The Counterfeit Heiress: A Lady Emily Mystery (Lady Emily Mysteries)

by Tasha Alexander

  “It is easy for you to say that, coming upon us like this, so many years after Mademoiselle Lamar’s departure, but it was not so for us. Her manner of leaving may seem odd to you, but it did not appear out of character to those in her household. You, Madame du Lac, know her well. Were you shocked at the time?”

  “I own to having felt a certain amount of surprise,” Cécile said. “I had never expected Estella to embark on a journey of any scale. She was loath to leave her house.”

  “Mademoiselle had very little to say to me,” Jeanne said, “but she always read while I tended to her hair, always books about travel and exotic places. Perhaps they fired her imagination.”

  “They must have.” Cécile dismissed the maid, leaned against the back of her chair in that elegant way exclusive to Parisian ladies, and tapped her closed fan against the palm of her left hand. “Estella was so very obsessed with her reading at times, and I do admit that I was not wholly taken aback at the note she sent me when she left. It was an odd way to announce her departure, but her manners had always left much to be desired. She paid little regard to what society expected in terms of ordinary behavior. If I invited her to dinner and managed to convince her to come, I knew to expect that she might leave before dessert had finished. She meant no offense by her actions, but did not stay on when she wanted to go home.”

  “It appears that neither did she stay home when she wanted to depart.” I frowned. “It is most curious. Did you truly think nothing of it at the time?”

  “At the time, Kallista, I believed she had decided to cruise up the Nile. This is hardly an earth-shattering course of action for someone who has spent years reading about the travels of others. Egypt led to Jerusalem, which led to Persia, which led to India, and so forth. I thought very little of it. Estella is a difficult person to know, and I had no reason to suspect anything was amiss.”

  “The profusion of newspaper photos I have seen strike the wrong chord with me,” I said. “She had never before behaved in a way that suggested she craved attention, but we are to assume her travels changed this about her? I do not believe it. The pictures seem to me a way of proving she was where she claimed, but her face was not discernible in a single one of the photographs in your album other than the first, and that had been taken in a studio years before she left Paris. I am convinced that something has gone very much amiss.”

  * * *

  We sat in a café near the place des Vosges to have a council of war after we had finished at Estella’s house. Colin and Jeremy reported having found every room in perfect order. They had gone below stairs as well, and although the servants could not be described as overworked, neither were they at leisure. Their mistress’s absence meant the cook did not have to prepare her meals, and that the laundress did not need to tend to any of her undergarments, but there were still the servants’ meals, the bed linens and white goods throughout the house. Floors needed polishing, windows washing, and surfaces dusting. Because the house was not closed, the amount of work varied only slightly with Estella gone.

  “So far as I can tell she kept no diary.” Colin flipped through his notebook. “I found no correspondence to speak of. The steward told me he sends all her mail on to the solicitor, Pinard. Other than that, there is very little in the house that speaks to Miss Lamar’s character.”

  “You saw her dolls, non?” Cécile asked.

  “I nearly ran when Hargreaves opened the cupboard.” Jeremy’s face contorted in disgust. “Creepy things, if you ask me, all lined up on the floor like that around a little stool.”

  “Are they not in the nursery?” I asked.

  “There were more than seventy on shelves in a room nearby,” Colin said, “but we found a smaller grouping in a cupboard in the corridor on the top floor of the house. It appeared to have been fashioned into a hiding place for a small child.”

  “Estella must have kept it as it had been when she was a girl.” I shrugged. “No reason to change it.”

  “She had a great affection for her dolls,” Cécile said. “Her father gave them to her and she developed what I can only call an unnatural attachment to them. She confided in me that her mother told her the most wonderful, fantastical stories when she was young, and that she eventually started telling them to her dolls.”

  “Not entirely out of the ordinary, I imagine,” Colin said.

  “It would not have been had she abandoned the habit when she came of age, Monsieur Hargreaves, but Estella often had one or more of her dolls with her when I called on her. When she did, she explained that she had been in the middle of a story. At the time I assumed she was being facetious. Now I am not confident in that judgment.”

  “There can be no question that Estella is a strange lady,” I said. “Let us take that as read. A person with childlike qualities is vulnerable to those who want to take advantage, and her fortune would make her ripe to be so targeted. I want to see Monsieur Pinard immediately. From what the servants have told us, he holds the purse strings. Let’s see if he is controlling his client as well as her money.”

  Estella

  viii

  When her captor had left her, Estella thought she would never be hungry enough to eat the food he had brought, but as the hours passed—was it hours? Days? She had no way to measure the passing of time—her stomach, despite the fear and anxiety consuming the rest of her, began to rumble. She lined the food up next to her on the slab, evaluating her bounty. The grapes had seen better days, but the cheese did not look bad. She broke off a corner of it and tore a piece of the baguette. He had left her no knife—wise man—so she was forced to attack the pâté with the crust of the bread. It worked surprisingly well.

