Son of Holmes

5

Ironically, but predictably, the sun blazed forth on Friday morning for Marcel’s funeral, and found me well rested. Fritz always rose at dawn and, when the weather permitted, breakfasted by himself in the arbor. Since I was rarely awake by then, he justly considered this his time, and I was loath to disturb him, so I poured myself a cup of espresso before walking out. I was ashamed of myself for the way I’d acted the day before. These days at home had weakened me. I resolved to shake myself out of this softness.

I walked to the arbor in my robe and bare feet, enjoying the feel of the wet grass. Fritz sat on a cushion that he’d brought out for the stone bench, eating a brioche with some ripe Brie and drinking his coffee. Already, at seven o’clock, the chill had gone from the air. The house and arbor had a striking, newly washed quality. A slight mist rose from the shingles of the roof.

“Good morning, Fritz. Don’t get up. No muffins for me. I’ll just be having coffee in the mornings for a while.”

We sat for a while without speaking. The stream murmured peacefully. At such a time it was hard to imagine the trenches, the carnage, a Europe -perhaps soon a world-at war. Yet it would be fatal to be lulled, to allow oneself to forget.

Fritz pulled me from my reverie after he’d drained his cup. “You’re going to the funeral?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Madame Chessal, then, asks if you’ll pick her up on the way.”

In a half hour, I had dressed and gone to the old servants’ quarters, where I kept my automobile, a Ford from America that I’d been allowed to keep after mobilization, though there’d been a substantial and very local “tax” for the privilege. The car started without any problem, and within minutes I pulled up to Tania’s house. She sat out on the front patio of the long, light blue structure, nibbling halfheartedly at her croissant.

“Good morning,” I said.

She stood quickly and came over to embrace me. She looked tired.

“But you,” she said, “where did you go that Monsieur Lupa wound up taking care of you? Are you all right?”

I patted her shoulder. “I’m fine. I think I just needed to forget, or perhaps to remember. At any rate, to lay Marcel to rest. I’m perfectly well now. Come, are you ready? You don’t look as though you’ve had such a wonderful night yourself.”

She took my arm, leaning a fragrant head for a moment against my shoulder. She sighed. “Sometimes we’re so alike it’s frightening. I couldn’t stop thinking about poor Marcel. Last night I’m afraid I drank rather too much wine. Danielle had to put me to bed.”

“Fritz did the same for me.”

We got into the car and drove to the cemetery. The service wasn’t due to begin until ten o’clock, so we had nearly two hours to walk through the surrounding countryside and compose ourselves. I decided that my suspicions about Tania on the day before had been ridiculous, but resolved not to say anything u

When we finally walked down to the cemetery proper, Georges and Paul had arrived. Paul looked especially out of place in a dark suit. In the time that I’d known him, I couldn’t ever recall having seen him dressed even semiformally before. We joined them by the gate.

Gradually, some other of Marcel’s friends and relatives began to appear, and the four of us who had been in the room that night found ourselves effectively ostracized. Henri and his wife arrived among a small group who left them immediately after they’d passed the gate. Madame Pulis, whom I’d never met, was weeping, and Tania walked over to comfort her. Henri joined the rest of us.

After a few moments of uncomfortable small talk, we walked over to the grave. Marcel’s parents had died long ago, and he hadn’t been married. I had probably been his closest friend, and yet the others around the grave treated all of us as though we’d been his enemies. We stood in a knot while the usual forms were followed and, when the body had been lowered, were the first to turn and go. Madame Pulis had been constantly crying throughout.

Georges walked crookedly next to me. “Rather ugly, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t suppose you can blame them.”

Gathered around my car, we stopped to talk. Tania packed Madame Pulis into their carriage and walked pensively back.

“I can’t understand those people,” she said. “Henri, your wife…” She stopped.

“I know, I know. I suppose I shouldn’t’ve brought her along. She’s so emotional. She was fine until we met that other group. They asked if I’d been there Wednesday and acted as if… well, you know. And she’s very sensitive to that sort of thing. You’d think one of us killed him, the way they were acting.”

Paul was seated on the ru

“Well, I didn’t,” stormed Henri. “I goddamn well didn’t!”

“I didn’t say you did, Henri. Calm down. But it isn’t unreasonable to assume that one of us planted that poison now, is it? You might as easily assume that I did it.”

I looked sharply at him.

Georges spoke up. “Have the police mentioned to any of you their suspicions? Motives, hints, clues?”

Everyone said no.

“The point is, they mentioned to me… well, we shouldn’t go around picking each other to pieces. They mentioned that it seemed to them to be at least as good a bet that it was suicide.”

“That’s absurd,” I said. “I’d been with him most of the day. He hadn’t been depressed. In fact, he’d been looking forward to the summer.”

“Well, the alternative, of course,” said Paul, standing up, “is that one of us did it.”

“Again, not necessarily,” said Georges.

“What do you mean?”

“Not necessarily one of us. One of ‘us’ isn’t here.”

“Lupa!” said Henri.

“It does seem strange he didn’t come,” said Tania, “though some people simply ca

Paul laughed. “No one likes funerals.”

“My wife does.” Henri shook his head, and we all laughed as the tension broke. “Speaking of…” He smiled at all of us and began to walk to the carriage. Tania called after him and asked if she might go with him, since I’d told her that I had business in St. Etie

The three of us remaining watched them move off slowly, and I asked Paul if he needed a lift. Georges said he had some deliveries to make at St. Etie

Chez moi, I changed into something more comfortable and asked Fritz if he’d mind arranging the delivery of several cases of the beer to Lupa. Since it was lunchtime, Fritz insisted I stay and have something to eat, and he quickly prepared a small plate of ham croquettes, fresh bread, and a delicious paté made, he said, from the liver of a wild hare. Since he didn’t hunt, I had reason to doubt him, though one of the neighborhood boys might have come around with his catch. Still, wild hare or not, it was excellent. I had one of my own beers to overcome my lurking fear about them, and during the first few sips, Fritz looked at me with real anxiety. I smiled.

“They don’t produce cyanide of themselves,” I said.

He didn’t think that at all fu

I decided it would be a waste of time to see Lupa before I’d been to St. Etie