'Well? Are you coming in?'
She turned and moved inside. Her perfume drifted to him; he nearly gave up and ran away. Steeling himself, he followed her with one aim in mind: not to trip over his own feet.
He abandoned any chance of urbane, debonair or charming. He was happy to aspire to anything better than village idiot, second class.
With some pride, he managed not to bang into any walls. He followed Caroline into the parlour. Along the way from the front door – a journey that seemed to take a strangely indeterminate amount of time – he'd assembled enough of his wits to frame coherent thought and, at a pinch, attempt short sentences. So when he saw Mrs Hepworth in a ball gown, he was able not to goggle. She wore an assembly of blue silk windings that floated and made her look stylishly exotic, and an iridescent turban affair on her head. 'You're coming to the ball?'
'Naturally,' she said with a smile. 'I was going to go with Alphonse Caron, but since he's been called away . . . If you don't mind, I'll accompany you two.'
Aubrey was conscious that Caroline was looking at him. 'Delighted,' he said and wondered why it was so hot in the room.
Caroline arranged a white silk shawl around her shoulders. 'Shall we go?'
Aubrey introduced Madame Calvert and Mrs Hepworth. They chattered, George and Sophie chattered, and Aubrey spent the rest of the journey trying not to stare at Caroline. He was quite proud of his remarks about the weather and decided that for someone with an evaporated brain, he was doing quite well. He gave himself some chance of seeing out the evening without a major social blunder.
Their carriage was stopped a block away from their destination by streets choked with traffic. All Lutetia seemed to be heading toward the social event of the year. A cheery police officer assured them that the line of carriages was moving, and so it proved when, thirty minutes later, they arrived in front of the many-pillared Albion Embassy.
Guards in full uniform stood on either side of the gate. Aubrey noted that they weren't merely ceremonial – their rifles were standard-issue bolt-action Symons, well oiled and maintained. A full colonel inspected invitations of everyone attempting to enter. Aubrey approved of the precautions. Even if the Heart of Gold had been restored, the city was still a hotbed of intrigue and the embassy ball presented a ripe opportunity for mischief on a grand scale.
Their invitations satisfying the colonel, Aubrey offered his arm to Caroline. She placed a gloved hand on his elbow and they walked to the great doorway. Aubrey was sure he was glowing brightly enough to be seen by a low-flying dirigible.
Footmen swarmed about in the foyer of the embassy, periwigged and resplendent in brocade knee breeches. They carried chairs, potted plants, trays of glasses, platters of small mysterious delicacies, and all with an air of utmost dedication. Two appeared from nowhere to take Caroline's shawl and his top hat.
A major-domo announced them as they entered the ballroom, which was the size of a small cricket ground. The ceiling was at least thirty feet overhead, and it was painted with a pastoral scene full of nymphs, shepherds and rather puzzled-looking sheep. A dozen huge chandeliers lit the arena. False columns marched along each wall, soothingly painted in greens and pinks.
Aubrey enjoyed how people watched their entrance, whispering to each other and wondering who the handsome couple was.
'They're looking at the people behind us,' Caroline murmured.
Aubrey was about to protest when he heard the major-domo announce the Prince and Princess of Antioch. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gorgeous silk garments of the Middle Eastern royalty and shrugged. 'They should be looking at you.'
She dimpled. 'That was a very straightforward compliment, Aubrey. Thank you.'
He blinked. He supposed it had been. No guile, no subterfuge, no elaborate courtly gestures. Perhaps he was better at this than he thought.
He saw Caroline's mother whisking Madame Calvert toward a cluster of well-dressed Lutetians, all of whom seemed delighted to see her. He blinked, and tensed for an instant, when a photographer's flash powder went off. The small orchestra on the stage moved into another waltz and the night was under way.
He felt a tap on his shoulder. 'Inspector Paul!' he said with real delight. He stood back and examined the beaming police officer. 'That's a different uniform.'
'Good evening, Miss Hepworth,' Inspector Paul said. 'Yes. This is new and I hope my new salary will be able to pay for it. A full dress uniform for a commander is not cheap.'
'Commander Paul? A promotion? Congratulations.' 'With your assistance, Fitzwilliam. I thank you. When we captured the bulk of the Sons of Victor, my superiors could ignore me no longer.'
