Chapter 12

Sidonie awoke to the sound of birds, and it took her a moment to remember that she was in a strange house. Her room was still in shadow, and she lay in bed for several minutes, enjoying the birdsong. It was a peaceful way to wake up compared to the noise from outside her window in Paris. Would Olivier also be waking up to the sound of birds in the forest? Was he recovering under the care of Apolline Garnier? Return in three days, the woman had instructed. Those two remaining days would pass more quickly if she began her day. She rolled onto her side, opened her eyes and let out a strangled yelp.

‘Rather disorienting, is it not? Waking up somewhere new. I wanted to give you a familiar face so you wouldn’t be startled. Although based on the way you are looking at me now, I suspect Liane was right and I should have let you be.’

‘Good morning, Aunt Eloise,’ Sidonie said, her heart rate beginning to return to normal.

‘Did you sleep well? Comfortable bed, isn’t it? One of my favourites.’ Aunt Eloise rose from her chair with an audible groan and proceeded to draw back the heavy curtains. The early morning sun shone on her gown, a construction of peacock blue with silver embroidery. ‘You talk in your sleep. Are you aware of this?’

‘I was not,’ Sidonie said, half sitting up. She was used to keeping early hours, but Aunt Eloise had insisted she stay up the previous night and regale them with stories of her youth and exploits in Paris, such as they were. After many hours, her aunt’s companion, Liane, had begged off and retired for the night. Sidonie wished she could have done the same. Before she left Paris it was rare for her to pass an evening in the company of another person. As her uncle’s preference was solitude, so it was for her. Aunt Eloise had seemed disappointed to find Sidonie had no friends, no relationships of any sort – friendly, romantic or otherwise. The witching hour had gone before Sidonie was finally permitted to retire. She had been so exhausted that she’d succumbed to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

‘Who is Hubert?’ Aunt Eloise asked.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Hubert? You repeated his name in your sleep. I would assume he was your beau, except you told me you had none, nor did you sound especially happy when you spoke his name.’

Hubert Dampmartin was another subject she had yet to touch upon. He may be many leagues away, but there was still a possibility, no matter how remote, of him pursuing her to Dole, and she had no intention of tempting fate. ‘He is no one of consequence. The new physician taking over Uncle Claude’s responsibilities in the arrondissement.’

‘Interesting. Although less interesting than I would have hoped. How will you occupy yourself today? I am afraid I have important work to do, cataloguing the specimens I collected on my journey to the Low Countries. It is tedious work but important, and one of the great pleasures of my life. I shall not be able to entertain you, so you must entertain yourself. You can roam the grounds, read a book – we have a large library, mostly filled with books on natural history – or one of the boys can find you a horse to ride.’ Aunt Eloise gave her a pointed stare. ‘You are not one of those ladies who insist on being carried or conveyed all over the place, are you?’

‘No, I am much used to walking. Although, it is Sunday, is it not?’ Sidonie might have failed to keep track of the days.

‘Excellent. I can’t abide voluntary feebleness.’

Perhaps Aunt Eloise had not heard the question, so she repeated it. ‘It is Sunday? Do we attend mass?’

‘There is morning mass and afternoon vespers at St Mary’s Church.’

Sidonie thought of the large, newly constructed building she had seen in the centre of town. ‘You do not attend Notre-Dame Cathedral?’

‘I prefer St Mary’s. As does Liane. You are welcome to accompany us.’

Sidonie did not want to offend her aunt, but she wanted to see inside the cathedral and said as much.

‘Having resided in Paris, I doubt it will interest you. You will find it quite underwhelming.’

‘Perhaps, but I would like to see it for myself. Unless you object?’

‘You are free to do as you wish. If you require an escort, speak to Antoine. All I ask is if you are going to absent yourself from a meal that you inform him so he can adjust the quantity of food accordingly. We despise waste. Do you need help dressing? I won’t be much use myself, but I could send up Perrette.’

Sidonie saw the question in her aunt’s eyes as she looked at her gloved hands. In Paris she had not worn her gloves to bed, but she had done so while travelling. She’d been so tired the previous night that she had not thought to remove them – of which she was glad for it meant her scars were safely hidden from her aunt, at least until she was ready to show them.

If Aunt Eloise was waiting for an explanation, she would be disappointed. ‘I shall be fine on my own, although I would like to bathe.’

‘There is a tub in my room, which you are welcome to use. I’ll have Perrette bring up some hot water.’

