Georgiana and the Wolf

By DJ Clawson

This is the seventh story in the "A Bit of Advice" series. You'll probably find it more interesting if you go catch up with the others, but this story is rare in that it stands somewhat alone if you're attempting to just read about a daughter of the Bingleys, though you may find her a bit odd.

Chapters posted twice weekly.

Chapter 7

Robert Audley removed his hat and held it respectfully over his breast as the priest recited the benediction over the grave of Mrs. Bernard. A few people from town had come forth for this event on the warm Saturday afternoon, far more than Simon Roux. Mrs. Bernard had been a lonely widow, but had sustained herself with a vegetable garden and was considered a kindly neighbor who the children very much liked visiting. She did not deserve this, he thought. Of course, no one deserved such a death, especially not a kindly old widow, but added to that was the additional frustration that he knew the killer, or at least the person who had given the order, and could prove nothing.

Yet.

He left quickly afterwards on a mission of mercy. Returning to town, he quickly discovered from Camille that Miss Sophie's parents lived on a farm just outside of town. As much as he preferred walking, he saddled the horse he had been loaned by the department in Paris and went for a ride until he found the fields of the Murrell family. They had been laid to waste by the passing of soldiers and bad years of harvest, and stood unsown, as had been described to him. The house itself was in good enough repair, with smoke rising from the chimney to indicate life inside. He cautiously knocked on the door, and then bowed to the old woman who was cleaning her hands on her apron when she opened the door. "Monsieur?"

"I am Inspector Robert Audley," he said, removing his hat. "I am here to speak with Miss Murrell, on behalf of a friend, if she is here."

"What sort of friend?" she asked.

"Miss Bingley." Clearly, saying 'the marquis' would not get him in the door. And besides, this was a favor to Miss Bingley.

She disappeared back inside, closing the door behind her. This woman was no good at deception, if she was even trying to make the flimsiest attempts to disguise her daughter's whereabouts. She reappeared quickly. "Come in, Inspector."

He entered the small house, and was ushered into the living room, which was no grand place but was respectable enough, all things considered. She offered him an afternoon wine, which he accepted, and she poured him a tiny glass of it. Sophie Murrell emerged from wherever she had been in the back of the house, and he rose to greet her. "Miss Murrell."

"Inspector. I was not expecting – "

"I am here on Miss Bingley's behalf," he said. "She wanted to know that you were well despite your dismissal."

"Yes." She sat down, wringing her hands nervously, and he retook his seat. "I have no income now, but I suppose I will find something ... Anything is better than staying in that house."

"How did it come about, precisely?"

She would not look him in the eyes. "He accused me of stealing his red coat and then spreading rumors about his activities on the night of the full moon. Please, Inspector, I did neither of those things."

He raised his hand to her protests. "Of course you did not. But if you would spare me a moment, I would like to know more – for your safety and for my investigation." He did not take out his notebook for this interview. She was too nervous. "What did happen to the marquis on the night of the full moon?"

"I do not know, sir. I was already asleep. All I know is when I saw him in the morning, Monsieur Durand was caring for wounds of his."

"What was he wearing? The marquis, I mean."

"Sir?" she asked. "He was wearing – I suppose they were the clothes from that evening, minus the coat. They were very soiled."

"And this was – how early in the morning?"

"A little after the rooster. Maybe an hour."

He continued his mental notation. "So one would assume he was up the course of the night."

"Yes. But I said nothing!"

"Of course. I do not believe he dismissed you because of that. Miss Murrell, he is removing all of his liabilities – and you are one of them for reasons we both understand, whether he knows the whole of it or not." He added softly, "Miss, I believe you are in some danger, and it would be best for you to perhaps leave town. Do you have somewhere you can go?"

"I cannot leave my Papa," she said. "It would be too cruel."

"Would you at least have somewhere to go if I knew there to be a serious threat on your life?"

"Is there one?"

"There might be. I am trying to determine that. But please – answer my question."

She paused. "I have cousins in Mon Rousseau. They are tailors."

"You would go to them?"

Sophie nodded.

"Do they have the same family name?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. I regret your loss of employment, Miss Murrell, but you are the better for it. Can you be ready to leave at a moment's notice?"

Very hesitantly she answered, "I can, if my life depends on it."

"It may. I would not ask otherwise." He rose. "If you will excuse me, I must deliver this news to Miss Bingley. She will be greatly relieved."

