City of Darkness and Light

by Rhys Bowen

  Mary Cassatt shrugged. “Again that is the problem with being a woman. Bryce’s life revolved around the American Club where they don’t admit women. He was quite chummy with the American ambassador and went to diplomatic functions—he was the poster boy of American art, of course; unlike me, hardly recognized in my own country. So I really can’t tell you too much about his private life. All I can say is I was never invited to dinner with him.”

  “What about women?” Sid asked suddenly. “Don’t they say cherchez la femme?”

  “I haven’t heard of a mistress,” Mary said. “His wife is still back in America—amicably separated all these years, so one understands, but not divorced. But I was once at a gathering in which someone said, ‘If Bryce is coming, lock up your daughters.’”

  “So he had a bit of a roving eye,” I said.

  “What one might call a roué,” Mary said, “Which of course is quite acceptable in Paris. Their sexual mores are certainly not ours. Any man who doesn’t have a mistress is considered odd, even a pansy.”

  “His housekeeper will know about that,” I said. “If I can get her to talk. Is there anyone else who might be conversant with his personal life?”

  Mary Cassatt shook her head, then said, “Of course there was his good friend Monet, but he has now forsaken Paris for his home in Normandy. I understand that Bryce often used to spend his weekends out there. It really is a delightful spot, so I’m told. I’ve never been invited personally.”

  “I’ll write to Monsieur Monet and ask if I might visit him,” I said. “Old friends confide secrets to each other, don’t they?”

  “I also understand that they had fallen out recently over Reynold Bryce’s anti-Semitic rants. He was always prejudiced, of course, but recently he had become so extreme and outspoken against the attempts to reinstate Dreyfus. It’s as if these attempts to give him back his old rank in the army have lit a flame under anyone with anti-Semitic leanings. All that fraternity feel that Jews are gaining too much power in banking and commerce in Europe and must be stopped. Ridiculous really when you realize that most Jews in the city are poor immigrants who have arrived from Russia or Poland with nothing and only want a safe place to feed their families.”

  “If it was a Jewish rabble-rouser who had come to confront Bryce, he would certainly not have let him in,” Gus said. “He’d have had to climb in through a window and somebody might have seen that.”

  “I don’t think there would be much point in my asking questions among the Jewish communities here,” I said. “If there are certain places where Jewish immigrants gather regularly. You’d know that, Sid.”

  “I went to several synagogues but it would be no use, Molly. They’d never confide anything to an outsider. They didn’t even want to talk to me, a fellow Jew.” She got up from the sofa and walked across the room, pulling back the drape to peer out. “But I could have given it another try. I wish there was something I could do. I hate being cooped up here.”

  “I trust I am not making your stay too unpleasant,” Mary said dryly.

  We laughed. “You are being wonderful to us, Mary,” Gus said. “We can never thank you enough for taking us in and we only hope you are not compromising yourself by having us here.”

  “Speaking of which,” Mary said. “The first order of business would be to send for Mrs. Sullivan’s things and have her move in with us.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t impose on you, Miss Cassatt. I have a young child for one thing.”

  “Sid and Gus already told me about your baby,” she said. “And it seems to me that you have two ready-made child minders who are dying to amuse him, since they are not able to leave the premises. As for me, my family has gone home to America for a while, leaving me alone here, so I gladly welcome your company.”

  “But is that the wisest thing for me to do?” I said while at the same time thinking there was nothing I’d like better than to be safely here with Miss Cassatt and my dear friends. “What do I tell Madame Hetreau? If I say I’ve given up the search and am going home, she’ll feel free to help herself to your things and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that. And if I tell her I’ve located you and am going to join you, she can pass that information on to the police.”

  “That is a bit of a tricky problem.” Sid returned to perch on the arm of the sofa, beside Gus. “Molly is right. What can we tell her and not put ourselves in jeopardy?”

