Floats the Dark Shadow (44 page)

Then he felt a vibration under his fingertips. Unconscious, not dead. The next quiver felt even weaker. Taking no chances, he bent over and covered Charron’s mouth with his own. He gave him the kiss of life, breathing air into his lungs and withdrawing to let them deflate. Three breaths, four, and Charron gasped, dragging in air. His hands flew to his throat and he stared at Michel in terror.

“You are alive. You are safe,” Michel said. “I will bring Dr. Foquet. Do not move.”

He waited to see comprehension in Charron’s eyes, then left. He made his way back to the culprits and their guard. Two other warders had joined them. He sent one for Dr. Fouquet. “Tell him the prisoner has been hanged in his cell.”

“So he strung himself up rather than go to the guillotine,” one of the card players scoffed.

The second took up the theme. “We were just telling him what was waiting for him. He took the coward’s way out.”

“You tried to kill him,” Michel said. “He could not have lifted himself up.

“You don’t have proof.” The second man was starting to sweat. The first would swear it was all a mistake if he’d been found throttling Charron with his own hands.

“I have enough to get you cashiered.”

The first man just sneered. “Over a bit of conversation with a child murderer? No one cares if he dies now or later.”

“Is that what Rambert told you, that he was the child killer? Did he bother to mention he may have tried to rescue the young girl tonight, not kill her?”

They stared at him, jaws dropping. Then the first snarled at him, “Liar!”

“You bungled your assignment. Do you think Blaise Dancier will reclaim you when we toss you out on the street?” It was an intuitive leap, but it struck home. The first man flushed, the second paled. There were others who might have paid to have Charron murdered, but Blaise had informants already in place and the money to tempt them to worse treachery. “Dancier may pay well for betrayal, but he can’t afford it in his own ranks. And you won’t be paid for failure. If Charron is innocent, Blaise may kill you himself.”

“You can’t prove any of this.” The second man was whining now. The cohort kicked him and told him to shut up.

When the doctor came, Michel helped Charron from the cell, then had the two guards locked inside. Then he took Charron to the infirmary. The doctor examined him briefly. “There may be no permanent damage. Perhaps his voice will suffer.”

Michel summoned Rambert to watch over the prisoner for a time. Rambert might be in sympathy with the other men’s goals, but he was not a killer. He was stricken that his bragging had led to the attempted murder. “I’ll do a better job here. The viper just hisses at me.”

By then it was early morning and Cochefert had arrived. Michel informed him of what had happened. Together they decided on the most trustworthy guards for the duration of Charron’s imprisonment. Michel sent a second man to back up Rambert. No one was to go in or out of the infirmary except the doctor and his patients.

He should have known Dancier would want his own personal vengeance. He had been fond of at least one of the boys who had vanished from his territory. But Michel didn’t think Dancier would have offered the case if he planned to subvert it. The attempted kidnapping of Lalou’s little girl had put him into a fury. Did Dancier love Lalou, or was it only pride? Pride, Michel thought. Dancier was furious that anyone had even attempted to abduct someone under his personal protection.

And when you set off searching for vengeance?
he asked himself. Pride. Yes. Love. And guilt. Guilt more than anything else.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A man may drown, dreaming as he descends….

~ Arthur Rimbaud

“ARRESTED!” Casimir stared at Theo in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“He was trying to save Ninette from Vipèrine.” Theo began the whole story over again, as she had told it to Averill’s mother and sister two hours ago.

“Vipèrine is a charlatan,” Casimir’s voice dripped disdain, “but one quite capable of criminal excesses.”

“Yes…yes…this diabolical creature must be the guilty one,” her aunt whispered.

Theo deliberately left out that Averill had wanted to attend a Black Mass and hoped Casimir would not reveal it. She would have told him more details, but not with the others here. Theo glanced at Francine, who stood by the window staring at the heavy velvet drapes. They’d been drawn when Theo brought the unhappy news, as if the house were in mourning.
Grand-mère
had been told and was taking consolation with her poodle. A note had been dispatched to Uncle Urbain, who still had not appeared. Probably he’d not even bothered to read such a niggling trifle from his irksome wife.

At first Aunt Marguerite had closed herself in a fragile shell of calm. When her husband still had not appeared after an hour, she went upstairs to fetch a shawl—or so she said. Whatever drug she took while she was alone did not help. Her walk was unsteady, her eyes glassy. When Theo described to Casimir how the Black Maria drove off with Averill inside, her aunt gave a quavering sob. “They must not hurt him. He cannot endure being locked in prison.”

