“That tracks with what Venetia told us,” I said to Honorine.
Charles continued, “Armand was in fact arrested in Grasse. But the king, who had already confiscated much of Lunaire’s treasures (as well as hiring his gardener and chef), must have greatly admired Armand’s tapestries, because he decreed that Armand’s life be spared, and he was placed in house arrest, where, guild records show, the king had Armand supervise the training of apprentice tapissiers.”
“Armand never left the house again,” Honorine interjected, wide-eyed, as if she could never imagine surviving such a punishment.
“The apprentices were the only visitors that Armand could have, and he was heavily guarded at all times whenever he was in the company of others. Armand did manage to get permission to complete his wedding tapestry for his daughter, ” Charles noted. “That is clear from Armand’s ledger of expenses. He died shortly after finishing his daughter’s tapestry. But, whether a patron or debt collector got his hands on it, we cannot say for sure. Apparently, as you know, someone must have taken the tapestry for himself, for it never reached Armand’s daughter, and vanished into private collections, until it resurfaced at auction and Venetia got it.”
“I wonder if the king himself took it?” I said.
“Who can say?” Charles answered. “Anything is possible, although I would think that if the king got it, somehow it would have shown up in the tally of royal possessions. I would wager that one of Armand’s suppliers—say, a cloth merchant—took it for himself.” Charles sat back in his chair, closing his file with a flourish.
“Well done,” Jeremy said, which apparently was exactly what Charles wanted to hear, because he smiled happily for a moment, then lifted his chin and tried to play it cool.
“Oui, merci beaucoup, Charles,” Honorine said.
Charles looked at his rather impressive steel watch. “I must go,” he said, rising. “I hope this helps.”
“I will see you out,” Honorine said, following him. When he was gone, Honorine returned to the library and said to us, “You must stay to lunch as my guests.”
It never occurred to me to wonder if Honorine had consulted her mother before inviting us to dine with her parents. Leonora seemed wary of our presence, but interested. Very politely and conversationally over the soup, she asked, “Anything new on the tapestry?”
Honorine answered before I could. “You bet!” she said enthusiastically, with a defiant gleam in her eye. “It turns out that one of our vénérable ancestors got into serious trouble with the law! Charles says that Armand the tapissier was accused of procuring poison from Rinaldo the parfumeur, and giving it to a nobleman named Jean Lunaire, who conspired to kill the Sun King!”
Leonora gasped, and all the soup spoons stopped.
“Honorine,” Leonora said severely, “do you mean to say that Charles has gone home to his family to tell them that our ancestor was a traitor to France?”
Aw, geez, I thought, looking in consternation at Jeremy. Of course, a compliant son like Charles wouldn’t be able to resist blabbing to his parents about Honorine’s family’s possible “criminal” past. It had happened ages ago, but clearly Leonora didn’t like the idea of potential in-laws and business partners having anything at all to hold over her head, such as the disgrace of a treasonable ancestor.
“Why not, if it’s the truth?” Honorine declared recklessly. I now suspected that she might be using this situation to blow her chances of marrying Charles sky-high, regardless of whether it meant she’d kill the merger deal as well.
Leonora was absolutely livid. “Honorine!” she said sharply, in a tone that even scared me. She waited for the serving woman who’d come out of the kitchen to collect the plates on a tray. Sensing that there was something troublesome hanging in the air, the woman hurriedly did her work, then retreated into the kitchen. Jeremy, watchful of it all, appeared as if he were weighing whether his intervention would do more harm than good.
Honorine had blushed beet red, and put her head down, but said nothing.
Leonora turned to me now, looking more than a little accusatory. “This has gone much too far!” she proclaimed severely, and I felt my own face go flushed and hot. “It is bad enough that the tapestry was stolen—a family heirloom which cannot be replaced, and which has somehow managed to survive all these centuries, until now,” she said rather pointedly. “But then to dredge up old gossip and baseless scandals, which can only cast mud on Philippe’s ancestors and good name! Well, it simply cannot continue. No, this digging must stop immediately.”
I could see what she meant; their tapestry had survived kings, a revolution, Napoleon, two world wars—but not the wedding of their luckless American relative, Penny Nichols. I felt terrible, and I recalled my father’s warning about how formidable Leonora could be. I’d never seen her really angry before. Phew, it was tough, being under that glare. I felt as if I’d been scalded with hot coffee, and, like a meek little mouse, I wanted only to disappear into a crack in the woodwork.