"Thank you, Inspector," she said. "I do not know why she has bestowed this kindness on a servant, but please thank Georgiana for me."

He smiled. "I will."

There were definitely advantages to a horse. He traveled easily back into town, and past it, down the road to the seminary, stopping only to compose a letter before realizing he could not deliver it to their post box. They were proper ladies in a seminary and did not receive mail that would not be opened and inspected by their headmaster, no doubt, if it came not from relatives. He would have to deliver it in-person. He thought the plan admirable, and rushed to complete it before dark. It was Saturday, so the ladies of Mrs. Robinson's were tending their gardens and walking along the paths nearby. He nodded politely to many of the girls, who curtseyed and then ran away giggling as his horse snorted. He did not see Miss Bingley, but came upon someone else. "Lady Littlefield!"

Lady Heather Littlefield looked up from her picking of flowers, holding up her bonnet as she did so. "Inspector Audley." She curtseyed properly as he de-saddled and dropped to the ground.

"I was looking for Miss Bingley," he said as he approached, holding the folded letter.

"She is out walking. I do not know when she will return." Her demeanor was different than he had encountered before, but he had only seen her when she was beside the marquis, or during an interrogation. Casually, she was a pleasant girl, more at ease in safer surroundings.

"Then can you deliver a message to her?" he said, holding the letter out for her to take. She did not do so.

"Inspector Audley," she said politely, "I cannot. A gentleman cannot correspond with a lady in such a manner."

"It is of utmost importance."

"Propriety is of the utmost importance. It is what protects a lady's virtue."

When she didn't seem to waver from her position, he sighed. "Then can I trust you to deliver the message in words? Do I have your confidence?"

"Since you have so freely given yours in the past, I will offer mine," she replied.

"Miss Bingley wanted to know if Miss Sophie is safe. I have just spoken with the lady in question and she is, despite being dismissed. That is the entirety of the message."

"Oh," Littlefield said. "Then, of course, I will gladly deliver it."

"Did you know Miss Sophie?"

"Only of her. I obviously have had no time to wander about the manor as she has had, as the marquis pays me every attention and none to Georgiana."

So he does, he thought. "Miss Bingley has done quite a lot on your behalf. Did you know her before coming here?"

"No, I did not. She grew up in Derbyshire and I in Sussex, but I became her companion when she arrived – "

"You? Her companion?"

She blushed, clearly having said something she should have not. "Within the school, I mean. It is not of relevance to your investigation."

"You would be surprised as to what has relevance to my investigation. Please, do go on. You befriended Miss Bingley, not the other way around? Or was it mutual?"

"We share a room, so it was mutual, but I am her only friend here. Not to speak ill of Georgiana, but the other classmates – they do not understand her."

"And you do?"

"I do not attempt to. I accept her for who she is."

He was even more curious now. "And who is she?"

"You can hardly expect me to answer so personal a question, nor even know the answer in such a short acquaintance. All I can say to you is that she is an outstanding scholar in everything but manners classes, which she has no patience for, and she prefers solitude to conversation with the other girls."

"Did her parents send her, or did she want to come here?"

Again, it was not a question she was eager to answer, but under his gaze, she did so. "She said quite clearly to me that she chose this place specifically and decided to come here as opposed to a year in London. She did not say why."

But all things considered, it was understandable. If she grew up with green trees and fields, she might not have wanted the city life that would be required of her while she searched for a husband. Or maybe, she was not ready for a husband at all and wished to put it off. That was what many girls did – the obvious exception being Lady Littlefield, who came to France to marry. "And so she agreed to accompany you to visit the marquis, and does so each time on the premise that you need a companion. And she has done much more beyond that, as we both know."

She averted her eyes. "Yes."

He didn't have to ask why. Lady Littlefield did not want the marriage; Georgiana did not want to be completely lonely. They were united against the immediate world around them. "Thank you, Lady Littlefield. I am in your debt if you would deliver this message." He bowed, and turned to his horse.

"Inspector Audley!" she said, and ran up to him. "Please, I must say something."

He immediately stopped all pretenses of getting on the horse and leaving. "Of course. What is it, Lady Littlefield?"

"You must stop this."

"Must stop what?" Because honestly, he could think of a dozen things she could be referring to.

"Despite her appearances, Georgiana is a woman of wealth and stature from a great family. Between her father and her uncle, most of Derbyshire is owned by her family. On the other side of the family, her uncle is a knight of the realm. You can have no intentions for her that will bear fruit."

