The Essence of Malice

by Ashley Weaver

  “No, I can manage. I won’t keep you any longer. I expect you have plans for this evening?”

  “Yes, we thought we might go and see a show,” she said.

  “We?”

  “There’s another English lady staying at the hotel, and I’ve met her maid. We’ve become friends already. She’s never been to Paris before either, and we both find it so thrilling but we don’t much like to go out alone when we don’t speak the language. It feels much safer to travel in pairs.”

  “That’s very nice. I hope you have a good time.”

  “Thank you, madam. I hope your party is wonderful.”

  At the door she hesitated and turned back to me. “You will tell me all about it, won’t you, madam?” she asked.

  I smiled. “Certainly, Winnelda. I can think of no one else with whom I am as eager to share gossip as you.”

  She grinned. “Thank you, madam. I’m ever so excited to hear about it. If I may say so, I hope you’ll take special care to let me know if you meet Mitchell. He’s the one that seems the most interesting.”

  “I shall keep an eye out for him,” I assured her.

  She left then, and I thought again how glad I was that she had come into my service. She was not, perhaps, an ideal lady’s maid by traditional standards, but her enthusiasm was unmatched, and I was very much attached to her.

  I turned and examined myself once more in the mirror. The effect of the gown was rather dramatic, but that was the impression I wished to convey to Cecile Belanger. I had begun to formulate a plan for getting to know her, and I thought it might just work. It was important, though, that I look the part.

  I picked up a diamond necklace from the case and held it up to my neck, examining the effect. As I had suspected, the diamonds were the perfect accent to the silvery lavender of the gown.

  It was then I caught sight of Milo in the mirror behind me. He was leaning in the doorway watching me intently.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked, fastening the necklace.

  “You’d be quite shocked if I told you.”

  I turned to face him. “Do you like it?”

  “I like it very much indeed,” he answered, coming to me, his arms moving to my waist. “So much so that I’d like nothing more than to stay here tonight and remove it.”

  I laughed. “I’m afraid we have more important matters to attend to. In fact, I’d say you’re rather late getting in.”

  “It won’t take me long to prepare. You know Parks can whip me into shape in no time at all.”

  “You gave Parks the evening off,” I reminded him. “Though he’s already laid out your evening clothes.”

  Milo had to put no effort at all into being handsome and very little into looking perfectly turned out. It was most unfair.

  “I’ll just go and shave,” he said, turning toward the bathroom.

  “Where have you been today?” I asked, fastening on the matching diamond bracelet.

  “Here and there,” he said. “I’ll give you the dull details when I’m not running a very sharp razor across my jaw.”

  “Very well.”

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  “Successful, I think. I learned some things of interest this afternoon,” I said, going to the bathroom door. “And something I think might be of use to us in forming a connection with the Belangers.”

  “Oh?” he asked, his gaze on the mirror as he ran the blade down his neck.

  I gave what was perhaps the less dramatic piece of news first. “It seems that Helios Belanger may have had a mistress.”

  Milo appeared unimpressed. “Did he?”

  “He was seen coming out of a woman’s flat on the rue de Tolbiac very early one morning.”

  “Interesting. We’ll add her to our list of suspects, shall we?” I could tell by his tone that he did not think this information very noteworthy, but that was why I had saved my more significant discovery for last.

  “That isn’t all I learned today,” I said. “I also found out that there was a young woman, a private nurse, who had been hired to look after Helios Belanger during an illness some months ago.”

  “Indeed?” He remained engrossed in his shaving and didn’t seem to realize the possible implication of what I had just told him.

  “Don’t you think it might be a clue?” I prodded. “What if it was the killer’s first attempt?”

  “What if it merely points to the fact that he was ailing?” Milo replied. “The sickness might have weakened his heart.”

  “Do you suppose we might get in touch with that nurse?” I asked, ignoring his inconvenient practicality. “If we could locate her, perhaps we could discover just what sort of ailment troubled Monsieur Belanger.”

  “It might prove difficult.”

  “Perhaps Madame Nanette would know how we might reach her,” I mused. I did wonder why it was that she had not mentioned this nurse to us. Then again, there was the possibility that Monsieur Belanger’s illness had indeed been something commonplace, and she might have thought it insignificant.

  “You mentioned something that might prove of use to us in forming a connection with the Belangers?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. I had a delightful discussion with a perfume shop salesgirl and she told me that Cecile Belanger wears a custom perfume. I was thinking that I might use this as an excuse to get to know her. I could tell her that I would like a custom perfume, and perhaps it will give me the opportunity to spend some time with her, perhaps even to get to know the family.”

  “It isn’t a bad idea,” Milo said.

  “No,” I replied. “It is, in fact, an excellent idea.”

  “It might be,” he conceded. “I’ll admit that I’m having a hard time thinking over its merits. You look entirely too beautiful and you’re distracting me.”

  “Am I?

  He leaned toward me, but I took a quick step back, afraid his shaving lotion would soil my dress. “Wipe your face and then you may kiss me.”

  He grinned. “Now you sound like Madame Nanette after I’d gotten into the jam pot.”

