How the Light Gets In
Page 78“Stop it.” Ruth waved them to be quiet. “The Ancient Mariner carried his secret, like a dead albatross, around his neck. He knew the only way to get rid of it was to tell others. To unburden himself. So he stopped a stranger, a wedding guest, and told him everything.”
“And what was his secret?” asked Gilles.
“The mariner had killed an albatross at sea,” said Gamache, stepping into the kitchen and taking the breadbasket to the table. “As a consequence of this cruel act, God took the lives of the entire crew.”
“Jeez,” said Gilles. “I’m no fan of hunting, but a bit of an overreaction, wouldn’t you say?”
“Only the mariner was spared,” said Gamache. “To stew. When he was finally rescued he realized that he could only be free if he talked about what had happened.”
“That a bird died?” asked Gilles, still trying to wrap his mind around it.
“That an innocent creature was killed,” said Gamache. “That he’d killed it.”
“You’d think God should also have to answer for slaughtering the entire crew,” Gilles suggested.
“Oh, shut up,” snapped Ruth. “The Ancient Mariner brought the curse on himself and them. It was his fault, and he had to admit it, or carry it the rest of his life. Got it?”
“Still doesn’t make sense to me,” mumbled Gilles.
“Fairy Queen?” asked Gabri, hopefully. “Sounds like bedtime reading to me.”
They sat down for dinner, the guests jockeying not to sit next to Ruth, or the duck.
Gamache lost.
Or perhaps he wasn’t playing.
Or perhaps he won.
“You think Constance had an albatross around her neck?” he asked Ruth as he spooned chicken and dumplings onto her plate.
“Ironic, don’t you think?” Ruth asked, without thanking him. “Talking about the killing of an innocent bird while eating chicken?”
Gabri and Clara put down their forks. The rest pretended they hadn’t heard. It was, after all, very tasty.
“So what was Constance’s albatross?” asked Olivier.
“But you think she had a secret?” Myrna persevered. “Something she felt guilty about?”
“Look.” Ruth laid down her cutlery and stared across at Myrna. “If I was a fortune-teller, what would I say to people? I’d look them in the eye and say…” She turned to Gamache and moved her spiny hands back and forth in front of his amused face. She took on a vague eastern European accent and lowered her voice. “You carry a heavy burden. A secret. Something you’ve told no living soul. Your heart is breaking, but you must let it go.”
Ruth dropped her hands but continued to stare at Gamache. He gave nothing away, but became very still.
“Who doesn’t have a secret?” Ruth asked quietly, speaking directly to the Chief.
“You’re right, of course,” said Gamache, taking a forkful of the delicious casserole. “We all carry secrets. Most to the grave.”
“But some secrets are heavier than others,” said the old poet. “Some stagger us, slow us. And instead of taking them to the grave, the grave comes to us.”
“You think that’s what happened with Constance?” asked Myrna.
Ruth held Gamache’s thoughtful brown eyes for a moment longer, then broke off to stare across the table.
“Don’t you, Myrna?”
“What do you think her secret was?” asked Olivier.
“I think it was that she was a transvestite,” said Ruth so seriously that Olivier’s brows rose, then quickly descended and he glowered. Beside him, Gabri laughed.
“The Fairy Queen after all,” he said.
“How the hell should I know her secret?” demanded Ruth.
Gamache looked across the table. Myrna was the wedding guest, he suspected. The person Constance Ouellet had chosen to unburden herself to. But she never got that chance.
And, more and more, Gamache suspected it wasn’t a coincidence that Constance Ouellet, the last Quint, was murdered as she prepared to return to Three Pines.
Someone wanted to prevent her from getting here.
Someone wanted to prevent her from unburdening herself.