After a brief visit to the Pantheon with its massive dome and Corinthian columns to pay homage to those brilliant literary minds laid to rest there—among them Voltaire, Rousseau and Victor Hugo—they stopped to admire the ornate fountains and the red-tinged Obelisk of Luxor at the Place de la Concorde—even though Willie pointed out they had seen everything from the morning bus tour. And they practically raced through the Musée de Cluny’s collection of medieval works. It was a travesty really, not to spend more time in admiration of the tapestries and altar pieces and sculptures in alabaster and marble, but time was limited and Willie had a schedule to adhere to. It was late afternoon by the time they reached Notre Dame, on the Île de la Cité, the island where Paris began.
Even Willie was awed by the immensity and beauty of the gothic sanctuary. The vaulted ceiling rose more than a hundred feet above them, supported by some seventy-five round columns. The carved wood and stone reliefs were illuminated faintly by the filtered light from the stained glass of the magnificent rose windows. One couldn’t help but wonder at all those—the kings and emperors and commoners—who had through the centuries been baptized or wed or crowned or mourned here in this sacred place. One could almost feel the spirits and the history in the very air itself. In spite of the number of tourists milling about, there was a sense of serenity and peace that belied the turbulent desecration that marked the cathedral’s long history. The girls too seemed subdued by the grandeur and the stillness of Notre Dame.
Once they had adjourned to the grand plaza in front of the cathedral, Willie addressed the group. “Now then, time was allocated for us to ascend to the gallery between the towers on the top of the cathedral. This is our last stop before we need to return to the hotel. I for one would very much like to climb to the top.” She glanced at her guidebook. “It’s a scant three hundred and seventy-eight steps and the view of Paris is reputed to be the best in the city.”
“Unless, of course, one counts the new Eiffel Tower.” A subtle challenge sounded in Harriet’s voice, not the first today. Apparently, challenging Willie was to be Harriet’s new purpose in life, in obvious retaliation for Willie spoiling her plans last night. Dante or—better yet—her mother needed to have a firm talk with the girl. “Surely, as it is so much higher than a mere church, the view is much better. And we’ve already seen that view.”
“It’s scarcely a mere church,” Willie said. “It’s considered one of the most noteworthy cathedrals in all of Europe. Why, it took nearly two hundred years to complete. The towers themselves are...” Willie’s brow furrowed.
“Approximately six hundred and forty years old,” Dante supplied.
Willie threw him an appreciative look and continued. “This is a view the people of Paris and visitors have enjoyed for hundreds of years. We would be remiss if we did not avail ourselves of the opportunity to see this city as so many have done before us.”
“I’m not sure I want to climb three hundred and seventy-eight steps,” Tillie said in an aside to her sister. “No matter how mere they are or how grand the view.”
“We could go to the morgue,” Harriet suggested innocently. He knew that look. He had seen it on her mother. “It’s nearby.”
“A morgue?” Marian gasped. “I don’t think that’s at all appropriate.”
“It’s in my guidebook, Mother,” Geneva said. “Apparently, bodies of those unknown persons who have perished in the river or wherever are laid on marble slabs cooled by flowing water. They’re on display in the clothes they were found in.”
Marian turned a horrified look on her daughter, “And you wish to see this?”
“I don’t. I’d much rather climb to the top of the towers. But if the others want to go...” Geneva shrugged.
“I do.” Excitement rang in Emma’s voice. “I think it sounds...educational.”
“I want to see it too,” Tillie joined in.
“Perhaps we should vote on where we go next?” Harriet glanced at the other girls. “Rule by democracy and all that.”
“You can vote on whatever you want,” Roz said. “I for one have no desire to see the dead unknowns of Paris.”
“Well then—” Harriet shook her head “—it seems to me the only thing to do is—”
“While climbing the towers is on our schedule, if most of you wish to go elsewhere—” Willie shrugged “—we will miss the view, of course, and the bells...”
“I think the only thing to do is divide and conquer,” Dante said quickly. It would be a dreadful shame if Willie didn’t see the great bell Emmanuel that was Quasimodo’s favorite. “We can meet back here in, oh, say an hour.”
“Half an hour,” Willie said under her breath. “We do have a schedule to keep.”
“I think three-quarters of an hour will probably do. If the girls really want to see the morgue, I’ll go with them. The rest of you can climb the towers.” Jane glanced at Roz. “If you agree.”
Roz cast Jane a grateful smile. “Of course.”
“We don’t need a chaperone.” Harriet glared. “We can go by ourselves.”
“Nonsense,” Jane said firmly. “I can’t think of anything more interesting than seeing the unclaimed dead of Paris. Why, the ladies at the literary society back home will be fascinated.” She nodded, hooked her elbow through Harriet’s and started off. “Come along, girls. We would hate to keep the dead waiting.”
“Good Lord, Mother,” Emma said under her breath.
“I know I want to be at the next literary society meeting.” Tillie snorted.
