Elise sent him off immediately, the same way she’d sent her mother and father away. Their presence had proven unhelpful in pulling Remi from her wretched state.

Remi had asked Elise to leave, too. Her cousin’s constant hovering agitated her in the worst way and, though she meant well, Remi could not find it in her to be cheery. She had locked herself in Ben’s room, sequestered to the bed and sometimes the bath. Elise had tried her best to comfort her, to pull her free from the chaos, but it was always there to pull her back down.

“I want to be alone,” Remi had said. “Please. Go home.”

When Elise had finally gone, reluctant as she was to leave, Remi fell apart all over again. She thought too much, saw too much. Between Edgar’s body and Leith’s, she wondered if the specters she had been seeing were trying to warn her all along. Maybe they had come to her, begging her to follow them to the cellar where she might discover their bodies—restless spirits whose peace had been disturbed.

I failed them.

On the third day, Remi refused everything but tea.

She finally accepted the laudanum and slept for hours, waking on the fourth day feeling worse. Her head throbbed, and her eyes burned, dry, and swollen from too many tears. She bathed and dressed with little regard for her appearance and would have missed the subtle knock at the door if she hadn’t been descending the stairs at that moment. Loathe to answer, she forced herself to open the door.

Inspector Marceau’s shock was evident. “Madame Leone. How wonderful to see you.”

“Hello,” she muttered half-heartedly.

“I did not expect to see you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder.

Remi knew he was looking for Elise. She had taken to answering the door after the events that had transpired.

“She’s not here,” Remi stated plainly. “I sent her home.”

“I see.” Marceau gestured to the door. “Might I come in?”

Remi moved aside. “Of course.”

“I’m here on behalf of Benoît,” he started. “He’s asked that I implore you to see him. One last time, but as I told him, your cousin made it quite clear that⁠—”

“My cousin?” She floundered. “Elise told me he didn’t want to see me.”

Marceau straightened. “Not at all, Madame. He has been eager to speak with you.”

Remi covered her mouth, suppressing a sob. She’d hidden herself away, hideous with the thought that Ben had refused to see her the last three days. She’d wanted to go to him, to ask her questions. He had the answers she needed, and if there was a way she could clear his name, then she wanted to do it. But when Elise had told her that Ben refused, she’d fallen into a pit of despair she hadn’t bothered to try and climb out from.

“I believe your cousin might have misled you.” He frowned.

“With the best intentions, I’m sure,” Remi replied, though the words felt empty.

“He would do well to see your face. His spirits have been quite low these days, and I’m afraid conversation has been difficult.” Marceau scratched at his chin absently, concern written in his expression. “I know both you and I believe him to be innocent.”

Remi’s heart leaped. “I do!”

Elise had spent some time comforting Remi but had also tried to make her see how Ben would be guilty. She had even tried to convince her that Ben had written the letters to keep her occupied and away from his own business. But despite Elise’s colorful efforts, Remi had not changed her opinion about Ben’s innocence.

The inspector’s eyes widened. “Then you will come and see him?”

“Yes, of course I will!”

“I shall ride ahead and alert les gens d’armes of your arrival.” The inspector tipped his hat and hurried out the door.

Remi ran to the kitchen and found Martin at the stove. He was preparing tea with a side of bread and jam for her. He jumped at her sudden entry, nearly knocking the tray to the ground.

“I apologize, Martin, but I need you to fetch the carriage.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, Madame, but one of the wheels is being fixed.”

“A horse then,” she said in reply. “Bring me a horse, please.”

“Of course. I’ll have Paul bring one around for you,” he said unquestioningly.

Remi thanked him and offered him the tea in her stead. While she was away, he could have the morning off.

Hurrying up the stairs, Remi found stray pins on the bedside table in Ben’s room. She twisted her hair up, pinning it in place. It had been a long time since she’d been on a horse, and with the weather as unsteady as it was, she might get caught in another storm. She ran down the stairs in a simple wool coat, her boots clattering on the hardwood, and hoped that she would make it to Ben before the rain caught her.

Remi burst through the front doors, the horse already waiting. But before she could reach it, a figure stepped out from the garden and blocked her path.

“Where are you going?” Hugo asked.

Startled, she took a step back. “Hugo, my goodness. Where did you come from?”

He squared on her, his mouth bowing into a hard line. He asked again, more forceful than before, “Where are you going?”

Remi tensed.

“Do you plan to see him?” Hugo asked, nostrils flaring. He did not seem like himself at all, and the harder she looked, the more maniacal he seemed—as if some vital piece was missing. He took a step toward her, cracking his neck in a volatile fashion, and sighed. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“It’s none of your concern, Hugo,” Remi said, backing up another step.

“You’re a good girl, Remi.” He licked his lips.“My good girl.”

The stone wall of the manor collided with her back, and Hugo pressed himself closer. A loose strand of hair had come free from her pins, and he snapped it up in his fingers. He leaned forward and brought it to his lips, whispering, “Always good, so well-behaved.”

Remi froze. “Hugo…”

“Soft, sweet...” He hummed lowly in his chest. “Nothing like Elise. You would listen to me, obey me, like a proper wife.”

“You’re out of line,” she said, trying to stave off the fear she knew could be heard in her voice. “Let me go.”

“Invite me inside,” he snarled, pulling at the hair in his hand.

“No,” she yelped, pushing her hands to his chest and shoving him.

He stumbled back and caught himself before falling. “What’s gotten into you?”

Where she expected to find rage, Remi saw only hurt. He held out his arms for her, an awaiting embrace. “Don’t you know? Haven’t you read my letters?”

The hair on the back of Remi’s neck stood on end. A sickly chill coiled around her body with a serpentine grip. “I hope you jest.”