The Alchemy of Moonlight

I’d never seen a dead body before. Or rather, I’d never seen part of a dead body. I was staring at a severed hand. It lay just off the footpath like an apparition. It didn’t belong on the sunny grass, a perversion of the peace of the otherwise tranquil summer afternoon. Birds were chirping overhead, unperturbed by the sickening sight, as the sun warmed my skin.

Digging my kerchief out of my pocket, I dabbed at the beads of sweat dotting my forehead. It had already been a long day, and this discovery was sure to pose additional obstacles. It was bad enough that I was new to this whole servant thing. I was used to being waited on hand and foot, not being the one doing the waiting. I didn’t need anything mucking up my day, not with how slow I was at performing menial tasks normally. But I figured I might as well resign myself to this unpleasant task. Then I could get back to finishing my actual chores. I groaned internally as I imagined how late into the evening I may have to work to catch up.

I glanced up the path toward the stables. The forest blocked most of the view of Château le Blanc, but I caught a glimpse of a chimney through the dense branches. It was reassuring that I was nearly there.

I turned my eyes back toward the unnerving sight of the severed hand. It wasn’t so much severed as torn. There was no clean cut but instead jagged, loose flaps of skin clinging to a bluish wrist, two bones jutting out, as if snapped like matchsticks.

I swallowed past the bile rising in my throat. There was little blood, thankfully, just a small pool, long since cooled and congealed beneath the wrist.

Someone would have to see this. It would be unpleasant, but it would be easier if I brought it to the house, and a message was dispatched to the gendarmerie in town. I looked down at my kerchief, grimacing as I decided I would have to carry the limb wrapped in the cloth to transport it. The kerchief would be ruined, of course, but it couldn’t be helped.

Bending over, I held my breath as I drew closer to the hand, its fingers lifted and curled into the air, as if reaching for something in death before rigor mortis had petrified it in place. I paused as I noted a trail of ants crawling along its side, venturing into the exposed wrist.

With a grunt, I bunched my kerchief and nudged the hand tentatively. Half a dozen flies scattered, buzzing indignantly as I lifted the hand by two fingers and wrapped it quickly in the cloth. I turned away at the waft of rot exuding from the limb, doing my utmost to banish images of maggots feasting as I hurried up the footpath, holding the offending item as far from my body as I could.

The stablemaster watched as I approached, removing his hat and giving it a good dusting off across his knee before replacing it. Amusement pulled at his lips as he lifted a leg to lean against the fence. A horse nickered in the stables behind him, but he didn’t mind the sound, more interested in what I was doing holding a kerchief out as if it contained a rattlesnake.

What do you have there? The man asked, tilting his head curiously.

I hesitated as I came to a stop. It’s … well, it’s a hand.

A hand? the man’s eyebrows knit together. You don’t mean a person’s hand?

I do. I found it along the path. I expect the count will want the gendarmerie informed.

The stablemaster pursed his lips. The master doesn’t like trouble. No, sir. I can’t see him wanting the gendarmerie fussing about the grounds.

I blinked at him. Are you suggesting that I ignore it?

No, no. Nothing of the sort. I would pass it off to Grimes if I were you. He’ll know how to handle it. No need to bother the count.

Right, then. I inclined my head slightly as I continued up the path.

Château le Blanc was growing clearer now, rising like a refuge from the dark forest. Just the sight loosened some of the dread coiled in my chest. I stepped into the clearing, surveying the hedge maze briefly before returning to the house, a white three-story château, sprawling and elegant. Ivy climbed up the side of the building, clinging to the stone and threatening to crowd in on the windows. It reminded me briefly of La Vallée, my ancestral home, and a pang of sadness tugged at my chest before I banished the thought and refocused on the task at hand.

I strode purposely toward the servants’ entrance before hesitating on the doorstep, wondering how appropriate it was to bring such a vile thing indoors. I reached out for the bell, pausing as I heard footsteps approach from behind. Glancing back, I saw the stablemaster had followed me. He nodded, sidestepping me and opening the door. I’ll do you the favor of fetching Grimes.

I appreciate it, I said, and nodded back, surprised by his thoughtfulness, if not outright relieved. It spared me the undesirable task of surprising the butler. Given that Grimes held my employment in his hands, I did not want to get on his bad side or cause him any unnecessary grief that would look unfavorably on me. Esteem was everything for a servant.

A disturbance from the drive caught my attention. A cloud of dust bloomed into the air on the tail of a small carriage pulled by a single horse, its head lifted proudly as it clopped along the gravel. Not visitors to the château. This carriage was far too simple for nobility. Plus, the servants’ hall would have been abuzz with the impending arrival of any guests.

