Chapter 10

The repaired coach joined a line of vehicles entering Dole through the northern gate, just one of a procession made up of merchants and traders as well as regular folk going about their business, some riding on carts and some travelling on horseback or on foot. The village where Sidonie had been born was only a day’s ride from here. Could any of these people have known her maman and papa? Might they have known her?

Dole reminded her of a smaller version of Paris. Familiarity could be found in the thick stone walls that encircled the town, the river that ran through its centre, and the omnipresent number of people and animals to which it was home. Yet every path taken by the coach was unfamiliar to Sidonie, as were the voices that filtered through from the streets, speaking a language she thought she understood, but one punctuated with strange words and dialects.

Madame Tachard – now fully restored from the brigand attack – feigned boredom while also pointing out the sights to Sidonie. She had her own interpretation of ‘places of interest’, and they included the homes of her dearest friends, as well as comments about their prospects and annual income.

They alighted in the centre of the town. Monsieur Tachard, who had been unusually silent all morning, pointed out the new Collégiale Notre-Dame with great delight. The edifice was indeed striking, crafted from locally sourced pale-yellow stone, a hue emblematic of the region Monsieur Tachard explained. Adorned with pointed arches, ribbed vaults and flying buttresses, the cathedral boasted a commanding presence. Its magnificent belltower ascended triumphantly, proudly dominating the town’s centre.

‘You should have been present last year for the consecration, mademoiselle. It was magnificent. Monseigneur Claude de La Baume, Archbishop of Besancon himself was here. What an honour!’

Monsieur and Madame Tachard would be continuing to Besancon. Sidonie felt a little sad to be saying goodbye. Despite having first met the couple only eight days ago, she now felt a sense of warmth and fondness towards them. Besides Olivier Chéreau, who had not been far from her mind since leaving him to convalesce at the hermitage mere hours earlier, they were the last remaining link to her old life.

‘I am grateful for your kindness,’ she said to them. ‘I wish you godspeed on your journey.’

They did not linger in town, as the coachman was eager to reach the next stop to make up for time lost to the brigand attack and in the forest. Sidonie watched them all leave with some regret. There would be no going back.

Now, she was entirely alone.

Taking her aunt’s letter from her bag, she perused its contents. There was no address or district named, only the name of Baroness Eloise de Montargent and the town. Surely it could not be so difficult to find the home of a baroness. All she needed was directions.

The houses of Dole had a near-identical appearance, built of the same sand-coloured limestone as the cathedral, giving the town a uniform appearance. Having stopped no fewer than three people for assistance, Sidonie almost cried out in relief when one finally said she knew of the house belonging to the dowager baroness. When she arrived at the address, she thought she was at the wrong location. The building was tall and narrow, as were all the others on this street, but the windows were tightly shuttered. She knocked several times on the door with no reply.

‘You won’t get an answer,’ said a woman sweeping the stoop of the neighbouring house. ‘That house is seldom used. They all live in the estate, outside the town walls.’

‘Is this not the residence of Baroness Eloise de Montargent?’

‘Yes, this is her townhouse. But in the ten or so years I’ve worked here, I’ve only seen her a handful of times.’

Sidonie’s arms were already weary from first carrying Olivier and then her bag. She did not relish having to venture further. ‘Could you give me directions to the estate?’

The woman stopped sweeping. ‘Take the northern gate and follow the main road. Carry on until you see a road heading east. There you’ll find the entrance to the estate. Large gates, hard to miss. Although you should be careful outside the walls, a young thing like yourself. Plenty of women and children have gone missing, and now these wolf attacks ... It’s not safe for a body anywhere these days.’

Sidonie felt as if she were being haunted by werewolves. Ever since she had left the safety of Paris’s walls, tales and rumours of the beasts had plagued her. Ten and five years had passed since the word ‘werewolf’ had destroyed everything dear to her. In the intervening years she could not recall any talk of such things – at least not in her presence. It was easy not to believe in signs, omens and portents when one was safe in the company of others or behind thick, stone walls. But once she stepped into the unknown, what would await her? A thought flashed through her mind, one she always had refused to entertain: what if the rumours were true?

