The Grand Tour

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Was he?” This time there was no ignoring the edge in James’s voice.

  “If you’re wondering whether the gentleman wore his own slippers, it can’t be proven, for his valet says they were together at the time,” Piers said.

  “Then we’re looking for someone who stole into the inn and helped himself to Mountjoy’s things. Whoever he is, he’s a man of iron nerve, I collect,” said James. “Did the intruder take anything else?”

  “No one reported anything stolen,” Piers answered. “That doesn’t mean much, I know, but it is all I could ascertain.”

  “You spoke to Mountjoy’s valet?” Thomas asked. “Did he have any idea how someone could have gained entry to Mountjoy’s room to steal the dressing gown and slippers?”

  “I spoke with Mountjoy and his manservant Rupert together at first. Neither had any idea how the thief got in.”

  Piers looked pleased with himself. “I took the trouble to get Rupert on his own later. He admitted that he let himself be deceived by the same young person who tricked me and locked me in a cupboard. She had him so thoroughly in his cups, he can’t be sure who might have been in or out of Mountjoy’s room.”

  “Most unfortunate,” said Thomas in a tone that caused Piers’s complacency to evaporate completely.

  “Rupert found the other slipper and the dressing gown out in the garden, soaked with dew. Mountjoy refused to give up the slippers once the pair was reunited, and he insisted on keeping the dressing gown, too.” Piers was all business. “He had it made to measure in Venice.”

  “So we can’t ask Mr. Lennox and Mr. Reardon for their help,” I said.

  “Alas, no,” said Lady Sylvia. “I wish I’d thought to try it myself in Calais, even if it had only led us to the slipper’s owner.”

  Piers continued. “Mountjoy has been on the Continent for a year or more, doing the Grand Tour. He was glad to be going home at last. He postponed his sailing for England, he was so annoyed by the theft. Lucky for me he did, or I would have missed the chance to question him.”

  “This young person of yours, Piers,” said Thomas, “have you any idea where she went? Or, for that matter, where she came from?”

  “I do not.” Piers stiffened under Thomas’s scrutiny. “If she took ship for Dover, she could have disappeared no more thoroughly.”

  “Could she have?” Cecy asked. “Taken ship for Dover, I mean?”

  “She could have,” said Piers. “But she was not an English young person. I think, though I could not swear to it, that Eve-Marie was genuinely French. For her to choose to go to England would amaze me. She had little respect for the British. Highly unlikely she would go there by choice.”

  “Unless she was up to something,” said Cecy thoughtfully.

  “As you say, Ma’am.” Piers fixed his attention on Thomas but said nothing more.

  Thomas returned him look for look. “Is there anything else, Piers?”

  “Just this. Of the guests at the inn that night, all could account for their whereabouts within minutes of the intruder’s discovery. I think it unlikely another guest perpetrated the masquerade.”

  “What about servants?” James asked.

  “Same goes for them.”

  “So your Eve-Marie assisted whoever it was in gaining access to the inn from outside,” said Thomas.

  Piers looked pained. “She is not my young person in particular. However, that is, in essence, my surmise, my lord.”

  “Next time remember her perfidy and see if you can be a bit more careful,” said Thomas. He shifted his attention from

  Piers to the rest of us, but Piers remained standing as stiffly as if he were at attention. “Mother, is this room protected?”

  “Of course it is, my dear. As is the entire house.” Lady Sylvia was tranquil. “Have you something in particular to tell us?”

  “You know me too well,” said Thomas. “I must make a confession. I hired Piers here to serve as my valet, but he has no previous experience in that role.”

  “Hardly news, that,” said James. “I’ve seen you turned out better in some of those disguises you dug up to wear back in our days on the Peninsula.”

  Thomas paid him no heed. “When we planned this journey, I had no idea we were going to find it half so eventful. I did think it might be a good idea to be prepared for the unexpected, however, so I asked a few old friends to recommend someone capable, someone experienced. In short, someone useful in an emergency.” Thomas was looking right at me now, and that oddly mixed expression of his was back. On anyone else, it might have been apologetic. “They recommended Piers to me.”

