its place, resting against the wall. “Now, I apologize, Inspector, but I find myself quite exhausted from all my traveling, and will be retiring early. I must be getting old. Can we perhaps delay our discussion until tomorrow? Unless you have a question relevant to the case, of course?”

  “No, nothing I can think of. It can wait, certainly.” Audley bowed again. Brian returned it, and Audley exited the room. “Good night.”

  “Have a good night, Inspector.”

  Audley doubted it, but he smiled anyway.

  ~~~

  Audley set off early in the evening, not waiting for the witching hour this time. By now he knew the woods well enough to find his general direction without much trouble or a light. He moved in relative silence, heading in a straight direction to the old bandit camp. The trip took him well over an hour.

  It was, in fact, abandoned – and hastily so. It was recognizable not only because of the remains of the fire, but also because some of the tents were still partly standing. There were crates around, and he rifled through them, finding them empty of anything interesting. These people had left in a hurry – but not too much of a hurry. They’d taken the time to collect all of their important things, leaving behind only enough scattered remains to make it look like they scurried away at the sounds of the approaching horde of townsfolk. In other words, they had been warned in advance.

  Sighing, he wandered away from the camp, having exhausted his leads there. He did not dare head towards the wolf den, knowing full well they had not killed all the wolves. I am just lucky this forest is now un-trapped.

  He wandered through the woods, heading slowly in the direction of town, lost in thought, but not ready to return to the road. I’m near the marquis’s manor, am I not?

  That was when he heard it – the distinct shuffling of leaves not made by his own feet. He had stopped moving to ponder his location, so it was someone else. He spun around, drawing his pistol.

  It was knocked out of his hands with a long metal bar. Where it went, he did not know, but he had the instincts to reach for his other pistol, hidden in his coat. He fired at the man approaching him, but missed, and the bar swung again, this time hitting him square on the head, near his left temple.

  The howling, the terrible howling. Not from the man. He recognized that much as he helplessly dropped to his knees, struggling to remain upright. His attacker didn’t strike again when it came out of the trees in a flash of light grey fur, landing between Audley and his assailant.

  The last thing he saw before his vision faded was the furry back of the Wolf, and as he collapsed, he could have sworn he saw human legs on wooden sandals.

  ~~~

  “Inspector? Inspector Audley?”

  The sweet voice was not as much insistent as it was gently prodding, to draw him out of his state while a soft compress was applied to his head. “... Georgiana?”

  The figure, blurry as he painfully opened his eyes to daylight, stepped back. “Since when have I been ‘Georgiana’?”

  He swallowed. His senses were not coming back quickly, especially with the pounding in his skull, worse than any hangover. At least he had the good fortune to be lying down with his head on a pillow. Somewhere, he heard the rushing of water. Everything smelled of nature – were they still in the woods? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, as his vision focused on the red-haired figure that was, indeed, Georgiana Bingley. She was dressed up properly too, nothing askew in her appearance as she wiped a wet towel across his forehead. “Miss Bingley.”

  “Inspector Audley,” she said. In her position, kneeling beside him as she tended to his wound, it was impossible for her to curtsey, but he sensed that she would have hidden behind that . His scope of vision limited by his position, he immediately tried to sit up – and the wave of dizziness brought him back into that blackness that had engulfed him earlier.

  “Don’t try that again,” her voice came again, and when he reopened his eyes, she was in a different position, on his other side. Some time must have passed. “You’re concussed. You shouldn’t sit up yet. Here – drink.”

  “I – ”

  “I said, ‘drink.’ I won’t say it again,” she barked, forcing the cup to his mouth, and holding it there until he swallowed all of the water inside it. It tasted a bit odd, like she had added something to it – something slightly sweet, perhaps honey. “There. Now for goodness sake, stay still.”

  He settled into his pillow and the blanket he was laying on – not uncomfortable at all, but not matching his surroundings. They seemed to be in a cave of some sort, with light coming in from behind him – that much he could tell – and down at the end, a blur. A wall of water. “Where am I?”

  “My little grotto. No one else has used it in a long time because now a waterfall runs over the entrance – you have to get soaked to get in. I discovered it a few months ago,” she said, putting the cup away, and seating herself on the rock formation that served as a sort of bench. “In case your investigative mind is not working at full speed, which I wouldn’t blame you for, the Wolf brought you here.”

  “How – how long was I out?”

  “Since midnight, at least. It’s nearly nine now.” She appeared to be tired, as if she had been tending to him for a long time.

  “You – don’t you have school?”

  She rolled her pretty green eyes. “The headmaster and I have an understanding.”

  Audley raised his eyebrows. It was quite painful, but it had its effect.

  “I haven’t reported the lax security in the seminary, for example, allowing girls to walk along the roads at night. I haven’t reported the attempted violation of two of them by Mr. Roux. And other incidents I won’t go into.” She stood up, moving in and out of his range of vision as she tended to whatever things she had behind him. “My uncle owns half of Derbyshire. My father nearly owns the other half, and has a monopoly on the silk trade to England. My other uncle is a knight of the realm for his loyal service to His Majesty. In other words, despite my lack of a title, I am in a position of extreme influence, should I care to use it.”

