I am deeply grieved to say I did not realise how intimate this young couple had become with my widowed mother until it was far too late. My only excuse is that I had recently become a father myself for the third time, and had also taken on new responsibilities in my work. I deeply regret I was not more aware, but I was, in truth, as taken in by Gravot’s reformation as my mother was. I was simply glad she was not lonely.
The couple left our town in the middle of last year. Shortly afterwards, my mother came to me in some distress. It was only then I learned that she had ‘invested’ with Gravot all that she had inherited from my father’s modest estate as well as from her benefactor. She had also been persuaded to raise money against the value of her small house for the same cause. She believed she had invested in a diamond mine in Angola of all places, but the papers she had from them were worthless. That it was a gross criminal act is without doubt, but Gravot and his wife had so phrased the documents as to make the money appear a gift. My mother was not practised at reading legally phrased documents and had trusted the young couple too much to do more than sign them.
The house my parents had shared through forty years of marriage was sold and my mother joined my own establishment. Her last months with us were not happy. She felt both humiliated and angry, and nothing my wife or I could do would make her accept what had happened or see the impossibility of seeking redress. She would take no ready money from my hand, and sold what trifles she still possessed to fund her trip to Paris. I had hopes that her stated plan – to come to the capital for the sake of a little pleasure – was a sign of her recovery. I suspect now from your letter that my hope was false: she went to Paris in order to search for Gravot and his wife, and it is evident that she found them. She was missing for three weeks. I fear to imagine how she must have spent those days. I brought her body back from the city the week before Christmas and she rests now next to my father.
I close with a word of advice which I hope you will heed, even if it comes from a stranger. If you have not yet handed money to M. Gravot, do not, under any circumstances do so. If you have, consider it lost. I also request that if you have repeated to anyone the slanders of M. Gravot regarding my family, you will correct that error.
Begging you to accept the assurances of my best regard,
Jean Prideux
The women read the letter in turn.
‘The poor woman,’ Tanya said at last, handing the letter back to Maud.
Maud nodded and wondered about her own behaviour when Mme Prideux had arrived on her doorstep. If only the old lady hadn’t been so frightening. She had shut the door on someone who might have saved her – all to protect the peace of the monsters within. The thought made her afternoon black and kept her from sleeping half the long, dreary night.
CHAPTER 8
15 January 1910
The day after they received the letter from Jean Prideux, Maud woke late. She was still weak, and the pain of her continual headache increased once she had hastily dressed and gone outside on the street. The bells of the trams rang and jangled, the horses struck their hooves on the cobbles and the motor-taxis darted among the omnibuses, their iron wheels tearing the road. She crossed Boulevard de Clichy and hugged the west side of Place Pigalle. A huge clock hung above the épicerie; it was already a little after twelve, much later than she had thought. She glanced across at the fountain. Only a few women were there, lounging and smoking cigarettes. Other women in their long winter coats and furs shepherded children in sailor hats along the pavements, making for home or the park in hopes the showers would keep off. The two groups were from different worlds and blind to each other.
Maud stumbled against one of the tables set outside Le Rat Mort. A waiter, his hair and moustache so slick and oiled they looked freshly painted, started towards her, his look something between concern and suspicion as he tried to decide what world she belonged to. When she straightened up and gave him a slight nod, his face flickered with recognition, and with a cautious bow he let her pass by.
Maud tried to step a little more firmly after that, down the hill along Avenue Frochot, but had to pause and lean against a wall as soon as the bend in the road provided her with a moment of privacy. The people passing might think her drunk, she knew. Her clothes were respectable but she had no hat, no gloves, and in Paris everyone stared. A policeman might pass at any moment. She forced herself to walk on till she found herself in Place St Georges and at the Countess’s front door – then before her courage could fail her, she rang the bell.
The butler showed her into the library and took her name. He was English and recognised her accent as that of an educated woman. The library seemed to serve the same purpose in France as it did in England, a place to receive that doubtful class of person one could not introduce immediately into the salon, but whom it might be dangerous to leave waiting in the hall to be gossiped over or noticed by other guests. Maud did not sit down, unsure if she would be able to stand up again if she did. Instead she rested against the window that opened out onto a pretty little garden at the back of the house. It was all in greys and purples at this time of year, sage greens and soil. Earth tones. There was a fountain in the centre of the lawn, silent now; the mermaid pouring nothing into the little pond under the rock on which she sat. A gardener was pulling dead leaves out of her granite hair.
The door was thrown open and Maud turned round to face the Countess. The American cried out and looked behind her as if unsure whether she needed to summon help. Maud felt the familiar nausea and weakness in her limbs. Her head swam and her legs, tired and unwilling, started to give way. I will wake in a prison cell, she thought, and it will be my own fault. The Countess crossed the room and caught her as she fell, lowering her down onto a sofa with an arm around her waist. She was stronger than Maud had expected. Maud didn’t quite faint, just breathed steadily till the sensation of falling and spinning began to fade, and opened her eyes.
‘You are not a ghost, I think,’ the Countess said and released her. Her voice had become calm but her tone was fierce, the words sharply enunciated. ‘Has someone been playing a trick on me, Miss Heighton? Is someone laughing at me?’
