"Exactly," d'Anglars replied. "The Duke of Kent was the next in line after the Duke of Clarence - the present King. "His daughter Victoria became the immediate heir to the throne after he died."
"And she is a child," Malet said reflectively.
"Thirteen or fourteen, I believe," d'Anglars said.
"Hm," said Malet. "And who succeeds her if she dies?"
D'Anglars sat back with a frown. "The next in line is the Duke of Cumberland," he said after a moment's thought. "He is not well liked or trusted by the English people. When King William dies Cumberland will inherit the kingdom of Hanover, even if Victoria survives, since Hanover does not recognize the right of women to inherit the throne."
"And who inherits after Cumberland?" Malet asked.
"Edmund, the Duke of Rochester," d'Anglars replied.
"Something of a black sheep, perhaps?" Malet suggested. "Cards, women, fast horses?"
"You could say that," d'Anglars admitted.
"Just as I thought," Malet said. He gazed off into space with his eyes narrowed. "I wonder..." he said.
"Yes?"
"Can a man inherit the English throne if he is clearly implicated in a murder?"
"I don't know," d'Anglars said slowly. "He might forfeit his right to inherit."
Malet turned away from the mantel and went silently back to his chair.
D'Anglars watched him. "What are you implying?" he asked.
Malet smiled and sat back. "I dined recently with the woman who was Dracquet's mistress for a time. She gave me some valuable information on the man, and one of the items I found very interesting was the fact that Dracquet has close ties in England with the Duke of Rochester and his household. When Rochester visited France incognito in 1831, he stayed at a house Constant Dracquet owns in the Faubourg Saint‑Germain. Dracquet's mistress acted as hostess on that occasion."
"But even if Rochester were to arrange the assassination of his niece through that villain Dracquet, how would it benefit him?" demanded d'Anglars. "He doesn't stand to inherit."
"He could gain two thrones," Malet replied, "providing matters were set up in such a way as to implicate the Duke of Cumberland. Dracquet's an excellent conniver, and they'd reach an arrangement between them that would enable them to achieve both their aims. Or so Rochester would think. But I believe Dracquet would double-cross him."
D'Anglars sat forward. "How?" he asked.
Malet frowned down at his folded arms. "Dracquet has connections to the munitions manufacturers. Things would be arranged in such a way as to cause a war. I am not sure Rochester would want to agree to that. If Cumberland were barred from the succession, and if Rochester became king, Dracquet would be able to blackmail a king for the rest of his life. If Rochester tried to free himself by having Cumberland killed, it would only be fuel for the fire. And however powerful the king of England is, I don't think he would be able to beat Dracquet at the assassination game."
"Impressive," d'Anglars admitted. "And that would certainly explain the presence of this assassin, Pierre le Noir, in Dracquet's household for the moment."
"There's no question of it. That is the plot that Saint‑Légère sensed. That is what Dracquet's after. Everything fits in. Even this." He handed d'Anglars the coin that d'Arthez had put into his hand. "Do you know what it is?" he asked.
D'Anglars turned it over. "An English guinea," he said. "Minted this year."
"That is correct. Gilles d'Arthez was given it as a tip by a man who spoke with a pronounced English accent and bore a strong resemblance to the face on the coin. Yes," he said at D'Anglars's expression. "Rochester himself is in Paris and staying with Dracquet in Montmartre. If there's anything that would clinch the argument, this is it. And Dracquet's mistress heard an interesting snatch of conversation two years ago... Now we know what Dracquet's after, and why Le Noir is returned from the dead. He is hunting royalty."
"You have convinced me as to Dracquet's purpose," d'Anglars said thoughtfully, "But I am not so sure about Le Noir."
"What do you mean?" Malet asked.
"You forget one last variable," d'Anglars said. "You forget that there can be a multiplicity of reasons for the presence of a particular player in a game."
Malet was frankly skeptical. "And what is the second reason?" he asked.