  Something in Thomas’s expression must have seemed more familiar to Lady Sylvia than it did to me, for her expression lightened suddenly and she spoke. “You hired Piers as your valet, despite his lack of previous experience. May we inquire then, of just what your manservant’s previous experience consists?”

  Thomas looked pained. “He’s a bodyguard.”

  James gaped and then grinned. “Thomas, you can’t be serious. You don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Of course he doesn’t,” said Lady Sylvia. “Not for himself.”

  “Well, James and I don’t need a bodyguard, and you certainly don’t, Lady Sylvia. So who—” Cecy broke off abruptly. “Oh, dear.”

  I didn’t spare any of them a glance. I couldn’t take my eyes off Thomas. “You felt I needed a bodyguard?” Given recent events, it seemed a logical idea to have someone capable along on our journey. Yet Thomas had made this arrangement before we ever left London. Thomas had made all sorts of arrangements without consulting me, and I blessed him for it. But I felt cross with him for taking the initiative on this arrangement. He might have at least mentioned it to me. “Am I that clumsy?”

  “Lord, no!” Thomas said. “I never meant that. Never crossed my mind. No, it’s just that I can’t be everywhere, Kate. I know it. There are going to be times when you need someone to watch out for you and I won’t be able to do it all myself. I meant to be serious and responsible and thoughtful. I was trying to plan ahead. In a way, it’s fortunate I did, because I never dreamt we’d walk into anything like the mess we have.”

  “Fortunate,” I said, but I couldn’t get out another word. I didn’t trust my voice.

  Piers spoke then, still standing rigidly at attention. “My lady, I was hired to see to your safety. His lordship made it plain that was the only thing that mattered to him.”

  “Quite unusually prescient behavior for Thomas,” said Lady Sylvia. “Quite responsible of him, too.”

  “Good idea,” said James. “Wish I’d thought of it.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cecy’s indignation was plain.

  I just looked at Thomas.

  “Kate, I should have told you all about it at the start,” said Thomas. “For that mistake, I apologize. But I don’t apologize for hiring him to help me take care of you. The world is a very big place. I think we’ve all seen that it can be a dangerous place, too.”

  I looked at him in silence for a moment longer. Thomas’s eyes said even more than his words did. When I was very sure that I could keep my voice level, I said, “Very well. Thank you for your help, Piers. Please excuse me now.” I started for the door.

  “That will be all, Piers,” said Thomas, then added to the room at large, “Good night.” He reached the door before I did and held it open for me as I passed.

  “You needn’t,” I said to him, under my breath.

  “I must,” said Thomas.

  “I have Reardon now,” I said. “I can manage perfectly well alone.”

  “I can’t,” said Thomas. So he came upstairs with me.

  I let Thomas persuade me of his good intentions before I accepted his apology. At the expression on my face, he drew back. “Kate? What is it?” With sudden suspicion, he added, “Why are you smiling?”

  I poked him gently. “You could have told me about Piers, but you didn’t. Instead, you had the complete gall to complain to me about his
incompetence as a valet.”

  “He is an incompetent valet. After that performance in Calais, I’m none too confident of his skills as a bodyguard, either. I would have told you, but I didn’t want to worry you. Don’t change the subject. You haven’t answered my question. Why are you smiling?”

  “I could tell you.” I thought it over. “But I wouldn’t want to worry you.”

  Thomas made it clear that he wanted me to answer his question.

  “Oh, do stop. I surrender.” I caught my breath and pushed the hair out of my eyes. “I’m smiling because not only do I accept your gracious apology, I believe your motives are pure. You hired Piers to protect me from outsiders and not from my own clumsiness. But now you must forgive me, please.”

  “What for?” Thomas demanded.

  “I was hurt at first,” I confessed. “I did think you were making allowances for your clumsy wife. But Sir Hilary’s presence in Paris proves you had good reason to hire Piers. It wasn’t kind, nor even honest of me to let you go on thinking I was overset. I apologize.”