  8

  THE BELANGER HOME was a sprawling mansion of white stone in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, one of Paris’s more fashionable and exclusive neighborhoods. We stepped from the car, and I looked up at the residence. It was grand and stately, a fitting symbol of Helios Belanger’s climb from humble beginnings to a life of wealth and privilege.

  Light pooled from the windows against the darkening spring sky, and the intoxicating scent of roses, jasmine, and mimosa hovered in the air. It was almost as if the house itself was perfumed.

  It appeared a great many people had already arrived by the time we approached the front door. André Duveau had assured me that we would not need an invitation to be admitted, and I had hoped that he was not mistaken. It would be terribly embarrassing to be turned away.

  Even if we were ushered into the house, I had wondered if our appearance might be a bit conspicuous considering we had no connection to the Belangers or the perfume industry. It was clear as we arrived, however, that I needn’t have worried. Guests were flocking to the Belanger mansion, and we drew no notice, aside, at least, from the notice Milo typically drew.

  We entered the house and were caught up in the swell of music and voices. There was an orchestra in some other room, the music flowing over the guests in waves. I was briefly reminded of another elaborate party I had attended, one that had ended in murder. I hoped this evening would prove less eventful.

  In the alcove created by the bottom of the winding marble staircase, there appeared to be some sort of large object obscured by a white satin cloth. I supposed this was the model of the perfume bottle that was to be revealed later in the night. It seemed the Belangers had a flair for the dramatic.

  “There are the Belangers,” Milo told me, with a subtle nod in their direction. The family in question was standing not far from the stairs. They made a striking picture as they stood together, dressed in their dark clothes. Eve
n if Milo had not pointed them out to me, I would have been able to pick them out in the room. They looked as though they belonged together, as though they had all come from a matched set of sculptures.

  The oldest son, Anton Belanger, was extremely handsome. He was tall and dark with a face that would have looked at home on a marble bust. There was something proud, almost regal, about the tilt of his dark head. I wondered how much of it had to do with the empire that was now at his command. I didn’t know the man, but I could almost feel his satisfaction as he watched the guests pouring into the house. It was as though he was enjoying looking at his new domain, the subjects who had come to pay tribute. I wondered if he had waited so long for this moment that he had finally decided to seize it for himself.

  Michel Belanger, the second son, was also very handsome. Like his brother, he was tall and dark with chiseled features. It was almost immediately apparent, however, that this similarity was only superficial. Even as an outsider, I could tell that the brothers were not much alike. While Anton Belanger had a serious air about him, there was a glint of mischief in Michel Belanger’s eyes, and those eyes moved about the room, following various women as they passed him.

  The sister, Cecile, was not what I had expected. Perhaps it was an unfair preconception, but the knowledge that she was inclined to work in her father’s laboratory had led me to expect that she would be somewhat prim and studious in appearance. Instead, she was a beauty. Like her brothers, she had dark hair and eyes. She was tall and thin, and elegant. Her black dress was fitted with a high neckline and long sleeves. It was somehow both subdued enough for her situation and terribly chic.

  They were a very attractive family and gave the impression of a united front. Was it possible that one of these three had killed their father? Having been involved in three different murder investigations, I knew one could never rule out anyone. All things considered, it seemed especially likely that it might have been one of his children. After all, they would be the most likely to gain from Helios Belanger’s death.

  But there was also the young wife, who I had yet to see. Despite the fact that the Belanger company would not fall into her hands, I assumed she had been left comfortably off by her husband’s death. Perhaps not as much as she stood to benefit with him still alive. Would she have killed the goose that laid the golden egg?

  Then again, there were other reasons to kill besides money. I thought of what Marie, the perfume salesgirl, had told me about Helios Belanger’s purported mistress. Had his young wife killed him out of jealousy?

  As I considered this, I spotted a woman coming down the stairs.

  “That’s the wife,” Milo said. “I recognize her from the wedding picture that appeared in the papers when they married.”

  I watched Beryl Belanger make her way down the stairs. When she reached the ground floor, she moved toward the siblings, but stopped, standing a bit apart from them, as though she did not really belong. Perhaps she didn’t, in a way.

  They certainly gave no indication that she was welcome. Only Anton spared her a quick glance and a nod. It seemed that there was no particular warmth between the Belanger children and their stepmother. This was not exactly surprising. I didn’t imagine that the siblings could have approved of their father marrying a woman who was their age, or perhaps even younger.

  Knowing that Beryl had been quite young when she had married an aging Helios Belanger, I had been prepared for an exotic seductress and was surprised to discover that she was thin and delicate with blond hair and wide, pale eyes. She smiled wanly at something one of the guests said, revealing dimples. The smile made her appear even younger. I wondered if it was possible that she had loved a man so much older than herself.

  The guest that had spoken to her passed on, and her smile fell away. It looked as though she was trying to keep her distress at bay. She might have been putting on a show, trying not to appear too happy at a party given so soon after she had been widowed, but I couldn’t help but feel that her sorrow was genuine. She was pale, and even her skillfully applied makeup could not hide the fact that she was dark beneath her eyes.