The twins followed their mother and Harriet while he and the others entered the north door of the cathedral. They proceeded up a stone spiral staircase, rather dim and somewhat tight to his way of thinking. After a brief climb, they paused in a fair-sized, high-ceilinged chamber then resumed their march up yet another set of spiral stairs. Geneva led the group with Willie right on her heels. Dante was next with Marian and Roz trailing behind. If one had a fear of tight spaces, he would not recommend this venture. It might have been an illusion but it did seem the space grew narrower with every step.
“I don’t suppose anyone is counting these steps.” Marian’s voice drifted up to him. “Surely we’re almost to the top. How many more steps are there?”
He couldn’t hear Roz’s response but it wasn’t necessary. He could well imagine what his sister thought of the endless climb upward.
At last sunlight appeared ahead. Geneva fairly bounded into the light followed quickly by Willie although how they still had the energy to do so was beyond him. Dante considered himself fairly fit but this climb was a challenge for anyone. Nonetheless, he reached the narrow terrace that stretched between the towers with no more than a slight breathlessness. Fortunately, there was no one else on the walkway as it was perhaps no deeper than ten feet. Geneva and Willie immediately headed for the belfry in the south tower to see the great bell. Dante decided it was best to wait for his sister and a few minutes later Roz and Marian staggered onto the walkway.
He studied the two women with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Marian waved off his question. “Thank you for asking.” She and Roz leaned on each other and sagged against the railing.
“The dead are looking better and better,” Roz muttered.
“But the view.” Awe rang in Marian’s voice.
It was indeed well worth the climb. The city of Paris stretched out beneath them in an endless panorama. It had been magnificent from the Eiffel Tower but here, on top of the ancient cathedral, one felt as if one was seeing Paris through the eyes of all who had come before.
The Seine wound its way through the city, a giant snake trapped by the more than two dozen arched stone bridges connecting one side of the city to the other. The rooftops and buildings blended in muted shades of stone and slate. One could see all the Île de la Cité and the towers of
the great and ageless churches of the city: Saint-Severin and Sainte-Chapelle and the Basilica of Saint Clotilde. Here too was the Arc de Triomphe and the Louvre and Palais de Justice and the broad roof of the classically styled Madeleine. And rising in the distance, above all the time-worn monuments of Paris, the Eiffel Tower stood watch over the city. A graceful iron testament to man’s progress, silhouetted against the late-afternoon sky. Willie was right. It was a shame it was not intended to stand forever. And all within view—the old and the new—was framed by the chimera. Grotesque, mythical stone creatures—demons and birds and monsters; some half man, half beast; others truly unidentifiable as to species—glowering out over the city. One could also observe at close quarters the intricately executed stonework of the cathedral itself and the gargoyles, jutting with open mouths from the wall beneath them.
Roz stared at a nearby chimera and shuddered. “No wonder they called it the Dark Ages.”
“On the contrary, Roz,” Dante corrected, “work on the cathedral began in the twelfth century, the middle ages or the medieval period if you prefer.”
“I don’t care.”
He ignored her. “And while the gargoyles are original and designed to serve as drain spouts to keep the ravages of rain water away from the building, the chimera were added only about twenty years ago as part of a restoration effort.”
“How...fascinating,” Marian murmured.
Roz’s brows drew together. “Is it any wonder that you are not my favorite brother?”
He smiled. “I am your only brother.”
“Then my point is made,” she said sharply. “Do you know everything about everything?”
“Probably.” He chuckled.
“Lord save me from intelligent men,” she muttered.
“I myself prefer a man who simply thinks he’s intelligent,” Marian said casually. “My husband is an excellent example. The man might well be brilliant when it comes to business but in all other aspects of life he is...”
Roz stared at the other woman as if she hadn’t decided whether to agree or smack her and Dante took the opportunity to slip away. He refused to miss Willie’s reaction to Emmanuelle.
Geneva stepped out of the belfry door just as he reached it.
“Was the bell as impressive as expected, Miss Henderson?” He offered the girl a pleasant smile.
“It was a bell, Mr. Montague.” She studied him as if his intelligence was in doubt. “A very big bell but a bell nonetheless.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “More, I suppose. Something to recall a tragic love story that never existed other than in fiction.”
“You’re speaking of The Hunchback?”
She nodded.
“It’s one of Lady Bascombe’s favorites, as well.”
“Yes, she told me. She too seemed rather disappointed.”
“It is just a bell,” he said gently.
“I know and it’s just a story. But...” She met his gaze directly. “Don’t you ever want things to be, well, more than they really are?”
He considered her for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“I’m just being silly about this.” She shrugged.
“Not at all,” he said staunchly. “The mark of great literature is that the story stays with us forever. Indeed, we are so moved by it, it’s hard to believe it never truly happened.”
“What an interesting way to look at it.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You may well be right.”
He nodded a bow and bit back a smile. “Thank you, Miss Henderson.” He started around her toward the belfry.
“Mr. Montague?”
“Yes?”
