Bright Hair About the Bone

by Barbara Cleverly

  “Hurt his ankle, Miss, trying to reach the skylight from my shoulders. Walking wounded, though…I can get him along.” Marcel spoke bravely but was clearly shattered by his experience.

  Laetitia told them the lord was back and passed on his orders.

  “Dogs are all right, miss. I took Bella and your young ’un back into the house yesterday. She only comes down here for the whelping. You’ll find them in the back kitchen. But the horses! Two missing, you say? Better get them back first before they damage themselves.” Anxious to retrieve the situation, they set to work at once.

  Letty called after them, “Oh, Marcel, you will find there are two bodies in the rosebushes. Please leave everything in place until the police arrive.”

  She was choosing the words to tell him that one of the dead men was Jules when he replied without surprise, “Yes, Miss.” He gave a gleeful grin, sharing his pride and triumph with her. “Boss got ’em then, did ’e?”

  “Somebody got somebody—that’s all I can say,” she added doubtfully.

  Mme. Lepage, when Letty could rouse her, was unflustered. In curlers and nightdress, she scrambled from her bed and asked Letty to pass her the green plaid dressing gown from behind the door. As she slipped it on she listened to Letty’s brief and much censored account, commenting: “The count rang to tell me he would be arriving late and that I should retire for the night. It would seem a regrettable decision. May I suggest you leave the telephoning to me and return to his lordship, Mademoiselle Laetitia? I know the numbers to ring. Perhaps you could write down the number of the fleeing car you witnessed? I will alert what is left of the staff—most are with their families in the town—and set them to their duties. I will then take up my place at the front gate. I observe you are armed, mademoiselle. Sensible precaution.”

  “Ah. Yes,” said Letty. “But perhaps a little too obvious,” and she pulled her blouse out from her skirt to cover the gun.

  Mme. Lepage nodded her approval, stepped to a long cupboard, and took out a shotgun. “Ready?”

  CHAPTER 37

  Laetitia had resumed her place by d’Aubec and taken his injured head onto her lap when headlights announced the arrival of a vehicle.

  “Reinforcements at last,” muttered Gunning. “I wonder who we’ve got?”

  After a pause at Mme. Lepage’s checkpoint, a van clanked a short way into the courtyard and braked. Out stepped six men wearing firemen’s coats over their pyjamas. Their leader, the fire-master himself, marched over to the recumbent d’Aubec and saluted.

  “Pardon us for intruding, Monsieur le Comte, but I need to know whether all persons on the premises are accounted for. Anyone in the stables?”

  “No, Capitaine. There’s no one inside. The horses are safe but alarmed.”

  “No fire engine?” Gunning asked.

  “The count keeps an appliance on the premises. My men,” he waved a hand at his scurrying crew, “are familiar with it. We’ll run a hose from the reservoir and douse this lot again just to be certain. And I’ll go and cast an eye over the stable building.”

  A moment later a lorry bearing the words “Haras de France” arrived and six tousle-headed young soldiers jumped out. The commander presented himself, clicked his heels, and gave a crisp salute. “I see you’re busy, sir. I apologise for the intrusion. Capitaine Huleux thought you might need some help up here.”

  “Much appreciated! But who’s next? The Député, the President? Laetitia, get me away from here. We risk being drowned, trampled, or saluted to death. Send Huleux to me in the salon when he gets here. Help me up. I think I can walk now.”

  Between them, Letty and Gunning managed to move him along to the house, leaving behind them a scene of surprisingly ordered activity. They settled d’Aubec on a chaise longue and, more in hope than expectation, Letty tugged at a bell pull. It was answered by two maids, blinking like owls and hastily attired in their morning uniforms. Her request for coffee and iced water to be served and the same for the men working outside was noted and the girls hurried off.

  She moved around the room, turning on lamps, wondering how—or whether it was wise—to break the news that his man had been shot and his stables pillaged.

  “Jules?” he asked, solving her dilemma.

