Chapter Summary: Monique and Xavier prepare to visit Chagny. Monique still longs to spend the winter social season in Paris. Xavier gives in to her wishes while Didier gives her a warning. The police question Nico about the Saint Joseph medallion and his words turn their stomachs. Henri arrives at the police station with a request. And in Kingsand (and yes – it is Kingsand, Kings End is another place), Tallis and Serge go about meeting the local merchants, laughing and sharing lunch, unaware that they are being watched.

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

The chateau at Cote de Vallee was in as much uproar as the rest of the valley south of Lyon. The news that the young Vicomte had not been killed in the explosion and had – indeed – been found alive was all that anyone could talk about. Everyone whispered about what had happened. They speculated as to why it had happened. They sent prayers for the young man's swift recovery. The small gifts sent to the door of Chagny were received with gracious thanks but few were admitted beyond the threshold to see the young man for themselves. So they continued to wonder and speculate and hope. They speculated what the men under heavy guard in the local jail were saying and wondered if the trial would be held in their village or in the larger city of Lyon. Then they wondered if they would be able to get a seat at the trial. And they hoped that the noose was not far away for those men who had done such evil things.

"Monique, please," Xavier pleaded with his wife. "It has been nearly four days since Christine returned. Surely she and Raoul have had time to be pleasant with each other. I would like to see both of them again!"

Monique turned around on her vanity seat so that she could look at her husband. "Make pleasant with each other?" she questioned.

"I am trying to be delicate," Xavier replied. "I did not wish to say that I hope they have spent these past four days kissing and snuggling and…" He threw up his hands and plopped down on the end of his wife's bed. "We have not seen Raoul in over a week. I would like to see how he is progressing." He turned his head slightly. "And do not tell me that you do not wish to see just how far along Christine is."

Monique watched the sharp look that crossed her husband's face and lowered her eyes and studied the brush in her hands. "I do wish to see Christine and I am curious," she admitted. "I just thought we should let them have some time alone as family. It was hard enough for us to see Raoul in that condition; I cannot even imagine what it must have been like for his wife." Her eyes held a strange sparkle as she raised them. "I do not know what my reaction would be were I to find you in such a sad condition."

"I would hope that your compassion would rise to the fore as it has always done," Xavier told her. "I would hope that whatever transgressions that lay between us would be forgiven and forgotten."

"It would," Monique assured him with a sigh. "I could never leave your side were you to be in fear of your life or in trouble of any sort. We have built a comfortable life together. I do not wish to think upon what a day would be like without you."

Now it was Xavier's turn to sigh and he ran a hand through his graying hair. "That is comforting," he told her. "I know that things have not been easy these last years – that I have not been easy these last years. To know that you still hold some small spark of affection for me, it is truly comforting and helps to settle my unease."

Monique smiled at her husband before turning back to her vanity mirrors. She looked at him in those mirrors. "You know I would do anything to make you comfortable," she replied, a smile momentarily crossing her face.

Xavier smiled back. "I know," he said softly. "I would do the same for you."

Whatever Monique may have said was interrupted by a gentle knock on the closed door. "Come," Monique called out and a genuine smile lit her face as Didier entered the room. He had been looking so much better since Raoul had been found. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Monique wondered as she waved her young cousin in, watching in her mirror as he went to sit beside Xavier. "I positively feel like a courtesan with two such handsome men sitting on the edge of my bed."

Didier blushed and lowered his head while Xavier merely laughed. Monique continued to watch their reflections in her mirrors.

"You need to get out more," Xavier told his cousin. "You need to find a suitable young woman and settle down. That will chase the blush right from your cheeks."

"Please," Didier asked softly, his eyes remaining lowered.

Monique shook her head at both of them. "You both need to get out more," she insisted and paused for a moment, pinning up a stray curl. She watched, as they both looked at her back and her own reflection smiled at them. "I think we should still go to Paris for the season," she stated.

"Surely you cannot mean such a thing!" Xavier blurted out. "Not now! Philippe will need us near."

