“What’s happening?” hissed Sabine at Miss Henderson. Miss Henderson continued to stare into the hedge surrounding the grand house they were standing outside.

“Mme Meurdrac and Morag are at the door,” said Miss Henderson. “They have rung the bell. Oh, someone’s opened the door now. A butler, I think.”

They heard Mme Meurdrac’s voice from across the imposing lawn.

“Oh, won’t you ‘elp a poor old lady in need of assistance?” she said, with all the acting skill she could muster. Sabine winced at the effort.

“She doesn’t seem very authentic,” said Sabine, “even dressed in those rags.”

There was some mumbled discussion between the butler and Mme Meurdrac and then a shout of “Hey, stop!”

“Morag is in,” said Miss Henderson. “The butler isn’t sure whether to keep Mme Meurdrac out or go in for the dog.”

“Oh, do come back, Foufou,” shouted Mme Meurdrac in an unconvincing manner.

“The butler’s gone in,” said Miss Henderson. “Mme Meurdrac is looking round the front door, Ah, Morag has come back out and the butler has appeared.”

There was more mumbled talk from the doorstep.

“Mme Meurdrac and Morag are coming now,” said Miss Henderson. “The butler looks red and is gesturing at them.”

Soon Mme Meurdrac and Morag appeared around the hedge. Mme Meurdrac also looked a little flushed.

“I could have been on stage at the Theatre du Chatelat,” said Mme Meurdrac proudly.

Sabine started to speak.

“That was excellently done,” said Miss Henderson quickly.

“They’re there” said Morag. “I could smell them. Pook and Clackprattle are in there. There is something else there as well. A scent of incense and… magic.”

All the women looked at Morag.

“So what do we do now?” said Mme Meurdrac.

“You come to the station with me,” said a voice. The women all turned round to see a policeman standing behind them.

“I had a complaint about a strange woman and a dog,” he said, “as well as two women loitering suspiciously. I guess I have found you all.”

“You must go into that house at once,” said Mme Meurdrac, “They are murders!”

“I don’t think so,” said the policeman, regarding the woman dressed in rags.

“Monsieur,” said Sabine, turning on all the charms she had, “I am afraid it is a simple misunderstanding. My… sister is a little derangée and we have come to find her and take her home.”

“Oh, it is a misunderstanding!” said the policeman. “Well, that is fine then, we can easily resolve it. At the station.”

“One of my very good friends is a policeman in London,” said Miss Henderson. “So I’m terribly sorry about this.”

Her first flew out and the policeman crumpled to the ground.

“You hit a policeman!” said Mme Meurdrac. “We will all go to jail.”

“No we won’t,” said Miss Henderson. “Morag, can we make some sort of potion to make him forget?”

“Yes,” said Morag, “but it’s not…”

“Then we take him with us,” said Miss Henderson.

“And which newspaper did you say you were from again?” said Mme Meurdrac.

“Le Temps,” said the man who’d called himself Emile.

“Le Croix,” said the woman called Sabine at the same moment.

There was an awkward pause. The middle aged woman in the expensive dress raised an eyebrow in query.

“We syndicate,” said Emile.

Mme Meurdrac look at the quartet askance. Apart from this extravagantly dressed pair  that had done all the talking there were two more. One was a woman who clearly did not speak French and who was wearing a modern Parisienne dress that she fiddled with all the time. The other was a dog, that stared at Mme Meurdrac in a way that she found disconcerting.

She had let this bizarre collection of people in as they seemed to know something about her poor brother’s death. Or at least they seemed to suspect something more than the “natural causes” which the police had decided to publicise. Mme Meurdrac had always known her brother might come to an unfortunate end. That is, after all, what morbid people hope to see in an acrobat’s act. But she was surprised when he was found dead on the street looking 20 years older than he was. The police had suggested that maybe some aspect of his circus lifestyle was somehow responsible, hinting darkly at drugs or powerful liquor as a cause. But Mme Meurdrac knew better. Her brother may have been the proverbial black sheep of her wealthy family, but he was no fool. Even when he ran away to join the circus, he naturally joined the best.

“Let me order some coffee,” said Mme Meurdrac and left the room.

“What’s happening,” said Miss Henderson.

“You are giving the game away with your constant fidgeting,” said Sabine. “No Parisienne girl would do that.”

“And no Parisienne girl would be unable to speak French,” said Emile. “I think the jig is up there.”

“So…” said Miss Henderson, “What do we know?”

“That she’s suspicious,” said Emile, “of both her brother’s death and our presence. We need to earn her trust.”

Mme Meurdrac returned to the room.

“You wanted to talk about Albert’s last days?” she said.

“Oui,” said Sabine. “Was there anything unusual, a strange job offer, perhaps?”

