Chapter 38
Apolline waited among the ruins of her home. It had been hard seeing Sidonie lying there in that cell with her throat near crushed, struggling to breathe. She’d wanted to stay by her side and never leave. But Sidonie was in good hands, with her family to care for her. She had other business. Until then, Sidonie wouldn’t be safe. None of them would be safe.
Part of the cottage’s stone wall was still intact, and it formed a shelter against the elements while she waited. Waiting was not a burden. No, it was a gift, to sit in this forest and listen to the birds calling to each other while gently falling snow lay icy kisses on her skin and the occasional dapples of weak winter sunlight filtered through the trees. Her home was not these walls, nor the table, nor the hearth. Not even in this forest that she loved so dearly. Her home was wherever she found love. And that could never be taken from her. She would carry that sense of home in her heart until she could put down roots again.
The priest did not attempt to hide his approach. Why would he? He thought he’d been called here by someone he trusted. He stopped when he saw her, confusion and doubt writ on his face.
‘Expecting someone else?’ she called.
‘What have you done with him?’ Father Ignace said.
She’d hoped word of Pierre de Lancre had not reached beyond the gendarmerie. It had only been one day, after all. She had been right.
‘Did you murder him, witch?’ the priest hissed.
He stalked towards her, the black hem of his cassock dragging on the forest floor. As he got closer, she could see the bruising on his face, brazen splashes of colour contrasting against his pallid complexion. And when he opened his mouth, his teeth were stained a deep reddish-purple from drinking too much wine. Let him see her, take in her bruises, her loose hair. Let him think her weak. It would make no difference in the end.
‘I don’t know where Pierre de Lancre is. I haven’t seen him since he tried to kill me.’
The priest’s gaze contorted, his jaw clenched in anger, furious at his own confusion.
‘You want to know what you’re doing here. I sent for you. I gave some coin to the messenger to say he was sent by Pierre de Lancre, and that he had some important information for you about Poligny. You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘You are the werewolf’s woman, his harlot, his concubine.’
She laughed lightly, covering up her own nerves. ‘True. Although he was as much my harlot as I was his. But that’s now, what about then ? What about when I was a child, when you ran the orphanage in Poligny?’
The priest’s eyes narrowed. ‘My time there is known to a great many people.’
‘I doubt they know the things about you that I do. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. Although I suppose you never paid me any special attention.’ She hopped lightly off the wall, landing on her feet. ‘You liked the pretty little girls with yellow hair. You’d come for them in the night. Take them away. They’d gone back to their families, you’d say, if you said anything at all. Few asked and fewer cared. I cared. And I know what you did to them.’
‘You know nothing!’ the priest snapped, taking a few steps closer.
Her instinct was to step back, to run from the danger. No , she thought, it’s his turn to be afraid . She stood her ground. ‘I had a lot of time to think while I was alone in that cell. And I thought that what’s happening here in Dole is a lot like what happened in Poligny. There’s me here, Sidonie and her aunt, all from Poligny. And then there’s you as well. Only I didn’t know it was you , not at first, not until I saw you at the execution. Even then, I wasn’t sure until you stood here now, although you look like someone has sucked all the life out of you and spat you back out. Want me to tell you what I think happened?’ She stepped forward. ‘I think in Poligny, all those years ago, one of your bodies was found and it was clear that no wolf had done it. That nothing but a man could have done what you had done. You couldn’t have eyes turning to you, couldn’t have questions being asked about those children. Because then somebody would have cared. Am I right?’
‘Be silent!’
Feeling more confident, she moved towards him. ‘So, more children had to die to cover up the one that was found. And after you murdered them, you left the bodies out for the wolves to find. Easy enough, you being the priest, to say it was the work of a werewolf. People listened to you then, as they did here now. Those men you accused in Poligny, were they innocent? Sidonie’s father was, I know that for sure. He was a doctor. He would have examined the bodies, and I reckon he saw something that scared you enough to go after him.’
‘Lies!’ he spat, backing away from her.
