Nora didn’t know any of this but must suspect some of it-hadn’t that been why she had summoned the courage to confide in him and beg his help? Hadn’t that been why he had readily agreed, even without having first consulted the others, the brother abbot among them?
Gently he wrapped a hand about hers and, feeling her tremble, closed her fingers over the penny. ‘Irène might see it,’ he said.
They could prove nothing, thought Irène, but to handcuff her like this was to have her tell the new Kommandant everything she knew about them. They’d soon see. They’d suffer for what they were doing to her, these two from Paris. Detectives-is that what they called themselves? Cérès. . was it that they were planning to get the Chevreul woman to call upon the goddess for answers? Was that why they had kept the bracelets on the other one? Caroline really had seen something the night the other one had fallen. Never had the girl been so convinced of anything, other than her life as a ballet dancer. Though she, herself, had tried to caution the child to hold her tongue and stay out of trouble, that slut she had taken up with had encouraged her not only to speak out but to demand to see the new Kommandant.
But it couldn’t have been just for that reason Caroline had been silenced. A yellow star had been found in one of her pockets. A star. .
Leaving his chair, Herr Kohler came over to her and, taking out his cigarettes, placed one between her lips and lit it. ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said.
They were going to ask that Chevreul woman to contact Laurence and from him find out exactly how he had died in that fire when no one should have.
They were going to ask the goddess about that Jennifer Hamilton, for by now that one must surely have died. Hadn’t Brother Étienne given warnings enough of those seeds, even to having accused her of having stolen them and lied about it?
‘Louis, are you sure this is going to work?’ said Kohler.
‘Ah, mon Dieu, Hermann, must you continue to doubt the powers of clairvoyance? Thanks to Jennifer Hamilton we have what is needed. Let’s leave the rest up to the goddess.’
Pensively Nora remembered other séances, other times. To the mirror of the cut-glass bowl of water there were now, again, but tiny ripples, to the circle of sitters, but the flickering of the three oil lamps from whose reservoirs braided wicks of Red Cross parcel string protruded, the Pavillon de Cérès being otherwise darkened.
Marguerite Lefèvre tended the lamps and the censers as a priestess would before taking her place among the sitters. Everywhere the balsamic aroma of smouldering St. John’s wort fought to overcome that of the fish-oil margarine in the lamps, the herba Sancti Ioannis being perhaps the herbalist’s most useful plant. Effective for treating wounds, bruises, and burns, it was also a sedative and remedy for colds, coughs, and fevers.
Étienne would, of course, know all of this. Refusing to become a sitter, he had taken a chair among the silent onlookers who had crowded in after Madame Chevreul and the sitters, and now sat with rapt attention as in a courtroom whose doors had been firmly closed.
Léa Monnier stood directly behind Madame Chevreul, a pillar of strength and loyalty throughout all the years of their having known each other. Hortense Gagnon, Madame’s cook, was among the sitters, the chief inspector choosing not to be at Madame’s right but directly opposite, with a now-silent yet still-enraged Madame de Vernon between him and Herr Kohler.
Freed of the handcuffs too, Nora sat alone among the other sitters. Jill and Marni had Becky between them and were directly opposite her, the seating arrangement being such that she could see them at all times if her eyes were opened, and they and others could see her.
Jen had died; Jen had been poisoned, but had it really been by Madame de Vernon?
There had been no sign or mention of the things Jen had taken, nor of the meal she had eaten, yet was that what worried Madame de Vernon so much or rather, was it that Madame Chevreul really did know what had happened here in the casino on the night of 17 July, 1920?
Caroline had been silenced, Mary-Lynn had been pushed, but of Weber and the Senegalese and the other two who had been killed in the Chalet des Ânes, none here knew but her, Madame de Vernon, and the two detectives. St-Cyr had warned the woman to keep the information close, just like everything else if she valued her freedom and supposed innocence. He and his partner would let Cérès have a say and then would, if necessary, challenge the goddess.
Madame Chevreul knew only too well that her reputation as a medium had been deliberately put on trial and that all the privileges that had been earned with the position, the rooms upstairs and such, could be lost. Wearing a superbly embroidered robe of closely woven white wool that trailed to slippered feet, her jewellery starkly evident, she had dipped the wineglass and raised it as one would a chalice. All eyes were now to be tightly closed, hands held and heads bowed-Léa would do her best to see to this, but of course one could catch a glimpse now and then if one persisted.
There was a pause that extended as though an intense inner struggle were in progress, the words not coming easily but finally as if lifted from Madame Chevreul. ‘Then a spirit passed before my face,’ she said, the voice other than her own, ‘and the hair of my flesh stood up.’ *****
Herr Kohler would probably be silently asking his partner if this was necessary, thought Nora, St-Cyr cautioning him with a ‘Patience, mon vieux. Patience.’
‘It stood still, this spirit,’ the woman went on, ‘but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes; there was silence, and I heard a voice saying. . ’
Again there was a lengthy pause, again a different voice but as if from a great distance and saying, ‘Call now, if there be any that will answer thee.’
A sip was taken, the water from La Grande Source cold. ‘Cérès,’ she began. ‘Cérès, can you hear me?’
There was dead silence. Not a soul moved. Again the question was asked, and again. ‘It’s of no use, inspectors,’ said Madame Chevreul. ‘I greatly fear there is a doubter in our midst.’
‘But you’re convinced Becky Torrence killed Caroline Lacy to protect herself?’ asked St-Cyr.
‘Oui.’
‘And that Nora Arnarson accidentally. . ’
‘Or deliberately, in the heat of argument.’
‘Pushed Mary-Lynn Allan, not realizing that the lift gate was open?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Perhaps Cérès needs the sound of your bell.’
Taken aback, she tossed her head. ‘Really, Chief Inspector, I am earnestly committed to obtaining the answers you need. Cérès can and will provide, but all must be in trine. None must doubt. Even Étienne, though the teachings of the Mother Church condemn what I do, still has the will to respectfully remove himself from the circle while listening with eyes closed, and I would earnestly suggest that you and Herr Kohler do likewise.’