"You have been watching Constant Dracquet for a long time and now you are after him," said d'Anglars. "You have made no secret of your purpose, and he's afraid of you. He has sent messages inviting your attendance at various meals, and he has taken care to be courteous about it. If you are unaware of your own menace, I promise you that he is not."
D'Anglars looked straight at Malet and added, "You may have renounced the title thirty years ago, M. le Dauphin, but if this plot concerns royalty, then I recommend that you look carefully to your own safety."
XXXII
WALKING IN THE RAIN
Elise frowned up at the rain and gathered her skirts more closely about her. It had come on to rain very suddenly, and she was caught without an umbrella, far from home, with her arms full of packages. She had been fortunate to find this doorway in which to take shelter, but if the rain did not ease shortly, she would be forced to acknowledge defeat and head home in the downpour.
She sighed and leaned back against the wall. She was just off the Rue Drouot, too far from the Rose d'Or to hope to be able to run there. And she had no money. Her supper the night before with Inspector Malet, coming on the heels of her ride in the park with him, had confirmed her suspicion that her wardrobe was in sad need of refurbishing. She wanted to be pretty for him, and she had been embarrassed to appear before him on both occasions in dresses that predated his none‑too‑recent arrival in Paris. She had set some money aside for herself, and she had decided to use it to purchase cloth for four new gowns. She had gone toward the heart of Paris to buy the finest silks she could afford, had overspent her budget, and had started to walk home.
And now she was trapped in the rain.
People passed before her. Some turned curious eyes on her, but she hugged her packages closer to herself and ignored them. She fixed her eyes on the dark sky and wondered when the rain would stop.
"Mme. de Clichy?"
The voice had come from right beside her. She started and looked up to see Chief Inspector Malet standing before her, gazing at her with surprised disbelief. He was carrying a large umbrella of oiled black silk.
"Paul!" she said.
"What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Waiting for the rain to end, of course, M'sieur," she replied. "And how did you come by an umbrella?"
"I generally look at the sky," Malet said. "If it looks as though it might be coming on to rain, I carry one with me. And that is why I am not at this moment huddling beneath a none‑too‑clean lintel and wondering when it will clear." He shook some water from the umbrella and added kindly, "Would you care to share this with me?"
She laughed up at him from the shelter of the doorway and said, "I will ignore the rebuke - though it was kindly phrased! - and accept the pleasure of your escort."
Malet stepped away from the doorway and held the umbrella over her. "If you'll carry my stick," he said, "I will take your packages. Good heavens! What are in these? Next time you might consider taking along a wheelbarrow, since I think these might weigh as much as I do."
"Stop it!" she said. "They're just some lengths of fabric - "
"Chain mail, perhaps?" he suggested.
She chuckled and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Hardly," she said. "Just some silk." Her fingertips smoothed the fabric of Malet's sleeve and she added, "I also ordered some good wool for coats. I wish I could find some cashmere like this. I looked, but there was none to be found, and Alcide needs a coat badly. Poor boy! He'd like to be a dandy, but he hasn't the money."
"You might tell him that it's no shame to buy from the used clothing merchants at the Carreau du Temple. Quite a few impeccable people do so, with no disgrace to the
m."
"Yourself among them?" Elise asked, quizzing him.
He replied seriously. "I did at one time, when I was first on my own. I had nothing when I left Toulon prison. Cheat‑Death and his creatures had given me a great deal of money, expecting me to set myself up as the new Cheat‑Death, but I left it sitting just inside the gate. I didn't want anything of theirs. My salary wasn't very generous, though it was more than I was accustomed to getting. The Police provided me with two uniforms, but I was responsible for everything else. I had no choice but to dress from the ragpickers for a while."
"Did it embarrass you?" Elise asked.
Malet smiled a little. "Maybe it did," he said. "Just a little. But you must remember that I was just fifteen, fresh from a prison, and looking at middle‑class respectability as though it were as unreachable as the evening star. I was shy of them - the used clothing merchants - at first. I went to them alone and ashamed, not knowing what to buy or what to pay. All I had was my uniform. I didn't even know what were the proper undergarments to wear. One of the standholders took me in hand and fitted me out in some decent clothing, and led me to a mirror to look at myself."
