She turned to the side and saw a young, wiry dog regarding her with his one good eye. Though he was a ragged-looking fellow, he appeared adequately fed and seemed good natured.
“Bonjour.”
The dog wagged his tail but did not approach.
Again, thunderclouds rumbled. “The rain isn’t going to wait for me,” she said.
Smiling at the dog, she glanced down the alley by the wine shop, knowing it cut through the long block. Shortcuts came with their own risks, but this one would save her five minutes, and she knew Madame LeBlanc would be cross if Diane got caught in a downpour and ruined her shoes.
Thunder rumbling, she stared down the narrow, dark, crooked lane that zigzagged between two old stone buildings. Lines loaded with drying clothes crisscrossed above, and as she passed, a woman peered out of a window and frowned at the sky and then down at her. From another window, she heard a man and woman fighting, and to her left, a rat scurried behind a broken barrel. Her heart beat faster when she sensed someone behind her, but instead of glancing back, she hurried toward the light at the end of the alley. When she reached the sidewalk, she released the breath she had been holding.
She found her way back to the arches marking Madame LeBlanc’s apartment and again felt a wave of relief. As she moved to the front door, she remembered the macarons in her pocket and quickly fished out one. She ate it in two bites, and when it was gone, she was annoyed she had not savored it. She was ready to eat more when a dog barked. She turned to see the mutt from the wine shop regarding her with his one good eye. His tail thumped.
“Ah, so you followed me here?” She approached the dog and scratched him between the ears.
The dog licked her hands and then began to sniff near her pocket.
“Ah, you smell the cookie?” she said. “I don’t think dogs like cookies, do they?”
The dog cocked his head as if to refute her claim. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the macaron. She broke it and gave half to him. He gobbled it up and looked toward the remaining half. “I thought we would share this one,” she said.
He lifted his gaze, looking as doleful as her younger brothers once had when they wanted extra attention. Remembering her brothers, she suddenly missed her home. “I wonder if the boys even remember they have a sister,” she said in English to no one.
The dog nudged her hand, and she relented just as she had always done with her brothers and gave him the rest of her cookie.
She heard footsteps to her right, and when she straightened, she realized a man wearing a dark coat was now only feet from her. His hair was dark, his eyes a dark shade of green, and his jaw shadowed with dark stubble.
The man was leaving the landlord’s apartment and quickly striding toward her as the dog chomped on the cookie. He lifted a brow.
“You are feeding my dog,” he said in French.
Diane lifted her chin, not the least set back by his tone. He was younger than she’d first thought, perhaps in his early twenties. “He looked hungry.”
Her accent must have caught his attention, and he regarded her more closely. “He wasn’t.”
Unsettled, she quickly patted the dog on the head and gathered her bag before hurrying up the stairs to the apartment. When she pushed through the front door, Pierre was standing over Madame LeBlanc, who lay on the floor.
Too stunned to move, Diane dropped her gaze to Madame LeBlanc’s pale, still face. A thin red mark ringed her neck. The figure stared sightlessly toward Diane.
Diane’s stunned shock appeared to please Pierre. “Hello, Diane.”
“What have you done?” she asked.
“She thought she could toss me aside like trash.”
Diane dropped her bag, and the bottle inside clunked against the stone floor. “Pierre, do you realize what you have done?”
His fingers clenched around a coiled section of brown rope. “I told you both I would not be cast aside.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“She said over and over that she saved me from the streets, and if I didn’t behave she would toss me right back. I feared that day, and it has stalked me in my dreams.” He flexed his fingers as he glanced down at Madame LeBlanc. “I gave her one last chance to take me back, but she laughed. So today it was my turn to see the fear in her eyes.”
“What have you done?” Diane asked.
Amusement danced in his darkening gaze. “You’re a smart girl. You tell me.”
“She’s dead?” Diane whispered.
“Very.”
The weight of his words sent energy racking through her body. She had to get away. Turning, she raced toward the door, but it took only a few steps before a rough hand grabbed her and yanked her back so hard she thought her arm would snap.
“Where’s the money?” Pierre’s breath smelled of cheap wine and tobacco.
Panicked, she could not find her words and in English whimpered, “I spent my last pennies on cookies.”
“I’m not talking about pennies,” he said. “Where is the real money? I know Madame LeBlanc made far more money on that trip than she told me.”
Her breathing quickened as her thoughts turned to survival and the closed apartment door behind her. She had not locked it, and if she could get away, then perhaps someone would help her.
Pierre said something else to her in French about money, but her addled brain understood even less this time. “I don’t know!”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, dragged her past Madame LeBlanc’s body, and slammed her against the stone wall. Pain radiated through her, jumbled her thoughts, and for an instant, her body went limp.
Pierre smiled as he always had when she suffered. “You made me do that. It’s all your fault.”
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to stare at him. Slowly he spoke, as if he wanted her to understand every word. “She said not to touch you. She said she had bigger plans for you. What was she planning?”
