***
Marian shut the wooden door of her house behind her and leaned against it, relieved to finally be home, to her children. For four hours the detective interrogated her before he concluded she had answered enough questions and released her. Now before she could rest, she must finalize the funeral arrangements, notify the family, and the children...God, she dreaded telling her babies.
Notwithstanding Jean’s bigamies, he would always be her children’s father and they loved him even if their parent’s marriage had been dead for many years.
Her sister, Claire, walked into the entry hall from the back of the house to greet her.
“Hello, I thought that might be you.” Her eyes darkened to an even deeper shade of green. “I wondered where you rushed off to. When I arrived the servants told me you’d gone out”
Claire rattled on, never pausing, her brows drawing together as she watched Marian. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
Marian shook her head and walked into Jean’s study. She went to the brandy bottle on the Pembroke table. With trembling hands she poured herself a little brandy from the crystal decanter into a glass. Her sister followed her, still prattling on about nothing.
“Good Lord, now I really am worried about you. What’s brought about you taking strong drink? You seldom touch alcohol.”
“Where are Philip and Renee?” Marian asked.
“They’re in their rooms. Philip is studying and Renee is playing with her dolls.”
“Close the door. I’m not ready to tell them just yet,” she said, her voice quivering.
Claire hurried over to the door of Jean’s study, her skirts swishing as she walked across the oriental carpet. When Marian heard the click of the door, she sank down into the leather armchair behind Jean’s French Provincial desk.
“What’s wrong, Marian? What’s Jean done now? Only he can make you this upset,” her sister said.
Marian shook her head. The news was still hard to believe. “Jean is dead.”
The other woman gasped. “Oh my God! How?”
“This morning a clerk from the Chateau Hotel knocked on the door and told me Jean needed me to come to the hotel.” Marian sipped the brandy, the alcohol warming its way down her throat, giving her a boost of strength.
“When I arrived the police were waiting for me and immediately took me to his room. In the suite Jean lay on the floor, dead.” She shuddered at the memory of his lifeless body. “A policemen told me he’d been poisoned. They suspect that someone killed him.”
“Somebody finally did him in.” Claire stood and placed her arm around Marian’s shoulder giving her comfort. “Do they suspect anyone?”
“That’s the worst part.” Marian laughed, but tears gathered in the comers of her eyes. “They suspect Mrs. Cuvier.”
“That’s ludicrous! You didn’t even know he was in town. Did you?” she asked, her eyes growing wide.
“He was due home today,” Marian said, and then dropped the social bomb that hung over their heads. “I’m not the Mrs. Cuvier they suspect.”
Her sister’s face contracted quizzically, clearly not understanding her. “I beg your pardon? What are you saying?”
“There was yet another woman there who claims she’s not his mistress. He married not one, but two women besides me.”
Confusion then dawning realization crossed her sister’s face as she grasped what Jean had done. “But...but how? That’s against the law. It’s...it’s bigamy!”
Marian laughed, her voice sounding strained in the dead man’s study. “Do you think Jean cared he was breaking the law?”
“But two women? Good Lord, how did the man do it and get away with so many wives without anyone knowing?”
“I don’t know. I doubt that we’ll ever understand Jean’s rationale and right now I don’t want to feel any sympathy for that man.” She took a deep breath. “I know I am the jilted wife, but the woman accused of poisoning him is so young! And neither woman had any idea about each other or me.”
She paused, glancing at the furnishings of her dead husband’s study. Once, many years ago, she had loved Jean. But something changed him, and in the end she’d only felt contempt for the man she’d married.
“Do you think this woman killed him?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know. Of the three, I may be the one who wanted him out of my life the most. Though I could never have divorced or killed the father of my children.” She drained the last of the brandy, patted her sister’s hand. “Now I have to tell the children. No matter how much of a bastard Jean could be, they loved him.”
For a brief moment Marian and her sister simply sat in the confines of Jean’s office, gazing around them at the man’s possessions, contemplating the change his death would bring.
Claire shook her head. “Bigamy. Even that’s more than I expected from Jean.” She stood and gazed down at her sister. “I’ll inform the servants that the house needs to be prepared for mourning. Have you contacted the undertaker?”
“Yes. On my way home Edward stopped and I made the arrangements. When the police release the body, he will prepare it and bring it to the house.”
Claire shuddered. “Do we have to bring that man back into this house? I’m afraid his ghost will somehow get trapped here and he’ll bother us in death more than he did when he lived.”
Marian shook her head. “He’s the children’s father. We’ll show him respect.”
“I will, but you and I both know this is a great day as far as I’m concerned,” she turned and walked out the door leaving Marian alone.
Claire had the courage to say the words Marian thought, but refused to acknowledge. Jean had been like a jailer. The marriage she once regarded as a prison sentence suddenly ended and like a prisoner released she was free. She closed her eyes savoring her newfound freedom as a widow. She couldn’t be happier.
Wronged (Book 1) Page 2