Pushing away the intrusive thought, Sidonie thanked the woman, picked up her bag and followed the directions, retracing her steps back through the northern gate.

The traffic was no less busy for the later time of day, but once she left the main road and headed east, she found herself walking the trail alone. The autumn sun warmed her face and the back of her neck, and it seemed as if the blue sky stretched endlessly, at least until it reached the edge of the forest, a dark swathe visible in the distance, where she had left Olivier.

While still a short distance from the property, Sidonie ducked behind a tree and quickly changed from her travel-worn garments into her best green gown, then replaced her cap and gloves. Little could be done for her boots without a good polish, but she tried to brush off the dirt with a handful of grass.

The woman in town had been correct; it was impossible to miss the estate. Like Dole itself, the estate was surrounded, but rather than stone walls its borders were formed by hedges and thick trees. Twin stone pillars flanked the entrance, guarded by a pair of wrought-iron gates with elaborate scrollwork. Among the delicately curved swirls and patterns, two letters were shaped from the metal – ‘E’ on the left and ‘L’ on the right. Sunlight pierced the gate, casting a shadow that drew her eye across an expanse of lush emerald lawn towards the house. Crafted from the same stone that characterised most of the town, it rose from the grounds like an impermeable testament to its owner’s wealth and prosperity. Boasting two storeys and a distinctive rectangular shape, it had an impressive number of windows, with eleven visible from the front of the property alone. And all appearing to contain glass. How wonderful and light it must be indoors , Sidonie thought. Her aunt was a woman of considerable means indeed, for this was no dower house.

At first glance little could be seen beyond the gates other than the house itself; however, the more one looked the more revealed itself. Several chickens wandered around, busily pecking at the dirt. Sidonie also spotted a huddle of geese. And a dog or two, or three. Cats as well, lazing about in the sun. And a peacock! With its brilliant iridescent plumage in shades of deep blue, vibrant green and rich purple, the animal was unmistakable. How many animals did Aunt Eloise keep? There were also several men as well as children tending to the grounds and the animals – servants, by the look of their dress.

Steeling herself, she opened the gate and followed the path. Tall trees lined the inside of the hedge walls, giving one the impression of being inside a forest; indeed, the grounds were bordered by the forest to the north-east. Behind the house, she had a glimpse of a large lawn – pale green and manicured. A man pruning a tree paused in his work to watch her walk up the path. When she caught his eye, he looked away. She walked up the two stone steps to the door and knocked.

It was opened by a distinguished-looking elderly man dressed in the garb of a senior servant. The fitted waist, standing collar and padded shoulders of his clothing reflected a style more popular two decades past. Yet there was nothing ragged in his appearance; from the shine on his leather shoes to the stitching on his black doublet, his presentation was immaculate.

‘Good afternoon, mademoiselle,’ he said in a sonorous tone. ‘Are you in need of assistance?’

‘Good afternoon. My name is Sidonie Montot. I am here to see my aunt, Baroness Eloise de Montargent.’

‘Quite.’ The butler cast a critical but not unfriendly eye over Sidonie. ‘Please enter, mademoiselle.’

Sidonie followed him into a receiving room larger than the first floor of her house in Paris. Tall chairs with carved legs and backs rested against walls of light crimson, edged in white trim. A fire had been lit in the hearth and Sidonie stepped away, already warm from her walk.

‘If you would leave your bag here and follow me to the solar, mademoiselle, I shall advise Baroness de Montargent of your arrival.’

Leaving her battered bag on the polished floor, she followed the butler down the corridor. When two young girls carrying buckets came running out from one of the other rooms that lined the hall, he quickly dodged out of their way, as did Sidonie.

‘Excuse us, Monsieur Antoine,’ they said, hurrying away.

‘We walk in the house,’ he called after them, but they had already gone.