Maud could only shake her head.
The Countess leaned forward and rang a little bell on the table. Maud stiffened, but when the butler bowed his way in at the door, she only asked him to bring brandy and water. Maud began to speak, but the Countess lifted her hand – no. The brandy arrived on a silver tray with tumblers cut from crystal rather than the great balloons at Hôtel Chopin. They looked as if they’d been blasted from ice. When the Countess filled one and put it into her hand, Maud was surprised the glass was not cold. The Countess then poured herself a generous slug and knocked it back like a worker in a cheap bar. She stared into the empty glass as she spoke.
‘That man Morel came to me on New Year’s Eve and handed me my tiara. He said you stole it then threw yourself in the river out of guilt, so now I have to ask myself, Miss Heighton, was there some mistake? Or did you steal it, but just not feel that guilty, after all?’
Maud felt the brandy burning her throat and coughed. ‘I did not steal it.’
‘So you just picked it up and forgot to put it down?’
Maud felt herself being watched now. The Countess was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her empty brandy glass held by its rim with the fingers of her right hand. Her left hand supported her sharp chin. She looked wary now the first shock of seeing the dead girl walking had passed, caught somewhere between suspicious and angry and not sure which way to jump. Her eyes travelled over Maud’s face, back and forth.
‘I took nothing, and I did not throw myself in the river.’
There was a tap at the door and the butler reappeared. He addressed the air somewhere above their heads.
‘Madame, there is a Miss Koltsova demanding to see you. She says she is a friend of Miss Heighton’s.’
‘I wonder how they found me?’ Maud said, amazed.
‘Slipped your leash, d
id you, Miss Heighton? Do you wish to speak to me alone? I can have Arthur stand outside the door with a truncheon to safeguard our privacy.’
Maud swallowed. ‘Tanya would not want me to come. But I have nothing to say to you I cannot say in front of her.’
‘Then let her come, Arthur!’ The Countess’s American accent had become a great deal more pronounced since she had entered the room. The butler cleared his throat. ‘What is it, Arthur?’
‘There is another . . . person with her.’
The Countess looked at Maud, one eyebrow raised.
‘Yvette, probably. She is a model.’
‘Well, Arthur, bring them all in. And a couple more glasses, I guess.’ He bowed and the Countess poured herself another drink. ‘Funny thing is, I thought today was going to be a really dull day.’
Yvette and Tanya were both ushered in and Arthur placed glasses for them on the table. He seemed to move with exaggerated slowness. Yvette was flushed and glaring at Maud. Tanya was all but bouncing out of her chair. The moment Arthur withdrew, stately as a swan in a tailcoat, Tanya began speaking in rapid French.
‘She is innocent. You cannot arrest her. She did nothing wrong.’
The Countess held up her hand again and the look she directed at Tanya was so fierce that even Yvette shrank away from her a little.
‘I wish to hell,’ the Countess said very distinctly and in English, ‘that people would stop telling me what didn’t happen and tell me what did. You two shut up and drink the brandy if you have a taste for it. Miss Heighton, explain yourself.’
She did. The words came uneasily at first, but the brandy smoothed her throat, and after the first few sentences, when she began to describe Sylvie taking opium and sending her out for supplies, they came fluently. She told the Countess of Mme Prideux and her accusations. To Maud it seemed that someone else was speaking. She heard her own words, calm, apparently well-chosen, but all she felt was that great black rage that washed over her every night as she slept. Her words floated above the sea of pain in her head. She told the Countess of the night she had been thrown in the river, her illness on waking and the help she had received from her friends, then she explained about writing her own letter to the Prideux family. She then passed the reply from Jean Prideux to the Countess and watched her read it in silence. Madame de Civray then handed the letter back to Maud and set her brandy glass on the table with a click. She proceeded to ask Yvette a question or two about events after Maud was dragged from the water. Tanya, very respectfully, told her of her own meeting with Morel in Passage des Panoramas.
‘Interesting. Yet, ladies, I have my tiara.’
‘But Madame,’ Yvette said – and it was strange to hear her speak English so carefully, her usual profanities and freedom buttoned up by the unfamiliar language – ‘are you sure that the tiare, it is the same as the one you lost?’
The Countess got up and went to her desk. ‘Miss, get this straight. I did not lose anything. That is one thing I am sure of.’ She picked up pen and paper and wrote something, then rang the bell for Arthur. The butler appeared at once. She met him in the doorway and there was a short conversation of which the girls heard nothing.
‘Why are you here, Maud?’ Tanya said in a whisper. ‘Sasha saw you from the motor as we passed Place Pigalle! Yvette said you’d be here, but I couldn’t believe you’d be that stupid.’
The Countess turned back into the room. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to wait a few minutes,’ she told them, then closed the door behind her.
‘Shit! She’s going for the police!’ Yvette said, knocking back the last of her brandy like a sailor. ‘I say we run.’
‘Where?’ Tanya hissed back. ‘She knows me. And look at the colour of Maud’s face. She couldn’t escape a tortoise if it really wanted to catch her.’
