Hysteria Read online

  “Get your hands off me,” he yelled, starting backward, but as he pulled away, there was a loud thudding sound and he fell to the floor on top of her.

  Scrabbling out from underneath his inert body, Kenna paused for just a second to check that he was still breathing and then looked up to see Greer standing inside the door, holding a large hunk of wood.

  “He’s out,” Kenna said as her friend pulled her to her feet. Greer shrugged off her blue cloak and handed it to Kenna, covering up her rumpled clothes and dirty face. “Let’s go.”

  Pushing the man inside the stable, Greer locked the door behind them and took Kenna’s hand, pulling her down the street, away from the tavern.

  “Where are the horses?” Kenna asked, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. “Aren’t they by the tavern?”

  “I moved the horses when I saw you being dragged from the tavern this morning,” Greer said, nodding happily as though they were nothing more than two friends deep in conversation. “I tied them up in the woods just outside the village.”

  “Who knew you were such a genius escape artist?” Kenna said, clutching her friend’s hand tightly. “Or so good at knocking men unconscious?”

  “You thought you were the only one who could bring a man to his knees?” Greer asked. “Admittedly, it’s a talent I didn’t know I had and one I hope not to have to use again too soon.”

  “She’s escaped!” An unearthly shriek rang out behind them. “The witch has escaped!”

  Kenna dragged Greer off the street and into an alleyway between two houses, bending down to pick up a stray cat that brushed by her legs. They exchanged a look of panic as a man began running down the street. Greer held her breath until he ran straight past them and began battering on the door of a large stone house opposite.

  “Sir,” he panted as Duquesne opened the door. “She’s escaped. I don’t know how, I just came back and Jacques was on the floor.”

  “Came back from where?” Duquesne demanded, two spots of bright red burning in his cheeks. “Why was he alone?”

  “I had to go to the tavern,” the man explained. “I had a call of nature.”

  Duquesne pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in before speaking again. “Did she eat the food?” he asked.

  The man shrugged. “I think so,” he said. “I saw the tray on the floor; it’s empty.”

  “Then she can’t have gone far,” Duquesne said, leading him out of the house and down to the stable. “Get everyone off the street and search every house. She’s here somewhere.”

  “Follow me,” Greer said, dragging Kenna out into the street and across to Duquesne’s house.

  “Are you mad?” Kenna pulled on her friend’s arm, bringing her to a standstill. “What are you doing?”

  “We can hardly waltz merrily through the streets right now, can we?” Greer said, watching as the people of Auxerre bowed to Duquesne’s barked orders and bolted into their homes. “This is the last place he’ll look for us.”

  Without a better plan, Kenna allowed her friend to drag her around to the back of Duquesne’s house and usher them inside the back door.

  Inside, a short, ugly-looking man with red whiskers stood staring at the duo in surprise.

  “Hello,” Kenna said, smiling politely. Greer turned to stare at her friend in wonderment.

  “Who are you two?” the man asked, his fingertips brushing a cook’s knife that sat on the counter. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Your master, Monsieur Duquesne, sent us,” Kenna said hesitantly. “He wants you to take more food to the girl in the stable.”

  He stood still, his eyes narrow slits in a pale face.

  “More special food,” Greer said, nudging Kenna in the ribs.

  “Yes,” Kenna agreed. “He wants it taken out right away.”

  “Is that right?” he said as he reached for the knife. “Why don’t the two of you wait right here while I go and make sure that is a fact?”

  As his arm reached out to grab them, Greer grabbed a skillet from the stovetop and swung it as hard as she could, hitting him in the side of the head.

  “Oof!” The red-whiskered man’s eyes popped open in surprise as he fell to the floor. Kenna’s mouth dropped open while Greer stood in the middle of the kitchen, panting.

  “You’re getting awfully good at that,” Kenna said, carefully taking the skillet out of her hand. “This is a side of you I’ve never seen, Greer of Kinross.”

