“Who else?” The woman gave a sad half smile. “My husband.”
“Vanneau?” Gerard asked.
“Oui.”
“Why?” Jeanne asked without thought. “Why did he hurt you so?”
“Because he can.” The woman turned to Jeanne as she answered. “He was…displeased and sought to release his displeasure on me.”
Jeanne saw her mother in the woman before her; no beautiful clothes, no glittering jewelry, but they were one and the same. She stepped to the back of the room and, pulling out a linen handkerchief, dunked it in the ewer of cold dirty water resting upon the dresser before returning to the woman. With delicate hands, Jeanne placed the cool cloth against the woman's eye and the bruise still spreading across her fair skin.
Lenore flinched as Jeanne's gloved hand grew close to her face, then relaxing at the sigh