“Averill has great strength of spirit,” Casimir assured them all. “These accusations are ludicrous. Of course he was trying to rescue the girl.”

“You know him best,” Francine retorted, still studying the nap of the drapes.

Did Francine know about Casimir and Averill? The searing memory of their kiss pulsated in Theo’s mind. Closing her eyes, she tried to will away the wretched headache. She’d spent the night in her chair by the window. Despite the worry that plagued her, she did fall asleep and woke to bright sunshine burning through her eyelids. The effects of the fumes she’d inhaled last night lingered and all her senses felt feverishly heightened.

“It is unfortunate he didn’t accompany you to…” Aunt Marguerite trailed off, unable to remember where Casimir had been going.

“To Dieppe,” he finished.

To see Oscar Wilde after his release after two years of hard labor in prison. Theo trembled. If convicted of this crime, Averill might receive an even harsher sentence.

“You are back quickly.” Again, Francine made the simple statement into an accusation. Her anger made a jumble of Theo’s already confused thoughts. Francine might be angry at the specter of scandal. She might be jealous. It was apparent that her parents hoped to snare an aristocrat for her husband. Infidelity was accepted in Paris society, expected even. But surely Francine would be appalled Casimir was her brother’s lover?

“The friend I went to visit was in ill health,” Casimir said. “He was much subdued. It seemed best to depart early.”

“Oh…would you like an herbal tea? Chamomile perhaps?” Her aunt’s voice quivered as she tried to carry on. The trivialities kept hysteria at bay. “You must not get ill yourself.”

“I do not believe it is contagious.” Casimir glanced at Theo, impatience simmering. “I thought to catch Averill outside his anatomy class, to tell him about my trip over lunch. I came here when I found he was absent.”

“He has been doing very well…” Aunt Marguerite collapsed on the sofa, weeping helplessly. Francine stalked over and handed her a handkerchief. Crushing it in her hand, her aunt pleaded, “Where is your father? Why hasn’t he come?”

“He will be furious.” Francine smirked. “Perhaps he has gone to the police station.”

“Or to his lawyer to have Averill disinherited,” Casimir muttered under his breath.

Theo caught that and they exchanged a rueful glance.

“What will happen?” her aunt sobbed.

“I don’t know,” Francine snapped, then collected herself. “Perhaps Father will arrange to have Averill released.”

Theo doubted that. Michel believed he was responsible for the murders as well as Ninette’s kidnapping. She hadn’t revealed that, but Casimir knew it all too well. He hid his concern, but Theo could see tension in his stance and the hard set of his jaw.

“I will go to the Dépôt. Perhaps the police will let me speak to him,” Casimir offered.

“Yes, please,” her aunt said. “You are most kind.”

“Thank you.” Theo hoped he could at least get a shred of new information.

As soon as Casimir left, Francine turned on her. “How dare Averill do this? The shame is unsupportable.”

Theo was outraged. “What shame? He rescued a girl in danger!”

“This girl…this baker’s daughter…surely she will clear his name?”

Theo hoped so. “I don’t know what she remembers. She was drugged.”

“These people—it’s all so despicable.” Francine’s disdain encompassed Ninette and her parents as well as Vipèrine.

“Yes, it was despicable,” Theo responded. “Think how terrified you would have been.”

Francine looked at her blankly. Such a thing happening to her was incomprehensible. Theo turned back to her aunt. If Ninette didn’t remember what had happened, would there be any way to disprove Averill’s involvement? “We must get Averill a lawyer at once. He must consult with him, see what information they have….”

“Father will do that in due course,” Francine said haughtily.

“Surely he will be cleared before the trial!” her aunt broke in with a cry.

Theo was bewildered. “But he needs a lawyer now. They need to go over the evidence, plan their defense.”

Aunt Marguerite frowned at her, puzzled. “But he will not be permitted a lawyer before the trial.”

“No lawyer?” Theo was flabbergasted. She knew French law was different, but she had never tested it beyond silly misdemeanors—wearing pants or sneaking into the catacombs with a hundred other gleefully guilty Parisians.

“The innocent need only cooperate with the juge d’instruction,” her aunt recited the words like a catechism, but her lips trembled and new tears slid down her cheeks.

Theo trusted Michel to search for the truth, but that did not mean he would find it. With so many pieces that fit his theory, he could easily discard anything that did not. There would be no way to prove Averill was innocent until the killer struck again. And if the killer loathed the Revenants for some reason, he might wait till Averill was executed.

Guillotined.

