Chapter 19

The body of the dead boy had been brought to the local surgeon. It was being kept in a small, windowless room heavy with the stench of blood and rapidly spoiling meat.

Pierre tried to breathe through his mouth.

Dozens of tallow candles illuminated the room, drawing into sharp relief the body lying prone on a long wooden slab, as well as two people standing nearby. He at first mistook them for the boy’s parents, before remembering Léo’s words that the boy had lived at the orphanage. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he recognised the markers of nobility in the woman – a female both short and squat wearing an elaborate ensemble of heavily embroidered damask that could have been either a pale blue or grey. The man standing a few steps behind her was austere in his all-black garb.

‘Baroness de Montargent?’ Capitaine Vasseur said to the woman.

She had been squinting at the dead boy’s face in the manner of one struggling to see the finer details. Or one in need of a looking glass.

‘Is that you, Capitaine Vasseur?’ The woman’s tone was high and imperious, as if she had every right to be here and it was their presence that should be questioned.

‘Madame, what are you doing here? This is no place for a woman,’ the capitaine said.

Baroness de Montargent looked at the body once more. ‘Nor any place for a child. This is nasty business, Capitaine Vasseur. The wolf attacks seem to be increasing in frequency.’

‘These are werewolf attacks, madame,’ Pierre corrected.

‘I beg your pardon, monsieur?’ she said, seeming to notice him for the first time.

He spoke a little louder, for the woman might be hard of hearing. ‘I said this is the work of a werewolf. Not a mere wolf, madame.’

She studied him through narrowed eyes. ‘You are not from Dole, are you?’

‘No, madame. Pierre de Lancre, at your service.’ He bowed his head slightly.

‘I see.’ Baroness de Montargent stood a full head shorter than Pierre, but she gave the impression of looking down her nose at him. ‘Capitaine, does this poor boy have anyone to mourn him?’

‘I doubt it. We have rolls of missing children, but this boy isn’t one of them. A witness claims he may have come from the orphanage.’

She stroked the boy’s hair. ‘Antoine, see to his burial and have a mass said in his name at St Mary’s.’

‘Yes, madame,’ said her male servant.

‘Let’s depart, Antoine. There’s nothing else for us here. Good day to you, capitaine.’

She spared Pierre not so much as a glance as she swept from the room with her servant in tow. One of those haughty widows with an overinflated opinion of their worth, he thought. He would pay her the attention she deserved, which was nothing.

Capitaine Vasseur spoke to the surgeon, who pointed out various wounds on the body of the boy. Pierre could see the places where the flesh had been torn from the body. The thighs, leg and belly were all mutilated, the remaining meat, sinew and bone visible. He swallowed and tried to breathe through his mouth.

‘The leg is missing,’ he said.

‘Torn off,’ the surgeon said. ‘You can see from the ragged edges and where the thigh bone separated from the hip.’

‘Typical of a wolf attack,’ Capitaine Vasseur added.

Pierre watched a black fly land on the corpse’s eyelid. It drew his attention to something else. The upper half of the body, including the head and neck, were almost untouched, excepting these markings around the throat. Emboldened, he stepped closer to the body.

‘Did your wolf also use a rope?’ Pierre asked. ‘For something gripped the boy’s throat, tight enough to leave marks.’

The surgeon raised a candle to inspect the boy’s neck. Fat globules of wax dripped onto the torso. ‘He is correct. What could have caused this other than human hands?’

‘Or those of a werewolf?’ Pierre added.

‘Or that of a man?’ the surgeon countered.

‘Silence!’ Capitaine Vasseur said. ‘I’m not here for opinions, educated or otherwise. It’s facts I need. I will not start a panic.’

‘With respect, capitaine,’ the surgeon said. ‘I fear it may be too late.’

The whole house was in an anxious state, for the young stableboy had not been seen for two days. Fabien was taking it especially hard as he considered himself responsible for Léo.

‘I should’ve kept a better watch on him,’ he told Sidonie when she returned from her visit to Apolline the previous day.

Her aunt hadn’t been pleased when Sidonie had told her she was riding out on her own, but she’d respected Sidonie’s decision with grudging acceptance, so long as she always alerted Fabien, rode Kelpie and returned before dark. If Sidonie failed to meet any of those conditions, even once, her aunt’s consent would be irrevocably revoked.

‘Young’uns are always running off, seeking out adventure. I was the same at his age. Well, not me personally, but Florian was a right menace and we’re almost the same person, so you could say I was also adventurous, and, and ... Oh, mademoiselle, what if that dead boy they found was our Léo?’

