by Garth Nix
“But Lady Truthful will be in bed. She retired early with a sick headache.”
“I’m sure she won’t object if it means we recover the Emerald,” interrupted Harnett again. He stood up and rubbed his hands together, with every sign of someone who is about to enjoy a bracing adventure. “I’ll go and order the coach, de Vienne. I’ll be out the front in a few minutes. General, your servant, sir.”
Then he was gone, almost running out the door. Truthful blinked at where he’d been standing a moment before, then looked back at the General. He winked at her, and chuckled, then burst out into outright laughter, before quieting and wiping his eyes with a red silk handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said weakly. “I should not let humour overcome me for this is really quite a serious matter. The Emerald is a very powerful talisman, and in the wrong hands . . . but fancy Charles not realising who you are! He told me, ‘There’s something dashed peculiar about that Frenchman.’ Ha ha!”
He started chuckling again, but subsided as Truthful said primly, “I don’t like deceiving people. I had no choice.”
“No, no. You’re doing very well,” replied the General seriously. “I admire your pluck, young lady, not to mention your great-aunt’s skill with illusion. Fixed in that moustache, ain’t it? And Charles isn’t all he says he is either, so don’t let that distress you. I suppose he never had the benefit of knowing your mother, so it’s no great surprise that he thinks you are merely an effeminate Frenchman.”
“You knew my mother?” asked Truthful, completely distracted. She hardly ever met anyone who had known her mother, and since it upset her father to speak of his dead wife, she had little opportunity to hear anything of that dimly remembered figure. “Oh, I see. I am supposed to resemble her.”
“Resemble her!” said the General. “Alike as two peas in a pod, and I can see it even when through that glamour and those clothes. But there’s few folk around who would remember Venetia when she was twenty. She married your father soon after that, and rarely came to London. She never much cared for society, you know. Now, you’d best go and meet Charles and capture your thieving maid. Frankly, I’m surprised she’s still there, even if staying would allay suspicion. Come and see me as yourself, when it’s safely done, my dear — and good luck.”
Truthful nodded, clasped her hand in the General’s briefly in unspoken thanks, and leapt up. The sooner she could confront Agatha, the sooner she could recover the Emerald — and cease her impersonation, which was beginning to embarrass her, particularly hearing comments about herself from Harnett.
Major Harnett and Truthful had little to say during the short coach ride to Grosvenor Square, though the Major did ask her a few questions about the layout of the house, whether the servant’s quarters had windows and the proximity of Agatha’s room to the kitchen door. Truthful answered vaguely and with some shame, remembering General Leye’s words about ignoring servants, for she couldn’t answer, not having ventured into those regions. She was also distracted by trying to work out how to resume her identity as Lady Truthful, summon Agatha, and then reappear as the Chevalier de Vienne.
Unfortunately, no plan of action occurred to her, and she began to fidget slightly, a symptom of a nervous sort of fear, akin to being found out when she had been naughty as a child. However, as the coach pulled up in front of the house, and Truthful looked out, she had the feeling of a reprieve. The whole house was lit up, as if for a party (but no party had been planned) and she could see shadows moving about both the upper and lower rooms. Obviously, something had happened in her absence, for the entire household was awake.
Awake and in turmoil, as they discovered when they entered the hall. Dworkin, the butler, was directing half-asleep servants to catalogue the silver; Lady Badgery’s secretary was disappearing into his study with a large tome that Truthful recognised as an inventory; and Lady Badgery herself was standing imperiously on the staircase, Parkins behind her. Truthful knew that she must be very upset, for though she was wearing her favourite fez she made no move to remove it or herself when she saw Harnett come in behind Truthful.
“Ah, cousin de Vienne,” cried Lady Badgery as she saw them enter. “And this is?”
“Major Harnett, at your service, milady,” said the Major, doffing his hat and bowing gracefully. “May I be of some assistance?”
Lady Badgery looked him up and down with regal consideration, and seemed to approve of what she saw. “You are obviously a man of action, sir, and perceiving action, wish to be a part of it. However, I have already sent a man for the Bow Street Runners, and I fear there is nothing else to be done.”
