“I’m extremely sorry,” Devin said, rubbing his forehead with his left hand. “What can I do to help?”
“Both men were shot. That eliminates almost all of the men in the village as suspects, since they are not allowed by law to own a gun.” Picoté gestured at the note in Devin’s hand. “That note is the only lead we have. I understand Foulard was wearing your coat, monsieur. Perhaps, someone mistook him for you and your companion, Monsieur Forneaux, in the dark?”
“That seems possible, under the circumstances,” Devin replied.
“Monsieur Roché did not give that coat to Robert,” Chastel pointed out. “It was to be discarded because it was badly damaged after Monsieur Roché was attacked by wolves. My seamstress gave it to Robert, instead.”
Picoté jotted down a few words. “You didn’t know Foulard personally, monsieur?” he asked Devin.
“To my knowledge, I have never met him,” Devin said.
“To your knowledge?” Picoté asked.
Devin restrained his irritation. “I may have seen him during my stay at Monsieur Chastel’s château. I was not introduced to him; there wouldn’t have been any reason for me to be.”
Picoté’s face hardened. He leaned forward, his hands braced on the table. “I see, Robert was just a simple servant and unworthy of your notice. And yet, he took a bullet in the head for you, Monsieur Roché. I would think you might be grateful for that, at the very least.”
Devin shot to his feet. “I find your attitude insulting, Picoté! I am as shocked as you are that Foulard was killed. If I could bring him back to life, even at the cost of my own life, I would do it. But I am at a loss as to how to remedy the situation, now. I do feel responsible for his death and I will have to live with that guilt for a very long time. If there is nothing more, I believe we are finished here. Please see yourself out!”
Picoté stood up slowly. “This is not your house, Monsieur Roché, nor even your province. You have no authority over me.”
Suddenly, Armand stepped forward, his hands resting lightly on Devin’s shoulders in a proprietary manner.
“Say good afternoon, Picoté,” he said calmly. “Monsieur Roché will cooperate fully with your investigation, as will we all. There’s nothing further that you need to know today.”
Picoté took a deep breath and retrieved his hat from the table. “Why don’t you make plans to go home and leave us in peace, before we are forced to bury more of our young men in your stead, Monsieur Roché?” He roughly extracted the note from Devin’s hand, and picked up his notebook and pen. “This investigation isn’t finished. Inform me, monsieur, before you intend to leave Lac Dupré.”
He gave a slight bow to Jeanette and stomped down the hall. A moment later, the front door closed with a bang.
CHAPTER 31
Aftershocks
Armand’s hands flexed once on Devin’s shoulders and then withdrew.
“Robert Foulard was Jacques Picoté’s nephew; his sister’s only son. He is understandably upset.”
“I didn’t know,” Devin murmured. “That makes the situation worse. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Armand replied. “The circumstances are unfortunate. Robert was a good man. He was well liked. Picoté’s looking for someone to blame.”
“I wish I’d had Marcus burn the damn coat,” Devin growled.
Armand shook his head. “If you think these things lie in our hands, you are mistaken, Monsieur Roché. It was apparently Robert’s time to leave us. What we want or wish for has little to do with it.”
“I don’t believe that,” Devin muttered.
Armand smiled. “You are very young. Perhaps, a few more years will convince you otherwise.”
“I need to be going, too,” Chastel said. He spared a glance for Gaspard. “I’ll be in touch. Perhaps, we can arrange a visit later in the month.”
Devin cleared his throat. “Please Gaspard, don’t cancel your stay on my account.”
Chastel shook his head. “Now isn’t the time, Monsieur Roché. I think you need your friend here. We’ll schedule something again.”
He bowed to Jeanette and Armand. “Thank you for allowing me into your home. I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t have been more pleasant.”
“You’ll let us know if they discover anything else?” Devin asked.
“Of course,” Chastel replied.
“Please tell me when the funerals will be held. I’d like to attend,” Devin added.
“I would advise against it,” Armand interjected. “Local feelings tend to be volatile. You’re better off staying out of sight the next few days. If the murderer is caught, blame will shift to him. Right now, many people may feel as Picoté does, and hold you responsible.”
“He’s right, you know,” Chastel agreed. “Spend your time learning Ombria’s Chronicle. Hopefully, this will be resolved before you need to move on.”
He smiled at Jeanette before turning to go.
“I’ll see myself out.”
Armand captured Devin’s shoulders again lightly. “Sit down and eat. Life goes on. We must enjoy the days allotted to each of us or we dishonor God’s plan.”
Devin folded beneath the pressure of Armand’s hands, sinking back onto the bench beside Gaspard. Jeanette had placed platters of cold sliced meat, and pungent aged cheese, bread and butter, and last fall’s wrinkled apples on the table. Overall, the scent of wine predominated in the kitchen, along with the pervasive fragrance of sweet wood smoke. This kitchen offered warmth and comfort, and yet it was likely that, in a similar kitchen in this same village, a mother wept for her only son.
“George Matisse,” Devin said, breaking the uneasy silence around him. “Who was he?”
Armand sat down heavily at the head of the table. “George was married just a little over a year ago. His wife is expecting a baby in the next few weeks.”
