“Did your sister ever ask for your help?”

“Never. All she did was scold me.”

“Tell me about her descent into madness.”

“We’re a decent family, Lady Emily. We fall apart behind closed doors. When she refused to accept that my father would not let her marry Monsieur Vasseur, she was exiled to her room. She wasn’t permitted downstairs even to dine.”

“How long did this go on?”

“Several months until she was sent away.”

“Do you have any idea if she saw Monsieur Vasseur during this time?”

“Do you really think my dear parents let me interact with her once she’d become so…undesirable? I wasn’t even allowed to speak to her,” she said. “I couldn’t go near her room.”

“I find it hard to believe that stopped you,” I said. “You don’t seem a person who’s easily daunted.”

“The compliment is much appreciated. But the truth is, I had no interest in talking to her. Reading the letters she sent was diverting enough, but Laurent was the only one of us who could tolerate her once she got dotty.”

“Tell me about their relationship.”

“They were inseparable until Monsieur Vasseur came on the scene. Laurent didn’t like losing his dearest friend to a man he viewed as unworthy.”

“Did you have any contact with Edith while she was under Dr. Girard’s care?”

“None. My father wouldn’t have stood for it. I think he was afraid her condition might be contagious, spread even through letters.”

“Did this trouble you?”

“As I said, we were never close, Lady Emily. I can’t say that I missed her at all. And frankly it was a relief to not have to hear her ramblings. Does that sound cruel?”

“Perhaps, but it’s honest.”

“Madness is at first tragic for those who love the victim, but it soon turns into a burden. My sister was lost to me long before she was sent away. And once she was gone, my life opened up. I wasn’t allowed to be out at the same time as her, you see. My parents wanted her married first.”

“It must have disappointed you when your father deemed Monsieur Vasseur an unsuitable suitor.”

“I wasn’t happy about it.”

“Did you ever consider helping your sister to be with him?”

“And go against my parents’ wishes?” Toinette’s expression lacked any hint of being genuine. “I’d never dream of such a thing.”


The next morning, Cécile and I skipped breakfast in favor of an early start. The drive to the asylum had been uneventful, and the nurse I’d seen before again greeted us at the door and led us to the office at the end of the corridor.

“I feel no surprise at seeing you again,” the doctor said, standing as we entered the room. “I know I did not send you away yesterday satisfied.”

I introduced Cécile. “I am most impressed with your facility,” she said. “As a dear friend of Madame Prier’s, I know it must have given her comfort to know her daughter was so well looked after while she was here.”

“I’m only sorry Edith didn’t stay with us,” he said.

“Did you have any reason to believe she’d try to escape?” I asked.

“I’m not sure ‘escape’ is even the proper word. She wasn’t locked up or restrained. I wouldn’t have encouraged her to walk out the front door if I’d seen her try, but it’s not as if she was a prisoner.”

“Why do you think she wanted to leave?”

“I couldn’t possibly say.” He didn’t look at me as he replied.

“You told us she had a gentleman who visited her regularly. Was she romantically involved with him?”

“I’m terribly sorry, Lady Emily. But unless her family has specifically instructed me to reveal the details of Mademoiselle Prier’s case, I cannot tell you anything more.”

Cécile and I had come prepared. She passed the doctor a letter from Madame Prier—she’d convinced her to write it while I had talked to Toinette. He read it, folded it, creasing the edges with care, and rubbed his eyes. “I can assure you there was nothing romantic between Edith and the man who called himself Myriel.”

“We know Edith was with child,” I said, leaning forward.

He sat, motionless.

“Laurent Prier told us the whole story.”

No reply.

“Did Edith Prier flee because of what you did to her?” I asked.

Now he moaned. “She ran because of what I did, yes, but it’s not what you think. Not if you’ve talked to Laurent.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t do what he asked of me. I couldn’t bring myself to harm the child. But all of that is irrelevant now. And it doesn’t pertain to Edith’s case, not so far as her family is concerned. I know what I’ve done, and it’s something from which I won’t be able to escape for the rest of my life. But it isn’t any concern of yours.”

