The Curse of the Singing Wolf (23 page)

The Negress appeared to be
enjoying herself or perhaps she was enjoying the distress of Inez.
Until this moment no one could have suspected that the relationship
between these two female servants was anything but amicable.

“Be quiet!” warned von Gunn,
thumping his fist on the table.

“Did Velazquez say why he did
that?” continued the Countess calmly.

Desi scowled and nodded. “He
say friend steal his lover.”

The machismo of toreadors was
confirmed yet again in the imagination of the listeners but they
did not really need to dwell on the immorality of hot-blooded
types. Nevertheless, the story went some way to explaining why he
chose to bolt. Fear, guilt and excessive drink made for a dangerous
mix.

“Let me go back to last night,”
said the Countess. “Velazquez brought the glasses down to the
scullery for you to wash, is that right?”

The Negress nodded.

“What did you do after you
finished washing the glasses?”

“I go to bed.”

“Did you go straight to
bed?”

She nodded, but this time there
was some stiffness to her bobbing head.

“It had been a long tiring day
and we had not had much lunch. I notice you are large and strong. I
think no one would mind if you had decided to have something extra
to eat before bed.”

The Negress squeezed her
fingers together and nodded sheepishly. “I am hungry. I have extra
bread and cup of cold tea from pot on table.”

“Was anyone else still up?”

She shook her head.

“You did not hear anyone using
the back stairs?”

“No, who you mean?”

“No one,” said the Countess
vaguely. “I was just wondering.” She left it at that.

Reichenbach called for any
further questions, but they all thought they had got everything
they were ever going to get out of the Negress. The way she kept
asking ‘who’ when she was asked a question indicated she had been
used to being told what to think. She clearly harboured a grudge
against Inez and it was not difficult to see why. The Spanish
dancer was everything she was not – slim, graceful, attractive and
desirable.

Milo was summoned. Bandages
were still wrapped around his hands. Dr Watson had checked them
during the day and changed them. The blisters had burst and there
was a lot of pus but they had not become infected. The boy was
strong and healthy. The Countess decided to put the boy at his ease
before the men got stuck into him.

“How are your hands?”

“They get better, thank you,
signora. The English doctor, he look after my hands.”

“How old are you, Milo?”

“Twelve, signora.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Sicily, signora.”

“How did you come to work at
the Hotel Louve?”

“I am begging in the street
when lovely lady come in her carriage and take me to her hotel and
give me bath and give me bed and give me food and give me job. I am
very happy there, signora.”

“You are not so happy to come
here, is that right, Milo?”

“Yes, signora.”

“Why is that?”

“The bandits they kill us.
There is many bandits in Sicily. They kill my sister. And now the
mistress she is killed too.”

“How do you know she has been
killed?”

“She goes in the night from her
bed – like my sister.”

“Do you think the bandits took
your mistress?”

He pressed his lips together
and nodded.

Reichenbach cleared his throat
with a dry cough before interrupting.

“Did you see Herr von Gunn go
down to the cellar before lunch?”

“Si, signor.”

“Did you hear any singing?”

“No, signor.”

“Where were you when you saw
Herr von Gunn go into the cellar?”

“I am in room with well. I am
getting water in bucket.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Si, signor.”

“Who?”

Milo indicated the old man
sitting on the pew. “I see him.”

“What was he doing when you saw
him?”

“He is going into cellar after
Herr von Gunn.”

Von Gunn looked livid. If not
for the lump on his head and the restraining hand of Moriarty on
his elbow, the German would have leapt to his feet, rushed across
the room and hauled the old man up by the scruff of his neck.

“What happened next?”

“I take bucket of water to
kitchen.”

“Did you see Almaric, for that
is his name, after you went into the kitchen?”

“Yes, he comes with bottle of
wine. His wife she pours red wine in pot with rabbit and puts on
fire.”

“Where did you go then?”

“I take bucket back to
well.”

“You didn’t hear any singing
then or hear anything strange?”

“No, signor.”

“Did you notice if the door to
the cellar was bolted?”

“No, signor, I did not
look.”

