Ghastly Mistake, page 11
Charlotte gave a dissatisfied sound. “Well, best to take this slow and hope for the best.”
“Is there anything we can do?” I felt helpless and wanted to contribute.
“Bring a bucket for her to vomit in, just in case. A warming bed pan if you can manage one. We don’t want her chilled. Towels and a water pitcher filled with tepid water would be good.”
Tristan nodded and left the room.
“Honestly, please tell me. What do you think of her chances, Charlotte?”
“I am here, you know!” said Twyla. “I’m not dead yet, and unlikely to be. I’m not feeling the pull of the Afterlife.”
I didn’t want to explain to her that perhaps that lack of pull was because she would become a ghost instead.
Charlotte always spoke plainly. “In your situation, you were given one dose, and it was oral. This looks to be several injections. I don’t like it, but her heart is strong, and her lungs clear.”
“She’s been missing for about three days,” I told her.
“Well, she’s young, stubborn, and in good health. That can make a world of difference.”
“Thank you,” said Twyla. “I told you I’m not meant for the grave. A fortune teller told me once that I wouldn’t die until I had white hair, and my hair is far from white!”
Despite Twyla’s optimism, the night was horrid. Her soul often disappeared; and after this had happened twice, I realized it always preceded a convulsion when her body would grow agitated, fighting those who were trying to keep her still. She mumbled and spat out intelligible words as her fever climbed.
“Withdrawal from the drug,” was Charlotte’s medical guess.
A couple of upholstered chairs had been brought up from the parlor by Farrow, and Anne-Marie, pale-faced from worry, kept us supplied with pots of tea and coffee until we felt we would burst. Tristan came in a few times, but there was little he could contribute to the sickroom.
The next day, late in the afternoon, with Twyla’s situation unchanged, I exited the room to stretch my legs. Tristan drew me into our room. “My lawyers have arranged a meeting with de Windt tomorrow. Do you feel up for that?”
What if Twyla was still running these high fevers? Still half out of her mind? Could I leave her? Well, the world would not stop for one lone girl, and Anne-Marie could relieve Charlotte. My friends were in danger as long as I was wanted for Josephine’s murder. “Yes, but I want to wear something that fits.”
“I will send Farrow and Anne-Marie to collect something from the Crown.” His hand stopped my protest. “Don’t worry, de Windt knows where we now reside. That was the trade I gave for him to meet my demands.”
Probably it was my expression that caused Tristan to wrap me in a tight hug. He rested his chin on the top of my head. “Twyla will be all right. You’ll see. She’ll be back to plague you with her nattering until you’ll beg me to take her back to the Hollow Works.”
“I should never have allowed Madame Granger to take her. Or when she got back, I should have insisted she stay with me.”
“Don’t think that, Elinor. Barbier had us all fooled. If she had been with you, he would have found some other way to take her. As it is, he has lost his prize, and it seems, his Ghastly army, for things have been quiet the last forty-eight hours.”
“You do not think he has retreated? Given up?”
“No. He will try something and we shall need to be quick on our feet to stop him.”
From behind me, Twyla’s spirit said, “Has he told you he loves you? You can’t be in such a tight embrace with a man who hasn’t.”
“We’re married, Twyla.”
Her mouth shaped into an O, and she clapped her hands in glee. “Does Anne-Marie know?”
Which made me realize I hadn’t told her or Charlotte all that had happened since I had seen them last. Before I could tell her anything more, Twyla made a crying moan. “Oh, my body wants me. This doesn’t feel good at all!”
I broke from Tristan’s arms and, taking him by the hand, led him back to the sickroom. Charlotte looked up as we entered. “Fever’s broken, and her eyes are fluttering. I think she’s coming around.”
The first lucid thing Twyla said was, “I’m so hungry! I could eat five chickens!”
Chapter Eighteen
When Twyla had some chicken soup and toast, I left the room with Tristan. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind us.
“Do you realize we haven’t been alone together for forty-eight hours?”
“You must be jok—” I had no time to finish my thought because his mouth was covering mine and his chest pressed me backward, until I felt the wall against my back.
I had heard of such things, sudden passions taken quickly, but I had never experienced anything like it.
Tristan gave a throaty chuckle. “Am I embarrassing you? It is just us here. Husband and wife.” His hand came down the front of my borrowed dress to cover my stomach. “How is our baby doing after all those gymnastics at the Hollow Works?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, a little breathless.
“You frightened me to death when you came down that hatch.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You never do.” His hand was at my throat, unbuttoning my blouse.
“What about the others in the house?” I hissed, looking towards the door in fear it might open at any moment.
“Give me some credit. I locked it.” His hand brushed over the psychic burn that my father’s watch had left over my left breast, making it tingle slightly. One sleeve came off my shoulder, and then the next. Tristan kissed the bandage over where Buckard’s bullet had taken a divot out of my skin. “I’d have murdered him if you didn’t kill your enemies first.”
“I didn’t mean to kill him!” I retorted.
“Don’t fire a gun unless you plan on killing someone, Elinor. That’s the price of carrying one.” He sounded absentminded, his attention instead on unbuttoning, unhooking, or untying all of my clothes.