“I don’t know,” Diane sobbed. “Let me go!”
“She may have had plans for you, but I have a few of my own.” He gripped her arm and twisted until she cried out.
He whirled her around, and before she could catch her breath, he pushed her hard against the rough stone, again knocking the breath from her. She tried to pull away, but he pushed her so hard this time, her face slammed against the rough surface.
She screamed, “No!”
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked hard. Before she could draw in a breath to scream again, he clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed his face close to hers. A grin of even white teeth materialized in her peripheral vision as his gaze roamed down to the budding curve of her breasts. His gaze darkened, and he licked his lips.
“As long as she paid me, I didn’t touch you. You flaunted yourself in front of me. I held back.”
“Let me go!”
“I should have seen this betrayal coming, but Madame LeBlanc was very good at making me believe. Now you can pay me what she owed me.”
She grimaced as fresh agony coiled around her arm. “I had nothing to do with that!”
“Of course you did. I bet you were the one who told her to leave me behind. Well, it’s my turn to collect from you.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
Diane clenched the fist of her free hand and brought it around as hard as she could. Knuckles connected with the side of his nose and came with enough force to surprise and hurt her attacker. The gaslight flickered on the rough contours of his face as a clap of thunder cracked outside. His fingers captured her hand and tore into her flesh, twisting.
“Help!” she shouted. “Save me!”
His mouth came down on hers, and she had never tasted anything so foul. The one person whom she had trusted was dead, and again she was all alone in the world. She could feel herself drawing inward, wondering how she would ever be able to hide this terrible shame.
In the distance, thunder mingled with the sound of footsteps, and be
fore she could cry out, her attacker’s weight was yanked from her. The man from the courtyard stood in the room. His thick arms bulged as he clenched his fist and faced her attacker, ready for a fight.
Her attacker scrambled to his feet and, assessing her defender and likely the prospect of the police, hurried away as the dog chased him. The man let him go.
He grabbed Diane by the wrist and pulled her away from the wall. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know.” The lie rolled off her tongue in an instant because she was fearful he would step aside if he realized she knew Pierre.
She wiped the back of her hand over her bruised lips, and her attention shifted to Madame LeBlanc. Diane moved toward her slowly and then knelt beside the woman. Gently she touched her bruised neck. The cold stillness reminded her of the last time she had seen her mother in the casket. Madame LeBlanc was dead.
Tears welled in her eyes. She was the last remaining lifeline Diane felt that she had.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, raising a trembling hand to her neck. “Yes.”
“You’re a fool.” His French was heavily accented in a dialect she didn’t recognize. “What are you doing with Louise LeBlanc?”
Diane swallowed, wincing as her throat burned. Pointing at the body, she said, “She told my father she would take care of me.”
“Who is your father?”
“Isaac Hedrick.”
“It is not Antoine LeBlanc.”
“No.”
He mumbled words that had the hard edge of curses. “Gather your things.”
“Why?”
“Do you wish to stay here?” he demanded.
“No!”
“Wise girl. If that man doesn’t come for you first, the police will.”
She scrambled to her feet, wobbling a little as she tried to steady herself. “Police. But I didn’t do anything.”
He grabbed one of Madame LeBlanc’s carpet satchels and handed it to her. “They won’t care. And there’s no telling what the police will do to you when they have you alone.”
Pierre’s scent still lingered on her flesh, and without thinking, she wiped the back of a trembling hand over her lips. “Who are you? Why should I trust you?”
“I am Gilbert Bernard, Monsieur Antoine LeBlanc’s nephew.”
Hearing a name she recognized offered a small measure of comfort. “The man Madame LeBlanc has been writing?”
“Yes.” He nodded to the bag. “Pack.”
She numbly walked into her tiny room and put in the few meager items she had been given by Madame LeBlanc. There was her mother’s handkerchief. She raised it to her nose and caught only the faintest hint of home.
“We must go,” Gilbert said.
“Where?”
He was silent for a beat. “I can’t leave you here. You will come with me.”
“Where?”
“To the family estate. My housekeeper will know what to do with you. Come. Now.”
She rose, clutching her bag. As she turned toward Madame LeBlanc, she cringed.
“Don’t look at her.”
“Why would he kill her?” she asked.
There had been times when Madame LeBlanc had made her feel safe and loved, but more often the woman had left her scared or feeling alone.
“Whatever kindness she extended you was only because she wanted something.” Outside, a dog barked, and the shouts of men echoed up the old building’s stone walls. “Now, we must go.”
Diane thought about the planchette that Madame LeBlanc had used to speak to her mother. Perhaps it had been a lie, but if she left it behind, whatever chance she might have had of talking to her mother would be gone forever. She raced across the room and found the ornate wooden box where Madame LeBlanc stored it. She shoved the box in her bag and hurried out the door to find Gilbert standing just outside looking for the police.
He frantically beckoned her forward, his rough hand outstretched. His dog beside him began barking.
