I’d never seen a dead body before. Or rather, I’d never seenpartof a dead body. I was staring at a severed hand. It lay just off the footpath like an apparition. It didn’t belong on the sunny grass, a perversion of the peace of the otherwise tranquil summer afternoon. Birds were chirping overhead, unperturbed by the sickening sight, as the sun warmed my skin.
Digging my kerchief out of my pocket, I dabbed at the beads of sweat dotting my forehead. It had already been a long day, and this discovery was sure to pose additional obstacles. It was bad enough that I was new to this whole servant thing. I was used to being waited on hand and foot, not being the onedoingthe waiting. I didn’t need anything mucking up my day, not with how slow I was at performing menial tasks normally. But I figured I might as well resign myself to this unpleasant task. Then I could get back to finishing my actual chores. I groaned internally as I imagined how late into the evening I may have to work to catch up.
I glanced up the path toward the stables. The forest blocked most of the view of Château le Blanc, but I caught a glimpse of a chimney through the dense branches. It was reassuring that I was nearly there.
I turned my eyes back toward the unnerving sight of the severed hand. It wasn’t so much severed as torn. There was no clean cut but instead jagged, loose flaps of skin clinging to a bluish wrist, two bones jutting out, as if snapped like matchsticks.
I swallowed past the bile rising in my throat. There was little blood, thankfully, just a small pool, long since cooled and congealed beneath the wrist.
Someone would have to see this. It would be unpleasant, but it would be easier if I brought it to the house, and a message was dispatched to the gendarmerie in town. I looked down at my kerchief, grimacing as I decided I would have to carry the limb wrapped in the cloth to transport it. The kerchief would be ruined, of course, but it couldn’t be helped.
Bending over, I held my breath as I drew closer to the hand, its fingers lifted and curled into the air, as if reaching for something in death before rigor mortis had petrified it in place. I paused as I noted a trail of ants crawling along its side, venturing into the exposed wrist.
With a grunt, I bunched my kerchief and nudged the hand tentatively. Half a dozen flies scattered, buzzing indignantly as I lifted the hand by two fingers and wrapped it quickly in the cloth. I turned away at the waft of rot exuding from the limb, doing my utmost to banish images of maggots feasting as I hurried up the footpath, holding the offending item as far from my body as I could.
The stablemaster watched as I approached, removing his hat and giving it a good dusting off across his knee before replacing it. Amusement pulled at his lips as he lifted a leg to lean against the fence. A horse nickered in the stables behind him, but he didn’t mind the sound, more interested in what I was doing holding a kerchief out as if it contained a rattlesnake.
“What do you have there?” The man asked, tilting his head curiously.
I hesitated as I came to a stop. “It’s … well, it’s a hand.”
“A hand?” the man’s eyebrows knit together. “You don’t mean a person’s hand?”
“I do. I found it along the path. I expect the count will want the gendarmerie informed.”
The stablemaster pursed his lips. “The master doesn’t like trouble. No, sir. I can’t see him wanting the gendarmerie fussing about the grounds.”
I blinked at him. “Are you suggesting that I ignore it?”
“No, no. Nothing of the sort. I would pass it off to Grimes if I were you. He’ll know how to handle it. No need to bother the count.”
“Right, then.” I inclined my head slightly as I continued up the path.
Château le Blanc was growing clearer now, rising like a refuge from the dark forest. Just the sight loosened some of the dread coiled in my chest. I stepped into the clearing, surveying the hedge maze briefly before returning to the house, a white three-story château, sprawling and elegant. Ivy climbed up the side of the building, clinging to the stone and threatening to crowd in on the windows. It reminded me briefly of La Vallée, my ancestral home, and a pang of sadness tugged at my chest before I banished the thought and refocused on the task at hand.
I strode purposely toward the servants’ entrance before hesitating on the doorstep, wondering how appropriate it was to bring such a vile thing indoors. I reached out for the bell, pausing as I heard footsteps approach from behind. Glancing back, I saw the stablemaster had followed me. He nodded, sidestepping me and opening the door. “I’ll do you the favor of fetching Grimes.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, and nodded back, surprised by his thoughtfulness, if not outright relieved. It spared me the undesirable task of surprising the butler. Given that Grimes held my employment in his hands, I didnotwant to get on his bad side or cause him any unnecessary grief that would look unfavorably on me. Esteem was everything for a servant.
A disturbance from the drive caught my attention. A cloud of dust bloomed into the air on the tail of a small carriage pulled by a single horse, its head lifted proudly as it clopped along the gravel. Not visitors to the château. This carriage was far too simple for nobility. Plus, the servants’ hall would have been abuzz with the impending arrival of any guests.
“Dupont.”
I blinked at the name before realizing it was the last name I’d adopted to conceal my true surname. I scrambled to attention as Grimes stepped out from the servants’ entrance, the stablemaster at his heels. Grimes’s eyes immediately sought the offending article in my hand, and he grimaced before holding a kerchief to his face, as if the mere thought of the hand was revolting to him. The butler’s eyes darted up as the carriage grew nearer, and he nodded to the stablemaster. “That’s the doctor now. Intercept him as he’s coming out of his carriage and be discreet about it.”
The stablemaster bowed his head slightly before taking off around the front of the château.
“The doctor?” I asked. “Is someone ill?”
Grimes waved a dismissive hand. “Mrs. Blake is having one of her pains again. You know how fragile women are.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Ah. So the masters of the house are in good health,” I said. Mrs. Blake was the cook. “Good to hear.”
“I should think so,” Grimes agreed, standing taller. “The family would hardly be seen by a country doctor, much less an apprentice, when they have their own personal doctor who comes up from the monastery. That’s the sort of efficiency I can get behind, Mr. Dupont. Medical needs and spiritual needs all rolled into one individual, caring for the bodyandthe soul.”
“As you say,” I said, not knowing how else to respond. I’d seen a monk in the house previously, so this must have been the family’s doctor he spoke of. He’d seemed cold and off-putting, to be honest, but then again, I’d never been one for religion. I’d gone to church with my family and attended with the servants now, but I would hardly say I was devout. I only went to keep up appearances.
In another minute, the stablemaster had returned, slightly out of breath, with a man behind him carrying a doctor’s bag.