  I thought for a moment then said, “I did suggest to her that you might have been taken ill with food poisoning as I’d been told that bad oysters had brought several people to the hospital. If I told her that this was indeed true, that you had gone out of town to visit friends and had been caught in an epidemic there—typhoid maybe—placed under quarantine, and not allowed to travel … that might satisfy her and also give you a good alibi.”

  “You see, the girl is brilliant.” Sid clapped her hands.

  “I can say that I’m now permitted to join you and am taking you your possessions,” I said.

  They nodded, looking at each other with satisfaction.

  “And the witch Hetreau will be delighted she can relet our rooms,” Sid chuckled.

  “But that would be an awful task for you, Molly, packing up all our things,” Gus, ever the thoughtful one, said.

  “How many of the items in the apartment are yours, apart from the clothes and Gus’s paintings?” I asked. “Does the furniture belong to you?”

  “The place was furnished in a basic sort of way,” Gus said. “We did buy a few items, but given the circumstances, we’d be happy to donate them to Madame Hetreau, as Miss Cassatt certainly wouldn’t want them.”

  “I’m not sure how I would manage to bring everything down the stairs by myself,” I said. “Madame’s husband might help if I paid him enough, but then would it all fit in a cab?”

  “There is a carter I’ve hired on occasion when we’ve moved to the country for the summer,” Mary said. “A solid, reliable sort. I could send him to help you with the packing and to carry down the trunks.”

  She stood up and clapped her hands. “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll send a message to him right away. And now if word gets out that I’ve got company, it is a delightful woman from New York and her baby that I’m entertaining. Nobody that might arouse any suspicion.” And she gave us a triumphant smile then strode from the room, leaving Sid and Gus looking at each other hopefully.

  Twenty-five

  The carter agreed to send over a wagon to Montmartre that evening. I refused Mary Cassatt’s offer to join them for luncheon, not wanting to leave Liam a moment longer and realizing the amount of work that lay ahead of me. The morning’s storm had passed, leaving a blue sky and steaming sidewalks. I went straight back to the Rue des Martyrs. When I told Madeleine that I would not be needing her services anymore she looked genuinely so crestfallen that I paid her double the amount we had agreed upon and promised to bring Liam to visit as often as possible. On my way out the baker shook my hand and thanked me for bringing his wife out of the depression that had engulfed her after the baby was born. Then I felt even worse about leaving her and realized I really would have to make an effort to visit, if and when I could solve Reynold Bryce’s murder.

  Madame Hetreau was nowhere to be seen as I let myself into the front hall. I was tempted to tiptoe upstairs and get on with the job, but knowing the sort of person madame was, I realized she might accuse me of trying to smuggle out objects belonging to her when she caught me leaving. So I tapped on her door and she opened it, her hands white with flour.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said.

  “I’ve come to say good-bye, madame,” I said.

  “You’ve given up looking for your friends, have you? And you are returning to America?” She looked pleased.

  “On the contrary,” I said. “After much searching I have managed to locate my friends. It is as I suspected. They went to visit acquaintances in a small village in Normandy not knowing that typhoid had broken out there and were immediate
ly placed under quarantine…”

  “Mon dieu—I hope they will not think of returning here, bringing a dreadful disease with them,” she said.

  “They will not. They have decided to stay in the village, and now that the quarantine has been lifted, they want me to join them. A man will be coming for their belongings. They have asked me to pack their trunks for them.”

  “So they will not be returning to this house?”

  “No, madame. Feel free to let the rooms again,” I said.

  “They will just be taking their personal effects, no?” she asked. “I know that they purchased some items of furniture, but they will not need this out in the country…” She spread her arms expressively.

  “They only want their personal effects,” I said. “Anything else they donate to you.”

  “Ah,” she said, really looking pleased now. “Please give the ladies my best compliments when you see them and tell them I hope they will have fond memories of their stay in Paris.”

  “I will do that,” I said.

  “If you need help with the heavy trunks, my husband will be home later,” she said.

  “Thank you, but I understand the carter will be bringing a boy to help him.”

