“And I suppose you think you could provide it?”
“I might.”
“How did you get over the wall?” I asked.
He laughed. “I could scale that asleep and in chains. If you had any concern for my emotional well-being you’d at least make an effort at challenging me.”
“Sebastian—” I began; he interrupted at once.
“How good it is to hear my name on your lips.” He leaned close, as if he would kiss me, then pulled back. “If only I’d met you before that wretched Hargreaves got you in his clutches.”
“You’re not even a decent parody,” I said. “But in all seriousness, I need your help. Did you see anyone else on the road?”
“At this time of night in the middle of the countryside? What would a person be doing? Pursuing some sort of nocturnal beast?”
I ignored his ridiculous question. “Did you hear anything?”
“Just you trying to sneak about,” he said. “You really ought to work on your technique, Kallista. You’re not completely without hope, but someone needs to guide you. There’s much I could teach you, you know.”
“Much though I appreciate what I’m sure is a remarkably generous offer, I’m afraid I must decline. There are others, however, who could benefit from your expertise.”
His eyes widened and his mouth slipped into a crooked grin. “Who would that be?”
“Your queen and country,” I said.
He sighed. “Don’t bore me with such drivel.”
“Wouldn’t you like to work on the right side of the law for a change?”
“I know, my dear Kallista, that you must be sporting with me. And if you’re not, pray don’t tell me. It would shatter all my dreams. The subsequent suffering would be unbearable and could only lead to certain and painful death.”
“You’re impossible,” I said.
“You noticed,” he said, swooping into a low bow and kissing my hand. “I’d begun to think you’d lost sight of all my fine qualities.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any.”
“You always were a tease.”
“Let go of my hand and be serious, Sebastian. Did you hear anything? A child crying?”
“A child? It’s after midnight. Don’t be daft.”
“I heard her from my window—it’s why I came outside.” I looked back at the ribbon, about to draw his attention to it.
“You must have been dreaming, Emily,” he said. It was the first time I could remember him calling me by my proper name. “And hardly surprising after what you’ve been through. You’re following the ghost of what you lost.”
“How did you—”
He kissed my cheek and gripped the stone of the wall, neatly scaling it in a few deft moves. “À bientôt, my darling girl. I’ll call again soon to make sure you don’t require my services more than young Edward.”
“Sebastian, wait!” I cried, running after him. He stopped. “What if I need you? What if…”
“What if what?” he asked, his voice suddenly tender.
“How can I contact you? What if I have nowhere else to turn?” I felt suddenly very alone.
His eyes softened, his lips parted. He slid back down to me and pulled the cravat from around his neck. “Hang this from your bedroom window and I will come to you at midnight that night, here in this spot.”
“And if I’m not in this house?”
“I shall come and find you, somehow. You may depend upon it. Always.”
With that he disappeared from sight. I heard the thud of his feet on the other side of the wall, but no footsteps followed. I peered through the gate to see where he must have landed, but he’d already vanished, disappearing into the shadowy night. Sebastian, however, wasn’t all that had gone missing: the blue ribbon was nowhere in sight.
14 July 1892
Fête Nationale
I thought it might be amusing to plan some sort of observance of today’s anniversary of the French Revolution. I thought, in fact, my ever-disappointing daughter-in-law might be persuaded to participate in planning the festivities—that it might help improve her state of mind.
I was unable to discuss the matter with her last night, however, as she kept to her bed all evening due to some sort of poorly explained ailment—the sort of thing that lies somewhere between general malaise and a desire to avoid one’s social duties. I can’t say I disapprove entirely of the latter. Colin was in something of a state—worried about her health, I suppose—but after what I witnessed this evening, my entire view of the girl needs to be reconsidered.
She skulked into the garden well past midnight, and I saw her talking to that inexplicably interesting thief, Mr. Capet. He came upon her from behind and grabbed her with a frightening force. She fought him off like a professional and had vanquished him before I could make it to the door to offer my assistance. I’d no idea she was so tenacious. Her normal movements are full of a delicate and easy sort of grace—not the affected elegance of so many society girls. I’m afraid I mistook it for weakness and a lack of sophistication, but I see it is nothing of the sort. She moves with a confident knowledge of herself, without feeling the need to walk or gesture in a certain way.
I wanted to cheer when she so thoroughly schooled that man.
But I do wonder what he wanted from her. They conversed for some time, and she didn’t appear threatened, so I left them to their business.
Who taught her to defend herself so well?
12
I lingered in bed late the next day, having slept well past noon, the natural result of staying awake and fitful until nearly sunrise. Still upset about having argued with Colin, my emotions were reeling. Half angry, half hurt, I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry, too, knowing that I’d not reacted entirely fairly to what he’d said. I considered apologizing to him, but then found myself furious at the realization he’d not apologized to me. I was berating myself for being unreasonable when there was a sharp knock on my bedroom door. Expecting Meg with a fresh pot of tea, I called for her to come in. Instead, Colin peeked into the room, his eyes heavy and sheepish.