Dupont.

I blinked at the name before realizing it was the last name I’d adopted to conceal my true surname. I scrambled to attention as Grimes stepped out from the servants’ entrance, the stablemaster at his heels. Grimes’s eyes immediately sought the offending article in my hand, and he grimaced before holding a kerchief to his face, as if the mere thought of the hand was revolting to him. The butler’s eyes darted up as the carriage grew nearer, and he nodded to the stablemaster. That’s the doctor now. Intercept him as he’s coming out of his carriage and be discreet about it.

The stablemaster bowed his head slightly before taking off around the front of the château.

The doctor? I asked. Is someone ill?

Grimes waved a dismissive hand. Mrs. Blake is having one of her pains again. You know how fragile women are.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Ah. So the masters of the house are in good health, I said. Mrs. Blake was the cook. Good to hear.

I should think so, Grimes agreed, standing taller. "The family would hardly be seen by a country doctor, much less an apprentice, when they have their own personal doctor who comes up from the monastery. That’s the sort of efficiency I can get behind, Mr. Dupont. Medical needs and spiritual needs all rolled into one individual, caring for the body and the soul."

As you say, I said, not knowing how else to respond. I’d seen a monk in the house previously, so this must have been the family’s doctor he spoke of. He’d seemed cold and off-putting, to be honest, but then again, I’d never been one for religion. I’d gone to church with my family and attended with the servants now, but I would hardly say I was devout. I only went to keep up appearances.

In another minute, the stablemaster had returned, slightly out of breath, with a man behind him carrying a doctor’s bag.

Mr. Valancourt, Grimes greeted the doctor. So good of you to come.

The pleasure is all mine, Valancourt assured him, flashing a mouthful of pearly white teeth as he tilted his head at the butler.

I stared at the doctor openly. Rather rude, I knew, but he was probably the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. I recalled that Grimes had referred to him as an apprentice, which led me to believe that he was only a year or two older than me.

Handsome and smart, I thought, drinking him in. That was a winning combination in my opinion.

Valancourt had a dark complexion, his hair shaved close along the sides, but with a crown of obsidian curls. I wondered briefly if his family was from Africa or the Caribbean islands. His smile was roguish, with dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth that sent pangs through my chest. I followed the stubble along his jawline until I lifted my gaze to his eyes, dark pools of warmth I could feel myself sinking into, like gravity wells. I leaned toward him instinctively, wanting to be nearer to him, as his eyes found me. I noted the long lashes surrounding his eyes, the way his lips parted slightly. He had very nice lips.

And who is this? Valancourt asked, eyes running over me briefly. I felt heat in my cheeks and knew that I was blushing, but it couldn’t be helped. I was prone to blushing and easily flustered. My father had always teased me about it, good-naturedly.

This is our Second Man, Mr. Dupont. He’s only been with us a week now. Grimes sighed. A week and he’s already brought trouble to our doorstep.

I ducked my head. Apologies, Mr. Grimes.

Nothing to be done for it. But perhaps the good doctor could help save us some grief.

I’ll do what I can, Valancourt agreed, looking confused. But I was under the impression that I was here to see to Mrs. Blake?

Yes, yes, Grimes agreed. "The more pressing matter is that Dupont found a … hand on his way back to the house. If you could secrete it away to the gendarmerie and spare the family any unnecessary distress, I’m sure they would appreciate it."

Valancourt frowned. I see. He squinted at Grimes before turning to me. I’ll need to take Mr. Dupont with me, of course. He’ll need to make a statement at the very least. But otherwise, I’m sure we can keep this quiet so we don’t ruffle any more feathers.

We are in your debt, Grimes acknowledged. He met my eyes and pursed his lips. Since you likely won’t be back in time to serve dinner, Dupont, I’ll expect you to make up the time by assisting Fournier with his valet duties tonight.

Of course, Mr. Grimes, I agreed, bowing as the butler strode back inside. The stablemaster, who’d been listening the entire time, slunk away back to the stables as well.

When the door to the servants’ entrance closed with a solid thud, I let out a breath and turned to find Valancourt watching me. I blinked and turned away from those penetrating eyes. I’m sorry for the trouble.

It’s no trouble, Valancourt assured me. He gestured to the kerchief. May I?

Oh, yes. Please. I handed it to him, nausea sweeping through my stomach briefly as I caught sight of the red blossoming along the bottom of the cloth.

Our fingers brushed against one another’s and my heart fluttered, causing me to momentarily forget what we were doing. I wanted to hold on to his warmth for a little longer, even for another precious second, but it wasn’t to be. Valancourt pulled away from me, eyes never lifting from the kerchief. He was clearly not affected by the contact as I had been.