He bowed his head and said grace.
Devin swallowed, hardly registering the words Armand offered in prayer. What had he expected to hear? What had he hoped for? That the man had been a drunkard or a thief? That the village would be a better place without him? He thought of all those tombstones in the cemetery. He had mourned their dead as an outsider, saddened by the frequency and inevitability of death in their small village. Now, he’d added two more graves to their total. It would have been better had he not come here.
Gaspard passed the platter of meat. “Last night, when you went upstairs, Dev, you left your father’s letters here on the table. I put them on the chest in your room.”
Devin hadn’t opened them. The news of Henri LeBeau’s death had driven everything else from his mind.
“Thank you,” he said. He passed the meat on to Marcus without taking any. “You had a letter from your father, too. How are things in Coreé?”
Gaspard’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I have no idea. The letter was quite personal. He spoke entirely about how his eldest son had dishonored him by his failure at exams and subsequent expulsion from the Académie. He intends to name my younger brother as his heir.”
“Gaspard…” Devin floundered, uncertain whether his friend was joking or serious. Then, for just an instant, he witnessed a chink in Gaspard’s armor, as his eyes darkened with hurt.
Gaspard blinked hard and turned away. “He was quite serious, Dev. He’s given me until the end of the summer to come home, or face the consequences.”
“Then you must do it,” Devin told him, painfully aware of their audience. “Go back, before it’s too late, Gaspard. It’s not worth risking your future. I should never have brought you with me. All of this is my fault.”
Gaspard shook his head. “You think I would have stayed there if you’d left without me? What kind of life would that be – gratifying my father’s every whim – to make up for my woeful lack of academic achievement? I’m glad that you have given me this chance to get away. Who knows, I may find a place that is just right for me, and stay in one of the provinces. My life in Coreé is
finished.”
“You have to consider the rest of your family,” Devin protested, taking a sip of his wine.
Gaspard turned to face him. “Why? My mother only cares for parties and fashion. If I stayed away from Coreé for twenty years, I doubt she’d notice I was missing. My brother, Louis, will be only too happy to take over the reins as Father’s heir! If he and I were standing on Girard’s Tower at the Académie tomorrow, he’d gladly push me off to assure his inheritance!”
Devin laughed uneasily. “You exaggerate. Louis has always idolized you!”
“That’s a thing of the past,” Gaspard said. “He has heard too often from Father that I am a dismal failure, and he’s clever enough to take advantage of it. You have no idea what it means to be the eldest son; the responsibilities and expectations that are heaped upon you. Everyone isn’t blessed with a family like yours, Dev. Your father and your brothers cater to you; let you dabble in whatever new thing catches your interest. They trot you out on state occasions: the brilliant young protégé who captivates everyone with his intellect and charm. Then they shoo you off to go play with your expensive toys while they go about the serious business of running the empire.”
Devin relinquished his mug with a thump that splashed wine on the table.
“That’s not true!” he protested. “Have a care what you’re saying, Gaspard.”
Gaspard scowled. “You have no idea how often I have wished I could change places with you! You have everything, Dev, and you don’t even know it!” He rose from the table, throwing his napkin on the bench. “Excuse me, please. Lunch was excellent, Jeanette.”
Marcus loomed up behind him, one hand snagging his right arm. “Don’t forget, you may be in danger here too, Gaspard. It was not only Robert Foulard who was killed but his companion, as well. Don’t leave the house without an escort.”
“Then I’ll be in my room,” Gaspard replied. “It’s been a bad day all around. I’d prefer not to end it by having my head blown off!”
Devin watched him go, with a knot in his stomach. He turned to Armand and Jeanette.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your meal with personal matters.”
“I think you apologize overmuch,” Armand replied. “It is Gaspard who owes you an apology. We were only the unwilling audience.”
Devin flushed. “The dinner table is never the place for such intimate conversation.”
Armand laughed. “Then manners are very different in Coreé. Here in Ombria the most private details of our lives are dissected around the kitchen table. Don’t assume your friend’s burden, Monsieur Roché. If Gaspard has a problem with his family, it is not your doing. Jealousy serves no purpose except to inspire bitterness.”
Devin shook his head. “And yet, I feel as though I have brought nothing but turmoil to your household. This venture seems ill-conceived.”
“And yet, you have embarked upon it, and there is nothing to be done but to see it through,” Armand replied lightly. He glanced at Marcus, and forked a large slice of pork. Leaning forward, he deposited it on Devin’s plate, along with two pieces of bread.
“Eat, Monsieur Roché,” he advised. “If you’re interested, I’m planning to spend some time in the hall this afternoon, brushing up on some historical ballads. If you can sing at least one perfectly by tomorrow, I’ll schedule you to perform it this Friday night.”
“Thank you,” Devin replied. He was surprised and grateful for the diversion. Perhaps the familiarity of studying would take his mind off the troubles that were currently hounding him. And if he was lucky, maybe later on, Gaspard would have regained his good humor.
Devin gathered the platters from the table when they had finished, as a means of having a word alone with Jeanette. She dried her hands on her apron and turned to face him, her eyes still red from crying.