She did not trust Gilbert Bernard, but in this moment, he was all she had. She took his hand, and he wrapped calloused fingers around hers as he took her bag in the other.
She struggled to match his quick pace and hurried down the worn stairs and out across the courtyard. Beyond the arch a whistle blew, and the shouts of the men grew louder.
Gilbert turned them both, and they started walking in the opposite direction. “Go slow and easy. Give them no reason to chase us.”
“They’ll see us if we do not hurry.”
“They will see a man and a girl walking.” He issued an order to the dog, who raced ahead and then darted to the left.
They followed along the road, moving slowly to the right. “Easy,” he said. “Look as if you have nothing to hide.”
She glanced up at his hard features that remarkably looked as if he did not have a care in the world. As they rounded the corner, she saw the wine shop where she had been less than an hour earlier. He opened the door and pulled her inside.
“Max,” he said.
The man who had sold her wine less than an hour ago looked at Gilbert and then her. “What are you doing with her? She works for Madame LeBlanc.”
“I know. Madame LeBlanc is dead, and the man who killed her appears to have summoned the police.”
Max motioned them around the counter and into the back room. “What is her name?”
“I don’t know.”
Max muttered a curse. “Girl, your name?”
“Diane.”
He eyed her. “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“A child,” Max said.
“The woman had no heart,” Gilbert said.
Max nodded. “Gilbert, you can go out the back door, down the alley, and to the right. You’ll be at the river. You came by boat as you always do, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Then go,” Max said. “I’ll stall whoever shows up on my doorstep with a moderately good bottle of wine.”
“Thank you,” Gilbert said.
“Wait.” Max dashed behind the curtain to the front counter, and when he returned, he held a small package wrapped in paper. He gently handed it to Diane. “Cookies. Don’t feed them all to the dog. He would eat them all if he could.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Max waved them out the back door, and Gilbert quickly led them through a series of alleys until she had no idea where they were.
Thick clouds above grew darker and heavier with moisture, and when they stepped out of the alley, fat rain droplets began to fall. They kept moving, crossing a damp cobblestone street filled with people who appeared to be seeking cover. As they continued west, the rain grew heavier and the scent of saltwater grew stronger, along with the sound of seagulls. When they rounded the final corner, she spotted several tall ships moored to the dock. The rain allowed them to rush without being noticed down a long pier to where his dog patiently waited for them.
There was a young boy standing on the dock. Gilbert pulled several coins from his pocket and dropped half in the boy’s grimy hand. “If anyone asks about us, tell them we went east.”
“East,” the boy said, eyeing the closed fist.
“Yes.” He then dropped the last of the coins in the boy’s hand.
The boy clamped his fingers down hard against the metal. “You can count on me.”
Gilbert hoisted Diane quickly up and into the boat as the dog wagged his tail and barked.
“How did he know where to find you?” Diane asked.
A small smile tugged at the edge of Gilbert’s lips. “Because he is smarter than most people. Sit in the cabin. No one needs to see you.”
She ducked into the cabin and sat down as the raindrops fell even heavier upon the roof. The dog shook off rain from his coat and then sat beside her, making himself comfortable as if he had done this many times before. An engine stirred and rumbled. The boy from the dock then unfastened the ropes and tossed them toward Gilbert.
She was silent as she watched Gilbert maneuver away from the dock. The engine puttered as he slowly directed them past the other vessels, steering with the experience of the skilled watermen she had seen on the Eastern Shore.
“What’s the dog’s name?” she asked.
“His name is Oscar. And guard your cookies close. He will eat them all and ask for more.”
In the distance, more whistles blew, and men shouted. Gilbert kept his gaze forward, his expression blank. He was a man without a care in the world on a short boat trip.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Diane
Age 12
Thursday, October 8, 1903
Bayeux, France
Normandy Region
Diane sat in the front seat of the boat, watching the lights of the shore drift farther away as Gilbert maneuvered down the river. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and nestled close to Oscar as waves of shivers ran through her body.
When Gilbert reached the end of the river, he guided the boat out into the open sea and what she guessed was south along the coast. She had grown up on the water and had memorized the constellations in the night sky. For the last three years, she had been landlocked with Madame LeBlanc, and there was so much light in the cities, it had been hard to see the night sky.
Now that she saw the sun peering out from behind the clouds, she did not feel any sense of relief. In the space of an hour, her life had flipped, and the uncertainty of traveling with this stranger chilled her to the bone. What if he was like Pierre? Madame LeBlanc had not always been kind, but Diane had grown accustomed to her moods, her odd-smelling potions, and men and women parading through their Baltimore home seeking a connection to their dead.
The surge of adrenaline she had felt abandoned her. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the chill in the air and fight off fatigue and desperation.
A heavy cloth that smelled of apples and tobacco dropped around her shoulders, startling her awake. She blinked and looked up at Gilbert, who had already turned back toward the waters ahead. His hands clutched the wheel, and he looked more annoyed than ever.
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