And Only to Deceive

by Tasha Alexander

  “Of course, Lady Ashton. My apologies. Shall we hunt down Lady Elliott and invite her to join us?”

  “Ivy’s right—you are a beast.”

  “Brandon should keep better control of her; I cannot have my reputation so tarnished.”

  “I think you are tarnishing it yourself,” I said.

  “And now you laugh at me.”

  “No, not at you. But it is delightful to laugh again, even with someone who has such bizarre manners.”

  “I do hope you can overlook my eccentricities. I know I speak too frankly and meddle where I shouldn’t. I have no tolerance for superficialities and like to find the honest truth about those I befriend. I should, perhaps, be more delicate when it comes to a subject like you and Ashton. You are too lovely to suffer any discomfort.”

  “I shall reserve the right to be direct and inappropriate when questioning you at some future time. In the meantime, however, do you see Emma Callum over there?” I had spotted her walking not far from our carriage.

  “Isn’t she recently engaged?”

  “Yes. She’s in Paris to select her trousseau.”

  “Well, I hope she exhibits better taste in choosing it than she did that dress.”

  “You are terrible, Mr. Palmer.”

  “Please call me Andrew. I don’t like to be reminded of my station in life.”

  “Very well, Andrew. You may continue to call me Lady Ashton, as I very much enjoy being reminded of mine.” He looked shocked. “Surely you know I am joking.”

  “I do like you very much, Emily.”

  We drove on, speaking freely to each other and laughing often. The afternoon passed quickly and happily, although the air turned chilly as the sun sank low in the sky. When at last I returned to the Meurice, I was quite cold. I paused at the desk to ask the maître d’hôtel to have someone sent up to tend to my fire, knowing that Meg would not return from her afternoon out for some time. He handed me several letters from England and a note from Colin, which I opened and read as I walked to my rooms. He was leaving Paris and wrote to say good-bye. I forced the paper back into its envelope and fumbled with my key, suddenly realizing that my door was already unlocked. Unlocked and partially open.

  17 MAY 1887

  BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

  Never thought I could be grateful to a dragon like Lady Bromley for anything but am forever in her debt for seating me next to her daughter at dinner tonight. Lady Emily’s sharp wit took me completely by surprise—I expected nothing more than the usual trite commentary on the Season. Not sure I managed to say two words of sense to her all evening. Must call tomorrow.

  Have found most extraordinary calyx-krater at Leighton’s shop; 5th c., probably from Rhodes, depicting an athletic contest. Fournier was there, too; needless to say, bidding war ensued, but his fortune is no match for mine. Sanctimonious bastard. I won and told Leighton to send it directly to Murray at the Museum, knowing this would incense my rival, who hates to see anything go off the market in such a (relatively) permanent fashion. Am regretting this somewhat, as would have liked to keep the vase with my collection, at least temporarily, but could not help myself.

  9

  I SHALL NEVER FORGET THE SCENE THAT GREETED ME WHEN I opened the door to my suite. Everything was in a state of complete disarray: books strewn about the floor, their pages crumpled and torn; the contents of drawers dumped; my drawing supplies scattered about the room. The magnificent portrait Renoir painted of me had been ripped from its frame. Happily, the canvas itself was not damaged, the only bright spot in a hideous mess. As I stood looking at the painting, the man sent to attend to my fire walked through the open door and rushed to my side.

  “Please sit down, Lady Ashton. I will get help immediately.” Within a few moments, Monsieur Beaulieu, the manager of the hotel, arrived with a bottle of smelling salts that I quickly refused; I do not faint. I did, however, accept the glass of Armagnac he offered, and before long the police had arrived. Never had I been more grateful for the perfect English spoken by the staff of the Meurice. I speak French fluently, but, upset as I was, it was much easier to answer their questions in my native tongue while Monsieur Beaulieu translated.

  “What on earth has happened here?” Andrew burst into the room. “I was in the lobby and heard of the commotion. Are you hurt, Emily?”

  “No, I’m fine. It was like this when I entered the room.”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “I really haven’t had the opportunity to determine that, Andrew.”

  “How can I assist you?”

  “I’m all right. Monsieur Beaulieu has been remarkably helpful.”

  “I should hope so, after the security of his hotel has been this lacking. How did the thief open the door?”

  “It appears that the lock was forced,” Monsieur Beaulieu replied. “I assure you, Mr. Palmer, that the lobby has been fully staffed all day. I am as shocked as you that someone could enter the hotel and do such a thing.”

  “It’s not your fault, Monsieur Beaulieu,” I said, looking at Andrew. “Andrew, could you please fetch Robert and Ivy for me?”

  “Are they still in town?”

  “They leave for Italy tomorrow.”

  “I wish they were going to London. I could arrange for you to travel with them. You should not stay here any longer.” He left the room before I could reply, and soon returned with my friends, who agreed that I should make plans to go home. Nothing had been stolen from my rooms, leading the police to suspect that the burglar had been interrupted mid-task.

  “What if he had still been here when you returned, Emily? What then? You really must go home,” Robert said.

  “There’s no reason that I should leave.”

