The Essence of Malice

by Ashley Weaver

  Michel had been threatened with disinheritance, but his father had threatened him for years and he had never appeared concerned before.

  What of Beryl Belanger? She had, in all probability, married Helios Belanger in hopes of making a better life for herself rather than for any kind of abiding love. But she had loved Anton. And love could be the most powerful motive of all.

  Love. A sudden awful, traitorous thought crossed my mind. The only thing that can stop my love is death. The note from Madame Nanette. She had written that line more than thirty years ago, but what if she had really meant it?

  I tried to put it out of my mind, but the thought was persistent. And the more I thought about it, the more the pieces seemed to slide into place.

  Helios Belanger had taken ill the first time shortly after Madame Nanette’s arrival. Cecile had even told me that Madame Nanette had brewed a jasmine tea of which Helios Belanger was very fond. Was it possible that she had put something in it the night that he died?

  Madame Nanette had taken a job with Helios Belanger, the man she had loved and lost. She might have thought that he meant to pursue her again, to make up for lost time. Instead, he had treated her as nothing more than another member of the household staff. He had moved on with his much younger wife and left Madame Nanette with nothing but the bitter memory of the love they had shared.

  There was also the matter of the will. That second draft had read: “She shall have the rest. My dear one.” My dearest one. That was what she had called him in her letter. Was it possible she had believed, after that one tender moment they had shared that night on the landing, that she might inherit a great deal from him? He had indeed left her a sizeable amount of money. Was it enough to kill for?

  I tried to reconcile this story in my mind with the sweet, caring woman I had come to know. She didn’t seem like a killer. Then again, so few of the killers I had encountered ever had. As much as I hated to admit it, it was possible.

  Worse than the acknowledgment of this possibility was the realization that I was going to have to tell Milo.

  I suddenly began to think that Winnelda’s friend Trudy might be right. It would be lovely to run away just now to a harem and not come back.

  25

  MILO RETURNED FROM his outing, but I didn’t have the heart to bring the matter up. I didn’t know what to say. Indeed, I had the strong inclination not to mention it to him at all. In my heart, however, I knew I needed to tell him. If Madame Nanette was the killer, we would need to decide how to proceed.

  I couldn’t help but feel that, if she should prove to be guilty, Milo would not want her turned in to the authorities. My husband’s sense of morality was flexible, and I could think of no one who he was more likely to protect than the woman who had raised him.

  I continued to fret about it as I dressed for dinner. Winnelda had come back, knocking hesitantly before entering, and I was glad for her chatty presence; it spared me having to make conversation with my husband, who would easily have been able to tell that something was amiss.

  At last I finished dressing, choosing a red satin gown, and Winnelda departed for another night of adventuring with Trudy. Milo had finished dressing long ago and Parks had gone, so we were alone. It was time.

  I briefly considered waiting until dinner, or perhaps even until we got back to the hotel tonight, but I knew that I would not be able to conceal my anxiety from Milo. Besides, he had his mysterious appointment at ten o’clock and might decide to leave at any moment. I needed to have this conversation and be done with it.

  I came out of the bedroom. Milo sat smoking a cigarette and flipping through a newspaper.

  He looked up as I moved into the room and rose. “You look stunning, darling, as always, though I must say I miss the silver gown you were wearing this afternoon.”

  “Milo, I need to talk to you about something.”

  He looked at me, his attention caught, I supposed, by something in my tone.

  “Whatever’s the matter, darling?” he asked. “You’ve gone all white.”

  I couldn’t remember a time when I had been so nervous. Normally, I was fairly adept at facing whatever needed facing. This time was different, however. I knew what Madame Nanette meant to Milo.

  I took a seat on the edge of the sofa, my hands in my lap. “This isn’t easy to say.”

  “Better just have out with it, then,” he said mildly, taking his seat again.

  I drew in a breath and then let it out in a rush, the words with it. “I think Madame Nanette may be the killer.”

  He looked at me for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth tipped up and he leaned to grind out his cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s not a very good joke, darling,” he said.

  “You know I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” I said. “I … I learned something today.”

  “Oh?” The single syllable held something I couldn’t interpret.

  “I found a letter that Madame Nanette had written to Helios Belanger when they parted ways.” I briefly outlined what I had found, the way the evidence seemed to point toward this conclusion. “If you think about it logically, all the pieces seem to fit.”

  His eyes came up to mine. “I don’t need to think about it logically. It wasn’t she who killed Helios Belanger.” There was something in his tone, or perhaps in his gaze, that should have been a warning. But I was so caught up in my own emotions that I failed to take notice of it.

  “I never considered her for a moment,” I said. “But think of it, Milo. She had a motive, she had the means, and the opportunity. She has loved Helios Belanger for years and he cast her aside. Even after he asked her to be his daughter’s nanny, he treated her poorly. She had only to slip into Cecile’s greenhouse and get the necessary ingredients. It would have been an easy thing to slip into his drink.”