Reichenbach invited others to
put forward any questions. Von Gunn was keen to interrogate the boy
but Moriarty shot him a warning look. Prince Orczy had lit up yet
another cigarette and put his feet up on the dining table. He
appeared amused and relaxed. Dr Watson stepped up. He did not want
to give von Gunn the opportunity to badger the poor lad. He had
been listening and knew enough to carry on.

“You share a room with
Velazquez?”

“Si, signor doctor.”

“Did you hear Velazquez get out
of bed last night?”

“Si, signor doctor.”

“Where did you think he was
going?”

“To get some drink.”

“Did he often get up in the
night to get some drink?”

“Si, signor, and sometimes he…”
The boy glanced at Inez and stopped dead.

Dr Watson moved along. “Did you
hear anyone else up and about during the night?”

The boy looked back at the pew
then dropped his gaze. But who was he looking at? The four figures
were all huddled closely together. It was impossible to tell. He
wondered if the Countess had noticed the boy’s line of gaze.

“That is all,” said Dr Watson.
“If you remember anything else please come and tell me at
once.”

Milo went back to the pew and
the old couple stood up to come forward without waiting to be
summoned. As they advanced, Reichenbach instructed the other three
servants to return to the kitchen. He had decided the old couple
might be more forthcoming if they did not have an audience,
especially as Milo had implicated the old man in the attack on von
Gunn. A chair was brought forward by Moriarty for the woman.
Reichenbach addressed the old couple in English for he had noticed
that they had understood the questions put to them the previous
evening, though comprehending and replying were two separate
skills. He hoped their taciturnity was not linked to some peasant
dialect.

“You understand that your
mistress is missing and we are concerned for her safety?”

The old man, who was clearly
going to be the spokesperson for the half-deaf-half-blind pair,
replied. “
Oui
.”

“Do you have any idea what may
have happened to your mistress?”

“
Non
.”

“Was she in the habit of
disappearing for a few days when she came to stay here?”

“
Non
.”

“What do you think happened to
her? Do not be frightened to speak. We are anxious to hear what you
have to say.”

The old man clasped the hand of
his wife tighter than ever and reverted to English, and he was
clearly not a French peasant who had spent his life chopping
vegetables at Chanteloup. He was well-educated and his grammar was
better than that of the Inez, Desi and Milo.

“She is being reborn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Our mistress is being reborn
as more perfect.”

“Are you saying you believe she
is being reincarnated?”

“
Oui
.”

Von Gunn expostulated, “Now
I’ve heard it all! This is a mad house, gentlemen!”

Prince Orczy sneered. “Let me
guess! She is coming back as an eagle!”

“Or perhaps a wolf!” scoffed
Moriarty, who was losing patience and had started to pace the
length of the bookshelf. Lack of sleep was getting to him.

“The Singing Wolf was that
already!” reminded the Prince, laughing snidely.

The old man was not deterred.
“She will become a Perfecti.”

Lessons in religious studies
from various classics tutors came flooding back to the Countess.
“You are referring to the ancient Cathar belief about human spirit
being genderless like the spirits of the angels. Humans are cursed
to be reincarnated until they achieve salvation through the ritual
of consolamentum and become Pure Ones – is that it?”

The old man and even the
half-deaf woman looked stunned that she knew anything about their
religion.

“
Oui, oui
, our mistress
will become like Madame Carcas,” croaked the old woman.

The Countess decided to
enlighten the men so that they too would understand why this
strange old couple did not seem overly concerned by the
inexplicable disappearance of their mistress, which is no doubt
something that had been puzzling them the same as her.

“The Cathars were persecuted by
the Catholics because they considered their religion to be less
corrupt, more pure. They deemed women to be equal to men, a
dangerous idea to a male centric church. Mary Magdalen was more
important than St Peter. Women were able to offer the sacrament and
to preach. They believed that each incarnation would bring them
closer to God. A Perfecti is the highest form of enlightenment
before godliness. Since the soul is immaterial the Cathars believed
it was also sexless. Madame Carcas refers to the chatelaine of
Carcassonne who endured a long siege and saved the city from
destruction. Some Cathars believe the last incarnation will be as a
male.”