The solar was a cheerful and cosy room in shades of red, orange and brown. A fire burned merrily here too, filling the room with a comforting warmth that Sidonie appreciated now that she was not too close to the flames. The furniture looked worn and comfortable, with many plump cushions scattered liberally atop it. A large tapestry dominated one wall depicting a band of women armed with bows and arrows. Sidonie was admiring the detail when she heard someone cough. She turned to see a woman sitting quietly in a chair, her unshod feet resting on a stool. Her eyes were a warm brown and framed by soft lines that deepened as she smiled at Sidonie. Soft curls of a similar hue, albeit peppered with strands of silver, peeked out from around her veil. An open book rested on her lap, nestled among her dress – a simple velvet gown with intricate embroidery around the neckline and sleeves. The burgundy colour was a close match to the fabric of her chair, so it was little wonder Sidonie had not noticed her.

‘Greetings to you,’ the woman said in a friendly voice.

‘My apologies, madame,’ Sidonie stammered. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

The woman closed her book. ‘I am Liane Renard, companion to Baroness de Montargent. Please, have a seat. Would you care for something to eat or drink?’

Sidonie had barely touched the chaise before she stood up again. ‘I can fetch that if you advise me where the kitchen is located?’

Liane waved her hand dismissively. ‘Nonsense. You are a guest. Let us get you settled before we discuss labour. This is a safe place.’

Perhaps Sidonie had been expected after all? She had written a letter to Aunt Eloise from one of the coaching inns on her journey to Dole, but the innkeeper’s wife had warned there was a chance she would arrive in town before the letter.

‘That’s a lovely tapestry,’ Sidonie said, changing the subject. ‘Is it illustrating a Bible story?’

‘That is Artemis, leading a band of women warriors. Artemis was a goddess in Ancient Greece. It is something Baroness de Montargent and I collected during our travels,’ Liane explained.

‘I didn’t know women could be warriors.’

‘Women can be almost anything. They can even rule England as its Queen. Women are sacred to Artemis, as are wild beasts like bears, stag—’

‘And wolves?’ Sidonie pointed at the tapestry, at the beast with rough grey fur, its jaws open in a soundless snarl.

‘Why, yes, and wolves too I suppose.’

Wolves, werewolves , Sidonie thought. There’s no escaping them . She shook her head slightly to clear it. ‘I beg your pardon, madame. Were you expecting me?’

‘Not you specifically, but perhaps ... Yes, Antoine, what is it?’

The butler had silently reappeared and stood just inside the door. ‘My apologies, Madame Renard. If I had known you were in the solar, I would not have asked Mademoiselle Montot to wait in here.’

Liane looked flustered; the smile disappeared from her eyes. ‘What name did you say?’

‘Sidonie Montot,’ Sidonie said.

A shadow passed across the woman’s face. ‘Mademoiselle Montot? You are Monsieur Claude Montot’s niece? Your mother was—’

‘Yes, madame,’ Sidonie cut her off. She could not bear to hear her mother’s name spoken by a stranger, even after all this time.

‘I thought you ... never mind. We seldom receive family here at the estate.’ Liane seemed uncomfortable and Sidonie wasn’t surprised. Her letter must not have preceded her arrival as she had hoped. Would her aunt send her away? If so, she would have no other choice but to return to Paris, and then what would she do? Return to the house that now belonged to Hubert Dampmartin and become his wife? Become the property of another man – cleaning for him, caring for him and submitting to all his demands, lest she feel the back of his hand on her cheek or the bite of leather on her back, until the day her very soul disappeared? And even if she could bring herself to submit, would he still have her after she’d fled?

‘Baroness de Montargent is ready to see you now,’ Antoine said. ‘If you would follow me.’

‘It was a pleasure to meet you, madame,’ Sidonie said.

‘And you.’ Liane smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes.

Antoine led Sidonie towards a central staircase that led to the second floor. Her boots clicked on the polished white marble, and the wrought-iron banister felt cool beneath her gloves. Everywhere she looked there were windows and light – even above her head there appeared to be a window in the ceiling! She craned her neck in wonder until they reached the landing and it was no longer visible. Antoine stopped before a door and knocked.

‘Enter,’ said a voice from within.

