"Fortunate," I said, but I couldn't get out another word. I didn't trust my voice.
Piers spoke then, still standing rigidly at attention. "My lady, I was hired to see to your safety. His lordship made it plain that was the only thing that mattered to him."
"Quite unusually prescient behavior for Thomas," said Lady Sylvia. "Quite responsible of him, too."
"Good idea," said James. "Wish I'd thought of it."
"I beg your pardon?" Cecy's indignation was plain.
I just looked at Thomas.
"Kate, I should have told you all about it at the start," said Thomas. "For that mistake, I apologize. But I don't apologize for hiring him to help me take care of you. The world is a very big place. I think we've all seen that it can be a dangerous place, too."
I looked at him in silence for a moment longer. Thomas's eyes said even more than his words did. When I was very sure that I could keep my voice level, I said, "Very well. Thank you for your help, Piers. Please excuse me now." I started for the door.
"That will be all, Piers," said Thomas, then added to the room at large, "Good night." He reached the door before I did and held it open for me as I passed.
"You needn't," I said to him, under my breath.
"I must," said Thomas.
"I have Reardon now," I said. "I can manage perfectly well alone."
"I can't," said Thomas. So he came upstairs with me.
I let Thomas persuade me of his good intentions before I accepted his apology. At the expression on my face, he drew back. "Kate? What is it?" With sudden suspicion, he added, "Why are you smiling?"
I poked him gently. "You could have told me about Piers, but you didn't. Instead, you had the complete gall to complain to me about his incompetence as a valet."
"He is an incompetent valet. After that performance in Calais, I'm none too confident of his skills as a bodyguard, either. I would have told you, but I didn't want to worry you. Don't change the subject. You haven't answered my question. Why are you smiling?"
"I could tell you." I thought it over. "But I wouldn't want to worry you."
Thomas made it clear that he wanted me to answer his question.
"Oh, do stop. I surrender." I caught my breath and pushed the hair out of my eyes. "I'm smiling because not only do I accept your gracious apology, I believe your motives are pure. You hired Piers to protect me from outsiders and not from my own clumsiness. But now you must forgive me, please."
"What for?" Thomas demanded.
"I was hurt at first," I confessed. "I did think you were making allowances for your clumsy wife. But Sir Hilary's presence in Paris proves you had good reason to hire Piers. It wasn't kind, nor even honest of me to let you go on thinking I was overset. I apologize."
For once in my life, I had the utter satisfaction of seeing Thomas caught by surprise. He stared at me a moment, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. It was an endearing expression, one of fuddled, innocent astonishment. I almost regret that I will, in all likelihood, never see it again.
"Kate—" Thomas's voice scarcely attained a whisper. "You were roasting me? The whole time?"
"Not the whole time. For the first few seconds, I was quite distressed. But after that—" Thomas didn't let me finish what I meant to say. Yet I have reason to be certain that, eventually, he forgave me.
28 August 1817
Paris
At Lady Sylvia's house
During the past few days, I have seen far less of Cecy than I have of the seamstress sent by the modiste to do the final fitting on my gowns. While I have Reardon safely ensconced in my service to help bring order out of the chaos of my personal appearance on a daily basis, Cecy still has not engaged a maid of her own. Lady Sylvia's maids help her, of course, but a great deal of Cecy's time is taken up with the interviews and the checking of references. I find it lowering to see how much time and attention the task of hiring a servant requires when it is done properly. Still, this does not prevent me from frequent bouts of exultation that in engaging Reardon, I have escaped the task.
Reardon's adjustment to the household has been effortless, though I'm sure it must have cost her some pains to make it seem that way to me. The other members of the staff accepted her and she dealt with them in kind. Of necessity, she sees a great deal of Piers. He seems only to benefit from her calm example of service. Thomas's clothing has returned to its customary state of order and refinement (which means that it is just as neat as James's but somehow not as staid). Thomas himself has taken to early morning rides with Cecy in the Bois de Boulogne, as James is still recuperating, though he refuses to admit it. I am often pressed to join them, but given my relative lack of skill in the saddle, I prefer to make it my custom to lie in and begin the morning with a sleepy cup of tea or chocolate. An hour or two of sleep while Thomas is off galloping about somewhere makes a world of difference to my outlook on the day.