“What are you saying?” pressed
Reichenbach. “Are we looking at suicide again?”

“I’m not sure that suicide is
the right word. More like martyrdom. If the Singing Wolf believed
she would be reincarnated she might have offered herself up to
martyrdom.”

“Martyrdom at whose hands?”
said Moriarty gruffly.

“I have no idea, but Sarazan
springs to mind.”

Von Gunn slammed his fist on
the table again. “Balderdash! This is rubbish! If you believe that
you are mad too!”

“I didn’t say I believed it,”
defended the Countess, “I am only explaining it as I understand it
to be.”

Certain things began to fall
into place as she spoke: the black leather outfit in the closet
that clearly belonged to a man, for starters. Perhaps it was not
Sarazan’s after all. Perhaps the Singing Wolf meant it to be her
costume in the next and final incarnation. Yes, she had appeared to
be almost androgynous in appearance and she had preferred jewellery
that was masculine in design. Were those things deliberate choices
to help her in the next life? And the physical love-making the
night she died – did it take the form of ecstasy-in-death? It was a
fairly common belief that the expending of sperm was a type of
death, and such belief was not limited to the religious or poetic
fraternity, but included scientists and doctors, though what was
less well understood was that women ejaculated too. Was Sarazan a
believer? Did he participate willingly? Or was he merely an
acolyte? And the fact her physical body had disappeared imbued her
death with mystical aura. Of course, none of those things explained
why she had brought the four men to Chanteloup. Unless they were
doing a magnificent job of feigning disbelief, they could not be
adherents of Catharism. Perhaps it simply amused her to have them
here. Or perhaps, as for most religions, she required witnesses to
her miraculous death.

Von Gunn’s anger was mounting.
“Let’s get back to who coshed me on the head in the dungeon. I say
the old man did it and I will get the truth out of him even if I
have to -”

“Calm down,” advised Moriarty,
catching the German by the arm as he sprang forward, “you could
simply have fallen into that oubliette and hit your head against
the stone.”

“The boy saw the old man follow
me into the cellar!”

“Yes,” agreed the doctor,
siding with the Irishman. “And he saw him come out with a bottle of
red for the rabbit stew. What were you doing in the dungeon
anyway?”

Von Gunn shook free and shifted
uncomfortably. “I told you I heard singing. I went to investigate.
Oh, believe what you like! I’m going to get some fresh air! My head
is thumping and I’ve heard enough!”

The interrogation of the old
couple broke up sooner than any of them would have liked. They
still had no answers to any of their questions. Just more
questions. But after von Gunn’s outburst and the unbelievable
claims by the old man about reincarnation it was impossible to
return to common-sense. Lack of sleep compounded their
irritability. And tonight would be more of the same – sleeping on
makeshift beds, listening to the slightest noise, suspicious and
anxious.

Baron Reichenbach and Prince
Orczy volunteered to see to the horses and donkeys. Fedir had let
the animals out of the stable to graze in the outer bailey. It was
time to bring them in before darkness fell. Moriarty announced he
intended stealing forty winks. They all agreed it was best to let
von Gunn cool his heels until dinnertime. Dr Watson walked with the
Countess to the east wing where a hot bath awaited her in her
bedroom.

“You didn’t believe that piffle
about reincarnation?”

“If you mean do I believe in
reincarnation per se then the answer is no, but if you mean did I
believe that the old couple believed it then the answer is
yes.”

She told him about the black
leather outfit: trousers, gilet, hat, neckerchief, boots and gun
belt. She told him about the masculine style jewellery. She told
him about the androgynous appearance of their hostess – she had
been tall and angular, her face sculpted and chiselled, there had
been something altogether masculine about her that defied the long
lustrous tawny hair and pouty red lips. She had been striking in
appearance not because she had been the feminine epitome of the
perfect woman but because she had been bold and formidable. She had
lacked the grace of Inez but she had not lacked grace. Her grace
had been the lupine grace of the wolf, the powerful grace of the
eagle, the dangerous grace of the warrior.