  “You could have Robinson’s shut down,” he concluded.

  “Precisely. And in return for not doing that, I come and go as I please. Within reason, of course. I still have to attend the lessons I haven’t already completed the final exams for – most of the time. Besides that, my time is my own.”

  “Very clever,” he said with a smile. “Blackmail.”

  “If money were exchanged I would call it that, yes.” She had this self-bemused look on her face that distracted him from his pain.

  “And you’re working for the Wolf?”

  “No, Inspector, I am not.” She said it and he believed it – he was fairly sure he could tell when she was being outright dishonest. She lied by changing the subject or answering with a question.

  “But you just said – ”

  “Whatever relationship you perceive me to have with the Wolf is irrelevant to me. The point is, you are here, and I am going to see to your well-being until you are well enough to return to town.”

  “Did you alert the authorities?”

  “The authorities want you dead, Inspector Audley.”

  To this, he had no immediate reply.

  “Not
officially, of course. But there is an unofficial price on your head – 500 francs.”

  “Quite a sum.”

  “Yes,” Georgiana said. “It does narrow down the candidates who could be offering it up in exchange for your head.” She leaned in – something he did not mind at all. She did have such bewitching eyes. “You are upsetting his bandits, Inspector. That is a very bad idea.”

  “His bandits?”

  She sighed. “Why do I have to do all of your detective work? The marquis controls those bandits. He supplies them with food and supplies in exchange for their loyalty – and their willingness to do certain deeds.”

  “Like killing Mrs. Bernard.”

  “Precisely. And attacking Miss Murrell’s house.”

  “I did find her – Miss Murrell,” Audley said. He did not give a thought as to why he was seeking her approval so eagerly. “She’s safe in Mon Richard.”

  Georgiana’s face genuinely brightened. “Thank you, Inspector. I am in your debt.”

  “It was my duty to see to her safety – to everyone’s safety. Including yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “You don’t think you’re making an enemy of the marquis by aiding me?”

  “How does the marquis know I’m aiding you? He barely knows my name. Besides, the Wolf is aiding you, no?” She passed him a small bread roll. “Eat. And don’t be fussy about it.”

  It was fresh bread, not the stuff he had in his bag. It was delicious. “Thank you.”

  She let him digest his breakfast and disappeared out of his line of sight for a while, messing with something behind him, probably supplies. His headache was feeling slightly better, but he didn’t dare sit up. If she was right and he had a concussion, that would put him out for a few days, at least. “Will I be safe at the Verrat if I return there until I am recovered?”

  “Yes. I’ve asked your new neighbor to guard you.”

  “Mr. Maddox?” How had she arranged this? It mystified him. “How do you know him?”

  “You mean Uncle Brian?” she said. “Did you even read the book?”

  “I did,” he said defensively. “He doesn’t name his relatives, except his brother Danny – who he said is now a knight – ”

  “Right. Daniel Maddox, who married Caroline Bingley, my father’s sister. In the second book he mentions his business partner Charles – they work in the silk trade, I told you. Charles Bingley is my father.” She offered him another roll, which he declined, but he took a sip of wine from a flask. “I confess I haven’t read the book properly. I know the stories by heart because he used to tell us when we were children – it was terribly exciting stuff. A little gruesome, but exciting.”

  “Then you probably know the real versions.”

  She smiled. “When my father and uncle returned from India – which is the subject of the second book – they came home with two differing accounts of what they did while there. Papa’s was much more sedate. He wouldn’t admit to entering a martial contest with a wushu master just for the fun of it in Cathay. Uncle Brian paid the man off not to kill Papa. He just knocked him over three times before my father had the good sense to give up.”

  Audley laughed. It was more than a bit uncomfortable, but, he felt, well worth it. “You come from a very cultured family.”

  “Not very, I only have a father obsessed with the East, and an uncle who ended up there while fleeing his father-in-law. It’s all happenstance.”

  “Do you speak any of the languages?”

  “Japanese. Some Hindi, but it’s too strange, and no one knows it but Papa. Unfortunately, the ‘language of the Orients’ is not considered an acceptable language to my teachers at the school, and I still must study Latin, a language that has not been spoken in over a thousand years.”

  “Clearly, they are not as enlightened as you.”

  She smiled brightly at him. He was lost in it for a moment, saying nothing. She must have noticed, because she suddenly broke the silent moment in a slightly louder and more insistent voice, “Are you tired, Inspector?”

  “Yes.” He had to admit his strength was fading. He was just enjoying the conversation too much to let it overcome him. “A bit.”

  “Then you should sleep a little. I have to return for drawing lessons anyway, so if you wake up and I’ve not returned, promise me you will not try to leave on your own.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” She replaced the bandage on his head, which she had removed to clean. “Sleep well, Inspector.”

