wretched visitor.”
“Not at all. Tell me, though, has something new happened or are you suffering from the memory of that poor girl?”
“Girl?” I realized he meant the murder victim, not the apparition I’d just seen. “No, it’s not that. Your thief has called on me,” I said, and recounted for him what had transpired the night before.
He listened carefully and then paused, as if considering his reply. “And does Hargreaves think this Sebastian is our murderer?”
“He’s not willing to reject any possibilities.”
Laughter coming from the maze interrupted us. “You’ve no chance of winning.” It was Madeline, her voice a singsong full of light. George reopened his watch.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” he called to her, then turned back to me. “Is there any assistance at all that I can provide?”
“Not at present,” I said. “Inspector Gaudet plans to find Sebastian.”
“And you think that buffoon can accomplish such a thing?”
“Only if he has my husband’s help.”
“Ah. Which leaves you alone to remember gruesome sights. I’m so terribly sorry, Emily,” he said, and placed a light hand on my arm. “We can’t have you feeling morbid. I shall make it my mission to entertain and distract you.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Not at all. I accept it as my moral duty. What English gentleman could do otherwise? I shall start by insisting you take tea with me. And Madeline, of course.” His voice rose. “Who has now no chance at defeating me. Perhaps together the two of you can earn bragging rights.”
Madeline appeared, stepping out from behind the tall, carefully manicured hedge. “I’m capable of timing things too, my dear,” she said. “I bested you by three and a quarter minutes.”
George laughed. “And so you have. I knew I shouldn’t let you have a watch.” He embraced her, kissed her on both cheeks, and took her hand. “Inside. We’re all in dire need of tea.”
“Have it sent out,” Madeline said. “It’s too beautiful a day to be indoors. And I’m desperate to catch up with Adèle.”
George winced as she called me by the wrong name, but quickly pasted a smile on his face. “This is Emily, darling.”
“Of course,” she said, blinking the confusion out of her eyes.
“You’d like tea outside?” George asked. She nodded. “Your wish, madame, is, as always, my command.” With a low bow, he took his leave from us, promising to return with the genial libation and generous portions of hot beignets.
Madeline, once again herself, looped her arm through mine and led me to a soft patch of lawn between the moat and a cluster of topiary pines. “My favorite spot for a picnic,” she said, lowering herself onto a large blanket already spread on the ground, books and papers and a handful of freshly picked wildflowers happily scattered across it. I joined her, still feeling troubled, my mouth dry, my skin prickling. Disturbed though I was by the murder, at the moment, the image of the little girl was causing me more distress.
“Are there any children living on the estate?” I asked, suddenly conscious of the possibility of a simple explanation. “One of the servants’, perhaps?”
“No,” Madeline said, sighing. “George and I have faced a number of…disappointments. It might appear cold, I know, but I can’t bear to have other people’s children underfoot. After my fifth…” She stopped, bit her lip hard. “One of the under gardeners had a little girl. We gave him notice because it was too painful for me to come upon her playing on the grounds.”
“I understand all too well,” I said. She asked no questions, required no explanation, but took my hand and squeezed it. “How old was she?”
“The gardener’s girl?” she asked. I nodded. “Three, maybe four.”
“Where do they live now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We gave him an excellent reference. I’ve no doubt he easily found another position.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Ages ago,” she said. “At least six years.”
Which meant, clearly, that the little girl in the window could not have been the gardener’s daughter. I remembered what Monsieur Leblanc had told us about the ghostly child searching for a mother and shuddered, unsure why I wasn’t able to immediately dismiss what I’d seen as a silly offshoot of a ridiculous tale. But something in me, deep and instinctual, screamed to me there was more to the story.
“Gaudet has officially asked me to help him find Capet.” Colin’s dark eyes flashed serious. It was late and we were snuggled in bed, both of us reading as rain pounded the glass beyond our shutters. I was finding
“Have you lost faith in him?” I asked.
“He was on the verge of declaring the search a failure.”
“So soon?”
“He’s interviewed everyone in the village and no one admits to seeing anything suspicious. Which means, in his mind, that your friend the thief has vanished—he assumes to Paris—never to be seen again.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time Sebastian has successfully eluded the authorities. Has Gaudet contacted his counterparts in Paris?”
“Only in the most perfunctory way. He’s ready to write the whole matter off as unsolved.”
“And what about you?” I asked.
“I want to interview Capet before I start throwing around accusations,” he said. “I do hope your indefatigable friend can offer a reasonable alibi.”
“Sebastian would never kill anyone.”
“I hope you’re right. But whoever did this is not to be trifled with. He’s a brutal, twisted individual,” he said. “This is not the first time there have been rumors of the Ripper striking in France. Until I’m confident Capet is not our man, I want you to be cautious in the extreme.”
“You think there will be more murders?” I asked.
“I can’t promise you there won’t be,” he said. His words scared me. I deposited my book on the bedside table and curled up next to my husband, grateful for the safety of his arms. I didn’t believe for a second that Sebastian was capable of such brutality, but nonetheless was unsettled, and I didn’t like the feeling in the least.
6
The situation began to deteriorate from the moment we awoke the next morning. A gnawing feeling in my stomach disturbed me soon after the sun rose, far earlier than I would have liked. I pulled on a soft dressing gown,