After Aunt Eloise left, muttering to herself about artefacts and specimens and bread with strawberry jam, Sidonie took a moment to wrap herself and pin her hair, securing it under a cap, before leaving her room. When she opened the door, a small lemon-coloured cat sat on the other side. It looked her directly in the eyes, opened its mouth and released an exceedingly long and mournful sound. If cats could have an expression, this one would be cross. She glanced up and saw Lyse coming down the hall towards them, a bundle of clean sheets in her arms.

‘That’s Ra,’ Lyse said, nodding at the feline who was now pointedly licking himself. ‘He’s named after a god from a place far from here called Egypt. Madame Eloise and Madame Liane told me about it. Ra is a sun god, and the cat is yellow. Makes sense, do you see?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘He’s annoyed because you’re in his room. You closed the door before he could come inside. He wandered the halls all night howling. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him.’

Sidonie had become so accustomed to the noises of Paris that, if anything, she had found the house a little too quiet last night. ‘I shall be sure to let him in tonight,’ she said.

‘If he forgives you. You haven’t made the best first impression. Cats hold grudges, did you know that?’

‘I didn’t know that.’ She looked for a way around Lyse.

‘He might forgive you, if you show him a kindness.’

It truly had been an unusual start to the day. ‘How can I do that?’ she asked, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice.

Lyse moved the sheets to one arm and rummaged in her pocket with her other hand. She produced something small, dry and rather smelly. Ra immediately began to meow and stretch towards her hand.

‘What is it?’

‘Dried fish. It’s his favourite treat. You should take off your gloves, or they’ll get dirty.’

Sidonie removed the glove from her right hand and took the dried fish from Lyse, offering it to the cat. He gobbled it up and then trotted happily into her room.

‘See there? Best of friends,’ Lyse said.

‘Thank you. Why do you carry fish in your pockets?’

Lyse shrugged. ‘Seems like a good idea.’ The girl then went into Sidonie’s bedchamber and Sidonie went to her aunt’s. She had expected the room to be vacant, but she found Liane seated at the dressing table, pinning her hair into place.

‘My apologies, Madame Renard,’ Sidonie said, turning to leave. ‘I didn’t expect to find anyone in here.’

‘The fault is mine,’ Liane said, quickly rising before moving to the door. ‘The light is much better in here compared to my room. It is easier to fix my hair.’

‘Of course,’ Sidonie said. ‘Please don’t leave on my account. I can carry the tub to my room.’ She’d often carried the tub between rooms and up and down stairs in Paris.

Perrette appeared at the door with two jugs of water. Behind her trailed a young girl and boy, each holding a jug almost as large as they were. ‘Are we bringing them here or somewhere else? Because these are heavy,’ Perrette said.

‘Bring them in here, thank you, Perrette. I was just leaving,’ Liane said as she hurried away.

The children were watching Sidonie with wide eyes. They seemed a little young to be training for service – not that she had much experience with servants. The boy had a bruise on his temple. She hoped Perrette was not responsible.

As if she heard the unkind thought, Perrette scowled at Sidonie and nudged her aside with her hip, leading the children into the room.

Sidonie resolved to ask Aunt Eloise for her own tub.

Sidonie seldom ate breakfast. Uncle Claude had disapproved of the meal, seeing it as only fit for invalids and the elderly. Aunt Eloise did not share this belief.

‘We don’t stand on ceremony here, Sidonie,’ Aunt Eloise said when she entered the dining room. ‘Take your seat and serve yourself.’

The table heaved with fresh bread, butter seasoned with sage, stuffed pastries, boiled beef and eggs. She had not expected to have much of an appetite, but the sight of the food set her stomach rumbling. While removing the glove from her right hand, she saw Aunt Eloise look pointedly at Liane, but she chose to ignore it, washing her fingers in the bowl of lemon-scented water beside her plate before wiping them on the napkin placed over her shoulder. When her plate was full, she began to eat with relish.

‘Good appetite,’ Aunt Eloise said, poking Liane in the arm. ‘Sign of a strong, healthy young woman, not like those sickly looking things carried about on palanquins around Paris. Ridiculous creatures, not willing to stand on—’

‘Their own two feet,’ Liane finished.

‘Yes, quite right. Liane, have you tried one of these pastries? It’s filled with some sort of fruit, and I cannot tell what, but I know you will love it. Here.’ She placed one of the pastries on her companion’s plate. ‘I’ve received word to expect someone from the Office of the Gendarmerie this morning.’

At dinner the previous night, Sidonie had told her aunt of the brigand attack on her journey to Dole. While Sidonie assured her that the local gendarmes had been notified when they’d arrived at a coaching inn that evening, Aunt Eloise had not considered this sufficient and had immediately written to the Office of the Gendarmerie in Dole.