“Can I help you, Monsieur Roché?”
“I’m so sorry about your friend,” he began.
“Robert,” she added gently. “He was a very good friend.”
“I know,” he assured her, fumbling for the right words. “I’m not sure what else to say. I can’t believe that this happened.”
“It was not your fault,” Jeanette replied.
He sighed. “I feel that it was. I wish I could undo it and make things right.”
“No one can reverse time, Monsieur Roché, not even your scientists at the Académie in Coreé can do that.”
“If I could,” he said, “I would. Perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed in Coreé.”
She touched his hand, her dark eyes still brimming with unshed tears. “I am glad you did not stay in Coreé because then I would never have met you.”
“Monsieur Roché?” Armand bellowed from the doorway into the hall. “I’m waiting.”
CHAPTER 32
The Storyteller’s Sack
The weather turned cold and miserable, as though it joined the village in mourning the two young lives so recently lost. With wind and rain beating constantly against the windows, Devin didn’t object to remaining indoors. The days fell into an easy pattern, as Armand constantly presented new material and Devin memorized it, parroting it back flawlessly. With the successful memorization of each additional story, Devin’s confidence grew. For the first time in the last few weeks, he felt confident that he could actually master Ombria’s Chronicle in the time he had allotted to it.
On the day of the funerals, both Jeanette and Armand left after breakfast to attend the services. Gaspard and Adrian started a card game in the kitchen. Marcus carted the laundry downstairs, after warning Devin not to go out without telling him. Free to pursue his own interests, Devin closeted himself with a paper and pen and began a long overdue letter.
Dear Father,
Thank you for your letters. I apologize for being such a poor correspondent. I fear my trip has not gone according to plan. We stayed nearly a week at the château of Jean Chastel after having been attacked by wolves in the Forêt d’Halatte . I was the only one who was injured but the wound is nearly healed. I would consider it a personal favor if you wouldn’t tell Mother. I don’t want to do anything to increase her worry. Please do not be concerned, the wound is slight and easily mended.
We are now staying at the Bardic Hall in Lac Dupré. I expect to be here at least three more weeks. We are housebound at the moment. Two local men were shot to death last week on the road into the village. One of them was wearing a jacket which I had discarded after the wolf attack. The current theory is that the assassin mistook the two of them for Gaspard and me in the dark.
I have taken to heart your recommendation that I go nowhere without Marcus. But I am concerned about the threats you have received personally, which you mentioned in your letter. Perhaps, Marcus belongs with you. I feel guilty having taken your most loyal defender with me. Please be careful and take no chances, just as you have counseled me.
You asked for my observations on each province. Ombria is more wild and rugged than I had ever imagined. Transportation is difficult – some roads are little more than paths. In the interior of the province, wolves are a constant threat. Sanitation and health care are minimal. Even a village of importance, like Lac Dupré, does not have a physician. It was fortunate that Chastel came upon us in the forest when he did, slaughtering the wolf pack that was intent on killing us, as well as later providing his personal physician to tend my wound. The infant mortality rate here is extremely high, as is the death rate for young women undergoing childbirth. I find the system for providing schooling to local residents discriminatory and biased. There are so many areas which require reform. It would be difficult to suggest to you a good place to begin.
Ombria’s Master Bard is Armand Vielle. He is an unpredictable man – reasonable one minute – and irrational the next but I like him. On good days, he is like a favorite professor – on bad days – he becomes a tyrant. At first, I feared he would not take me on as his student but I think I have proven my worth to him. I expect to perform for the first
time in public this Friday night. I had no idea of the precision required in learning the Chronicles. It is an exacting assignment and one I do not take lightly. I realize now that I have undertaken an impossible task. I may have to settle for learning the Chronicles in only one or two provinces instead of all fifteen. Please don’t tell Jacques. He makes enough jokes at my expense as it is!
I was puzzled to hear in your last letter that René Forneaux has begun to support our trip publicly. Gaspard received a letter from him this week claiming that if he didn’t return by summer’s end, he would confer his inheritance on Louis, instead. Gaspard is understandably upset but not moved to bow to his father’s wishes. At present, he vows he will never return to Coreé and I doubt that even I can change his mind.
In answer to your last question, I am not in need of money. I have spent very little so far and am more than adequately supplied for the next few months, at least. Bards are amply provided for by each province and so are their students. I want for nothing.
Give Mother my love. Tell her I am well and happy and extend my best regards to my brothers. I will write again when I have time.
Affectionately,
Devin
He laid the pen aside and dusted the ink lightly to keep it from smearing. There was a satisfaction in having finished this tally of the current crises. He hoped he had presented them in such a way that his father wouldn’t be overly alarmed. He remembered briefly the romantic image he had cherished of this trip, envisioning himself ensconced at the foot of a Master Bard before a roaring fire with a cup of mulled wine at his elbow. There had been times in the last two days peculiarly like his daydreams; moments when he could forget, that two men had died here for him and that, somewhere close by, an assassin might still be planning his murder.
Adrian knocked on his open door. “Do you have a few minutes, Devin? If you could come downstairs, I’d like to show you something.”
Among Wolves Page 19
