Chapter Thirty-Eight

"I was in my room and the door was ajar," Lucy told me breathlessly, as we waited for the doorman to hail us a carriage.

I had checked, but there was no sign yet of Oliver and the rest of the Finches. I considered leaving them a message, but what would I say? I've found your sister, but she's about to be murdered, so couldn't hang about and wait for you?? It seemed better just to go and deal with the situation as swiftly as possible.

"I heard them talking," Lucy continued. "Mother said that being here in Paris was too risky, and there was a good chance we'd be discovered. Father mentioned a package from the chemist and that no one would taste it mixed in with coffee. Then Mother said it was good that they were eliminating the threat, and that perhaps this trip to Paris had been a blessing in disguise. She said, with Helene out of the picture, nothing would stand in their way."

My own pulse thundered in my ears as we clambered into the carriage, and Lucy gave the driver Helene's address in Montmartre.

"Do you think we're too late?" she asked tearfully.

"I don't know," I murmured, my thoughts turning painfully to Oliver, who had only just found out that his sister was really alive. Now it was possible he was going to lose her all over again. I willed the carriage to move faster as we wound through the busy traffic.

"I will never forgive myself if anything happens," Lucy whispered. "Never, never."

"We don't know that anything has happened yet," I snapped, nerves frayed. "Yes, they were ahead of us, but not by so much."

We pulled up to an apartment building in the 18th arrondisement and jumped down. I flung money at the coach driver, and the sound he made led me to believe I had handed over far too much.

The building was on a quiet, cobbled street – tall and grey with shutters on the windows and one or two cheerful window boxes full of flowers on the sills. There was no one about, no sign of the Browns at all.

Lucy climbed the stairs and began frantically ringing the bell. There was no answer.

We waited. Lucy tried the bell again. The minutes crawled by.

"What do we do now?" Lucy asked.

"Now we break in," I said grimly, opening my leather bag and pulling out the shiny lock picks that Mrs Finch had provided me with.

I set to work on the lock. It was not a complicated security measure, and Izzy would have had it open in the space of a deep breath. Unfortunately, I was not the talent that she was when it came to breaking into things. I tried to remember all our lessons, carefully manipulating the picks until I felt the pins inside the lock move.

It took two tries, and my hands were clammy, but finally the lock gave with a satisfying click, and we had the door open.

"It's the top floor!" Lucy exclaimed, already running for the spiralling staircase that seemed to stretch up to the heavens.

"Of course it is!" I sighed, chasing after her.

By the time we reached the top we were both winded, pink and panting.

"Helene!" Lucy shouted, banging on the door. "Helene, it is me! It's Lucy!"

There was no answer. Cursing, I readied the lock picks again.

"Lucy?" A voice came from behind us, and both Lucy and I swung round to see a young woman standing at the top of the stairs, looking at us in shock. She had the same build as Lucy, the same brown eyes, but her hair was darker, pulled ruthlessly back into a tight knot, her features sharper. She wore a narrow dove-grey skirt and matching waistcoat, a white shirt and a black tie. She was the picture of a fashionable, modern Frenchwoman.

"Helene!" Lucy cried, and she threw herself into Helene's arms.

Three things became instantly obvious: first, we had found Oliver's sister; second, she had not been murdered; and third, Helene and Lucy were far more than friends.

"Lucy, Lucy!" Helene said through muffled laughter. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were dead!" Lucy buried her face in Helene's neck and burst into tears. Helene's round eyes looked over the top of her head to where I stood frozen, still holding my lock picks, with every appearance of breaking into her apartment.

"Hello," I said with a weak smile. "I'm Marigold Bloom. Perhaps we can talk inside."

Helene blinked, her arm tightening round Lucy's waist for a second. "Of course," she said finally, in an English accent that still held a faint trace of Yorkshire.

"Why don't I make some tea?"

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in Helene's sunny kitchen, steaming cups of tea in front of us as Lucy and I explained the whole story.

Helene's face was pale. "You've been pretending to be me?" she asked.

Lucy nodded miserably, her hand tightening in Helene's where they were clasped on top of the table. "Yes. I'm so sorry. My parents…"

"Your parents" – Helene's face darkened – "should be locked up."

"And this time they will be," I said calmly.

Lucy made a small sound of distress, but Helene nodded firmly. "It's time, Lucy. They've gone too far. But I don't understand their plan," she said. "They really want to kill me? So that Lucy can inherit in my place?"

"It seems to be the case," I said, though I too was confused about the Browns' plan. They had left the hotel some time ago – so where were they now? How exactly did they plan to poison Helene? I shook my head. "But it doesn't matter any more. We have found you, this place is locked up tight and you know their plan. You are safe from them now, and there is absolutely no reason for us to hold off from turning them in any longer. I expect once they realize that we've tracked you down, they will try to make a run for it. There is nothing for them now that you disprove Lucy's claim."

"I can't believe my brother is here in Paris," Helene said, her eyes drifting to the window.

"Will you see him?" I asked.

She looked down at the cup of tea in front of her. "Miss Bloom," she said, her voice steady, "may I ask you a question?" When I nodded, she hesitated before finally speaking again. "Oliver… What sort of man is he?"

"What sort of man?" I asked, confused.

