Belle

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘On that night of the eleventh, he didn’t bring a young lady here, did he?’

  The older man frowned. ‘He arrived alone, that’s why I went out to see him. But he may have had someone there later on, I did hear a fiacre stop. But I can’t be sure it was someone for him.’

  Etienne felt the time had come to be more truthful. ‘To be honest, sir, I’m not interested in renting that house. I am trying to find a young lady who has disappeared. I am certain Monsieur Pascal had a hand in that disappearance.’

  The older man looked hard at Etienne, perhaps feeling it might have been unwise to say so much to a stranger. But then he sniffed. ‘Well, he’s certainly shady enough. But are you suggesting she might be in the house now?’

  ‘It’s possible. She disappeared the night of the eleventh, and he did send a cab to take her to Montmartre, I have a note in his handwriting to that effect. Have you heard any noise coming from his house?’

  The man shook his head. ‘But then, the walls are thick.’

  ‘Would it be too much of an imposition to ask if I could get over into his garden from yours?’

  The man hesitated. ‘How do I know you aren’t planning to rob my neighbour?’

  ‘Would you care if I did?’

  The older man smirked. ‘No, but I don’t like being fooled.’

  ‘You’ll be a hero if the girl is in there,’ Etienne said. ‘Take a risk with me? Please! He could have hurt her.’

  ‘Then it’s my duty to assist you. Come in.’

  Etienne followed the man through a wide hall with two doors opening on to it, then on into a narrower passage which led to the kitchen, beyond which was a scullery. The man opened a door on to the yard. ‘I shall deny knowing how you gained access to his garden if you are caught,’ he said, but then smiled. ‘Good luck. You will tell me if you find the girl?’

  ‘You and the whole neighbourhood will know,’ Etienne said. ‘I am indebted to you.’

  Etienne could see immediately why Pascal’s neighbour was so rattled, for in the light coming from his scullery he could see the bushes and brambles on the other side of the six-foot wall dividing the two houses were thick and tall. Though not yet in full leaf, by summer they would be rambling over on to the small, neat yard.

  He climbed the wall as effortlessly as a cat and chose a spot to get down to the other side where the brambles were less thick. Even in the dark he could see that the whole garden was totally overgrown. Here and there he could see almost luminous white blossom and smell a sweet, musky scent, which told him it had once been a much loved garden. He waited among the bushes until his eyes grew used to the dark, and then went down to the end of the garden where there was a large tree. He turned and looked back at the house. The three-quarter moon was bright, hanging right above the house, and he could see that it was taller than both its neighbours. There were no lights except a faint glow in a narrow window on the first floor, by which he assumed that it was the window on the stairs, and the light was coming up from the hall.

  Going back to the house, he tried the back door, which he found was locked and bolted. Locks were no deterrent to him, but bolts were, so he looked around for an easier way in. The small window beside the back door looked good. He always carried a thin, sharp knife in a leather sheath attached to his belt and he took it out and slid the blade between the window and the frame. He could feel the metal of the catch and it was stiff, but it lifted after a couple of seconds of working on it, and the window opened.

  He climbed in to find he was above the sink, and jumped silently to the floor. The layout was the same as the neighbour’s house and he walked through to the kitchen, then opened the door through to the hall. Even though he’d known a light was on there he was still startled to find himself in such brightness. He stopped to listen before looking around. He could hear nothing but the ticking of a clock which appeared to be coming from a room at the front of the house.

  The first door he opened was devoid of any furniture, and the walls were papered in dark green, with faded places where pictures had once hung. He assumed it had been the dining room. The second door nearest to the front door was to a well-furnished drawing room, the walls lined with books. The curtains were closed, and having seen it he shut the door again and started to go upstairs. He noticed that the stair carpet and the pictures hanging on the wall didn’t go with the good taste he’d seen in the drawing room. The carpet was a bright red, it looked thin and cheap, and the pictures were the kind anyone could buy for twenty francs in the flea market. He guessed this was Pascal’s input.