Disappointment doused my excitement. What had I expected to happen? What I felt toward men wasn’t an acceptable feeling. At least that was what my aunt professed. I didn’t understand how something like love, something that felt so right, could be so wrong.

Valancourt unwrapped the hand and examined it briefly, dropping a barrage of one-syllable reactions like ah and hmph and my. I hadn’t the stomach to watch, turning away until the doctor refastened the kerchief and folded it into some parchment. He knelt down to secure it somewhere in his doctor’s bag, and when he looked back up at me, his eyes were shining, and I felt like I was falling under some inexplicable enchantment once more. He had one of those faces that was warm and inviting.

I apologize. I get carried away sometimes and this is fascinating. Usually they’re attached to people.

I stared at him until I realized that he’d told a joke. A weak joke, but a joke nonetheless. I humored him with a chuckle.

The doctor winced imperceptibly at my reaction but recovered with a wide smile. I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I am Valancourt. Bram Valancourt. He stood and reached out a hand.

I shook his hand, his attention flustering me. Emile St. Aubert.

Valancourt blinked, then watched me thoughtfully as he dropped my hand. I thought your name was Dupont.

My eyes widened, and I cursed my slip of the tongue. A pretty face and I’d completely forgotten my cover story. I … yes. Please call me Dupont. It’s more a nickname. Or better yet, just call me Emile.

Very well, Emile. And I suppose you’d like me to believe that you’re used to a life of servitude with not a single callus on your hands?

My heart stuttered with panic. I opened my mouth, then closed it as anything intelligible fell directly out of my mind to gather at my feet. Valancourt was observant. I wasn’t used to people giving a servant a second glance.

Whatever the reason for the subterfuge, it’s none of my business, Valancourt assured me, no doubt noting the distress on my face. I was curious, is all. But I won’t press you.

Thank you. I bowed my head as the tension melted in my chest. I appreciate it.

Valancourt’s eyes lingered on me for a moment, as if trying to decide something, but he shook his head in the end and gestured toward the servants’ entrance. Why don’t you wash up and meet me at my carriage? I’ll be done seeing to Mrs. Blake in short order.

Thank you, I repeated, catching his eye.

Don’t mention it, Emile.

And with that, Valancourt swept back along the house to the front entrance, leaving me to watch him go.

It was a nice view.

I’d always been a romantic at heart. I supposed it stemmed from growing up with two parents who doted on one another, love in every glance. I wanted that for myself, that easy devotion, wherein every step was taken in consideration of the other, a dance meant to only make each other happy. I didn’t think that was too much to ask, but society had other ideas. My life would certainly have been much easier if I’d given in, taken a wife, even if the marriage was devoid of love. I could have probably even been happy with that sort of life. After all, many matches were made due to title, feelings of the heart a passing consideration. But I didn’t want that for myself. I wanted to feel every day, to burst at the seams with happiness over spending my life with that one person who was the center of my gravity. Like my parents had. And so, I refused to compromise. That was also how I found myself in such perilous circumstances. For my ideals. Because my heart demanded that I have what I deserved.

I tilted my head, listening to the beats of the horse’s hooves upon the packed dirt road on our way into town. The sound made for a pleasant backdrop to the sunny wooded scene that passed by leisurely. I hated to intrude on the peace, but the silence was growing too much for me in my agitated state. I didn’t want to think about the gendarmerie. If they deemed me a person of interest, they could check into who I was, and that would not do. This would all have been for naught. Why don’t you see to the Montoni family, if you don’t mind my asking?

Valancourt pursed his lips beside me, a quirk that I found very distracting. Let’s just say that some families aren’t ready to face advancements in technologies. They would rather stick to traditional practices of medicine.

And you are averse to these traditions?

When it comes to health, yes. Which is why the servants of that house receive better care than their masters. Rather backward from the usual way of things, wouldn’t you agree?

I chuckled. I’m sure they have their reasons, Valancourt.

Bram.

I blinked.

If I am to call you Emile, you must call me Bram, Valancourt insisted.

Of course. Bram.

Bram smiled lazily at me, and I felt my cheeks warm. I shifted uncomfortably and cleared my throat, searching for a distraction from my flustered state. How long have you been studying medicine? You’re a doctor’s apprentice?

Bram considered for a moment, and I watched the light play over his features as we progressed along the road. My father is a doctor. It’s a family business. I’ve been helping him since I was very young. As his apprentice, he trusts me to carry out simple matters around town. He wants me to take over the practice eventually.

I’m sure you’ll make him proud.

Bram raised an eyebrow. You don’t know the first thing about me, Emile.