This room looked more like a museum than a private residence. Colourful carpets covered the floor while the walls were adorned with carved wooden masks and glass boxes full of butterflies, bugs and spiders frozen in place. In the middle of the room, seated as straight as a needle behind a large wooden desk, was a woman fixing her with an inquisitive stare. Feeling like a specimen herself, Sidonie walked over to the woman and dropped into a small curtsy.

‘Never mind that. Come over here so I can take a good look at you.’

Aunt Eloise wore an elaborate russet gown with a high neckline and lace trim reaching almost to her chin. Her thick hair blended various shades of grey, but it was all tamed into an artful arrangement and adorned with a netted veil of seed pearls. Sidonie tried to conjure an image of her maman by looking at Aunt Eloise but found she could not. For while Maman had been a renowned beauty, Aunt Eloise’s gifts must lie elsewhere.

‘I held you in my mind as the little girl you were when last I saw you. Look at you now, a girl no more, the image of dear departed Sabine, God keep her. I was three years her senior, did you know that? If she lived, she would be six and forty. I suspect I will be thinking of her often, with you here to remind me of her. And you are welcome, make no mistake of that. Although I’m not fond of surprises; I would have expected a letter from you stating your intent to visit.’

‘I did write, madame. From a coaching inn.’

‘No surprise it did not arrive then. The war has disturbed a great many things, the delivery of letters being just one of them. Left Paris rather suddenly, did you? None of my business anyway. I have to say, I admire your initiative. You must have the spirit of adventure, which you inherited from me, of course – your parents were good people but exceedingly dull, except for how they died, that was quite interesting. Terrible tragedy, though.’

She was taken aback by her aunt’s casual mention of the brutal murder of her parents. Yet Aunt Eloise spoke so rapidly that Sidonie had no opportunity to raise an objection, even if she did feel comfortable doing so. Which she did not.

‘Did your uncle ever speak of me? No, of course he didn’t.’ She leaned back in her chair and twisted a large ruby and diamond ring on her middle finger. ‘Then I assume you did not receive any of my letters either. I wrote to you precisely four times each year. You must have thought I had abandoned you. You would never forget me, would you?’

Sidonie wanted to say she had not, but the truth was that she had forgotten her aunt until she received her letter after Uncle Claude’s death.

‘I never met Monsieur Claude Montot. After my dear sister and her husband died, your uncle had you spirited away to Paris. This was done despite my protest. I wanted you to live with me. Did you know that?’

‘I did not.’ Uncle Claude had rarely spoken to her unless he had some instruction to impart. Her upbringing had not been a happy one, yet she’d had a place to live, enough food to eat, and the basic education required to meet her uncle’s demands. It was more than most girls received – as Uncle Claude had reminded her on more than one occasion. If she had come to live in this lavish estate instead, under the care of this formidable woman, how different would her life have been? Speculation would change nothing, and yet she could not help but wonder.

‘You did not think I rejected you, did you? I cannot blame you if you did. My husband and I were newly married at the time. He did not want to bring a child not his own into our household, even though our marriage would prove childless in the end. Did you have a good life?’

‘I have kept busy,’ Sidonie replied. ‘Madame, why would Uncle Claude hide the letters you wrote to me?’

‘Because of all this.’ Aunt Eloise swept her arms to indicate the room, the house, even her clothing and jewellery. ‘I am rich. I know it is gauche to speak of such things, but that is the truth. I am exceedingly wealthy. And that is all due to luck, sense and good timing. My father, your grandfather, was a merchant. After dear Sabine married, he began importing silk. He had started to accumulate significant wealth when he made the acquaintance of the penniless third son of a baron, and a marriage was proposed that would be advantageous to both our families. As an ugly spinster with more than thirty years, I was given little say in the matter.’

Sidonie drew in a breath to protest, but Aunt Eloise waved it off.

