‘That’s it,’ said Jeanne, following Ruth with her eyes as a morning glory follows the sun.
‘Up I go like a windfall in reverse,
a blackened apple stuck back into the tree.
‘Unbelievable. And yet,’ Jeanne finally broke contact with Ruth and turned a slow but full circle, ‘I can believe it of this village. Where else would people go to be safe? To get away from the burning times.’
‘Is that why you came here?’
‘I came because I was tired, burned out. Now there’s something. A burned-out witch.’ She laughed and they both turned back toward the small white clapboard chapel on the side of the hill, and walked toward it.
‘And yet you agreed to do a séance.’
‘It’s the training. Hard to say no.’
‘The training or the woman? You don’t have to be a healer to find it hard to say no.’
‘I’ve always found it difficult, it’s true,’ she said. They’d reached St Thomas’s and climbed the half-dozen wooden steps to the small veranda. Gamache opened the large wooden door but Jeanne was standing with her back to him. Looking at Ruth, then shifting her gaze to the three great pine trees on the village green.
‘Is that just a coincidence? A village called Three Pines with three pines on the green?’
‘No. This village was created by the United Empire Loyalists fleeing across the border from the States in the war with Britain. It was just woods then. Still is, I guess.’ Gamache had joined her and now the two of them stood side by side looking over the village, and the dense forests beyond.
‘It was impossible for the Loyalists to know when they were safe. So a code was devised. Three pine trees in a clearing meant they could stop running.’
‘They were safe,’ said Jeanne, and seemed to sag. ‘Oh, dear Lord, thank you,’ she whispered.
Gamache stood in the gentle, golden sun and waited until Jeanne was ready to go inside.
‘We were in a circle and that witch put salt down,’ said Gilles. The two men were sitting on stones by the creek in full flight. Beauvoir was listening and tossing pebbles into the water. Sandon was staring at the creek, its surface covered in dancing silver flecks where the sun caught movement. ‘I should have left then, but I don’t know, we all got caught up. It was a sort of hysteria, I think. I could hear things in the dark. It was scary.’
Beauvoir stole a quick glance at Sandon, but the man didn’t seem embarrassed by his admission.
‘Then she started calling the spirits, and saying she could hear them, and I could too. It was terrible. She’d lit candles and somehow that made the darkness even deeper. And then there was the shuffling. There was something there, I know it. That witch brought something back from the dead. Even I know that’s a mistake.’
‘What happened then?’
Sandon was breathing heavily, back in that wicked room, surrounded by darkness and terror and something else.
‘She could hear something coming. Then she clapped her hands. I thought I’d die. There were two screams, maybe more. Horrible sounds. Then a thump. I was almost blind with fear but I saw Madeleine drop. I was too scared to move at first, but Clara got there and so did Myrna. By the time I could move a few people were gathered around Madeleine.’
‘Including Monsieur Béliveau?’
‘No, he wasn’t there. I got there before him. I thought she’d just fainted. Honestly I was grateful it was her and not me. And then we turned her over.’
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ said Jeanne, remembering back to that face she’d spent the last two days running from. ‘We tried to find a pulse, tried to do CPR, but she was so rigid it was impossible. It was as though she was frozen in place, as though the life had been ripped right out of her. You say a drug called…’ she seemed to struggle for the name. Gamache let her, wondering whether this was an act. ‘I’ve forgotten the name, but some drug did that?’
‘Ephedra. It’s actually an herb, a natural substance. It’s used by people who want to diet, but it’s been banned. Too dangerous. What was your impression of the group?’
‘This was actually the second séance. The first was Friday night at the bistro.’
‘Good Friday,’ said Gamache.
‘There were tensions I could feel, mostly from two of the men. Not Gabri. The other two. The tall, sad man and the huge bearded one. But men are often like that at séances. They either don’t believe and are full of negative energy, or they do believe and are embarrassed by their fear. Again, negative energy. But I actually had the impression they weren’t just upset about being there. I think they didn’t like each other. The big man was more obvious about it, but that grocer man—’
‘Monsieur Béliveau,’ said Gamache.
‘There’s something dark about him.’
Gamache looked at her with surprise. What little he knew of the man he liked. He seemed courtly and almost timid.
‘He’s hiding something,’ said Jeanne.
‘We all are,’ said Gamache.
‘You come here every day?’ Beauvoir asked after Sandon had finished his story. It sounded like a pickup line and Beauvoir tried not to blush.
‘Uh huh. To find the wood for my furniture.’
‘I saw some of your stuff at the store. It’s fantastic.’
‘The trees let me do it.’
‘They let you cut them down?’ asked Beauvoir, surprised.
‘Of course not, what do you think I am?’
A murderer? Beauvoir completed his thought. Did he think that?
‘I walk the woods and wait for inspiration. I only use dead trees. I guess we have a lot in common, you and me.’
For some reason this pleased Beauvoir, though he couldn’t think what they had in common.
‘We both deal in death, profit by it you might even say. Without dead trees I’d have no furniture, without dead people you’d have no job. Course, you people sometimes hurry it along.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, did you read the paper today?’ Sandon reached behind him and pulled a folded and crushed tabloid from his back pocket. He handed it to Beauvoir, pointing with one filthy finger.
‘See. I thought they’d put all the rotten ones in jail, but I guess there’s one still out there. Or out here, really. You seem like a decent sort. Must be tough having a dirty boss.’
Beauvoir barely heard the comments. He felt as though he’d tumbled into the paper and was trapped by the words. One word.
Arnot.
Jeanne was quiet for a moment, taking in the small wooden chapel. Simple white and green lily of the valley filled it with fragrance so that the place smelled of old wood, lemon Pledge, books and flowers. And it looked like a jewel. Sunlight was made green and blue and red as it passed through the stained glass windows, the most prominent of which wasn’t the risen Christ behind the altar, but the one on the side of the chapel. With the three young men in uniform. The sun passed through them and spilled their colors onto Gamache and Jeanne, so that they were sitting in the warmth, the essence, of the boys.
‘Be careful.’ She turned away from Gamache and looked at a patch of red light at his feet.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All around you, I can see it. Be careful. Something’s coming.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Jean Guy Beauvoir found Gamache sitting in St Thomas’s. The chief and the witch were side by side, staring ahead. He might, he knew, be interrupting the interrogation, but he didn’t care. In his hand he held the newspaper, full of filth. Gamache turned and seeing Beauvoir he smiled and rose. Beauvoir hesitated then shoved the paper into his breast pocket.
‘Inspector Beauvoir, this is Jeanne Chauvet.’
‘Madame.’ Beauvoir took her hand and tried not to flinch. Had he known when he’d woken that morning he’d be shaking hands with a witch, well. Well, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done differently. It was, he had to admit, one of the things he loved about his job. It was unpredictable.