  As I started up the stairs she called after me, “So how did they finally contact you? They sent no letter here.”

  “They were not allowed to send a letter, owing to the quarantine and the possibility of contamination on the envelope,” I said. “Those postcards led me to an acquaintance who knew where they had gone.”

  “Ah,” she repeated and I couldn’t tell whether she believed this story or not. It didn’t really matter. I hadn’t identified the village or given her any name she could pursue. I carried Liam up the stairs, set him down with his toys, and started work. The weather had improved and the sun shining though those French windows had made the apartment warm and muggy. I opened the windows and stood on the balcony for a moment, taking in the scene one last time. As I dragged trunks from a closet, I could see that my task was going to be a daunting one. Packing up my own clothes only took minutes. Dismantling Liam’s crib was not hard. But Sid and Gus had a multitude of clothes, books, Gus’s paintings and art supplies, as well as paintings they had bought from other artists and other souvenirs they had acquired. There were some good pieces of Limoges china plus a delightful small sculpture of a ballerina, several mirrors, a camera, and a coffee set, all of which required careful wrapping and packing. I found tissue paper in one of the drawers and set to work.

  I was interested to see that the paintings they had bought were all rather more modern than my taste—blue faces, flying cats. There was one of a young girl with enormous dark eyes, peering into a dark empty room that I thought was well-done, but strangely disturbing and was glad it wouldn’t hang on my wall. I stacked them one by one, then finally packed the painting Gus had been working on. Luckily the paint had now dried. It really wasn’t great art, I thought as it went into a crate. I could see why Reynold Bryce hadn’t wanted to include her work and it had nothing to do with her companion being Jewish. I picked up the postcard that Reynold Bryce had written two days before he died. “Absolutely not,” it said. The definitive answer when Gus had begged him to reconsider his rejection of her work. I dropped the postcard on top of the paintings and shut the crate.

  I was hot and perspiring and ready for a cup of tea when the carter came at five. I held Liam safely out of the way as trunks and cases were carried downstairs. Madame Hetreau appeared to have a good snoop and made sure that I hadn’t packed anything belonging to her. I noticed her nod of satisfaction when she saw that an armchair and a lot of cooking equipment were being left behind.

  “You will give the ladies my regards,” she reiterated as the carter helped me up to the seat on the wagon. I said I would and thanked her for letting us stay, which was ridiculous, but at least it meant we parted on good terms. “Bonne chance, good luck,” she called after me.

  I saw Madeleine waving from her upstairs window, her baby in her arms. The Nouvelle Athènes was crowded with people as we passed. I wondered if my artist friends were still there and when they ever did any work. I wondered if the morose Monsieur Degas was sitting alone, sipping his absinthe. I realized I’d be sad to leave this lively neighborhood and go to a more sedate part of town. Perhaps there would be a time when Sid’s name had been cleared that we could move back here again. I toyed with those words. So easy to say and yet I had no idea how I would ever manage to save her. If it was indeed a young Jew who had killed Bryce, then the police might be able to find the culprit through interrogation and intimidation at the local synagogues. If it was someone else, then I didn’t see how I could possibly find out who that might be. It seemed I had no way of infiltrating Bryce’s inner circle, since I was not admitted to the American Club and could hardly call upon the ambassador. Tomorrow I’d try to talk to the housekeeper and see if she’d let me take a look at Mr. Bryce’s rooms, but I didn’t even know if the housekeeper would still be in residence or if the police would still be stationed outside. I let out a big sigh. I had been through days of sickness and worry. I was tired. I wanted a rest, not a mammoth task.

  Paris was at its liveliest as we moved away from Montmartre. Streets were full of evening commerce. A church bell was tolling for a six o’clock service while people stopped for a glass of wine at the outdoor cafés. I heard snatches of song from inside bars and cabarets. It seemed that everyone was having a good time, glad to be alive on a warm June evening. We passed the Saint-Lazare station where I had first arrived, so full of excitement and hope, then crossed the wide Boulevard Haussmann with its fine stores and elegant women. I looked longingly at those enticing shop windows. What fun it would be to have the money and leisure to go shopping here, like two young American women we passed, their arms full of packages.

