Now, I wondered whether Auberge objected not to Emile’s person but to the older generation of his family. The Deveres were well-respected, yes, but they were also proving to be collective bullies.
Auguste, Emile’s father, pressed forward, earning himself a scowl from Fernand.
“Henri, this is nothing to do with you.” Auguste spoke calmly but with a pleading note. “The captain, he does not understand. He must go, before?—”
“It has nothing to do with the young people either,” Auberge interrupted. “Shall we punish them for what is in the dust of the past?”
“It must stay in the dust,” Fernand said sharply. “He stirs it. I want Emile to have nothing to do with him.”
“You are a fool.” Major Auberge stated this flatly, and Fernand blinked. “The wedding will go forward. Captain Lacey will return to England immediately afterward, and we will say nothing more about it.”
Carlotta had told me, when I’d gone to the farm seeking Emile, that she and her husband had contemplated postponing or forbidding the match altogether because of Claude’s arrest. Under Auberge’s steely gaze, I wondered how much of what Carlotta had said was true. Or perhaps Auberge did not like others making decisions about his family for him.
Emile’s father nodded contritely. “It shall be as you say. No,” he said as Fernand drew a breath to argue. “We will unmake all if we continue. Stillness is best.”
“Heed your brother, Fernand,” Auberge said, the stern military man in him evident. “Calm yourself, change nothing, and go back to work. Captain, with me.”
Major Auberge had no business ordering me to do anything, any more than the Deveres did, but I saw sense in his decision.
I bowed formally to the Deveres and sent Emile a reassuring nod. “Good day, gentlemen,” I said, striving to keep my tone neutral.
None of them responded. They watched, rigid, Emile despondent, as I turned to follow Auberge.
Brewster fell into step beside me. While he understood little French, he’d have comprehended what had happened. “Tough bloke is the major, ain’t he?” Brewster whispered to me. “Put them in their place right sharpish.”
I could only nod in agreement.
Auberge had drifted toward my hired coach that waited at the gate. I expected him to watch me climb into the carriage and go, but to my surprise, he ascended behind me once Brewster had helped me in. Brewster swung the door shut for us before he took his place on the back of the carriage.
I found myself facing a man I’d spent many years of my life furious at, as the carriage creaked from the yard. Auberge had reconciled himself a bit to me when he and I had hunted for a missing Gabriella in the dark quarters of London. Even so, I was not comfortable riding with him in a closed carriage.
“Will you enlighten me?” I asked as we bumped along. “I agree with you that if Fernand had remained silent I’d not have stormed here to demand what he was on about.”
“No, I will not,” Auberge answered. “It is none of your affair, and nothing to do with Gabriella and Emile. Please give me your word that you will pry no further.”
His response stirred my curiosity even more, but it was clear I’d obtain no information from him.
“I must warn you, I first came across the name that has so many incensed in Signor Gallo’s lodgings,” I said. “The same Signor Gallo who was found dead on the Pont Tilsit on Thursday morning. Whatever Gallo knew, there is no telling who he passed the information to. Perhaps one of the Deveres feared it so much that they silenced Gallo forever.”
“They did not,” Auberge said. “Fernand became enraged and tried to break off the betrothal only after he heard that you had asked questions this morning. I’m certain the Deveres had nothing to do with this Italian’s death.”
Auberge spoke stiffly, a man reassuring himself at the same time he tried to convince me.
“You seem very certain of that.”
Auberge studied me with calm assessment. “Lyon is not London. We have the gendarmerie, not your Runners. No one here likes the interference of the police, but we have learned to avoid them and live with them.”
“Someone killed Gallo and left him on that bridge.”
“Someone did, but it was not Fernand Devere. I can say this with certainty because Fernand was at our home Wednesday night, discussing many things. He did not leave until the small hours of the morning, and walked home. He did not go into Lyon and meet this Signor Gallo.”
“That you know of. He could very well have gone to find Gallo after he left you.” I made a conceding gesture. “However, Fernand was shocked when he saw Gallo’s body. I know he feared very much that his nephew, Claude, had committed the deed in a fit of passion. Fernand was a man more afraid than guilty.”
“There you are.” Auberge opened his hand.
“Then, if Fernand is innocent, and Claude is as well, why the devil is Fernand and his brothers so angry with me, now?”
Auberge’s expression turned stubborn. “As I told them, the past should remain there.”