  “What if he comes back?” Ivy asked.

  “Your burglar obviously did not get what he came for,” Andrew said. “I believe it’s likely that he would come back. Were he simply a sneak thief, he would have taken anything of value, and even if interrupted, would not have left empty-handed. Something would be missing. The fact that nothing is gone indicates to me that this man thinks you have something of great value. Perhaps he did not have time to complete his search of your belongings. At any rate, he’ll certainly return.”

  “If you decide to stay, Lady Ashton, I can have your rooms changed to another location in the hotel,” Monsieur Beaulieu said.

  “You cannot think of staying!” Ivy interjected. “What if he returns when you are in your room? I cannot bear the thought of it.”

  I was not wholly convinced but will admit freely that I no longer felt entirely comfortable.

  “It does seem odd, doesn’t it, that a burglar would have taken the time to remove Renoir’s painting from the frame and then left it?” I said.

  The most senior police officer looked down at me and winced slightly. “Madame, perhaps his taste in art precluded him from taking such a work.”

  Two of the hotel staff restored my rooms to their original condition while Meg hovered over them, shooting menacing glances whenever she could. The episode had done nothing to improve her opinion of the French in general, and, unfortunately, she did little to hide her attitude. Robert and Ivy offered to stay in so that I wouldn’t be alone, but I refused to let them cancel their plans for their final evening in Paris. Instead I sent a note to Cécile asking if I could spend the night with her. She replied immediately, saying that her carriage was waiting for me outside the Meurice. She had planned to dine in that evening with Margaret, whom she had befriended immediately after seeing her lovely dress at Mr. Bennett’s, and assured me that they were both eager to see me.

  “Mon Dieu!” Cécile exclaimed when I arrived at her house. “My poor girl! Thank goodness you kept your jewelry in the hotel safe.”

  “Nothing was stolen. It’s very odd, don’t you think?” I asked after recounting all the details of the incident.

  “An inefficient crook, I imagine. I, too, am surprised he did not take the Renoir, but impressionist paintings don
’t command high prices. Our friends do not receive the level of recognition they deserve.”

  “I suppose you’re right. My sketchbook is destroyed—all the pages torn out and scattered about the floor. Your books, Margaret, are damaged but not unreadable. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t think about it. It’s nothing,” she replied, sitting next to me.

  “I am convinced that the man I’ve seen following me is involved in this,” I said. “The police assured me they would search for him but thought it was unlikely that they would meet with any success. But why would he follow me all the way to Paris to break into my hotel? Other than the Renoir, which clearly was not his object, I’ve nothing of consequence here that I didn’t have in London.”

  “It would have been more difficult for him to rob your house in town. Your servants would have raised an alarm,” Cécile replied. “He is not so inconspicuous as our cat burglar.”

  “Yes, but what if one of my servants was his accomplice? Before I came to Paris, my butler informed me that he had fired one of the footmen for rifling through Philip’s desk. I wonder what I possess that is so interesting.” I told them about the note I had found in Philip’s guide to the British Museum.

  “The footman was probably looking for some small trinket to sell. It’s not such an uncommon situation,” Margaret said. “I doubt he had more nefarious plans. As for the note, it’s most likely been sitting in that book for years and years, probably put there by Philip. I don’t see how it could possibly be related to what is happening to you now.”

  “I suppose you are right,” I said, not entirely satisfied. “But I would very much like to know the story behind it.”

  “Are you going to stay in Paris?” Margaret asked.

  “I have not decided.”

  “It would be terrible if you felt you must flee to London after such an occurrence,” Cécile said.

  “I have mixed feelings about leaving but must admit that I’m quite interested to see if my mysterious friend will turn up again in London. Meg would be delighted to go home, of course. She insists she knew that something dreadful would happen if we stayed in France for any length of time.”

  “I have my maid looking after her. Odette is charming and very clever; I think they will get along well. Perhaps a small step toward changing her perceptions?”

  “It would be nice.” I laughed. “But I fear there is little hope of that.”

  “I think you should return to London,” Margaret said matter-of-factly. “But not because I’m afraid the thief will return.”

  “Why then?” I asked.

  “Because I think you would benefit from attending the lecture series I told you about this afternoon.” She turned to Cécile. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so, although I’m certain you could find many equally interesting opportunities in Paris, Kallista.” She looked at me. “But I think you have already decided that Margaret would make an excellent traveling companion.”

  “I admit that the idea of the lectures appeals to me greatly.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Margaret said in her firm, bright voice. “You will leave with me, and I will depend on you to offer me asylum at regular intervals. I’m staying with a friend of my mother’s who may well bore me to death.”

  “We must have some champagne. It is, after all, almost your last night in Paris. We are not going out, but we must make something of the occasion.” Cécile rang for the footman, who returned with a bottle and three tall glasses. “Has Worth finished your dresses?” she asked as the footman filled the glasses.

  “No, but he will send them to his London shop for the final fittings.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you in the blue gown.”

  “Yes, I shall have to return to Paris at once when I’m out of mourning,” I said with a smile.

  I retired early that evening, more tired than I realized. Margaret and I departed on the first train Thursday morning, and before long we were welcomed to London by a particularly dreary day.