  “Dead, I’m afraid,” said Gunning. “Shot. By Laval. All the signs are of a duel at twenty paces.”

  “Ha!” d’Aubec exclaimed viciously. “Did the swine get away?”

  “No. Jules shot him before he could get to his car. But his accomplice made off. Abandoned Laval and took off in the Buick. Damned nearly ran us into a ditch as we rode to the rescue.”

  Letty was relieved to hear the men communicating with each other in a purposeful way; she just wished she could understand what they were saying. “Swine”?—Laval? “His accomplice”? She had a sudden feeling that they’d turned over two pages at once. Perhaps if she kept quiet a little longer she’d be able to make sense of all this?

  “I got here as soon as I could, Laetitia,” d’Aubec said, involving her at last. “It was your phone call that alarmed me—that and the thought that it was the Saint-Jean and the staff so depleted. I couldn’t be easy. Jules drove me back. We swept into the courtyard and there was a strange car, a Buick, all doors open and something going on in the stables. Not sure how many of them were involved, I put Jules to stand by their car in case they tried to make a break for it and went in by myself. Careless.

  “They were waiting for me.” He grimaced. Pride had taken a battering along with his head. “I was wrong-footed to be confronted by a policeman. I recognised Laval and assumed he’d been summoned to investigate. I thought perhaps you’d been a little over-zealous, Laetitia, and called him in. I hesitated. Fatally. Laval had the advantage. He grabbed and held me while his partner bashed me over the head with a horseshoe. Never a shortage of weapons in a stable! There’s one in each stall,” he added with a wry grin. “For good luck.”

  “You didn’t merit a bullet?” suggested Gunning.

  “Too smart for that!” said d’Aubec. “Don’t forget this is a trained policeman we’re dealing with. He wanted no traceable police-issue bullets in the body. What more accountable death could you find than that of a reckless owner who, suspecting intruders, ventures into a stable full of maddened horses? He’s struck by a flying hoof, crawls into the yard for help, perhaps even starts a small fire to signal for assistance…perhaps the fire’s been started by a stray rocket from the Saint-Jean and gathers strength? And—how sad—his body is consumed by the flames, which then spread to the stable…The man, in his semi-conscious state, left the doors wide open…”

  He shuddered. “It would have worked. In the subsequent destruction even signs of the demolition work would have been lost.” He briefly touched his wound. “Oh, yes. This was personal. A lot of force and years of pent-up hatred were behind this blow! I wasn’t intended to survive.”

  “Lucky we caught sight of the fire and got here in time,” said Gunning.

  “Yes. And thank you for that. And perhaps at a later time you’ll tell me how you came to be wandering about the town with Laetitia at two in the morning.”

  “Your suspicions do you no credit, Edmond!” snapped Laetitia. “Just be thankful that William saved your life.”

  “Have you any idea what they got away with?” asked Gunning.

  “Oh, yes. I can list the items down to the last candelabrum. All valuable. All well packaged. They can’t have got everything into that car, although it was capacious. They’ll have taken the choicest and the most portable. And I can check. When my ancestor concealed the goods from the abbey in the cave in the outer defences he had a steward at his elbow noting them down as they went in.” He smiled at Letty. “That’s what Daniel came across in the archives. The most significant item: the list. The hole in the rock was covered over and Hippolyte built the stable block in front of it as extra cover.”

  “But I don’t understand!” Laetitia almost screamed at them in her frustration. �
�What has Laval to do with all this? Why did he try to kill you? Why is he dead? Why tonight? Who are ‘they’ and how did they ever find out the location?”

  D’Aubec and Gunning exchanged looks, neither one hurrying to explain. Gunning began to walk about the room. D’Aubec winced and pretended to swoon. They were not able to meet her eye.

  Finally, Gunning said, “Know the story of the Trojan horse, Letty?”

  “Of course…”

  “I’m afraid you yourself were that horse. They used you to get into the château and extract the information they needed, or confirm what they already suspected.”

  “Me? But how?”

