Dangerous to Know

train.”

“It’s so unfair!” she said. “I’ve just decided to head off to Yvetot tomorrow and had so wanted to call on you. I understand your belle-mère lives not too terribly far away.”

“You can still visit Madame Hargreaves, darling,” her mother said. I felt the beginnings of a headache, no doubt related to the thought of Toinette machinating an opportunity to flirt with my husband.

“I’ve a friend from school who lives nearby, you see,” Toinette said. “I’m going to spend a whole week with her and we’re bound to be bored out of our minds. I’m hoping she might host a dance. Apparently—” she paused for another bite, “her father opposes the idea, but I’m bound and determined to change his mind.”

“You must invite Madame Hargreaves and her son,” Madame Prier said.

“And the Markhams. May I have more chocolate, Maman?” She gulped from the cup the instant her mother had filled it. “I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Oh the Markhams. Yes, I suppose you must, although they’re bound to be tedious.”

“You don’t like them?” I asked. “We found them pleasant company.”

“George is all charm,” Cécile said. “And Madeline as well. Eccentric in her way, but a very sweet girl.”

“I never liked her mother when she was young,” Madame Prier said. “And I’m quite certain she’s beyond intolerable now.”

“She’s ill,” I said.

Madame Prier nodded. “Precisely. Now, Toinette, what else do you need to prepare for your visit?”

I watched as she and her daughter prattled on about clothes and other details of the journey, surprised that she would dismiss Madame Breton with such contempt. Given the struggles with nerves faced by her own daughter, I should have thought she’d be more sympathetic.

But Edith’s illness and death were topics garnering no interest in the household that day. Madame Prier snapped at me when I brought up the subject, and I feared my pursuit of further information might prove awkward, particularly as I felt uneasy at the thought of questioning the staff without the family’s express permission. I asked Cécile’s advice about addressing her friend on the subject.

“Non,” came her response. “You will not ask first. If necessary, we will beg forgiveness, but we will not give her the opportunity to forbid us to carry out the task. And I am suddenly overcome with a suspicion that something might force us to go downstairs at any moment.” Without pausing, she stepped into the corridor and opened the door that led down to the kitchen, deposited Brutus on the steps, waited until she heard his barks fade to almost nothing, and then took my hand and led me to the domain of the servants.

“Mon dieu!” she said, her face full of apology as she scooped the little dog into her arms. It had taken us fewer than three minutes to locate him in a dark corner of the butler’s pantry. “The little cad is looking for beef, I think.”

The cook, enamored at once by the small furry creature, insisted that we follow her to the kitchen, where the staff had just finished their luncheon. She fished a hearty bone from a soup pot and showed it to Brutus, who yelped thanks and panted at the sight of it. Cécile lowered him to the ground with his treat.

“No use trying to rush him,” she said.

“None indeed.” The cook nodded with pleasure at the dog’s delight. “He’s a sweet little thing.”

Cécile shrugged. “When he wants to be. The rest of the time he’s an absolute beast devoid of all good qualities.”

“Too small to do much harm,” the cook said. A willowy maid walked by, her arms full of freshly laundered sheets. Seeing the little dog, she paused.

“He doesn’t belong to the house, does he?” she asked.

“No,” the cook said, holding out her arms to take the laundry so the maid could bend over and pet Brutus.

“Miss Edith would’ve loved him,” she said with a sigh.

“Your mistress told me Edith was excessively fond of dogs, that she liked them more than she did most people,” Cécile said. “Do you agree?”

“Oh yes,” the girl replied. “She loved them. Had three, you know. Two well-behaved, one a tyrant. Of course, she kept them in the country, not in the city.”

“Did you know her well?” I asked.

“As well as anyone, I suppose.”

“Jeanne was a lady’s maid then,” the cook said. “Took the best care of our young girl.”

“Toinette?” I asked.

“No, no,” Jeanne said, shaking her head. “She was too young for anything but a nurse. I was Mademoiselle Edith’s maid.”

“Would you tell us about her?” I asked.

“I don’t know as we should be talking about her,” Jeanne said, the cook nodding agreement behind her.

“It would help me ever so much,” I said. I glanced up and down the corridor, hoping I looked nervous. “I found her body, you see, and the image has haunted me ever since.” They all cringed when I mentioned the body, Jeanne covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought that perhaps if I knew more about her life, I could associate more pleasant memories with her name. Of course, I don’t want to trouble Madame Prier—”

“She could use some trouble if you ask me,” the cook said. “Come sit down. I suppose you’ll be wanting a cup of tea?”

She went to put the kettle on while we followed Jeanne to a long, well-worn table lined with rustic chairs, mismatched, ten on each side, two each at the head and foot. She’d recovered the laundry from the cook and placed it in a large wicker basket, smoothing the sheets on top before she sat across from us.

“I miss her, you know,” she said. “We was close. She was always kind to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for her hand across the table, almost surprised she let me take it. Her skin was rough, but warm, her grip strong.

“They should never have sent her away.”

“Why not?” Cécile asked. “She wasn’t well and needed help.”

“Maybe she did. But there was all that trouble with her brother.”

“Weren’t she and Laurent close?” I asked.

“Too close if you ask me.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Wasn’t natural.”

“They were twins,” I said. “And twins are frequently closer than ordinary siblings.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But he hated anyone else knowing her too well. He’s a possessive one.”

“Was someone courting her?”

“Well…” She squinted, as if measuring us up. “There was a gentleman, but once Monsieur Prier made it clear he wasn’t suitable…”

“Did she go on seeing him?” I asked.

“Monsieur Laurent wouldn’t have stood for it.”

“It couldn’t have been his decision,” Cécile said. “His father’s opinion would have been the one that mattered.”

Jeanne snorted. “Some might think that.”

“Do you know the gentleman’s name?” I asked.

“Vasseur.” Her voice softened, turned almost dreamy.

“Jules Vasseur?” I nodded, hoping she’d think I was more familiar with the man than I was. “Of course!”

“You know him?” she asked.

“Who has not heard his name?” Cécile spoke with a perfectly executed casual air.

Jeanne sighed. “I did not know him, of course. Not well. But I did, on occasion deliver messages to his house for my mistress. She loved him very much.”

“You know where he lives?” I asked; she nodded. “Could you show me? I need to talk to him.”

“He left Rouen as soon as Mademoiselle Edith was sent away,” she said. “I couldn’t tell you where he went.”

“Did you ever hear from her after she left the house?” I asked.

“No, madame. We weren’t to speak of her—it was too painful for Madame Prier. Only Laurent disregarded her wishes.”