Mme Meurdrac eyed Sabine cooly.

“There was,” she said. “I spoke to him the day before. He was hired for some special stunt.”

Emile unconsciously leaned forward is his chair.

“Did he say what it was?” he asked.

“He was to climb onto the windmill sails of the Moulin Rouge and traverse it three times,” said Mme Meurdrac.

A butler came in then with a card on a tray. Mme Meurdrac looked at it and nodded quickly. Her lips pursed.

“But then I’m going to guess you knew that already,” she said, not looking up from the card. “I’ve spoken to the editors of both the Temps and the Croix and neither has heard of you.”

She looked up the to see two shocked faces.

“So why don’t we stop the games and you can tell me what you know.” said Mme Meurdrac. “And more importantly, how.”

“Mme Meurdrac,” said Emile. “You have caught us, and I apologise for our deception. There are forces at work in this story more powerful and amazing than you can guess at, and I suggest for your safety and sanity, we keep some of those details from you.”

Mme Meurdrac pulled herself up in her seat.

“I,” she said, “I am the last scion of an old and extremely wealthy Parisien family. I can trace my ancestry over 500 years. There is nothing about power that can frighten or cower me.”

Emile sighed.

“If you are sure?” he said and when Mme Meurdrac nodded he turned to Morag.

“Maybe you could help… explain,” he said, “the kind of world we live in.”

The dog nodded.

“Hello, my name is Morag,” she said in perfect French, “I am a 400 year old alchemist trapped in the body of a dog and I’m not even the most remarkable creature I know.”

The quartet turned to look at Mme Meurdrac and then at the butler, who was staring ashen faced.

“Perhaps you could get some smelling salts,” said Sabine. “Mme Meurdrac appears to have fainted.”

“Here is your table Mr and Mrs Smith,” said the waiter, indicating a place in the restaurant. “You’ve just arrived in our little village?”

“Yes,” said the man with an English accent, “we just got here from Paris this evening. We’re staying next door.”

“A very good choice,” said the waiter, handing over two menus as the couple sat down. “That is without doubt the best in the area.”

“They said the same about you,” said the man, looking at the menu. The waiter nodded and left.

“It is the only hôtel in the area” whispered the woman with a French accent, “unless things have changed.”

“How do you feel now you are here, Marie,” said the man. “Is it strange to back?”

Marie looked over at Sir John and smiled wryly.

“Well Mr Smith… it’s not what I expected, arriving incognito with an English husband,” she said and reached over to hold his hand. He smiled back at her.

“So what’s the plan?” said Sir John. “We look for your old house, or the neighbours or…”

“Yes and yes,” said Marie, “although I don’t think we’ll find much out. We can visit the Hôtel De Ville.”

Sir John looked confused.

“I thought we were staying there?” he said. Marie laughed.

“It’s the… how you say… Town Hall,” she said giggling. “They may have records on my mother, although I doubt it.”

Then Marie looked serious and looked down.

“We should visit the churchyard too,” she said.

“Is it nice?” said Sir John, then realisation dawned on him. “Oh…”

“I have never seen her grave,” said Marie.

“Avez-vous choisir?” said the waiter. “You have chosen?”

“Um… I’ll have the Beouf Bourguignon and my wife will have the Sole Meuniere,” said Sir John. “Do you have any wine to go with that?”

The waiters eyebrows nearly touched his hairline.

“I will see what I can find,” he said.

“There’s someone else I’d like to see,” said Marie.

“Who’s that?” said Sir John.

“The faun,” she said.

“Will he, it, will it still be there?” asked Sir John.

“Maybe not, but, these things do live a while,” said Marie. “And it knew, in a second it knew.”

“But so did Albrecht and Phlebotomous,” said Sir John. “Maybe it’s just… things like that know other…”

“Things like them?” said Marie, looking down.

“Not things, I mean, entities, er, creatures er…” Sir John looked across and saw the hole he was digging. “I mean maybe powers recognise powers. Whether they are human or not. But those things, those nature sprites, they’re slippery creatures.”

“Here is a nice local rosé,” said the returning waiter with two glasses of wine. As he left the couple took a sip of their wines. Sir John’s face contorted.

“That’s rather… rural,” said Sir John

“You should let me order the wine,” said Marie, smiling.

“But about this faun… think of Pook. We should be careful,” said Sir John. “They live for mischief.”

“True,” said Marie, “but he looked at a small girl who knew nothing about herself and knew what I was. Mon cher. I wanted to come here for two things, in truth. My mother’s grave and to see this one.”

“Very well then,” said Sir John, raising his glass, “we shall see them together.”

He took a big gulp of the wine and grimaced. Marie tried, and failed, to stifle a laugh.