Cinderella Six Feet Under(26)

She slipped away from the ladies in the salon, donned her cloak, and went out into the rear courtyard through a pair of doors in the library. The mansion formed two sides of the courtyard, and the ivy-covered carriage house and a high wall formed the other two sides. Beside the large, curved carriage doors was another, smaller door. Ophelia knocked on the small door.

Rustling and footfalls sounded within, and the door opened. A fine-looking young man stood before Ophelia. He was not very tall, but he had well-formed muscles, a proud bearing, and floppy brown curls. He wore shirtsleeves and a coachman’s shiny boots. “Madame Brand, bonjour,” he said in a calm, deep voice.

“Do you speak English?” Ophelia asked.

“Oui, yes, a little, please only.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Madame la Marquise, she keep all servants only who speak English.”

Ophelia fancied Henrietta had kept Henri on for reasons quite unrelated to his English-speaking abilities. And it was no wonder the three young ladies were so quick to spring to Henri’s defense. He would’ve caused a sensation on the dramatic stage.

“How did you know my name?” Ophelia asked.

“Baldewyn, he always tell me name of guest, oui? So that I might be, how you say, polite. Good servant.” His winning smile hid something sly.

“Well, I simply wished to ask you, Henri, about the carriageway key.”

“Ah, oui? It is kept locked always, madame, for we are in city very big.”

“No, no, I do not wish to go through the gate. I merely wished to ask if it had been left open, by you, on the night that, well”—Ophelia lowered her voice—“that the poor girl was dragged into the garden.”

“Non. I tell police. I never forget of locking gate. Never. That evening, aussi, I stay in. Here, in carriage house, parce que the mademoiselles entertain at home.”

“You were here.”

“Oui. And I have key in waistcoat pocket always.”

Ophelia glanced at his waistcoat. A button fastened the small pocket at the front. “Then did you notice anything? Hear anything?”

“Only when la jolie mademoiselle, the daughter of marquise, begin screaming. I was sleeping.”

“Oh, I see.” Ophelia peered past Henri into the dim carriage house. She saw straw on the floor, and smelled horse. His quarters would be upstairs.

“Is there a groom?” she asked.

“I do all the work. Horses, everything, and harnesses aussi.”

“And is there any way to reach the courtyard through the carriage house? From whatever street or alleyway lies behind, I mean.”

“Non. The carriage house was built without doors other than these.” He patted the doorjamb. “To keep family safe, oui? City very big all around.”

“Thank you, Henri.”

Ophelia went back inside. If Henri was telling the truth, then there was only the key that had gone missing from the kitchen to wonder about. Someone had stolen it. Either the murderer, or someone aiding the murderer.

*

Ophelia returned to her chamber, finished writing her note to Inspector Foucher, and took it downstairs to Baldewyn. She asked him to have a delivery boy take it to the commissaire’s office.

“Very well, madame,” Baldewyn said.

She gave him a few coins.

Baldewyn looked insulted, but kept the money.

Ophelia waited about an hour, and Baldewyn brought her Inspector Foucher’s reply. She read it in her chamber.

Madame Brand: Thank you for your message with regards to the identity of the murdered girl. Although your fortitude and resourcefulness are to be commended, your efforts are entirely misplaced, and I would be obliged if you would not continue to misuse the valuable time of the police. Mademoiselle Pinet’s identity has been duly noted but, as I informed you this morning, her identity is not relevant in this case, as the murderer has been identified. I will reveal to you, to put your evidently nervous mind at ease, that the murderer was spotted near the Pont Marie this morning, and we expect to apprehend him at any moment.

M. Foucher

Sybille’s identity wasn’t relevant? Ophelia crumpled the note and threw it into the fireplace. It caught fire on a smoldering coal and quickly turned to ash. Sybille’s identity would have been relevant had she a family, or position in society.

Ophelia felt a kinship with Sybille. Ophelia had no family, no position in society, either. Her mother was dead, her father had scarpered when she was only four, and her brother, Odie, well, she’d lost sight of him after he’d enlisted during The War Between the States. In her heart of hearts, she knew Odie was a goner, but that never stopped her from picturing him walking through a door one day with a big smile on his face.