  “Marie-Louise Huleux,” said d’Aubec bitterly. “Vengeful, acquisitive hellcat!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Laetitia slumped into an armchair, her mind whirling, relieved to be distracted at that moment by the arrival of the maids carrying trays of refreshments. She took a few fortifying sips of the fragrant coffee before saying steadily, “You’re asking me to believe that this innocent and rather sad schoolmarm I’ve become friendly with over the last month is in fact a robber and a murderer? That she used our friendship to gain access to and information on the château? That she was, by some means I can’t begin to imagine, working with the police inspector, Laval, to commit this horrible crime? That she bashed you over the head and nearly killed you, Edmond? No. I’m sorry. That is asking a lot. It’s asking too much.”

  Again, the furtive glances. It was becoming clear to Letty that the two men had, of necessity, exchanged information and established some sort of understanding while she’d been dodging flailing hooves and briefing the housekeeper.

  “Starting with the easiest part of all that…Laval must have been known to her for some time. Through their police connections. Her father probably knew him. And it’s likely that they were more than just partners who’d come together to perpetrate this crime…” Gunning paused, unsure how to proceed.

  “They were lovers?” prompted Letty, impatient with his pace. “Is that what you’re trying to say? But how can that be? What nonsense! She’s so…so…unworldly. All right then, I’ll say it—virginal. She hasn’t a clue how the world works.” Letty ignored d’Aubec’s snort of derision. “I know she goes into Lyon on her day off, so I suppose such an arrangement would not be out of the question. But—a policeman’s daughter, a respected figure in the community? She would never contemplate such disgrace, such a crime. And even if she got away with it, it would cut her off forevermore from her family, her town, her roots.”

  “Quite. I’d say that’s exactly the result she was planning for,” said Gunning. “And it was, if I’ve got this right, precisely her position in the community that launched her into this devilish scheme in the first place.” He looked a question at d’Aubec, who nodded confirmation and encouragement.

  “People were destitute after the war. Things are still not good. And what do you do when you’re on your uppers? You look about you for something to sell:

  “‘Wasn’t there something in the attic put there so long ago and almost forgotten?’

  “‘That old book that nobody ever opens? The one with the painted pages and the foreign language…’

  “‘And what about Granny’s ugly old crucifix…Probably just a bauble but perhaps we should polish it up…give it a closer look?’

  “And to whom do you take the object for a clue as to its value and origin? To someone you trust and who will have an answer for you. Someone discreet, with standing in the town. Probably not the priest, who might well have been your first choice, because there was more than a chance that the objects themselves were of ecclesiastical origin and they risked being confiscated! No—the schoolmistress was the safe option. She knows about these things. And her father’s a policeman. She’s in a unique position to explain the rules about ownership and disposal of such goods. But she, in turn, seeks the opinion of a man who really does know the rules…For the obvious reason that it is his job to do so.”

  “Laval. The Police Judiciaire are in control of the trafic de biens culturels,” said Letty. “And if you know how to prevent the smuggling and illicit sale of valuable artefacts, I suppose you also know how to get around the rules. The safest way to export them. The right person to bribe. Perhaps even issue the correct documentation?” She paused, thinking furiously. “And you’d know all you needed to know about fences!”

  They looked at her in puzzlement.

  “Isn’t that what they’re called? The shady gentlemen who deal in stolen goods?”

  Gunning smiled. “I think Laval had in his address book contacts of a much more elevated nature. Contacts with a direct but impeccable link to the great auction houses—remember the silver chalice and the illuminated manuscript? To say nothing of a list of discreet and very private clients on both sides of the Atlantic.”

  “I think they probably started on a small scale—‘Look here, Mister So-and-so, why not let me handle this for you?’” said Letty, angrily imitating Marie-Louise’s prim voice. “‘I’ve sought a legal opinion on this and find that you’re quite within your rights to sell it…For how long was it in your cellar? Really? So long…Then there can be no doubt. Tell me, how will you manage the sale? You have no connections with the art world?…no, I suppose not…but listen, I could help you there…There will be a commission to pay, of course.’”

