“You’re very kind to think of her, and absolutely right. She doesn’t do well with children. There’ve been none here since our long-ago unfortunate gardener left. Terrible story, you know. I still can’t stand to go in the dovecote,” he said. “The little girl died there, you see. She fell down the steps. Madeline had been in there playing with her. She doted on the child. Can’t bear to talk about it now, of course.”
“How awful,” I said, a dull pain in my chest.
“Madeline blamed herself. It was a bad choice of a place to play, and she shouldn’t have let her run on the stairs. There wasn’t a thing anyone could say to ease her guilt. Her mind was not the same afterwards.”
“Poor Madeline,” I said. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“It’s not the sort of thing one likes to share with the neighbors. We kept things as quiet as possible and let everyone assume the gardener was sent away because Madeline couldn’t bear to have the girl around. I don’t think she could have survived gossip on the subject.”
“Of course not.” I hesitated. “She told me a somewhat different version of the story.”
“Yes, I’m afraid her brain morphed it into another miscarriage,” he said. “It’s as if she forgot about the actual child altogether.”
“I’m sorry to have brought up such a painful topic.”
“You couldn’t have known,” he said. “And I’m glad to learn of the familial relation. No doubt Madeline will want to call on the family to pay her respects.”
“Have you met any of the Priers?”
“I spoke to the son once at the opera in Paris, years ago. Laurent, if I remember correctly?”
“Yes.”
“Bit of a cad, I thought. Not sure I particularly like my wife being related to him,” he said. We’d reached the house, where I could hear Madeline’s laughter bouncing through the corridors. He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression measured and serious. “I am interested in speaking to this Girard. Could your husband introduce me?”
24
The next day, I was happily settled in the library next to my mother-in-law, working on our Greek. But I was unable to purge George’s story from my head. It made the shadowy figure of the girl I’d seen there all the more frightening. I closed my eyes, not moving until Mrs. Hargreaves’s voice pulled me back to the present moment.
“
“Not at all,” I said, laughter on my lips. “It’s just a sentence from Homer I’ve always liked. Are you ready for more?”
“No time for that, I’m afraid,” Colin said, entering the room. “If we’re to see Girard before lunch we need to leave now.”
The previous day, Madeline had reacted with almost no visible emotion to being told about Edith’s child. This didn’t surprise me—she would be upset, of that there was no doubt. Most likely, though, the story would affect her most when she was alone, and had the privacy to react in whatever way she wanted to. Hearing Edith was a relative, however, inspired in her nothing but a sigh. “This branch of the family has no interest in the Priers, I can assure you,” she had said. George, however, still wanted to call on them, and suggested doing so after we were to see Dr. Girard. He discussed neither plan in front of his wife.
“I feel almost as if I’m betraying her,” he said, as our carriage clattered along the road towards Radepont and the asylum. “Her mind can be so fragile—if I tell her I’m consulting with yet another physician it might send her reeling again. And odds are despite having treated Edith, he’ll have little to suggest that we’ve not already tried.”
“If Edith’s condition was more advanced than Madeline’s, it’s conceivable he’ll know more about the later stages of the disease.”
“I’ve done all I can for Madeline’s mother, and she’s bound, given her age, to be worse off than Edith ever was.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Apologies. I don’t mean to deflate every possibility. But I feel I must prepare myself for disappointment. I’ve been let down more times than I can count.”
I leaned forward and patted his hand. “Absolutely understandable.”
“Girard’s innovative and sharp,” Colin said. “I have faith he will be able to offer you something.” We passed the ruined abbey and continued along the Seine to the hospital, serene in its setting, silent except for the sound of the river. Everything was as it had been on my previous visits except that no nurse immediately greeted us at the door. Colin banged the heavy knocker against the hard wood, and we waited. After a few minutes passed, he knocked again, still soliciting no response.
He walked to the edge of the stairs and tipped his head to try to look into the window. “Can’t see anything,” he said, and set off to investigate the other windows on the front of the building while George took over knocking duties. When at last the door swung open, we saw a disheveled woman, tears staining her face, a crushed nurse’s cap in her hand. I barely recognized her as the same person who’d welcomed me on my previous visits. In a few long strides, Colin was back with us, stepping in front of George.
“How can I help?” he asked, pulling out papers that identified him as an agent of the British Crown. Not something I should have thought would inspire confidence in the French, but clearly enough to satisfy the sad figure before us that it would be all right to usher us inside.
“I remember you from before,” she said to me, her voice shaking. “Dr. Girard liked you.” She looked at George. “Have we met?”
“Unfortunately not,” he said, his voice grave. “I’ve come to speak to the doctor about my wife. Is this not a good time?”
She didn’t reply, or say anything as we followed her inside. The corridor looked no different from when I’d seen it last, but everything felt off-kilter. The nurse’s uniform was a mess, full of wrinkles, and large rust-colored stains covered her apron.
“What has happened here?” I asked, alarm in my voice.
“Dr. Girard is dead,” she said, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “In his office…”
Colin waited for nothing further. He raced towards the closed door at the end of the hallway. I started to follow, but he motioned for me to stop. I sat down on a long wooden bench next to George, feeling frustrated, then bit my lip and turned to the nurse.
“Is that blood on your apron?” I asked.
She nodded.
“His?”
Another nod.
“What happened?” I asked. “Has there been an accident?”
“No,” she said. “There was a knife…” Her tears morphed into consuming sobs.
“Who was with him?” I asked.
“No one, not at the end. I found him there this morning when I arrived.”
“Who on the staff was here last night? Did anyone hear anything?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Where was he stabbed?” I asked.
George shot me a stern look. “Is this necessary? The poor woman’s upset. Can we not comfort her now and leave questioning to the police?”
“Oh we won’t need police, sir,” she said. “He did it to himself. The blade was in his hand.” Her face was gray, her skin cold. I looked around for something to wrap around her, and found a blanket in a cupboard partway down the corridor. Colin stepped out of the office and looked at me.
“Would you come take a look at this?” he asked.
“Do you need a second set of eyes?” I liked that he was seeking my help. Maybe this new arrangement wasn’t so abysmal as I’d originally feared.
“We’re going to need more than that. But you’re an excellent observer, Emily. If you can stand the sight, I’d
