"That is most unfortunate."
"Not everyone is as comfortable with unconventional behavior as you are."
"Ivy! Are you reprimanding me?"
She burst into tears. "No, no, of course not. But your life, Emily, is not at all like mine anymore. You're happy to be on your own. I'm not. All I want is to be a good wife and bring Robert happiness."
"There's nothing wrong with that." I embraced her.
"I know you don't believe that," she said.
She was right, and I felt terrible. We had been inseparable since we were girls, learning to embroider side by side, picking out our first ball gowns together, swapping sensational novels. We had even been presented at court on the same day. But ever since her marriage and my realization that I wanted to pursue an intellectual life, our lives had veered in different directions. "Just because I haven't followed the same path as you doesn't mean that I condemn your choices," I said.
"You think your choices are better."
"Better for me, not for you." A silence hung between us. "You know that I respect your decisions. I just don't want to see society engulf you and churn out another perfect matron."
"There's no danger of that happening."
"There is if your only purpose in life is to keep Robert comfortable. When is the last time you brought me a book to read?"
She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Robert does not much like popular fiction."
It outraged me that she would alter her reading habits at the whim of her husband, but I decided that, for once, I ought not say what I was thinking. "You are not giving Robert the credit he deserves. He does drink port with you, does he not?"
"Yes, when we dine alone."
"And it's been what? Five? Six months since you started drinking port? You've given him plenty of time to get used to modern thinking. It's undoubtedly safe to introduce literature to the household."
This brought the beginnings of a smile to Ivy's face. "I'd hardly call the novels we read literature."
11
Ivy left with my copy of Mary Elizabeth Braddon's Mount Royal. Mrs. Braddon had for years been one of our favorite guilty pleasures. I had brought another of her books, Lady Audley's Secret, on my honeymoon, and had no doubt that the author's retelling of the story of Tristran and Iseult would give my friend relief from her marital woes. Eventually, however, she would need more than simple distraction. I was determined to find a way to gently persuade her to take a more active role in her relationship with her husband. This might prove more difficult than uncovering the identity of my mysterious admirer.
I went to Richmond as early as possible the next morning, eager to see what Jane Stilleman's peers thought of her. The response was underwhelming. While no one expressed animosity towards her, she did not seem to have any particular friends amongst the staff. Beatrice was waiting for me in her sitting room, pacing nervously, desperate for new information.
"There must be something we've overlooked," she said.
"It will perhaps be easier to prove someone else's guilt than to prove Jane's innocence. I'm very curious about the snuffbox that was stolen from you. Have you any idea how your husband acquired it?"
"It was a gift from one of the Sinclairs' servants. They're our nearest neighbors."
"Isn't that a bit odd? A servant giving a gift to a gentleman?"
"Not for David. He was generosity itself, always doing what he could for those less fortunate. It was not uncommon at all for those he had helped to offer him some sort of thanks, however humble it might be."
A silver box that had belonged to Marie Antoinette could hardly be described as humble. "Do you know the servant's name?"
"Dunston, I believe. Jeanne Dunston. I've no idea what David did for her."
I set off at once to call on the Sinclairs. Beatrice's house stood on a small piece of land that backed into her neighbors' magnificent park, and a walk was just what I needed to gather my thoughts before descending upon them unannounced. I took solace in the knowledge that my rank would allow me to get away with this sort of thing.
Mrs. Sinclair received me without the slightest indication that she found my arrival out of the ordinary. She was gracious and elegant, plied me with tea and cakes, and happily answered my questions about her servant.
"Jeanne was a treasure, an absolute treasure. Her father worked in the stable when my husband was a boy, and her grandmother was with the family before that."
"But Jeanne is no longer with you?"
"No. She died some months ago. She was quite old."
"I understand that she gave a silver snuffbox to your neighbor, David Francis. Were you aware of that?"
