She had finally left her tower room, wound down the stairs and then slipped out that same side door. She would hear the band better from the little walled garden. As she crossed onto the landing opening to the garden, she’d been distracted by the sight of the full moon, so she hadn’t looked down at the garden. She hadn’t seen them until she’d reached the second to last steps, as she did at that very moment.
Her eyes clouded with memories, and her heart was in her throat. That moment, so many years ago, she’d seen Father first. He was lying on his stomach over something white. She hadn’t realized at first that the white had been the flowing dress Mother wore to the party. Severine had thought that it had been a curtain. When she realized the object had more substance, she’d thought perhaps it had been a bird. A swan from the pond perhaps.
She hadn’t wanted to see what her eyes had been telling her. That wasn’t a pool of blood, it was paint. That wasn’t Mama. It was a swan. Father wasn’t dead, he’d just tripped.
“Papa!” she had cried, low and weak. “Papa!”
He hadn’t turned. It was then that she’d known. In the very act of not responding, she’d known he was dead. He had always turned when she cried out. His eyes had always crinkled at seeing her. Mother might have ignored Severine or told her to go way, but not Father.
Severine knelt near the fountain and gazed down at the stone. Had it been scrubbed clean or had time and storms taken care of the blood?
Somehow, here, where they’d died, she finally didn’t feel their spirits. That feeling of being haunted was gone and she swallowed thickly. She wanted to call, Come back. Don’t leave me. But she didn’t. She didn’t know what happened after death, but she knew her father would come to her if he could. And she knew that he deserved to be released. Maybe forgiven. She closed her eyes and shifted from kneeling, sitting more comfortably. The tears came fast and hard and she mourned for the father who had loved her and—perhaps—no one else.
She mourned for the mother who had loved only herself. She mourned for what had been lost. Their lives. Her life, growing under their care. Possibly something more positive as she aged. The good times that would never happen and the innocence that would never be recovered.
When she was done crying, Severine slowly stood and wiped her eyes. She said goodbye, though she knew their spirits were not in that little garden. When she turned, she found that she hadn’t been alone after all.
Grandmère had watched and said nothing.
The two women studied each other and neither spoke. After long minutes that felt endless, Grandmère said, “I would like to ask you to let Andre go.”
Severine only wished she were surprised.
“I have spoken to the servants, and they have agreed that they saw nothing and heard nothing. I have spoken to Alphonse, who says it will be better for all of us if we keep the scandal to a minimum. I have spoken to Mr. Oliver, Mr. Thorne, and Mr. Brand, who have stated that they will leave the decision to you.”
Severine wished that she didn’t feel quite so tired as she stared at Grandmère. A part of her wanted to demand that Grandmère get out of the house, but she couldn’t do it. A part of her wanted to scream at Grandmère, but emotional outbursts simply filled Grandmère with distaste.
“Do you know who killed Mother and Father?”
Grandmère shook her head once.
“I will trade you for Andre’s freedom,” Severine told Grandmère.
Her grandmother’s gaze narrowed and she demanded, “What do you want?”
“Answers,” Severine replied. “Answers to any questions I have about Mother and Father and their lives.”
Grandmère hesitated.
Severine added, “If I find out you lie after the fact, in any way, I’ll cut off your allowance along with Andre’s.”
Grandmère nodded and then snapped, “Later. Are we in agreement?”
“Fine.”
Grandmère smiled slowly and said, “That’s good. I let him out this morning, and he’s taken your automobile.”
Severine looked away from Grandmère, wishing that her revelation had been a surprise. She passed by the old woman without a word and climbed the steps to the master wing.
* * * * *
“He’s gone,” Mr. Brand said in irritation. “And you can’t trust anything that your grandmother says.”
“What does it matter?” Severine asked with exhaustion. “She’d already let him go.”
“He’ll come after you later,” Mr. Brand snapped. “It matters.”
“You can remove him as a possible heir for me, can’t you?”
“Yes, I think so,” Mr. Brand replied. “But I’d rather see him in jail for trying to murder you, your grandmother, myself, and Lisette.”
“Yes, I know,” Severine added tiredly. She wanted nothing more than to return to her nunnery and curl up by the fire with a slice of Sister Sophie’s warm bread, a cup of Sister Bernadette’s tea, and some of Mother Superior’s words of wisdom. Severine pushed away the homesickness. “He’s not very bright. Hire someone to follow him. Let’s find out who he spends his time with and what he does.”
Mr. Brand’s gaze widened and he leaned back. “You are rather more like Lukas than I ever expected.”
“I wish that were a compliment,” Severine told him as Grayson, Oliver, and Florette entered her father’s office.
“In these circumstances, it is,” Mr. Brand told her. “You have all of his wit and an inexplicable well of morals that he would have been well-served by.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Florette told Severine. “I’ll do what I can to counter Grandmère’s lies.”
“Don’t.”
“But she’ll try to make you notorious in society.”
“Notoriety will serve me well for my purposes,” Severine told her cousin without explaining why. Her gaze moved to Grayson and Oliver. “I have not forgotten my promise.”
Oliver thanked her and then distracted Florette from
