“Then I wish you good luck. Bonne chance,” I said. I had noticed a couple approaching the gateway to the cemetery. Soon they would be close enough to hear if I shouted for help. I gave him a curt bow and tried to move past him. He put an arm around my shoulder as the couple came closer. “But ma chérie, you did not think I’d let you go, did you?” he said and pulled me close to him.
“Don’t be foolish,” I replied. “I am not your chérie.” I tried to shrug him off and instead felt a sharp prick of pain at my side.
“I am efficient with a blade,” he whispered into my ear. “One wrong move and it will be your last. We will take a walk, you and I, among the graves.”
“Why should I walk with you?” I demanded, my voice sharp with fear. “You’ll only kill me anyway, and without the risk of anyone looking on.”
“You will walk because you have no choice,” he said, and I felt the pressure of that knife digging into me. “And maybe all I want is your money to help me get to England. We shall see how I feel.”
And he propelled me forward, one arm draped around my shoulder like a lover, while the other one held the knife firmly at my side. I tried to think how to struggle, to throw him off guard without allowing him to stab me first. He half pushed, half carried me between two mausoleums. Then I heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Someone was coming. Someone really tall. I could see his head over the top of the roof of the mausoleum. And I recognized him.
“Monsieur Degas!” I called. “It’s Madame Sullivan.” And I jerked my head back into Maxim Noah’s face, hearing a grunt of pain as I connected with his nose. I followed this with my elbow into his stomach and took that brief moment of surprise to wrench myself free. I ran over to Degas. “What a pleasure to meet you again,” I said, going up to him and taking his arm.
“I have been visiting the family tomb,” he said. “It is the anniversary of the death of my mother. I always take flowers.”
“What a fine sentiment,” I said. “I have been examining the graves with Maxim Noah.”
I tried not to look back, to see if Maxim was still behind me. If Monsieur Degas thought it was odd that I was behaving in this familiar fashion, he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. We walked a few yards up the path when he said, “Madame, is something wrong? What is that I see? Mon dieu. Can it be that you are you bleeding?”
I looked down at the ground and saw bright splashes of red on the yellow gravel. I put my hand to my side. It came away warm and sticky. “Maxim Noah. He…” And I realized I didn’t know the French word for “stab.” “He wished to kill me,” I said and everything started to go black.
I must have sunk onto a tombstone. From a vast distance I could hear Degas’s voice booming out, “Help! Murder! Police!” Then a whistle blowing, then strong arms lifting me. The next moments were a haze. I was being carried, seated. Given cognac to sip. Then hands were examining me.
“You are fortunate, madame,” a voice said. “It is merely a flesh wound.”
A woman hovered over me. Warm water sponged my side. Then a policeman arrived, asked questions. I tried to answer when all I wanted was to be safe at home. Finally I said, “Find Inspector Henri. Maxim Noah must not escape to England. And I want to go home now.”
The policeman ran off to find a telephone.
The woman stood beside me, looking worried. “You do not think you should be taken to the hospital, madame?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just call a cab for me.”
A cab was summoned. The initial wound had not hurt at all, but now the bumping along the street made every breath painful. I was still bleeding and held whatever I had been given as a pad pressed to my side. It seemed like an eternity until we pulled up outside Miss Cassatt’s house. Celeste appeared at the door, took one look at me, and started wailing as she helped me upstairs. “Mademoiselle, come immediately. Madame Sullivan is dying!” she called. They were in the salon together, Sid and Gus on the floor with my son, building him a tower of blocks. Mary had been watching from the sofa. Now they all jumped up. My one thought was that I shouldn’t frighten Liam.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just get me up to my room and help me out of this dress.”
I could see their expressions as they looked at the blood-soaked pad on my side.
“Celeste, summon a doctor immediately,” Mary said. She came over and took my arm, helping me up the stairs.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I met Reynold Bryce’s killer. He tried to stab me.”