  “You forget that that scenario might fit any of the Belanger family,” he said.

  “Except that Helios Belanger fell ill for the first time a month after Madame Nanette’s arrival.”

  He sighed. “That might be a coincidence. Or someone might have done it purposefully to cast suspicion upon the new arrival.”

  “But there is also the matter of the letter,” I said.

  “A letter expressing a thirty-year-old sentiment is hardly proof of murder,” he said dismissively. “Besides, even if I believed any of this, which I do not, I think you have forgotten one important fact. Why would she call us here? Why would she ask us to look into a death that had already been determined to be of natural causes?”

  This had been the one point I had hopefully fallen back on myself. But then I had realized the error of it. “She couldn’t have known that the matter would be brushed aside,” I said. “She contacted you on the very day that Helios Belanger died. For all she knew, there would be a postmortem done and she might have been accused. We were insurance against that.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch,” Milo said.

  “She knew we would stand by her, knew we would find another culprit to blame.”

  “Amory, I know you mean well, but I really don’t think you’ve thought this through.” His words were cool, measured, and I understood suddenly that he was trying very hard not to become angry. Milo seldom let his true feelings show, but I supposed the depth of what he was feeling now was too great to suppress.

  “I know it’s difficult to believe,” I said carefully. “I don’t like to believe it either. But the evidence…”

  “Your so-called evidence can go to blazes,” he said steadily.

  I realized that he meant it. He wasn’t going to be swayed. I didn’t know whether to feel relief that he was so sure or distress that he was willing to overlook everything I had just laid out before him.

  “What you haven’t taken into account is that you don’t know Madame Nanette,” he said. “Not like I do. She would never do something like this.”

  “This is why I was afraid to tell you,” I said. “I knew you wouldn’t like it and wouldn�
��t want to listen.”

  “I have listened. I just happen to disagree.”

  “Is it possible that your vision is clouded by your feelings for her?” I asked softly.

  “No.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “Am I?” His voice was still calm, but his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. “I seem to recall your reaction to a similar situation. When your former fiancé was accused of murder, you would have gone to the ends of the earth—fought to the death, if necessary—to prove his innocence. Nothing anyone said could sway you from your conviction that he hadn’t done it.”

  “I was right,” I said.

  “And so am I.”

  Our eyes met, and I realized that there was nothing more to say on the matter.

  I didn’t know where to go from here, but it seemed that Milo had no such qualms. He rose from his seat.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to go to dinner alone.”

  “Milo…” I said pleadingly. I didn’t want the conversation to end like this.

  He didn’t reply, didn’t even look back, as he walked to the door and out of the hotel room.

  He wouldn’t be back tonight, of that I was sure.

  I sighed miserably. I was plagued with doubts. Perhaps Milo was right. He knew Madame Nanette much better than I did.

  But then another thought occurred to me. Perhaps in knowing her as he did, he had known all along.

  I thought of everything that pointed to this conclusion: his sudden disinterest, the way he had dismissed my clues and tried to dissuade me from pursuing the case. He had even tried to convince Madame Nanette to leave Paris. Was it possible that he had begun to suspect she was the killer and was trying to throw me off the track?

  I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I no longer knew what to think.

  He had asked me to trust him. Could I? I just wasn’t sure.

  Not knowing what else to do, I sat down and picked up the book Madame Nanette had given me. Flipping through the pages, I looked at the photographs she had saved of Milo, the memories she had collected and kept. On every page the evidence looked back up at me. This was a woman who cherished love, not one who would have nurtured bitterness or hatred.

  In my heart, I felt that Milo was right. She was a sweet, caring woman and, no matter what had passed between she and Helios Belanger, I did not want to believe that she had killed him. I had seen the sorrow in her eyes when she had talked of the loss of Milo’s mother. I did not think she could deprive Seraphine Belanger of a father.

  A thought occurred to me suddenly. Milo had steadfastly refused to believe that Madame Nanette was guilty, but what if it was more than his loyalty to her? What if he knew something I didn’t? Not that Madame Nanette was guilty, but that someone else was.

  It had been obvious to me that he was carrying on a series of activities in secret. I did not think it had been because of their illicit nature that he had been hiding them. In fact, I rather suspected he had been pursuing a series of inquiries of his own.

  That note he had received had been further proof of it. I had memorized the address in the brief time I had seen it. Perhaps I could meet him there and find out what he had been doing. It seemed, at least, that this was my only option.

  I couldn’t sit here doing nothing.

  In a last moment’s instinct, I went to the bedroom and took out my pearl-handled pistol, depositing it in my purse. I sincerely hoped there would be no cause to use it.

  Then I put on my coat and went out to find my husband.

  * * *

  THE NOTE HAD said ten o’clock, and that was still more than an hour away as the cab pulled up before the address. I paid and got out, only then realizing why it was that the address had seemed familiar to me. This was the location of the brothel to which we had followed Michel Belanger.

