Lord Edward's Mysterious Treasure

by Lillian Marek

  “As you like it. I enjoy both. But should you not be drinking mineral water?”

  Tony gave that remark all the attention it deserved, poured himself a glass and slid the decanter to Ned before pulling out his cigarette case. He paused and said, “Do you prefer cigars? I am afraid I have none to offer.”

  “Quite all right. I’m not wedded to that habit either. But I would appreciate some explanations. Your letter mentioned cousins, but I thought your family was ‘only son of an only son’ all the way back. Where did these cousins come from? Are they some mysterious long-lost sisters?” Ned leaned back and prepared to listen.

  “As you may have surmised, Delphine and Marguerite are not particularly close cousins—at least, not close to me. My mother had to explain the family tree to me when the old man invited me here.

  “Their great-grandmother was the sister of my great-grandfather—the old gentleman upstairs. The old man and his sister were the only members of the family to survive the Revolution.

  “After they fled to England, the sister, like a good little girl, married one of the other émigré nobles. They had one daughter, another good little girl, and she married another French nobleman—this one wasn’t completely impoverished and managed to regain some property here. All very French and very expected. And then they had two daughters.”

  Tony grinned and winked. “That was when things changed. One of them—Marguerite’s mother—was not such a good little girl. She ran off with a musician. Her family, especially her father, took great exception to this, my mother tells me, and made such a racket that even my branch of the family heard about it. It seems her papa took enormous pride in his noble heritage and had, besides, plans to make a profitable marriage for her. At any rate, she was disowned with great drama.

  “The other sister—Delphine’s mother—was more dutiful and married another French nobleman of her parents’ choosing. These two girls are close to each other, though, despite the dramatics surrounding their mothers. And they are both far more French than I.”

  “So then Marguerite, Mlle. Benda, is a companion to Mlle. de Roncaille?” Ned frowned. “Somehow, that was not the impression I had of their relationship.”

  “And you should not. The parents were as foolish in their choices as parents often are. It seems that the musician was actually quite successful, a violinist. You know about that sort of thing. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  “Benda? Do you mean Matthias Benda?”

  “Yes, that’s the name.”

  “But he’s known all over Europe. They talk of him as the heir to Paganini. Complaining about him as a son-in-law would be like complaining about having Michelangelo or Raphael in the family. Were her parents fools?” Ned was thunderstruck. “I heard him play a few years ago when I was in Paris. It was an extraordinary experience. There was a woman accompanying him on the piano?”

  Tony nodded. “Yes, that would have been Marguerite’s mother. And the last year or two, ever since her mother died, Marguerite accompanied him herself.”

  Ned shook his head in silent amazement. It was difficult to imagine that cold, stern creature producing music.

  “De Roncaille, on the other hand, was a dissolute spendthrift who ran through both his own fortune and his wife’s dowry,” Tony continued. “Then he died and left her and their daughter penniless. They had to take refuge with the Bendas.”

  Ned’s head snapped up. “Good Lord! That poor child. When did this happen?”

  Tony shrugged. “Some years ago, I think. I only know what I heard from my mother. And it seems that not long after that, both sisters died.”

  “Worse and worse.” Ned shook his head. “And Mme. d’Hivers? I heard Mlle. Benda call her Tante Héloise. She is their aunt?”

  Another shrug from Tony. “I don’t think she’s actually a relative—more of a courtesy aunt. I believe she came to live with the Bendas after her husband died. From what they’ve said, I gather that she’s been with the family since Marguerite was a child. Benda seems to have had a tendency to pick up strays. Have you noticed Horace?”

  “Horace?”

  “That big fellow who follows them around.”

  “Oh, yes.” Ned nodded. “I wondered who he was. Or what he was. A servant?”

  “Not precisely.” Tony wriggled in his seat, picked up his port and took a sip, rolling it meditatively around in his mouth. “I don’t know what to say he is, to tell you the truth. Have you had a good look at him?”

