The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1 (16 page)

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had just finished when Comte Artus d'Authon dismounted in the interior courtyard of the Château de Larnay. He had instantly thought of Agnès, of her illegitimate childhood spent within those walls.

The ferment caused by his arrival might have amused him under different circumstances. However, he had spent the last few days since his encounter with the Dame de Souarcy in a state of tension, and his resulting moodiness was only made worse by the half-hour wait he had just been subjected to.

A matronly woman hurried towards him in a panic, fanning herself with her apron.

‘My Lord, my Lord …' she stammered, almost kneeling before him. ‘My master is away, you see. Oh dear God!' she howled as if the end of the world had come.

Artus was aware that Eudes de Larnay's business took him to Paris at the end of every month. Indeed, it was what had compelled the Comte to travel the fifteen leagues between Authon and his vassal's chateau.

‘Might his good lady wife be ailing?'

The woman understood the reproach and clumsily explained.

‘Nay, nay, she enjoys good health, given she has nearly reached full term, that is, praise be to God. Since she learnt of your arrival she has been preparing to receive you properly. She was asleep and … Oh, but I am a chattering old fool … Pray follow me, my Lord. My lady will join you at once.'

Artus could picture the charming, feather-brained woman, whose customary silence concealed a lack of intelligence, fretting
in her room, cursing her husband's absence and wondering what she should say, not say, avoid or offer in order not to earn Eudes's wrath upon his return.

At last Apolline de Larnay stepped into the room, preceded by a pungent smell of garlic. Her pregnancy had not been in evidence the last time Artus saw her and her appearance disconcerted him. She was not one of those women who radiate health when they are with child. Her usually delightful face was spoiled by a grey pallor and the rings under her eyes had a purplish hue. He offered her his hand so that she would not be obliged to curtsey, and greeted her with an untruth:

‘Madame, you look radiant.'

‘And you are too kind, Monsieur,' she rejoined, demonstrating that she was not taken in by his flattery. ‘My husband is …'

‘… away, so I have been told. It is unfortunate.'

‘Do you have some urgent business to discuss?'

‘Urgent would be putting it too strongly. Let us say I wished to speak to him about a project I have devised.'

Something about her had changed. The pretty little vacuous creature he had once known seemed filled with sorrow.

‘Eudes's … My husband's affairs take up so much of his time that I have seen him only once in a month.'

‘Mining is a complicated business.'

She lifted her gaze towards him and he sensed she was fighting back her tears. Yet she replied:

‘Indeed, it is the reason he gives.' Then pulling herself together, she added, ‘I am failing in all my duties. You must have found the heat oppressive on your journey. A bowl of cider will quench your thirst.'

‘With pleasure.'

She gave the command while he took a seat on one of the
benches at the main table. She sat facing him, her body turned sideways to accommodate her rounded belly. An awkward silence followed, which he was the first to break:

‘Did you know that I met your sister-in-law, the Dame de Souarcy, recently?'

At the mention of her name the little grey woman's face lit up.

‘Agnès … and how is she?'

‘She seemed in fine health.'

‘And Mathilde? It must be five years since I saw her last.'

‘She has turned into a charming and very pretty young lady.'

‘Just like her mother. Madame Agnès was always a great beauty and I regret that all those years ago she refused my husband's offer to come and live here at the chateau with her daughter. Life at Souarcy is so precarious and difficult for a widow with no experience of farming. We would have been sisters and I would have had company – and of the best kind, for she is so full of life, so lovely.'

‘It would have been a perfect solution for all. So why did she refuse?'

Apolline de Larnay's eyes misted over. She was such a bad liar that he sensed all the sadness she was trying to conceal.

‘I do not know why … Perhaps out of an attachment to her estate.'

