The Essence of Malice

by Ashley Weaver

  “You’re annoyed with me,” he said.

  “How astute you are, Milo,” I replied, spraying on a cloud of my new Bouquet de Belanger perfume. “Perhaps you should be a detective.”

  Winnelda gave my hair a final brush and stepped back. “Will that do, madam?” she asked.

  “Yes, Winnelda, thank you,” I said.

  She went over to the bed where my new black evening gown was laid out for the evening. Her eyes darted to the doorway as Milo came farther into the room.

  “A night at the Belangers’ should prove interesting,” Milo said.

  “Do you think so?” I rose from the dressing table, turning to face him. “I’m sure it will prove rather dull in comparison to the evenings you’ve been having.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Winnelda shifting uneasily. No doubt she was beginning to become uncomfortable. The poor girl had not been trained as a lady’s maid, and she had not yet mastered the art of feigning deafness in the face of connubial quarrels.

  “I’ll put that on now,” I told her.

  She brought the gown over to me and helped to slip it over my head, careful to avoid mussing my hair.

  “You will be interested to learn where I’ve been,” Milo said.

  “I doubt it,” I replied as the gown fell into place. “If I had to guess, I’d say it involved gambling or horses. Or perhaps a woman. None of which you need any more of.”

  “You are feeling rather prickly this evening, aren’t you?”

  Winnelda’s face had grown pink, and she was practically jostling me in her haste to finish doing up my gown and excuse herself. “I can take care of this, Winnelda,” I said. “You may go.”

  “Thank you, madam,” she said with great feeling. She bobbed a little curtsey and hurried from the room.

  “Now you’ve frightened her off,” Milo said. “Whatever’s the matter with you?”

  I drew in a breath. “I am annoyed, Milo. While I’ve been trying to help Madame Nanette, you’ve been running all over Paris doing…” I waved a hand impatiently, “whatever it is you’ve been doing.”

  I turned and went to my jewelry case, picking up a necklace of diamonds and onyx on a silver chain.

  “For the record, I’ve gained neither money, horses, nor additional women this afternoon. I’ve been out to the airfield.”

  I stopped, the necklace dangling from my hand, and turned to look at him. “The airfield?”

  “Yes. I went to talk to the men who were there when Helios Belanger crashed his plane.”

  I sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wasn’t sure anything would come of it.”

  “Well, did it?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “The mechanic at the airfield assures me that there was nothing mechanically wrong with that plane.”

  “Of course they would say that,” I said.

  Milo nodded as he came up to me and turned me around so he could finish fastening up my dress. “They won’t, of course, want an airplane accident laid at their feet. But assuming they are correct, that means that there are two other options: weather and pilot error.”

  “What was the weather like that night?” I asked, holding up the ends of my necklace so he could fasten it.

  “Cold and clear,” Milo said.

  “Then it seems it must have been something to do with Monsieur Belanger’s condition.”

  “Yes. They also assured me, however, that there was nothing wrong with Monsieur Belanger when he arrived at the airfield. He seemed much the same as usual. It was only after he had crash-landed that he seemed somewhat dazed.”

  I frowned. “How can that be? If he was poisoned at home, wouldn’t the symptoms have been evident sooner?”

  “It seems likely that they would have,” Milo agreed.

  “What if it was a heart attack?” I said suddenly, turning to face him again. “What if he wasn’t murdered at all, and this is all a wild-goose chase?”

  “I had the same thought,” he said.

  Somehow I knew that there was something else, something he hadn’t told me. “But what?” I asked. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  He went on with what seemed to be a bit of reluctance. “It seems that after Helios had crashed his plane, they all ran to help him. The young man I spoke with was the first to get to the plane and as he helped Helios out of the wreckage, he said something rather curious to him. He said, ‘Can’t let them end me. I must remember to see to the will.’”

  I gasped. “He knew that someone was trying to kill him. Who do you suppose he meant?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t venture a guess,” Milo replied, with much less enthusiasm than I would have demonstrated upon presenting such a startling piece of information.

  “If he wanted to instate the new will, he must have known who his killer was and wanted to stop them before he was killed.”

  “Don’t get carried away, darling,” Milo said. “It might only have been that he felt he was near death and wanted to be sure his affairs were in order.”

  “Oh, you don’t believe that for a moment, so do stop trying to convince me otherwise,” I said impatiently.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” he said. “But I’d rather not make outlandish suppositions without proof.”

  I ignored him as I considered the implications. It seemed fairly clear that Helios Belanger had suspected that someone was trying to kill him, thus his desire to change the will. But how was this related to the missing formula? Had someone attempted to steal the formula and kill Helios Belanger in his plane? Perhaps he had uncovered the treachery and that was why he had wanted to change his will. He had not had the time to do so, but perhaps he had even challenged the person, prodding them to try again. And this time they had succeeded.

  “That second draft of the will must reveal who he trusted and who he didn’t,” I said.