“Is the invitation to enter still offered now you know it’s me?” he asked.
My eyes narrowed and I pressed my lips together. Much though I wanted to hold firm, the truth was I melted at the sight of him. “I can’t say I much like being cross with you,” I said. He opened the door the rest of the way.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room,” he said. “Is it comfortable?”
“Exceedingly,” I said, pulling the duvet up to my neck and snuggling against my pillows, feeling nervous as a schoolgirl. “I’m not sure I’ll ever come downstairs again.”
“I couldn’t leave you to languish without company. It would be ungentlemanly. I do hope you wouldn’t send me away in favor of other entertainment.”
His smile as he flirted delighted every inch of me. “How do you think you could keep me amused?” I asked.
“I’ve several viable theories,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and sliding close to me. “But we’d need to explore each thoroughly.”
Relief and giddiness, tempered by a feeling of regret, flowed through me as we fell into our usual banter. “Colin,” I said, my eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
He touched my face, his hand warm and gentle. “My dear girl. It is I who need beg forgiveness. I was a brute.”
“You were, rather. But I was as well.”
“You stormed out of the room with a remarkably elegant force.”
“Don’t be mean,” I said, lowering my eyes.
“There’s been too much pressure on us both,” he said, holding my hands. “Coming here was not my most brilliant idea.”
“We could go home.”
“Soon, I hope, but not quite yet. I spoke to Gaudet this morning—I’ve heard back from Scotland Yard, and all signs suggest Edith Prier may have died at the hands of the Ripper. They want me to assist in the investigation. To make sure it’s hand
led in the best possible fashion.” He pressed his hands together. “But you’re not happy here. My work needn’t prevent you from returning to London if you wish.”
“No,” I said. “I’d rather stay with you.”
“It might not be a bad plan. I just…” He stood and went to the window, beginning to pace, the way he always did when he worried.
“What?”
He leaned against the wall. “I’m worried, Emily, because Edith Prier looked so much like you.”
“But in Whitechapel—”
“Yes, that was different. He may have altered his method of selecting victims, but he’s not changed his manner of killing. And I cannot let you risk being hurt again.”
“I’d feel safer with you.”
“And I’d like nothing better than to protect you,” he said. “But how can I see to it properly when I’m working? I’ve been too lackadaisical about taking care of you, Emily. I’ll not make the same mistake again.”
I sat on the window seat, contemplative. “This isn’t like Constantinople.”
“It could prove worse.”
“I’m not involved in the investigation,” I said. “And am putting myself in no danger.”
“Have you considered he could come looking for you?”
“Is there a reason to think he might?”
He shook his head. “Instinct, maybe. I know I sound unreasonable, but all I want to do is pack you off to London.”
“Surely this house is safe.”
“We know how easy it is for an interested party to break in,” he said.
“Sebastian was here again last night,” I said.
“I know.” He pulled a calling card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me.
“‘Sebastian Capet, A Thief of Refined Taste,’” I read.
“He’s been leaving them for the people he burgles,” Colin said.
I laughed. “He is amusing. You must grant him that.”
“Amusing and on the verge of going to jail. He broke into Gaudet’s house two nights ago.”
“I shouldn’t have thought the inspector in possession of anything Sebastian would want to steal.”
“He wasn’t,” Colin said. “Read the note on the other side. He left it on a table near Gaudet’s front door.”
“‘I shall return when you have something worth taking.’” I flipped the card back over. “You can’t say you don’t admire that just a little.”
Colin’s smile eased the tense creases around his eyes. “A bit, perhaps.”
“So when did you see him?” I asked.
“We met after dinner last night.”
“To discuss business?”
“Yes. And I admit freely to having made exactly no progress with the man. I’m beginning to think I’ll never win one of our bets.”
“I saw him last night as well,” I said. “After midnight. I’d gone into the garden.”
“The garden?” he asked, surprise coloring his face. “So late? Had you arranged to meet him and neglected to tell me? Or was it meant to be a secret? He didn’t mention it when I spoke to him.”
“No, nothing like that,” I said. “His presence was entirely unexpected.”
“I don’t much like the idea of you wandering about alone in the middle of the night. It’s not safe, Emily. Sebastian isn’t the only one who could so easily scale the wall and stumble upon you.”
“I had no reason to think I was in any danger. Nothing’s happened to suggest our garden is unsafe. And you know how Sebastian likes to follow me. It was completely innocuous.”
“This time, maybe. But how do we know someone else isn’t looking for you as well?” He started to pace. “Did you speak to Capet about working for the Crown?”
“Not initially,” I said. “But the subject did come up. He wasn’t interested, but I’m certain I can work on him.”
“Why had you gone into the garden so late?”
“I was looking for ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, and described for him what had happened after I left the house, omitting the particulars of Sebastian’s inhumane manner of sneaking up on me.
“You might have dreamed the ribbon,” he said.
“It was real.”
“You thought the girl in the dovecote was real, but no one was there.”
