A brittle dawn light was spreading slowly up from the horizon, the sky cold and smooth as glass, the air charged with the metallic taste of frost. A lone seagull drifted above me with a mournful cry, wings motionless, floating like a sheet of paper on the wind. Ahead, the gardens were emerging into a patchwork of shadows, the detritus of the night – abandoned masks, gloves, lanterns – outlined on the whitened grass. The bowl of the great fountain loomed out of the retreating darkness. The gardens too seemed abandoned; I guessed the night’s revellers had been packed off into boats before panic and scandal could spread too far.
I set out briskly on the path towards the copse, my feet so quickly numbed by the cold that it hurt to walk. The torches that had lit the way a few hours earlier had all burned to blackened stumps or been appropriated by couples seeking the shelter of the wood. I had no need of a lantern to find the place now, though when I reached the clearing where I had encountered Léonie, I wished I had thought to bring one; the trees overshadowed the ground and the frail light barely penetrated here. I walked carefully around the fallen trunk where she had been sitting, crouching to sift through piles of dead leaves with my fingers. After a few minutes, I sat back on my haunches and blew on my frozen fingers. It was still too dark to make out footprints clearly and in any case, so many lovers seemed to have made their way through the clearing I was unlikely to find anything that would show who had encountered Léonie here.
I stood, hearing my knees crack, and followed the direction she had taken in such haste when she realised she had said too much to the wrong person. She had run wildly into the trees where there was no path, but by proceeding slowly I could see from the broken branches and traces of her white fur cloak snagged on twigs the course of her panicked flight. Some fifty yards into the wood, my eye was caught by a pale streak on the ground. I pushed through the thicket of branches and bent to pick up a white silk scarf, sown with tiny pearls and embroidered with silver thread and tassels, now trampled and muddied. A knot had been tied midway along. I stared at it, recalling Léonie’s body, the bruise at her throat. Whoever killed her had known this trick with the knot, just like Joseph de Chartres’s murderer.
I tucked the scarf inside my doublet and stumbled back into the clearing, wrapping my hands inside the folds of my cloak. The sun had almost risen above the horizon; in the chilly light I saw a figure moving among the trees on the other side, by the path back to the palace. I froze, but a twig snapped beneath my feet and it was too late to hide; I drew the small dagger I had stolen as he whipped around and I realised he was not wearing a mask.
‘Jacopo!’ I sheathed the weapon with relief and pushed my own mask on to my head.
‘Bruno?’ He took a step towards me, frowning. The pouches under his eyes were deeply shadowed; he had evidently been up all night too. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’
‘Looking for anything that might tell us what happened to the girl. You?’
‘The same,’ he said, after a pause. I noticed that he looked past me towards the trees as he spoke. ‘I thought Catherine had you under guard in the library?’
‘I thought I might spend my time more usefully.’
He glanced fearfully in the direction of the gardens. ‘She will be angry when she finds you gone.’
‘Ruggieri can take the blame for that. Though he will probably claim I bewitched him.’
‘Did you find anything?’
I unbuttoned my doublet and reached into the inside pocket. ‘I cannot tell you how glad I am to talk to you, Jacopo. There is something I must show you.’ I told him briefly of my earlier encounter with Léonie and what she had said, then handed him the gold medallion she had left behind. ‘She dropped this when she ran from me. I suppose it is valuable – she was worrying at it like a holy medal when I interrupted her.’
He started visibly as I laid the disc flat on his palm, the side with the dolphin engraving uppermost, and the colour drained from his face. ‘Dear God. Do you know what this is?’
‘A piece of jewellery, I guessed. But I do not understand its significance.’
‘Better you do not.’ He pressed his lips together and closed his fist over the medal. ‘Leave it with me – I will see it returned to its rightful owner. You must not be found with it on your person. In fact, you should not be found at all.’ He checked quickly in both directions. ‘Come with me. I helped smuggle you in – the least I can do is show you out. And God help us
