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CHAPTER 20
We all walk back to the Montcuir home together. Juliane and her brothers turn off at the second floor, going to their bedrooms to freshen up. I continue to the next level with Simon. Being alone with him, even for those few minutes, doesn’t feel proper, especially after last night. Perhaps because Magister Thomas always made such a point that Remi was never permitted in my room—nor I in his.
But what did happen last night? Did I read more into it than was written? Had he only held my hand and stood close for guidance and then withdrew once he realized he was sending me the wrong message? Then I remember how his pulse had raced and the flush rose to his cheeks as he’d focused on my mouth and leaned closer. His true thoughts and feelings were unmistakable, even if he felt he needed to hide them.
Simon is only a poor, distant relation of the Montcuirs. If he hadn’t come to them for help, I’m sure they wouldn’t care what he did with his life. Juliane appears to like me personally, but Remi seems to think the family would disapprove of any deeper connection I might make with Simon. I shake my head. I’ll never understand why birth is so important to some people.If it weren’t, the parentless girls living at Solis Abbey would have more options in life than the cloister or Pleasure Road.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Simon goes about marking the place Ysabel was found on both maps. I move to the opposite side of the table and set out paper and ink for Juliane to take notes when she joins us, which thankfully is only a few minutes later.
She pauses in the doorway, cocking her head to the side as she looks at Simon before frowning and taking a few steps toward him. A frail hand comes up to touch the scratches on his neck. “Is that—?”
Simon twists away, though much gentler than he did with me last night. “It’s nothing,” he tells her.
“But—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He makes a grotesque effort to smile.
Juliane balls her hand into a fist and pulls it back, blinking rapidly. Simon turns to face me like nothing is amiss. “I never did thank you for coming, Cat. I value your insight.”
I avoid his eyes by readying the ink bottle. “I didn’t have much to offer this morning.”
“Maybe not this time,” he says. “But you help me think.”
That’s not the same as contributing. I keep my eyes low. “Will Lambert go with you to examine Ysabel’s body?”
Simon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t do so well last time.”
“He had nightmares,” Juliane tells me. “I haven’t heard him moan and sob like that since Mother died. When will you go?” The last is for Simon.
“Around noon, when the light is best,” Simon answers. “Madame Emeline didn’t know the girl well, but she’s seeking out those who did and will hopefully have some information by then. In the meantime, I should make some sketches.”
He moves to the end of the table closest to the open window and sits down, setting the thin braid of Perrete’s hair next to the blank page I’ve lain out. His ink pen flies across the paper with broad and short strokes, but otherwise he’s silent.
Juliane settles on the bench and sorts her notes, apparently content, but my presence feels pointless. Almost to remind them that I’m here, I ask, “Why would a murderer take something from the victim?”
Simon stops and looks up. The image of a woman lying on her back is already taking shape on his paper. “Acts like these give the killer a sense of power he can’t get any other way,” he says. “By taking some sort of memento, he can relive the memory, which usually sustains his need for a while.”
“It feeds the monster in the cage,” I say, referring to what he’d described yesterday.
“Yes, but it will always hunger for more eventually.”
I think about this for a few seconds. “You seemed surprised that he acted again so soon.”
Simon folds his hands together over the sketch. “It’s usually a much longer time between first and second victims, because everything is thrilling the first time you do it. The euphoria lasts longer. A space of only four days made me think he must have lost whatever item he took, which made him eager to procure another, but now I’m not so sure. Something left behind twice feels deliberate. Why would he give up his keepsake?”
“Out with the old and in with the new,” I say, and he stares at me, almost stunned. I shuffle my feet in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”
“No, Cat,” he says. “That’s exactly right. I just can’t decide if that’s a fastidious and tidy mindset or one that embraces new ideas readily. Maybe both.”
“Being fussy and neat is usually a feminine trait,” Julianepoints out. If Mistress la Fontaine is any example, I concur. “Men are more often fascinated with new things.”
I agree there, too. Magister Thomas and Remi can—and do—talk for hours about new construction methods and materials.
“But this killer obviously has trouble with women.” Simon holds up a finger to emphasize his point. “The root of that is often in parents, and that kind of mother is the most overbearing. They’re impossible to please.” He shrugs. “In my experience at least.”
So Simon did have a mother. At least for a while.
“And the hair isn’t all the killer took,” continues Simon. “He still has whatever heavy object he used. Something that big is harder to hide, which makes it more likely we’ll find it.”