29 August 1817
Paris
At Lady Sylvia's house
This morning James and I were present when Mr. Lennox and Mr. Reardon paid a call on Lady Sylvia. Thomas was off riding with Cecy, so it was just the five of us. Mr. Reardon wore his neckcloth in a new style, but I was glad to discover it made no difference. I could still tell him from Mr. Lennox. They both looked rather sheepish, as if they expected a good scolding from Lady Sylvia.
"I'm afraid we may have exceeded our authority." Mr. Lennox held out his hand. Nestled in the palm were Cecy's pearl earrings, stolen by the highwaymen.
"Good heavens, where did you find these?" Lady Sylvia asked, as Mr. Lennox gave her the earrings. James and I stared wordlessly.
"To be exact," Mr. Reardon replied, "on a velvet cushion on the counter of a pawnshop in the Rue d'Horloge."
Lady Sylvia asked, "In what way do you fear you may have exceeded your authority?"
"We pursued a variant of the location spell," said Mr. Reardon, "using a few of the objects we found discarded at the scene of Sir Hilary Bedrick's murder. A clay pipe proved unexpectedly rewarding. We followed the trace to the pawnshop. The trace was extremely clear. We assumed the clarity owed something to the strength of the link."
"We don't know that it didn't." Mr. Lennox gave the distinct impression this was a point they had already discussed at length.
"Be that as it may," Reardon continued with patience and precision, "the clarity of the trace came from the recent presence of the man we traced. Extremely recent, as it turned out."
"We were questioning the proprietor," Lennox said, "when we discovered the owner of the pipe was actually still on the premises. When he overheard our questions, he fled."
"We pursued him, but he eluded us." From the blandness of Reardon's tone, I think it safe to assume that much more had happened, but that we weren't going to hear any of it.
"Eventually we returned to the proprietor. He turned the earrings over to us after only a minimal amount of persuasion," Lennox said.
"Yet it was regrettable. Whoever the man who pawned the earrings was, he must have heard us. If he had sufficient wit, he now knows someone is taking an interest in Bedrick's murder and your robbery. It won't require much research to identify you through us. We apologize for our ill-timed interrogation," Reardon concluded.
"It can't be helped." Lady Sylvia gazed at the pearl eardrops in her hand. "If someone realizes we are taking an interest in this matter, there's nothing we can do to remedy it. Whatever we've stumbled into, it may prove to be a good thing, if our interest puts them off."
"It may merely make them more cautious," I said. "Whoever they are."
James said, "The man who pawned Cecy's earrings may have had nothing whatever to do with the robbery. He may know nothing at all. In that case, even if he overheard you asking about him, he has no reason to connect us to the incident at all. And no one to tell if he did."
"That adds up to a great many ifs," said Mr. Reardon, "a word I have always held in considerable distaste."
Lady Sylvia gave the earrings to James
and closed his hand over them gently. "You shall be the one to return these to their owner."
I said, "Now we know Aunt Elizabeth's charm really did work. Cecy couldn't lose those even when they were stolen from her."
Lady Sylvia looked thoughtful. "Even the simplest of spells may have unlooked-for consequences. Who can say what part that little charm played in these matters?"
From the deposition of Mrs. James Tarleton, &c.
The Bois de Boulogne is quite a pleasant place for a ride, and I was looking forward to the day when James would be well enough to join me. In the meantime, Thomas made quite an acceptable substitute, particularly as he had no foolish notions about what constituted a suitable mount for a lady. Indeed, I was obliged at one point to decline his offer of a particularly fine and spirited gray gelding; dearly though I would have loved to try his paces, I could see that he was too strong for me, and I would not risk doing a mischief to one of Lady Sylvia's horses.