  20 MAY 1887

  BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

  Dined with Fournier, who is wonderfully furious over losing vase to me. I suggested we view it together in the museum; he was not amused. He is in the process of acquiring several pieces of gold jewellery found at Mycenae. I wonder at the channels through which such things become available—though he assured me the provenance is beyond reproach.

  Rest of the day spent on mundane errands. Palmer has goaded me into buying a new horse, which I shall call Bucephalus, and I placed an obscenely large order with Berry Bros. & Rudd. Must keep the wine cellar up to snuff. Was forced to converse with Miss Huxley in the park on my way home. New—faster—horse shall keep me safe from suffering such a fate in the future.

  10

  I HAD ALWAYS CONSIDERED THE HOUSE IN BERKELEY Square as Philip’s and, even after living in it for more than two years, thought of myself as a visitor. Upon returning from Paris, however, I felt the pleasant sensation of homecoming as I looked up at the elegant Georgian edifice, with its classical lines and tall windows. The entire upstairs staff queued up next to the baroque staircase in the entrance hall to welcome me back, and Davis seemed genuinely pleased to see me return. He assured me that everyone on staff would be on the alert for any sign of the man who had followed me and that it would not be possible for the thief, whoever he was, to break into my house. Cook outdid herself at dinner. According to the lower footman, who had a tendency to speak to me while he served, she wanted to make sure that I felt no culinary loss at my return to England, where she was certain the beef was superior to any that could be found in France.

  After dinner I retired to the library and looked for something to read. The book I had carried on my honeymoon caught my eye, and I picked it up as I rang the bell for Davis.

  “Would you bring me some port?” I tried to sound nonchalant and a bit sophisticated as I spoke.

  “Port? Perhaps your ladyship would prefer sherry, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion.”

  “I believe that my husband had a fine cellar, did he not?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I see no reason that it should go to waste so long as I am in the house, and I’ve never cared for sherry.”

  “Which port would you like, madam?”

  I looked at him searchingly. “I have no idea, Davis. Could you make a professional recommendation?”

  “The ’47 would be an excellent choice.”

  “That will be fine,” I said, noticing that my solemn butler nearly smiled as he disappeared in search of the port. I looked at the book in my hand and wrinkled my nose. Lady Audley’s Secret was not the book a young bride ought to have taken on her wedding trip, and my mother had forbidden me to pack it. I, of course, had not listened to her and began reading the story of the gorgeous Lucy almost as soon as our train pulled out of Victoria Station. If Philip disapproved, he did not show it, laughing instead when he saw what I was doing. He asked that I promise never to push him down a well, as Lucy did her husband to avoid being exposed as a bigamist. I remember assuring him that, as I had no intention of being married to more than one man, he had little to worry about, but that one never could be too careful around wells. I also noted with some satisfaction that he knew the plot and so must have read the book himself.

  Davis returned with my port as I was lost in this memory, and I jumped a bit when I realized he was standing next to my chair.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the glass he presented to me. I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I shall like it?”

  “The 1847 was the best vintage of the century, madam. It does not disappoint.”

  I took a small sip and sat for a moment. “Delicious.” Now my butler did smile. “I saw that, Davis. You shall never be able to intimidate me again now that I know you smile.” He clearly did not know how to respond. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about Lord Ashton. You worked for him for many years, didn’t you?�
��

  “I was in his father’s household when Lord Ashton was a boy.”

  “I never considered Philip as having a childhood. Silly, isn’t it?” No response from the proper Davis. “What was he like?”

  “Always getting into trouble, Lady Ashton. Climbing the roof, scaling garden walls, digging huge, muddy holes. Used to mount what seemed to him at the time grand expeditions through the grounds of the estate.”

  “Then I am pleased to know that he was able to go on real expeditions as an adult.”

  “Yes, Lady Ashton.” He stood silently for a moment. “Will that be all?”

  I nodded, and he left me alone. I took another sip of the port, which really was good, and thought how enjoyable it was to behave in a way no one expected. I was trying to picture a smaller version of Philip tromping through the forests of his manor pretending to hunt for elephants when, for no apparent reason, I remembered the Praxiteles bust of Apollo that Monsieur Fournier had mentioned in Paris. Certain that it was not in the house, I went to Philip’s desk and took out his journal, which I had put in one of the drawers shortly after it was sent to me from Africa. During our wedding trip, he had written in the book almost constantly and seemed to record many purchases that we made; I hoped to find such an entry for the bust.

  Flipping through the leather-bound book, I came across sketch after sketch of various antiquities, but nothing that could be Apollo. Philip’s technique was careless at best, but he managed to create a decent impression of the pieces he drew. Finally, toward the end of the volume, I found it: Apollo, hastily drawn, with “Paris?” written under him, with no indication that my husband had located, let alone purchased, the bust. I was about to return the journal to its drawer when I noticed a sentence written farther up on the page.

  K lovelier than ever tonight. She still rarely looks at me when we speak, but am confident this will change. Paris had to convince Helen, after all, and I’ve no assistance from Aphrodite.