‘What’s your idea then, princess?’
‘I’m not running,’ Maud said simply before Tanya could reply. ‘I know I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t do anything else.’
‘Yes, you could have done,’ Yvette said brutally. ‘Look at you! You could have stayed in bed and waited until . . .’ She waved her hand in the air.
‘Until what, Yvette?’
‘Oh, I don’t know! Until we’d persuaded you to go home to England.’
Some thirty minutes passed. Maud was not sure if she was calm or simply exhausted. Tanya and Yvette were nervous. Yvette could not stay still and wandered around the room picking up one object then another until Tanya snapped at her. She did not stop, however, just handled the objects she picked up a little more carelessly when she knew Tanya was watching.
When the door finally opened again, the Countess was carrying a dark blue travelling case. Beside her was a thin, elderly man in a high starched collar with a thick white moustache and a slightly apprehensive air. He did not look like a policeman. He stared at the three women, obviously curious. Maud guessed what was in the case and looked away from it.
‘Monsieur Beauclerc, these ladies are friends of mine. You may speak frankly in front of them,’ the Countess said. M. Beauclerc looked startled at the prospect of speaking frankly in front of anyone. ‘Ladies, this is Monsieur Beauclerc from Maison Lacloche in Rue de la Paix.’ Her voice was still dry and controlled. She nodded Beauclerc onto the sofa and sat beside him, then placed the travel case in front of him on the veined marble table-top. ‘Tell me about this piece, sir.’
Beauclerc looked as if he thought some trick might be played on him, and he glanced hopefully at the Countess in case she might offer some more information, a little guidance. None seemed to be forthcoming, so he gave a tiny sigh, drew the case towards him and opened it. Then, having glanced at it briefly, turned to the Countess. Maud heard Tanya and Yvette inhale sharply. Of course, they had never seen the thing before. The sight of it seemed to pull Maud back into Rue de Seine and she felt thoroughly ill. Beauclerc’s voice when he spoke was pitched quite high, and oddly neat and precise for a Frenchman. Each word came out cut and brilliant.
‘This is the diamond tiara of Empress Eugénie, Countess. I know it, of course. We cleaned it for your father before he gave it to you as a wedding gift. The piece was designed and created by Bapst Frères in 1819 for Marie-Thérèse. It was made with jewels from the State Treasury so was returned to the State in 1848, then later became a favourite of Empress Eugénie, hence the name.’ He blinked owlishly.
Maud heard Yvette whimper. Another day, the sound might have amused her. The diamonds covered the tiara like frost on a winter hedgerow. The larger stones were like light captured and frozen – clarity held.
M. Beauclerc smiled slightly and turned the case towards Tanya and Yvette.
‘Is it heavy?’ Tanya asked.
He shook his head then looked, questioningly, at the Countess. She nodded and he pushed the case forward so Tanya could pick it up. Yvette crouched by her chair and with one nervous finger touched the glittering stones. M. Beauclerc continued to speak to the Countess.
‘After the founding of the Third Republic, many of the French crown jewels were sold at auction.’ He was relaxing into his role as narrator now and crossed his ankles. ‘The tiara was bought by Asprey in London, I believe, then passed into the hands of Tiffany, from where it was purchased by your father, as I understand it, Countess. The case I made myself, the old one having become really very shabby.’ He sounded so distressed at the idea that Tanya looked up briefly and smiled. ‘The grand stone is a golconda of the first water, some twenty-two carats in weight. Not the size of the fabled Royal Blue, of course, but some might think it superior, given the clarity and quality . . . of . . . its . . . cut.’
He had glanced towards the tiara that Tanya and Yvette were holding between them as he spoke, and his words slowed down. His face became white, then angry red patches appeared on his cheeks. He clicked his fingers and held out his hand, and Tanya passed the tiara over to him. As the Countess sat back and watched, he began to turn it in his hands, confusion and disgust making his movem
ents brittle; and his shoulders twitched as if he was receiving a series of electric shocks.
‘This . . . this was worn by the Queen of France,’ he hissed. ‘What foul outrage . . .’
The Countess raised her eyebrows, but he was too engaged in staring at the tiara to notice it. ‘Explain yourself, sir.’
‘These are fakes! The central stone and her larger sisters! The foliage scrolls still hold the original stones, perhaps . . .’ He covered his eyes with his hands as if the sight distressed him too much.
‘Try and contain your emotion, Monsieur Beauclerc,’ the Countess said. Her voice was so tight it sounded like a crack in the air.
‘My apologies, Madame. But the shock . . .’ He cleared his throat and Maud thought his eyes looked a little damp. ‘I would need more time to tell you exactly what has been taken and what remains. Madame, I would be grateful if you could explain—’
‘You will have to forgive me, Monsieur,’ the Countess interrupted. She stood and walked over to the window, and looked out into the garden at the rear of the house. ‘I’m a little short on information at the moment. Let me just say this. Someone took the tiara and a few days later returned it to me in its current condition.’
‘Then you have been robbed. We must summon the authorities.’
‘I have been robbed, sir – but the circumstances are complex. I ask you to keep this visit confidential.’
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