Hysteria Read online

  “She thinks she’s gotten away with it,” Mary said, watching her saunter off down the corridor.

  Bash exhaled loudly. “That’s because she has. Without more evidence, our hands are tied.” Frustrated, he punched the wall, hard, making Mary jump. She had seen Bash angry before and it was not her favorite mood of his. But this time, she understood.

  “We’re running out of time, Mary,” he said, flexing his hand but not even registering the pain. “If we don’t find something to tie Catherine to the murders, Francis will execute Alys and both Catherine and Duquesne will go free.”

  “We’re going out the back door, through the garden, and over the wall,” Greer said once more, drilling their escape route into Kenna. “Once we’re in the forest, follow the river upstream. The horses are about half a mile away.”

  “And you’ve got the notebook and the herbs?” Kenna whispered as she crept down the stone staircase and into Duquesne’s study. It was a dark, murky room, full of books and secrets that she very much did not care to learn.

  “In the satchel,” Greer confirmed, patting the leather bag that hung at her hip. “Is the coast clear?”

  Kenna stepped into the room, pressing herself close against the cold stone wall. It was quiet and still, just as it had been when they entered. “He’s not here,” she said, her voice still muted. “Let’s go.”

  The duo dashed through the house, heading for the kitchen, when they heard voices outside the door. Kenna stopped short by the table, tripping Greer, who collided into a wooden chair and sent it crashing to the floor. Both girls, gripped by panic, stared at the fallen chair. Before she could think, Greer picked it up and shoved it back under the table. Kenna grabbed her friend’s arm and dragged her back into the study. The kitchen door opened just as they disappeared behind a bookcase.

  “What was that?” Duquesne stormed into the house, a look of outright rage on his face. The loss of his prisoner was not wearing well on him. “Did you hear that?”

  Kenna held her breath while Greer panted wildly, desperately trying to control her breathing. Kenna motioned for her to slow it down. If Duquesne found them here, they were as good as dead. Concentrating, Greer closed her eyes and forced herself to be calm, to breathe as normally as she could, even though it was all she could do not to scream.

  “Hubert?” Duquesne called. “Where are you?”

  “Hubert?” Greer mouthed, her face white with fear.

  “The cook?” Kenna mimed her friend attacking him with the skillet.

  “There’s no sign of her in the church or the tavern, sir,” a voice reported in the kitchen. “We’re searching all the houses now. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Hubert!” Duquesne shouted again, ignoring his man. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

  The color drained from Kenna’s face. They had found him.

  “Jacques, cut him loose,” Duquesne ordered as the cook made long, low groaning sounds. “She’s been here! Search the stables; she could be in one of the outbuildings.”

  Without stopping to check the downstairs rooms, the girls heard him racing upstairs, his heels stomping on the wooden staircase, and knew exactly what he was looking for. The notebook and poisons that were in Greer’s bag.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Kenna said, gripping Greer’s arm tightly. “Now.”

  Greer nodded, summoning all her courage as they stood up and abandoned their hiding place. They ran straight through the library and out into the kitchen, knocking over stacks of books as they went. The cook lay sprawled across the floor, still not fully conscious, and Kenna had to clamber over him to reach the back door.

  “Kenna!”

  Greer was almost outside when Hubert grabbed hold of her ankle. Shrieking in fear, she yanked her leg, trying to shake him loose, but his grip was too strong. With no other option, Kenna grabbed the skillet from the table where she had left it and swiped at the man’s arm. He howled in pain but let go of Greer’s leg at once, clutching at his newest injury.

  “Why are you bringing that?” Greer asked as Kenna dashed through the garden with the skillet under her arm.

  “Because it’s come in handy so far,” Kenna replied, helping her friend over the low wall that led into the forest. “Who knows when we might need it again.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mary knelt down before her young charge, tying the black ribbon at the neck of her cape in a careful bow.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, straightening out the length of the cape so that it fell perfectly around her.

  Ada looked the Queen of France directly in the eye. “Yes,” she said. “I want to see my sister.”

  “All right, then.” Mary gave her a quick, tight hug, then stood up, holding out her hand to the little girl.

  Francis had already left their chambers when Mary awoke. They had both slept fitfully, in the same bed but far apart. Alys’s execution was scheduled for dawn but Mary felt her husband leave their bed while there were still stars in the sky. She had her maids bring Ada to her as soon as he was gone, knowing that the little girl would not be able to sleep on such a night. Even though she had made her feelings clear, that Alys had harmed no one in the castle, her lady’s maids still kept their distance from Ada, even when it was her sister who was thought to be the witch.

  Mary looked at the girl sadly as they started their solemn walk through the castle. This burden would follow her throughout her life. The orphaned sister of a witch. And no one knew that she was really the one with an otherworldly power.

  “Mary!”

  She had expected to see Bash this morning but not in such a state. He was wearing the same outfit as the day before and his usually tousled hair was downright unkempt. Most upsetting of all, there was a look of panic on his face that Mary had rarely ever seen.

  “Mary, have you seen Kenna?” he asked, a nervous energy emanating from him as he spoke. It was as though he couldn’t bear to stand still, even for one second. “She didn’t come to our chambers all night and no one recalls seeing her at all yesterday.”