"Yes. He had helped her with some family matter. I don't know the details, but imagine that it had something to do with her son, who turned out very wicked. It was he who should have been given the box — it had been in their family for ages. But he disappeared years ago."
"Did she have no idea where he went?"
"My husband tried to locate him when Jeanne fell ill, but to no avail. He had notices of her death printed in the papers, but Joseph didn't come to the funeral."
"His name is Joseph?"
"His mother called him that, but it appears that he took a different name after he left our house."
"I am sorry that he never reconciled with his mother," I said automatically, though the sentiment was not entirely heartfelt. Unless I heard proof of Joseph's guilt, I would withhold judgment against him. "Have you any idea how the box came to be in the Dunstons' possession?"
"Not in the slightest. Jeanne's grandmother fled France during the revolution. I suppose she picked it up before she left."
"Perhaps it was a gift from her previous employer?"
"Highly unlikely. Who would give a servant such a valuable item? I imagine it was one of the many objects looted from Versailles. Not, mind you, that I am suggesting she stole it."
"Of course not," I replied.
"And now the box has been stolen from poor Mrs. Francis. She must be devastated."
"Do you know her well?"
"I can't say that I do. The Francises are good neighbors but not much interested in society."
When we had finished our tea, Mrs. Sinclair was kind enough to allow me to question her servants. None of them knew where Joseph Dunston might be found, and only one admitted to knowing about the silver snuffbox. The girl, a young maid, had walked into Jeanne's room while the woman was looking at the box.
"She snapped it shut the second she saw me and scolded me something fierce for coming in without knocking."
This snuffbox grew more interesting with every passing moment. I was still wondering what Jeanne Dunston might have hidden in it when, on my way out of the house, I noticed a striking sculpture in their foyer: Greek, from the Archaic Period. I looked at it carefully, trying to memorize its details and wondered if the Sinclairs could be convinced that it belonged in the British Museum.
Colin's hat and walking stick were in the hallway when I returned home, and, thrilled at the thought of him waiting for me, I started for the library, only to be stopped by Davis.
"Mr. Hargreaves and Mrs. du Lac are in the blue drawing room, madam. Mr. Hargreaves asked most emphatically that they not be disturbed, though I am certain he would not include you in a list of potential disturbers. Also, while you were gone, four cases of champagne arrived from Berry Bros. and Rudd."
"Did Madame du Lac order them?"
"Apparently not. The deliveryman said they were sent as a gift but didn't know from whom. Perhaps Mr. Hargreaves?"
"I've always considered him more of a port man, don't you, Davis?"
"If I may, Lady Ashton, I believe Mr. Hargreaves was always exceedingly fond of the viscount's whiskey."
"I had not realized, Davis. Thank you." My butler looked immensely pleased with himself.
When I reached the sitting room, I opened the door slowly. Colin and Cécile sat next to each other at a game table, papers strewn all over its inlaid sur
face. Colin snapped to attention the moment I cracked the door but relaxed when he saw me and continued his conversation.
"I am indebted to you, Madame du Lac," he said, hardly pausing to acknowledge me.
Cécile shrugged. "I have little concern for the Prince of Wales and his reputation but admire the loyalty you feel for your country. For you, I will offer my help."
"While I am grateful for the compliment, I suspect you are as concerned about the welfare of France as I am for that of the British Empire."
"What, may I ask, are you two scheming so secretly?" I sat at the table across from Colin.
"Monsieur Hargreaves needs me to return to Paris."
"Paris? Oh, Cécile —"
"There is to be no argument. You cannot expect me to resist the will of a man as handsome as he."
Colin smiled. "There is a political scandal brewing that threatens both of our countries. I need Madame du Lac's assistance with a particular gentleman in Paris."
I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of assistance?"
"Whatever sort it might take," Cécile replied.
"Has this to do with Charles Berry?"
"Yes," Colin said. "It appears that his talk of gaining a crown has not sprung wholly out of his imagination. There are plans under way to topple the Third Republic and restore the monarchy to France."
"How does that threaten England?"