She had refused to think of it till now. Losing your head seemed more horrible than hanging—so much bloodier. Was it truly more merciful?

There was a knock at the door. Theo exchanged apprehensive glances with her aunt. Outside in the hallway, the maid’s tentative footsteps approached the door. When she opened it, Theo could hear muffled voices. Curiosity cracked through the brittle shell of fear and Theo hurried out, the others trailing behind. Inspecteur Devaux was there, accompanied by two younger officers. And with them was Averill, utterly haggard. Shadows lay under his eyes and huge bruises marred his cheek and forehead, their mottled colors of purple and green stark against his pale skin. He wore a shirt that was too big for him, and a red cotton handkerchief was knotted around his throat. They had him in handcuffs.

His mother went forward unsteadily, tears streaming. Michel nodded for the guards to stand back and allow her to embrace Averill. She clasped his face and kissed his cheeks again and again. Francine hung back, staring over their heads at the paintings on the walls. When Averill tried to catch her eye, she examined the pink rosettes on her shoes. Turning back to his mother, Averill spoke to her in a low voice. Theo could not hear all of what he said but she heard the most important word, “innocent.”

She stepped forward, and Michel nodded that she could speak to Averill. She didn’t dare embrace him but laid her hand over his heart, feeling it beat.

“Thank you for trying to help.” His voice was strange, a rough croak. Had they been interrogating him all night? Then she saw the bruises around his throat. She gasped, her hand flying instinctively to her own throat. Averill shook his head infinitesimally. His mother had been too distraught to notice.

Stunned, Theo didn’t know what to say, what to think. Had he tried to kill himself? Why, if he was innocent? No, the interrogators must have throttled him, hoping to squeeze a confession from him. She pivoted around and glared at Inspecteur Devaux. He looked away. It was the first time he had not met her gaze. Anger poured through Theo, filling her to the brim. Speechless with fury, she started toward him. Averill whispered her name, halting her. He glanced at Michel and shook his head. Michel was not responsible then? Theo stood where she was, wrapping her arms around herself to contain her raging emotions. She must not make it more difficult for Averill.

Michel nodded to the guards, who again stepped in front of Averill. “We will be searching the house,” Michel told her aunt, who gaped in disbelief. “Perhaps you would like to retire to your own rooms. We will need to search everywhere, but we will do them last.”

“Monstrous.” Francine turned and stalked to the foot of the stairs, her back rigid. She’d still said nothing to Averill. Pausing, her back to them, she said only, “Mother.”

It was unlike her to assume command, but suddenly she seemed very much her father’s daughter. Marguerite looked confused but murmured, “Please, Inspecteur…” She trailed off, not knowing what to say. Lifting the lace hem of her skirt, she walked slowly over to join her daughter. Her elegance looked frail beside Francine’s new-found authority. Together they went up the stairs.

“I’m staying,” Theo announced.

Michel looked about to protest, but only said, “You will not interfere in any way.”

Grateful he hadn’t thwarted her challenge, Theo nodded. Did he permit her presence because she’d been part of Ninette’s rescue? Or perhaps he thought to discover definitive proof of Averill’s guilt, something she could in no way deny?

“Show us your room, Monsieur Charron,” Michel said, beckoning to his men. Theo followed them up the stairs and along the hallway. Michel opened the door to Averill’s room and they all went inside. To her the dusky purple room was sweetly familiar, with books scattered everywhere. Inspecteur Devaux ordered his men to search Averill’s clothes while he stood by the entrance, watching the process and Averill’s reaction.

Theo walked over to him. “What of Vipèrine?”

“He is being interrogated,” Michel replied tersely.

“Why are you subjecting the family to this if you don’t know whether Averill is guilty?”

“How do you think we discover if someone is guilty, mademoiselle? A very few are overcome by remorse and confess. Most continue to deny their crime even after you heap the evidence in front of them.”

He was right, of course. She felt like a fool but her anger didn’t abate.

Michel crossed the room to Averill’s desk and began to examine the books there. Theo supposed the medical textbooks would be suspicious to a policeman. He continued searching while his men rummaged through the bureaus and stripped off the bed linens. Watching them, Averill looked as if he might be ill. Theo bit the inside of her lip, tasting blood. If she felt violated, how much worse it must be for Averill.

Michel began pulling open the desk drawers, searching in and under them, hunting for hidden spaces. Reaching the bottom drawer, he took out several folders. Averill took a step forward, only to be stopped by the guards. Michel looked at him. “Works in progress?”

“Yes,” Averill replied, barely audible. “My poems.”