  “I haven’t.” Mary wracked her brain for the last time she had seen her friend. “The last time I saw her was when the two of you returned from Auxerre.”

  Bash rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. “She wasn’t in our bed when I woke up yesterday morning but I thought that she was angry with me. You know how she can be.” Mary knew full well how passionate and headstrong Kenna was. And that was why she was worried. “And I was so preoccupied all day, it didn’t occur to me to be concerned until I returned to our chambers. I thought perhaps she had gone to spend the night with Lola until I apologized for our quarrel, but Lola hasn’t seen her for days.”

  “Have you spoken to Greer?” Mary asked, trying not to wonder what they might have quarreled over. “They’re very close. She could well be in her chambers.”

  Bash shook his head. “She isn’t there. Neither of them is there.”

  “Wait.” Mary was confused. “Greer is missing as well, or Greer simply isn’t there?”

  “None of her servants know where she is,” he said. “I know both of them have a history of needing time alone for whatever reasons but I’m concerned, Mary. With everything that’s been happening, I am concerned.”

  “You don’t think this has anything to do with Alys?” Mary asked in a low voice, stepping in front of Ada.

  “Of course not,” he replied. “More likely Catherine. What if she has stashed them somewhere until after the execution? Some sort of insurance policy against the two of us?”

  Mary wanted to tell Bash that was ridiculous, that Catherine didn’t know about their suspicions, that she would never do such a thing even if she did, but the cold, harsh truth of the matter was, if the former Queen of France had even an inkling that someone was working against her, retribution would be swift and severe.

  “But she hasn’t made any threats,” Mary reasoned. “I absolutely believe she’s capable of it but if she were
trying to prevent our investigation, we would know. Something else is wrong. Are their horses missing from the stables?”

  Bash wiped his face with the palms of his hands, opening his eyes wide to fight the exhaustion that was sweeping over him. “I haven’t been there yet,” he said. “I hadn’t thought to. Why would they need their horses?”

  “It could be nothing,” Mary said, resting a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it is as simple as the two of them went for a ride and one of their horses was injured. Kenna will likely come limping in this morning, cold and hungry and eager for forgiveness.”

  Bash stared at Mary, wanting so desperately to believe her.

  “I need to take Ada to visit her sister,” she said softly, looking back at the sad-eyed little girl. “The execution is scheduled for dawn.”

  “I cannot believe he’s going through with this.” Bash gritted his teeth as he spoke, so tired and angry he could barely see. “There’s no way to stop it?”

  “Not that I can see,” she replied. “I don’t want Ada to be there but I must be. I promised the girl and her parents that she would be safe. The least I can do is be there with her at the end.”

  “I will be there, too,” Bash swore. “I brought her here, I made the same promises. I won’t let either of you go through this alone.”

  Mary gave him a sad smile. “I have prayed all night for a miracle and now I am afraid it will not come.”

  “Please don’t be sad, Mary,” Ada piped up, pulling on the skirt of Mary’s black dress. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Mary looked down; the child’s blue eyes were clear and calm. She had taken Ada’s quiet manner for fear and grief but perhaps it was something else.

  “Did you have any dreams last night, Ada?” she asked.

  “Oh, lots,” Ada said, beaming. “But now we need to go and visit Alys. She’s scared.”

  “Dreams?” Bash looked confused as Ada took Mary’s hand and drew her away.

  “I’ll explain later,” Mary said.

  Bash stood in the corridor, the sky shifting from black to gray behind him, and watched them leave for the dungeons.

  “And don’t you worry, Bash,” Ada called back. “Kenna is awfully muddy but she has a frying pan.”

  Mary had spent more time than she cared to remember in the dungeons of the castle, but never had she entered with such a heavy heart as she did on that day. She looked at Ada, the blossom of hope in her eyes only making things worse. Even if the girl had had a dream, it didn’t mean anything was certain. Nostradamus’s prophecies had changed all the time. Hope was something that kept the young strong, but every day Mary spent in the castle she felt she grew so much older. The days when she clung to hope were gone. Now it felt like an anchor, making it even harder to face the cruel reality of life.

  “Open the door,” Mary instructed the guard in front of Alys’s cell. In fact, there were several guards, at least half a dozen, lining the corridor, all wearing the royal blue of the king’s guard. But she didn’t recognize any of them.

  “Your Grace, we’ve been ordered not to allow anyone in,” he said with great reluctance. “The queen mother sent us here herself.”

  Catherine’s guards. Of course.

  “How good of the queen mother to send so many men to protect the castle from one thirteen-year-old girl,” Mary said with scorn. “How brave and bold you all must be.”

  “Y-y-your Grace—” the guard stuttered.

  “Open the door at once,” Mary interrupted. “This is a prisoner of France and I am the Queen of France. She will be granted an audience with her sister before her sentence is carried out.”

  Fumbling with his heavy chain of keys, the guard unlocked the door to Alys’s cell, stepping back as soon as it was open. They were afraid, Mary realized. They were afraid of a teenage girl just because someone had told them they should be. Fear was such a terrible power, there was no wonder Catherine wielded it so well.