The ride to and from the Bois was nearly as pleasant as the wood itself. Paris is a city of great beauty, and the boulevards are wide and well considered. We took a different route each day. Thomas claimed it was in order to familiarize himself with the city, though I thought it was more that he wished to show off how familiar with it he already was, without the chance of embarrassing himself in front of Kate.
One morning, a little over a week after Piers's return, we had a late start from the stables due to some unexpected difficulties with the tack. Consequently, the streets were more full and our progress both to and from the Bois was slower than usual. Thomas had chosen a particularly circuitous route, and as we turned an unfamiliar corner, I saw a small shop just ahead of us.
I reined in my horse. "Thomas, is that a bookshop?"
"That's usually what la librairie means," he replied. "Why?"
"Papa gave me a list of titles he has had difficulty in obtaining from his usual sources," I said. "I have not been able to look for them yet, but this appears to be a most promising possibility." The shop looked just like all the ones Papa has dragged Oliver and Aunt Elizabeth and me to in the past. "Would you mind if we stopped for a moment?"
"I suppose it's a sort of shopping I can tolerate," Thomas replied. "And it certainly doesn't sound like anything James would object to."
Taking that for assent, I rode to the door and dismounted. Thomas found an urchin who agreed to hold the horses for the princely sum of half a franc, with another to follow when we came out.
Bookshops are much the same, whatever the language. Dusty shelves reached to the ceiling, piled high with shabby literature and smelling of musty leather. The proprietor was very helpful, but he could supply only two of the volumes Papa had requested. "Me, I do not keep les histoires," he explained. "They do not sell here at all well. When by chance some arrive, I send them to my friend in the Rue de Rivoli. That one of which you ask"—he waved at Papa's list—"I sent to him only two days ago."
"Very well; can you give me his direction?" I said.
"It is most easy to find," the man told me. "It is near the Ile de la Cite, a few turns from the bridge."
Thomas stared at the bookseller in transparent disbelief.
"The Ile de la Cite?" He transferred his stare to me. "I don't believe it. How did you set this up?"
"Set what up?" I said. "Is there some reason— Oh." I felt very dull not to have seen instantly what Thomas was getting at. The Ile de la Cite is, of course, the location of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, and the Sainte Chapelle. The bookseller was looking anxious, so I thanked him for his information and paid for my purchases. Thomas frowned at me the entire time.
"You are not going anywhere near Sainte Chapelle," he said firmly as we left the bookstore.
"If this bookstore is nearby, I most certainly shall," I replied. "You heard the gentleman; this place has one of the books Papa particularly requested. If you choose not to accompany me, I am sure Lady Sylvia—"
"Absolutely not," Thomas said. "You are every bit as bad as James warned me, and he would not approve of this. Not at all." He paused a moment, thinking. "I'll take you back to the house, and then you can give me your book list and I'll retrieve your titles for you," he offered at last.
"You may have the list this very moment," I said, digging it out, "but I do not think it will serve."
"Why no— Good God, this is writing?" He peered at Papa's list. "De No... Nobis, or Novum? Or Nocturne?"
"Papa's handwriting is not the best," I said. "Kate and Aunt Elizabeth are the only other people I know who can make any sense of it."
Thomas favored me with an intense glare. "And I don't suppose you're willing to write out a clean copy. You want an excuse to go poking about Sainte Chapelle."
"I don't expect there would be much point to it, after you and James examined everything so thoroughly," I said sweetly. "Now, are we going on to the Rue de Rivoli, or shall we finish our ride? I'm sure Kate and Lady Sylvia will be happy—"
"You are not dragging Kate anywhere near the Ile de la Cite," Thomas said flatly. "Not that dragging would be necessary; she's as bad as you are. Very well, we'll find this bookstore and get your father his books. How I'm going to explain this to James..."
"I'll explain it to him myself," I said. Thomas only rolled his eyes.
We turned our horses' heads toward the river. Thomas sulked the entire way, and left it to me to locate the bookshop. Fortunately, the proprietor's directions were quite clear, and for once someone was correct in saying a place was easy to find. It was much the same as the first in appearance, except that it had more custom. As we entered, I heard the bookseller speaking to someone near the far wall.