  “No, I’ve only seen him from a distance.”

  “Well, he’s a bit simple. At least I think that’s what he is. Apparently Benda picked him up off the street years ago when he was quite young. Some older boys were tormenting him or teasing him or some such. I don’t know precisely. Anyway, Benda discovered that the boy was an orphan so he took him in. He’s been with them ever since.”

  “A kindly action.” Ned wondered if he should have made that a question.

  An uncomfortable grimace crossed Tony’s face, but he continued, “I’m sure it was but…I can’t help it. He makes me uncomfortable. I know they tell me he’s always been protective of Marguerite, and he certainly follows Delphine around with an absolutely dogged devotion. Still…” He threw up his hands. “There’s something odd. I can’t explain it.”

  Having barely glimpsed the fellow, Ned was not inclined to try to explain it either. Instead he shook his head and asked, “Why not send him back to stay with Benda?”

  “You didn’t know?” Tony was taken aback. “I hadn’t realized…but then, why would you? There were so many deaths. Benda was killed during the fighting in Paris in May when the army moved in. That is why Marguerite is in mourning.” He shrugged regretfully.

  Ned looked at Tony in shock. “They were in Paris when it was besieged? And during the Commune? That young girl? ” He was appalled by the danger Mlle. de Roncaille had faced. As reported in the English papers, the violence had been horrifying and indiscriminate, and the siege had meant near-starvation for the residents of the city.

  Tony shot a sarcastic glance at Ned. “I gather they managed to shield Delphine pretty well. At least it doesn’t seem to have distressed her greatly. Marguerite and Madame are the ones who have nightmares. Hence Madame’s outburst at dinner.”

  Ned was not appeased. “Why didn’t someone get them out?”

  “Don’t start looking at me accusingly,” Tony snapped. “At that time I didn’t even know they existed, and I’m not sure the old man did either. Who knows what he thinks about anything? After things had calmed down, he summoned them here to the chateau. Now he has us all under his roof, and I’m not really sure why.

  “The only sense I can make of his maunderings is that there is some treasure hidden away and for some reason or other, it is important to him that we all be here—presumably to hunt for it. I’m hoping that treasure is something that will finance a steel plant—or persuade him to do so—and that you will help me find it.”

  Chapter Four

  “An English lord. Lord Edward Tremaine.” Delphine smiled happily as she twirled around in the small sitting room she shared with her cousin. “He is handsome, is he not? He has blue eyes, like mine. A bit darker, perhaps, but that is good.”

  “He has the eyes of an innocent,” Marguerite said. “The eyes of one who has been sheltered all his life and has never had to look on the reality of the world.”

  “You should not talk so.” Delphine paused before a mirror to take an admiring look at her smile. “It makes you sound bitter.”

  Marguerite held her tongue. What, after all, could she say? Denial would be pointless.

  “But he is handsome,” Delphine continued. “His hair is dark and thick, and he is tall enough. Not elegant as a Frenchman would be, though he could doubtless be taught. Of course, it will be only an English title I have when I marry him. Lady Tremaine.” She shrugged. “It does not sound too bad.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Marguerite closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.
She had promised Maman, and she would keep her promise. But it was not easy. She was so tired of having to rein in Delphine, of trying to keep the girl calm. So tired of trying to make her behave sensibly. So tired. “You are not going to marry him, Delphine,” she said gently.

  “Why not? I could if I chose to.” She smiled smugly. “He is almost in love with me already. He could not take his eyes from me. Even you must have seen that.”

  Of course Marguerite had seen. Delphine was enchantingly pretty, and men always fell under her spell at first.

  “You know…” Marguerite sighed. No, Delphine did not know. She did not understand. She would never understand. Another tack was necessary. “He is not really an English lord.”

  “But of course he is. Antoine introduced us. He is Lord Edward Tremaine.”

  “That is just a courtesy title. He is a younger son. His father is a marquess, but he has an older brother who will inherit the title.”