  “It’s a side I’ve never seen, Lady Kenna,” Greer replied, her hand against her mouth as Kenna poked the man with the toe of her boot. Out cold. “What do we do now?”

  “Tie him up?” Kenna suggested, peering down at him. “That’s what they usually do after they attack us, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never been hit around the head with a skillet,” Greer said, reaching for some twine on a side table. “One of my sisters hit me with a milk pan once but she didn’t mean to.”

  Giving her an incredulous look, Kenna took the twine and clambered down to her hands and knees. “And to think,” she said, “how often I lamented growing up an only child.”

  “Come in.”

  Mary sat by the window in her sitting room, sipping tea and waiting for her visitor. Her maid Amélie entered first.

  “Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head. “I have the queen mother’s new maid to see you.”

  “Thank you, Amélie,” Mary said, sitting up a little straighter in her chair and adjusting her stiff, formal gown. “Please send her in.”

  The girl nodded once more, then cocked her head at the tall, dark-haired girl hovering outside. “Go on,” she whispered. “She won’t bite.”

  Mary pretended not to hear and kept any trace of a smile off her face. This was not a time to be amused. She needed to earn this girl’s respect and trust, but if that didn’t work, she needed her to be afraid.

  “Your Grace.” The girl walked in shaking from head to toe. Already afraid, Mary noted, but most likely not of me.

  “Please, sit,” Mary said, pointing toward the empty seat opposite her. “What is your name?”

  “Veronique, Your Grace,” the girl replied. Mary could see tears in her eyes already. Whatever else was certain, this girl was not cut out to be in Catherine’s employ; she was far too weak.

  “Do you know, Veronique, that you were almost selected to be one of my lady’s maids?” Mary said, holding her teacup and gazing into the girl’s dark eyes.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I mean, I didn’t know that, Your Grace.”

  “You don’t need to address me so formally when we’re just chatting,” Mary assured her, but the high collar and stiff corset of Mary’s bloodred dress suggested this was anything but a casual tête-à-tête. “Can you think of any reason that Catherine might have asked to have you moved to her service?”

  “My—my sister was one of the queen mother’s lady’s maids,” Veronique stammered as Mary poured a second cup of tea and placed it in front of her. “She left the castle two years ago.”

  “She left the castle?” Mary asked as the girl shakily raised the teacup to her lips. “Where did she go?”

  Veronique sipped the tea and gave Mary the hint of a smile. “She married a nobleman,” she said. “He’s very wealthy and paid my parents a huge dowry. They still send them money even now.”

  Mary gave a grim smile. “And Catherine made the match.”

  “She was very good to my sister.” Veronique nodded. “My parents say I owe it to her to be the best maid I can be.”

  So Veronique’s sister is one of Catherine’s inner circle, Mary thought while the girl continued to drink her tea. Only the queen mother’s most loyal and dedicated servants were married off, let alone married well. It could be more difficult to shake this new maid than Mary had hoped. Loyalty to Catherine could be broken but loyalty to her family would be harder.

  “That’s very nice,” Mary said, pouring m
ore tea. “I’m glad she was. Catherine isn’t always the easiest person to work for. Your sister must be quite special.”

  A flicker of worry crossed the girl’s face and Mary saw her shoulders tense up across the table.

  “Not that you should worry, of course. I’m sure your sister told you all about the things that are expected of Catherine’s ladies.”

  Another flicker.

  “My parents would very much like me to make a match like my sister’s,” the girl said. “We’re not a wealthy family and my father is ill sometimes; he can’t always work.”

  “That must be difficult for them.” Mary leaned her head to one side and regarded the maid. “I have to say, Veronique, you’re very easy to talk to. I’m quite disappointed that Catherine snatched you up before I had a chance to. I wonder if she would consider trading you for one of my new maids.”

  Veronique almost dropped her teacup. “Do you think she would?” she asked. “Really?”