“But what has happened?” cried Truthful.
“Lady Truthful’s maid, Agatha,” pronounced Lady Badgery, “has drugged poor Eliza, and run off, probably with half the silver!”
Chapter Seven
Agatha’s Previous Employer
Eventually, it was discovered that Agatha hadn’t taken anything other than her own clothes, and had left no evidence to suggest where she might have gone. Accordingly, several Bow Street Runners immediately lost interest and departed, grumbling about false alarms and rude awakenings. A runaway maid was not of the same importance as a thieving maid and a great quantity of stolen silver, and no one mentioned the Emerald.
By three o’clock that morning, the house had quietened again, leaving Harnett, the ostensible de Vienne and Lady Badgery having a quiet conference in the drawing room. Truthful quickly relayed the General’s opinion to Lady Badgery, who seemed unsurprised.
“Thought of her myself,” she said sourly. “But then I never liked her, so I had to take my natural dislike into account, and she was still with Lady Truthful, which lulled my suspicions. Surely she would have run away as soon as she arrived in London?”
“A clever ploy,” replied Harnett. “And a successful one. Perhaps she needed to make some arrangements . . . hmmm . . . we must find out more about this maid. Would it be possible for you to have Lady Truthful woken up, milady?”
Lady Badgery looked at him disapprovingly, as only a dowager could, though her fez somewhat lessened the effect. “At three in the morning? When she has been ill with a sick headache?”
“I think that we must move ahead as quickly as possible,” replied the Major. “Saving your presence, milady, I know that many sick headaches in ladies are simply nerves . . .”
He faltered to a stop as Lady Badgery’s brow furrowed still further into a definite frown, and a chilly silence spread through the room.
“Perhaps Lady Truthful should be woken up,” said Truthful hurriedly, ending with a long and only partly feigned yawn, half-smothered by a slow-moving hand. As she yawned, her gaze met her great-aunt’s, and she saw a twinkle appear to match that in her own eyes.
“Oh, very well,” snapped the Dowager. “But I absolutely insist that you go to bed, Chevalier! Why your mother would not be pleased to see you up so late, with your delicate constitution.”
Truthful looked out of the corner of her eye as Lady Badgery continued in this vein, and saw Major Harnett studiously looking at a portrait of the late Lord Badgery in a corner of the room. Harnett’s lip was slightly curled, and it was only too obvious he had no great opinion of the Chevalier de Vienne, just as he had early voiced no great opinion of Lady Truthful. Well, thought Truthful angrily, as she stifled another pathetic yawn, let him have what he expects.
“Yes, you are right, cousin,” she said to Lady Badgery. “I shall ask Parkins to wake Lady Truthful on my way up to bed. Good night, Major Harnett. Thank you for your assistance, and for the most interesting supper with General Leye.”
“Goodnight, Chevalier,” replied Harnett politely, unable to keep a slight note of condescension from his voice. “I trust that we shall soon unravel this whole sorry affair.”
“I expect so,” replied Truthful, smiling. “Good night, cousin.”
++++
Forty minutes later, Harnett and Lady Badgery’s polite conversation about
very little (which had succeeded an unsuccessful attempt by Lady Badgery to discern his ancestry) was interrupted by the querulous voice of a young woman.
“What is going on, Aunt? Parkins absolutely insisted I must get up, and I have a quite awful headache! What has Agatha done?”
This speech was rapidly followed by the speaker, a young woman carefully attired in a pale green morning half-dress with a white demi-train, grey slippers and a green and white bonnet. A few ringlets of her red hair escaped from under the latter, artful testimony to a rushed awakening.
“Allow me to present Major Harnett,” said Lady Badgery.
“How do you do?” said Truthful coldly. She let her eyes cross the Major disdainfully to slide with obvious intent to the clock on the mantlepiece, before adding, “I am unused to . . . gentlemen . . . callers at this hour of the morning.”
“I am not calling in the usual way,” said Harnett, with considerable reserve. “Your cousin, the Chevalier de Vienne, dined with myself and General Leye this evening, hoping to enlist the General’s assistance in the search for the Newington Emerald. Your Emerald, Lady Truthful.”
