It felt as if the drive to Barentin spanned centuries. The roads were bumpy, and we were jostled so hard I feared my teeth would fall out. But it was not all unpleasant. Sebastian regaled me with some excessively diverting stories about the perils and pitfalls of being a Thief of Refined Taste, and by the time we reached Madame Sapin’s modest but well cared for house, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t immediately step out of the carriage.

Once I’d returned to a state of calm, we approached the door. We’d debated the best approach to convincing Madame Sapin that Dr. Girard condoned our expedition. Sebastian persuaded me to come around to his way of thinking which, at the time, seemed a decent option. Now that the moment was nearly upon us, my heart was pounding and our plan seemed a dismal one.

A cheerful maid opened the door, told us her mistress was home, and led us into a small room in the front of the house. The wide planks of the wooden floor had not a speck of dust on them, and the furniture was simple and spare. I looked around, hoping to see evidence of a child’s presence, but there was none. In a matter of moments, a tall, sturdy woman came in, her broad face friendly, her cheeks bright pink.

“How can I help you?” she asked. “The girl says Dr. Girard sent you.”

“He did, Madame Sapin,” I said, my hand shaking as I gave her the letter Sebastian had forged before we left the doctor’s house. “He’s concerned about Lucy, you see.”

She shook her head and crinkled her nose. “I’m afraid I can’t read.”

“I—I can read it for you if you’d like,” I said.

“If you don’t mind,” she said.

I cleared my throat, nervous:


Dear Madame Sapin,

I hope this letter finds you well. As I’m sure you’re aware, the recent murder of our poor Lucy’s mother has put my mind in a state of great unease. As a result, I’ve asked two friends of mine to assist you with the child: Lady Emily Hargreaves, a friend of the Prier family, and Sir Bradley Soane, a gentleman of both impeccable taste and absolute dependability. Please do not hesitate to allow them to assist you in any way possible. I am, as always, grateful for the kind service you’ve done for the child.

Girard


“But he knows she’s not here,” Madame Sapin said. “I don’t understand.”

“Well of course,” Sebastian said, rising and crossing to her. “But he’s well aware of the bond between you and Lucy, and knows that if anyone could—” He stopped. “It’s all been so difficult, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, sir, it has,” she said. She dropped her head as her eyes showed the faintest signs of tears.

“Shall I call for some tea?” he asked. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’ll be able to carry on,” she said. “I thought it was the right thing to let Lucy go to her mother. Near broke my heart, it did, but how could I deny Madame Vasseur?”

Vasseur? Had Edith married her lover?

“I’m afraid we’ve more bad news,” I said. “Dr. Girard has been murdered as well, and there’s speculation the killer might be looking for Lucy.”

“Oh this is too, too awful,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve never known such a kind man.”

“Could you tell me—” I took her hands. “—I know it’s difficult. But the more you can tell me about Lucy and the doctor and Madame Vasseur, the more likely it is that we can help the child.”

“Dr. Girard never mentioned either of you,” she said. “I don’t know—”

“Have you other letters from him?” Sebastian asked. “Did he write to you?”

“He knew I couldn’t read.”

“But he must have occasionally sent you instructions, or information?” I asked.

“He did.”

“Who read it for you?”

“My girl. She’s educated, you see. Her mother’s blind and likes to hear stories. And the doctor didn’t want anyone out of the household to know the truth about Lucy’s parentage. You know how these aristocratic types are. My apologies, madame.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Where are the letters now? Did you keep them?”

“Dr. Girard told me to burn them all once they’d been read.”

“And did you?” Sebastian asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Shouldn’t I have?”

“I just thought that if you had one, you could look at it next to the one we’ve brought and see the handwriting’s the same,” he said. “So that you’d feel more at ease with us.”

“I suppose I could have my girl look at them,” she said, her voice hesitant.

“That’s an excellent idea,” I said, worried that I was forcing too much enthusiasm into my voice.

The maid was produced, and her reaction reassured me. She nodded her head vigorously as soon as she saw the letter. “Oh yes, madame, this is from the doctor. I’d recognize his hand anywhere. Would you like me to read it?”