"Philippe has a house full of family and more are expected as the holidays approach," Monique stated. "You know that Desiree and Charlotte's families are coming in six weeks. Do you truly think Philippe will need anymore company? Do you think Raoul will want to be overwhelmed by outsiders?"

"I thought we were like family to them," Xavier wondered.

"We are like family, yes," Monique replied, "but we are not true family." She finally turned to face husband and cousin, gesturing elegantly at them. "This is my family. You are the ones I hold in my heart and the thought of spending the winter in Paris with you both makes me feel slightly intoxicated! It has been many years since I have been caught up in the bright lights and heady atmosphere of a season in Paris. I would like to enjoy the symphony and the opera. I would like to eat in the finest restaurants and dance the nights away. I would like to visit the salons of old friends and throw open our own home to them." A stern look briefly crossed her face. "I am determined to get as far from this place as possible and enjoy myself." And the look was gone, replaced by a bright smile. "And I cannot picture myself in all this whirlwind without my two most favorite men by my side."

Monique watched as Xavier rose to his feet and crossed to her side, taking her hands in his own and raising each one in turn to his lips.

"If that is what your heart desires, then so be it," Xavier said, a twinkle in his eye. "But do not think I shall not try to talk you out of such action."

"You do not have much time to try," Monique told him as she allowed Xavier to help her to her feet. "If we are to leave for Paris, we must do so by the first of December." She accepted the kiss that her husband placed on her cheek.

"I shall go and make sure that everything is ready." Xavier glanced at his pocket watch. "Philippe will be expecting us within the hour." He turned to look at Didier who remained seated on the edge of the bed. "Do come along," Xavier told the young man before leaving his wife's bedroom, the sound of his footfalls echoing down the long upstairs hallway.

"Didier," Monique said and watched as the young man slowly rose to his feet. "I would think you would be a bit happier," she admonished him. "Your best friend has redeemed himself in the eyes of his family. They have discovered that their beloved brother and husband and cousin was not murdered. It is a time of rejoicing not sorrow."

Didier finally raised his head. "I am trying and I promise I shall be all smiles by the time we reach Chagny."

"I should certainly hope so!" Monique exclaimed and was surprised when Didier crossed to her side, gripping her arm and leaning in so that he could whisper in her ear.

"Never forget the small child that is ignored," he whispered, "the small child who sees and hears everything. The child who knows more than adults think he does." Didier drew back so that he could stare into his cousin's eyes. "I know what you are doing," he stated simply with a shake of his head, "and it will not work."

Things were also not working according to plan at the heavily guarded jail in Chagny. The men who had been responsible for the events surrounding the Vicomte were being less than cooperative with the inspectors who questioned them nearly every day. They offered vague answers and little details, admitting to nothing. Not one of the three men – two at Chagny, one having been moved from Grenoble to Lyon – would say whose idea it was to take the Vicomte and murder their compatriot in his place. They would not tell where the money was located. They would not say what they planned to do with the Vicomte. They would not turn on each other and – most importantly – not one of them would say who was behind the failed scheme.

"I know there is someone beyond these men who laid this plot out," Chief Inspector Robert Pichette said to his young associate. "Even Louis Foucault is not smart enough to lay out such a detailed scheme." He shook his head grimly. "No, there was another involved of that I am certain. I just wish I knew how to get one of them to tell us what it is they know."

Inspector Guy Rousseau opened his closed hand and laid something on the desk in the tiny office.

"What is that?" Pichette wondered.

"It was found hidden in a box in the cart that Mircea used to transport the Vicomte from Grenoble," Rousseau answered. "The local officers found it when they dismantled the cart looking for information." A hand went out to lightly touch the shining object on the desk. "It is a Saint Joseph medallion."

Pichette picked it up. "Curious," he said, as he examined the object he held in his hands. "It is very finely crafted and that means it did not come cheaply. It is not something that a scoundrel like Nico Mircea would be able to come by honestly." He raised his eyes to look at Inspector Rousseau. "You have heard that the Vicomtess has returned to Chagny."

"I have, Sir," Rousseau replied.

"And you do know who Saint Joseph is?"