“Not by the time I went inside, but that doesn’t mean there hadn’t been someone there.”
“You’re not suggesting—” He stopped. “Emily, there are no children at the Markhams’ château.”
“None they admit to.”
“None full stop.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me onto his lap. “You’ve suffered a spectacular trauma. It’s no surprise your mind would play tricks on you.”
“The ribbon was in the road. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
“You were half asleep and dreaming,” he said. “And if I recall correctly, there’s a painting in the Markhams’ house—a little girl in a white dress, a blue ribbon tied in her hair. Degas, I think. You must have seen it and filed it away in your mind. Now the image has returned to you, combined with Monsieur Leblanc’s silly ghost story, and is causing you to imagine things.”
I didn’t agree with him for a second. What I’d seen was eerie and sad, not like an odd version of a painting I had no memory of seeing. As for the ghost story, I was more inclined to think I’d been inspired by Madeline’s accident than Monsieur Leblanc’s fiction. Feeling ill at ease, I decided to change the subject. “So you made no ground with Sebastian?” I asked. “None at all?”
“None.”
“Where precisely is the house of Moët?” I kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve a suspicion you’ll be needing to make a trip there soon.”
13
We passed the remainder of the day in a most pleasant fashion, making up for the time we’d lost the night before. There are few institutions with as much to recommend them as a good marriage, and the time alone with Colin made me long for the day we could return home to some real privacy, and I made the mistake of saying so out loud.
“You ought to go now, yourself,” Colin said, tightening my corset with a strong tug.
“I don’t want to be away from you.” I slipped into my tea gown, fashioned from rich blue pompadour silk with Watteau pleats. Outrageously wide sleeves shot out at the shoulders, tapering thin at the elbows, tight at the wrists, and buttoning around a cascade of Venetian lace that covered my hands to the knuckles.
“And you know I’ve no interest in spending even a day away from you, my dear.” He bent down, kissing the back of my neck. “But you’re not going to torment me, are you?”
“Never.” I turned to press my lips against his.
“Then you must agree to go home.” His hands circled my waist.
“It’s not fair of you to use your powers of persuasion this way,” I said.
“Would you rather I stormed about the room and demanded that you go? That I book you on the ten-eighteen train to Paris without telling you?”
“It worries me that you know the schedule.”
“I didn’t get the ticket,” he said. “Only investigated.”
“You’re very bad. Do you really believe this man is seeking out victims similar to me in appearance?”
“I don’t know precisely what he’s doing, but I’m convinced—and beginning to sound like you—we’re missing something significant about him.”
“He can’t be the Ripper,” I said.
“Why not?”
“None of it fits. The Ripper struck in a limited urban area and targeted prostitutes. Here we have one death in the middle of the countryside. Our murderer may be copying the method, but he’s not the same man.”
“I do love it when you recklessly speculate.”
“You’re only saying that to put me in an easy frame of mind so I’ll agree to return to England.”
“Am I that transparent?”
I sighed. “Is it so important to you?”
He took both of my hands in his. “It is. It may be ridiculous and irrational, but I need you to do it.”
How could I deny him? I would want him to acquiesce should I have a similar sort of request; I considered it part of loving someone. You owed your partner the right to be unreasonable sometimes, when it mattered to him. I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his palm. “Very well,” I said. “I shall do as you wish.”
He pulled back, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing.”
“It all comes from adoring you,” I said. “You leave me no other viable choice. But I must put you on notice: I have every intention of luring Sebastian to London with me. You’ll have no chance of winning our bet.”
“I’ll gladly relinquish what would have been certain victory to keep you safe.”
“Certain victory?” I blinked three times in rapid succession. “My dear boy, you are full of delusions.”
“Am I?” he asked. “Sounds like you’d better kiss them away.”
As I’d already started heeding his wishes, I saw no reason to stop now.
We agreed I would leave the following morning for Rouen, where I would stop for a few days to see Cécile, who was still with the Priers. I wanted to speak with her before departing for England, but wasn’t keen on spending much time with her eccentric friends. Better them, though, than my mother-in-law. I would not mourn the loss of her company, but now that I was safe in the knowledge I had very few remaining hours with her, I could let myself feel the slightest guilt at my inability to get along with her.
Colin and I had dawdled so long upstairs that he couldn’t join us for tea, instead heading out to meet Inspector Gaudet, while I went down on my own. Mrs. Hargreaves greeted me as she never had before, with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.
“I’m more sorry than I can say to lose you,” she said, all chattiness as she passed me a steaming cup of tea. “You take milk, do you not?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, hoping my face did not register the astonishment I felt. “I can’t thank you enough for sharing your house with us. It’s a beautiful setting in which to recover.” My words were not entirely disingenuous; the scenery did not disappoint. I loved the bocage, with its undulating hills and wide fields, apple orchards, and thick copses of trees. Few sights had delighted me like the seemingly endless expanses of flax, bright blue when in bloom, and the sky, heavy with moisture, loomed incomparable to any I’d seen elsewhere.
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