  “We can’t go back to the hotel before we visit Worth,” they called to two older women ahead of them.

  Then we crossed the Champs-Élyseés with its fine carriages and dangerously fast automobiles and came at last to the Rue de Marignan. Celeste opened the door to me with such a strange, disapproving look on her face that I wondered whether she had been against her mistress inviting me to stay. “Ah, you have returned with all your belongings,” she said loudly. “You do not travel lightly, madame.”

  “But these are not…” I had been about to say “not all mine” when she cut me off. “Not too much baggage for a lady from America. I understand.” Then she held up a hand for me to be quiet. “Madame is in the drawing room with a guest,” she said. “An inspector from the Sûreté.”

  “Ah.” I understood now. “Should we go straight up to our rooms then? We have no wish to disturb.”

  But at that moment Mary called out, “Molly, have you returned? Come and let me say hello to little Liam. I’ve been dying to see him again.”

  I went through into the salon and saw that Inspector Henri was now seated on the brocade sofa. He stood as I came in and then his expression changed as he recognized me. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the woman who showed up at Bryce’s house the other day. You said you were a relative of his with a message. And now this lady tells me you are a relative of hers. Are you related to the entire American art fraternity here in Paris?”

  “Good evening, Inspector,” I said, nodding gravely as Liam, sensing my tension, clung to my neck. “I did not say I was related to Monsieur Bryce, if you remember. I said I brought a message from his relatives. And it is quite usual in any country that well-known artists have connections with each other.”

  Mary came and put a hand on my shoulder. “I did not realize you had met our dear Molly, Inspector,” she said. “Please, do sit, both of you. I’ll have Celeste bring us all a glass of wine. And dear little Liam. How he has grown.”

  She went to ring for Celeste, while I adjusted my thoughts to realize that I was to be either related or a dear friend of Mary Cassatt.

  “Was Miss Cassatt the friend you were loo
king for when you asked me those questions?” Inspector Henri asked as I sat with a squirming Liam on my lap.

  “No, those two ladies were unfortunately taken ill, away from Paris,” I said. “Typhoid, so I understand.”

  “So of course Molly came to me and I insisted that she come to stay immediately,” Mary added, coming back to join us.

  I had no idea what the inspector might have discovered that made him come to question Miss Cassatt, but she was clearly rattled by it. Had he been tipped off that the fleeing Jewish man had come to her door? I decided that attack was the best form of defense. “So how is your investigation proceeding, Inspector? Are you making good progress? Do you have a suspect yet?”

  “Not yet, madame. I came to see Miss Cassatt because I know her to be a leading member among the American artists. I thought maybe she could tell me more about Monsieur Bryce—”

  “But I just pointed out to the inspector that the fraternity of artists here is just that—they do not include women in their intimate chats. My only meetings with Reynold Bryce were at such formal occasions as the ambassador’s garden parties. Of his personal life I knew nothing.” She turned to the inspector. “I am a very private person, Inspector. I do not frequent the cafés or dance halls. I do not listen to gossip. I am sorry that I cannot help you. I wish very much for the truth of Monsieur Bryce’s murder to be revealed. It is a terrible thing that such a respected member of our community should die a violent and senseless death.”

  The inspector looked as if he might have been ready to give up and leave when Celeste appeared with a carafe of wine and three glasses.

  “It’s very good. I bought several cases last time I was in Bordeaux,” Mary said. “One thing I have learned during my long stay in France is to appreciate good wine.”

  The inspector sat down again rapidly and accepted the glass she held out to him. I decided I had to make the most of this opportunity. “So tell me, Inspector. When I was at Monsieur Bryce’s house your men were looking for fingerprints. Did that search not produce any…” I didn’t know the word for clues. It was frustrating that my French was limited to the vocabulary of a schoolgirl. “Clues, Mary?” I turned to her for help.