  “Perhaps, darling,” he replied, turning toward the bathroom to wash up before dressing, “but I’m afraid we may never know.”

  That was what he thought. If I had anything to do with it, I was going to get a look at that copy of the will. Madame Nanette had mentioned that Anton said the draft was in his father’s desk drawer. I knew what that meant, of course: I was going to have to find a way to get into Anton Belanger’s office.

  19

  WE ARRIVED BACK at the Belanger mansion and were shown into the drawing room. It had seemed a large room at the party, but it looked so much larger tonight, with only a few people in it. In fact, the only occupants now were Cecile and Anton Belanger. They stood near the window, speaking in low, urgent tones, their expressions dark. It looked as though they were having an argument.

  I wondered if it had to do with their joint involvement in Parfumes Belanger. Even having known them a short time, I knew that it was not going to be easy for the two of them to find a way to work together.

  With all that had happened, I imagined that the family was not thrilled to have us here tonight. After the death of their patriarch and the startling revelations of the will, I supposed the last thing they wanted to do was make pleasant small talk with strangers. Perhaps this was the source of their tense exchange.

  Before I could catch anything of what they were saying, however, Cecile noticed us and stepped away from her brother.

  “Ah, Monsieur and Madame Ames. Good evening.”

  She came toward us with a smile. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress of dark gray silk, and once again I admired the simplicity and elegance of her attire. I was learning that, though her clothes were very much in fashion, she was not particularly drawn to the trends. It was as though her elegance had a quality of timelessness.

  I was glad I had worn my new black gown, for it, too, was understated and chic.

  “I am so glad you’ve come,” she said.

  “Thank you for having us.”

  “You’ve met my brother Anton,” she said to me.

  “Yes, good evening,” I said.
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br />   “And this is Monsieur Ames. Monsieur Ames, my brother.”

  Anton Belanger nodded somewhat stiffly at us and managed a brusque “Good evening.”

  I tried in vain to determine who it was that he reminded me of. There was something forbidding about him. His dark, watchful eyes moved restlessly around the room, as though he could think of a dozen places he would rather be.

  Cecile had realized, it seemed, that her brother did not intend to be sociable, for she led us away from him and toward a grouping of furniture before the fire.

  “Won’t you sit down? The others should be here shortly. At least … Beryl should be.” She smiled a bit humorlessly. “My brother Michel may or may not join us.”

  I found myself hoping that he would. I was curious about Michel Belanger. I thought there was a very good chance he might reveal something worthwhile about the family. Both Anton and Cecile were careful in all that they said and did. I did not think Michel would have that same reserve.

  A few moments later Beryl Belanger came into the room to greet us. She looked a bit better than the last few times I had seen her, not quite as pale and strained. She greeted Cecile with a hesitant smile. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Beryl,” Cecile said without any particular warmth. “Monsieur and Madame Ames have come for dinner.”

  “Yes, I knew they were coming. I encountered them in the park only this morning.”

  “Did you?” Cecile said.

  “Perhaps we English are drawn to one another,” Beryl said with a hesitant smile.

  “What part of England do you hail from, Madame Belanger?” Milo asked.

  “I come from Southsea,” she said.

  “I have never been there, but I am sure it must be a charming place if it is your home.”

  She smiled up at him, the dimples in her cheeks making an appearance.

  “I have always found it a lovely place,” she said and, for just a moment, the cares that had shown in her eyes faded away. Milo had, with his unerring instinct, found just the way to put her at ease.

  “Beryl has been planning a trip home to visit her relations. She will be leaving soon.” I looked up, surprised that Anton had deigned to join our conversation.

  I glanced at Beryl to see what her reaction to Anton’s announcement would be. She looked a bit uncomfortable, and I wondered if it had come as a surprise that her stepson meant to send her back to her home. Perhaps he meant her stay in England to be indefinite. I had no doubt it would be easier for Anton and Cecile if their stepmother was no longer living with them.

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Cecile said, breaking into the conversation. “Madame Ames, would you like to come to the table in the corner for a moment? I have a few scents I would like you to smell.”

  “Certainly.”

  I followed her to a table in the corner where she had arranged three small wooden racks that held an assortment of glass vials. I saw that each row of vials was labeled according to scent type. Soliflores, bouquet, fougère, chypre, and several others. There were dozens of scents in each rack, a whole world of scents at our fingertips.

  “What sort of scents do you enjoy?” she asked.

  “I normally wear gardenia,” I said. She chose the vial from the soliflores and unstopped it, handing it to me.

  “What is it about that scent that you enjoy?” She was waiting for my answer with a rather intent look on her face, and I realized that the question was a significant one.

  I had to think about it for a moment. “I like the sweetness of it, I suppose.” I remembered something else, a more personal reason for my preference, and I decided to tell her. “It also reminds me of my courtship with my husband. The first time we were alone together, it was in a conservatory. I remember it smelled of gardenia.” I hadn’t thought about that in years, hadn’t realized that it was perhaps why I had selected the scent.