A slight smile passed Rousseau's face. "I have not forgotten my catechism. He is the patron saint of fathers. And the word from Chagny is that the Vicomtess is with child." He nodded toward the medallion. "You think this was something that she purchased for her husband before he was taken?"

Pichette nodded. "I do. It is the type of sentimental gesture that a woman would offer to the father of her child."

"But how do we know that the Vicomte did not have it with him when he was taken?"

"Because when I had a private interview with the Comte and the Vicomtess, they were gracious enough to tell us what personal items the Vicomte had been wearing the morning he was taken. During that interview, the Vicomtess would not meet my eyes but I did notice that her hands kept reaching for her abdomen but would never quite make it that far. Such action told me that she had not yet shared her news with the family about her."

Rousseau looked puzzled. "I do not understand how you reached such a conclusion."

Pichette's lips turned up in a rueful smile. "You are not yet married or a father," he said simply. "I have had the experience of receiving news that I was to be a father four times. It is something to be marveled at each time but it is also something that – after the first time – you begin to see in other women." He shook his head. "No, I highly doubt that the Vicomte had yet received his wife's happy news or this gift." Pichette closed his hand about the medallion. "And that means that Mircea had to have gotten it by ill means." He grew grim. "Shall we try discovering what those means were?"

Rousseau opened the door to the tiny office and stood back in deference to his mentor. "I do now know what good it shall do," he said. "That man should be in an asylum and not a jail cell."

Pichette turned to the young inspector. "He should be hung for what he has done but that will not happen." He let out a long sigh. "No, the man is clearly insane and will, therefore, be sent to asylum and not the gallows."

"I meant no disrespect!" Rousseau looked worried. "I only meant that he is dangerous and is better kept under the lock and key of an asylum."

Pichette laid a hand on the man's arm. "I know what you meant," he assured Inspector Rousseau. "And you may always say as you wish around me but I must caution you to watch your words around the victims of such heinous deeds. And it does not matter whether the victim is a simple man in the street or the product of an old and powerful family – pain is still pain."

"Yes sir," Rousseau replied.

"Good," Pichette said with a curt nod. "We shall discuss it no further. Now, let us go and see what – if anything – we can discover from Mircea."

The two inspectors from Lyon left the tiny office, walking toward the back of the building that housed Chagny's jail. It was not a very large building – two stories and four cells behind a locked door off the main room. The building itself had been constructed of the heavy stones that had been moved during the clearing of the land surrounding the village. It had grown from the original one story to the second story when more land needed to be cleared as more and more people came to the valley seeking its peace and serenity. Yet even the quiet of the countryside was interrupted by the occasional crime. The cells had seen their share of thieves and drunks but never such men as the murders and extortionists that now occupied a cell on either side of the room that housed all four jail cells.

Pichette nodded at the man who stood guard before the locked door leading to the cells; he knew the man from Lyon and knew he could be trusted. Pichette had ordered several men from his own force to bolster the few officers in Chagny; he was taking no chances. He walked through the door the man opened, trusting Inspector Rousseau to follow and waited until he heard the door lock behind him, before observing the cool back room that housed the jail cells.

He saw the two armed officers sitting at each end of the small space that separated the two walls of cells – each man a trusted officer also brought from Lyon. Pichette could hear nothing from the two men he knew were behind the closed and locked doors of the cells and shook his head. He had had their wounds treated for he had no wish for them to die before their appointed time. Pichette had placed them in cells that were catty-cornered from each other so that the two men would be not able to easily communicate with each other. And communicate, they had not – not with each other and certainly not with those who questioned them. Pichette was determined to put a stop to that. He walked to the cell closest to the door, standing before it, feeling Inspector Rousseau at his side.

"Mircea," he addressed the man lounging on the hard wooden plank that passed for a bed, observing that the prisoner carefully cradled his wounded arm and shoulder.

"Hello," Nico addressed them.

Pichette let the chain on which the medallion hung slip easily from his fingers. "How did you come by this?" The look that crossed Nico's face sent a shiver up Pichette's spine but he would never show such a thing before a prisoner.

