Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(85)

“I have had nearly a day to ponder this question. She was weak. It is not unreasonable that she died during the journey. We knew it was a risk. The men she was with had other responsibilities. I trusted them, I still do. They probably did the best they could for her without abandoning their mission. They couldn’t travel with a dead woman, nor could they ask for help that might result in being turned over to the authorities. They likely dug a hasty grave and left her. Understand how we felt. The world was at war. One more death made little difference. We saw death every day. I thought every day would be my last.”

“But Arsov knew she didn’t arrive.”

“What do you tell a man—that his fiancée died and you had to leave her hidden among brush in a grove of trees? No, you invent a nicer story. After all, she is dead, there is no changing the fact. You say that she died in France, that a nice widow woman nursed her last moments and promised to bury her in the village. You give him her diary as a memento.” The marquise shifted slightly in her silver chair. “I don’t know what they told him, but it was not the truth. We teach our children not to lie, but in war lies are necessities. My entire life during those years was a lie. I have to forgive others for doing the same.”

Agnes blinked back tears. She nodded. “I do understand. And I’ll make sure Arsov’s household doesn’t mention to him what we found. He’s very frail.” She couldn’t bear the thought of Arsov finding out that his true love had lain in a hastily dug grave for over fifty years. The passages of the diary echoed through her mind, the voice of a young woman in love. Perhaps she was fortunate, this young woman who would never know the sting of the loss of love.

She had one last question. “You asked about Felicity Cowell’s siblings the other night. Why?”

“Perhaps I was thinking of my brother and his death and how it impacted me. He was the last of my generation.”

Agnes replayed the moment. “No.” They were talking about Felicity Cowell’s false name. How she changed her name. “Something else triggered your thoughts.” She paged through the diary. “Her brother. Anne-Marie’s brother.”

“A tiny child. We sent him to live with a family deeper in the countryside. It was difficult to part them, but a safer place for him. Anywhere near me was unsafe by this time. I was under constant surveillance. And, whereas a grown person is difficult to explain, children blend in easier. The family had lost a child of the same age and would pass him off as their own to the authorities.”

“What was his name? What was his and Anne-Marie’s surname?”

“Faivre.”

“What was his first name?”

The marquise hesitated.

“It was Frédéric,” Agnes said, finding the page in the diary. “Anne-Marie’s much younger brother was Frédéric Faivre. And you can change your name. What was the family called he went to live with?”

“I don’t recall, I didn’t know them personally.”

“Estanguet?” asked Agnes. There was a long pause. When the marquise nodded, she ran.





Thirty-two

Julien Vallotton was at the door when Agnes ran into the room.

“We’re waiting for daylight to start the search,” he said.

She pushed past him wordlessly, stopping only when she reached Ralph Mulholland. She grasped his arm, ignoring the stunned expressions of the three Vallottons.

“Monsieur Arsov wouldn’t see you on Wednesday, yet you waited for him. You said that you waited outside. Why did you wait outside on a cold day to see a very old man?”

Daniel Vallotton hoisted himself up on crutches and his brother drew near but Agnes ignored them. “Why outside during a storm?”

“He goes out every day,” Mulholland replied. “Sits on that bloody bench and stares out over the lake. Someone—a servant or a visitor—pushes him there and leaves him for a while. I wanted him alone. Where he couldn’t walk away from me, or call for someone to haul me off. I needed to explain to him how serious my situation was. He’d have to listen.”

“Frédéric,” Agnes whispered, turning to the group. “Where is Estanguet? Frédéric Estanguet?”

They looked around the shadows of the room as if expecting the man to jump out at them.

“Is he missing now?” Julien Vallotton asked.

“It was all about revenge. Revenge on Monsieur Arsov. Estanguet thought Arsov was sitting on the bench and because of the storm didn’t realize that he stabbed Felicity Cowell by mistake. They are both slight in build, and she was wearing a man’s coat. That first night he was stunned. We thought it was the sight of the body or the cold. He was stunned because he thought he’d killed a man, not a woman. And since then Monsieur Arsov hasn’t been unattended or outside, there hasn’t been another chance to get near him.” Agnes grabbed the stuffed elephant from a chair and waved it under their noses as if that were proof. “Estanguet knows how Arsov feels about Mimi and he took her. I don’t know what he has done with her, but her took her because she is what Arsov loves best in the world.”

Winston paced nearby, his head and shoulders brushing her skirt. Julien Vallotton nudged the dog away.

“Let’s hope he only hid her,” Agnes said. “He can’t have taken her far. She must be here, somewhere on this property. They couldn’t have made it up the cliff without our knowing.”