“I didn’t,” Ben admitted. “It was a gut feeling. I followed the tunnel and it led me to you. It was a happy coincidence that it led to the mausoleum.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence. Not after everything I’ve seen tonight.” She shivered in his arms and he squeezed her tighter.

“What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and rested her head against him. “Would you believe me if I told you that your father showed me where to go tonight? All of them, actually. Leith and Elise, too.”

“I would say,” he said, glancing down at her peaceful face, “that my sister’s ghost has haunted me long enough to believe that anything is possible.”

They were quiet the rest of the way, eased by each other’s presence. When their light came into view of the ladder he had first climbed down, Ben heard voices and feet shuffling against the hardwood.

“Monsieur! Come quick,” someone said. “There’s a light!”

Ben stopped at the base of the ladder, setting Remi down. She leaned against his side, passing the lamp to him as he held it up. Faces peered down at them, their features inscrutable.

“Here!” Ben heard someone call. “They’re down here!”

“Help them up,” someone else said.

Ben guided Remi to the ladder, lending her the light until she was safely at the top. He hobbled up after her, embraced by the warmth of the study. The gens d’armes were present, as was the inspector. He was speaking with Remi, who was sitting in one of the armchairs, her ankle already being looked at. Across the room, a fire had been started in the hearth. Martin fed it wood while Peter milled around the room, serving tea and small snacks. There were at least fifteen men in uniform alone.

“Good to see you’re both alive.” Guillaume pulled them up, helping Remi as she limped away from the opening in the floor.

“It was luck,” Ben said. “Just…luck.”

Luck and circumstance. If it wasn’t for the tunnel, or the contraption in the mausoleum, Remi would have been lost.

“Monsieur Marceau would like a word.” Jacques sidled up to Ben and led him through a small gathering to the man in question.

Immediately, Ben was thankful to see him. Their last encounter was tense, but with Arnaud the culprit, he hoped he wouldn’t need to spend another night in the cell. “Your madman is at the end of the tunnel. I incapacitated him.”

“I see you have a gun.” Marceau nodded to the revolver still in the band of his trousers.

Ben pulled it out and handed it over. “It was dark, but I did shoot.”

“Then we must apprehend him. Thank you for your aid.” Marceau stroked his mustache. As he turned to leave, the inspector stopped and paced back to the two of them. His expression was hard as he addressed Ben. “We have plenty to discuss, but know this: it was a miracle that you were able to uncover the true culprit. I hope you will learn to dally less with the dead and leave justice to the men with authority like myself.”

Ben nodded slowly. “I understand, Monsieur.”

“Good.” He said. “I am off for the moment, but I will return for you and Madame.”

The inspector wasted no more time. He bellowed orders to the gens d’armes and ten of them went down into the tunnel, armed with lanterns to guide the way. For the time being, they were done with the madness. With luck, they would find Arnaud bleeding out, too weak to fight, and he would be detained.

“Are you well?” Jacques asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Ben patted his friend on the shoulder. “I need a moment. Can you manage this crowd without me?”

Jacques nodded and joined the inspector. Ben approached Remi, who was consoling her aunt in the parlor. He had not seen Beline at first, but her presence wasn’t unwelcome. He felt nothing but sympathy for the once loud and brazen woman.

“I am so glad that you’re alive, Remi.” Beline bawled, sinking her face into a handkerchief. “I don’t know how much more my heart can take.”

“Thank you, Tante Beline.”

“Beline, why don’t you come sit beside the fire with me?” Guillaume asked, shuffling her away toward the fire where Martin stood.

Ben knelt and looked up into Remi’s face. There was a great deal of sadness in her, and yet she managed a smile. “Would you come with me?”

“To where?”

“To my sister’s room.”

BEN

No one paid Ben or Remi any mind as he scooped her into his arms again, carrying her into the hall and up the stairs. He stopped at his sister’s door and set Remi right on her feet. The door creaked on its hinges, stirring the dust to life again as he opened it. It felt different to be there with Remi, to know that he had answers and could finally be at peace with her death.

“Why here?” Remi asked.

He led Remi to the bed, and she sat. She was silent, both in shock and awe.

“Your uncle told me something disturbing.” Ben turned in a semicircle around the room. The rain pattered against the windows, adding to the melancholy. Their night had been an endless fight against a perilous undercurrent. Now that they had weathered the worst of it, the storm had died down and with it, their constitution. Ben could feel his body tiring, but he felt restless still, and this could not wait until morning.

“What did he say?”

Sitting at his sister’s writing desk, he ignored the scratched initials and opened the first drawer. He recalled the box inside the first drawer, recounting its plain façade, and his ignoring it for not standing out. When he and Jacques first searched, the box seemed normal, an inconspicuous thing. As he pulled it from the darkness, he realized how wrong he was.

Ben wiped away the thin film of dust from the lid as he set it in his lap. He could feel Remi’s gaze, thoughtful as he waded through his confusion. “He said that Soleil had been in love with him. I thought it might have been nonsense, something to get a rise out of me, but I wanted to see for myself.”

“And you think you might find what you’re looking for in that box?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben shrugged. “But I wonder if this is what Soleil was leading me to all those nights ago, and I was just too blind to see.”

Remi’s cool hands closed over his shaking one and regarded him with a kind smile. “Come over here to the bed. We’ll sit together.”

Ben let her lead him and sat at its stiff edge with her pressed into his side.

“If this is what your sister wanted for you,” Remi gave his arm an encouraging squeeze, “then consider it closure. For the both of you.”

“You’re right.” Ben lifted the lid and set it to the side.

Inside the box, there was a book of poetry with pressed flowers inside. Roses, lilies, and gypsophila—baby’s breath. Pretty ribbons and strips of lace pressed together in neat coils, while bobs of thread milled around. Beneath the flowers, Ben found a pile of stacked envelopes and, seeing her name, extracted them from the box. Like him, she held her breath as they read the first letter.

Soleil,

Beautiful, clever, and endlessly curious...you are a poem, my love. I could speak your name throughout the ages and it would never grow old. With enough money, I would build you a castle. Will you meet me tomorrow night?

Yours,

Arnaud