The Whispering of Bones by Judith Rock

listen to me! Out of all of this last year’s reports I sent to the head of our Paris Province about my men at Louis le Grand, the Provincial singled out yours for particular attention and concern. That is not a compliment, should you be so foolish as to think so. He does think, as I do—most of the time—that you have a promising future. He also thinks—as I know to my cost—that I allow you to overstep your bounds. He wants no more special privileges given to you. For the good of the Society’s reputation and your future as a Jesuit. And for the good of mine as rector.”
    â€œI see,” Charles said, chastened. “May I speak further?”
    â€œIf by ‘speak’ you mean ‘argue,’ the answer is no.” The rector sighed and rubbed his face. “By our rules, you have the right to question an order, if you think obeying it would be an occasion for sin. About that, you may speak.”
    â€œForgive me,
mon père
—and I do not ask your forgiveness as a matter of form. Of course you are not ordering me to sin. But if God has given me some degree of skill at helping to bring about justice, and I do not use that skill, is that not sin?”
    â€œPerhaps. And so is clever theological argument to get what one wants.”
    â€œTrue. But this killer has not only taken a life, he is responsible for what has happened to Père Dainville. And Père Dainville may die.”
    â€œPère Dainville is old and fragile. What happened to him might well have happened anyway. What you want is vengeance,
maître
, and that belongs only to God.”
    â€œI want justice,
mon père
.”
    The gray gaze darkened. “You want your own will. Is this how you would repay Père Dainville for his efforts to help you grow as a Jesuit? To help you grow in Jesuit obedience? To help you subdue your noble pride?” He smiled bleakly at Charles’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, don’t look so surprised,
maître
, it shows itself, believe me. Are you still so arrogant as to think that only
you
are capable of bringing about justice?”
    Charles bit his tongue and forced his gaze to the floor. “I hope not,
mon père
.”
    â€œThen remember what you have chosen. Remember what you hope to be.”
    Charles held himself very still. That was the nearest thing to a threat he’d ever heard from Le Picart, and it was about the priesthood he so deeply wanted. “Yes,
mon père
,” he said, to give himself time to think.
    â€œVery well.” Le Picart strode to the office door. “We understand each other,” he said, as he opened it. “And now we have both missed a good part of dinner. Come, we’ll go and beg from the kitchen.”
    Staying in the rector’s presence after what had been said was not what Charles wanted, but he dutifully followed him out to the courtyard. As they turned toward the fathers’ court, Frère Martin hurried breathlessly from the street passage.
    â€œ
Mon père!
I thought you were at dinner. There’s a message for you!”
    As Le Picart went to meet the porter, Charles waited where he was, but he could still hear what was said.
    â€œIt’s that girl from The Dog,” Martin said. “Marguerite? No. Rose, was it? I can’t—”
    The rector said impatiently, “Do you mean Mademoiselle Rose Ebrard?”
    â€œThat’s it!” Martin sighed with relief. “I
knew
it was a flower. The girl from the bookshop. She’s at the postern door, asking if you can see her at five o’clock instead of four.”
    â€œTell her that will do. Get someone to bring her to my office when she arrives, and ask Père Montville to act as my companion while I see her.”
    â€œYes,
mon père
.” Martin bowed and hurried back toward the postern and the girl with the flower name.
    The rector came back to Charles and said, as they started walking