Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  She looked away. “Don’t make me answer that.”

  “Yes or no,” he said. “Do you love me?”

  She said nothing, and he held her hand, which was shaking. He ran his thumb over the ink tattoo. He loved her skin. He loved how it felt. He wanted to savor it – one last time. He waited until she answered, “Yes.”

  “Why does it hurt you to say it?”

  “Why do you think?” she said, almost angrily, but not quite. “Because just like the legend of the marquis and the wolf, this story has to end.”

  “You will go back for Geoffrey?” he asked, because he had to ask, once and for all. “Does he love you?”

  “If I had no affection for you still, I would strike you for that, head injury and all,” she said, “Robert.”

  “Answer me. Please.”

  “I know he does. He just doesn’t have the maturity to acknowledge or express it. He’s not you.” She squeezed his hand. “But he’s still Geoffrey.”

  “And your heart belongs to him,” he said, with surprisingly little pain in comparison to what he had imagined it would take to say that. “If it turns out, he’s just no one – ”

  “Which it won’t – ”

  “– Cut off some vital bits of him and come back to me.” He kissed her again, softly on the bridge of her nose, between her eyebrows. “I know it won’t happen, but I like to fool myself sometimes. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Everyone gets hurt.”

  “Not everyone deserves it.”

  She kissed him. Neither of them cut it off until it became a physical necessity. “It was never an act,” she whispered. “Never part of the plan. The Wolf is only a part of me. Not the whole of me.”

  “That I do realize.”

  “It’s good to know you understand something,” she said. “Now, for my final act, I have to scare the daylights out of Mr. Stafford. Want to come?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  ~~~

  “So, Miss Bingley – I find myself pondering the question of what to do with you.”

  Audley sat in the corner as Georgiana faced the attempted inquisition that was an annoyed Headmaster Stafford. He sat tensely at his desk, his spectacles still on, his expression not wavering. Georgiana did not take a seat but stood across from him, still in the tunic and sandals, with the sword over her shoulder and the ink on her arms and legs. She seemed unfazed – or perhaps just overtired. “Do with me, sir?”

  “Obviously we cannot continue to tolerate this behavior. A few absences was one thing, but disappearing for days, only to show up in the company of a man while dressed…like that. And God only knows what you’ve gotten poor Lady Littlefield into. What if the marquis knew half of this?”

  “The marquis is dead.”

  The statement hung in the air, for her to present and him to debate accepting. It was hard to doubt a woman with a long sword on her back and blood staining her clothing. The headmaster’s eyes darted to Audley for help, but he shrugged. Stafford continued, “Inspector Audley, surely you have some interest – ”

  “I already have this information, Headmaster. Please don’t let my presence interrupt you.”

  “Yes. Hmph,” he said, clearing his throat. “So – how am I going to explain all this? Do you think your parents will be happy to hear about your dangerous and highly improper actions, whatever they were?”

  “I’m sure my parents would be very interested,” Georgiana said, her voice an utter calm, almost emotionless. “If I hadn’t returned now, this would be the third day I was officially missing. Am I correct? Surely they will be relieved to hear that I am at least alive and well. They must be terrified. My poor Mama ...” She didn’t flinch as she continued, “That would be, of course, if you notified my father of my disappearance, which any decent headmaster in charge of the safety of his students would have done immediately. They would just be getting the post now, probably. But if you didn’t notify them, and only later decided to tell them for different reasons that their daughter had gone missing for three days, they would be very unhappy. They might ask if you had sent out search parties to look for me. They might ask if I’ve ever gone missing before.”

  “Miss Bingley – ”

  “And Lady Littlefield’s parents? Mine are aware of my odd behavior, but surely they would also be unhappy to learn that their daughter was so often gone to see the marquis, even sometimes alone, even though he had no mother or sister to greet her. Or that she would often and obviously come home from these visits crying and bruised. Certainly you’ve not been remiss in your monthly reports in mentioning that?” she said. “And I can’t even imagine the terror Miss Ashley and Miss Stevenson’s parents must be feeling, knowing full well their daughters were assaulted by a known hoodlum and ravager of the local female populace, with only a fellow student to rescue them. Or did that also fail to make it into any reports? Were you too busy discussing their behavior and progress? Is the cost of paper just that high?”