  “She’s not beautiful enough to catch rich men for their money,” Milo said into my ear.

  It seemed that he, too, had been taking stock of the Belanger family. The assessment seemed a rather callous one.

  “I think she’s very pretty,” I said, and I meant it. There was something small and birdlike about the woman. She seemed a bit fragile somehow. I didn’t like to think she might have done something so cold-blooded as murdering her husband.

  “Yes,” he said. “But not pretty enough. With his money, if Belanger had wanted a beauty on his arm, he might have had his pick of just about anyone in France. There was some other reason he wanted to marry her.”

  “Perhaps they loved each other,” I said. “Such things do happen, you know.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, but he didn’t sound at all convinced.

  Just because she had married a much older man did not mean that she had done it for mercenary reasons. It was possible, of course, but I didn’t like to think that was the case.

  We moved farther into the room then, pressed forward by the incoming guests, and I lost sight of the family.

  In the next room there was a buffet overflowing with delicacies of all description arranged around an extraordinary pièce montée, and champagne of an impressive vintage was flowing freely. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, and I felt a bit sad that Helios Belanger had not been able to enjoy his own party. It did not even seem that his absence was much felt.

  “Milo, don’t you think it’s…” I turned to find that my husband had disappeared. It was not at all surprising. In all likelihood he had wandered off and would find himself the center of some adoring crowd of women in no time. Well, no matter. I could now focus my attention on the lovely array of desserts.

  I had sampled a delicious truffle when I spotted Mr. Duveau at the side of the room. A moment after I saw him, he looked in my direction and made his way toward me.

  “Good evening, Mr. Duveau,” I said as he reached my side.

  “Don’t you think you might call me André?” he asked. “We have been friends for a fortnight, after all.”

  “All right. And please call me Amory.”

  He smiled. “Allow me to tell you how stunning you look this evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How are you enjoying the party?” he asked, reaching out to pluck a profiterole from a tray on the edge of the table.

  “It’s very nice,” I said. “Though I have noticed that no one seems much broken up over Monsieur Belanger’s death.”

  “I suppose the reining philosophy is ‘eat, drink, and be merry.’ Speaking of which, can I get you something to drink?”

  “Not just now, thank you.”

  “Then I’ll introduce you to the family, shall I?”

  I hesitated. “Perhaps not yet. I still feel a bit as though I’m intruding.”

  “Your husband seems to have no such qualms,” he said, his eyes trained on something over my shoulder.

  I turned to follow his gaze and saw that Milo had found his way to Cecile Belanger’s side and had engaged her in conversation.

  “Shall we join them?” André asked.

  “Yes.” Inwardly, I sighed. Milo had certainly wasted no time. It was logical that he had determined that the woman of the family was the best place to start, but I did wish he hadn’t run off to talk to her alone.

  André offered me his arm and we walked to where Milo and Cecile Belanger stood. I wondered, given the past relationship between our hostess and the gentleman escorting me to her side, what the conversation would be like. Then again, if André had returned to Paris after Monsieur Belanger’s death, I could only assume it had been to comfort Cecile. He had said they hadn’t parted on bitter terms. Perhaps they were even friendly.

  She looked up when we reached her, but I could read nothing in her gaze when she looked at h
im. “Hello, André,” she said tonelessly.

  “Hello, Cecile. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Ames. She is…”

  “Your wife, I assume?” she inquired of Milo before André could finish.

  “Yes.”

  I wondered if it was my imagination that she looked a bit disappointed. I could not fault her for that. Milo looked exceptionally handsome in evening dress.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Ames?” she asked. Though André had greeted her in French, she had switched to English to speak to us.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, though I know now must be a difficult time. I was so sorry to hear about your father,” I said.

  “Thank you.” There was no emotion in either her expression or the words, but I did not interpret this as a sign of guilt. It was much more likely that she didn’t wish to discuss her bereavement with a stranger. I could not blame her. I could only imagine how trying this party was for her.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” André said suddenly. He left us and I watched him as he made his way to Beryl Belanger’s side. He said something to her and a brief smile flickered across her face.

  My attention was drawn abruptly back to Milo and Mademoiselle Belanger when Milo spoke. “I must admit my wife and I have ulterior motives for attending this party tonight.”

  “Oh?” she asked. There was only a vague politeness in her tone, and I wondered if Milo had broached the subject too quickly.

  He appeared to have no such qualms. “Yes, though I realize this isn’t the best of times to talk business. Perhaps if we came back later, or next time we are in Paris…”

  I awaited her answer with bated breath. I was afraid that she would agree to this and we would lose what might be our only chance at forming a connection with the family. I hoped Milo hadn’t ruined our chances by being so bold. When he gambled, however, he nearly always won. This time was no different.

  After a brief pause, she shook her head ever so slightly. “No, it’s quite all right,” she said. “What is it that you want to discuss?”

  “My wife has found herself interested in perfume,” Milo said, his tone the perfect mixture of mild amusement and indulgence. “I told her she may buy all the perfume she wishes, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted her own perfume, a custom scent.”