Malet's eyes shone with the memory, even after thirty years. "My clothes in the prison had been little better than rags," he said. "These were far grander than I's ever dreamed. It was the first time I's seen myself in a mirror. I thought, looking at myself, that I's done right to leave Cheat‑Death behind, that maybe I really could become like a gentleman, and my birth might one day be invisible to everyone but me..."
He looked down at Elise with a reminiscent smile that faded as he saw the shine of tears in her eyes. "My dear!" he exclaimed. "What is this?"
She dabbed at her eyes. "Poor little boy!" she said.
"I was a grown man at that point. At least in the eyes of the law. I could take care of myself."
"But it's such a shame that you had to. That there was no one for you to come home to, to spoil you a little, to worry about whether you had new clothing to wear instead of someone else's castoffs."
Malet's brows drew together slightly, but he smiled at Elise and merely said, "That was long ago and far away. Will you buy Alcide a cashmere coat?"
"If I can," said Elise. "He's a good boy, and I have come to think highly of him. Claude was my father's groom, and he recommended Alcide to me. But the cloth isn't available, so that ends that."
"I will give you the name of my tailor," said Malet. "He can find the fabric for you, if you have your heart set on it." He ignored her thanks and said, "Let us return to an earlier subject: why weren't you sitting snug and dry in a cab instead of walking in this rain?"
Elise hid a smile and looked down. "I had no money," she said. She saw his expression and chuckled. "I am sinking myself below reproach in your eyes, I know," she said. "But you must understand: there was a bolt of silk of the most ravishing shade of green: almost emerald, with tiny flowers woven into the fabric. I had to have it, so I bought it."
"And used up all your money," said Malet.
"That is correct, M'sieur."
Malet smiled and adjusted the umbrella.
"And isn't my guardian angel going to give me a thundering scold?" Elise demanded when he did not comment. "Christien L'Eveque says you're very good at them."
"I am doing enough just keeping you from becoming drenched. You certainly don't need a scold. Although I believe I might just hail the next cab - "
"Oh don't!" she said, tightening her hold on his arm for a moment. "I have been enjoying it so, walking along with you and looking into the windows. You're a very comfortable man to be with, you know."
Her hand was snugly tucked into the crook of his arm; he pressed it against his side for a moment, but he spoke lightly. "Am I?" he asked. "How odd of you to say so! Most of the people I am constrained to speak with at any really great length seem anxious to leave my presence as quickly as possible."
They stopped before a shop that sold toys.
"You're speaking of criminals," Elise said after taking a good look at his expression. "M'sieur Mischief! Well, of course they want to get away! But your friends - that is a different matter. Oh Paul! Just look at the shoulder of your coat! You're getting wet! Hold the umbrella more over yourself, for heaven's sake!"
"I am fine," said Malet. "And I am not wearing a bonnet that probably cost a pretty penny."
"No, you're wearing a very good black beaver hat that cost every bit as much!" Elise retorted.
"Resign yourself, Mme. Elise," said Malet. "I am not moving this umbrella. Look at those toys! Do you suppose my godchildren would like a wheeled hobbyhorse?"
** ** **
They found a constable from the 3rd arrondissement awaiting Malet upon their return to the Rose d'Or. He had an urgent inquiry from Chief Inspector Gaston Rabateau that required an immediate response.
"I can wait in the kitchen, M. Chief Inspector," said the constable. "I will be comfortable there."
Malet's mouth twitched for a moment. Marie, the pretty red‑haired chambermaid, was basting a roast there and the constable was a handsome young fellow in a spruce new uniform.
"There's no need," said Malet as he scanned the message from Rabateau. It concerned a procedural question that was easily answered, though Malet made the reply provisional to the Prefect's final approval. "I will respond now and you can go to the kitchen and bespeak a glass of wine with my compliments and Mme. de Clichy's approval."