  He had only reached the fifth step when he heard a sound. He stopped and listened. It was almost like a dog’s growl, yet he sensed it was human, and it was coming from the top of the house. Etienne was always light on his feet – people often said he unnerved them because they never heard him coming – but up till now he’d made no effort to be silent. It seemed he wasn’t in an empty house, however.

  Creeping up on tiptoe, he winced as a stair creaked, and strained his ears to listen. The growl-like noise came again, and as he reached the first landing he could hear a low thumping sound too. Both sounds could be put down to the kinds of noise someone might make if they were tied up and gagged, and therefore it could be Belle, imprisoned in one of the upstairs rooms. But much as he wanted to run up there full tilt and check, he knew he must be cautious. He withdrew his knife again and continued creeping up, listening all the while, poised to strike out if necessary.

  When he reached the fourth floor there was very little light coming from the hall any more, but as he looked upwards over the banisters he saw a chink coming from the top floor. The thumping sound was much louder now, and suddenly he realized what he was hearing. Furthermore he recognized the growling sound as the kind of noise a gagged person might make, and he was certain it was Belle.

  Incensed, he threw caution aside, running at full tilt up the last flight of stairs, and when he reached the door he ran at it with his shoulder. The whole door and frame shuddered and creaked, he went back and did it again harder still, and this time the door crashed open, pieces of wood on the frame shattered and falling to the floor.

  The scene in front of him made Etienne’s stomach turn. Pascal had already leapt from the bed and backed up to the far wall, holding Belle in front of him.

  She was naked, her face white and terrified, blood running down her stomach and legs. She had something stuck in her mouth as a gag. And Pascal was holding a knife to her throat.

  Her eyes were wide with shock at seeing Etienne.

  ‘Come any closer and I’ll slit her ear to ear,’ Pascal hissed. He was wearing just a shirt and his socks held up by suspenders, but his shirt was stained with blood. ‘Who are you anyway?’

  ‘Let her go,’ Etienne commanded. He had concealed his own knife up his sleeve the moment he saw Pascal had one, and now he surreptitiously slid it back into the sheath to keep his hands free. ‘You can have me as a hostage, but let her go.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ Pascal said with disdain. ‘I hold all the cards here. Make one move on me and I’ll cut her throat.’

  Etienne was aware the man did hold all the cards. If he was to turn and run for help, Belle would die. If he tried to grab Pascal, the chances were that the man would make good his threat.

  Years ago when he was just a boy, an uncle of his who was a prize fighter had told him a cornered man was just as dangerous and as unpredictable as a cornered animal. Etienne had found it to be true on many an occasion. He knew he had to get his rage under control and think before making a move. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want Belle hurt either,’ he said as calmly as possible.

  ‘You can’t hurt me,’ Pascal said smugly. ‘She’s my woman. I’ve waited a long time to find the right one, and now I’ve got her, I’m going to keep her.’

  Belle’s eyes were fixed on Etienne. Although she was clearly terrified, his sudden arrival must seem like a miracle to her. Etienne glanced a
round the bare room, noting that the window was boarded up. He winced when he saw her blood all over the blanket. ‘Keep her in here? Like a caged animal?’ he asked. ‘What pleasure can there be in that?’

  ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ Pascal retorted. ‘This is my house, and she’ll be mistress of it.’

  Etienne realized then that the man must be completely deranged if he thought he could rape a woman, lock her up, slice her with a knife, threaten to cut her throat, yet imagine that she wouldn’t run from him at the first opportunity. He knew he must be very cautious and try to talk him round.

  ‘If you want a woman to stay with you then you have to show her some kindness and affection,’ he said. Belle raised her eyebrows as if trying to warn him Pascal was extremely volatile.

  ‘She’s a whore, she’s used to being paid for. I’ll keep her and clothe her, and she’ll stay with me. Who are you anyway?’