  For once in my life, I had the utter satisfaction of seeing Thomas caught by surprise. He stared at me a moment, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. It was an endearing expression, one of fuddled, innocent astonishment. I almost regret that I will, in all likelihood, never see it again.

  “Kate—” Thomas’s voice scarcely attained a whisper. “You were roasting me? The whole time?”

  “Not the whole time. For the first few seconds, I was quite distressed. But after that—” Thomas didn’t let me finish what I meant to say. Yet I have reason to be certain that, eventually, he forgave me.

  28 August 1817

  Paris

  At Lady Sylvia’s house

  During the past few days, I have seen far less of Cecy than I have of the seamstress sent by the modiste to do the final fitting on my gowns. While I have Reardon safely ensconced in my service to help bring order out of the chaos of my personal appearance on a daily basis, Cecy still has not engaged a maid of her own. Lady Sylvia’s maids help her, of course, but a great deal of Cecy’s time is taken up with the interviews and the checking of references. I find it lowering to see how much time and attention the task of hiring a servant requires when it is done properly. Still, this does not prevent me from frequent bouts of exultation that in engaging Reardon, I have escaped the task.

  Reardon’s adjustment to the household has been effortless, though I’m sure it must have cost her some pains to make it seem that way to me. The other members of the staff accepted her and she dealt with them in kind. Of necessity, she sees a great deal of Piers. He seems only to benefit from her calm example of service. Thomas’s clothing has returned to its customary state of order and refinement (which means that it is just as neat as James’s but somehow not as staid). Thomas himself has taken to early morning rides with Cecy in the Bois de Boulogne, as James is still recuperating, though he refuses to admit it. I am often pressed to join them, but given my relative lack of skill in the saddle, I prefer to make it my custom to lie in and begin the morning with a sleepy cup of tea or chocolate. An hour or two of sleep while Thomas is off galloping about somewhere makes a world of difference to my outlook on the day.

  29 August 1817

  Paris

  At Lady Sylvia’s house

  This morning James and I were present when Mr. Lennox and Mr. Reardon paid a call on Lady Sylvia. Thomas was off riding with Cecy, so it was just the five of us. Mr. Reardon wore his neckcloth in a new style, but I was glad to discover it made no difference. I could still tell him from Mr. Lennox. They both looked rather sheepish, as if they expected a good scolding from Lady Sylvia.

  “I’m afraid we may have exceeded our authority.” Mr. Lennox held out his hand. Nestled in the palm were Cecy’s pearl earrings, stolen by the highwaymen.

  “Good heavens, where did you find these?” Lady Sylvia asked, as Mr. Lennox gave her the earrings. James and I stared wordlessly.

  “To be exact,” Mr. Reardon replied, “on a velvet cushion on the counter of a pawnshop in the Rue d’Horloge.”

  Lady Sylvia asked, “In what way do you fear you may have exceeded your authority? ”

  “We pursued a variant of the location spell,” said Mr. Reardon, “using a few of the objects we found discarded at the scene of Sir Hilary Bedrick’s murder. A clay pipe proved unexpectedly rewarding. We followed the trace to the pawnshop. The trace was extremely clear. We assumed the clarity owed something to the strength of the link.”

  “We don’t know that it didn’t.” Mr. Lennox gave the distinct impression this was a point they had already discussed at length.

  “Be that as it may,” Reardon continued with patience and precision, “the clarity of the trace came from the recent presence of the man we traced. Extremely recent, as it turned out.”

  “We were questioning the proprietor,” Lennox said, “when we discovered the owner of the pipe was actually still on the premises. When he overheard our questions, he fled.”

  “We pursued him, but he eluded us.” From the blandness of Reardon’s tone, I think it safe to assume that much more had happened, but that we weren’t going to hear any of it.

  “Eventually we returned to the proprietor. He turned the earrings over to us after only a minimal amount of persuasion,” Lennox said.

  “Yet it was regrettable. Whoever the man who pawned the earrings was, he must have heard us. If he had sufficient wit, he now knows someone is taking an interest in Bedrick’s murder and your robbery. It won’t require much research to identify you through us. We apologize for our ill-timed interrogation,” Reardon concluded.