Aubrey was pleased. Paul deserved his promotion. Steering a course through the byzantine politics of the Lutetian Police Force was a challenge, and he'd done very well. Aubrey was keen to tell his grandmother that the low opinion she had of the Gallian police was not true of all its members.
A young police officer hurried up and whispered in Paul's ear. From the frowning reaction, Aubrey judged it was not good news.
'Please excuse me, Miss Hepworth, Fitzwilliam. I have a matter to attend to.'
'Something urgent?'
Commander Paul moved a step closer. He stood looking over the sparkling throng. 'The Sons of Victor apparently still have friends. Four of them escaped an hour ago, including Gabriel.'
Aubrey grimaced. 'Good luck.'
Commander Paul disappeared into the crowd.
'A good man,' Caroline said.
'My father always says to surround oneself with good people. You develop a reputation that way as a person of worth.' He peered about the room. 'And speaking of my father, where is he? And George and Sophie. I've lost track of them, too.'
'Let's find them.'
Aubrey then enjoyed a delicious ten minutes wandering through the crowded ballroom with Caroline on his arm. The most important Lutetians were there: politicians, businessmen, high-ranking military officers in full dress uniform, pre-eminent churchmen, as well as a sprinkling of artists, writers and academics. The renowned Gallian sense of style was on full display with the formality of the occasion. The men were all in full evening dress with tailcoats and white bow ties. The women were in an array of gowns that was dazzling in the range of colours, styles and fabrics. Aubrey would have been astonished if he hadn't had eyes only for Caroline.
He saw Duval with a tall, blonde woman in a blue dress. Duval smiled and gave a good imitation of an Albionish thumbs-up. Aubrey was relieved that Duval had turned his attention away from Caroline and had remained good-natured about it all.
In the distance, Aubrey spied George. Sophie was talking in animated fashion with someone whom Aubrey recognised as the Nawab of Dharmat. 'They seem to be having a good time,' Caroline said. She had to lean close to speak over the din, which Aubrey didn't mind in the least.
'You see the way George is nodding? With his finger along the edge of his jaw?'
'Yes.'
'It means he has no idea about what's being said. None at all.'
'It doesn't seem to be worrying him.'
'George, worried? In the company of a charming female? It's his favourite place on earth.'
Caroline laughed, eyes sparkling. Aubrey was gratified. He liked to make her laugh.
The orchestra began a polka. Soon the dance floor was a mass of people moving with the aplomb that only came from expensive lessons.
Aubrey was torn. He knew he could dance well enough, and he actually enjoyed it, but he did need to find his parents.
'Later,' Caroline said, interrupting his thoughts. 'I'd like to dance later.'
'Am I that transparent?'
'Not often, but sometimes.' She inclined her head. 'Is that your father?'
'I believe it is.'
Before Aubrey could move a step, a strong hand took his arm. 'Fitzwilliam. You are not dead then?'
Disengaging himself from a conversation between a befuddled-looking cardinal and a diplomat from Liburnia was
Hugo von Stralick.
'And neither are you, Hugo. The explosion didn't get you?'
Von Stralick's gaze was steady. 'Hush, now, Fitzwilliam. Many ears are at work this evening.' He bowed to Caroline. 'Miss Hepworth. You look divine. Much too good for this weak-kneed Albionite. Come with me and I'll introduce you to some countrymen of mine. They have no taste to speak of, but they are extraordinarily rich and they have very fine posture.'
'I don't think so, Mr von Stralick. I'm happy where I am.'
'Really.' Von Stralick scrutinised Aubrey. 'He must have cast a spell on you.' Caroline looked sharply at Aubrey. He blinked. 'Spell? Me? I wouldn't. And I'm not sure if I could. Even if I wanted to, not that that's at issue. Because it isn't.' He spread his hands. 'I don't know what he's talking about.'
'Hmm . . .'Von Stralick said. 'Perhaps not. It appears as if you've addled his brains too much, Miss Hepworth.' He gestured. 'Walk with me a little, Fitzwilliam.'
'I can't. I have to see my parents.'
'I know. I have a few things to tell you before you talk to your father.'
Aubrey apologised to Caroline. 'I won't be long.'
'It doesn't matter how long you are.'