  ‘Just one of many people who have been searching for her,’ Etienne said. ‘Even now there is a group of men waiting for me to report back about whether you were here or not. When I don’t come back they’ll come looking for me. And your neighbour knows I’m here. He let me get over the garden wall. He’ll call the gendarmes soon. So let Belle go, and it won’t be so bad for you.’

  ‘I told you, come any closer and I’ll cut her throat.’

  Etienne saw Belle’s hands moving towards her gag, but she was clearly too frightened to reach up and pull it out in case he slashed at her. ‘At least let her take that rag from her mouth, she can barely breathe,’ he said.

  ‘No, I don’t want to hear her voice. Every word she says is a lie. I brought her here to my house to give her a good life with me, but she wouldn’t even give me what she’ll give any other man who pays her.’

  ‘I see,’ Etienne said, and leaned back against the wall to create a less threatening image. ‘So you love her, is that it?’

  ‘You think a man like me can’t love?’ Pascal said angrily.

  Belle looked straight at Etienne and winked, then blinked in an exaggerated manner while moving her hands slightly up and down. He felt she was trying to tell him that she could lift her hands to knock the knife away, if he would be ready to pounce on Pascal.

  ‘I think love can lift any man up,’ he said, hoping that she would understand that was his coded answer. ‘But sometimes we think women have given us a signal that they want us, and we are mistaken.’

  Belle blinked very quickly again, and he was sure then that he’d read her message right.

  ‘What about your wife?’ Etienne asked, and shuffled a few inches nearer to Pascal along the wall. ‘How can you hope to keep Belle here when you already have a wife?’

  ‘Frenchmen have always had mistresses,’ he said.

  ‘But a mistress has to be willing,’ Etienne said, moving again. He was close enough to spring at the man now but he wanted to wait until he was off guard or growing weary of standing in one position. ‘Belle isn’t willing, is she? And the gendarmes have gone to your home to look for you. They’ll go to see Garrow too. He’ll tell them about this house, just as he told one of my friends today.’

  Pascal’s face seemed to sag a little. Etienne hoped by continuing to overload him with worrying thoughts he might lose his self-control for a second or two. ‘This is all a terrible mess for you, isn’t it? Your neighbour is suspicious of you, he saw Belle arrive here in a fiacre. He’ll be contacting the gendarmes now as I didn’t come straight out. And what about your job at the Ritz? If this gets out they’ll fire you, but of course that hardly matters as you’ll be sent to prison.’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Pascal roared at him. Belle nodded her head at Etienne as the man shifted his feet, and as her hand came up to swipe away the knife from her throat, Etienne leapt towards them, catching Pascal by his shoulders and pushing him hard against the wall.

  Belle had slithered to the floor; Etienne couldn’t pause to check if the knife had wounded her, he had to concentrate on beating Pascal into submission. Holding him back against the wall with his left hand, he punched him in the belly with all his strength, winding him, and heard the knife fall from his hand to the floor.

  It was several years since Etienne had last beaten anyone. His reputation was such that most troublemakers or double-crossers backed down when he came after them. He had always prided himself on using only the minimum of force needed to suppress or control someone he’d been sent after. But he had stored up anger since he lost Elena and the boys, and as he looked down at Pascal holding his belly, he felt murderous at what he’d done to Belle.

  He caught hold of the man’s neck, bringing him up to his own height, and punched him in the face with his full force. He heard the man’s cry for mercy as blood erupted from his smashed nose, and that goaded him further, so he caught hold of his head and banged it back against the wall over and over again.

  ‘No more, Etienne,’ Belle yelled out. ‘You’ll kill him. Tie him up and let the gendarmes deal with him.’

  Hearing her voice brought him out of the dark place he’d slipped into and he let Pascal slide down the wall to the floor, unconscious.

  He turned to see Belle standing there, Pascal’s knife in her hand, tears running down her cheeks making white tracks through the blood and grime. Her hair was matted and she was still naked.

  ‘There’s rope under the mattress,’ she sobbed. ‘Just tie him up and let’s get out of here.’