"Intentions?" he said, legitimately puzzled.

"You know exactly of what I speak."

"You are mistaken, my lady. I have no idea of what you speak."

Her face hardened. "I refuse to believe that, Inspector Audley. But you cannot be after her inheritance, as you do not know it, to my knowledge. And her father would never consent."

"Her father would never – " He stumbled. "You think – No!" he laughed a little. "Goodness, no! Did I give that impression?"

"You gave every impression, Inspector. I am not blind."

"Oh." He laughed. "Oh, no, no, please do not be mistaken. And make sure Miss Bingley is not mistaken – I am an inspector and I am investigating two murders, and I will question anyone concerned with them, and she has proven to be a very knowledgeable source, perhaps the most knowledgeable and still willing to speak honestly with me. Nothing more."

She crossed her arms. "Do not be ridiculous. You walked with her, you laughed with her, and you had your eyes on her for the entirety of our meal together."

"It was just – "

"You may continue insisting, Inspector," she said, smiling herself now, but very slyly. She was a woman, and she was in her element. "But I will still not believe you. Your face betrays you. Even now you are blushing."

He was surprised to notice he was. This of course only made it worse, and he had to look away. "You are assuming too much. I assure you, this is a professional matter only."

"Good," she said, though not convinced, "because her heart belongs to another."

She turned away and seemed to be literally skipping down the path as he shouted, "Who?"

"Oh, no one relating to your investigation, so there's no reason for it to concern you," she replied. "Good-bye, Inspector Audley."

He realized that was a dismissal, and bowed quickly before climbing on his horse and storming out of there at top speed.

The case. He had to think about the case. The best way to do it, logically, was to sit at the bar and order a stiff drink before beginning to look over his notes and record his conversation with Lady Littlefield, at least the parts that were relevant to the case. He began to read over his notes, looking at the underlined words, the charts, the names, the dates, and places. Around the fourth drink, he was willing to admit he wasn't reading so much as looking at them.

He ordered his last drink, downed it in record time, and headed up the stairs before it would become too difficult to do so. If he was going to be furious at himself and his case, he would do it in privacy. After all, he was a professional. He had that aura about him and he liked to maintain it. It gave him authority where he might not have it otherwise, being so young and un-grizzled for a famous inspector.

He had made his reputation with the priest case and his keen intuition – but really, it was the large case that fell in his lap mainly by happenstance. He really owed his career to that murderous priest. Otherwise, he could have easily spent decades in the lower ranks, filing case reports and following the senior inspectors around in the hopes that he might "learn something." He didn't find his business particularly hard. It just required a lot of thought – preferably done when not drunk. Wolves, dead people dumped in the forest, bandits, the marquis, Miss Bingley – it all made his head spin. He couldn't attack it. He couldn't take the pieces apart and then reassemble them. At least if he had them together, he could see what was missing.

The most frustrating thing, what every detective truly hated, was knowing the ending without the beginning or middle. He knew the marquis was a murderer (probably not directly, but he certainly ordered at least one death) and a rapist, possibly a sadist. He knew there was a second person out there who was messing with the marquis – messing with both of them. The Wolf wanted the marquis dead, but couldn't seem to do it, so he had other pieces in play.

The thought haunted Audley. Was he one of those pieces?

The marquis had called him in, he was sure. There was money behind it. The marquis had welcomed him into his home and assisted (somewhat) in his investigation. The marquis wanted the original murder – the one he wasn't responsible for – solved. With the murderer found, an enemy of the marquis would be eliminated. Now it was more complicated than that. The wolf hunt would either do nothing or make it worse. Sophie was yet another complication. Lady Littlefield was no mere puppet, either. Today even she had played with him. How dare she suggest such a thing! How dare she insult his professionalism as a detective!

He hurled his notebook across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the ground with a thud. That soft sound was sobering enough, and he slumped into his chair with a groan.

It wasn't Heather Littlefield's fault. She was a daughter of a peer – she had been raised to be married, and would obsess about the notion until she did so. Then she would bear sons, and obsess about their marriages. It was the way of life – how could she bring herself to think of anything else. That his interest in Georgiana might be for strategic reasons? Because Georgiana seemed to have all of the answers?

A knock on the door. To say it startled him, was putting it mildly. He raced to his feet – a mistake, but he managed – and opened the door a crack. "Yes?"