“I just wanted to stop him,” I said weakly. My skirt slipped to the floor, puddling around my feet.
“When this is over, I’m spiriting you away somewhere with some peace and quiet.”
I bit my lip, suddenly unsure. “You are happy about the baby, aren’t you?”
He swung me up in his arms, took me over to the bed. “Over the moon.” He laid me down and slid up against me.
“I wondered if a baby might change things between us. Like Leona said.”
He put his finger on my lips. “I am not Lucas Bridoux and you are not Leona Granger. I am very happy about you and our child. Do you want me to show you how happy I am?”
“Hm. Yes.”
Since the news of Barbier’s and Madame’s betrayals, all my emotions were wounded and on the surface. I felt vulnerable. Add following an incident where I almost fell to my death, it was perhaps no surprise that our lovemaking was different. It was passionate and fierce, with little care or gentleness on either of our parts. I didn’t wait. We took our joy from each other, panting and, at the end, laughing.
Afterward, we lay side-by-side, covered in sweat. Rolling on my side, I admired his profile. “What is the real reason you don’t want to visit Chambaux?”
“I haven’t been back since — since I did that.” Frowning, I realized that the dream where I had seen him shoot Minette must have taken place at Chambaux. How stupid of me not to realize that. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go back? To remove the power that memory has over you?”
“It doesn’t have power over me,” he told me. “That part of my life is done.” Staying on his back, he turned his head towards me, making eye contact. “I won’t sully my future with my past.”
“Oh Tristan,” I cried, my eyes tearing up. “But giving up Chambaux. Your childhood home where you had a pppp-ony.” My lip blubbered. I was feeling very sentimental.
His hand reached over, and his fingers entwined with mine. “I have sacrificed nothing; I’m walking away willingly. There is a difference. It’s a fact that you can’t gain without giving something up.”
“It’s all because of me you have to give up anything!” I wailed. “You shouldn’t have come after me. You’ve been dragged into all of my trouble.”
He rolled to his side to face me, his hand coming up to tenderly move a lock of my hair out of my face. “I wasn’t letting the woman I love be thrown in some cell. Barbier framed you for Josephine’s murder. A day later, he grabbed Twyla. If I had set you aside and thought of the king first, duty first, where would you two be?”
“Dead.”
“Most likely.”
I was crying now. To have such loyalty touched me deeply. Especially as those who I had known the longest had betrayed me.
“What do you think we should name her?”
“Her? It will probably be a boy,” I told him. “A little boy who looks like you and can sway me with a smile.”
“No, definitely a girl who will kill anyone who disagrees with her.”
“I really didn’t mean to kill him! Only, like — wound him a little.”
Tristan burst out laughing. Suddenly, there was a tap on the door. “Madame, are you in there? Twyla wants to know if she can have cake.”
As someone told me long ago, it’s a good idea to wear something that makes you feel beautiful every day. It also disgruntles your enemies when you show up looking wonderful, so I wore my best outfit when we left to meet de Windt to convince him I hadn’t murdered Josephine Baudelaire.
We met Tristan’s lawyers at their offices. They were fraternal twins, a man and woman named Van Heerden.
“Pleased to meet you at long last,” said Mysir Van Heerden, a man in his mid-forties.
“And congratulations on your marriage,” said Madame Van Heerden, who was as tall as her brother.
“Yes indeed! Congratulations,” added Mysir Van Heerden.
“We should get some wine when we finish to make some toasts,” said his sister.
“A fantastic idea. Especially if it is supplied by His Grace and bears the Chambaux label,” agreed her brother.
They were very efficient at their duties, reminding me we were only clearing up a misunderstanding. I was informed that I should only answer the questions I wanted. They would stop the meeting if they thought it was necessary.
We all went to de Windt’s government office in the same carriage. Tristan gave me little advice on what I should say. “It’s best you come unprepared, Elinor. If we rehearsed, your answers would come out stiff. Trust me, love, all will be well.”
I believed him because he was utterly relaxed. He joked with the siblings about their father, another Van Heerden, who seemed to have ill-luck at trout fishing.
“Of course, Father fell in,” Madame Van Heerden was saying. Her twin added to the story. “Like he always does! Thank goodness we insisted on him learning how to swim, otherwise mother would be a widower a dozen times over by now.”
De Windt’s offices were in a public building with an anonymous looking front to it. The interior was utilitarian with no ornamentation, like the royal residence and offices for parliament. We were shown into a room with a battered conference table and eight chairs. The place was one step above a gendarmes’ cell. It made me think of when Tristan had held me at Barbier’s station after I’d realized that the dead body in the morgue was related to the king. Hopefully, I wasn’t going to be held under another house arrest. Or worse.
De Windt entered the room with his clerk, who seemed to know the Van Heerden’s. They exchanged handshakes and briefly discussed a recent case. The clerk barely looked at me, and when he did he seemed very nervous, dropping his pen.
His superior was as pompous as ever. He was wearing his black uniform with cuffs of scarlet and had set on the table his flat cap with its gold braid. Older than Tristan by a good ten years, de Windt’s black hair was thinning, and the age marks around his mouth and eyes were settling into place. He cast me a suspicious look but did not voice his thoughts, probably because I had two lawyers and Tristan with me.