  “I’m sure your parents would be very happy for you to work for the queen, wouldn’t they?” The girl nodded so hard, Mary thought her head might fall off. “I’d have to ask her,” she went on. “I’m sure she would consider it, only—”

  Veronique’s face fell. “Only what?”

  Mary looked out the window. “Only, I’m not sure you’re the kind of person I’m looking for. The things I ask for my lady’s maids are very different from the things Catherine asks, and if you’ve been happy working for her, I’m not sure you’d be satisfied helping me to dress and taking care of my clothes, running my errands.”

  “Oh, I would,” she said quickly, her words falling out on top of each other. “I would be so happy. The things that the queen mother has asked me to do…” Her words faded away and her face crumpled. Mary almost felt sorry for the girl. Whatever skills her sister possessed Veronique clearly didn’t share.

  “If you’re going to work for me, I demand complete honesty,” Mary continued, turning the full weight of her stare on the maid. “I cannot have liars around me, Veronique, and I cannot have secrets. If I felt that you might be relaying anything you heard here to Catherine, I would have to send you away.”

  “I wouldn’t ever tell a lie,” the girl insisted. “And anything I heard would go with me to the grave.”

  Mary took hold of her hand. “Veronique, did Catherine send you to the servant who attacked Alys Février?”

  With wide eyes, the girl gnawed on her lip, beads of sweat breaking on her brow.

  “Veronique?” Mary said again. “You can tell me. You won’t get in any trouble and Catherine will never find out.”

  Bottom lip trembling, she pulled her hands away from the queen. “The queen mother never sent me to see anyone,” she said quietly.

  “Are you sure?” Mary pressed. “It would have been the day before yesterday.”

  Veronique shook her head, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

  Mary stood, her dress billowing out around her, the stiff collar at her throat forcing her up to her full height. “If you’re lying to me, the consequences will be very great,” she said. “And I will know if you are lying.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, almost in tears. “I swear it.”

  “Then you may leave,” Mary said.

  Veronique stood up, unsteadily. “Might there still be a chance that I could work for you?” she asked. “Instead of the queen mother?”

  “I don’t like liars around me.” Mary held her voice and her gaze steady and hard. “So I think that would be very difficult.”

  The girl wiped at the stray tears that ran down her cheeks and stared at the floor.

  “You may leave,” Mary said again, turning her back on the maid as she scuttled out of the room and the door closed behind her. “And hope to God Catherine doesn’t find out we had this conversation.”

  Across the castle, Catherine returned to her chambers from Francis’s emergency council. Dismissing her servants, she locked the door to her bedroom, then unfastened her necklace and slipped the heavy ruby-and-diamond ring from off her index finger.

  “I do so hate to be confined to my chambers,” she said to her reflection, pulling at the delicate skin around her eyes. Was that a new wrinkle? She hoped not. “It gives one far too much time to think.”

  She turned away from the mirror, poured herself a glass of port from the crystal decanter on her dresser, and picked up a book. “I do try to put the alone time to good use. Perhaps I’ll read a little. Everyone should read. It really is the only way to educate oneself. And I’m only here because my dear son is concerned for my safety.”

  Sipping the port, she looked down at the blond girl, gagged, bound, and unconscious on her bedroom floor.

  “After all,” Catherine said, “there is a witch running loose in the castle.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Duquesne’s house was so still and so quiet, every footstep sounded deafening. Having tied up their victim and hidden him in the pantry, Kenna and Greer tiptoed through the house, checking each room for evidence—what kind they didn’t know—until they found themselves in his bedchamber.

  “It’s no good,” Kenna said, picking up a small glass jar from a collection on the dresser. “We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  Greer didn’t want to admit Kenna was right but she was growing anxious. They didn’t have a lot of time. Duquesne was sure to return home sooner or later and the girls needed to be long gone before he did.

