02 The Grand Tour

by Patricia C. Wrede

  "They seem quite young to be friends of Lady Sylvia's," I observed.

  "They do, don't they? Perhaps they're related to someone she knew in her youth, back when she and the Bishop of Amiens were having adventures." Cecy helped herself to another croissant. "Do you suppose it will seem as peculiar to our children, years from now, to think of us having adventures?"

  I thought it over. "It doesn't seem at all peculiar that Lady Sylvia had adventures in her youth. She's having them now, after all. But I admit I don't see how it could possibly seem as peculiar as the idea that the Bishop of Amiens had adventures in his youth."

  Cecy laughed. "It's hard to imagine the youth, let alone the adventures. But I'm sure we'll seem just as sedate and dignified in years to come, when we're having breakfast with children as old as we are now."

  I thought of my parents, long dead, and of Cecy's Mama, whom she scarcely remembered, and I wondered what it would be like to sit at breakfast with them. I couldn't imagine it. "I'm sure you'll seem sedate and dignified to them. I doubt anyone will ever find me either one."

  "Oh, Kate. Don't be so sure. After all, there will be Thomas's influence at work." Cecy's eyes danced as she said this, for Thomas had entered the room as I was speaking.

  "What's this about my influence?" Thomas asked as he was served with coffee and croissants. "Ever a force for good, I assure you."

  "We were just wondering if we'd ever seem as sedate and dignified as the Bishop of Amiens," I explained.

  Thomas gave a great crack of laughter. "Don't let the odor of sanctity deceive you. I think there's a good bit of mischief left in the old boy yet. If anyone can bring it out, it will be Mother. I wonder how many more of the League we'll meet before we're done? Probably a good many of them are still right here in the city."

  Cecy said, "I thought the League of the Pimpernel existed only to save victims from the guillotine during the Terror."

  "That's how it began," said Thomas. "Once the Terror was over, the members were able to rest in safety. Yet the need to defend the innocent never ends. There will always be work for those of us who wish to use our wits against the enemy."

  "Napoleon Bonaparte, I take it, was the most recent enemy?" I inquired.

  "One of many," Thomas replied. "As the shape of the world has changed, the demands upon the League changed, too. There isn't always agreement among the members concerning who the enemy is. But there is always an enemy somewhere."

  "Do Mr. Reardon and Mr. Lennox have any connection to the League?" I asked. "I was wondering how your Mother came to call upon them for help."

  "Mother's social circle has always been wide." Thomas went through his first croissant with as much speed and enthusiasm as Cecy. "She keeps her eyes open for competency, particularly in magic."

  "Will they be back soon, do you think?" asked Cecy. "They did say first thing in the morning."

  "Oh, they've been and gone already," said Thomas.

  Cecy gave me a look and I felt my fine air of sophistication about my London Season droop and fade. I felt slightly better when Thomas continued.

  "Unaccountable, coming around so early. Mother said she didn't think they'd been to bed at all. She dealt with them and sent them on their way before I was up. Don't worry. They'll be back. This will be a long process." Thomas handed me a note. "Mr. Reardon left this for you, Kate. Mother mentioned you were hoping to engage a maid while you were here. It seems Mr. Reardon has a cousin."

  I read the note while Thomas demolished his second croissant. It was from someone named Emily Reardon, who begged me for the privilege of calling upon me to apply for a position as my maid. I felt my spirits sink. "Oh, dear."

  Thomas patted my hand. "Take heart, my tea cake. She speaks perfect French, Mr. Reardon says, but she was born in Gloucestershire. You won't need to speak anything but English to her."

  Cecy looked horrified. "Kate, you can't. You simply cannot travel all the way to Paris to engage a maid from Gloucestershire. It won't do."

  "Kate must do precisely as she pleases," Thomas reminded Cecy, as he divided the last croissant with her.

  Cecy said, "Well, of course she must. But it's such a waste. Do pass the butter."