  “It can’t be helped.” Lady Sylvia gazed at the pearl eardrops in her hand. “If someone realizes we are taking an interest in this matter, there’s nothing we can do to remedy it. Whatever we’ve stumbled into, it may prove to be a good thing, if our interest puts them off.”

  “It may merely make them more cautious,” I said. “Whoever they are.”

  James said, “The man who pawned Cecy’s earrings may have had nothing whatever to do with the robbery. He may know nothing at all. In that case, even if he overheard you asking about him, he has no reason to connect us to the incident at all. And no one to tell if he did.”

  “That adds up to a great many ifs,” said Mr. Reardon, “a word I have always held in considerable distaste.”

  Lady Sylvia gave the earrings to James and closed his hand over them gently. “You shall be the one to return these to their owner.”

  I said, “Now we know Aunt Elizabeth’s charm really did work. Cecy couldn’t lose those even when they were stolen from her.”

  Lady Sylvia looked thoughtful. “Even the simplest of spells may have unlooked-for consequences. Who can say what part that little charm played in these matters?”

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

  The Bois de Boulogne is quite a pleasant place for a ride, and I was looking forward to the day when James would be well enough to join me. In the meantime, Thomas made quite an acceptable substitute, particularly as he had no foolish notions about what constituted a suitable mount for a lady. Indeed, I was obliged at one point to decline his offer of a particularly fine and spirited gray gelding; dearly though I would have loved to try his paces, I could see that he was too strong for me, and I would not risk doing a mischief to one of Lady Sylvia’s horses.

  The ride to and from the Bois was nearly as pleasant as the wood itself. Paris is a city of great beauty, and the boulevards are wide and well considered. We took a different route each day. Thomas claimed it was in order to familiarize himself with the city, though I thought it was more that he wished to show off how familiar with it he already was, without the chance of embarrassing himself in front of Kate.

  One morning, a little over a week after Piers’s return, we had a late start from the stables due to some unexpected difficulties with the tack. Consequently, the streets were more full and our progress both to and from the Bois
was slower than usual. Thomas had chosen a particularly circuitous route, and as we turned an unfamiliar corner, I saw a small shop just ahead of us.

  I reined in my horse. “Thomas, is that a bookshop?”

  “That’s usually what la librairie means,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Papa gave me a list of titles he has had difficulty in obtaining from his usual sources,” I said. “I have not been able to look for them yet, but this appears to be a most promising possibility.” The shop looked just like all the ones Papa has dragged Oliver and Aunt Elizabeth and me to in the past. “Would you mind if we stopped for a moment?”

  “I suppose it’s a sort of shopping I can tolerate,” Thomas replied. “And it certainly doesn’t sound like anything James would object to.”

  Taking that for assent, I rode to the door and dismounted. Thomas found an urchin who agreed to hold the horses for the princely sum of half a franc, with another to follow when we came out.

  Bookshops are much the same, whatever the language. Dusty shelves reached to the ceiling, piled high with shabby literature and smelling of musty leather. The proprietor was very helpful, but he could supply only two of the volumes Papa had requested. “Me, I do not keep les histoires,” he explained. “They do not sell here at all well. When by chance some arrive, I send them to my friend in the Rue de Rivoli. That one of which you ask”—he waved at Papa’s list—“I sent to him only two days ago.”

  “Very well; can you give me his direction?” I said.

  “It is most easy to find,” the man told me. “It is near the Île de la Cité, a few turns from the bridge.”

  Thomas stared at the bookseller in transparent disbelief.

  “The Île de la Cité?” He transferred his stare to me. “I don’t believe it. How did you set this up?”

  “Set what up?” I said. “Is there some reason—Oh.” I felt very dull not to have seen instantly what Thomas was getting at. The Île de la Cité is, of course, the location of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, and the Sainte Chapelle. The bookseller was looking anxious, so I thanked him for his information and paid for my purchases. Thomas frowned at me the entire time.