I know that you’re a man of integrity. I shrugged. You can keep secrets.

And don’t ask many questions?

I stared into my lap. I’m sure you’ve seen your share of severed hands as a doctor?

Bram smiled at the pitiful deflection. Severed hands, no. Not many. But this profession is always full of surprises. Some can be pleasant, of course. It’s not all disease and death.

Oh?

Certainly. Watching medicine I’ve administered take effect, and seeing a sick man return to his family. Knowing that by treating a common ailment, a child will grow to play, and love, and start a family of their own one day … it’s very rewarding. And I get to be a part of that.

That does sound rewarding, I agreed.

Bram nodded. It doesn’t leave much time to build a life for myself, I’m afraid. It’s very demanding. Friends are hard to come by when you have to dash off at a moment’s notice.

That sounds like it could get lonely.

It’s worth the sacrifice, Bram assured me. He met my eyes, and I held my breath as he watched me for a moment, tilting his head as he considered something. You’re very thoughtful, Emile. And articulate. Especially for a servant.

I ignored the dubious note in his voice. Thank you. I do my utmost to be diverting.

"Mmm," Bram returned, leaning back in his seat. He clearly saw right through me, that I wasn’t a servant any more than he was. But he was polite enough to move on and allow me my secrets.

For now.

And how far from the château did you find it? the tall gendarme with the bushy mustache asked, scribbling in a notepad hurriedly. His partner, a short, squat man with an upturned nose, squinted at the hand lying on the table before them. With only the indirect light of the room, the bluish-white hue of the hand made it look like stone. Something about it lying there, naked and exposed, made me uneasy, like I was observing something perverse. But nobody else in the room seemed to share the sentiment.

I held myself still, as I had throughout the interview. As if by moving I might draw unnecessary attention to myself. I felt a bead of sweat drip down the nape of my neck, but I ignored it. It wasn’t far. Maybe a five-minute walk from the stables.

And it was just off the footpath?

Yes, sir.

The tall gendarme exchanged a look with his partner, and I tensed, waiting for them to dive into questions aimed at me: What I was doing there, who my last employer was, where my parents lived. But those questions never materialized. The tall gendarme closed his notepad and nodded his thanks to me. Very good, Mr. Dupont. If we have any further questions, I assume we can find you at Château le Blanc?

Of course. Relief swept through me and my shoulders relaxed.

Bram frowned. You will want me to examine the hand, I’m sure?

No need. The short gendarme tossed a cloth over the hand and swept it into a box. He was clearly the victim of a wild animal. No one from town has been reported missing, and unless they are, I expect this will remain the case of an unfortunate stranger passing through who encountered some bad luck.

Bad luck? I echoed, swallowing hard. What sort of animal wrenches a man’s hand from his arm?

A bear, most likely. Although it could have been any number of animals. The woods aren’t safe to wander alone at night. You’d be wise to remember that, Mr. Dupont.

I shuddered as my imagination conjured a bear surprising me in the woods, its muzzle opening wide, dripping saliva. What a horrible way to meet one’s end.

I could perhaps narrow down the offending creature for you with a proper examination, Bram persisted. The gendarmes shared another look. The tall man straightened. We won’t waste your time any more than we have already, Monsieur Valancourt. If we have any further need of your services, we’ll contact you. But this is a clear case that need go no further.

Good day, and thank you for bringing this to us. The short man tipped his hat before disappearing into a back room with the box. The tall gendarme sat down at his desk and began to rifle through some paperwork, making it clear that we’d been dismissed.

I left the room feeling uneasy. I was relieved, of course, that they hadn’t asked any personal questions, but the lack of any questions was odd.

When Bram closed the door behind me, I noted the tight set of his jaw and knew he felt the same. We’d been humored. aThe gendarmerie had never had any intention of investigating the matter. Whether it was a lack of thoroughness on their part or something more sinister, perhaps a crime they were already aware of and were looking the other way …

Come along, Emile. Bram placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me forward. There’s nothing more to be done here.

My legs obeyed, and I felt an electricity hum through my body at his touch, although he could have hardly felt the same. When I looked up at him, it was to find him clearly distracted. His hand on my back had been an automatic reaction, not some form of intimacy. Of course. It would have been silly to imagine otherwise.

We left the station and headed back to his carriage, but Bram paused as we reached it, and seeming to remember himself, withdrew his hand from my back and straightened. He considered me for a moment. I don’t suppose you have to go back right away?

I licked my lips. Grimes did say that he was covering for me today.

A smile broke out over Bram’s face. Then you simply must accompany me to dinner. I haven’t been to my club in ages, and I do hate going alone. You can be my excuse. It’s just in Saint-Baldolph.