"We are more secure if our neighbor has a stable government."
"And how is the Prince of Wales involved?"
"He and Berry have become fast friends."
"Two kings, as it were?"
"So Berry would like. But should this coup fail — and I am confident that it will" — he looked at Cécile as he said this — "it will not benefit the prince to be viewed as someone who supported an attempt to overthrow a foreign government."
"Can't you just tell him to stop letting Berry hang about?" I asked.
"Staggering though the thought is, you, Emily, are not the most stubborn person in the empire. His Royal Highness prefers not to be told who makes an acceptable friend."
At that instant I felt a newfound respect for the future king of England. "Well, it may be that I've been too harsh in my assessments of the prince. I shall try to make a fresh start with him."
"I shouldn't bother, Kallista," Cécile said. Colin began to gather up the papers from the table.
"Have I given you all the information you require?" he asked my friend.
"Oui. I am eager to meet Monsieur Garnier. He is certain to be a man of great possibility."
"Garnier?" I asked.
"The power behind the throne, as it were," Cécile said. "It will be most interesting to meet a man who considers himself Richelieu's equal." I expected that she would excuse herself and leave me alone with Colin, but instead she challenged him to a game of chess. I watched them, an uneasy tension hovering in the air, and wondered what dangers my friend had agreed to face for the good of someone else's crown and country. Unsettled, I turned my attention to the Odyssey. Neither of my friends spoke until the match was over.
"Checkmate," Colin said, trapping Cécile's king with his queen.
"Magnifique. I would have been most disappointed had you let me win."
"I should not dream of insulting you so." He kissed her hand, then crossed the room and pulled me from my chair so that I was standing mere inches from him. "As for you, my dear," he said, almost under his breath. "I'm pleased to see that you're spending more time with Homer than The Greek Anthology. Makes me quite confident that my proposal will be accepted. You'll not find the identity of your admirer in the Odyssey. How soon could your trousseau be assembled? I'd love to take to you the carnival in Vienna."
"And I should love to go. The Viennese have lifted the waltz to new heights of glory. But do not think you will win our wager. I'm well on my way to identifying our mysterious friend."
"Hmmmm," he said, holding his fingers up to my lips but not touching them. "We shall see." He squeezed my hand, said good-bye to Cécile, and left.
"I am not happy about leaving you alone," Cécile said.
"I'll be perfectly all right," I said, though I felt a pang at the thought of her going. I had grown used to her constant companionship and would miss even Caesar and Brutus.
"You could come with me."
"No, I promised I'd help Beatrice."
"I do worry, Kallista, about you here with that man paying such close attention to you."
"Inspector Manning has so many officers watching this house that I fear more for my privacy than my safety." I glanced through the papers Colin had left on the table for Cécile. "What exactly are you to do in Paris?"
"Befriend this man, Garnier. He's an obscenely popular politician who's constantly preaching against government corruption. The bourgeois adore him. Monsieur Hargreaves suspects that he is going to complete what General Boulanger left unfinished."
"Boulanger? Didn't his attempt to take over the government fail? I remember reading in the papers that it descended into a farce."
"Boulanger had not the character to lead a nation."
"From what I heard, he was overly attached to his mistress," I said. "Didn't he stay with her instead of going to the Elysées Palace at the appointed hour?"
"He did. Left the garrisons of Paris waiting for him. Imagine having that kind of power over a man."
"Do you really think she had anything to do with it? Most likely he was scared and found staying with her easier than taking the reins of the country."
Cécile shrugged. "It is dangerous to discount the power of a woman's influence."
"So is that what you're to do? Influence Monsieur Garnier?"
"Not at all. I will find out when he plans to stage his coup."
"Surely he can't think he will succeed so soon after Boulanger's failure?"
"Garnier has what Boulanger did not: Charles Berry. Many people in France question the value of our democracy. The government is too corrupt."
"And Charles Berry would somehow be an improvement?"
