Treacherous Is the Night

by Anna Lee Huber

Chauvin’s mouth creased into the ghost of a smile. “But perhaps that is our failing and not his.”

  In other words, they had no definitive reason to suspect him, no evidence of wrongdoing, only the unsettling feelings in their guts. Ones that even they admitted might be influenced by the four years spent living under the heel of German oppressors.

  But although I allowed him to dismiss the topic, I was not so quick to forget it.

  CHAPTER 17

  As the day was already slipping into evening, Sidney and I elected to find a hotel for the night rather than push on toward Macon. The further south and west we drove toward the desolate landscape of the Western Front, the more uncertain conditions would become, and the less likely we were to find accommodations. It was true there must be inns operating in Lille and some of the other cities, despite the devastation they’d experienced—for the tour companies were using them as the starting points for their guided excursions—but we were headed into the more rural areas of the Ardennes forests.

  In any case, I wished to stay as far from the former battle zones as possible, and not just to spare my sensibilities and avoid the groups of tourists traipsing over that unholy ground. I was also worried what effect they might have on Sidney. To see the land where so many of his friends, so many of the men he’d commanded, had fought and died—some of them still interred in the shell-shattered soil.

  I felt a pang of sympathy for Max, knowing he would soon be accompanying his aunt through that quagmire of despair. I hoped there was someone else in his group with whom to empathize, and not just a lot of mourners wrapped in their own grief, unconscious of the strain his being there must cause him.

  Once we reached a hotel at the center of Liège, Alec thanked us for the lift and the pleasant company, and then set off for the train station on foot, telling us he hoped to catch the late train onward to wherever his ultimate destination was. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised by his abrupt departure, except part of me had become suspicious of him. I’d half-expected him to make some excuse as to why he wished to remain with us to continue to aid in our search. But instead, he shook Sidney’s hand, bussed me on the cheek, and gave us a jaunty wave as he set off down the street with his valise in hand.

  Sidney must have harbored similar qualms, for he remarked upon it later as we strolled the city streets after we’d enjoyed a pleasant meal in a café off the Place du Marché. The sun was only now sinking low on the horizon on this lengthy summer day, casting long shadows over the boulevards. A cool breeze blew down from the heights at the edge of the city, rustling the hair at my temples, and tempting others from their homes and shops to congregate in the squares.

  “So we are free of le Capitaine Xavier, but for how long, I wonder?” he ruminated aloud as we passed a trickling fountain hidden amongst a grouping of low-hanging trees.

  I glanced up, studying his guarded expression. “You don’t like him.”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of like versus dislike, but more of an issue of trust. Monsieurs Dewé and Chauvin certainly did not. And I can’t say I do either.” His eyes slid sideways to meet mine. “I’m surprised you do.”

  I laughed humorlessly. “I never said I trusted him.”

  His brow furrowed. “Then why did you agree to let him accompany us?”

  “I didn’t. You did. I simply didn’t kick up any unnecessary fuss over the matter. Besides, he’d already sat in on our conversation with Captain Landau. He knew where we were headed.”

  “And yet, you worked with the man during the war.” Which was a leading comment if ever I’d heard one, but I was not going to explain my relationship with Alec. Not here. Not now.

  “I worked with a lot of people during the war,” I replied steadily. “Including a few real Germans. That doesn’t mean I trusted them all. Sometimes I had to take calculated risks, and hope the bribes we paid for information and safe passage also bought their silence.”

  “Then you’ve already considered the fact that Xavier could be the man searching for Emilie?”

  “Of course. I would have to be deluding myself not to.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “He’s an officer in the Secret Service. He worked in Belgium during the war. And while I’m not aware of any encounters between him and Emilie, it’s possible they met. He travels about in whatever capacity he now serves, and he was in London just a few days ago. Feasibly he could have convinced Madame Zozza, by means fair or foul, to pretend to summon Emilie during a séance with me, and then killed her with that fire to keep her silent.” I shook my head. “But it seems a horribly convoluted way to go about it all. Already knowing me, why wouldn’t he have just asked for my assistance under false pretenses?”