Aunt Eloise had thought the same thing. So much so that she had left the estate to see the body. Sidonie now awaited her return in the solar with Liane and Fabien. Her heart was heavy for it dredged up memories of that horrible night a week ago when the little girl had died. To think of Léo suffering a similar fate, that he might even now be lying on the surgeon’s table – it was too awful. When Aunt Eloise returned, Sidonie rose to her feet as did the others.

‘Please, madame.’ Fabien wrung his cap in his hands. ‘Tell me if the boy was Léo.’

‘It was not our Léo,’ Aunt Eloise said with a sigh. ‘But he was someone’s boy.’

‘Was he ...?’ Liane began.

Aunt Eloise shook her head. ‘A poor boy from the orphanage.’

‘Those places,’ her companion muttered. ‘They’re not fit for human habitation. The children who live there are prey to disease, hunger and worse. Much worse.’

Sidonie’s mind went back to Poligny and the ragged-looking children she had sometimes seen huddled together in the village. Even then she had noticed the defeated look in their eyes. Léo had a similar look about him. ‘Could Léo be at the orphanage?’

The spark of hope was quickly extinguished by Liane. ‘I was there yesterday. He was not there.’

Aunt Eloise took a seat beside Liane and accepted a glass of wine, which she downed in one swallow. ‘The surgeon has the boy’s body. He recognised me and allowed me entry. Capitaine Vasseur arrived shortly after, with a horrid little man in tow, a man calling himself Pierre de Lancre. I believe he’s newly arrived. Do either of you know him?’

Sidonie did not and neither did Liane.

‘He must have some information for he was convinced the attacks are being caused by a werewolf,’ Aunt Eloise said.

The name Pierre de Lancre echoed in Sidonie’s mind like an accusation. Three children had now been killed. One was connected to the orphanage. A stranger was hunting a werewolf. It was as if the events at Poligny were playing out here in Dole.

‘There has been talk in town for months of a werewolf,’ Fabien said. ‘Although no one pays it much heed. Not when there are so many wolves about in the forest.’

Aunt Eloise held out her empty glass and Liane filled it without asking. ‘Thank you, dear. Capitaine Vasseur did mention a witness. If that is true and if the witness did see a werewolf, then that will change—’

‘Everything,’ Liane finished.

‘Quite right, Liane, as always. Although we cannot think of this now, not when our Léo is still to be found.’

It was not the same as Poligny, Sidonie reasoned with herself. Everything that held meaning was different. Léo’s safety was paramount, and once he was home, he would tell them what she already knew – that there was no werewolf in Dole. ‘Aunt Eloise is correct,’ Sidonie agreed. ‘A child cannot simply disappear. Someone must know where Léo is. We must find him.’

‘With your permission, madame, can I take some of the older boys and go looking for him?’ Fabien asked.

‘Of course. Do everything in your power to find him.’

Sidonie had been intending to visit the hermitage again soon, which did lie near the centre of the forest. If the boy had entered the woods, then Apolline or her husband may have seen him.

‘I shall go to the hermitage and ask Madame and Monsieur Garnier if they have seen him,’ she said.

‘That is good of you, mademoiselle,’ Fabien said. ‘I’ll saddle Kelpie for you.’

Aunt Eloise stood up. ‘Now if you will excuse me. I feel poorly and must lie down.’

Liane rose at the same time. ‘Let me aid you.’

They headed in the direction of the stairs while Sidonie followed Fabien towards the stables. She thought to ask her aunt if she had a headache and if she could ask Apolline for one of her remedies, but when she looked over her shoulder and saw Liane with her arm around Aunt Eloise’s waist, their heads pressed close together as they walked towards the stairs, she decided not to trouble her further.

When she arrived at the hermitage, Apolline was nowhere in sight. Gilles was near the cottage, chopping wood with a sharp axe, swinging the heavy tool as if it weighed little more than a spoon.

‘You looking for Apolline?’ he said slowly as he swung the axe, splintering a large stump in two.

‘I’ve come to ask if you’ve seen a missing boy. His name is Léo. He has about ten years.’ She gestured with her hands to show his height as roughly that of her shoulder. ‘About this high. Slight in build. Hair darker than mine. He would be wearing a tunic, in a colour like this tree.’ She walked over to one of the beech trees and patted the trunk.

The big man shook his head. ‘I’ve seen no boy. No children here except for the little one.’ His eyes glazed over slightly. ‘No, that’s not right. She’s gone. Is the little one gone?’

‘Sleeping, Monsieur Garnier,’ Sidonie said, repeating what she had heard Apolline say before. ‘Only sleeping.’

Gilles nodded and went back to chopping wood. When he looked up again, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘You looking for Apolline?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Sidonie said, looking for any sign of recognition. But it was as if his mind had started over and she had just arrived. ‘Do you know where I can find her?’