"It was a gift for my toy," Nico said, an empty smile on his face. "I just wanted to give it to him."

"How did you come by this?" Pichette tried again.

Nico tilted his head to one side and his voice took on that strange sing-song quality. "Do you not think my toy had a right to know about his little baby?" His eyes were wide and as empty as his smile. "I was going to find his baby and bring it to him so that they could be together forever and ever." Nico frowned. "But that stupid man interfered before I could find the baby and the pretty lady."

Rousseau swallowed. "You mean Henri de Chagny?"

Nico sat upright. "Stupid, stupid man," he hissed.

"How did you come by this?" Pichette asked for a third time.

The eerie smile returned to Nico's face. "I was waiting for the pretty lady in the cemetery," he began softly. "And she came and put the pretty necklace on the door." He slowly rose to his feet. "She was so sad and I just wanted to hug her." Nico inhaled the stale air of the jail cell. "She smelled like lilies." His eyes opened, a dreamy look in them. "She was so soft," he breathed.

Pichette and Rousseau looked at each other from the corners of their eyes; this was something they had not expected. "Did you assault the Vicomtess?" Pichette demanded, his tone stern.

"No, no, no," Nico replied as he took a step forward. "The pretty lady was going to be my new toy. My old toy was getting worn out and I was going to throw him and the baby away. Then the pretty lady and I could play lots of new games."

"Nico," Louis' voice could be heard coming from the cell near the back wall, "you are such a sick bastard."

"I think we have what we came for," Pichette nodded to Rousseau and the two men turned toward the locked door that led out. Pichette knocked on it once and it slowly opened. He did not see Nico rush to the bars of his cell, grabbing on to them and shaking them furiously.

"Tell my toys I will find them," he called out. "Tell them I will find all of them and put them away! Tell them! Tell them!"

Nico's words echoed as the door was closed.

"That was disturbing," Inspector Rousseau said.

What Chief Inspector Pichette may or may not have said was interrupted by the main door the jail opening and an obviously nervous Henri de Chagny walking in.

Pichette crossed the room to greet Henri. "Monsieur de Chagny," he greeted Henri. "What may I do for you? Is there anything wrong?"

"No," Henri insisted. "Everything is fine. My cousin is improving daily."

Pichette kept his silence and watched as Henri drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He observed the fear and uncertainty in the young man's eyes and fought down the urge to shake Henri. Obviously this young man knew something or – at least – thought he did.

"May we speak?" Henri asked, his voice lowering. "Privately, please?"

"I shall write my report on what we know," Inspector Rousseau said and walked away.

Pichette nodded at his young colleague and waved Henri toward the stairs that led to the offices on the second floor. "Shall we?" he wondered politely.

Henri swallowed. "Yes, please."

And in the far southeast corner of England, an entirely different conversation was taking place. This conversation held no chilling words, no nervous uncertainty and no great importance. It was a simple conversation held between two people as they meandered in and out of the shops along the main road of the town of Kingsand. It continued as they walked slowly up one side of the street that wound up the hillside. Their softly spoken words continued, as they would pause to gaze out over the blue Atlantic, the ocean waves pounding on the rocky coastline. Their words turned to laughter when particularly strong autumn breezes blew in off the ocean, messing his hair and causing her to reach for her hat. They continued to speak as they reached the top of the road and began to walk down the other side. They still visited each and every shop, greeting the proprietor, making themselves known, holding polite conversation. Finally as they reached the bottom of the hill, Serge turned to Tallis.

"That has been a very busy morning, Fraulein," Serge stated and laughed as he reached for his waving hair in the breeze. "I do not know about you but I find myself famished. Would you care to share a meal with me?"

Tallis smiled brightly. "I should like that!" She laughed. "I do not know which is worse – my brain from trying to remember all the names of the merchants or my hunger pangs from the long morning."

Serge smiled back. "Ah, but what about your feet?" He wondered. "I have walked you all the way from Trevinny and I have walked you all over this charming town. Do your feet not hurt?"