  The silence was stunning as Georgiana stood waiting, elevated by her clog shoes and her words, as Stafford mentally tried to scrape together a response. A myriad of emotions passed over his face. He made several false starts, hand gestures that were then cut off, and played with his pen very nervously before he finally set it aside and said, “What do you want?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to keep up whatever reports you’ve been sending back to Derbyshire. Disruptive, disobedient, but excellent marks. That sort of nonsense. If you suddenly change it, my parents will be suspicious. But I would like to graduate with a special honor or two. Maybe something about languages. I do know five now, if you count Japanese.” She paused. “Oh, and no more lessons with Mrs. Halliburton. We’ve never really gotten along. The other lessons I have every intention of attending, provided you don’t try and marry off any other students to abusive local nobility.”

  Stafford’s frown deepened. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t have to ask you to keep quiet about any goings-on you may hear about. You are already very adept at that. Anything else, Headmaster Stafford? I believe I am late for Logic, but I would like a bath before it.”

  “No, no, be on your way, Miss Bingley – and the bath will be ready soon.”

  She curtseyed, which in breeches looked quite ridiculous, but so did everything else about her appearance. Audley stifled a laugh as she showed herself out.

  Stafford immediately turned is attention on Audley. “Inspector Audley – ”

  “I won’t say one word – provided you do what she says,” Audley said, rising himself. “She’s right, you know. You should do a better job of caring for your students. She won’t be here to do that next year.”

  “Thank God she won’t be,” Stafford muttered as Audley bowed and showed himself to the door.

  In the hallway, Georgiana was waiting for him, leaning against the wall in a slackened posture. “So – hadn’t you better get on about that missing marquis?”

  “I suppose I’ll hear all about it when I get in to town, but it’s not as if he’ll be any deader in a few hours.”

  She raised her eyes, which softened when they met his gaze. “How long are you going to stay on?”

  “As long as it takes to find his body, figure out a way to declare the Wolf dead, and interview enough people to write a report. And then, sadly, I must be off.”

  “On to the next case.” She shook her head. “You should take some time off. Write a novel, like The Beast of Gévaudan.”

  “That book is pure nonsense.”

  “Precisely. If you tell the real story, Uncle Brian and I will have to flip a coin to see who kills you. But you are an imaginative man. You came up with that clever idea that Sir DuBois was the Wolf, I heard.”

  “Oh, God, that was so embarrassing! How did I even - ?” He sighed. “What am I going to do without you, Georgiana?”

  “Find another lucky girl and marry her.”

  “But how will I know if it’s
right without a magic amulet?”

  She smiled. “I knew I was in love with him before I knew what the locket meant. Long before.”

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  “I do my best.”

  He wanted to play with a stray lock of her hair, but they were too short to be strays. This was the hallway of a school – he definitely wasn’t going to get past the guards. He just wanted – he wanted to touch her one more time. She grabbed his hand. “Good-bye, Robert.”

  “Good-bye, Georgiana,” he said. “Will I ever see you again?”