  25 August 1817

  Paris

  At Lady Sylvia's house

  Miss Emily Reardon called upon me yesterday. She is a few years older than I, a young woman of the most reserved demeanor. According to her cousin Mr. Reardon, her father (that is, Mr. Reardon's uncle) was under the authority of Monsieur Champollion when that distinguished scholar was in Egypt to record and study the cryptic inscriptions of the ancients. Unfortunately, his constitution was unequal to the rigors of the Egyptian climate. He died before he could return to France. Miss Reardon has been in service ever since the small inheritance he left her was exhausted. She is, by any reckoning, an experienced lady's maid.

  After the opening pleasantries had been concluded, I dared to ask, "Forgive me for my impertinence, but you seem to dress very simply yourself. Is that your preference?" Or was it financial necessity? I left the words unsaid but they hung in the air between us. I had to ask, for everything about Emily Reardon was the model of severity, from her pelisse to her unornamented gown to the slippers she wore, plain and well worn.

  Miss Emily Reardon was entirely composed. "I assure you, I am expert in achieving the dress and hairstyles favored by ladies of fashion, though I do not affect such things myself."

  I liked the way she looked me in the eye. She seemed not the least impressed by the grandeur of Lady Sylvia's house, though her manners were unexceptionable. It was clear that she wanted and needed the position, but she would do nothing to make it seem she was pleading for it. There was a fine stoicism about her. I found myself wishing I had a turn for stoicism myself. Perhaps it can be learned.

  It seemed a tempting proposition, engaging Emily Reardon. In addition to her own qualifications, she would spare me the onerous task of meeting other prospective maids.

  "When would you be able to start?" I asked.

  Emily Reardon's eyes lit up. "At once, Lady Schofield."

  I stated the terms of employment (bless Lady Sylvia for going over the finer points with me before I arranged the interview), and Emily Reardon consented to them with every sign of pleasure. I decided she might not be as stoic as I had assumed.

  I have engaged her to start tomorrow morning, for I do not feel I can go immediately into the happy state of having a maid. I need a few hours to get used to the idea first.

  When Emily Reardon was gone, I did a brief dance across the drawing room and went to find Cecy.

  "I suppose it will have to do," Cecy decided, when I'd recounted my ordeal to her. "Reardon's only your first maid, after all. You can always hire a French maid next time."

  "You can show me how it's done," I said, while privately promising myself I would stick to Emily Reardon even if she were as unaccountable as Thomas's man Piers.

  From the deposition of Mrs. James Tarleton, &c.

  As soon as I was able, I cornered Lady Sylvia regarding shopping. This was not immediately possible, as a number of business and household matters had arisen during her long absence from Paris, which required her attention. It was not until early afternoon, the day after Kate had engaged her maid, that the three of us had a chance to consult. We had just begun discussing the best time to visit the modiste, when a footman entered to announce a visitor.

  "Captain Reginald Winters," the footman said.

  We all rose and curtseyed acknowledgment of the sandy-haired man in his twenties, in full dress uniform including a neat military mustache, who entered on the footman's words.

  "Captain," Lady Sylvia said, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

  "I am certainly the loser by it, Madam," the Captain said, bowing over her hand with stiff formality. "But I am afraid I am not here on a social call. The Duke was much disturbed to hear of your encounter; he has been at some trouble to see the roads around the city
made safe. He sent me to make certain you have suffered no ill effects from your unfortunate adventure, and to assure you that everything possible is being done to apprehend the miscreants."

  "His Grace is all consideration," Lady Sylvia murmured. She studied him a moment, and I thought her eyes twinkled. "No doubt you wish the particulars."

  Captain Winters seemed taken aback by this forthright comment. "I do not wish to distress you, ladies," he said uncertainly.

  "So you shan't," Lady Sylvia responded. "Raoul, ask the gentlemen to join us, please."

  The footman bowed and left. Lady Sylvia presented Kate and me, and we resumed our seats. The Captain seemed relieved by this return to social normality, but his relief did not last long. Lady Sylvia apparently had a large acquaintance among the Army of Occupation and the poor man was hard-pressed to keep up with her queries about the current activities of all of them.

  The sitting room door swung open at last, and James and Thomas came in. The Captain rose and turned. "Reggie!" James said. "Haven't you sold out yet?"

