“This is amazing. How did they find it?”
“Over time, the old mortar tends to crumble under these damp conditions, so occasionally bricks fall and walls open up.”
“And they just leave the bottles there like that?”
“They’ll categorize it when they get the chance; according to Marius, it’s not a priority. There’s no urgency to remove the bottles. Where would they even put them?”
“Is the champagne still drinkable?” she asked as they continued farther along the dark corridor.
“Highly unlikely. Red wine can age well for decades, but not champagne. If it’s drinkable at all, it might taste a bit like a sherry, or some kind of fortified wine, but not like champagne as we know it. The champagne houses usually use such old bottles for display, though occasionally they’ll auction one off to raise money for charity. It’s a novelty item rather than an enjoyable wine. This way.”
They turned to the right, and a large sign attached to the wall told them they had arrived at Dakar.
The niche didn’t look any different from the others in this stretch of the caves; it was dark, and dank, and filled with bottles. Jérôme cast the flashlight beam over the whole area, but there wasn’t much to see.
“It’s sort of... disappointing,” Rosalyn said.
“You haven’t seen the best part,” he said, leading her around the stack of bottles, where they had to squeeze by. He shone his light onthe wall. Etched into the wall was:“La Famille Maréchal: Raymond, Eugénie, Lucie, Henri.”And below this, in crude letters:“et Topette.”
Rosalyn ran her fingers over the carving. “Incredible.”
“This is the family you’ve been looking for?”
She nodded. Words failed her. Lucie had lived right here, in this nook, with her family. Rosalyn could practically hear the clicking of Madame Maréchal’s knitting needles, smell the lavender from her sachets and ointments. She imagined Lucie breezing in, exhausted but satisfied after bringing in the harvest.
She used her phone to snap some pictures.
“And look,” Jérôme said, pointing the beam of light toward the back of the niche. “Do you see the carving there?”
“Yes! It’s... a rabbit? In a waistcoat, with a little watch... like the White Rabbit inAlice in Wonderland.”
“That’s what it looks like to me, too.”
Rosalyn squinted her eyes and inspected the cave closely. “Wait a minute—look at that, right next to it. Do you see what I see?”
Jérôme peered closely. “This area appears to have been walled up.”
Rosalyn nodded. “Do you think there are more bottles behind there?”
“Possibly.”
“Or... Émile’s letter mentions he and Lucie spent their wedding night in the attic of Dakar, ‘through a rabbit’s hole.’ Maybe this is what he meant!”
Their eyes met.
“How good a friend is Marius?” Rosalyn asked.
“Do you mean, would he call the police if we punch a hole in his wall?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Chapter Fifty-one
As Jérôme had mentioned earlier, it was not difficult to open a hole in a bricked-up wall when the century-old mortar had turned crumbly over the years.
As soon as Jérôme had opened up an area large enough to look through, Rosalyn crouched down and pointed the flashlight beam every which way.
“There’s a space back here, for sure,” said Rosalyn, “and I see some steps.”