  She gave him a sly grin. “Perhaps it can be arranged.”

  ~~~

  The marquis was missing. Rumor had it, he was dead. Inspector Audley tried not to look distracted and indifferent as he made his way back to the Verrat, where Camille hugged him, almost weeping into his shoulder.

  “On the house,” Anton said, offering him a glass of whiskey as Audley sat down at the bar. Anton had a bruise on his head, but otherwise was unhurt. “What happened to the marquis?”

  “I heard he’s dead,” Audley said. He stared at the drink, wondering if he should have it. He had had very little sleep, still had a headache and a full day of investigative work ahead of him. Then again, it was offered in appreciation for whatever Anton perceived that he’d done; Audley didn’t feel as though he’d done much. He swallowed it in one shot. The fire in his throat was strangely soothing, if only to distract him from the pain in his head and the soreness in his back. “Thank you. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better. Been worse, though. Camille got a little hysterical, but she’s all right now.”

  “Where are the bodies?”

  “Is that an official question?”

  Audley looked up. “No. I am merely curious.”

  “I’ve no idea. The Wolf and the Englishman carried them off.”

  “Did you know it was her? The whole time?”

  “Another curious question, Inspector?”

  He smiled lazily. “I’m in that sort of mood, yes.”

  Anton leaned in. “I didn’t know. Camille was the one who had the contact and she didn’t say. If she’d told me it was a woman, I would have figured it out real fast, I imagine.”

  “I would have, too,” Audley said. “You know what? This case is already ruined, unless I can spin it to my superiors somehow. Another few hours before beginning the search for the missing aristocrat won’t matter either way.”

  “I doubt it.”

  He nodded, and headed upstairs. To his surprise, his satchel, which he had lost upon his capture the day before, was on the desk. He opened it and retrieved his precious notebook. How does she - ? As he opened it, a crème-colored square piece of board fell out. He leaned over to pick it up. You have been invited to ...

  He smiled after reading it, slid it back in place, and fell asleep on top of the covers, clutching his notebook to his chest.

  ~~~

  “On your way out?”

  Brian Maddox was taking a glass of luncheon wine at the bar as servants moved past to carry out his trunk. He was dressed normally again, if there was a thing called dressing normally. Maybe it was all just fashion, but the point was, he was the traveling Englishman once again. Well, aside from the suspiciously heavy walking stick he kept cautiously at his side. “I suppose. In a few hours, anyway. The carriage should arrive sometime after supper.”

  “I’d be honored to make it into your next book, Mr. Maddox.”

  “No, no,” Brian said. “I’ll leave this story in your capable hands, Inspector Audley. Twist it how you like it. Changing names or leaving them out is always preferable. Some people don’t want the celebrity.”

  Audley took a seat across from him. “May I ask you something?”

  “What? One last thing you haven’t figured out?”

  “No, not precisely. How much did Miss Bingley pay you for your services as my bodyguard?”

  Brian put down his wineglass. “One kor of rice.”

  “How much is a – kor?”

  Brian made a loose fist with his hand, as if he were holding a ball. “About that much.”

  “Wow. You Japan warriors come cheap.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So if I got you a kor of rice ...”

  Brian raised his eyebrows. “My apologies, Inspector Audley, but I am not currently available. And I do not think you are in danger.”

  “It isn’t for me.”

  It only took the Englishman a brief moment to understand. “In this case, my services are free. However, they aren’t very good. You can’t very easily protect someone who doesn’t think she needs protection.”

  “But she does.”

  Brian sighed, putting both hands down on the table. “Some people, their nature is like fire – always moving, always burning energy, always attracting people to their light.” He lifted one hand, then the other. “Some people are like water – calm and steady. They flow with their surroundings. My brother and I – well, we’re fire and water. It doesn’t make us enemies. It just refers to our natures.” He put his hands down. “In my first novel, we had two bodyguards. Miyoshi and Mugin. Water and fire. Miyoshi died, but Mugin came with us and stayed in England for a time, until the next boat came along. We didn’t know it then, how much he would influence Georgie in that short time. Fire recognizes fire.” He picked up his wine. “Another thing I did not mention in the book.”

  “So what am I?”

  Maddox seemed to give him the once-over. “Earth.”

  “Earth?”

  “Full of substance. Tied to something – principles, in your case, no matter how many you might have violated in the past few weeks. It’s just a philosophical guess, of course. I never truly understood it, or cared to. But the point is if you see people as forces of nature, then you know that we cannot be forced one way or another out of our habits.”

