“Where is this lodge?” I asked. Even if Lejeune was too placid to stir himself, he might have sent a faithful retainer to do the deed for him.
“Near Saint-Genis-Laval.” Donata named a village south of the city. “Only a few miles from the Deveres’ ironworks, in fact. Close enough for someone to nip into Lyon and commit the murder, it is true.”
“I went to the ironworks this morning,” I said. While Donata and Grenville regarded me with surprise, I explained Fernand’s odd behavior and Emile’s revelation that his cousin Claude had formed an attachment to Signora Ruggeri.
“Claude,” Grenville mused when I finished. “He is the dark-haired young man with the perpetually sullen expression, son of Giraud Devere, correct?”
“And a hothead, by Fernand’s reaction,” I answered. “It is clear that Fernand fears Claude has done something rash. Emile seemed more certain Claude would never commit such a deed, but I have not spoken to Claude himself, yet.”
“When you do, I urge you to tread lightly,” Donata said. “The Deveres seem to have much influence in this city, not to mention Gabriella now has a strong connection to them. I hope Claude had nothing to do with it, but be careful, even if he did.”
“If Emile’s cousins are in the habit of stabbing those who anger them, I’d prefer Gabriella not to be connected with the family at all,” I returned.
“I agree,” Donata said. “But you do tend to rush in like a bull, Gabriel. I only warn you to be discreet. Gabriella truly loves Emile, and you do not want her to shut you out for upsetting everything.”
That was the last thing I wanted. I’d missed much of Gabriella’s life, and I wished to miss no more.
“Gabriella is no fool,” I said. “If she discovers that the Deveres are a dangerous lot, she’ll hesitate about tying herself to them. But I’d prefer she did not discover this too late.”
“She’d hesitate, even if it breaks her heart?” Donata argued. “I was young once and very stubborn about the man I would marry, no matter what signs I saw to the contrary. I ran headlong into my own folly, didn’t I? I do believe you right about finding out whether Emile’s cousin did this dreadful act—I am cautioning you about distressing your daughter.”
Grenville had sat silently during this exchange. Now he laid his cup into his saucer with a soft click.
“I too have become fond of Gabriella,” he said. “I am willing to help discover whether they are a family who deserve her. I also agree with Donata that we must do it quietly. I offer my services in this quest. Command me, and it shall be done.”
“That would be welcome,” I said in gratitude. “Perhaps you could discover whether the comte truly was at his hunting lodge all night.”
“I will endeavor.” Grenville nodded and lifted his cup once more.
“I will return to the comtesse,” Donata said. “We should also determine Signora Ruggeri’s whereabouts without doubt.”
I thanked them both. Donata and Grenville were each skilled at coaxing information out of others without those they interrogated taking offense.
As for the Deveres themselves, I had to wonder why Fernand was so certain that his nephew had committed the deed, in spite of his protests to the contrary. And also why he’d been unhappy that I’d turned up at the ironworks at all.
There was something odd there, and I wanted to know what.
I managed to turn my thoughts to other matters that afternoon, while Grenville and Donata left to call on acquaintances and begin to poke about in their easy fashion. I pondered my encounter with Moreau, and wondered if I should speak to him again. I did want to know more about what had happened that night, to fill in the gaps I’d forgotten.
I was not certain why I wanted that piece of my past to resurface, but perhaps I’d finally be able to forgive all concerned and put it to rest.
Bartholomew interrupted as I was sitting down in the study to write to Moreau, and thrust a note at me.
“This just come, Captain. Boy was in a tearing hurry to get it to you.”
In consternation I opened the paper. On it was printed a message in English.
Vernet has arrested Claude. Please help.
It was signed,
Emile Devere.
Chapter 8
The barracks of the gendarmerie lay off the quay on the Rhône side of the city’s island, just downriver of the massive Hôtel Dieu—the city’s hospital—and the Pont de la Guillotière.
The building I faced was plain and tall, with its crumbling stucco façade revealing dark bricks beneath. High windows faced the narrow street, and the stout shutters to secure the place at night were now open to the afternoon sunshine.