My stomach flipped at the thought. I hadn’t eaten in a club in ages. To be waited on, to go out and enjoy someone’s company … it was so tempting. But it would take an hour, at least, to reach Saint-Baldolph. I … I’m sorry, Bram, but I don’t think I would be back in time. I still have to assist with valet duties tonight.

The smile on Bram’s face never faltered for an instant. Your next day off then. Come, promise me.

I … yes. I would love to, I agreed, returning the smile.

It’s settled then. In the meantime, we can get a bite to eat at a pub.

That would be perfect.

Satisfied, Bram clapped a hand on my shoulder and led me away from his carriage and up the avenue in the opposite direction. I tried not to glow from the attention, but it was hard to keep from beaming. Here I was about to have dinner with a handsome doctor’s apprentice. Perhaps I hadn’t completely ruined my life, after all.

I was still high from my time with Valancourt when I returned to Château le Blanc.

Bram, I reminded myself, as I was let into the servants’ entrance. He wants you to call him Bram.

The meal at the pub had been overcooked and the room noisy, but Bram was so charming and funny that it was easily one of the best dinners I’d ever had. I marveled at how just one acquaintance held the power to change my perspective. I’d been depressed and lonely for the past week, but my mood was quite the opposite after a short afternoon out.

The kitchen and workrooms were cramped and dark, but they were organized and kept free of clutter. I was amazed that so much of the upkeep of the château came from this small area. The servants slept on the third floor, in rooms hardly bigger than closets, giving ample space to the parts of the château reserved for Count Montoni and his family. Those rooms were open and ornately decorated, although I’d seen very little of them thus far. From what I could tell, it looked expensive but was dark and drab. Windows were fitted with heavy drapes, the furniture stiff and a blue so deep they may as well have been black. It certainly wasn’t to my taste but suited the gloomy disposition of Montoni.

The tableaux were the worst part of the château. I knew many grand houses decorated with taxidermy animals to portray moments of gruesome confrontation, but they were not to my taste. There seemed no rhyme or reason for where they were positioned. I would turn to a corner of a room, and there would be a patch of tall grass, or a pheasant bursting from the reeds to escape a fox, as if frozen in time. It was hard to tear my eyes from such morbid scenes, but they also left me more than a little unsettled.

As I continued up the narrow hallway, I paused at a side table, having noted a spider sitting in the middle of a web. It was a brown and black thing with visible dark pools of eyes and long, thick legs covered in fine hair. I’d come across several similar arachnids in the previous week, and cobwebs seemed to appear out of nowhere. I wondered if there was an infestation somewhere. They weren’t exactly small spiders, either, but could fit comfortably in the palm of my hand. Not that I was going to hold one.

I grabbed an empty vase and scooped the spider inside, careful to cover it with a cloth as I carried it to the door and let the spider outside. I hated to kill anything unnecessarily, even a creepy little spider that had way too much hair for its own good.

There you go, I said, dusting off my hands as I watched the spider scamper into the grass. You’ll be very happy out here.

That done, I replaced the vase and cloth on the side table when my eyes drifted to the spiderweb left behind. I supposed I had better clean that up as well.

You must be Dupont. A man well into his fifties with a thin mustache hurried over to me. Grimes said you would be helping with my valet duties tonight.

I pivoted to face him. Good to meet you. You must be Fournier.

I am, but we can exchange pleasantries later. There’s much to do. If you haven’t had supper, don’t expect any until after we’ve seen to the young master.

I inclined my head, not letting on to the fact that I had, indeed, already eaten.

Can you sew?

I wrinkled my nose. Sew? No, I—

Well, I don’t have time to teach you. You’ll be cleaning the boots then. Come along. I’ll show you what to do.

I gave one last regretful look back at the spider’s empty web before following.

The next few hours were busier than I’d expected. I hadn’t realized all that went into a valet’s duties. I’d assumed they just helped their master get dressed, arranged things for them, and accompanied them on their travels. Of course, I’d never studied their daily chores in any detail. Nor had I ever pondered what they consisted of. Coming to Château le Blanc as Second Man had been enough of a lesson. I’d thought I could get by with what I’d seen around La Vallée growing up, but I’d needed a tour from Grimes to truly educate me on the tasks I was to perform.

Count Morano was nephew to the master of the house, Count Montoni. Morano had been away for the past fortnight, so I hadn’t yet met him, or his sister, who’d also been traveling. I’d only seen Count Montoni this past week, a middle-aged man who spoke in a clipped way to the servants. I didn’t particularly like him, but I couldn’t exactly afford to be picky. I could only hope that his wards were more