He took a sheet of paper from the escritoire and then, glancing at Elise for her permission, sat down to compose a reply. He was smiling as he wrote, and the smile remained as he looked up at the constable and handed him the note. "There, my lad," he said. "That should answer M. Rabateau's question. Do, pray, convey my regards to him and the rest of his staff. And here's for your wine." He handed the man a coin.
The constable grinned, saluted, and then followed Alcide to the door.
Malet sighed and sat back, his eyes still on the door as it closed behind Alcide, whose stiff back was eloquent of jealous disapproval. After a moment he looked up at Elise.
"I have been here for the better part of three weeks," he said. "I'd better write you a draft on my bank to pay for my lodging so far. If you have no objection, I will pen a request to M. de l'Aulnes, who is my banker, to draw out the funds for you."
"I have no objection at all," said Elise. "Though you may remember that I was willing to wait until the city reimbursed me."
"No," said Malet. "This is better." He dipped his pen in the ink and wrote swiftly.
Elise went to stand at his elbow and watched as his pen moved across the paper, unfolding writing that was precise and clear. Looking from the draft to his face, she saw that his lashes were thick and dark, and she saw for the first time the faint mark of a scar on his chin.
Her eyes moved to the paper and then back to him. The damp had made his hair curl slightly along his collar, and the lamplight caught unexpectedly blue highlights. The collar of his shirt was very white against the brown column of his neck, and the hazel‑green silk of his cravat seemed to mirror the color of his eyes. The damp had heightened the faint scent of leather, sandalwood and steel that clung to him.
He dipped the pen once again and tapped off the excess ink against the side of the inkwell; the slight motion drew his sleeve taut, just for a moment, drawing Elise's eyes away from his face to the strong spread of his shoulders.
"There," said Malet, taking up the blotter and applying it to the paper.
Elise's heart quickened its beat as she raised her eyes to Malet's face again. She had known that she loved him, but now long‑dormant urges and emotions were awakening, and a new aspect of that love had suddenly blossomed: she wanted to touch him.
Elise had left her maidenhood behind upon her marriage over ten years before. Although the marriage had ended tragically, she had nevertheless enjoyed her husband's embraces. How much more wonderful it must be, she thought, to lie in love's arms! She was an upright, honorable woman: such
actions outside the bounds of matrimony were out of the question, but some things were permissible within the limits of propriety.
The draft was finished. Malet blew gently on the ink to dry it, then raised his head and looked up at her with a warm, unguarded smile.
Her hand moved almost of its own accord, coming to rest gently against his face. The light touch warmed, strengthened as she curved her hand against his cheek.
The smile faded from his lips. His eyes met hers and asked a startled question.
Marveling at her own daring, she traced the faint line of the scar on his chin. Her fingers slanted softly up along his cheekbone and then feathered through the hair at his temple. It felt like warm, thick silk.
His sudden smile removed all awkwardness; she was able to speak without a quiver to her voice. "I didn't thank you, my dear guardian angel, for your protection that night," she said.
His hand was beneath her chin, drawing her to him. "There was no need to thank me," he said softly.
Their lips met, touched lightly, clung and then parted, and she looked down at him with the breath fluttering in her throat. Her hand trembled as it curved to the line of his jaw.
She could feel him tense for a moment, as though he were fighting against something. And then he drew her closer to him and gently, almost shyly, tilted her face to his and kissed her again.
She never knew afterwards how she came to be on his knee, in the circle of his embrace, but it seemed so right to her that she settled into his arms with a half‑laugh of pure happiness. Even in the midst of a delightful whirl of emotion, she was oddly aware of the fact that she had never felt so safe before. She drew away a little to smile at him, her arm lingering about his shoulders while her other hand stroked through his hair and traced the softened curve of his mouth with gentle fingers.
He caught her hand to his lips. "Elise," he said unsteadily.
"Hush," she whispered, and claimed his lips with all the passion that was reawakening within her.
A loud knock sounded at the door. It stopped, then began again, more insistently.
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