  “Maybe he was worried you wouldn’t be fooled. The man is obviously intelligent, and he must realize how perceptive you are.”

  I arched my eyebrows skeptically. “Let’s say you’re right. That he couldn’t think of a simpler way to go about the matter than enlisting the help of a medium. What’s his motive? Why does he need to find Emilie?”

  Sidney fell silent, ruminating on my question. He wrapped an arm around me, guiding me around a group of boys kicking a ball back and forth in the middle of the street. Their shouts echoed off the buildings around us. However, once we’d navigated around the game, he didn’t release me, but instead weaved my arm through his.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps we haven’t uncovered his reasons yet.”

  “Perhaps,” I conceded. “And as such, I’m not ruling him out. But there’s also far from enough evidence to name him our culprit.”

  My thoughts on Alec Xavier were complicated. Given the work we’d done together during the war, I was inclined to feel some loyalty toward him, and yet I couldn’t deny I’d always been slightly wary of him. Even when I’d helped him escape to Holland after we’d discovered he was compromised. Even after everything between us that had followed. I wanted to believe I wouldn’t have allowed him to get so close to me if I hadn’t somehow sensed that at his heart, he was a good man, but the truth was I had been in a very dark place. I hadn’t always been thinking clearly. As evident from my deep regret immediately following.

  I shook my head, but that was allowing my head to go where I didn’t want it. Not when I wasn’t yet ready for the conversation to veer on that course.

  “Perhaps his objective has something to do with this remote-control aeroplane Monsieur Chauvin mentioned,” Sidney suggested, tipping his head close to mine so that we could not be overheard by the couple we passed walking in the other direction.

  “I wondered the same thing,” I admitted as we paused at a corner. “I’m also curious whether it’s somehow connected to that aviator’s map case I buried.”

  We fell silent as we crossed the street to the large square in front of the magnificent Palais des Princes-Evêques. There, among the archaeological ruins of the first St. Lambert Cathedral, German soldiers had marched and camped during the conflict. Though I had only passed through Liège once during the war, I found the changes to be slow and yet heartening. Here, Belgians were determined to move on with their lives, even in the very pockmarked shadow of the war.

  But Sidney’s thoughts had not followed mine, still lingering on Alec. “Well, I suppose we shall have to wait and see if he turns up again. Somehow I doubt we shall be difficult to find.”

  I had to agree. In a country already short of motorcars, Sidney’s Pierce-Arrow would be highly conspicuous, especially in the more rural areas. Though grateful for the ease such transportation afforded us, I was a bit torn about it. Such a distinctive vehicle would make it easy for Emilie to locate us, should she wish to, once our search for her became known. But it would also make it simpler for someone to follow us. Someone I wasn’t sure I wanted to lead to Emilie’s door.

  Almost as if summoned by my very thoughts, I felt a prickling along the back of my neck. I was well-trained enough not to glance over my shoulder. Instead, I slowed our steps, co
ming to a stop near the stone remnants of the cathedral. Smiling, I turned to press my hands to Sidney’s chest, as if smoothing the collar of his coat. His hands lifted to clasp my waist and his eyes dipped to my mouth. The look in his eyes, the heat that sprang to life at this spontaneous overture of affection, made me sorry to disappoint him.

  “Someone is watching us,” I murmured as I searched the square over his shoulder.

  The fire in his gaze banked as he peered beyond me, careful not to lift his head or shift abruptly. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. But I sense their interest.” I brushed my fingers upward, fingering the neatly clipped hairs at the base of his neck. The ones I knew would curl upward if allowed to grow longer.

  My thoughts first turned to Alec, curious whether he’d doubled back to follow us. If that was the case, he would have disappeared the moment I turned to face Sidney, well aware of just such a tactic, as we’d utilized it on two occasions during the war. I breathed slowly, trying to sense whether the person observing us was still doing so. However, the close proximity of my husband was proving to be a greater distraction than I’d anticipated, particularly when he stroked his fingers over my spine in lazy circles. Feigning affection with Alec had never caused me to break my concentration, but then again, I hadn’t been in love with him.