'No?'
'I'm coming with you.'
'Of course.' Aubrey could think of no reason why not.
Von Stralick raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. 'Well enough.'
He led them through the crowd. It took Aubrey a moment, but he realised what was different about the people. They were happy, full of the good spirits that had been missing from Lutetia for some time.
Aubrey was proud. Returning the Heart of Gold had not only stabilised the political situation in Gallia, but it had restored the Gallian nature of the people.
A tiny, peeved voice at the back of his mind whispered about how much this deed had cost him, but he ignored it. He knew he'd thrown away the stability he'd sought. So be it. He'd done something important, and it was worth it.
Von Stralick reached the wall and stood with his back to it. The orchestra moved from the polka to a lively mazurka, which brought cheers from the dancers. Aubrey stood next to von Stralick, with Caroline on the other side.
Von Stralick didn't look at Aubrey as he spoke. 'Gabriel. You know him?'
'The leader of the Sons of Victor.'
'He is one of us.'
Aubrey couldn't help himself. His head jerked around and he stared at von Stralick. 'Gabriel is a Holmlander?'
'A spy. A plant. His mission was to galvanise the Marchmaine movement and split Gallia in two.'
'He nearly succeeded. You know he's escaped from prison.'
Von Stralick stiffened. 'When?'
'An hour or so ago.'
'Very bad. Very bad indeed.'
'Why are you telling us this?' Caroline asked. 'I don't believe he's at all altruistic,' she said to Aubrey.
'I'm not,' von Stralick said. 'My superior is not Gabriel's superior. We believe that he – and his faction – are too rash, too dangerous for all our good.'
At that moment, Aubrey stopped and stared into the distance. It was as if his mind were a great clockwork mechanism just ticking over to noon, ready to ring the midday chimes. 'Gabriel's master,' he asked with dawning certainty. 'He wouldn't be a foreigner, would he?'
Von Stralick gave a tiny fraction of a nod. 'He is an Albionite. You are very astute. What led you to this?'
'Oh, the way Dr Romellier mentioned a certain name.' It also explained why Gabriel and the Marchmainers tolerated the ornithologist at the airfield. If Dr Tremaine was Gabriel's master, and if he had some interest in Dr Romellier, then Gabriel would have been ordered to keep an eye on him. 'And the audaciousness of the plan. The intricacy of what was set in motion. It reeks of our ex-Sorcerer Royal.' Not to mention that the anger spell that first threw the Marchmainers against the authorities bore the hallmarks of Dr Tremaine's magic, Aubrey thought, but I'll keep that up my sleeve, for now. 'And, of course, the ultimate result of the events here in Lutetia would have been war. A vast slaughterhouse of a war, millions of people dead – the numbers of sacrifices Dr Tremaine needs if he is to achieve his goal of immortality.'
'Ah,' von Stralick said. 'We thought Tremaine's role was a secret.'
'How did he become involved?'
'He came to Holmland after he was driven out of your country. Certain parties greeted him with open arms. His knowledge is great.'
'I know. And he is a difficult man to resist.'
'He became an adviser to certain key government figures. He was given a commission in the military, extremely senior.' Von Stralick coughed. 'I have learned that he was controlling Muller and Schnagel's commander as well, promising him great things. He had Gabriel dispose of them when they were proving too independent.'
'Are you trying to stop the war, von Stralick?' Aubrey said softly.
Von Stralick was silent for a moment. 'My superior wants the whole continent. Holmland will need to go to war to achieve it.'
'You haven't answered the question.'
'It is all I have to say on the matter.' He glanced at his pocket watch. 'I must go.'
He wove his way through the dancers and disappeared.
Aubrey sighed. 'Do you think I'll be able to reach my parents this time?'
Caroline smiled. 'Let's see.'
'It's extraordinary, really,' Aubrey said as they skirted the dance floor. 'Holmland has been blowing up Gallian military facilities, but the Holmland Ambassador is over there laughing with the Gallian Foreign Minister.'
'Politics. Diplomacy. It's a strange world. Not enough women involved, I'd say.'
'Really?' Aubrey said. 'You're not thinking of . . .?'
'My thoughts are my own,' she said solemnly, but her eyes teased him.