“Oh yes?” replied Truthful, pointing one dove-grey slipper and looking at it as if it displeased her. “I hope it was an enjoyable evening.”
“It was a productive one,” said the Major, bristling. “The General deduced that the Emerald was stolen by your maid, Agatha.”
“La!” cried Truthful, in a show of languid surprise. “The disloyal creature! Father shall have her whipped. I am sure Hetherington knows how to lay on a cat-o-nine-tails!”
This sally met with silence, and Truthful, looking at Harnett through the corner of one half-lidded eye, felt both unholy glee at playing the spoilt young lady, and a strong tinge of guilt that had shades of something else. Did she really want Harnett to detest her, just because he had formed an opinion of her from what he had heard?
“I’m afraid, Lady Truthful, that you will not be able to have Agatha whipped unless you can catch her,” said Harnett coldly. “The commotion that has kept us up to this hour, and led to your own disturbed rest, was caused by the sudden decamping of your maid. She could be halfway to Dover and a ship by now. With your Emerald.”
“Oh,” said Truthful, more realistically. She hadn’t thought beyond her immediate pleasure in playing the Lady Truthful Harnett expected.
“You suspect she will flee to France?” asked Lady Badgery.
“I believe it is a strong possibility,” replied the Major. “Certainly, it would be in the best interests of such a criminal to sell the gem in some far corner of the Continent, where its provenance would not be known.”
“What can we do?” asked Truthful, almost beseechingly, before she remembered her chosen role. “I presume that you will assist a lady in distress, sir?”
Harnett looked at her coldly. “As I am now involved in this matter, Lady Truthful, I could not withdraw even should I wish to do so.”
“That was an ungallant speech, Major,” interrupted Lady Badgery, before he could continue. She moved slightly in between the straight-backed Major and the stiff-legged Truthful, like someone intervening between a dog and a cat. “However, my niece and I will be very grateful for your help. What is our first step, may I ask?”
The Major turned away from Truthful, and bowed to Lady Badgery. “A gallant speech from you, milady, only heightens my lack of courtesy. I apologise to you both.”
He turned back to incline his head at Truthful, and for a second, their eyes met. She saw a glint of anger there, as if he didn’t really want to apologise to her, and she felt her own eyes sparking anger back. With the fleeting thought that she might regret it, she cast herself even more into her play-acting.
“Oh, I regard such things as words little, Major,” she replied archly. “I judge a man by his actions. One always hears so much mere talk, don’t you agree?”
“As you say, Lady Truthful,” said Harnett, neatly turning her insult. “We must begin with words, however. For instance, can you tell me who employed Agatha before she came to be your maid?”
“Oh no,” laughed Truthful. “I have much more important things to do than enquire where servants come from, why—”
“Parkins will know,” interrupted Lady Badgery, casting a daunting glance at Truthful. “She always knows everything there is to know about anyone who comes to this house, family, servants or visitors.”
“Thank you, milady,” said Harnett. He coughed, and pulled a watch from his waistcoat, the silver chain tinkling slightly. “I think it might after all be best if I return later in the morning to speak to Parkins. I shall then make myself available for the whole day, if any concrete evidence should come forward.”
“That is most kind,” replied Lady Badgery. “I am sure that the chevalier will be delighted to assist you.”
Major Harnett nodded without enthusiasm, bowed again to Lady Badgery, and then, rather perfunctorily, to Truthful. As he straightened up, she felt a twinge of remorse, and held out her hand, saying in her normal tones, “I . . . I do thank you, Major.”
He merely touched her fingers, and his reply seemed to be directed at someone rather taller than her who was standing several feet behind.
“I look upon it as a necessary duty, Lady Truthful. I shall recover the Emerald for you. Good night.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left. Through the parlour door, Truthful saw him storm down the stair to the front door, snatching his hat and gloves from Dworkin who was coming up to meet him.
“You were very rude, child,” said Lady Badgery. “He is helping you, you know.”
“I know,” said Truthful despondently. “But he said that I was haughty and icy, and cut poor Mr Trellingsworth on purpose . . .”