Sebastian could not have been more pleased with her reaction to his forgery.

“Yes, I would,” Madame Sapin said, kicking my nerves up again. She must not have trusted me to read it accurately. But when the servant spoke the words precisely as I had (she was in possession of a beautiful reading voice), our hostess let her shoulders drop and visibly relaxed, returning to the open, friendly mode in which she’d greeted us. She sent the maid away.

“Please excuse my uncertainty,” she said. “Dr. Girard told me discretion was absolutely necessary in this situation, and I have grave worries about dear Lucy. I’ve heard nothing of her since her parents took her away.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“Six months ago, I suppose.”

“Did you speak to her mother?”

“No, only her father. He was on his way to collect his wife from the hospital and wanted to bring their daughter to surprise her.”

“Had he any proof of his identity?” I asked.

“Oh yes. Army papers or something of the sort,” she said. “Foreign Legion. Yes, that’s what it was. My girl read them to me. He looked all shaken up—couldn’t believe how big Lucy was. She’s a beautiful girl, you know. The image of her mother, Dr. Girard always said.”

“Did you not expect the doctor to have alerted you to Lucy’s mother’s release?” I asked.

“He sent a letter, just as he did with you,” she said.

And I knew it must have been just as authentic as ours.

“Do you have any idea where they went?” I asked.

“They were setting up house near the sea. Lucy clapped her little hands when her father told her. She’s always wanted to build sand castles.”

“Was she afraid to leave with him? He was a stranger to her,” I said.

“Not at first. I don’t think she realized she was really going away. But I heard her crying in the carriage. And she clung to me something fierce when I put her in it.”

“It must have been dreadful.”

“It was,” she said, her face turning ruddier. “But it’s the right thing, isn’t it, for a child to be with her parents?”

“Of course,” I said, hoping the girl was all right. “Have you any idea where on the seaside they were headed?”

“Étretat,” she said. “But I don’t know more than that.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

“You will let me know if you find Lucy?”

“Of course.”

“I can still look after her, you know. She was happy here.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said. “This is an extremely welcoming and warm home. A perfect place for a child to feel loved. I’ll keep you informed of all developments.”

We thanked her again and she showed us to the door. Before we’d reached our carriage, I turned to Sebastian. “Don’t even think about it,” I said. “Put it back.”

“What?” he asked.

“The book,” I said. “Go take it back. Now.”

“She can’t read,” he said, his voice teeming with indignation. “And it’s Les Trois Mousquetaires. A prime first edition. One of my favorite books.”

“I’m not arguing about this, Sebastian.”

Resigned, he went back to the house while I discussed with our driver the possibility of heading straight for Étretat, the town where, I remembered, Monsieur Leblanc resided.

29

Étretat lay too far from Barentin for us to comfortably reach that day, so we returned to Mrs. Hargreaves’s house, where a telegram from my husband waited for me.


“In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare.” How glad I am to have a wife of such rare variety. Homer would sing your praises.


This set what felt like a permanent grin on my face, and I was ready to find Lucy, vanquish the killer, and recruit Sebastian to the service of the Crown. Woe be to the person who tried to stop me!

We’d managed, over crêpes topped with apples, butter, crème fraîche, and sugar, then doused with calvados—Normandy’s famous apple brandy—and flamed, to do a decent job recounting the day’s events to my mother-in-law, so that she was excited rather than horrified by our exploits. I should have expected nothing less from her, but the experience of my own mother’s reactions to my work had taught me to brace myself for constant censure. But instead of criticizing, Mrs. Hargreaves offered to accompany us to Étretat.

“I’m not sure it would do, Emily, for you to go so far away without me. Mr. Capet is an unmarried man of dubious character. It might harm your reputation. If I come, his presence will seem unremarkable.”

“You’re very kind,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Who is going where?” Cécile burst into the room. I leaped up and embraced her, delighted to see her.

“Do you have the notebook?” I asked.

“Did you doubt for a moment I would?” She kissed my cheeks. “I am disappointed in you, Kallista.” Frantic yipping in the hallway announced the return of Caesar and Brutus.