The rustic atmosphere of the village made Haidée think of coarse linens and bad shoes. The smell of the place was no worse than the city. If she wanted to be honest to herself, the smell was actually better. The village of Mont Saint Filan had little place for farm animals so the island wasn’t overrun with stinking cows and pigs. Unlike the city where the air seemed to settle down around the buildings and stifle people at days at a time, the ocean air currents carried most of the scent away leaving an almost astringent, salty odor. One of the things that Haidée didn’t like about the city, but never said aloud to anyone, was the city folk’s penchant for dowsing themselves with heavy perfumes to mask their body odor. Unlike herself, most city folk disliked bathing but still liked to smell “fresh.” Unfortunately, masking did not always go over so well.
The gravel path from the observatory to the village terminated into a paved square at the center of the village. On one side was the inn, The Cormorant, which stood three levels high in a rough hewn gray stone. The shutters were closed—apparently all of the occupants were still asleep or away. The other buildings were made of a similar material, most of them also two or three stories high, and a main street ran from the east to the west with the inn as the center point. Few other villagers were about, seemingly busy, although they had enough time to shoot her odd looks. Her fashionable day walking costume was obviously out of the norm.
She headed west on the main street with no particular destination in mind. She had left the observatory around nine-thirty, after a brief breakfast in the kitchen served by the mousey and shy maid, Colette. The cook was nowhere to be found, although Colette had mumbled something about “picking apples for the noon pie.” She had eaten alone. Nine-thirty was quite early for her—Haidée usually got up around noon when she lived in Paris—but the astronomers had gotten up even earlier around six in the morning, no doubt to immerse themselves in their research and as an attempt to forget about Legard’s strange death.
The way Legard died bothered her. It also bothered her why no one on the island seemed so up in arms about it. Perhaps Legard had many enemies on Mont Saint Filan, even more than that old astronomer Roland had dared to tell her, and that they were all glad that Legard was gone. But not knowing all the details, she felt it was unjust. Even if Legard had been a miserable human being rather than just being merely annoying as she had briefly observed on her first night at the observatory, it was still wrong to kill him.
Most of the houses along the main street appeared to be residential. A couple doors down from the inn, however, was a sign hanging over a small shop with only one word, “rue”, being the only one that was readable. The rest of the sign’s paint had peeled away leaving only the darkened wood underneath. Curious, Haidée approached the front steps when the door to the shop opened suddenly, making her jump reflexively backward.
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” huffed a shop patron. She looked up to see that it was Maurice Ducos. “I did not see you there.” He was carrying a rucksack of something. Groceries, she assumed, since a loaf of bread was sticking out at the top. “I hope that you are not hurt?”
“I am perfectly fine, Monsieur Ducos,” she replied. “I was out taking a walk and I saw this shop. You are out shopping for food? I thought that the inn also provided the meals.”
“Humph,” Ducos replied with a shake of his head. “You should be glad that you are not staying at the inn, Mademoiselle. The innkeeper is a tyrant underneath his laid back veneer. He says that he does not serve lunch, only dinner! My friends and I have taken turns coming to this grocery to get something before we parish of hunger.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” she tsked. “Doesn’t the innkeeper know that being so strict with meals will drive his clientele away?”
“On that count, Fasset is quite clever,” Ducos said. “He owns the only inn on this island. And there is no way off of this place until the tide goes out a month hence.”
“Quite true,” she replied in a commiserating tone. “Unless one would care to make a swim for it to the main land.”
“I would sink like a stone,” Ducos exclaimed. “Besides, what sane person would want to swim? Water is bad for you.”
Haidée wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to be reminded that certain people wouldn’t want to bathe even if their life depended on it. “Water is only bad if you drown in it.”
The door to the grocery swung open again, revealing a tall, broad shouldered figure with gleaming brown hair. It was the magistrate, Merle Galliard. He was holding a rucksack as well, but when he spotted Haidée, he made a surprised exclamation and swept into a bow before taking her hand and placing a kiss on her fingers. She should have been pleased that the only good-looking bachelor on the island was paying so much attention to her, but instead, she was somewhat irritated that her pristine white glove was now dotted with saliva.
“Mademoiselle Avenall! What a pleasure to see you this morning!”
“What a coincidence, Monsieur Galliard,” she simply greeted. She wasn’t quite sure if the pleasure was mutual. “You are also shopping for food like Monsieur Ducos?”
“The boy invited himself along,” the portly vacationer explained. “He wants to see how well we visitors to Mont Saint Filan are doing.”
“I’m just being an attentive magistrate,” said Galliard, smiling and revealing dimples. “I hope that all our visitors to Mont Saint Filan have a pleasant visit to this quaint island, bar a few out of character mishaps.”
Haidée didn’t think that murder was merely a “mishap,” but she decided not to comment on that at the moment. “I suppose Mont Saint Filan is a quaint island—depending on your definition of quaint.”
Galliard laughed. “You have such a humor, Mademoiselle.”
“I didn’t think I was that funny.”
“It was sarcasm then?” He sounded clueless. “What brings you out on this overcast day?”
“I wanted to take a walk and to look around at the village,” she replied. “The place is quite small, so I’d imagine that I would be heading back to the observatory soon.”
“If that is so, please let me accompany you back,” offered Galliard. “Surely you would enjoy some company in your walk? Or perhaps you would like to join us for luncheon?”
She saw a surprised look briefly come over Ducos’ face before he quickly masked it. Apparently, Maurice Ducos was in charge of the meal at the inn and Galliard had little authority to invite anyone, even if he was the magistrate. She shook her head. “I would not want you to take you away from your meeting with Monsieur Ducos. I am fine by myself—there is a certain adventure about exploring a place oneself.”
“If you say so, Mademoiselle.” This time, a shadow fell over the magistrate’s face, the scar on his cheek making him look even more stark than he really was. “But please, do remember what has happened on this island so recently. Mont Saint Filan is a serene place, but it would not be very wise to venture to too many places alone. There is danger. Do not forget that.”
“Yes, about that danger,” she said. “Surely you are still looking into what happened to Monsieur Legard?”
“It was an unfortunate happenstance with Legard. An assistant and I are doing all we can at the moment,” he said solemnly. “Rest assured that we will do all we can.”
When the two men finally bade her a good day and strolled back down the lane to The Cormorant, Haidée sighed, pensive.