  "Obviously not," Thomas said. "And someone appears to have had the bad taste to promote him."

  "Bad taste?" Captain Winters responded with mock indignation. "No such thing! This is purely a matter of ability."

  "Primarily your ability to find excellent wine for your commanding officers, even on bivouac, I expect," James said. "Don't you agree, Thomas?"

  "Undoubtedly." Thomas studied Captain Winters. "Which puts me in mind of the fact that you still owe me that dozen bottles you promised after that dice game in Le Havre. And I'm sure you've been in Paris long enough to have found the best sources."

  I believe they would have continued in this vein for some time had Lady Sylvia not called them to order. "While it is pleasant to observe the reunion of old friends, Captain Winters is here on business," she informed Thomas.

  "Business?" James said to the Captain.

  "Investigating the attack on your carriage is my responsibility, for my sins," Captain Winters said, raking a hand through his hair. "The army has officially turned that sort of thing over to the new French government, of course, but unofficially we're still the ones everyone looks to when it's a matter of public safety. And I'm the liaison for the City of Paris and environs, which puts this squarely in my lap."

  "You are supposed to find out who shot James?" Thomas said skeptically.

  "Among other things. There's been a rash of murders down in the Rue St. Roch; bad area, mostly fallings-out among thieves, but we still have to make sure there's nothing more in it than that. There are at least two groups of Bonapartists plotting to take advantage of the split in the government—one lot seems to be preparing to assassinate the Duc de Berry; the other looks like it's trying to suborn the leader of the Estates-Generale. Someone broke into the Sainte Chapelle two nights ago. And with the London Haut Ton flocking back to Paris, I have at least three ladies a day fluttering into my office to complain about something that isn't satisfactory—the noise, the way the coach traffic was handled before their grande soiree, something." He gave James a fulminating look. "If you'd had the least consideration, you'd have got yourself shot just outside Amiens and dropped this in someone else's lap."

  "It does sound as if you are very busy, Captain," Lady Sylvia said composedly. "And with such a variety of things, too. Murders and assassinations certainly sound much more pressing than a mere holdup or a break-in."

  I did not consider the shooting of my husband to be a mere anything, and I was about to say so when Thomas shifted slightly. Both Kate and James stiffened in reaction, and Kate gave me a warning glance. I swallowed the remark I had been about to make, just as Thomas said, "Yes, what was that about the Sainte Chapelle?"

  "Bonapartists, most likely," the Captain replied. "There are still plenty of people who aren't happy with the restoration, particularly the way the Bourbon has been running it, and the Sainte Chapelle used to be the royal chapel."

  "Used to be?" Kate said.

  "It's been used for storage since the Terror, and the new court hasn't had it cleared out yet."

  "Sounds like a prime bait for thieves," James commented.

  Captain Winters shrugged. "You'd think so, but all this lot did was shove some crates around and make a mess. That's why I think it was some of those—lunatics."

  "A mess?" I said. "It doesn't sound as if it was very tidy to begin with. How could you tell?"

  "Hah! You couldn't miss it. Ashes and wax all over everything, and that awful stale smell you get from old incense."

  "Some sort of ceremony?" Lady Sylvia mused. "I trust your wizards have been over the area carefully. If the chapel was associated with the monarch, someone may have been attempting a spell to interfere with them."

  "We thought of that, my lady," the Captain said. "But the wizards say there's no significant magical residue."

  Thomas pounced on the phrasing. "No significant residue?"

  Captain Winters rolled his eyes. "Oh, come, Thomas, you remember what these people are like. Most of them don't have any training—half of 'em can't even read their native tongue, let alone Latin or Greek. There are a few kitchen magicians and hedge wizards around, but the real wizards were murdered in the Terror, or left the country to escape Madame la Guillotine. The ones who are left have about as much ability as James here. They were probably trying to cast some sort of spell, but they didn't succeed."

  "And a good thing, too, I am sure," Lady Sylvia put in. "But we must not keep you from your duties, Captain, however pleasant the discussion. I believe you wanted to know more about our little holdup?"

  "If you please, my lady," Captain Winters said.