"Monsieur, I have said I have only Volume IV of the Anciennes Pratiques; I cannot magic the books out of thin air. If you wish to buy Volume IV, you may do so, but more than that, I cannot sell you."
"That is not adequate," said an unpleasantly familiar man's voice.
"If he doesn't have them, he doesn't have them," a younger voice said. "Don't make a fuss, Harry."
Although the speakers were hidden by the rows of bookcases, I was quite sure it was young Theodore Daventer and his oily tutor, whom James and I had met at the Temple of Minerva Victrix. Thomas had stopped in the doorway, still frowning ferociously. I gave him a reassuring nod and started forward.
"I sent a note around requesting the Anciennes Pratiques," the tutor replied. "I did not ask for Volume IV alone. If he does not have the set for sale, he should not have answered."
I came around the end of the bookcases, and the first thing I saw was Theodore Daventer, looking acutely uncomfortable. The tutor, by contrast, seemed to be positively reveling in the prospect of making as much fuss as possible. I smiled at Theodore and pretended not to notice the tutor or the distressed bookseller.
"Mr. Daventer!" I said. "How nice to run into you again."
"Good morning, Mrs. Tarleton," said Theodore Daventer, for of course it was him. "And Mr.—um." He looked over my shoulder uncertainly.
Thomas's frown could make anyone uncertain. I turned. "Lord Schofield, may I present Theodore Daventer?" I said. "And—"
"Harry Strangle," Thomas said in a soft, dangerous voice. "What are you doing in Paris?"
The tutor's face went white. He took a step backward, stumbled, took another step, then turned and fled. Thomas surged after him, pushing past the shopkeeper and Theodore and knocking over a stack of books in his haste. The shopkeeper's cry of distress did not slow him down in the least, but the overturned books did—enough to allow the tutor to dodge around the bookshelves and race for the door. Thomas followed.
"What is that about?" Theodore demanded.
"I am not perfectly sure," I replied, not altogether truthfully. Kate had told me a good deal about Mr. Strangle in the letters she wrote during her London Season. In addition to his disagreeable personality, he had been in league with Sir Hilary Bedrick's colleague Miranda—more than sufficient reason for Thomas to wish to cross-question him regarding Sir Hi
lary's recent demise. "Perhaps you should ask your tutor when next you see him."
Theodore looked down. "I suppose."
"I take it Mr.—Strangle?—prefers not to confide in his students," I said. "I believe it's not uncommon behavior for tutors."
"It's not that," Theodore said. He sounded just like my brother, Oliver, and I gave him my best encouraging smile. "It's just— I don't think my father would— Even if Uncle did recommend— I—I don't think I like Mr. Strangle very much. And he doesn't know nearly as much history as he pretends. His lessons are much too easy."
I blinked. Oliver and his friends did a good deal of complaining about their tutors while we were all growing up, but I had never heard any of them grumble about lessons being too easy.
My surprise must have shown more than I intended, because Theodore blushed slightly and waved at the bookcases. "I suppose it's well enough for the other fellows, but—well, you heard him going on about the Anciennes Pratiques."
"He did seem quite set on getting hold of it," I said carefully.
"Yes, he wants me to read it." Theodore snorted. "I tried to tell him, I've already read it. Well, looked at it, enough to see that it's all secondary and tertiary sources strung together with a lot of metaphysical nonsense. But he won't listen. The only worthwhile reading he's given me is Monsieur Montier's monograph on the history of the Ile de la Cite. And his 'practical applications' aren't teaching us anything, even if we do get to see—" He stopped short and reddened, from which I assumed he had been about to say something completely unsuitable for a lady's ears.
Despite the brevity of my acquaintance with Mr. Strangle, it did not surprise me in the least that he would encourage his pupils in such a fashion. To avoid embarrassing Theodore further, I turned to the shopkeeper and inquired about the books Papa had requested. He was evidently a trifle deaf, for he had some trouble in understanding me, but Theodore was of considerable help in making him understand my wishes. The man did not have quite everything Papa wanted, but I crossed several more items off the list.
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