As Aubrey worked their way past two dowagers who were scribbling in notebooks and sharing their findings, he felt as if he were considerably lighter and suddenly immune to the effects of gravity. Caroline in politics? The prospect made his head fizz.
'Matchmakers,' Caroline murmured, nodding toward the old women. 'Spotting the eligible bachelors in the room. No doubt they have a number of clients waiting for them.'
This was an aspect of continental life that Aubrey was glad hadn't made its way to Albion. He shuddered at the prospect and at that moment caught the eye of one of the dowager women. She studied him, then nodded and jotted in her notebook. Aubrey moved on, quickly.
They reached the end of the dance floor and emerged into the area where tables were arranged – large and round with flamboyant centrepieces made of flowers, feathers and ribbons. Cigar smoke drifted to the ceiling and serious-looking older men and women sat talking in low tones.
Caroline nodded to the right, at the most prominent table. His mother stood, a vision in white. 'Aubrey!'
Beaming, proud, he led Caroline to the table. The men stood, smiling at Caroline. His father grasped his hand. 'I'm glad to see you, Aubrey.' He smoothed his moustache with a forefinger. 'Ah, Miss Hepworth. What a striking dress. It suits you well. A Dumont creation, isn't it?'
'Yes it is, Sir Darius. Thank you.'
'Marvellous artist, Dumont is, but he can't take all the credit. You've made his creation something sublime.'
Aubrey sighed. His father had never needed to learn urbanity. It was second nature.
Sir Darius went on to introduce Caroline to the others at the table. Aubrey took his turn as well, shaking the hands of Prime Minister Giraud, the Minister for Defence and the Minister for the Treasury and greeting their wives. Mrs Hepworth was there, too. She smiled at Aubrey's surprise. The man next to her nodded at Aubrey. He was tall and slender, with fine laugh lines around his eyes.
Aubrey stared. It was the mysterious stranger who'd been haunting him ever since he'd arrived in Lutetia.
Mrs Hepworth laughed. 'I see you've met?'
'In a way,' Aubrey managed to say. 'Mr . . .?'
He stood and held out a hand. 'Colonel McKenzie. Magisterium.'
'Ah. I see.'
The Magisterium operative smiled. 'I must say that I've had easier assignments than following you around, trying to keep you out of trouble.'
'I actually don't think that's possible,' his father put in. 'I told Craddock as much, but he insisted that the son of the Prime Minister needed looking after.'
'I can't say I was much help at all,' McKenzie said. 'You were fiendishly difficult to keep track of, you know.'
'It's been a busy time,' Aubrey ventured.
McKenzie leaned close to Aubrey. 'You pulled off some impressive magic, in any event. That floating tower? Innovative stuff, and I've emphasised as much in my report to Craddock.'
Aubrey wasn't sure how to take this. Compliment or threat? 'I thought you were an assassin,' he said.
McKenzie smiled. 'No, not this time.' He held out his arm to Mrs Hepworth. 'Would you care to dance, Ophelia?'
Aubrey kept a blank face as the Magisterium operative took Mrs Hepworth to the dance floor. 'Is he really an assassin?' he asked his father.
'Craddock likes operatives with a sense of humour.'
Aubrey decided his father wasn't going to answer the question. He gestured at the vacant space at the table. 'The Ambassador?'
'Sir Percy was called away. He wasn't happy about it.'
'I can imagine.' Aubrey hesitated. He had a great deal to tell his father, but this didn't seem to be the right place to do it. Caroline had made her way to his mother's side and the two were discussing something in earnest tones. Birds and beasts, Aubrey guessed. Foreign expeditions.
His father noticed his hesitation. He glanced at Prime Minister Giraud, who was doing his best to appear as if he wasn't eavesdropping. 'We must talk about your time here,' he said to Aubrey. 'I'm sure you have much to tell me.'
'Indeed. Much has happened.'
Sir Darius nodded, then raised an eyebrow. 'Caroline agreed to accompany you to the ball, I see.'
'Yes, sir.'
'She's come to understand that you are, actually, genuine after all?'
'She's a very intelligent person.'
'So I understand. And where is George? Off with a sparkling young woman or two?'
'He's here somewhere. With, as you say, a sparkling young woman.'
Heart of Gold Page 37