Her only companion in the dining room was the marten who was stuffing its cheeks full of dried currants.
Haidée slowly spooned warm, yet plain porridge into her mouth, thinking of nothing in particular and tasting even less. She had stayed up in her room for the rest of the day, curled up in bed, trying to control her shivers and the phantom longing for a bottle and the sweet tang of poppy wine. She had drifted in and out of sleep—some of it dreamless, some of it filled with nightmares. She tried not to remember any of the horrifying images that her subconscious had stirred up.
Renaud had come into her room during the night through the connecting bathroom door. She could sense him standing over her while she lay on her side away from him. She had forced herself to breath evenly—to pretend that she was asleep. His hand had touched her cheek and then smoothed down her hair. Then he left and then to her consternation, she had started crying again.
That morning, she had asked for porridge. Colette had clucked over her, asking if she felt better. And even Madame Boulanger looked at her oddly. She didn’t want pity, but then again, she didn’t know how to tell others that without sounding like a spoiled lady throwing a tantrum or a whining child. So she said nothing.
After breakfast, she disposed of the bowls and silverware in the kitchen and headed down the cellar, thinking that Renaud was down there jotting notes into his book, trying to piece the puzzles of the recent deaths together. But there was no one down in the lower laboratory. The cold lamps did not appear to have been lit recently. She went back up and saw one of the servants, the butler Villiers, heading toward the kitchen. She asked him if he had seen Renaud lately.
Villiers shook his head. “Only early this morning at dawn, Mademoiselle,” he replied. “He had an early breakfast with Monsieur Everard.”
“Monsieur Everard has recovered?”
“Yes, but he is not quite the same.” The butler looked tired. “Monsieur Everard and Monsieur Renaud went down to the village to talk with the magistrate. It seems now that Monsieur Everard is now seriously considering the fact that the deaths of the other astronomers were not so coincidental.”
“I see. So there is no one here running the observatory at the moment?”
He shook his head. “No one, unless you count Monsieur Davenport. He just arrived a moment ago with Father DeLorme. I was just about to go to the kitchen to get a tea tray for them in the library.”
“Could you add another cup?” Haidée asked. “I’ll be in the library as well.”
“As you wish, Mademoiselle.”
As Villiers turned back towards the kitchen, she made her way down the hall towards the library. The marten tagged along, its claws tapping lightly against the floor in a faint staccato. The library door was closed, but she could hear conversation on the other side. Instead of knocking, she pressed her ear against the door. The men were discussing the weather and wondering whether or not there was going to be rain the next day when Edouard Garnier was scheduled to be buried.
She knocked.
“Come in,” Davenport’s voice sounded.
She opened the door and peered in. Davenport was behind his desk as usual. Father DeLorme had taken one of the chairs near the hearth. “Good morning, Father DeLorme. Monsieur Davenport.”
“Ah, Mademoiselle Avenall!” said Davenport with a smile. “Please come in and join us. Father DeLorme and I were having a chat. When Villiers comes back with the tea, I’ll have him fetch an extra cup for you.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” she replied as she sat down on another chair facing the two men. “I ran into Monsieur Villiers just as I was about to come here and told him to bring another set for me as well.”
“Mademoiselle Avenall, it is good to see you regardless,” said DeLorme. The priest’s mouth quirked upward and his eyes sparkled. “I see you have a pet. A familiar of yours?” he asked, indicating the marten at her heels. The small animal had plopped itself down beside her chair and began the arduous task of grooming itself.
Haidée’s skin prickled at the allusion to witches. “A familiar? Definitely not that, Father. It’s not even a pet really. The marten happened to follow me home, that’s all.”
Davenport seemed amused. “Don’t listen to her, Father. She pampers the creature and spoils it by letting it eat whatever it wishes. That marten is even more spoiled than my cat.”
At that moment, Villiers came in to deliver the tray of tea. The priest began pouring out the cups of the beverage despite Haidée’s protest that pouring tea should be her job.
“Nonsense, Mademoiselle, I am happy to oblige,” the priest waved her off. “On another note, I was just curious—has everyone been sleeping well lately? You know, I have performed the exorcism the other day to ban whatever demons and evil spirits I could think of.”
She thought back to her nightmare-riddled sleep the previous night, completely unaided by tonic. “I suppose it was as well as it could be under the circumstances.”
“Excellent. Although I know that Monsieur Garnier’s death has been quite a blow to the observatory. I heard that you and Monsieur Renaud actually discovered him. I must say, I admire your nerves. The specter of death hits most women quite hard.”
“I would not say that my nerves are all that strong,” Haidée replied. “I am an actress. I can hide weak nerves rather well, I think.” Except from Jacot Renaud, she thought privately. Briefly, she wondered if he had left with Everard because he didn’t want anything else to do with her after her pathetic breakdown the previous day.
“It’s all a sudden and a shock about Garnier,” said Davenport, pulling her back to the conversation at hand. “What exactly had he been doing yesterday? No one seemed to have noticed that he was missing from the observatory.”
“Monsieur Garnier had been working in his laboratory the last few days,” said Haidée. “At least that was my impression. He wasn’t entirely himself, though.” She frowned in thought. “He kept saying that something was watching him. I think the deaths of the other astronomers frightened him.”
“Well, all the recent deaths frighten me,” exclaimed DeLorme. “But I’m afraid we must forge onward. Do you think there will be a request for new astronomers, Monsieur Davenport?”
The observatory librarian looked thoughtful. “I think there will actually be a glut of astronomers wanting to obtain a position here on Mont Saint Filan. It’s not every day that an intellectual is allowed to have his own space and isolation and have autonomous control of his own research. Why, I know some who are particularly eager to get a place here…”
Haidée half listened to Davenport and DeLorme discuss the possible new residents of the observatory. Instead, she thought of where she herself would be going. When the next full moon came again and the tide went out, where would she go? She could only see herself going back to Paris, back to the grind of the theatre. But the same old routine left her cold—she wanted something different. Renaud had mentioned Vienna. That would be different. Perhaps she should quit the theatre and go traveling. Whether Renaud was going where she was going would be irrelevant.
“Oh my, look at the time.” DeLorme was looking at his pocket watch. He stood up and shrugged into his black coat. “I have a meeting with the carpenter down at the village about the coffin for poor Monsieur Garnier. I’m afraid I will have to take my leave.”
Davenport and Haidée said their farewells and soon, she was alone with the observatory librarian. Davenport gave a wary sigh and sipped his tea. His brows were furrowed in thought.
“It was quite obvious to me that Monsieur Garnier was killed,” she said.
The observatory librarian put down his cup. “I did not see the body. There were markings on him as well?”
“Yes.” Haidée paused for a moment, looking into the flames of the library hearth. “How well do you know the inhabitants of Mont Saint Filan?”
“I know everyone on the island,” said Davenport. “I know the parentage of most of them as well as what sort of education everyone has had as well as their general personalities and some of their personal affairs.”
She nodded. “Good. I need you to help me make a list. I need to know who else on this island, besides the astronomers, who have had training in certain natural arts.”
The observatory librarian gave her a hard look. “I think I see where you’re going.”