  “Then you enjoy scents with a more personal connection.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Then perhaps we shall include it in your custom scent,” she said. “It is not at all scientific, but I have always felt that a scent is enhanced by the preferences of its wearer. It is as though their love for it interacts with the oils to make the scent something greater than itself.

  “Now, if you’ll smell these and let me know your impressions of them.” One by one, she selected and unstopped several vials and held them up for me to sample. Pausing occasionally to “let my nose rest,” as she called it, she asked me a series of questions about the scents, my preferences, even certain traits of my personality. I felt rather as though I were taking some sort of test for which I had not studied, but I could not help but enjoy the process as each new scent was unveiled to me and I was forced to consider what I felt about it. My selection of perfumes had always been in an offhanded manner based on superficial preference. I had not realized the depth of the art.

  “I know it must seem as though I’m asking a great deal of personal questions,” she said, “but it’s necessary in order to determine which scent will suit you best.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I appreciate that you are willing to take the time to make the perfume such a personal reflection of me.”

  “To me it is more than a business,” she said. “And if we intend to attach the name of Belanger to what we create, I want to make sure that it is a quality scent.”

  “I’m sure it will be lovely,” I said.

  A movement at the door caught my eye just then, and Michel Belanger came into the room. His expression was one of boredom as his gaze scanned the room, but suddenly his eyes widened.

  “Madame!” he said, coming directly to my side and holding out his hand. I placed my hand in his, and he clutched it. “I have been wondering if ever I would see you again, and here you are. It must be fate, don’t you agree?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” I said, a bit surprised by this rather enthusiastic greeting.

  “I searched for you at the party, but you had disappeared. Like the Cinderella of the story, only I had not even a shoe to know you by.”

  “I see you have already met my brother,” Cecile said, her tone dry.

  “Yes. How are you, Monsieur Belanger?” I asked, deciding I was more amused than startled by his rather forward manner. “I hope that the friend you had mistaken me for was able to console you.”

  “Alas, I could not find her either. We were like the ships that passed in the night.”

  “How very tragic,” I said.

  “Hello, Michel.” Milo appeared suddenly at my side, his arm sliding around my waist in a show of possessiveness that was uncharacteristic of him.

  Michel’s eyes moved from me to Milo and back again, his brows rising in mock dismay. “Do not tell me that Milo Ames is your husband.”

  “Yes, he is,” I said.

  Michel turned to Milo. “You break my heart, my friend. I had hoped to find her married to an old man and in need of more youthful company.”

  “I’m not that old yet,” Milo said. “Allow me to express my condolences upon the death of your father.”

  Michel appeared completely unabashed by this not-so-subtle reminder of his recent bereavement. “Thank you. It was sudden, but my father would have preferred it to some lingering illness.”

  His gaze returned to me. “Husbands have never been an obstacle to me, but I very much feel that my old friend is more competition than I am used to.”

  I smiled in the face of this rather forward remark. “You should be warned, Monsieur Belanger: I take marriage very seriously.”

  His smiled broadened. “Charming. So very charming. You are a lucky man, Ames.”

  “Yes, I know,” Milo replied.

  Michel reached out to take my hand again. “Should he ever neglect you, know that I am waiting in the wings.”

  I laughed. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Michel, do stop annoying Madame Ames,” Cecile said. There was affection in her tone, and I could te
ll at once that her relationship with her younger brother was much less strained than with the elder.

  “You did not tell me we were having such charming guests tonight, Cecile,” he said. “I might have gone out and missed them entirely.”

  “That would have been a pity,” Milo said with a complete lack of sincerity.

  We were called into dinner then, and I found myself seated between Anton and Cecile. I decided to try my hand at making a friend of the impassive elder Belanger brother.

  “It was so kind of you and your sister to invite us to dinner,” I said as the first course was serviced.

  “Cecile enjoys having company,” he said, his eyes on his plate.

  “Your brother and my husband are old friends, it seems,” I said. “Have you and my husband met before this?”

  “No,” he said somewhat tersely. “Michel and I do not keep the same sort of company.”

  It seemed that he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, but I was undaunted.

  “I am so enjoying learning about perfume,” I tried again. “One rather takes things for granted sometimes, not stopping to think where they come from. It is thrilling to see how the process works.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I suppose that it is.”

  It was perfectly obvious that he didn’t wish to have a conversation with me, and this made me more determined than ever to win him over. I would just have to take a note from Milo’s book and try to charm him.

  “I am so pleased that you and your sister agreed to create a custom perfume for me,” I said, deciding to try flattery first. “I am simply thrilled to be able to wear my very own Belanger scent to events in London. My friends will all be terribly envious.”

  “I am sure you will enjoy it,” he said blandly. I could tell at once that this was not the method to win his friendship. He cared very little for society women and their vanities. I wondered, then, what it was that moved him.

  Despite what others had said about Anton’s being primarily interested in business, I thought that there was more to him than that. I felt as though there were things to be learned about him if only one had the opportunity to break beneath the hard exterior.