  Ignoring the fluttering in my stomach, I scanned the people beyond him through my lashes until a familiar figure caught my eye. He stood about twenty feet away near a street vendor, pretending to study the contents of a book.

  I tilted my head to whisper in my husband’s ear. “It’s the gentleman from the séance. The one I told you I suspected was following me about London. Now that seems certain.”

  His hands tightened momentarily on my waist. Then he turned his head so he could nuzzle my ear. “I don’t suppose this square would be the ideal place for a confrontation.”

  “No. A side street would be better.” I wasn’t altogether surprised by the breathless quality of my voice. Sidney’s lips on my skin were making me feel a trifle lightheaded.

  “Then let’s see if he follows.” His smug tone made it clear he had also noted his effect on me.

  He pulled back, keeping his left arm wrapped securely around my waist and guided me toward the river. I played along, cuddling into his side as I gazed adoringly up at him. We turned off the larger boulevard into a quaint shop-lined side street, and then left into an even narrower deserted lane between two buildings. A few feet along stood an arched doorway with a small recess. Sidney urged me inside, and we pressed back against the wall, straining to hear the sound of footsteps.

  My eyes widened in surprise as Sidney pulled a pistol from behind his back. Apparently, it had been tucked into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. For how long, I didn’t know. But perhaps even more startling, it was a Luger, the Germans’ sidearm, and not one of the Webley revolvers issued to British officers.

  “You aren’t going to shoot him, are you?”

  He scowled. “No.” But then added under his breath. “Not unless it’s necessary.”

  There was the shuffle of feet, as if someone came to a sudden stop. Then footsteps advanced down the lane toward us, beating a rapid tattoo against the stones.

  “Well, try this first,” I said, stepping forward as the footsteps drew even with us. I swung out with my handbag, clipping him on his face just below the temple. Though deceptively ladylike, it had wickedly sharp corners—should they be needed—and enough heft to pack a wallop. During the war, I’d learned the value of a cleverly disguised weapon.

  He howled in pain, and Sidney grabbed a fist full of his coat, propelling him into the alcove where he slammed him back against the heavy wooden door on my left. I flinched at the impact.

  “Who are you?” he snarled into the man’s red face. “And why are you following my wife?”

  The man had the wind knocked out of him for he wheezed, struggling to form a reply. “I . . . I’m not . . .”

  Sidney raised his pistol so that the man could see it. “Don’t even try to lie.”

  His eyes widened in terror. “I . . . I mean her . . . no harm.”

  “Then why are you following her?” he bit out through gritted teeth.

  “Sidney,” I murmured, lifting a hand to intercede lest he go too far.

  He relented a fraction, loosening his grip on the man’s coat. “I’m not going to repeat myself again. Who are you?”

  “Jonathan Fletcher,” he whimpered.

  I frowned. “The author?”

  “Y-yes. I write crime novels.”

  Sidney glanced at me and I shook my head in confusion. “Why are you following my wife? She saw you in London and now you’re here. Why?”

  “And for that matter, how?” I interjected, unable to believe he’d trailed us all the way from London without our noticing.

  Mr. Fletcher licked his lips. “Well, I hired someone to follow you when . . . when I realized you’d seen me in the park.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “And yet you followed us to Belgium anyway.”

  “Yes, well, my man telephoned to say he’d lost you in Ostend, but that he’d overheard you speaking about Liège on the boat. So I . . . decided I should join him.” He huffed sheepishly. “That two of us were less likely to lose you again.”

  A thought occurred to me. “This man. Is he wearing a mask?”

  Mr. Fletcher squirmed. “Maybe.”

  I scowled. The man from the boat. Well, that explained how he’d caught up to us in Liège, but it still didn’t explain why they were here. A fact that also hadn’t slipped Sidney’s notice.

