Em did. “It’s locked.”
“I’ll go find Mrs. Hopkins.” Marianne was already heading down the hallway.
“Hurry,” Emma called after her. To Vi, she said in worried tones, “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Vi, too, felt a sinking sensation in her stomach.
Marianne returned with the housekeeper, who produced a key and unlocked the door. When she attempted to push it open, it wouldn’t budge.
Vi tried as well, to no avail. “She’s barricaded it from the inside.”
“We’re going to need your strongest footmen, Mrs. Hopkins,” Emma said.
Off the housekeeper went again whilst Em and Marianne implored Jeanne to let them in.
Vi had another idea. Going over to the next room, she knocked. When there was no answer, she turned the knob, and, luckily, the door swung open.
Entering the cramped room, she saw at a glance two small cots, one rickety washstand, and—yes!—a dormer window protruding from the sloped ceiling. She went over and pushed up the pane of glass. Peering outside, she saw that the window to Jeanne’s room was also open… and it was only about six feet away. She gauged the slope of the roof with an expert eye: it was nearly horizontal at the edge and easy to traverse.
True, the ground did look rather far away from three stories up, but Vi had completed far more challenging tasks. This would be a piece of cake compared to balancing on a tree limb, for example, or standing on the back of a moving horse. Decision made, she swung her leg over the sill and climbed out. Keeping her body close to the tiles, she began to inch her way over to Jeanne’s room.
One foot… two feet… three…
“Good Lord!”
Emma’s voice startled her, and she jerked, kicking loose a tile. It tumbled, shattering on the gravel below. Vi kept her balance and her eyes on the goal.
“Gadzooks, don’t interrupt me,” she said. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”
Behind her, she heard Emma’s muffled prayer.
…four feet… five…
Her fingers grasped the jamb of Jeanne’s window. Holding on, she hoisted herself through the open frame, landing lightly on her feet in the room.
“Sacré dieu!” A wild-eyed Jeanne stood backed against a wall. The bed had been pushed up against the door, blocking entry.
Holding out her hands, Vi spoke in the voice that she would use with a spooked horse. “It’s all right, Jeanne. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The elderly maid was paler than a ghost, her grey hair loose and tangled over the shoulders of her black dress. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“We’ve met before—I’m Violet Kent, remember? One of Monique’s great admirers. I had the privilege of visiting with her the night before…”
Vi trailed off when she saw moisture well up in the other’s reddened eyes. It occurred to her that this was the first true sign of grief she’d seen from anyone over Monique’s death.
Jeanne truly cared about her mistress, she thought with a pang.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Jeanne,” she said softly.
Silence quivered between them.
“I… I remember you. My mistress, she was quite taken with you.”
“She was?” Vi said, surprised.
“Oui.Jeanne, she said to me,Mademoiselle Kent est charmante et un peu farfelue.”
Charmantewas easy enough to translate. “What does far-fell-loo mean?”