‘I make no pretences as to my appearance. I am an ugly woman, always have been. It concerns me not. As I was saying, Father’s fortunes only continued to grow. Until the death of your mother drove him to his grave. With Sabine dead, his entire fortune went to me, and under the law, to my husband.’ Aunt Eloise rose from her chair with an audible groan and walked over to the window. ‘Your uncle felt that as your legal guardian, he was entitled to a share of the wealth. I disagreed. I was correct, of course – I usually am. My intention was to supply you with a suitable dowry, but not without direct contact from you, which I was never able to attain.’ She turned her eyes on Sidonie. ‘You timed your journey well. This thrice-damned Huguenot war has thrown all manner of plans into disarray. War, war, war, always war ruining the lives of those simply trying to exist.’ Her voice darkened and her eyes narrowed. ‘They have no care for that, do they? The men who deliver the orders know nothing – nor would they care – about the suffering they inflict on the innocents who stand between them and their prize. Little boys, all of them, playing deadly games.’ Aunt Eloise paused and took a breath for her cheeks had become quite red. ‘But enough about that, for here you are and here you’ll stay. Presumably?’

Sidonie was awed by how Aunt Eloise had flipped from impassioned speech to asking a question of her. Her aunt’s mind switched between topics as easily as a hand flipped a coin. ‘I do wish to stay. If it is not too much of an inconvenience.’

‘It is an inconvenience. Why are you frowning? I can’t abide a misery. Inconvenience or not, you are welcome here. You are family, and I have little of that left in my life. Even fewer relatives that I would want to entertain in my home. And none of them blood of my blood, other than you. Do you have twenty or so years? One and twenty? Well on your way to becoming a spinster. You seem a sensible sort of girl. To travel here alone you must have courage. And growing up in that physician’s house, you are also useful in some way, I assume?’

‘Uncle Claude shared a little of his knowledge with me, but my skills are entirely inadequate.’ Something she hoped to rectify, but now was not the time to mention it.

Aunt Eloise examined her closely. ‘There is a look about you. You see a lot, don’t you?’

‘I have not seen a great deal,’ Sidonie replied, unsettled by her aunt’s intense stare. ‘My movements were often restricted to the same two or three streets in Paris.’

‘Here you will have the freedom to go where you choose. The house and grounds are yours to roam. It is a large estate and a great many people live and work here. You have already met Antoine, my butler. He also does the cooking, with the assistance of Perrette and Lyse – my senior and junior maids, respectively. There are the twins, Fabien and Florian. Their father was my groundkeeper. He died last winter. They now share the responsibility between them, which mostly involves tending to whatever needs doing out of doors, caring for the grounds and the animals. There are also various gardeners, stable boys and the like. This is one of few noble houses in the area, so we serve as a training ground for those entering service. I also manage several businesses in Dole and other nearby towns that necessitate additional staff. You will see them come and go – pay them no heed and they will do you the same. That is more than enough for Liane and me, and now you as well. We all pitch in and offer assistance when required. If this meets with your satisfaction, you are welcome to stay.’

Sidonie’s thoughts were in disarray as she attempted to grasp all of this information. It was so much, so quickly. She was unused to this much change in so short a period. But one thing was as clear as the glass in Aunt Eloise’s many windows: she was welcome to stay. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, madame. You are too kind.’

‘Nonsense. As I said, you are family. Also, call me Eloise. No, wait, I don’t like that. I shall be Aunt Eloise to you. And I shall call you Sidonie.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Eloise.’

Aunt Eloise rang a small bell. ‘Antoine will show you to your bedchamber. If you don’t like it, he shall find you another. We have plenty and most of them have never been used.’

Antoine appeared at the door and Sidonie rose to follow him.

‘One more thing,’ Aunt Eloise said. ‘You don’t suffer from any irritation as a result of exposure to animal fur, do you?’

‘None that I am aware of,’ Sidonie said, baffled.

‘Good. Because I keep a great deal of animals on the property and they have been known to wander indoors, the cats especially. Most rooms are occupied by a resident cat or two. I would prefer their routines were not disrupted.’

Sidonie couldn’t be sure if Aunt Eloise spoke in jest. She assumed not and nodded her agreement.

‘Excellent,’ Aunt Eloise said. ‘Dinner will be served at seven of the clock.’