  “Such a determined effort,” he drawled sarcastically before leaning in to growl at the man. “But why are you following her?”

  Mr. Fletcher winced. “I . . . I noticed the way she reacted to Madame Zozza’s summoning her friend. It was the most interesting thing that happened that night. And . . . well, I needed an idea.” He began to gesture more broadly with his hands. “The plot of my latest novel was going nowhere. That’s why I decided to attend Madame Zozza’s séance in the first place. I was hoping maybe I could utilize her as a character. Then I heard her home had caught fire the next morning. I only live a few blocks away. So I walked over to watch. And that’s when I saw Mrs. Kent.” His eyes gleamed with excitement as he turned to me. “You were talking to her assistant and I thought, now, there’s a story. So I decided to follow you.”

  Sidney’s eyes met mine, echoing the exasperated disbelief that must have been reflected in mine.

  “You followed me all about London and into Belgium, all because you were chasing a story idea for your novel?” I asked incredulously.

  “I take it you’re not an artist,” Mr. Fletcher replied in affront. “Otherwise, you would understand how desperate one becomes when facing the blank page. And yours was the best idea I’d had in ages. Society girl kills medium in order to keep her secrets.”

  I stared at him in bewilderment, realizing he’d fashioned me into the villain of this story of his, whatever it was. In any case, his explanation for trailing after me was so outlandish, it could only be true. Sidney seemed to agree, for he released him and lowered his pistol to his side. Though I noticed he didn’t put it away.

  “My wife didn’t kill anyone,” Sidney retorted. “But write whatever story you please, so long as the woman does not resemble her in any way. And so long as you stay out of our way. If I should catch sight of you or your man in the mask again, I will not hesitate to use this.” He gestured with the Luger.

  Mr. Fletcher nodded frantically. “Of course. Of course.”

  Sidney stepped back to let him pass, but apparently Mr. Fletcher had decided to press his luck.

  “Can I ask why you decided to travel down from London separately? For a moment, my man thought you were going to take the earlier boat as well. Nearly fooled him.”

  My eyes slid to Sidney in confusion. What earlier boat?

  He glowered at the man. “No
you may not. Now get out of here. Before I change my mind.”

  Mr. Fletcher moved quickly then, scampering back the way he’d come.

  Once he’d gone, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

  One corner of Sidney’s lips curled upward derisively. “Well, I doubt he’s any danger to your Emilie.”

  “Sidney?”

  His gaze dipped to my handbag, as he reached back under his coat to stow his gun. “That’s some accessory. Had I known how effective it would be, I wouldn’t have bothered to draw my gun.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to distract me. What other boat was he talking about?”

  I could read in his eyes that he was considering lying, and I arched a single eyebrow, prepared to stand there all evening in the deepening shadows if he didn’t start talking.

  He brushed a hand back through his ruffled hair and shot his cuffs, settling his appearance back to one of careless elegance. “The boat to Calais.”

  I frowned. “But the note I left . . .”

  “Said you were taking the one to Ostend. Yes, I know.”

  His jaw was tight as he glanced up and down the lane, and I realized there was something he wasn’t telling me. I studied his profile as he linked my arm through his and guided me down the lane in the direction of our hotel. Where had I recently heard someone mention that French port?

  I gasped, jerking Sidney to a stop. “You thought I was meeting Max!”

  CHAPTER 18

  “I didn’t.” Sidney’s brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose I wasn’t sure,” he reluctantly admitted.

  “How could you even think I would do such a thing?” I wanted to swat him in the head with my lethal handbag. “I told you I wanted to try to make our marriage work, and I am. I would never just . . . just run off with another man.” I narrowed my eyes. “At least, not without telling you that’s exactly what I was doing.”

  My fury seemed to have succeeded in upsetting his cool insouciance, for he shifted his feet in agitation, his dark hair falling over his brow. “I didn’t want to think you were. But I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable you seemed with Max.” His words sounded like an accusation.