  Audley pondered this with a “hmmmm” sound, crossing his arms. “I suppose. Still, keep an extra eye on her, would you? Beyond the one you already seem to be using.”

  “That I can promise you, Audley-Keibu.”

  Audley stood and they exchanged bows. He was about to turn away when he stopped himself. “Out of curiosity – how would you categorize Geoffrey?”

  “Pangs of jealousy? You don’t even know the man.” Brian smiled. “I won’t torture you, even though it’s none of your business. Geoffrey is earth.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s a good match,” Maddox said. “Fire can’t burn it, but it can’t put fire out.”

  “I see.”

  “Someday, you will. Now if I’m not mistaken, I must make quick my escape and you must spin the biggest web of lies of your career, Keibu.”

  “I learned from the master.”

  Brian Maddox raised his glass to that.

  Epilogue

  Inspector Robert Audley could not bring himself to return to the forest, even after the passage of time, as it was filled with so many things to distract him from its beauty. Had he never noticed that before? He looked at it as he passed slowly on his horse. Summer had just begun, and the leaves were back and not yet perishing from the heat.

  Was it just that it was more distinctive now, after months in Paris’s slums, hunting shadows and writing reports? He hadn’t missed the country so much when he moved to Paris from Valgones to pursue his career, but he’d been running towards, not away.

  He could not enter. It was like violating something sacred, as if his footsteps would ruin it, or at least the memory of it. Not all of the memories were good, but none of them deserved to be marred. Besides, he was only half-finished with his narrative, one that would be about as fictional as his official report but with entirely different inventions.

  The manor was no longer vacant. Someone else had moved in – a merchant who had made his fortune with factories that filled Paris with soot. The land renewed instead of laying barren. It was comforting, in a way. But that was not his concern. W
hen he did see someone he recognized, he waved hello, but said little else. It was only when he saw Camille scrubbing the pots in a basin outside the Verrat that he stopped his horse and tipped his hat.

  “Inspector Audley!” Her face, so pale and shrunken when he last saw it, was renewed as well. “What are you doing back out here?”

  “Take a lucky guess.”

  “It’s invitation only, Inspector.”

  “Fortunate then that I have one.”

  Audley did not tarry long, returning to the road that he had wandered up and down. He could no longer pick out the spot where Simon Roux had died and where he himself had spent a night unconscious. Every ditch beside the forest seemed to look the same. The tall grass had swallowed it.

  He de-saddled some distance away from the ceremony, held outdoors to accommodate the guests on their lovely white chairs. He supposed he was under-dressed a bit, but not terribly so, once he removed his threadbare riding coat and properly placed his hat on his head.

  “Invitation, sir?”

  He did not recognize the footman, but he presented it and passed by him without another glance, taking a seat towards the back, where the crowd was more scattered. The girls – the women – had their own seats. No graduation robes. This wasn’t a University, but a place to send a daughter who was too wild or too unschooled or just wanted to escape. Maybe a few wanted to legitimately further their studies, but he had his doubts about their numbers being in the majority.

  The ceremony was in English. The parents or other guests were sent to retrieve the daughters of the lords and ladies (or extremely wealthy gentlemen). They sat there with their English tall hats and the women with their lace umbrellas as if it were a sunny day just outside London. Perhaps tea would be served.

  Headmaster Stafford was in his element, congratulating the students on a job well done (probably meaning the parents on a bill well-paid), and commending them for the seriousness with which they took their studies. Audley couldn’t bring himself to listen to this man with any seriousness, and instead watched the crowd, wondering how many of them were peers or knights. He sat among the wealthy of England (or their servants, attending in their stead), and one couple caught his eye. They were easy to spot, because the man’s soft blue waistcoat and hat only accentuated his red, almost orange, hair. It was very hard to forget that color, even if his hair was streaked with grey. The woman beside him, her touch gentle as she held his hand, was blond.