  “He is a younger son?” Delphine could not keep the disappointment from her voice. “How do you know this?”

  “Tante Héloise spoke with his valet.”

  Delphine sniffed. “Servants’ gossip.”

  “Not gossip. Information.”

  A distressed frown crossed Delphine’s face, but she quickly recovered. “No matter. An older brother might die.”

  Marguerite inhaled sharply. Delphine must not be allowed to think that way. She tried to speak, but could not immediately find the right words.

  Delphine waved aside the unspoken protest. “But it is true. One never knows what the future may hold.”

  That was only too true, but Marguerite strove to keep her tone calm. “No, Delphine, no. You must not think that way. There may be a dozen older brothers, and they may all have sons of their own. You do not want to think of him. After all, he is an Englishman, and you are French.”

  Delphine tilted her head and looked thoughtful. “Yes, that is true. I am of the true nobility, la noblesse ancienne. I would not want to contract a mésalliance. My situation is not like yours.”

  Marguerite steeled herself for what was coming.

  “I do not understand why you rejected the comte de Louvois.” Delphine smiled slyly. “I know he is no longer young, but his lineage is impeccable.”

  Marguerite’s head was throbbing. Rubbing her temples was useless. She wanted only to lie down in a dark room and wrap herself in silence, but she could not. Not yet. “You know he was not offering marriage.” Just remembering the comte, his full lips and cold eyes, evaluating her, as if balancing the price he was willing to pay and the price she might accept, made the bile rise in her throat.

  “Of course not. Given your parents, you could hardly expect that.” Delphine moved a lamp to the table in front of the mirror, She had picked up a shawl and viewed herself in different poses, draping it in slightly varied folds. “Still, an alliance with a comte, even without marriage, would move you into higher circles, though not the highest.”

  Had the girl absolutely no concept of what she was talking about? Marguerite wanted to scream, but forced the words through clenched jaws instead. “He thought I would have no choice after Papa died. No matter that I disliked him, that I had told him so—I think my dislike pleased him in some way.” She would never be able to make Delphine understand how the very sight of him revolted her. The thought of those fat fingers touching her made her skin crawl.

  Delphine sniffed. “At least you would no longer have embarrassed me by performing in public.”

  Marguerite turned away. There was no way to explain, no way that Delphine would comprehend. If the invitation from the vicomte, the invitation to come here, had not appeared, what would she have done? What could she have done? She had been desperate. Delphine, Tante Héloise, Horace—they were all her responsibility now.

  This unexpected invitation had offered a respite, but that was all it was—a respite. It solved none of her problems. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach as it did whenever she thought about the future.

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter Five

  Mlle. de Roncaille fluttered into the breakfast room, followed once again by her dark shadows, Mlle. Benda and Mme. d’Hivers. Her smiles and pink ruffles were all the more delightful against the black robes and stern faces of her companions. Ned rose to his feet to seat her while a footman took care of the other two.

  She rewarded him with an even more brilliant smile over her shoulder as she settled herself. “I am so glad that you are here, Lord Edward.”

  Ned returned to the other side of the table, the better to look at her. “And I am delighted to be here in such enchanting company, Mlle. de Roncaille.” His smile caught briefly when he heard a quiet snort from Mme. d’Hivers but he did not look away.

  “Mlle. de Roncaille, no, you must not call me that. It is much too formal when we are all living here at the chateau. You must call me Delphine, and I will call you Edward.”

  Her smile was irresistible. “I would be honored,” he said.

  “And Marguerite too, of course,” she continued, waving a hand at her cousin.

  “Of course,” replied Mlle. Benda dryly. She looked at Ned and shrugged. “Attempting to maintain formality would be futile once Delphine has decided against it.”

  Ned suspected that the bow of agreement he gave to Mlle. Benda—Marguerite—might be too formal, but really, the woman did not invite informality despite her words. She had, he supposed, a sort of beauty, but it was a stern, almost fierce beauty with her strong features and proud carriage.

