Chapter 29

‘The house is in mourning, monsieur,’ the elderly butler said, looking down his nose at Pierre. ‘We received tragic news yesterday. You shall have to return at another time.’

‘This is not a social call,’ Pierre said. ‘I am here to speak with Mademoiselle Sidonie Montot.’

The butler pointedly glanced over Pierre’s shoulder as if expecting to see the same group of men he had brought on his previous visit.

‘I have come alone,’ Pierre said.

‘Wait here, monsieur.’

The butler closed the door. Pierre might have uncovered nothing during the raid on Baroness de Montargent’s estate mere days ago, but this time he was not here for missing women and children. No, this was far more important. He had reason to believe that the woman who had fled from the latest murder was none other than the missing wife of the hermit and accused werewolf Gilles Garnier. He must be cautious, for if his instincts were correct, this unnatural woman could be a witch. And Mademoiselle Montot would have knowledge of this woman – knowledge he wished to possess.

The butler returned and Pierre was shown to the parlour, where he stood by the hearth, waiting to meet with Mademoiselle Montot. Baroness de Montargent entered the room with a young woman in tow. It was the same young woman he had seen in the town with Gilles Garnier. Her yellow eyes flicked to him, full of wariness. She matched the description provided by his men. This must be Mademoiselle Montot.

The dowager baroness’s appearance had altered for the worse. An ugly woman before, now she looked positively drawn and haggard, her red and swollen eyes like that of a fish drowning on land.

‘What business brings you here, Monsieur de Lancre?’ the dowager baroness asked. ‘Come to tear apart my home again?’

Ugly and weak but still spitting fire like a harridan.

‘I am here to speak to Mademoiselle Montot. That is you, is it not, mademoiselle?’

‘Yes, monsieur,’ the young woman replied. She was pretty enough, but her beauty lacked the enhancements needed for a woman to truly catch his eye. With an improved wardrobe and a maid who could properly style hair, she might be someone he would consider pursuing. If she were not conspiring with a werewolf and a potential witch. He wondered how she would look in chains. Shackled to a wall. His name falling from her lips in a plea for mercy.

Pierre coughed to clear his throat. ‘I have arrested the hermit known as Gilles Garnier for the crime of werewolfery. I believe that you, mademoiselle, are familiar with the accused?’

‘Monsieur Garnier is no werewolf. He is a simple hermit.’

‘So you are acquainted with the accused?’ He tried to imbue his words with meaning, which was not lost on the young woman.

‘I have met him,’ she said. ‘And I can speak with certainty as to his innocence.’

Pierre narrowed his eyes. ‘You think me mistaken?’

Baroness de Montargent placed her hand on the girl’s arm, but she shook it off. ‘I do indeed.’

‘He was caught, mademoiselle. Caught in the act of murder.’

‘He was not. Léo was already dead when—’

Pierre smiled. ‘So you admit to being present?’

‘Sidonie,’ Baroness de Montargent said in a warning tone.

‘There is no need to deny it. The men who came upon the murder can identify you. They can also identify the woman you helped to flee. The werewolf’s accomplice. His wife, the woman called Apolline Garnier.’

‘No!’ Mademoiselle Montot said. ‘Apolline is guilty of nothing.’

‘You seem to know a great deal about this man and his wife. Tell me, how close are you?’

Pierre enjoyed watching the colour drain from her face. The way she flinched when he took a step towards her. It thrilled him. He could take her now and arrest her on suspicion of conspiracy. He could lock her in the conciergerie and extract the information from her, piece by piece.

‘Let me tell you the facts,’ he said. ‘Gilles Garnier was found with his victim. His hermitage is in the forest, close to all the locations where children were either attacked or killed. And he has confessed.’ He had not yet confessed, in truth, but Pierre knew it would be only a matter of time once the interrogation began.

‘He cannot have confessed,’ Mademoiselle Montot interrupted. ‘He cannot understand what is happening to him, let alone have the wherewithal to confess to any such crime.’

Pierre sneered. ‘No, it is you who is mistaken. I am an educated man. I came to this town to bring a werewolf to justice, and I have done that. I will see him tried, convicted and executed. It is an inevitability. His wife and any accomplices’ – he let his eyes trail over the young woman’s body, from head to toe – ‘will receive a similar fate. Good day to you, madame. And especially to you, mademoiselle. I look forward to our next encounter.’

He relished the fear in her eyes. It only lent credence to his theory that Madame Garnier was indeed a witch. Wherever Apolline Garnier had hidden herself, he would find her. And Mademoiselle Montot was the person to lead him to her.