“My clerk will be taking notes about this interview,” he informed us.
“We will like a copy of those notes, and a chance to amend them on the public record,” said Madame Van Heerden cheerfully. I felt her unfazed, sunny disposition would have seen a man hanged with the same smile.
De Windt’s mouth tightened, but he did not disagree, only nodding to his clerk to make a note of the request. “Madame Chalamet—”
“Lady Fontaine, if you please,” interrupted Tristan. “That is now her legal title as we are married.”
The sour look on de Windt’s face deepened. “Lady Fontaine, tell me of your relationship with Lady Josephine Baudelaire.”
“We had no relationship. It was merely an acquaintanceship, for I barely knew her.”
“That is not what our witness says, but let us proceed discussing this acquaintanceship. How did you meet?”
I told de Windt about the dinner party at Hartwood over a year ago. “Before that, I had never met her or heard her name.”
“A Hartwood housemaid testifies to an animosity existing between you.”
Despite his serene posture, I could tell that Tristan alerted on that remark.
“Not on my part. I merely made a remark about a necklace she wore. My father was a famous jeweler and I have some experience in appraising jewelry, you understand? She was wearing a replica with fake stones. That is common, as some do not want to risk their jewelry to theft or loss. Lady Baudelaire seemed irritated that I knew. Since she is dead and cannot be asked about the state of her feelings, I am only guessing.”
“A good point, Lady Fontaine. Since her corpse is missing her eyes and tongue, she cannot be questioned by a Ghost Talker. How convenient for you.” I did not respond. I was not here to discuss my skill with talking to the dead.
“There seems to have been another thing she was displeased with: you had set your sights upon the Duke de Archambeau, the host of this party and her longtime friend.” He tapped his finger on the clerk’s paper. “Be sure to note that.”
“I was his guest at Hartwood until a case involving a cousin of the king could be resolved. She misconstrued the reason for my presence there. However, you can ask Lady Valentina Fontaine or the Duchesse de Chambaux, whom I met when I was there. For why I was there, ask the king.”
De Windt’s eyes narrowed as he realized I had scored a point. The king trumped any house servant. “When did you see her next?”
“I was invited by Lord and Lady Montaine, to their home, Hightower.”
De Windt’s eyes glittered. He had arrived at the Montaines’ in order to accuse Tristan of treason over the theft of the king’s letters. Letters that Josephine had acquired and had asked Valentina to plant among her brother’s things. Luckily, I had returned them myself, as well as stopping Josephine’s blackmail scheme.
“You do seem to have highly placed friends, Lady Fontaine. Do you think they will lie for you?”
“There is nothing to lie about. I did not know Lady Baudelaire would be at Hightower.”
De Windt looked down on some of his papers as if to find information there. I doubted that. He was well-rehearsed. “Speaking of Hightower, tell me how you gained His Majesty’s letters.”
Lady Valentina would not have snitched on that sensitive topic. Tristan obviously had not. That left only King Guénard.
“Lady Baudelaire had them from the king’s mistress and thought it best they be returned to His Majesty. She asked me to return them.”
De Windt threw his hands up in a got-you moment. “I thought you barely knew her! Why would she give you such a delicate mission?”
“Embarrassment? I cannot speak to Lady Baudelaire’s reasoning except that she wanted them out of her hands.” How far could the truth be bent? I was determined not to involve Lady Valentina in this mess. No one needed to know about Josephine’s blackmail attempt or her devious plan of getting Tristan into trouble. “The letters were given to me during a beach party that Lady Montaine arranged.”
“Why would Lady Baudelaire give letters to a rival?”
I expressed surprise. “Rival? I never considered her to be mine. She was already married.”
“When did you see her again?” De Windt showed a peevish anger.
“Not until the night at the Luminary.”
“We have witnesses to that.” He tapped his finger on top of his stack of papers. “Sworn affidavits that you two were seen arguing.”
“She seemed out of sorts that evening. I don’t know why.”
“You have a smooth answer to all of my questions.”
“I can only tell you what I did, saw, or thought. I apologize if it doesn’t please you. Answering these snide accusations doesn’t please me.” I let some of my frustration show.
“I have a witness that states you were the last person seen with Lady Baudelaire.”
“I have a witness that puts me in a completely different place when you say I entered that carriage with her,” I countered.
The lawyers had not interfered with the interrogation, so far but they had been taking notes, and nodding at me encouragingly. Now, Mysir Van Heerden finally spoke up. “When we interviewed the neighbors of Lady Baudelaire, all they could describe was a lady in black, heavily veiled. A description that could fit probably a hundred women in Alenbonné.”
Madame Van Heerden said in her perpetually amused voice, “Why, it could have been a description of myself!”
“You are hardly a small woman, Madame Van Heerden,” her brother reminded her, to which she laughed. “Indeed!”
De Windt’s temper flared. “Were a hundred women found with the dead Lady Josephine Baudelaire? No, it was your client! And with the corpse mutilated to prevent any questioning of her!”