His suspicion was confirmed: Eudes de Larnay's reasons for offering protection to his half-sister bordered on the profane. Up until then, the feudal Baron's self-conceit and cowardice, his boorishness towards women had simply angered Artus, but now his exasperation was replaced with the revulsion that such perversions inspired in him.
27

Sweet Apolline's gentle frivolity had been reduced to ashes –
grey like herself. This, too, was Eudes's doing. The realisation filled the Comte with an indefinable sorrow, and he felt angry at himself for having manoeuvred this young woman he had once considered rather foolish into revealing her half-secrets.

As he took his leave of her he experienced for the first time a feeling of tenderness towards her and counselled:

‘Take good care of yourself, Madame. The child you bear is precious.'

She murmured a response:

‘Do you think so, Monsieur?'

The journey back to Authon did nothing to dispel his unease. It was growing dark when he joined his Chief Bailiff, Monge de Brineux, who was waiting for him in the library.

The modest-sized room with the rotunda was one of Artus's favourite places. It contained a fine collection of books he had brought back from his restless wanderings across the world. He felt on his own ground there, surrounded by memories the details of which had paled over time. All the people he had encountered, all the names he had uttered, all the places he had passed through, and in the end so few attachments.

Monge was drinking fruit wine and gorging himself on quince and honey conserve. When Artus entered, he rose to his feet, declaring:

‘Oh, Monsieur, you have saved me from my own gluttony.'

‘Must you eat those confections by the handful?'

‘Their sweetness calms me.'

‘Tell me the bad news, then.'

The Comte's perceptiveness hardly surprised Monge de Brineux, but the grave expression he wore troubled him.

‘Is something worrying you, my Lord?'

‘The question would be more apt in the plural. I am completely in the dark. Come along, Brineux, out with it.'

‘One of my sergeants rode over here in a great hurry at midday. Another disfigured corpse has been found close to the edge of Clairets Forest. This one appears to have been killed recently.'

‘Another friar?'

‘It would seem.'

‘Near the forest's edge, you say?'

‘Yes, my Lord. The killer has been very careless.'

‘Or very cunning,' suggested Artus. ‘In this way he could be sure his victim would be found relatively quickly. Was there a letter
A
near the body?'

‘Yes, right beside the corpse's leg, scratched in the ground.'

‘What else?'

‘For the moment that is all I know. I have given the order to make a thorough search of the surrounding area,' the Bailiff explained.

Monge de Brineux hesitated to pick up their earlier conversation. His admiration and liking for the Comte did not make of him a close friend, or even a companion. In fact there were few who could boast such a degree of intimacy with Artus. His lord was remote in a way that, while not hostile, discouraged familiarity. However, Monge knew the man to be just and good. He continued:

‘Did your meeting with the Dame de Souarcy bear out my description of her?'

‘Indeed. I do not see her as a bloodthirsty criminal. She is learned, excellent company and undoubtedly a pious woman.'

‘And do you not find the young widow very beautiful?'

No sooner had Monge uttered these words than he cursed his
indiscretion. The Comte would immediately see what he was hinting at. What followed proved him right. Artus glanced up at him and Monge detected a flicker of irony in those dark eyes.

‘I do indeed. You wouldn't be playing at matchmaking, would you, Brineux?'

The Bailiff remained silent but beneath his stubble his face turned bright red.

‘Come, Brineux, don't pull such a face! I am touched by your concern for me. Marriage agrees with you so well, my friend, that you hear the sound of wedding bells everywhere. Have no fear. Sooner or later I shall produce an heir, like my father before me.'

It was largely Julienne who was to blame for Monge's recent propensity to wish marriage on anyone whose happiness was dear to his heart. The Comte had been a widower for many years and had no direct heir, his wife had argued one evening. How sad it was to see a man of his distinction grow old alone, without the love of a woman, she had insisted. Monge had tempered his wife's redoubtable zeal for matchmaking with the observation:

‘It all depends on the lady.'

‘I did not mean …' Brineux stuttered rather ashamedly.

‘Do you really think that Madame Agnès is one of those fine ladies one mounts in the antechamber? It is true that we have both enjoyed the favours of a few of those ourselves.'

‘I think I had better take my leave of you now, my Lord, before I dig myself deeper and make even more of a fool of myself.'