  Lady Sylvia nodded and embarked on a severely edited summary of our adventure. She made no mention of the Sainte Ampoule, nor of the suspiciously convenient disability suffered by all of the wizards in our party, nor of the cap the last fleeing ruffian had left behind, nor of Sir Hilary Bedrick, nor of any of Mr. Lennox and Mr. Reardon's discoveries, and she contrived to give the impression that we had been set upon by quite ordinary highwaymen.

  Captain Winters paid close attention to Lady Sylvia during this recitation, which was a very good thing. If he had glanced at Kate, he would surely have realized that he was not getting the whole story. Kate's face was a study. I don't believe she'd ever had to cope with someone else telling bouncers—Georgina and I always left that to her, because she is so very good at it. So Kate had never before had to listen and nod with a straight face, and she was caught completely unawares.

  Fortunately, by the time Lady Sylvia finished, Kate had schooled her expression. Naturally, we all confirmed what Lady Sylvia had said, and then Thomas and James made arrangements to meet with Captain Winters the following afternoon to discuss wine and reminisce. The Captain departed at last, and we were left alone.

  "I can see where Thomas gets his tendency to withhold information," James commented at last. "That was a masterful rearrangement of the facts, Lady Sylvia. I don't think I've seen a better spur-of-the-moment job."

  "That's only because you haven't heard Kate when she's in top form," Thomas said. "Mother, what are you up to?"

  "I should think that was obvious, Thomas. If there is any connection between the Sainte Ampoule and this incident at the Sainte Chapelle, the situation could be far more serious than your friend is capable of dealing with." Lady Sylvia tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her teacup.

  "But I thought, from what Captain Winters said, that even if someone did a spell at Sainte Chapelle, it couldn't have been successful," I said. "Wouldn't the army wizards have been able to tell if it was?"

  "If it was an ordinary spell, most certainly," Lady Sylvia said. "But there are some ceremonies that do not leave a normal magical residue yet still have profound consequences."

  "Coronation ceremonies, for example?" Thomas said.

  "That is certainly one example," Lady Sylvia replied with unimpaired calm. "I do not think a coronation was the reason for the unpleasantnes
s at the Sainte Chapelle, however."

  "Why not?" I asked. "With the Sainte Ampoule missing..."

  "A coronation ceremony of the sort I had in mind requires considerably more than holy oil to be effective," Lady Sylvia said.

  "So there would be no point in using the Sainte Ampoule alone," Thomas said.

  "None whatever," Lady Sylvia answered.

  "Which leaves us with the question of what the vandals were up to," I said.

  "Leaves us?" James put in pointedly.

  "Leaves you and Thomas, at least," Lady Sylvia said serenely. "I expect that there will be opportunities for you to discuss his job with Captain Winters tomorrow, and perhaps you can discover some additional details. It would be extremely reassuring if we could be certain that whatever occurred in the Sainte Chapelle did not involve the Sainte Ampoule."

  "If you want an investigation, it would be better to ask Reggie," James said, though he sounded a bit doubtful. "He is the official in charge."

  Thomas shook his head. "Nonsense. Reggie Winters hasn't the slightest notion how to handle things quietly."

  "And you do?"

  "I have a much better notion of it than Reggie."

  James frowned. "I don't like it. This should be dealt with by the proper authorities."

  "I entirely agree," Lady Sylvia said. "But I doubt that Captain Winters has quite enough authority to be proper, in these circumstances."

  "Who would you consider—" Thomas stopped short. "Mother, you wouldn't. Not even you—"

  "Don't blither, Thomas. I am speaking of the Duke of Wellington, naturally. How fortunate that I have the custom of giving a card party whenever I return to Paris." Lady Sylvia smiled. "I shall have to sort through the invitations we have received to see which evening would be best. An unintentional conflict would never do."

  "Whereas intentional conflicts are the done thing?" Thomas said.

  "Only when I do them, dear."

  James was looking at Lady Sylvia with a fascinated expression. "The Duke is an old friend, I presume?"

  Lady Sylvia considered. "He is forty-eight," she said at last. "I do not believe I would call him old."