‘And then?’ asked Herr Kohler, still looking as though feeling definitely out of things.
‘Sleep would not come. Usually when I retire from a séance, sleep overtakes me immediately-one is utterly exhausted-but on that terrible night, I tossed and turned.’
‘And came back down to this room,’ said Louis.
‘Chief Inspector, I did! I tried to reach Cérès. I cried out to her. I begged her to watch over all, not just Mary-Lynn Allan, but Cérès can be difficult. She. . she had gone behind the clouds.’
And lost herself amongst the planets! ‘Conveniently, eh?’ snorted Kohler. ‘And the word was out, wasn’t it, that Mary-Lynn was sure to run into trouble and did!’
With the consequent increase in reputation, thought St-Cyr, and so much for not being able to recall things, but. . ‘Hermann. . ’
‘Louis, this is going to take all night, and unless I’m very wrong, we’ll be none the wiser.’
It would be best to be firm. ‘Inspectors, a datura seed capsule is missing, and you wonder, too, if Nora Arnarson and Mary-Lynn Allan were drunk on home brew or had taken a tisane of that herb Brother Étienne had prescribed for Caroline Lacy.’
They waited as they should for her to continue. Bien sûr, Herr Kohler was now telling himself that she must have connections everywhere, whereas St-Cyr was but quietly impressed. Though they couldn’t yet know to whom her connections were: guards to guards, inmate to inmate or guard, or even to the Untersturmführer Weber, who considered himself to be the font of all knowledge. Nor did they yet quite know with what they were dealing, for to be able to reach the gods was to be uniquely gifted, and mere mortal men, being accustomed to dominating women, were reticent and oft-unwilling to accept such a challenge or even to recognize it.
‘We always place a lovely cut-glass bowl of water in the centre of our circle, inspectors, and from this I fill my chalice before lifting it to the goddess. Those who wish may dip the fingers to brush the Sign of the Cross over the brow. The water of life is always that which flows from La Grande Source. We do not even use that of La Source Salée, and of course not those of the Marie or Demoiselles, which have all but ceased their issue.’
Vittel’s spa waters, but what was it about her, wondered St-Cyr, beyond that deliberate yet carefully contrived evasiveness? ‘The water is cold and flat, Hermann. Eleven and a half degrees Celsius and flows at a rate of just over 5,300 litres an hour.’
How good of him to have remembered, thought Élizabeth. ‘And with.6039 grams per litre of calcium sulphite, inspectors, and.2393 of magnesium sulphite.’
And a healthy dose of the trots! She could see Herr Kohler thinking this, but his partner quickly covered for him by saying, ‘Vittel’s waters are odourless and colourless, Hermann, and all are very fresh-tasting.’
‘You were here when wounded, Chief Inspector. Your memory is. . ’
‘Matched only by my curiosity, madame. Your husband, please?’
He hadn’t even questioned her about how she had known such a thing of him. ‘Ah, the name Chevreul. Like so many, the war drew me to Paris as soon as the call went out. I had had little enough experience as a registered nurse compared to what I was soon forced to learn. The Marne, of course, and the horrible stalemate that followed its battle. Verdun later on, for the French needed me too, and I could speak the language. Later still, the Somme, of course, and then a ward I will remember for the rest of my life here on earth and will carry to those who have passed over. I paused on its threshold. I knew, inspectors; love is sometimes like that, is it not? André had lost his sight-that terrible gas-but he and I. . how can I say it? He would touch my face and I would know we belonged to each other, but it was not to last, yet I think in no small part he held on for those brief two years of married bliss entirely due to the love we bore each other.’
And so much for financial security-was that it? wondered Kohler. Blond, blue-eyed, petite, and still quite handsome, she was a woman to be reckoned with.
‘Chevreul. . ’ began Louis.
Suspicion would be paramount with these two, but no matter. ‘It’s an old family name. I was left with the Château de Mon Plaisir in the forested hills near Mortagne-au-Perche in Normandy. That is how the house and grounds were always known to my husband and me, and I lived quietly there tending his grave and those of his family until. . well, until I was forced to remember that I still possessed my British passport. The Occupier, of course, wished the use of the house and stables, and the horses we bred, and of course I have been trying ever since to make them see sense and let me return, yet know I have found a calling here that transcends all others. Now, please, there are questions to which you need both direction and answer. Let me be but your guide and willing servant.’
‘Things have been stolen,’ said Louis.
‘Caroline Lacy had an invitation in her pocket,’ said Herr Kohler, snapping his fingers until his partner, digging deeply, retrieved it from a pocket though there was no need.
‘The ballet dancer came often to my chambers, inspectors. She seemed sincere. If at first one doesn’t succeed, does one not try again and again, and is that not a sign of artistic determination? Léa. . Madame Monnier finally asked if I could fit the girl in and I, in turn, said to set a date and I would write and send that card you have, which I did. Was her death unpleasant-please, you must spare me the details. I can see the answer already in your expressions.’
‘Ah, bon,’ said Louis, ‘you mentioned setting a date, but there is none on the card.’
Of the two, was he the stickler for details? If so, she had best keep it in mind. ‘A date, you ask? None was necessary. It was to have been for tonight at 2200 hours sharp.’
‘But death intervened,’ grumbled Hermann, not believing a word of it.
‘Precisely, Inspector, and I shall, in tonight’s séance, be asking Cérès to contact that poor child so that she can speak through the goddess to me.’
‘And reveal who her killer was or what she wanted to tell the new Kommandant?’
‘Hermann. . ’
‘No, please, Chief Inspector, let me answer. Caroline was convinced Mary-Lynn Allan’s death was not an accident. Things had been stolen. . little things; seemingly worthless things. When women have so little, even the smallest, most insignificant item to male eyes could well be the most treasured: the essence of a cherished memory, the feel, the touch, the smell of an object, a bit of cloth, a seashell perhaps-all such things can have their intense value to a woman, no matter how coarse or common she might appear to you men.’
A seashell. . ‘Caroline was asked to bring what she had,’ said Kohler. ‘Be so good as to tell us what that was?’
Had she said too much, gone too far? wondered Élizabeth. ‘Always, for every sitter, the invitation says the same thing: They are to bring something-anything-that will form a bridge to what they most desperately want to know. Cérès needs such items upon which to focus, but as a result of these continual thefts, a degree of bitterness and viciousness far beyond the measure of each loss has entered our community, our two houses, if you like.’
‘And the thefts?’ asked Louis.