‘I am teasing you, my friend. On the contrary, I bid you stay. I need you to help me gain a clearer understanding. Nothing seems to make any sense in this affair.'

Monge sat down opposite Artus. The Bailiff could tell his lord was lost in thought from the way his eyes stared into space
and from his tensed jaw and rigid posture. He waited. He was accustomed to these moments when Artus became immersed in deep reflection.

A few minutes elapsed in complete silence before the Comte emerged from the furthest reaches of his mind and said:

‘It makes no sense whichever way you look at it.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘We agree on one point, Brineux, which is that Agnès de Souarcy played no part in these killings.'

‘As she so ably made me see, I cannot imagine her running through the undergrowth armed with a claw, intent on slashing the faces of a few unfortunate friars – except perhaps in a fit of homicidal madness or temporary possession. Besides, these men – especially the last one – are twice the lady's weight.'

‘If we include this last killing, four of the victims, it would seem, traced the letter
A
before they died, and a linen handkerchief belonging to the lady was found near one of them. Somebody is trying to implicate her, then.'

‘I had reached the same conclusion.'

‘Before posing the fundamental questions, namely who and why, let us consider the killer's intelligence.'

‘Whoever it is must be a fool,' Brineux retorted.

‘It seems likely, for there are far more convincing ways of incriminating Agnès de Souarcy – unless, and this is what I am beginning to fear, we have understood nothing of these murders and have been mistaken right from the very start of your investigation.'

‘I do not follow.'

‘I am a little lost myself, Brineux. What if it has never been the villain's intention to point us in the direction of the Manoir de Souarcy? What if the letter
A
means something entirely different?'

‘And the linen handkerchief, have you forgotten about that?'

‘Yes, you are right. There is still the question of the linen handkerchief,' admitted the Comte.

After a brief silence, Artus d'Authon continued:

‘I wish to ask you a rather delicate question – or rather an extremely indelicate one.'

‘I am at your service, Monsieur.'

‘I would prefer you to answer me as a friend.'

‘I should be honoured.'

‘Are you aware of any stories, any malicious gossip concerning Eudes de Larnay's relationship with his half-sister?'

Artus understood from the way his Bailiff pursed his lips that some rumour had indeed reached his ears.

‘Larnay is not a very pleasant man.'

‘It comes as no surprise,' admitted the Comte.

‘I mean to a degree that offends the ear. His ill treatment of his wife is infamous. The poor woman is more cuckolded than an Eastern queen. They tell me he thinks nothing of entertaining strumpets in the very chambers of the chateau. And that some of these women of easy virtue have been discovered brutally beaten after their encounters with him. None has been willing to recount their story to my men for fear of reprisals.'

‘And what about his sister?'

‘It would appear that Eudes de Larnay has a very loose notion of kinship and blood relationship. He showers the lady with lavish gifts …'

‘Which she accepts?'

‘She would be foolish to refuse. I heard he even gave her sweet salt.'

‘Goodness me! The man treats her like a princess!' remarked the Comte.

‘Or an expensive prostitute.'

‘Do you think that they … I mean that she …'

‘I admit having entertained the idea up until I met her – after all Larnay may be rotten inside, but he is still an attractive man. No. I do not believe that she would rub herself against that miserable brute. Other facts concur.'

‘And what are they?'

Artus d'Authon realised at that very moment that it was not only necessary but vital for him to be certain of Agnès's indifference towards her brother, and if possible her detestation of him.

‘Agnès de Souarcy has always refused her half-brother's “hospitality”, despite the true affection and compassion she feels for her sister-in-law, Madame Apolline. She goes out of her way to avoid meeting him. In addition, one of Eudes's mother's – the late Baroness de Larnay's – ladies-in-waiting confided that Agnès instantly accepted the first offer of marriage as a way of escaping from her brother's predatory instincts. Fate would have it that Hugues died prematurely, killed by an injured stag, delivering her once more into Eudes's clutches.'