  They were such unlikely cousins. Where Delphine’s blonde curls danced around her face, Marguerite’s dark—almost black—locks were pulled back harshly into a severe bun. Delphine’s eyes were of a guileless blue; Marguerite’s were fathomless dark pools. There could be a hundred—a thousand—secrets hidden behind those eyes.

  But perhaps it was not their looks that made them seem so different. Delphine was all softness and sweetness, the sort of delicate creature a man instinctively sought to protect. Marguerite—he would try to think of her by that name—seemed surrounded by a hedge of prickles, fierce and independent. If she had red hair, she would make a good Boadicea.

  His mother and sisters would probably like her. At least they might like her if she ever smiled again.

  Ned felt that shiver run down his spine.

  He turned back to Delphine. “Tony told me that you were in Paris during the siege. That must have been dreadful for you.”

  “Oh, it was. It was simply horrible. At the start, it was exciting, though. I went out to the ramparts with friends, and we could see the Prussian army in the distance. I had seen officers before that, of course, but it was different to see a real army.”

  “Especially when they began to shoot,” said Marguerite.

  “Surely not.” Ned was shocked. “They would not shoot at women.”

  Marguerite shot a contemptuous glance at him. “They were besieging the city, bombarding the walls. Do you think they were particularly worried if their shells hit sightseeing fools?”

  Ned felt like an idiot. Of course she was talking about the bombardment, but somehow he had imagined soldiers shooting rifles at the people on the walls. Surely no sniper would ever harm a delightful creature like Delphine.

  “And it was so difficult to get food,” Delphine continued as if there had been no interruption. “Some of the poor even ate horsemeat.”

  Mme. d’Hivers and Marguerite rolled their eyes.

  “Even worse,” said Delphine, “They killed some of the animals from the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes, and butchers were selling the meat. Truly. The English butcher on the Boulevard Haussmann was selling parts of Pollux. He was the elephant that used to give people rides. It was so sad.” Tears of tender sympathy threatened to fill those blue eyes, and the rosebud mouth quivered.

  “Delphine.” There was a warning note in Mme. d’Hivers’ voice.

  Delphine ignored her, but the threat of tears rece
ded. “Things got so expensive, and it was so difficult to buy food, that Marguerite sold my pearls. She insisted on taking them no matter what I said. I couldn’t stop her.” The girl’s voice started to rise, and her eyes flashed. “Even when I said that she could sell her brooch instead, but she wouldn’t.”

  “Delphine!” The warning note had sharpened. “You know perfectly well that Marguerite had already sold all the rest of her jewels and her mother’s jewels.”

  “But I miss my pearls. It was cruel to take them from me.” Delphine’s voice softened, and her mouth pursed in a pretty pout. “We didn’t even need all the money, because a week later it was all over.”

  “Yes, it was all over,” Marguerite said, her voice barely audible. She rose and hurried from the room. Mme. d’Hivers went to follow but not before she snapped at Delphine, “Pearls can be replaced.”

  Delphine looked startled at the reprimand, so Ned commented gently, “You forget that Marguerite lost her father in that last week.”

  “Yes, I know that, but he was old, and it was all so silly.”

  “Silly?” That was not a word he could imagine associating with a death.

  “The whole thing was silly. What did it matter to any of us? I just wanted to be able to go shopping again, and see the handsome soldiers in their uniforms.” The pout had returned. “My uncle wasn’t involved in the fighting, but he made us all stay inside for days and days while it was going on. We weren’t even allowed to go near the windows to see what was happening. And after all that, when it was almost over, a shot came through the window and hit him.”

  She spoke with the callousness of a child. Ned reminded himself that she was very young, but he still had to reprimand her gently. “It must have been terrible for Marguerite to lose her father that way.”

  Delphine frowned slightly. “I don’t think she can have been terribly upset. She hardly cried at all. She just sat there for ages, holding him in her lap. And afterward, she would sit staring at nothing for days and days.” She took a bite of her croissant.