“And now you have confirmed his opinion,” sighed Lady Badgery. “With a dose of silliness added to the haughtiness and ice. Fortunately, he is not someone of the first rank. I have never heard of the Harnetts of Yorkshire. It is odd, for his manners and bearing . . . it is not important.”
She looked around, to make sure they were alone, then bent down to Truthful’s ear. “You had best go to bed, Truthful. For Henri will doubtless be called early, if this Harnett is the sort of man I suspect.”
“Good night, Aunt,” sighed Truthful, kissing Lady Badgery lightly on the cheek. “And I thank you, at least, for your efforts on my behalf. Oh . . . I wish Father had never shown me the Emerald!”
The morning did begin early, as Lady Badgery had predicted. Major Harnett was at the house soon after eight, and Truthful had to stick on her moustache and appear as the Chevalier de Vienne while Harnett waited to question Parkins as Lady Badger had decided to question Parkins herself first. What she heard resulted in a screech of outrage from the old lady that brought Truthful rushing to her bedroom.
“Lady Amelia Plathenden!” she was hissing after another series of anger-venting shrieks. “That viper! Vixen! I see it now, a long plot and one worthy of that poisonous woman. Why, I’ll—”
Seeing her niece staring at her from the doorway, she calmed herself and took several deep breaths. “I must be growing old, not to think of Amelia Plathenden! Where is Major Harnett?”
“The Major is waiting in the library milady,” replied Parkins, “Perhaps I should fetch you a cordial . . . something calming?”
“No, no,” said Lady Badgery testily. “Fetch the major, or I’ll have to explain this whole thing twice. Don’t look startled, Chevalier, I’m an old woman, and this is a sick room at the moment, not a bedchamber. Besides, I’m sure Major Harnett has seen many a lady’s bedroom in his time.”
“Aunt!” cried Truthful, genuinely shocked and then she raised her hands to her face and blushed as she realised she’d said “Aunt” and not “Cousin”. Parkins, half way out the door, turned, and seeing Truthful’s look of despair, smiled and laid a finger alongside her nose, before closing the door behind her.
“Vulgar baggage,” remarked Lady Badgery. “Close your mouth, Tru
thful, and stop looking surprised. I told you Parkins always knows what’s going on. Besides, she might not be a trained sorceress, but she comes from a long line of witches. I daresay she could see through any glamour of mine.”
“Oh,” said Truthful. She sat down on the chair next to the bed, then stood up again to spread her coat-tails for a second attempt. “I thought I was doing rather well.”
“You are, dear,” said Lady Badgery. “But even the best glamour can only work for a short time in a house such as this, when you are under close inspection. Dworkin, for example, almost certainly knows. Perhaps Agatha did too. But none of my people will talk . . . or if they do . . .”
A knock on the door interrupted her, and Truthful got up to let Harnett in. As he passed, she couldn’t help running her eyes over him, taking in his sober blue coat, fawn pantaloons and shining top-boots. These, while highly-polished, lacked the glow that rumour said could only be gained by a mixture of champagne and polish applied by a master valet. His hair too, was only lightly brushed back, a sad remnant of the style he’d affected the night before, and his face was set in fairly grim lines. Despite all this, Truthful found that she would rather look at him than any dandy, and realising this, she denied it to herself, and looked away. Before the Major could say good morning, Lady Badgery spoke.
“Good morning, Major Harnett. Please be seated. You too, Chevalier. As you can see, I find myself confined to my sick-bed by the rigours of last night’s incident. I apologise. However, it is fortunate I was lying down, otherwise I suspect I would have suffered a fit of apoplexy when Parkins told me Agatha was once the personal maid of . . . of Lady Amelia Plathenden.”
A lack of recognition greeted these words, and the old lady looked somewhat miffed that Truthful and Harnett hadn’t suffered from a fit of apoplexy as well.
“Who is Lady Plathenden?” asked Truthful. “And why would . . .”
“I’m coming to that! Don’t be impatient, young man. The theft of the Emerald has obviously been a long-planned plot of the vilest nature, Major Harnett. This became apparent to me as soon as I heard that Agatha used to be Lady Plathenden’s maid. You see, Amelia Plathenden was very nearly Amelia Newington.”