Marceau turned his sharp eyes to Ben. “Please accept my deepest apologies. I am happy to know you are innocent in all of this, though I would advise caution in the future. Disturbing a grave is a serious offense.”
“As you’ve already said.” Ben glowered.
“But I convinced my superiors that it was sanctioned,” Marceau added, “if only to prove that the victim’s deaths were indeed misinterpreted.”
“That’s kind of you.”
The inspector crinkled his mustache and cleared his throat in reply. “Yes, well, I expect it’s what your father would have said, were he here. He only ever had good things to say about his son, the doctor.”
Remi watched Ben’s eyes widen.
“Did you…did you know my father?”
“Please accept my apologies.” Marceau bowed his head. “I could not risk anyone knowing the nature of my relationship with your family. In truth, I came here seeking answers myself. Your father and I had been writing to one another for more than a decade, off and on, about your family and its misfortunes. It started with your sister, in fact. He knew of me from the papers. I was shocked to learn that the Parisian news reached the Isle. I stopped receiving regular missives a few months ago, with the last being a wedding invitation.
“It was my intention to visit him after his wedding, but my timing could not have been worse. I arrived only a day before his death. I feel fortunate that I was in the right place at the right time to offer my services. Your father was owed as much justice as anyone: more so, as it turns out. I only wish I’d followed through sooner.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Ben said, stunned. “Is that why you were so willing to believe me?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Marceau bristled. “I am a professional. I seek truth where the evidence leads.”
“Of course. We never believed anything different, Monsieur,” Remi added, touching a hand to Ben’s back to steady him. He seemed genuinely astounded by the truth.
“Ah, well, since we are on the matter of your father,” the inspector said, turning to Ben, “I nearly forgot. I found a letter addressed to you. It was taken from the maid’s personal effects—among the other stolen trinkets. I thought it might be important.”
From his pocket, Marceau produced a crinkled envelope. She had never seen it before, but the presentation widened Ben’s eyes with recognition. He surged forward and took it from Marceau’s proffered hands. He turned it thrice before folding it up and tucking it away inside his breast pocket.
“It is. Important, I mean,” Ben said. “Thank you, Monsieur.”
“I’ll be off then.” Marceau nodded his reply and then uttered a short farewell. Ben and Remi waited in the foyer to see him off. When he was gone, they called for Martin to bring their own carriage around. Beline and Guillaume would be waiting on them, and Remi did not want to keep them. Jacques brought it around a few moments later.
“I like him,” Ben said as they settled onto the benches inside the cab. “Inspector Marceau, I mean.”
Remi agreed. “Yes, he’s very kind. I like his mustache.”
“Does that mean I should grow one?” Ben chuckled.
“Not until you’re very old,” she said, taking his hands. The carriage was a decent size, but Ben’s height and frame took up a majority of it. She hardly minded. Being trapped between Ben and a hard spot had become a favorite position.
He smirked. “I’ve heard that a mustache is an altogether different experience for women.”
“I love you just as you are.” Despite herself, she blushed at the insinuation. It was difficult enough to keep her hands to herself during the day, which said nothing for her restraint at night. She could only imagine what a mustache would do to her poor nerves.
Ben smiled knowingly, and, to tease her, licked his lips. He laughed when she turned her face to her hands. They should have disguised their affections better and waited until the worst of it had been dealt with. They’d tried—sleeping in different rooms the first night had done little to quell their desires. It was Remi who had gone to Ben first, and she’d made her stay permanent—every morning, and every night since.
“I could kiss you,” he said, reaching for her.
“Then kiss me.”
It was simple and sweet—a gentle peck, a brush of his thumb along her chin to her cheek. They arrived at the docks shortly after, joining Guillaume and Beline inside the inn where they’d been staying. Neither of them appeared better than before, but it was to be expected. Beline had been struck by their losses, consumed by the death of her daughter and the impending hanging that waited for Arnaud. She was pale and out of sorts, but Guillaume ensured she had strength for the voyage.
He’d been a pillar for her to lean on as she grieved.
“You will write, won’t you?” Remi asked Guillaume.
“Of course.” He had secured himself a job with a tailor in a small town, allocating and purchasing fabrics, and eventually working his way up to an apprenticeship. But first, he would take Beline to her sister’s home in the countryside. No one could blame her for wanting to leave, especially after her husband murdered their child.
“Take care of Elise,” Remi said, embracing him.
She heard him stifle a sob as he said, “You know I will.”
“Safe travels.” Ben said, shaking his hand.
Guillaume returned the gesture with fervor and a slight smile. “Take care of Remi and keep her out of trouble. Madame Leone attracts it wherever she goes.”
Remi felt a blush creep across her cheeks, startling when she felt Ben’s hand brush languidly along the length of her back. Her ankle throbbed with the rest of her. Thankfully, Beline interrupted as she took Remi’s hands in her own.
“Will you walk with me to the boat?” she asked. “Elise is waiting.”
Remi obliged her and tucked her aunt’s arm into her own. They quietly beheld each other for the last time, their steps in sync as they walked along the dock. It would be difficult for her aunt, but the trip would be worthwhile. Staying would only further break her heart.
At least she has Guillaume, Remi thought as they boarded. Elise’s coffin had not yet been brought to the lower deck, so she did not have to go far to seek out her cousin. Beline melted into tears at the sight of it and excused herself to the boat’s small cabin. Remi sympathized. Her own tears were impossible to hold back; they fell down her cheeks, staining the fresh wood.
“I only hope you know how much I loved you,” she told her cousin’s coffin.
“I have no doubt that she did.” Ben stood beside her, his presence comforting.
Remi looked into his dark eyes and wiped at her cheeks. In a hushed tone, she said quietly, “She was there that night. In the cemetery.”