"Yes." Helene's gaze sharpened. "When I last spoke to him, he was eleven years old. In the three years before that I hardly saw him at all because he was away at school. I know the boy he was, but after our mother…" She paused, swallowed hard. "After our mother passed away, he was left alone to be raised by our father – a man who was cruel and brutal. So, I am asking you, what sort of man is Oliver Lockhart?"

I blinked. "He is … a bad-tempered recluse with a healthy dislike of people," I said at last. "He is grumpy and stubborn and ferociously loyal to the ones he cares about, and he cares deeply. He is handsome, funny, generous. He can be charming. He is clever and creative. He is kind. I think under it all he might be the kindest person I've ever met."

"You are in love with him," Helene said quietly.

"Oh, no!" I blustered at once, taking a hearty sip of my tea. "I – I have only been playing a part."

"Very convincingly too," Lucy added with just a hint of mischief.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Helene smiled. "He sounds like the brother I knew." She exhaled. "I'm glad. I'm so glad. Yes, I will see him."

I felt something in my heart crack wide open. "Is that why you didn't come home?" I asked curiously. "After your memories returned, I mean. You were afraid that Oliver might be like your father?"

Helene took a moment to consider it. "You have to understand," she said finally, "when I remembered who I was, my father was still very much alive. I knew I would be sent back to him, and Mother had given everything – had ended up giving her life – to get us away. I was ten years old and my only thought was that I couldn't go back. The Lavignes had taken me in, and from the beginning they loved me as their own. It didn't take long for me to return that affection. They have been parents to me, the best of parents, and I wouldn't leave them. By the time I found out my father had passed away, I was living here in Paris." She gestured around the flat. "I have built a life here; I have a job that I love, working as a journalist. Everyone believed Ellen Lockhart was dead. It seemed foolish to stir up the past unnecessarily – particularly when I didn't know how Oliver would react to the news I was alive, or that I had stayed away all that time."

Here, she fiddled with the brightly patterned tablecloth. "I always felt guilty. That I had left Oliver there alone. With him."

"You should talk to him about it," I said gently. "But I know that he doesn't blame you. He said that he wanted you to leave."

Helene's eyes shone with tears. "Mother was going to send for him," she said. "When we were in Spain. I don't know the details, but she told me he would come. She wouldn't have just left him. Not like I did."

"You were a child," I insisted.

"What more could you have done?" Lucy grasped her hand again. "It is a miracle that you survived at all. Now the two of you can be reunited. The story will finally have a happy ending. Your mother would be proud."

The three of us sniffled then.

"This is… This is very nice tea," I said, clearing my throat.

Helene gave a watery chuckle. "I buy English tea. I can't help myself; I never did learn to like coffee."

I looked at Lucy, something tickling at my mind. "Ah, so that was part of your Helene backstory?" I asked. "Don't tell me you actually do drink coffee?"

Lucy winced. "I couldn't be sure what Oliver knew or remembered, and Helene always hated coffee."

"Horrible, bitter stuff," Helene agreed.

"What a poor Frenchwoman you are," Lucy said fondly. "I will be very glad to go back to drinking it."

"Coffee," I murmured, still reaching for the idea that refused to come quite into focus. "But … didn't you say…"

I sat up suddenly, sloshing tea into my saucer. "Coffee!" I yelped.

Helene and Lucy were both looking at me with obvious concern.

"Lucy," I managed. "Didn't you say that your parents were going to poison Helene's coffee?"

Lucy frowned. "I suppose that is strange."

"They knew she didn't drink coffee because you made such a point of it. Why would they say that?" I asked.

"I don't know," Lucy said. "Perhaps my father misspoke?"

"But how were they planning to poison Helene's drink, anyway?" I said slowly. "It doesn't make sense. They're not even here. It's such a strange plan…" I looked at Lucy, her expression one of wary confusion. "Tell me again what they said," I demanded. "Exactly what they said."

"Um…" Lucy squinted, clearly trying to remember. "Father said, ‘Now that we have the packet from the chemist, we shouldn't delay.' He said the coffee would mask any taste." Lucy's face scrunched up in concentration. "Then Mother said, ‘Perhaps this trip to Paris was a blessing, after all. Now we have the opportunity to eliminate any remaining threat far from home and prying eyes.'"

"But England isn't their home," I said slowly. "Or Helene's. Go on," I encouraged her. "Say the rest."

"I don't remember," Lucy said. "I think then Mother said something about a document that I didn't understand."

"What about a document?"

"She said that their man over here was almost as good as the contact back in England anyway, so it didn't matter about the authorities being on to him."

The forger, I thought, the pieces tantalizingly close to fitting together. The one who had forged the Browns' papers had the authorities breathing down his neck, thanks to Max. That must be who they meant, so perhaps they had another man in Paris who could do something similar. What sort of papers would they need forging now?

"What else?" I demanded.

"That's it. Then they said that with Helene gone nothing would stand in their way, that I would be the only heir."

"You're sure?" I said, gripping the edge of the table. You're sure they said with Helene gone?"

"I…" Lucy hesitated. "I don't know… No … perhaps not. But who else stands in the way of me becoming the only heir?"

A buzzing noise filled my ears, and I swayed in my seat. "It wasn't Helene they meant to kill at all. It is Oliver," I whispered. "They're going to poison Oliver."