He pointed to a spot over her shoulder. ‘Checking the traps.’

With some trepidation, she went in the direction he had indicated. Walking through the forest on her own unsettled her. It was different when she rode Kelpie – the mare’s strong body leant her strength while her animal noises and the jingling of tack hid a myriad of unfamiliar sounds. The air was heavy with the fragrance of pine and damp earth. Frost-kissed leaves crunched beneath her booted feet and all around her the forest creaked and rustled as if it were a living being – moving, sighing, watching. Here was a score of places where a wolf could hide. Even now, invisible eyes could be watching her. The back of her neck tingled, and she turned slowly. There was nothing there – nothing she could see. Her thoughts turned to the werewolf. In the safety of the estate, it was easier to not believe. But here, alone in the forest, her fears poked holes in her beliefs. The Church believed in werewolves; they believed so strongly that they’d executed her papa. Who was she – a young woman, vulnerable and alone – to question the Church? Aunt Eloise did not believe. Neither did Liane. Her chest tightened. Her papa had been no werewolf, of that she was certain. The Church had been wrong then. It was wrong again now. She had to find Léo.

‘Apolline!’ she called, her sturdy leather boots crunching the fallen leaves.

‘Shh!’

A hand whipped out and pulled her into a crouching position behind a nearby bush.

‘Apolline, what—’

‘Hush!’ Apolline squatted on her heels, her hands pressed to the ground, gaze fixated on a spot in the distance. ‘Look!’

Sidonie followed the direction of her eyes. It took her a few moments to spot the brown fur and tufted tail. Apolline never broke her stare. The hare turned its head, sniffing the air.

‘Come on, go into the trap,’ Apolline whispered.

Sidonie could not see the trap, but she did not doubt it was there.

‘Apolline, I—’ Sidonie wobbled slightly on her heels and put down her hand to steady herself. Her left hand – her scarred hand – landed on something sharp, and with a yelp she pulled it back, seeing a small red stain form on her white gloves.

The hare turned in their direction and rose on its rear legs before taking off into the brush.

‘There goes supper,’ Apolline said. Sidonie begged her pardon, but Apolline waved it away. ‘Hardly your fault. That hare shall live another day. And it’s good to be seeing you. Although what’s this here?’

Apolline tugged Sidonie to her feet and examined her left hand.

‘It is only a scratch,’ Sidonie said, trying to pull her hand back.

‘It’s only a small cut, but it’ll need cleaning. Come back to the house so I can tend to it.’

Apolline held Sidonie’s hand as she led her out of the forest, only relinquishing it once they were inside the cottage and she’d settled her in a chair by the kitchen table. When she tried to take her glove, Sidonie pulled her hand away.

Apolline put her hands on her hips. ‘Come now, it has to be cleaned. Take off the glove.’

This woman had already seen her scars. But that had been briefly and in poor light.

Apolline crouched beside Sidonie’s chair. ‘I don’t want to cause you pain or misery. I can promise you that what’s under that glove won’t cause me to turn away from you. I won’t force you to remove it. I can tell you what needs doing for the cut, and you can do it yourself if you prefer. I’ll even turn my back if that’s what you need.’

Sidonie peeled off the glove one finger at a time and then lay her hand on the table. The twisted skin on her palm was so like the knots and whorls of the wood grain, although less smooth. Her uncle had said that she should be grateful to have full use of the hand.

‘Do you permit me?’ Apolline asked.

Sidonie nodded.

Apolline lifted Sidonie’s hand and ran her fingers gently along the fleshy part below her thumb. ‘Not much harm done,’ she said. She dabbed a little spirit on a clean square of cloth and rubbed at the cut.

It stung and Sidonie drew in her breath sharply. But Apolline’s hand held hers firmly as she went about her work. She pulled over a small bowl with water, into which she sprinkled some lavender. Gently lifting Sidonie’s hand, she lowered it into the bowl. Using her fingers and thumbs, she pressed the skin around the cut. Sidonie closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing deeply the sweet scent of lavender, all the while feeling the warmth from Apolline’s hands in the coolness of the water. When the cut no longer pained her, she opened her eyes.

‘That should be clean enough,’ Apolline said, lifting Sidonie’s hand from the water and dabbing it dry. ‘Just a little honey now to keep it clean.’

It was as if she had been caught in a dream. She only remembered her reason for being at the cottage at all when her hand was wrapped in a clean cloth. Léo.

Unfortunately, Apolline had not seen him. ‘Did you see Gilles when you arrived? He travels further than me and might have seen the boy.’