“Could I have a word with you?” She glanced at her mother and lowered her voice. “Privately?”
“Of course.”
Geneva moved to the farthest point of the gallery away from her mother and Roz and lowered her voice. “May I ask you something? About Lady Bascombe?”
“Certainly.”
“Is she...” Geneva struggled to find the right words. “Well, is she disreputable?”
He frowned. “Why would you ask that?”
“Harry says she has a scandalous reputation and her mother never would have agreed to come on this trip with her if you hadn’t insisted.”
“Harriet said that, did she?”
Geneva nodded.
“Did she say anything else?”
“Not directly.” Geneva paused, obviously debating exactly how much she wanted to reveal. “But she did imply you were quite taken with Lady Bascombe. Which she said was to be expected as your heart had been broken—”
“My heart was not broken,” he said in a sharper tone than he had intended. But really—this again?
“Oh.” Geneva started. “And your pride? Harry said it was crushed.”
He heaved a frustrated sigh. No, he couldn’t leave this up to his sister. He would have to talk to her villainous offspring himself. “I assure you nothing was either broken or crushed.”
“Good.” She smiled. “You seem very nice. It would be a shame if you were hurt by some vixen.”
“While I do appreciate your concern, you may rest easy knowing I was not hurt, although I will admit that while my pride was not crushed it might have been the tiniest bit bruised. Quite honestly, Geneva, when all was said and done, I counted myself most fortunate.” He leaned closer and spoke quietly into her ear. “The vixen was not as nice as she had first appeared.”
Geneva giggled.
Dante straightened and smiled. “As for Lady Bascombe, she and her late husband did have a rather interesting reputation as a couple. But I can truthfully say I have never heard anything truly scandalous about Lady Bascombe herself.”
Geneva breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. I think she’s wonderful.”
He nodded and tried not to grin. “As do I.”
Geneva studied him curiously then her eyes widened in realization. “Oh, I see.”
“What do you see?” he asked cautiously.
“Nothing.” She shook her head and pressed her lips together as if to keep the words from coming out but her eyes sparked with amusement. “Nothing at all.”
“Miss Henderson—”
“If you will excuse me, Mr. Montague, I need to join my mother.” She peered around him. “It appears Lady Richfield has made her escape and I’m certain my mother has any number of fascinating observations.” She grinned. “We would hate for her to accost some unsuspecting tourist.”
“I see your point,” he murmured but she had already skirted around him to join her mother.
He glanced around the walkway but didn’t spot his sister. Entirely possible she had gone into the belfry to see Emmanuelle. Or to hide. Willie stood by the stone railing on the far side of the walkway staring out over the city. He started toward her then stopped. She gazed in the direction of the Eiffel Tower and shaded her eyes against the sun with her hand. The light caught the errant strands of fair hair that had escaped from her overly pert hat and danced around her face in the faint breeze, turning them to threads of gold. It was as if she were a figurehead on a ship, facing the next voyage, heading to parts unknown.
She appeared deep in thought and he was reluctant to disturb her. Her expression was at once serene and determined. What was she thinking? Was she considering what she would do after she retrieved the Portinari? Or contemplating her next step in life? Or perhaps thinking about him? It was a surprisingly delightful idea.
“You’re going to have to tell her the truth, you know.” His sister’s quiet voice sounded behind him. “About the painting, I mean.”
“I knew what you meant.” He blew a long breath. “I have already come to that conclusion.” He hadn’t but as s
oon as he said the words he knew he had no other choice. He turned to face her. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
Roz arched a skeptical brow. “We leave for Monaco tonight and are there for four nights, then two nights in Genoa, two in Verona and then we are in Venice. That right moment had best come quickly.”
“I know.”
Roz hesitated, her gaze searching his. “As much as this is none of my concern—”
“Although that has never stopped you before.”
She ignored him. “Honesty is almost always best. You know that as well as I. It’s obvious you have feelings for this woman. You may wish to tell her that, as well.”
It was pointless to deny it. “And what do you suggest I tell her about first?”
“I would never presume to tell you that, my dear brother.” Roz shook her head. “Besides, it seems to me that regardless of what path you choose, you run the distinct risk of losing both the painting and the lady.”
His jaw tightened. “I am well aware of that.”
“As long as you’re aware of it.” She studied him curiously. “I have never seen you the least bit indecisive before. It’s rather disconcerting. As if the sun rose in the west instead of the east.”
“My apologies.”
“I truly have no idea what you confess first but I do know it will soon be too late.”
“I am not indecisive.” He scoffed.
“Good. Then you won’t mind this at all.” She smiled wickedly and called to the others. “Marian? Geneva?” Her smile was now a decided smirk. “My brother needs to have a few words with Willie so I suggest we start down before them.” She waved them toward the stairs.
Dante clenched his teeth. “Rosalind.”
“We shall see the two of you when we are back on firm earth and the word plummet is not constantly repeating in my head,” she said over her shoulder.
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 15