It was Camille. Pretty Camille, with her black hair and her reasonably ... ample ... corset. Camille, who was always so nice to him and did without finery. He should really appreciate her more. "We are retiring," she said. "Is there anything else you will require, Inspector Audley?"

There were different ways to interpret that question. He was imagining some of them because he was drunk. But he just leaned into the doorframe. "No, thank you. I will be fine."

"You are sure?"

No. "Yes, thank you."

She curtseyed. He was too dizzy to bow. He watched her leave, shut his door, and collapsed on his bed to what he hoped would be a dreamless sleep. He would be quickly disappointed.

Sunday meant church. It meant the town gathered to socialize, to observe each other in their piety, and possibly nod off during the sermon. It was the one day of the week when the marquis lowered himself to sit among his neighbors, as he sat in the front row beside Sir DuBois and the Rousseaus. Inspector Audley at his best would take a seat where he had the best vantage point to observe the parishioners, watching them interact. Robert Audley, slightly hung-over and feeling slightly repentant about the contents of his dreams, was not at his best. He rose for the annunciation of the host, which managed to catch the colored light streaming in from the little stain-glass window above. Some traditions even the revolution had not destroyed – the quiet moments of the beauty of G-d, or at least the notion that a higher spirit was watching over them, deserving of praise. He was not a religious man, but he had his ideals. Justice was one of them. Morality, another. It was the axis his life revolved around, perhaps more than others because of his profession.

The ladies of Mrs. Robinson's School for Women were not present. They were good English Protestants, after all, with their Book of Common Prayer. His father gave him a copy when he turned six and ten out of some primal Englishness but did not expect him to use it. He did read it a few times. The girls would be bent over theirs in their own private chapel, listening to the sermon in English, all hellfire and –

No, he was distracted again. No good. Especially in the house of G-d.

He stepped outside after the main ceremony as quickly as possible for a breath of fresh air. The adults hadn't left yet, but children were running around unsupervised in the field beside the church.

"Boo!"

He did jump a little, not at the child approaching him but at the strange sight of a child in a crude wolf mask made of cloth. The boy held his fingers up like claws and howled at him. Some of the other children joined him.

Audley smiled at them and turned away. The townsfolk were coming out the front doors of the church, spilling into the square as the marquis shook some hands before climbing into his carriage. Audley hung back, exchanging pleasantries but making no earnest attempt at conversation. He was watching the crowd. One topic dominated all: the hunt.

The marquis, it seemed, had put a prize up for the largest wolf caught on Tuesday's hunt. The number of francs, while no dent in the marquis' wallet, was stunning to anyone Audley saw before him. And what good would it do? There were probably a few wolves in the woods to hunt and kill, but Audley was positive that that had little affect on his murder investigation – unless this brought the Wolf out, which it might well do.

"Joining us, Inspector Audley?"

Sir DuBois slapped him on the back, breaking Audley from his reverie.

"Oh, yes," he answered quietly. "But not as a hunter. Merely as an observer."

"Well, you'd best bring a rifle nonetheless, or you could have something happen to you if we do find that wolf nest up the hill."

"Is there one?"

"We've thought so for years. There are always a few wolves around, so there must be a lair somewhere, and the marquis sent his huntsman out to try to locate it."

Audley merely said, "I'm sure he's said so."

"Between you and me, Inspector, he could be letting wolves loose out there tomorrow for all we know, just to make sure someone comes back with something, and ends this town myth about the Wolf."

"I wish it were that easy."

DuBois punched him in the arm. "Don't be so glum, Inspector. Not when there's a hunt on the week's schedule! Oh – are you a city man? Never been on a hunt?"

"Hardly. I grew up shooting geese with my father in Normandy as they came over the channel. But hunting wolves to stop a rumor – that is another matter entirely."

"I suppose, but I'll be out there with the rest of them. These sorts of things don't come along every month."

Neither did murders. But Audley said nothing, merely nodding politely before finding a reason to excuse himself.

"Hunt on Tuesday!" someone shouted. Audley recognized one of the marquis' servants. "Open to all! The person to kill the largest wolf gets the prize!"

If that was true, the marquis would hardly be willing to pay out for yet another murder. But Audley's concerns were not for the unsuspecting wild wolves in the woods who were about to be decimated – they were dangerous predators anyway – but lay instead with the Wolf. How would he react? Would he ignore it entirely or try to turn it against the marquis?
Was he among the crowd, planning it right now?

To Be Continued...