What must he see when he looked at her? The witch, the whore, or a woman who did not fear him? She started circling him like a predator, forcing him to move again. ‘And then the same thing happened in Dole. How many children did you kill before that first girl was found? She had yellow hair, didn’t she? Sidonie told me the girl’s mother had said she looked just like her little girl, who’d had the prettiest yellow hair. Sidonie also told me about the brother and sister from the orphanage.’ Her movement halted; he was right where she wanted him to be. ‘You killed the girl to slake your perverted desires and you killed the boy because he saw you do it. And then Léo saw you kill the boy. Or at least you thought he did.’
‘Such a clever witch, aren’t you?’ He took a steadying breath, as if to hide the note of fear in his voice. ‘You think you know everything. Not so clever, though, bringing me out here when you’re all—’
He broke off with a cry, falling to the ground, his ankle trapped in one of the snares she had carefully laid earlier. She had been counting on him being distracted enough to not look where he stepped. She’d laid as many snares as she could in the time she’d had, tossing leaves and moss to keep them hidden. If she had placed it right, then his ankle would surely be broken. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a vial of dark glass. This was the most dangerous part of her plan. Careful to avoid his flailing limbs, she sat down hard on his chest, pinning his arms beneath her knees. He cried out, and when he did, she opened the vial and poured its contents down his throat, careful not to let a single drop touch her own skin. While he coughed and choked, she retreated.
‘What did you give me?’ he said, dark liquid running down his chin.
‘How many children died at your hands?’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Do you remember their names? Would you have added Apolline Garnier, Sidonie Montot and Lyse Fournier to your list?’
He vomited, a long, sour-smelling stream, lightly stained red.
‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘The belladonna is already taking effect.’
‘Filthy, vile, God-cursed witch!’ he spluttered.
‘It won’t kill you,’ she said, rising to her feet and stepping away from him. ‘You’ll slip into the waking death soon. And then I’ll drag your body to the edge of the forest and leave you for the wolves. And after that, I’ll never think of you again.’
He railed at her, called her every name she had ever been called and some more besides. Until his words ran dry. She smelled shit and piss as he soiled himself. He began to shake violently. When he grew absolutely still and silent, she dragged him out of the clearing, one slow step at a time, to the edge of the forest.
Night had coated the world in a blanket of darkness by the time she finished. The wolves would be out soon; even now she could hear their haunting song carrying across the frost-kissed air. They would find fresh meat waiting for them.
It was time to go home.
Sidonie stretched out her hand, expecting to feel the cool softness of an empty bed. Instead, she touched coarse linen and beneath it, warm skin. Her eyes snapped open.
‘Good morning to you,’ Apolline said with a smile.
Sidonie blinked to clear her eyes as she scanned the other woman’s face, taking in the bruises, the lines, the dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Time enough for that later. Can we sleep awhile longer?’
Sidonie rolled onto her side and shuffled over to give Apolline more room, but the other woman gripped her around the middle and pulled her back against her chest.
‘I’m cold; you took all the blankets. And stop wriggling! You’re like a worm on a hook,’ Apolline said to the back of her head.
‘Loosen your grip and I’ll stop.’
With the comfort and protection of Apolline at her back, and reassured that she was safe, Sidonie drifted into her first peaceful sleep in days.
The next time Sidonie awoke, Apolline was seated on the end of the bed, braiding her hair. She watched her for a few moments, enjoying the mundaneness of the ritual, Apolline’s long fingers expertly twisting the dark strands into place. She reached for the glass of water beside her bed. Her arms were still weak, and the glass rocked when she touched it, spilling water over the side.
Apolline turned. ‘Let me get that for you. Did I wake you?’
Sidonie took the glass and gripped it carefully in both hands, tipping it towards her mouth, the liquid cool and refreshing. ‘No. Although if you are finished with your hair, could you help me with mine?’
‘I’ll help you dress too. Now don’t give me those eyes; you’ve got nothing I’ve not seen before. Do you want me to bring the pot to you?’
Sidonie flushed. ‘No, I can do that for myself.’
Apolline left her to empty her bladder, which she accomplished slowly and carefully on shaky legs. She accepted the assistance to dress and braid her hair.
‘Does my aunt know you are here?’ Sidonie asked as Apolline pinned her cap into place.
‘She’s the one who let me in. Seemed upset there wasn’t a room ready for me. You’ll have your bed to yourself tonight, free of my snoring.’