  I was curious as to why my husband had received a note with this location. One thing was certain: I no longer harbored any illusions that he had gone out to a gambling club.

  There was a café across the street but, just as I was thinking it might be an excellent vantage point for watching the brothel, I saw a familiar figure walking toward the building from the opposite direction. I was standing in the shadows and could therefore observe him without being noticed. Though it was fairly dark, I would have known him anywhere. It was Milo.

  He walked directly to the door and tapped on it. While I felt a certain rush of indignation upon seeing my husband at such an establishment, I could only assume that he had a very good reason for being here. At least, he had better.

  A moment later the door opened and Milo disappeared inside.

  I stood there wondering what I should do. Though I had never set foot in a brothel, I didn’t much like the idea of leaving my husband to his own devices in one. Though I was sure there was some ulterior motive, I was tired of his lies and excuses. I needed to find out what was going on once and for all.

  After the briefest moment of hesitation, I hurried after him and knocked on the door.

  I expected to be questioned by the doorman, but the gentleman let me in without so much as a second glance.

  I stepped inside and looked around. I was not entirely sure what I had expected, but the interior of this establishment was much the same as the cabaret we had visited last evening. It was smoky and dimly lit inside, and tables and chairs were arranged around a dance floor, where, at the moment, a woman stood singing a mournful song. Most of the tables were occupied by gentlemen in evening dress, glasses of liquor before them and half-dressed women on their laps.

  Milo was standing near the entrance to the room, and I went directly to him. He had left our hotel angry with me, but I felt that we were on even ground as far as indignation was concerned. He had some explaining to do.

  His eyes scanned the room as though looking for someone and it took a moment before he saw me. Though the music was too loud for me to be sure, I was fairly certain that he swore beneath his breath.

  “I was afraid you would show up here,” he said with a sigh. I was relieved to see that there was more exasperation than anger in his expression.

  “How did you know I would know where to find you?” I asked.

  “Because you took that note from my pocket,” he said.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said, changing the subject. “And, now that I’ve found you, I’m rather curious to know what this is all about.”

  Before he could reply, raucous laughter sounded as a man and a woman fell to the floor in an embrace.

  I looked at Milo, who appeared perfectly at ease in this rather unsavory atmosphere. This was one of those moments where I realized how very little I knew about the life Milo had led before he met me, the life he quite possibly led when he was away from me.

  “Darling, now isn’t the time…”

  A gentleman came up to us then, his eyes moving over me. “Whatever he is offering, I will give you double.”

  It took a moment for me to comprehend what he meant. My lips parted in surprise. He had mistaken me for a prostitute! I looked at my husband, waiting for him to refute the claim. Instead, his arm slipped around my waist, pulling me against him.

  “I’m afraid this one is mine,” Milo said with genial finality.

  I was rendered quite speechless by this reply and hadn’t time to formulate a response before the gentleman turned to me, ignoring Milo. “I am just a lonely man, looking for a woman to mend my broken heart.”

  Milo’s smile was no longer friendly. “Look elsewhere.”

  The man frowned and seemed prepared to protest, but then he thought better of it and moved away.

  Milo released me and turned to face me. “Amory, you’ve got to go back to the hotel.”

  “I will not,” I replied. “I want to know what you’re doing here. What’s going on?”

  “I will explain it to you later. You’ll have to trust me.”

  I let out an irritated
sigh. “Trust you? After the way you’ve kept secrets and lied to me repeatedly?”

  “I’m sorry, darling, but you’ll understand why when I’ve explained things.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then explain.”

  He let out a short breath. “I haven’t time for this now. If you don’t go this moment, I will pick you up and carry you out.”

  I felt a flood of indignation. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  “I certainly shall.”

  Our eyes met, neither one of us willing to relent.

  “I’m going to go sit in that chair there,” I said, pointing at a vacant table, “until you decide to tell me the truth.” I started to turn away from him, but he caught my arm.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said pleasantly.

  Before I knew what he was going to do, he had picked me up and put me over his shoulder.

  I struggled against him, kicking my legs, but his grip was quite secure.

  “Milo!” I exclaimed. “Let me down this instant.”

  He paid me no heed, but began walking toward the door. Despite the fact that no one seemed at all surprised by this appalling behavior, I was mortified.

  I weighed my options. If I wanted to get down, there were certainly ways I could accomplish it. Then again, we were already drawing a great deal of unwanted attention to ourselves. Several smiling faces had turned in our direction. Luckily for Milo, the only thing keeping me from kicking him very hard and screaming was the desire to keep from making an even bigger scene than the one we were already making.

  “Let me go,” I said, struggling against him. “Put me down, Milo. I mean it.”

  Still, he didn’t heed me. The two men standing by the door were of no help whatsoever. Not to me, at least. One of them held the door open for Milo, and I heard the second chuckle as we passed through. “Bonne chance, monsieur.”