  He had brought the wine already opened, the cork crammed back into the bottle’s neck, so that she would have no need for a corkscrew. She had no glass, so was forced to guzzle directly from the bottle, an act that she found strangely appealing, so unlike anything she had been allowed to do in her regular life. The wine was atrocious, but it made her muscles relax and the sensation was so pleasant that she drank more than she perhaps ought to have. Her lids grew heavy, but she did not know whether to credit this to the libation or the hour. She wrapped the remaining cheese in its paper, popped a grape into her mouth—the fruit was not so bad as she had feared, but Estella acknowledged this, too, might be due to the effect of the wine—and made a neat pile of her provisions on the floor away from the slab.

  She wanted to sleep, but even the wine could not disguise the intense discomfort one feels when reclining on bare stone. She had bunched her cloak into a ball, fashioning a sort of pillow from it. Her heavy petticoats provided a certain amount of padding, but nowhere near enough to make her position one that could be even generously described as comfortable. Eventually she was drowsy enough to decide it wise to blow out the candles and then, plunged once again into darkness, slumber at last overcame her.

  She did not dream all night.

  9

  Monsieur Pinard’s offices in the rue de Courcelles, just south of Parc Monceau, conveyed luxury the moment one entered them. Fine art hung on walls paneled in sumptuous wood, silk Persian carpets blanketed parquet floors, and the chairs were covered with butter-soft morocco leather. Estella might not have had a taste for Worth, but Monsieur Pinard inhabited another league entirely. His clothes were of the finest fabric and could only be described as violently fashionable. Colin and I had come to his office alone, leaving Cécile and Jeremy at the café. Four was too large a party for this part of our work. The solicitor did not keep us waiting long, despite our lack of appointment.

  “I do hope you are not here because Mademoiselle Lamar caused a commotion in London.” He sat behind an ebony desk after we refused the coffee he offered. “It would be very unlike her. She has proved herself a great adventurer, but has not once fallen afoul of the authorities in any of the countries she has visited. So please, Monsieur Hargreaves, do explain what my client has done to draw the attention of an agent of the British Crown.�
��

  “You believe Estella Lamar is, or has recently been, in London?” Colin asked.

  “Your presence here suggests just that. I cannot give you details, as I am not in possession of them. I know little beyond what her invoices tell me. In this case, I remember very well a large one from the House of Worth for a masquerade costume intended for the Devonshire House ball.”

  “Mademoiselle Lamar did not appear at the ball,” I said. The solicitor shrugged.

  “This is hardly my concern.”

  “You should, perhaps, take better notice.” Colin rose from his seat, placed his hands on the edge of Monsieur Pinard’s desk, and leaned hard on them. “So far as we can tell, your client has not been in London at any time in the recent past. A woman came to the ball in the costume Mademoiselle Lamar commissioned from Worth. This woman identified herself as your client to the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire as well as to the rest of London society. When confronted by a lady who recognized the fraud, the woman fled, only to be found murdered some hours later.”

  “Mon Dieu.” Now Monsieur Pinard became serious. He tapped his hand on the desk. “You are quite certain Mademoiselle is not in the house in Belgravia?”

  “She has not been there in more than two decades,” I said. “Does this surprise you?”

  “To own the truth, I would be more surprised if she were there. She has developed a taste for things considerably more exotic. The last letter I had from her indicated that she is planning to start for China by the end of the month.”

  “What exactly is your arrangement with Miss Lamar?” Colin asked.

  “I was the executor of her parents’ estate, and have handled her financial interests since their deaths. Mademoiselle Lamar showed little interest in the details of her fortune, beyond a brief period—that amounted to nothing—in which she flirted with the idea of investing in industry. I pay her bills, manage her investments, and, since she has been away, ensure that her houses are well run in her absence. If you have been to Belgravia, I assume you are aware that she wants everything left as if she were there.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Is that not rather a wanton waste of money? We were in place des Vosges before coming to you. That is not an inexpensive house to run.”

  “Mademoiselle Lamar can well afford it. My job is not to judge her eccentricities. If she began to spend at an unsustainable rate, I would do my best to remedy the situation, but she has never approached that, even with her three houses.”

  “The third is a villa in the south?” Colin asked.

  “Oui, but so far as I know Mademoiselle Lamar has not visited it since losing her parents. I make an annual trip there and to London to check on things. Her staff are very loyal, but one must make sure they are doing what they ought.” He clasped his hands together on the desk and smiled. “I am painfully aware that this situation is most extraordinary. Servants running empty houses. An heiress traveling the world in the company of no one but a companion and foreign natives and all but refusing to return home. There is no denying the strangeness of all of it, but Mademoiselle Lamar is a grown woman in possession of a large fortune, and she has the unfettered right to spend it however she sees fit. My job is to do what she directs—I am employed by her, not vice versa.”

  “You are not concerned about her in the least?” I asked.

  “This business of the costume and the murdered woman is unsettling, I allow you that.” He paused, turned away from us in his chair, and looked out the windows behind his desk. “The only reasonable explanation is that Mademoiselle Lamar had decided to buy the costume for this other woman. Is it possible they met abroad?” He faced us again.

  “Almost certainly not,” Colin said. He had resumed his seat, but was staring at Monsieur Pinard with great intensity. “She was a midwife and a failed actress and would have had neither the means nor the opportunity to travel.”