  Alys sat in the back of a dark cell with no candles inside. She was all folded up in a ball, her head resting on her knees, her eyes swollen from crying. It was as though she were back in the stable, back in Auxerre. After all she had been through, here she was, doomed to meet the same fate.

  “Alys,” Mary whispered, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The candles she and Ada held barely sparked in the heavy night of the cell. “It’s Mary. I’ve brought your sister to see you.”

  She heard a sniffling in the back of the cell but Alys said nothing. “Wait one moment,” Mary said. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Reemerging into the corridor, Mary saw all the guards huddled together, looks of fear on their faces.

  “What is this?” she demanded. “Why are you not at your posts?”

  “The door isn’t supposed to be open, Your Grace,” the guard who had let her in replied. “We’re supposed to keep it shut to stop the witch from casting more spells.”

  “You think a witch needs an open door to cast a spell?” Mary asked. “Why would you think that? If she could kill someone without touching them, I don’t imagine for a second that she would need you to hold the door open for her. Now light a dozen lamps, bring them inside, and try not to believe absolutely everything you hear.”

  One by one, the guards entered the cell, huge armored men quaking in the presence of two little girls. As soon as they were gone, Mary fell to her knees beside Alys and held her tightly as she began to sob. The darkness had been a comfort. It kept away the daylight and the passing hours. Now Alys saw the dawning of the sun tracing a shadow on her floor through the open cell door; she knew it was morning. It was time to meet her death.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Mary stroked the girl’s hair and rocked her in her arms. “If there were anything at all I could do… Bash is still trying to prove your innocence but we are running out of time.”

  Alys looked up at the queen, her blue eyes bloodshot and the skin around her nose raw. “I swear it,” she said, as though it could make a difference. “I didn’t hurt anyone. In Auxerre or in the castle.”

  “As I see it, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, twice,” Mary said. “Once in Auxerre and then again here in the castle. I don’t believe any of what has happened has anything much to do with you.”

  The three sat quietly while the candles and lamps flickered around the cell.

  “Will they bring us breakfast?” Ada asked, breaking the silence. Mary looked up to see the young girl sitting cross-legged in front of one of the lamps, poking the glass gingerly with one finger. “I’m hungry.”

  “Ada,” Mary said quietly, not wanting to reproach the girl. Grief came out in all manner of odd reactions. “Do you want to speak with your sister alone?”

  “We speak alone all the time,” Ada said. She pulled a long strand of hair in front of her face and pinched it between her nose and top lip like a mustache. “I want my breakfast.”

  Alys looked up, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her dirty dress. “Have you had a dream?” she asked her sister. “Or have you gone insane?”

  “Lots of dreams,” Ada said again, smiling. “They’re almost here.”

  “Who is almost here?” Mary asked as Alys pulled herself off her and stared at Ada. “What are you talking about?”

  Ada shrugged and gestured for Mary to come closer. She pressed her hand against her ear, as if to whisper a secret. “If you wanted,” she said, “I could be your little girl. Boys are awful.”

  Mary sat back, startled.

  “They’re all almost here,” Ada said, rocking from side to side. “But I don’t think I’m going to get any breakfast for a while.”

  Before Alys or Mary could question her further, the door to the cell cracked open, revealing several new guards and a man Mary had seen before. It was the priest who oversaw the executions in the castle.

  Drawing her eyebrows together, Mary kissed Alys on the forehead and withdrew, picking up Ada and standing. “We’re still praying,” she whispered, l
eaving Alys to make her last confession.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  She shouldn’t be here,” Francis said as Mary and Ada arrived in the courtyard.

  “I asked her to return to her chambers but she refused,” Mary said, looking down at the girl. The smiles were all gone from her expression but she remained calm, a strange sense of certainty ebbing through her, which Mary could practically feel in her own palm as she gripped the child’s hand. “It is her sister. If a member of your family were being executed today, wouldn’t you want to be there?”

  “But she isn’t a member of our family,” Francis reminded her. “She is a girl who arrived here just a few days ago under suspicion of witchcraft. Why can’t you remember that?”

  “I’m surprised you’re not burning her at the stake,” Mary said, ignoring his question. “Does beheading work on witches or are you expecting her to pick up her head and fly away on a broomstick?”

  “Alys isn’t being executed as a witch,” he replied, looking upward as swaths of pink and orange wiped themselves across the pale blue of the dawn sky. “She has been found guilty of murder.”

  Mary couldn’t take her eyes off the executioner, tall and proud, already wearing his black hood. It gave her chills to think she could have walked past him in the hallways a hundred times and never even known his name. She could have offered him a smile or a friendly hello. She still could, never knowing that it was he who took the life of an innocent young girl.

  “You know I didn’t have any choice,” Francis said, making one last case for his wife’s forgiveness before it happened. “I’m not expecting you to support me in this but tell me you at least understand.”

  “I do not support it and I do not condone it,” Mary said. “And if I had one more day to prove who was really behind the murders of the servants, we would be having a very different conversation, Francis. And honestly, I’m not sure which outcome would be worse for the two of us.”