They were finishing breakfast when Antoine came to tell them that the Capitaine of the Gendarmerie had arrived and was waiting in the parlour.

‘Capitaine Jean-Luc Vasseur?’ Aunt Eloise asked. ‘I did hope he would come. Invite him to join us.’

‘He is not on his own, madame. He is accompanied by another, Gendarme Nicolas Soret.’

‘Even better. Show them both in, Antoine.’

Antoine returned shortly with the two men, one of whom Aunt Eloise greeted warmly. ‘Capitaine Vasseur. It has been too long, far too long. Sit down, take some food. And you too, young man, if your superior allows,’ Aunt Eloise said to the gendarme.

Capitaine Vasseur was a gruff-looking man only just past his prime. His face wore little expression, but his eyes did warm slightly when he saw Aunt Eloise. ‘I will, thank you, Baroness de Montargent. Gendarme Soret will not; I do not want him distracted. I only took him on as a favour to his father. He has much to learn. Good morning, Madame Renard. You are looking well.’ The capitaine took a seat while Gendarme Soret took his place behind him, eyeing the food hungrily.

Liane inclined her head. ‘And you, capitaine. We are grateful you could spare the time to come in person.’

Capitaine Vasseur filled his plate almost to overflowing. ‘Hard to get away. As I was leaving a man came in to report his two sons missing. And his wife – although he seemed less concerned about her.’

Aunt Eloise coughed to clear her throat, but Liane shook her head. ‘What of that poor child killed by a wolf?’ Liane asked. ‘Have they killed the beast responsible?’

Sidonie wondered if this was the same child she had heard spoken of during her journey to Dole. Rumours spread quickly from inn to inn, from village to town. The more blood, the faster it spread. Everyone loved a tale, truth be damned.

‘We’re unlikely to. Plenty of wolves about. Problem is, we shoot one and five take its place,’ the capitaine said, taking a swallow of ale.

‘What of the child?’ Aunt Eloise said. ‘Girl? Boy? From the village? Or the town’s orphanage?’

Liane put her hand over her companion’s. ‘Baroness de Montargent is worried, capitaine. That the child may have been known to us.’

On her way to breakfast, Sidonie had encountered no fewer than six servants, all very young. It must be the way with large estates that in addition to maintaining their house and grounds they also had a responsibility to provide work.

‘The daughter of a sheep farmer,’ the capitaine said. ‘She was herding sheep when she was taken.’

So, it was the same girl. ‘I heard of her,’ Sidonie interjected. ‘At an inn, midway between Paris and Dole. The way the serving woman spoke of it, how the girl was found, her condition ...’ Images flashed unbidden through her mind.

‘Pay no heed to idle talk, mademoiselle. It was no sight fit for your eyes but nothing like what you might be picturing.’ His gruff voice became softer. ‘A mother has lost her child. If you want to do her a service, then picture the child as she was while living, not as she died. By all accounts she was a merry thing with yellow hair just like yours and a fondness for green apples. Hold that picture in your mind as you make your daily prayers. I know I do.’

When Sidonie thought of her parents, the first images were always of their final moments together – her papa being taken away, her maman burning. They deserved better from her. Henceforth, if a memory returned unbidden, she resolved not to push it away but to embrace it. To remember them as they had been, alive and happy.

Liane murmured sadly, ‘I will include her in my prayers.’

‘As will I,’ Aunt Eloise said.

The capitaine nodded before changing the subject to the purpose of his visit. ‘I received your letter, madame, about an incident on the road. Could you tell me more about that?’

‘Of course. My niece, Mademoiselle Sidonie Montot will tell you everything you need to know.’

Sidonie quickly recounted what had transpired during the bandit attack.

‘I’ll make a record of what you’ve told me, mademoiselle, but there is nothing further to be done. This all happened outside of my jurisdiction. There is one thing that interests me, though. You mentioned you sought treatment for the young man, Monsieur Olivier Chéreau, from an herbalist?’

She had not specifically named Apolline an herbalist. In fact, she had tried to reduce the role of Apolline as much as she could. Something about the capitaine’s expression when she’d first mentioned the woman had made her wary of revealing too much. He seemed more interested in Apolline than he did in the brigand attack.

‘One final question and I’ll be on my way. You said you travelled through the forest to the north-east of town. That’ll be Forest de la Serre. Did you see anything unusual while you were there?’

‘Nothing I can recall. Unusual how?’

‘We’ve had reports of a beast prowling the edge of the forest, like a wolf, but larger. Did you see anything like that?’

Sidonie confirmed she had not.

‘I didn’t expect so, but I had to ask,’ Capitaine Vasseur said.