  He was sure he would.

  ~~~

  When Robert Audley woke, he was indeed alone. Having no idea what time Miss Bingley had left him, even checking his pocket watch would not help tell him how long he had slept. If Georgiana had been telling the truth – and he could find little reason to doubt that she was – he was safer here than he would be returning to town alone, wherever ‘here’ was. She had left him some food and his satchel. A quick inspection revealed that nothing inside it had been disturbed, or did not appear to be. The only other thing in the cave besides the mat and pillow was a locked trunk in the corner. Normally he would make some cursory attempt to pick the lock, but he could barely sit up, much less navigate with his pick. Holding his head up on its own made the room spin, so he settled for leaning against the cave wall. He opened his notebook, but the words were too hard to focus on.

  He’d fouled this mission, he was sure of it. His health was already in serious danger, and without aid he would not solve the case – when he was so close. He knew the marquis was guilty of murder. He knew the Wolf was guilty of murder. At least one of them was guilty of assaulting an officer of the law. But did he have evidence? Did he have witnesses? Did he have the whole story?

  He cursed and fought another wave of pain as the world went blurry.

  The next thing he knew, Georgiana was saying, “I told you not to,” as she straightened him out, putting a pillow behind his head. “Now look at you. Do you even know what a concussion is?”

  “You’ve touched me,” he said. “On somewhere other than my hand; ungloved. I think we must be married now by English law.”

  “How unfortunate that we’re not in England, then,” she said, without skipping a beat as she guided him back down. He lay on his side this time.

  “Lady Littlefield said you were promised to someone – back home,” he mumbled. “Is it true?”

  She looked away quickly. “Is that what she said?”

  “In not so many words.”

  “... I’m not betrothed,” she said, her voice wavering before she regained it. “No. I don’t know why she said that.”

  He blushed. He had overstepped himself and it was agonizing. “She only told me – it was for your own good. I can’t explain it.” Without making it worse. “It was part of a larger conversation.”

  “Of course,” she said coldly. “Because you ask so many questions.” She stood up, walking out of his line of vision. “Even ones that are none of your business, Inspector.”

  “Miss Bingley, I’m sorry.”

  She said nothing. Audley heard some movement behind him – she was doing something or another and he couldn’t see it. He swallowed and sat through the awkward silence before saying, “How was your lesson?”

  “Fine.”

  And then, silence again. He sighed, and closed his eyes. It was too tempting to lie there, pretending to be asleep. He only realized he hadn’t been pretending when he awoke with the metallic taste of sleep in his mouth.

  “You’re sleeping too much,” Georgiana said, slipping into his view and kneeling beside him. There was nothing dismissive or playful in her voice – it was more like genuine concern. “Have some tea. It should keep you up a bit longer this time.”

  “I assume you don’t know an apothecary that can be trusted? Perhaps Monsieur Lambert?”

  “He’s a mortician and you’re not dead yet,” she said, some of that playfulness returning to her voice. “Can you sit up on your own?”
>
  He tried – he really did. Eventually he was sitting up, and each time he wavered, she caught him and got him upright again – something that, while frustrating, he could not help but enjoy quite a bit. When he could hold his own, she forced him to drink two cups of tea, which did something to straighten his senses. “Can I stand?”

  “I don’t know. Can you?”

  He smiled. “May I, Dr. Bingley?”

  “The sooner you are returned to civilization, the better, I think,” she said. “Try. Here.” She offered her hands and with a surprising amount of strength, helped him to his feet. “How do you feel?”

  “All right,” he lied. “Just – give me a moment, please.”

  “I’ll carry your things.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you, if I must.”

  “Thank you,” he muttered, half out of his wits for a host of reasons. In the end, she put his arm around her shoulder and guided him along the walkway. The waterfall did cover most of the entrance. They had to walk on a path along the stone ridge, and at one point, through a wall of water before emerging into the sunlight, soaked. “Ow.” The water hitting his head had been enough to rattle him. She helped him sit down, resting his head against a tree. The sound of the water was soothing, and the sunlight dried his hair and his clothing. She must be wet too, he imagined, because his eyes could not focus to see Georgiana in her muslin dress, clinging to her body –

  God help me.

  “You will keep my secret?”

  Which one? “Of what?”

  “This is my haven. Not even my uncle knows of it, and I have no intention of telling him.”

  Audley smiled weakly. “I won’t say a word.” He had only the vaguest idea of their current location, but imagined he could re-find it easily enough by simply following the stream.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  Georgiana returned to him, holding a stick. “Because you need it. Here. We can’t be seen with your arm around me, leaning on me. or I will have to marry you.”

  “I would laugh, but I think it would hurt,” he said as he got to his feet, leaning heavily on the makeshift staff. Her red hair against the green trees was easy to focus on, and their slow walk continued until he saw a figure in blue in front of him.