Antoine led Sidonie to a bedchamber in the corner of the house. It was easily three times the size of her room in Paris, with large windows facing the north and the east. The shutters had been thrown open to allow fresh air to flow through, although there was a hint of mustiness that suggested the room had been shut up for some time. She could see the shine of beeswax on the chest and wardrobe and there were fresh herbs scattered across the rug on the floor.

‘I hope this room is to your satisfaction, mademoiselle,’ Antoine said.

‘It is magnificent,’ Sidonie murmured in awe.

They were interrupted by two voices raised in argument, one sounding like that of a child.

‘Be careful carrying that jug, Lyse. Oh no! You’re spilling water everywhere.’

‘I am not, Perrette! And if you don’t like how I do it, then you should do it yourself.’

‘I’m the senior maid here, need I remind you, and if I tell you to do something, you do it.’

The door opened and the two girls entered the room, stopping short at the sight of Antoine. Sidonie had seen butlers scold household staff before – on those occasions when she visited wealthier Paris families to collect payment for her uncle – and it always made her feel uncomfortable. She stepped further into the bedchamber and tried to make herself inconspicuous. However, rather than chastising the girls, Antoine surprised her by taking the jug and basin from the younger maid’s arms and placing it on the dressing station himself.

‘Mademoiselle Montot, this is our senior maid, Perrette, and our junior maid, Lyse. Girls, this is Mademoiselle Sidonie Montot, Baroness de Montargent’s niece and guest. Please make her feel welcome.’

Both maids quickly bobbed a clumsy curtsy. The younger girl, Lyse, stared at Sidonie in wide-eyed wonder. She was several years younger than the senior maid, with golden curls and an open and curious expression. The other girl, Perrette, had a blue pouch hanging from a strip of leather around her neck. When she saw Sidonie looking at it she scowled and tucked it beneath her dress.

‘Please see to the fire, Lyse,’ Antoine said.

‘Yes, Monsieur Antoine.’ The girl held Sidonie’s gaze for as long as she could before moving to the hearth.

Antoine turned to Sidonie. ‘If there is nothing else you need, mademoiselle?’

‘No, thank you.’

He gave a slight bow as he and Perrette left the room; Sidonie had to stop herself from curtsying in return. If this was what it was like to live with servants, she understood her uncle’s reticence. Having people do things for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself would take some getting used to. What should she do with herself while the maids went about their work? Lyse seemed to be taking a great deal of time to start a fire. Sidonie didn’t know how to occupy herself while she waited, so she wandered over to one of the open windows. The grounds were more extensive than she had thought; she could make out a vegetable garden, a fruit orchard, stables and a chicken coop. The sight of the latter scratched at her memory, like a wound that had not healed properly. Rubbing through her glove at the scars on her palm, she could feel Lyse’s eyes on her back, watching her. She separated her hands and turned to face the girl. ‘Is there something you wish to ask me?’

‘Your eyes are a strange colour,’ Lyse said matter-of-factly. ‘Like honey.’

Sidonie turned her head away. Many people had commented on her eyes in the past – few favourably. Some had even stuck their thumb between two fingers in the sign to ward off evil at the sight of the unusual shade.

‘I think they’re pretty,’ Lyse added.

Sidonie smiled. ‘That’s kind of you to say.’

‘This used to be Madame Liane’s room. It was left just the same, at Madame Eloise’s instructions.’

Sidonie thought of the nice woman she had met earlier in the solar. She felt terrible at the idea of taking her room and said as much to Lyse.

‘You didn’t take it. It’s not her room anymore. Are you like the others?’

‘Who are the others?’

Lyse looked thoughtful. ‘You’re like them, but you’re not one of them. You’re safe here. This is a good place, not like in town.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘There are monsters in Dole.’

Sidonie could see fear in the young girl’s eyes and it made her shiver. ‘Monsters aren’t real.’

‘They are real.’ Perrette had reappeared at the doorway. ‘The Devil too. Telling the child they’re not real won’t keep her safe. They like the innocent best, you see. The ones with the purest souls.’