They thanked the capitaine for his time. Liane insisted on giving him some bread and meat wrapped in a cloth napkin to take for his lunch, which he politely declined, as he took the midday meal at home with his wife. When his back was turned, Liane handed the package to the young gendarme, Nicolas Soret, who shoved it into his pocket gratefully.

‘What was all that talk of a large wolf?’ Aunt Eloise asked Sidonie, once the gendarmes had gone.

‘You have been sequestered in your study for too long, Eloise,’ Liane said. ‘Talk is all over town about a werewolf.’

‘Werewolf?’ Aunt Eloise repeated. ‘Preposterous.’

‘Let us hope so,’ Liane said.

Collégiale Notre-Dame was not the only church in Dole, but it was clearly the preferred option for those who wished to see and be seen. If it had not been for Sidonie’s walk through the town on her arrival the previous day, she may have attended St Mary’s with her aunt and not been witness to the spectacle of hundreds of worshippers attempting to cram themselves into the new cathedral.

Feeling like a hayseed caught in a windstorm, Sidonie allowed herself to be led by the crowd of worshippers through the grand space, with its soaring vaulted ceiling, and down the nave. The sound of the organ competed with scores of booted feet and murmuring voices. The earthy, spicy scent of frankincense was not enough to mask the human odour as the central aisle of the cathedral quickly filled. Seats at the front were claimed by those dressed in the finest silk, velvet and brocade; the women, seated next to their fathers, husbands and brothers, were adorned with gold, pearls and precious stones that sparkled in the candlelight. Only those of the highest status and rank occupied the front seats. Sidonie, who possessed neither, stood at the back.

The assembled crowd fell silent as the priest approached the wooden altar with its carefully draped decorative green cloth. From her position she was afforded only the briefest glimpses of the priest; however, she knew the rituals of mass well enough to follow along with the service, despite her obstructed view. It did not take long for her to realise she was only one of a handful paying attention to the mass. The familiar words of the opening prayer fought against a multitude of other conversations. Sidonie caught snatches of talk about the price of grain and the health of sheep, as well as two men openly conducting business behind a baptismal font.

With murmured apologies, she wove her way through the crowd to find a position where she could hear the priest once he took to the pulpit. When a gap appeared before her, she quickly moved into the space, now near enough to see the gold embroidery detail on the priest’s emerald-green vestments, the silk catching the glow from the dozens of candles lighting the interior. There was not a wrinkle nor a blemish to mark his dress or his countenance. His voice, when he spoke, was as smooth as the surface of a lake on a calm day – immediately before a storm.

‘The Devil has many guises. He takes many forms. He corrupts the hearts of the old and the young, of woman, man and child. He sees into the hearts of men, the unspoken thoughts, words and deeds. The cracks, the flaws. Where the light of God does not shine, therein lies the darkness.’

Sidonie regretted her decision to move closer. Evil and the burden of sin seemed of late to be a favourite topic of priests. In times of war and plague, she could not help but think that a message of hope would find a more receptive audience. She pushed such impertinent thoughts from her mind. It was not up to her to dictate the messages a priest would give his flock.

‘Those who turn their backs to God. Those who find comfort in the sins of the flesh. Those who seek advancement for themselves, who are discontent with what God has given them, and who seek to challenge the life given to them by God – they are prey to the Devil. And they walk among you. They are your neighbours, your wives, even your children.’

‘Why do we come here?’ whispered a woman to her companion, none too quietly. ‘Every week it’s been the same thing since this new priest arrived. Hell, fire and brimstone. We should go to St Mary’s.’

‘Death stalks the good people of this community!’ The priest’s voice called a halt to the two women’s conversation, as well as dozens of others taking place around Sidonie. He did not shout or raise his voice and yet it echoed in her ears and filled every space within the cavernous cathedral. ‘Stealing children from their fathers, the flesh of their flesh, to sate unnatural appetites.’

The two women started whispering again, albeit more discreetly, and Sidonie welcomed the distraction. ‘Why only now do they care about the children? Little ones have gone missing here for years.’

‘You know the answer to that. Why do you even ask?’

‘He’s going to talk about werewolves again.’

‘Of course he is. It’s why he’s here. He caught those men himself all those years ago in that village.’

‘Which one?’

Someone turned around and shushed the two women. They waited until the person turned back before continuing their conversation.

‘They sent him to Rome after that.’

‘As a reward?’

‘Nay, a punishment.’

‘Punishment for what? What did he do?’

Hisses and calls to be silent were aimed at the women, and this time they moved away. Sidonie tried to see where they had gone, but she lost them in the sea of people. Who was this priest? Was he a member of the Inquisition?

