“But that would be an awful task for you, Molly, packing up all our things,” Gus, ever the thoughtful one, said.

“How many of the items in the apartment are yours, apart from the clothes and Gus’s paintings?” I asked. “Does the furniture belong to you?”

“The place was furnished in a basic sort of way,” Gus said. “We did buy a few items, but given the circumstances, we’d be happy to donate them to Madame Hetreau, as Miss Cassatt certainly wouldn’t want them.”

“I’m not sure how I would manage to bring everything down the stairs by myself,” I said. “Madame’s husband might help if I paid him enough, but then would it all fit in a cab?”

“There is a carter I’ve hired on occasion when we’ve moved to the country for the summer,” Mary said. “A solid, reliable sort. I could send him to help you with the packing and to carry down the trunks.”

She stood up and clapped her hands. “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll send a message to him right away. And now if word gets out that I’ve got company, it is a delightful woman from New York and her baby that I’m entertaining. Nobody that might arouse any suspicion.” And she gave us a triumphant smile then strode from the room, leaving Sid and Gus looking at each other hopefully.

Chapter 25

Twenty-five

The carter agreed to send over a wagon to Montmartre that evening. I refused Mary Cassatt’s offer to join them for luncheon, not wanting to leave Liam a moment longer and realizing the amount of work that lay ahead of me. The morning’s storm had passed, leaving a blue sky and steaming sidewalks. I went straight back to the Rue des Martyrs. When I told Madeleine that I would not be needing her services anymore she looked genuinely so crestfallen that I paid her double the amount we had agreed upon and promised to bring Liam to visit as often as possible. On my way out the baker shook my hand and thanked me for bringing his wife out of the depression that had engulfed her after the baby was born. Then I felt even worse about leaving her and realized I really would have to make an effort to visit, if and when I could solve Reynold Bryce’s murder.

Madame Hetreau was nowhere to be seen as I let myself into the front hall. I was tempted to tiptoe upstairs and get on with the job, but knowing the sort of person madame was, I realized she might accuse me of trying to smuggle out objects belonging to her when she caught me leaving. So I tapped on her door and she opened it, her hands white with flour.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said.

“I’ve come to say good-bye, madame,” I said.