Free A Provençal Mystery by Ann Elwood Page A

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    “Madame Red has a new enthusiasm,” Griset said. I knew he was referring to the diary.
    “And what might that be?” asked Fitzroy.
    “Just another convent document,” I replied quickly. “My enthusiasms come and go. You know that, Griset.” He looked at me strangely for a moment, but did not give me away.
    “Come on, Dory, you know how to keep an enthusiasm going,” said Rachel, amazing me with her sudden friendliness.
    “I’ve noticed that, too,” said Fitzroy. He smiled at Rachel. “Not that you don’t know how to keep things going yourself, Rachel. Your performance yesterday, for instance. . . .”
    “It wasn’t a performance!” Rachel replied, fingering the key. “Trying to pry documents out of Chateaublanc is a serious enterprise.”
    “I don’t have much trouble,” Fitzroy said.
    “Maybe that’s because you’re such an important man,” I said.
    “I wasn’t aware that Chateaublanc knew anything about my great eminence,” Fitzroy said, with a sidelong glance at Rachel. He was smiling wryly—I could see why he had a reputation as a ladies’ man.
    “What was the document you were looking at, Professor Ryan?” Jack asked. “Was it the one you were so excited about the other day?”
    “Oh, that one. That one turned out to be disappointing. No, this was a death biography, from that big set of biographies for Our Lady of Mercy,” I said, lying. I knew by now, after talking to Agatha and watching her reactions, that the diary had a significance that went beyond that of an archive document. Could that significance spell danger? And, beyond that, I didn’t want anyone else appropriating it. “All about suffering and waiting to go into the arms of Jesus. Like all the others. It talks about a reliquary.” I surprised myself by mentioning the reliquary, almost simultaneously realizing that I had done so to arouse Fitzroy’s interest and detesting myself for wanting to. Then I decided to elicit more information from Agatha.“Is it still at the convent, Agatha?”
    “What reliquary?” she asked
    “It was shaped like a body part. A head. A human head.”
    Agatha shook her head no. “I don’t know of any reliquary at the convent. Maybe one is hidden in the altar. My nephew studies such things. He works with the Ministry of Culture where he specializes in religious artifacts,” she said. “You should meet him, Professor Fitzroy.”
    Fitzroy shrugged. “Uhhh,” he said. “Sometime.”
    “And you, too, Dory, I must introduce you—he’s your type,” Agatha said.
    “What type would that be?” Fitzroy asked.
    “I’ll tell you sometime,” I replied.
    Rachel leaned forward. “I wonder where the reliquary might be if it’s not at the convent?”
    “I thought you weren’t interested in seventeenth century history,” I said.
    “This goes beyond categories,” said Fitzroy. “Why should Rachel not be interested?” He shot a look at me, then turned to Rachel and said in his smooth, velvety voice—a voice, I thought, that you could lie down on, “Reliquaries shaped like human heads actually held saints’ heads, you know. But reliquaries shaped like human body parts are relatively uncommon. Usually it’s bowls and urns. Glass boxes and caskets. Church-shaped receptacles. Blood in vials. Pieces of the sponge filled with vinegar and offered to Christ on the cross. Nails that nailed him. Thorns from his crown of same.”
    “What could possibly have happened to the reliquary?” Rachel asked. She had not been diverted by Fitzroy’s monologue.
    “There was talk in the convent of selling it to a seigneur,” I said.
    “When?” asked Fitzroy.
    “The sixteen hundreds.”
    “Reliquaries could be sold?” Rachel asked.
    “Yes,” said Fitzroy.
    “Convents were often poor,” I put in. “They sold what they could to stay afloat.” I wanted to change the subject. What was I thinking of, telling Fitzroy about the convent