‘Unnatural death,’ the priest intoned. ‘A man who made a pact with the Devil. A man wearing the skin of a beast who preys on the innocent, tearing their mortal flesh asunder. And while they enter the kingdom of Heaven to kneel before God, the beast feasts on their blood and their bones to nourish his wicked flesh. The Devil holds his sway on mankind with his power and tempting nature. It is the Devil who turns men into wolves to commit depraved, animalistic acts.’

Sidonie had heard enough. She was not alone in making a discreet path towards the exit. As she held open the heavy wooden door to pass through, the sun chose an unfortunate moment to cast its beam directly into the entryway, illuminating her in a pool of light. She froze in place, looking towards the pulpit where the priest’s face was turned in her direction, his hand outstretched, his finger seemingly pointed straight at her heart.

‘For those who are evil will be destroyed, but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.’

A chill ran through her body as she pushed out the door and let it fall shut behind her.

Pierre watched the fair-haired woman leave midway through the mass. Utterly disrespectful behaviour, but one could not expect too much from the weaker sex. He clucked his tongue, but no one seemed to take heed of his disapproval. Returning his attention to the mass, he was enraptured by the words of the priest. Father Ignace was even more than he could have hoped. From the moment the priest began to speak, Pierre felt as if he was listening to the very word of God spoken through his servant. This man of God would understand him and appreciate him. Father Ignace did not shy away from speaking of important matters. He was not concerned with keeping the populace compliant and complacent. With no choice but to stand among chattering peasants, Pierre waited until the mass had come to an end before elbowing his way against the tide of the great unwashed heading to the door to make the acquaintance of the priest.

Father Ignace was taller than he’d expected. He always found excessive height to be rather ostentatious. Closer to earth, closer to God. Yet in this case he would make an exception. ‘Father?’ he said.

The priest clasped the small hands of a woman within his own. Tears ran from her eyes as she gazed in rapt wonder at the man before her.

‘Rest easy, madame,’ the priest said. ‘God will punish the beast responsible for the death of your child.’

The woman’s husband squeezed his lips together so tightly the skin around his mouth began to turn white. ‘Thank you, Father Ignace.’

Father Ignace let go of the woman’s hands and she was led away by her husband. The priest watched them go before turning to Pierre. ‘My son,’ Father Ignace said. ‘Be welcome in the house of the Lord.’

As the priest kissed him on both cheeks, Pierre found his tongue inexplicably tied in knots. He had intended to introduce himself as an ally in the fight against evil, but his mouth could not form the words. Anything he said would sound trite after the sermon he had just heard.

A small crease appeared in Father Ignace’s brow as he waited patiently for Pierre to speak.

‘I found your sermon very moving, very moving indeed,’ Pierre finally said.

If Father Ignace was pleased, his face did not reflect that emotion. ‘I have not seen you at my mass before, Monsieur ...?’

‘Pierre de Lancre, Father. I am newly arrived in your town.’

‘As am I. And not a moment too late.’

‘That is why I am here.’

‘How so?’

It was all the encouragement Pierre needed. He proceeded to recite the same words he had said only the day before to Capitaine Vasseur. Each murmur of agreement from Father Ignace only encouraged him to continue speaking. Finally, when he ran out of words, he looked up at the priest, eagerly anticipating his reply.

‘You have come to the right place, my son. In Dole, I feel the same evil presence I felt once before, more than ten years ago. That village too was in the grip of the Devil until the Lord sent me to punish the wicked and free the good people of its wretched curse.’

‘How did you succeed?’

‘You must let the Lord direct your gaze, to see the things hidden in plain sight. The Devil conceals himself in the bodies of the weak and sinful – women and children especially. I unearthed what was hiding in that village and purged it of its taint. Now, the Lord has seen fit to place me here. With orders issued directly from the Pope.’

‘From the Holy Inquisition?’ Pierre breathed.

Father Ignace gave no clear indication either way, but he did not need to confirm what Pierre already understood. ‘More than a dozen children have disappeared in the past year. Taken. The beast has been at work for some time. Most were children, taken from the orphanage. He chose his victims carefully, from the issue of sinners and fornicators. Maybe we can take solace that in glorious death, they may escape the sins of their parents and return to the side of the Lord.’

‘What of the girl who was killed a week ago?’ Pierre asked.

‘The sheep farmer’s daughter? Her father is a good, God-fearing man. The weakness must lie with the mother, as it often does, and that is how the child became prey. Will you join me in hunting the beast? Together, we shall do the Lord’s work.’

They were the words Pierre had been longing to hear.