  Etienne picked up the blanket from the bed and wrapped it round her.

  Suddenly they both heard the sound of breaking glass downstairs. Etienne guessed it was Noah and Philippe, but Belle quaked visibly. ‘Don’t be scared, that’s reinforcements,’ he said, holding her to him tightly. ‘It’s all over now. We’re going to take you somewhere safe.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Etienne couldn’t bear the sound of Belle whimpering any longer. Twenty-four hours had passed since he had rescued her from Pascal, and Philippe had arranged for her to be brought to this private nursing home. A doctor had attended her as soon as she got here, and he’d dressed the wound on her belly, which mercifully wasn’t deep enough to need stitching. He said he thought she would recover completely with rest and good food. Etienne had taken it upon himself to keep a vigil outside her door as he felt the doctor was being too complacent about what she’d been through.

  He opened the door and went in. It was a small, all-white room with an iron bed and a wooden crucifix above it. One of the nurses had lit a night-light when it grew dark, and Belle’s hair stood out in stark relief against the white bed linen.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’ he asked gently. ‘Would it help if I sat beside you in here? Or would you like to talk?’

  ‘I’m afraid to fall asleep,’ she whispered. ‘I think I’m scared I’ll wake up later and find I’d dreamt you rescued me. I don’t even understand how you found me.’

  After what she’d been through Etienne found it unsurprising that she’d hardly said a word after her rescue. He thought it was quite possible she’d never be able to tell anyone exactly what Pascal had done to her, though the bleeding, bruises and her terror told much of the story. But he thought it was a good sign that she had questions to ask.

  ‘Noah and I have been like your English Sherlock Holmes,’ he said lightly, perching on the edge of the bed. ‘We snooped, bullied and pushed our way into finding you. What was that phrase Holmes used to say to his companion? “Elementary, my dear Watson.” ’

  He was rewarded with a faint ghost of a smile.

  ‘Who is Noah? He spoke as if he knew me well but I’m sure I’ve never met him before,’ she said, frowning as if she’d been puzzled for some time.

  ‘He was a friend of Millie’s, the girl who was killed at your mother’s,’ Etienne said. ‘Mog, the lady you told me about, went to him to ask for his help in finding you when you disappeared. You see, he’s a journalist. He’s been backwards and forwards to France several times trying to find you. On one of those trip
s he met Lisette, who nursed you before I took you to New Orleans, and she told him you’d been taken to America. But it is really Madame Herrison you have to thank for your rescue. When you didn’t come home on the night of the eleventh she was afraid for you. Lisette is an old friend of hers and she went to her for advice. She was amazed to find Lisette knew you and furthermore had Noah’s address in England, so she sent him a telegram, and she got word to me in Marseille.’

  ‘Gabrielle did all that?’ Belle whispered.

  ‘She’s been hurt by men herself and she is fond of you,’ he said. ‘But I can explain all of it more clearly when you feel better. The gendarmes have Pascal now, and Philippe Le Brun is arranging papers for you so that you can go home to England.’

  ‘But wasn’t Philippe in with Pascal? It was his house I was kept in.’

  Etienne smoothed her hair back from her face tenderly. ‘No, it was Pascal’s house, Philippe knew nothing of it until Noah and I went to see him. He is a good man, and he’s another person who likes you very much. He and Noah have spent the day with the gendarmes explaining everything. As you must be aware, my credentials are not as good as theirs, so I opted for staying here with you.’

  ‘So Noah knows my mother and Mog?’

  Etienne felt a surge of emotion at the hope in her eyes.

  ‘Very well, from what he said your Mog has almost adopted him as family. She has never given up hope of you being found.’

  ‘And my mother, Annie?’

  Etienne had hoped Belle would wait to ask Noah about her mother. From what he gathered, she hadn’t taken any part in trying to find her daughter. ‘You’ll have to ask Noah about her,’ he said carefully. ‘We only met a few days ago and we’ve been too preoccupied with finding you to talk about anything much else.’