Tallis frowned playfully at him. "I told you once before that I am a country girl; I can out-walk even a small child." She smiled and her gaze grew distant. "I used to take my nieces and nephews for long walks and they would tire before I did. More often than not, I would find myself carrying the youngest child home in my arms."

"Would that I were that child!" Serge declared.

Tallis just laughed and rolled her eyes. "You are far too big to carry!"

Serge held out his arm. "But not too big that you will not allow me to escort you to luncheon, yes?"

"No," Tallis told him sweetly and slipped her arm through his. "Certainly not too big."

They walked in silence for a moment before Serge stopped.

Tallis looked up at him in curiosity. "What?"

"I am such a bore," he said with a laugh and turned to look at his companion. "I have not even asked where you would like to have lunch." He looked back up the winding hill. "There are many places, to be sure."

"Oh, not back up the hill!" Tallis declared.

Serge laughed delightedly. "Perhaps your feet are not as strong as you claim them to be!"

Tallis blushed and lowered her eyes. "I am getting old."

"Never," Serge replied gently as he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. "And I have an idea." He grinned at Tallis. "I am quite interested in this Ploughman's Lunch about which I keep hearing." He looked about him, the clear sky, the still warm sun. "Would you like have lunch at the park near the sea? I do not think we will have many more days to do such a thing."

Tallis brightened. "I would love to do so!" She sparkled. "And you will love the Ploughman's Lunch! I remember having it when I was a child and visiting my cousins. We would get money from our parents and come to town, buy our lunches and go to that very park to eat them!"

Serge patted the hand that held to his arm. "Then that is, most assuredly, what we shall do!"

Serge and Tallis walked arm-in-arm to the small shop at the bottom of the street. The old man greeted Tallis warmly once his memory had been prompted. He told Serge of the child that Tallis had been while fixing their noonday meal, wrapping the food in parchment paper that he tied with plain string. Tallis told the man that she was now the housekeeper at Trevinny and promised to visit his shop often. Her words brought a smile to the man's face and he happily waved the young people off to enjoy their food

Ninety minutes later, Serge was finishing the last bite of his apple and smiling at the ocean that stretched out before him. He sighed and placed the apple core in the parchment and wrapped the remains of his lunch into a small bundle before turning to Tallis. "That was most excellent!" he stated. "I do not think I have ever had anything so simple that tasted so wonderful!"

"I am that pleased," Tallis assured Serge, her smile as bright as his own. She turned to look at the Atlantic. "I had forgotten how pleasant this can be."

"I am glad to see you that you think upon pleasantries," Serge said softly, his hand going over the one that Tallis rested upon the bench on which they sat.

"I am certainly trying," Tallis said and turned to look at Serge. "And you?"

"I am certainly trying."

Tallis laughed gently.

Serge pulled the watch from his vest pocket and placed it back. "It is getting late," he stated. "We should be going back if we do not wish to walk across the moors as the sun is setting." He rose to his feet and held out his hands to Tallis, surprised when she hugged him.

"Thank you for a lovely day," Tallis said softly. "Thank you for trusting me with your household."

After his initial shock, Serge returned the hug. "You are very welcome, Fraulein. Yet I believe it is I who should be thanking you." He drew back from the hug. "Thank you for letting me escort you to this place. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely world of your youth." He lowered his voice. "And thank you for being a friend."

The blush once again crept up Tallis' cheeks. "You are very welcome."

Serge picked up the remains of their lunch with one hand and held out his other arm to Tallis. "Shall we?"

Tallis nodded, sighed and smiled as she allowed Serge to walk her through the small park, back toward town and then to Trevinny.

Yet so wrapped up in the enjoyment of the day were Tallis and Serge that they did not notice the shape that followed them through the shadows. They did not heed the man who had dogged their every step, sharp ears picking up the words that the winds did not blow away. They had not seen him follow them to the park by the ocean. They did not see him hiding in the darkness, his fists clenching and unclenching, his eyes glowing dangerously. They did not see him sag against a sturdy tree as they embraced before walking toward town.

"What have I done?" Erik cried softly. "Dear God, Tallis, what have I done?"