"Pas de tout. But imagine taking France back to the days of the Sun King. That is the mood Garnier is trying to capture. He has the backing of all the members of the exiled Bourbon and Orléans royal families as well as the support of other monarchies, and he is viewed as a man who wants what is best for his country. He is not, after all, suggesting that he should be on the throne, only that France should be returned to its former glory."
"And this is common knowledge?"
"Mais non. Only his closest confidants know his plans."
"The Prince of Wales?"
"The prince is friends with Berry, not Garnier."
"Surely Berry knows the plan."
"Monsieur Hargreaves does not think so."
"Garnier knows Berry well enough not to trust him," I said. "Yet he would make him king of France?"
"Fascinating, n'est-ce pas? You will have your part in the excitement, Kallista. I am to send all correspondence to you. Monsieur Hargreaves thought you would like that." She patted my arm. "And it will be très intéressant to see how you like being alone in this house again. You may find you want to keep him with you."
"Cécile, I will never forgive you if you try to get me married. It's bad enough that Ivy has defected to my mother."
"Your mother wants to see you make a good society match. Ivy only wants one that would bring you happiness. There is very little similarity between the two positions."
"I know you're right, but it doesn't always feel that way."
"Someday, Kallista, you will learn to stop resisting things only because they are sanctioned by others."
"I don't do that, Cécile."
"I am not saying that you should marry Monsieur Hargreaves to appease these society ladies. But he is too much the gentleman to take you as anything but his wife. And if that is the only way to get such a man, well...marriage might not be so awful. I can think of many things more disappointing than waking up next to him every morning.
"
"You are terrible."
She shrugged. "To turn away something you want simply because it is de rigueur is as foolish as blindly following society's rules. You must make your own decisions, Kallista, but do not become an iconoclast at the expense of your own happiness."
"I hope I'm not that foolish. I adore Colin, but more than I want him I want to find something in life that is mine alone. An identity beyond that of wife. Something that I love, that edifies, that inspires me."
"You are already on your way to finding it, chérie. How many objects have you secured for the British Museum?"
"Not enough. Did I tell you about the statue I saw in Richmond?" As I began to describe it to her, all other thoughts rushed out of my head. When Cécile went upstairs to direct the packing of her belongings, I wrote an impassioned note to Mr. Sinclair about the piece and sent it immediately. No sooner was that done than I penned a second, this one to Mr. Bingham. Lord Fortescue might reprimand me for harassing the poor man, but I did not care. The silver libation bowl needed to be in a museum, and I had no husband with political aspirations whose career was at the mercy of Lord Fortescue.
12
Thursday was Cécile's last day in London, and her impending departure had a deleterious effect on my household. Caesar and Brutus, who had become inexplicably fond of Berkeley Square, recoiled at the sight of their travel boxes and crawled beneath a large cabinet in the red drawing room from which they could not be coaxed, even with scraps from the previous evening's roast beef. Cook took this as a personal insult and stalked about belowstairs all morning in a state of high dudgeon. As a result, our luncheon was delayed, and I had no time at all to eat before leaving for the British Museum, where I hoped to meet my anonymous admirer.
As I walked towards Great Russell Street, it started to rain, but the drops amounted to little more than a mist that would do nothing to alleviate the claustrophobic humidity enveloping the city. I did not open my umbrella, using it instead as a walking stick, its metal point echoing the rhythm of my feet. My claim to Colin that I was near to unmasking my would-be innamorato had not been quite accurate. Other than placing the ad in the Times, I had done almost nothing to find him. Initially, I had thought I might ferret him out by baiting young gentlemen of my acquaintance, but that had been when I believed him to be nothing more than a creative suitor keen to take advantage of my interest in Greek. Now, however, knowing that he was responsible for the Marie Antoinette thefts, I believed it would take a great deal of persuasion to get him to reveal himself. My only real hope came from his romantic designs on me. Surely a gentleman in love would not wish to remain eternally incognito.
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