‘I did ask, but he had not seen him,’ Sidonie said, watching Apolline as she rose to put the small bowl away. ‘I fear Léo might have run away, although I am not sure why. He has a good life on the estate. Steady work, food, shelter, clothing. And Fabien dotes on him.’

Apolline settled into a chair with a sigh. ‘In my experience, people who run away are either running from something bad or towards something better. Sometimes both. The only thing I know is there’s no surety that where you’re running to is any better than where you’ve run from. Only that it’ll be different.’

‘I think I did run towards a dream once,’ Sidonie said. ‘This was a long time ago, shortly after I went to stay in Paris with my uncle. I wanted to go home so desperately, because it’s the only place I’ve ever felt safe and loved.’

Apolline lowered her head. ‘Did you make it back to Poligny?’

‘Far from it! I never made it out of the city. Uncle Claude was so angry at me. He wasn’t a bad man. He did his best with me. But I can’t help but think how different it would have been.’

‘If your parents hadn’t died?’

‘Or if I had gone to live with Aunt Eloise as a child. She told me she’d wanted me, but her husband wouldn’t allow it.’

Apolline snorted. ‘Sounds like a woman who tried to take me in when I was a child. I was on the road, and she picked me up and put me in her coach. I heard her talking to her man about taking me to their new home. Not as their child, nothing like that. I wouldn’t have expected that. But to be trained as a servant when I got older. It sounded good, better than I believed I was worth.’ She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘But when they thought I slept, I heard them having a fierce row. He was going to leave me at the orphanage. I’d sworn to myself that I’d never go into one again. So, I jumped out of their coach and found my way to Lyon.’

Sidonie stared in astonishment. ‘You left, just like that? Weren’t you afraid?’

‘I suppose I was,’ Apolline stated plainly. ‘As a child, I was always afraid. I was also good at reading a person’s intent. That woman, she was a good sort. That man, not so much. And it’s men who run the world. I made my choice, but I still think about them. Well, about her. She wasn’t kind, more like how a mother fox would protect her cubs. She would’ve protected me if she could, I know it. She was on this road, in fact, the one that passes through Dole, when I jumped. Gilles had the hermitage here, so it’s not like we could have gone anywhere else, but I can’t help but think of her. Wonder if she did settle here. If she remembers me.’

‘I’m sure she would remember you,’ Sidonie said. ‘You’re impossible to forget.’

Apolline seemed to find that funny and it took Sidonie a moment to remember why.

‘You could tell me,’ Sidonie murmured. ‘How we met.’

‘It’ll come to you,’ Apolline said with a smile. ‘When you’re ready.’

But nothing came to her. Frustrated, Sidonie thought it time to return to the estate and tell them that Léo had not been seen in the forest. Although she did wonder about something else. ‘Have you ever seen anything in the forest?’

‘I’ve seen a great number of things,’ Apolline said. ‘Only today I saw a woman near get herself lost.’

‘There is talk in town,’ Sidonie said.

Apolline’s face clouded. ‘What are they talking about? Are they talking about me or Gilles?’

‘No, nothing like that. Three children have been killed. Many more are missing. They thought it was wolves, but now there is talk of a werewolf.’

‘There could be wolves out there,’ Apolline said. ‘In fact, I’m sure there are. I’ve heard them running through the forest, heard them calling to one another in the night. I’ve seen what they leave behind after a kill – and it isn’t much.’

Sidonie shuddered, recalling hearing the wolf howl so close to the estate, how afraid she had been even safely ensconced behind solid stone walls. ‘What about a werewolf?’

‘If you’re asking if I’ve seen one, the answer’s no. I don’t hold with witches, ghosts, faeries or werewolves. There’s plenty enough evil in this world done by regular folk. I’ve never seen anything that would convince me otherwise. It’s your Church that believes in such things.’

Apolline’s words were still on Sidonie’s mind as she rode back to the estate. Notre-Dame was the house of God and Father Ignace. The way he had stared at her – and Lyse – that day in the market had unsettled her even more than the condemning words he’d spewed forth from the pulpit. She had not been back to mass there, choosing instead to attend the smaller St Mary’s Church as her aunt did. It was blasphemy to question the existence of God, but was it also blasphemy to question the men who represented God? Sidonie believed in God, but after what had happened to her maman and papa – knowing that his accuser had been a man of the cloth – she questioned those who claimed to represent Him.

Something else teased at her memory. Poligny. How had Apolline known the name of the village where she’d been born? She was certain she had not mentioned it; she almost never spoke of her life before Paris. Despite the coolness of the day, she suddenly felt the warmth of summer sun on her skin and recalled the taste of a sweet wild strawberry. But she had arrived home and there was no time to examine the memory further.

Fabien came running out of the stables excitedly. ‘He’s back! Léo’s back! And what a story he has to tell!’