‘You don’t snore. I liked having you there. When I was a child and Papa was away, Maman would ofttimes sleep at my back. Whether for her comfort or mine, I couldn’t say. It was nice.’
‘You’re remembering more about your maman?’
‘I am. It was all locked away in my memory – the bad and the good. I still do not remember much, but I’m hoping more will return, in time.’
‘We honour the dead by speaking their names and their stories,’ Apolline said, her hand going to her belly. ‘She’ll know all about her papa.’
‘It does not pain you, to speak of him?’
‘It hurts to think about him and how he died. But that pain tells me I loved him. Not as his first wife did and not as he loved her. But in my own way. And to be loved is something special indeed. Come now – this babe is ready to break her fast, as am I.’
Apolline supported her as they walked down the stairs. Aunt Eloise and Liane were already at breakfast.
‘Sidonie, dear,’ Aunt Eloise greeted her warmly. ‘It pleases me greatly to see you back on your feet. Liane was worried, but I knew you would be fine. Is that not true, Liane?’
Her aunt’s companion smiled. ‘It is good to see you looking so well.’
Once she had a full plate before her, Aunt Eloise handed her a letter. ‘It arrived while you were abed, and I did not like to trouble you.’
Sidonie did not need to ask whom it was from, for she recognised the hand. She felt Apolline’s eyes watching her as she scanned its brief contents. ‘Monsieur Chéreau bids me farewell. He is returning to his family home in Rouen.’
Aunt Eloise harrumphed. ‘Did he say why?’
Sidonie refolded the letter. ‘To marry a woman of his father’s choosing.’
‘Just what that young man needs, some stability. Best thing for him,’ her aunt said, tearing off a chunk from a baguette and smearing it with butter.
‘Truly?’ Sidonie said in exasperation. ‘After telling me not to marry him? Have you altered your opinion?’
Aunt Eloise put the knife down with a clatter. ‘I never said you should not marry him, only that the choice was yours to make. And I am pleased that you made the correct decision, for marriage to that young man would have been a misery for you. Men often thrive in marriage while their wife is left to wilt. I wish him well. So long as he remains away from here.’
Apolline erupted with laughter, which caused Aunt Eloise to query if she had said anything amusing. An explanation did not come, for Antoine interrupted them to advise that the capitaine of the gendarmerie requested an audience to impart news that could not wait. Aunt Eloise bid Antoine to bring him in.
Capitaine Vasseur’s unkempt beard and bloodshot eyes showed the toll the events of the past few months had taken. ‘Mademoiselle Montot. Madame Garnier. I am relieved to see you both recovered,’ he said wearily. ‘I apologise for interrupting your repast. I shall not detain you longer than necessary.’
‘Is it about Pierre de Lancre?’ Sidonie asked, raising her hand to her neck.
‘No news of him,’ Capitaine Vasseur said, gratefully accepting the seat offered him by Liane. ‘He escaped our custody by bribing some of the men. They’ve since lost their positions, but the damage has been done. I doubt we will see him in Dole again.’
Sidonie was relieved to hear it. But knowing he was still out there, somewhere, would always hang over her like a dark cloud. The same way that Hubert Dampmartin still lingered – the threat that no matter how much time had passed, he might still show up at her door. She’d bear the weight of those shadows, determined to let them take nothing more from her life.
‘We found Father Ignace,’ he said. ‘Or what was left of him. A hunter found his remains at the northern edge of the forest. He wasn’t easy to identify. Torn apart by wolves, I’d say. They didn’t leave much, only the head and scraps of a black robe.’
Liane looked at the piece of bread in her hand and put it back down on her plate.
‘Does this mean there will be no investigation into Father Ignace’s attempted murder of Lyse, not to mention his involvement in the other crimes both here in Dole and in Poligny?’ Aunt Eloise asked.
Sidonie did not listen to Capitaine Vasseur’s response. Apolline had paled at the mention of Father Ignace’s body. Suddenly, in her heart, she knew that she would never ask Apolline where she went after leaving the conciergerie. What was done was done and should remain buried. Or left in the forest.
‘Perhaps it’s all for the best,’ Sidonie declared. ‘Let the past die with him.’
Apolline reached for her cup of wine and took a long drink.