  “And the sellers hardly needed the warning to keep it all quiet,” said Gunning. “Their neighbours would not have been pleased to hear that the abbey’s wealth was being used to provide—oh, let’s hazard a wild guess, shall we—the new extension to the Mayor’s house? The blacksmith’s son’s new sports car? A surprising number of local folk have come into an unexpected inheritance or had a bit of luck at the casino lately, I notice.”

  “But that was just the beginning,” said d’Aubec. “Like every child of the town, she had heard the stories about great and secret matters being hidden away up in Brancy. A few items were not enough for her. She wanted the precious core. And to get away with it before the smaller local activities were uncovered, as would undoubtedly soon have been the case.”

  “I know what Scott Fitzgerald’s comment would have been,” said Letty, remembering. “‘The victor belongs to the spoils.’ Beautiful, greedy, and damned.”

  “A dangerous and desperate woman. I would never have allowed Marie-Louise anywhere near the place, but Laval got under my guard. At the time, for us, he was just a smarter-than-usual investigating officer and, as friends and contacts of Daniel whose murder he was investigating, he was welcomed and entertained by my mother. Who knows what he managed to learn? Good Lord!” he said, suddenly shaken. “He looked through Daniel’s things…this was, after all, the last known place Daniel visited before his death…my mother the last person he spoke to…Laval came back once or twice. Rather more than the situation justified, I believe. He interviewed the staff…”

  “Marie-Louise was pleased that I seemed to be getting close to you, Edmond. Even sang your praises. Reassured me that you were not the ogre I might have thought. And her performance when she visited the château! Seeing everything with a jaundiced eye but—crikey!—that eye was everywhere. She inspected the plans for the stables, covering her interest with distracting questions about the chapel.” Letty’s voice was rising in anger at the deception. “I even held the chair for her when she climbed up to take a closer look at old Hippolyte’s portrait! And she drew me in with her pretended interest in poor old William. By getting close to me and encouraging my closeness to you, Edmond, she was making links in a chain to the château. Oh, dear!”

  “It’s all right, Letty,” said Gunning. “We were all of us deceived to some extent.”

  “Well, I certainly was!” said Letty with a flash of anger. “All that ‘borrow Maman’s bicycle’ and ‘hope you like courgettes’!” She was struck by an unpalatable thought.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Gunning, catching her reference. “She was trailing us about th
e place whenever she could, and the evening she caught sight of us motoring off to find d’Aubec’s grove…”

  D’Aubec exclaimed and looked from one to the other, with narrowed eyes.

  “It’s all right! You can stand at ease, old man!…She followed us. When she realised we were not bent on digging up treasure but sitting about enjoying the evening air and engaging in other innocent English pursuits—reciting Milton and Swinburne—she got bored and headed for home. By bicycling vigorously she’d got a good way down the road before she heard our engine. Out of sight round a bend, she turned her cycle around. We met her wobbling innocently along in the opposite direction, to all appearances surprised to see us.”

  “And I gave her the grand tour of the château! Even the stables. She pretended to have no interest in the building and obviously hated the horses.”

  “In that she did not deceive,” said d’Aubec bitterly. “And there is the reason I’m still alive. She intended to set the stables on fire but couldn’t summon up the courage to go back inside, the horses were making such a fuss. I think she has a genuine fear of them. She restricted herself to kicking a bale loose outside, setting fire to it, and hoping for the best.”

  “Well, at least Epona and her horses have played their designated protective role,” said Letty. “More than I did. I’m so sorry, Edmond.”

  D’Aubec smiled his forgiveness. “My goddess,” he said, reaching for her soot-blackened hand and kissing it.

  Gunning coughed and choked and went to refill his coffee cup.

  “Poor old things,” said Letty. “Her parents, I mean. They didn’t understand their daughter. They would have been happy with a homely canary, content to sit in a cage, but what they were given to rear was a skylark, beating its wings against the bars.”