The Girl From Paris by Aiken Joan

Author:Aiken, Joan [Aiken, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK
Published: 2022-01-20T17:00:00+00:00

When she reached the Hôtel Caudebec she was thunderstruck to find waiting for her a hostile reception committee composed of Princess Tanofski and Lady Morningquest.

“Ma’am!” exclaimed Ellen, curtseying and then embracing her godmother. “I am so relieved to see you—but oh, in what dreadful circumstances.”

Lady Morningquest did not waste time in greetings and exclamations. Her face was ravaged by grief, and ominously severe.

“Where in the world have you been? Why did you choose, on this day of all days, to absent yourself for such a period of time? The Princess has been in great anxiety about you—as indeed have I—”

“I—I am exceedingly sorry, ma’am. I—I went out—”

“To buy black gloves, I can see that. You might have considered that the Princess would have occasion for your services. Now: she and I have been taking counsel together about you. Since the wretched Raoul has been arrested—”

“What is that you say?” gasped Ellen. “They have arrested Monsieur le Comte?”

“Oh, it was bound to happen. They always arrest the husband in such a case. They will probably let him go again, by and by; his high-placed relatives are all at work pulling strings. At all events, he has been taken off in police custody. So there will be no impropriety in your remaining here for a few days more, while you can make yourself useful to the Princess; her dame de compagnie cannot get here until Tuesday. After that you must, of course, come to me, until we can decide what to do with you.”

Lady Morningquest spoke drily; it was evident that she regarded her goddaughter’s predicament as nothing but a nuisance.

Ellen could only repeat, “They have arrested Monsieur le Comte? But how could they? Surely they can have had no reason for supposing that he had anything to do with—with the deaths? Let alone evidence? It is complete injustice.”

Lady Morningquest’s face became even more disapproving. “That is as may be. Apparently Raoul was in the habit of visiting a maison—a house of assignation in the street close to where the murder took place.”

“Oh, heavens—”

“And last night, it seems, he was there; actually there, in the same street, he admitted it himself. So naturally the police assume that he committed the murder.”

Shocked, crushed, Ellen muttered, “But he did not do it. Louise put an end to her own life.”

“How do you know that?” pounced Princess Tanofski.

There was nothing for it—specially after Germaine’s accusation of selfishness and hypocrisy; Ellen could not stand by and see Raoul charged with a crime she knew he had not committed. She said, “Germaine de Rhetorèe told me. She was there, she saw it all. Louise came to her room in the Passage Langlade, reproached her bitterly, then shot herself and—and Menispe—”

“You have seen Germaine de Rhetorée?” exclaimed both ladies together. “Where?”

“I met her at the Sainte Chapelle. I brought some money for her, from her publisher.”

Her interlocutresses threw up their eyes to heaven.

“And where is the miserable creature now?” demanded the Princess.

“I do not know. She said she was going a long way off—into the country.

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