“It is if what you did directly or indirectly led to Edith’s murder,” I said.

“I’m in the business of saving lives, not ending them, Lady Emily. Understand that and you’ll know my guilt, though heavy, is not what Laurent told you.”

18

I mulled over Dr. Girard’s words as our carriage wound its way back along the river towards the bustle of Rouen. If his business was saving lives, and he hadn’t done what Laurent asked, what had become of the child he claimed not to have harmed? My head was throbbing with questions by the time we reached the Priers’. I looked at Cécile and sighed as we alighted from the carriage.

“I’m not looking forward to this evening.”

“I could not agree more,” she said. “But perhaps tonight will be better than the others we’ve spent here. We may even be able to convince Toinette to stop talking.”

And so laughter flowed from me as we entered the sitting room. Laughter that turned to ebullient joy when I saw my darling husband waiting for me. He rushed over and scooped me up in his arms.

“I came here with Gaudet this morning to follow up on a lead and couldn’t resist seeing you before you leave for Paris,” he said.

“I’m so pleased,” I said, kissing his cheek. Cécile, giving me a knowing look, exited in search of Madame Prier.

“I missed you,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have sent me away.”

“How are you enjoying Rouen?”

“It’s been beyond fascinating,” I said, and briefed him on all I’d learned about Edith. I did not, however, go into the details of my own ghostly tinglings.

“Girard must have let Edith have the baby and then sent it somewhere. It’s no surprise a man of medicine wouldn’t want to have helped things along, as Laurent told you.” Colin tapped his fingers on his knee. “Who would have taken the child?”

“You agree the baby’s still alive?”

“I do. Think on it. Edith discovers she’s with child. Her brother wants her sent away so the situation can be dealt with, one way or another. The good doctor isn’t willing to do what Laurent wants, but knows he can hide the birth—Laurent was the only one visiting—and send the baby somewhere safe.”

“Of course.” I looked at him. “We have to find the baby.”

“It could be anywhere—years have passed.”

“Edith escaped because she wanted to find it. She must have got in contact with Vasseur somehow. He left the Foreign Legion, came for her, and they went in search of their child. And the mission led to her brutal death.”

“It makes more sense than a random killing,” Colin said.

“Does it make more sense than thinking the Ripper’s come to France?”

“At the moment I’m inclined to say yes. Random violence is rare, and although the manner of Edith’s death is reminiscent of the Whitechapel murders, it may be that whoever killed her was deliberately copying his more famous colleague to set the police on the wrong track.”

“A theory not originally your own, if I recall.” I smiled. “So what will you do?”

“We can’t discount the possibility the murderer has come over from England. But this information of yours makes me want to change tactics.”

“New tactics that perhaps don’t require shipping me off to London?”

“So long as there’s no evidence of a madman marauding through Normandy in search of prey, I think I should be able to keep you safe. But are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to go home? Or to Paris with Cécile?”

“It’s as if you don’t know me at all,” I said. “Can you possibly believe I’d rather be anywhere than with you? I’d be so happy I wouldn’t even object to you keeping me safe.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Shall I convince you?” I asked. After a brief and extremely pleasant pause, we returned to the matter at hand. “Do you think Edith knew where the child had been sent?”

“We’re going to have to question Girard again. My guess would be that she didn’t—there would be too great a risk of her trying to get in contact. But it’s possible the baby hadn’t been sent far.”

“He could have easily sent it out of the country.”

“True, but let’s suppose someone—perhaps this man who visited her—told Edith where the child was. She escaped and wound up dead within a reasonable drive of Rouen.”

“So you draw the conclusion that she’d gone as far as she needed to find the child?” I asked. “She might have only just begun her journey.”

He grinned. “You’re right. I do adore your mind.”

“You’re too kind,” I said. “But I must ask—have you made any progress with our friend Sebastian?”

“Your friend, Sebastian. Let’s be clear on that point. He’s not shown a single sign of being around. I’ve been working on the assumption he followed you here.”

“I wish I could say I’d seen him and recruited him to the Crown’s cause.”

“This is one bet, Emily, you’re not going to win.”