  “I think we can get to the horses from here.” Greer carefully looked out the window, envisioning a path through Duquesne’s small garden, out over the low stone wall, and into the woods. “We can follow the river. If he’s been poisoning people, he must be keeping his supplies somewhere,” she reasoned, opening every box and checking for locked compartments. “And there must be quite a lot of it. Didn’t you say it was more than a dozen?”

  “But he’d have it all hidden away,” Kenna replied, shaking the bottle. Its contents made a pleasing soft, rattling sound. “However horrible he might be, he’s clearly a very clever man.”

  “But he’s also terribly pleased with himself,” Greer said. She looked under the bed but there was nothing. “Someone so arrogant, so sure that he’s won. Maybe he would keep it where he could see it, like a reminder.”

  “Maybe.” Kenna tossed the jar from hand to hand, watching as Greer rifled through a box of papers and leather-bound books. “I don’t suppose he wrote down the details of his evil plot for us, did he?”

  Greer frowned, struggling to read the handwriting in the journals. Kenna set down the little blue jar and picked up a second, popping the cork and taking a cautious sniff at the contents.

  “Oh my God,” Greer breathed. “I think perhaps he did.”

  Kenna wrinkled her nose at the sour-smelling herbs inside the jar. The scent was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. It certainly seemed more pungent than the last time she smelled it.

  “Kenna, these are recipes or instructions on how to blend herbs,” Greer said, holding the notebook out to her friend. “And look at the name inscribed inside.”

  “Guillaume Maillard,” Kenna read carefully. “But that’s the name of the healer, Alys’s master.”

  Greer nodded, excited. “And some of the pages are marked in red ink; there are notes beside the recipes in different handwriting. This one says it’s a recipe to cure cramping, but if taken in excess can induce cramping. Mightn’t that cause a mother to lose her baby?”

  “Very easily,” Kenna said, her heart breaking at the thought of all the mothers who had suffered because of this man. “He’s a monster.”

  “I think we’ve found our proof,” Greer said, slipping the notebook into her leather bag. “If only we could find the herbs, then we’d be able to prove it was him with complete certainty.”

  Kenna looked down at the bottle in her hand. The wine. The wine they had given her in the stable smelled sour. She took one more sniff and quickly stuffed the stopper back
into the neck of the jar. Blue glass meant poison, she remembered. Her mother always told her not to touch anything in a blue bottle.

  “I think we have,” she said, passing it to Greer and picking up the box of jars and bottles that sat proudly on display on the dresser. “You were right, he really isn’t good at hiding his secrets.”

  It took Mary far less time to change out of her demanding red dress than it had to get into it. Moments after Veronique left her chambers, she began tearing at the laces and corsets that held it together, contorting herself wildly until it was completely undone and left in a careless heap on the floor. She was slipping herself into a much looser, plainer gown of dark-gray silk when there was a knock at the door. It was a heavy sound, almost certainly not one of her maids.

  “Come in?” she said, tying a royal-blue sash at her waist.

  The door opened to reveal Bash. And Ada.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t wait to be announced,” he said as the small girl ran to Mary and wrapped herself around her knees, sobbing. “And even sorrier still that I didn’t know how to use your tunnels to get here, but I don’t think many people saw us en route.”

  “Whatever is the matter?” Mary asked, bending down to scoop Ada up into her arms, but the child was inconsolable.

  “Alys is missing,” Bash explained. “Francis sent men to the tower to collect her and she was gone. Ada was left there alone.”

  “Ada, do you know where your sister is?” Mary asked. The little girl kicked at the queen and wriggled out of her arms, running across the room to hide under the bed.

  Mary pressed a hand to her hip—she would likely have a bruise—and stared openmouthed at Bash.

  “She’s already been”—he raised a hand, as if to pull the right word from thin air—“questioned.”

  “Oh, Ada.” Mary sat down on the floor beside the bed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She wasn’t hurt but they were quite tough,” Bash said. “I’m not sure any of Francis’s men have had to question a child before. She doesn’t know anything. She wasn’t even in the tower; she was still in your ladies’ chambers.”