The Blue Place by Nicola Griffith

By Nicola Griffith

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Right. Give me a day or two. ” “Bless yourself. You’ll need it when Géraud gets through with you. ” Julian did know. Julian drove west, retracing his path toward Sigoulane. The church bells were ringing out noon as he rattled through the village, its houses still and sleepy in the midday sun. He was hungry. Fighting with Géraud always gave him an appetite. Julian reached Aurillac Manor by way of a road that ran up from the valley bottom and along the crest of the escarpment. The road eventually dwindled to a narrow lane bordered by ancient chestnuts before ending, almost without warning, in the graveled forecourt of the house.

Good man. I’ve worked with him. Babies’ bones are very fragile. ” “Thérèse thinks it might have belonged to one of the housemaids,” said Mara. “Ha. Put in the family way by one of the undergardeners. The question is, how did she get the baby in there? ” Mara did know. “It’s actually not that hard. These walls are drystone construction. It would have required a bit of work to pry the first stone loose, but once that was done, the others would have come away relatively easily. Not a large hole would have been needed.

The galerie was a popular feature of grand French country residences in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Initially a broad corridor linking parts of a house, it had evolved its own specialized function as an elegant walkway, a place for meditation and indoor exercise, a showcase for displaying family treasures and works of art. According to Christophe, the fact that Aurillac Manor lacked a galerie was not because it wasn’t grand enough but simply owing to pure bad planning. “You see,” he had explained when Julian had brought Mara out three months earlier, “Aurillac, or at least the central block, will be five hundred years old next year.

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