  “It is quite a mystery then. Perhaps someone at the House of Worth could offer you assistance? If the costume were made for someone other than Mademoiselle Lamar, they would have had to know in order to make it fit the wearer, would they not?”

  “Could we please see your copy of the invoice?” I asked.

  “This is no problem.” He pulled a thick folder from one of the side drawers in his desk, rustled through the papers in it, and produced the invoice in question. “You may take it with you if you like. I will also give you a note, explaining that you are working with me on a matter concerning Mademoiselle Lamar, so there will be no difficulties.”

  “Thank you.” Colin’s tone was all politeness, but I recognized a tension in it as well. “We will also need to go over all your records concerning Miss Lamar.”

  The solicitor threw his hands in the air. “I am most sorry, Monsieur Hargreaves, but I cannot allow that. My client’s finances are confidential, and unless she directly orders me to share her private information with you, I am bound by ethics to deny your request.”

  I could see it was time for me to intervene. “Monsieur Pinard, no one could doubt either your keen sense of ethics or your devotion to your client.” I smiled at him, forcing my eyes to linger on his. “I am most concerned about Mademoiselle Lamar. This murder, though it did not directly impact her, at least not so far as we know, is connected to her in some way, and she may be in a great deal of danger. Surely you will help me. I need you so very much. Without you, how can we protect Estella?”

  He smiled while I spoke, which I took as a positive sign, and he fidgeted almost indiscernibly—I spotted it—before he replied. “Lady Emily, you are most passionate in your plea, and I am tempted more than you can know. I care deeply about Mademoiselle Lamar, but unless you can prove to me that she is in danger, I am afraid I cannot comply, no matter how charming you may be.”

  My face flushed hot. I was mortified to have so misjudged the situation—but who would not have made the same mistake? I had believed all Frenchmen susceptible to a friendly flirtation.

  “My wife’s worries stem from more than general concern, Monsieur Pinard. As you had no way of knowing that, you of course misunderstood her. Are you acquainted with Cécile du Lac, your client’s closest friend from her years in Paris?”

  “I do not know her personally, but am aware of her relationship to Mademoiselle Lamar.”

  “Madame du Lac is convinced something terrible has happened to her friend. As I explained, I am an agent of the British Crown. My wife is an investigator in her own right, and she is here not only to support my role, but also to further her own work. Madame du Lac has charged her with locating Estella Lamar.”

  I could have kissed Colin on the spot for having made something very nearly sensible come out of my blunder. “Forgive me if I was unclear before, Monsieur Pinard,” I said. “Madame du Lac has no doubt that her friend is in the most perilous situation. Like you, I am bound by the confidential nature of the services I provide, and cannot disclose everything my client knows. I would never want to do something of which Mademoiselle Lamar would not approve. How long do you think it would take for you to receive a response from a telegram to her? Perhaps you could send one, and if she doesn’t reply in a timely fashion, you would be willing to reconsider your position? If there is nothing wrong, she is bound to answer straightaway, either granting or denying you permission to give us what we have asked.”

  Confusion clouded the solicitor’s face. “If Mademoiselle Lamar were easy to reach, Madame du Lac could confirm for herself that there is no problem. My client is not traveling in accessible locations. One cannot send a wire to the jungles of Siam.”

  “Do they have jungles in Siam?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “I have never traveled there myself.”

  “I am no expert on the geography. All I can tell you is that I cannot reliably communicate with Mademoiselle Lamar. She sends directions when she sees fit. She is not obligated to keep me abreast of her every whim.”

  “So if something were to go dreadfully wrong with her, you might not know in time to offer
even the slightest assistance?” I asked.

  “One could look at it that way, Lady Emily, but my job is not to offer assistance. It is not to rescue my client if she chooses to put herself in dangerous situations. As I have already said, I manage her finances and her properties, and unless someone in a position of authority requires me to share Mademoiselle Lamar’s private information, I will not do so.” He rose from his seat. “If you will be so good as to excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do.”

  * * *

  “My deepest apologies for having bungled that. I thought a little flirting would distract him enough to say yes to whatever we wanted.” Upon leaving Monsieur Pinard’s office, Colin and I walked the short distance to Parc Monceau, and had settled on a comfortable bench to discuss our situation.

  “It was not an altogether ridiculous strategy, although even a Frenchman, Emily, is bound to hesitate at flirting when the lady’s husband is sitting two feet away.”

  “You know full well that is not true! I have seen, any number of times—”

  “Do not excite yourself.”

  I sighed and slumped as much as my corset would allow. “Monsieur Pinard does not seem to have the slightest concern for Estella’s well-being.”

  “He is correct when he says that is not his job. What matters at the moment, however, is that he had believed Estella to have been in London for the ball. His copy of the invoice from Worth gave no information about where the costume was to be delivered or mentioned anything to suggest it had been intended for someone other than Estella. We will find out more when we go to Worth.”

  “Do you not find everything about Monsieur Pinard suspect? I can hardly abide the sight of him. He is smug and so very ostentatious in the manner he displays his wealth. Did you see the size of the gold links on his watch chain? I should not be surprised at all if he is stealing from Estella.”