“Arrete!” came a strong male voice. It was Philippe, who’d been listening in silence all along. “Au contraire,” he told his wife, “I believe the digging has only now just begun.”
She gazed at him in astonishment. “You and Honorine are both willing to destroy the future of this family!” she cried.
“Non,” he said in a soothing tone, but one that was filled with calm authority. “I believe that I, too, know part of the story, and I will give you my little piece of the puzzle. It was told to me as a boy, so it seemed like a fairy tale, and I thought nothing of it until now.”
Honorine looked vastly relieved. “Please tell us, Papa,” she cried.
“It is only this: Armand was in Grasse when he was arrested, because he’d come to see his daughter Eleanore. She had been staying down here for months, with her future in- laws, who lived in the old town of Grasse,” Philippe explained. “You see, Eleanore’s mother had died long ago, when the girl was only a baby, and so the young bride needed her mother-in-law’s help to prepare for the wedding. Eleanore spent many months here, busy decorating and furnishing her new house, which the groom’s father, Rinaldo the gantier parfumeur, built for the newlyweds. Rinaldo’s son, Edouard, was working with him as a glove- maker, and would eventually inherit the business. The newlyweds’ house stood at the edge of the flower fields.”
“Where the gazebo is now,” I said, recalling our visit there. I thought of the house in the lower corner of the tapestry, whose images were suddenly coming alive for me in a totally new way, as if Philippe himself was spinning out the story, like some enchanted weaver in a Greek myth.
“Now, here is something else you do not know,” Philippe continued. “Armand’s visit was very important because he was supposed to bring his daughter’s dowry to Grasse. He wrote this in a letter to Eleanore, which my mother claims to have seen when she was a girl, although she said she did not know what became of it.
“In his letter, Armand told his daughter that he was owed a great deal of money and intended to collect it, so that he would have a sizeable dowry for her. He assured Eleanore that he would bring it before the wedding. He did not specify how much. But the king’s soldiers arrested him on the road just as he reached the flower fields, before he could see his daughter—and she never saw him again. We always assumed that the soldiers took the dowry money away from him; we even wondered if he’d bartered for his life with it, somehow, so that he could continue to live in exile.”
I looked at Jeremy, and he looked at me. We both knew what the other was thinking.
“It’s possible,” Jeremy said cautiously, “that this is all starting to add up.”
Honorine looked baffled. “What do you mean?”
“We now know that Armand intended to collect on a debt,” I began. “And we also know that Lunaire was his patron. Plus, Charles told us that Lunaire didn’t pay his bills, and therefore owed Armand money.” I paused. I figured I’d have to tread carefully here, considering Leonor
a’s previous outburst. I glanced pleadingly at Jeremy, and he heroically allowed me to pass the baton to him.
“Suppose,” Jeremy said, “that Armand went to Lunaire to demand payment for the tapestries he’d made for him. Like most men dodging their creditors, Lunaire probably claimed that he was short of funds, and would pay them later, as soon as he was able. But then, perhaps, Armand heard of this great big birthday bash that Lunaire was throwing for himself, sparing absolutely no expense.”
“Bash?” Leonora repeated, sounding perplexed.
“Oh, Maman!” Honorine cried in exasperation. “He means a party!”
“A coin curator told us about a wild party at Lunaire’s estate, where he had a goldsmith create golden coins as gambling chips,” Jeremy continued. “There was an accident and a fire broke out, disrupting the games, and the entire pot of chips vanished. That much we know as fact. Now, however, Armand’s letter raises a rather intriguing possibility.”
I had been watching my French relatives’ faces, and it was quite clear that they had not heard of the Lunaire gold. Jeremy looked at me questioningly, as if to ask if I wanted him to pursue this line with my relatives. Oncle Philippe, seeing this exchange, said encouragingly, “What do you think happened at this party, chère Penny?”
“Well, just suppose,” I responded, practically seeing the scene unfurling in front of my very eyes, “that Armand showed up the night of the big party, and was even more stunned by all the extravagance he saw all around him. Food, fireworks, champagne flowing, reckless gambling. It must have infuriated him. Maybe he tried to have it out with Lunaire, who might have arrogantly told him to go away and come back another day. Or maybe Lunaire even refused to see him; maybe Armand had to talk to a secretary or something, to no avail.
“But then, the fireworks went astray, creating total pandemonium, with everyone running this way and that, servants trying to put out the fire, guests fleeing for their lives. And Armand starts to run, too . . . but then, he sees the table of gambling chips, just lying there.”
I was picturing a table heaped with the Lunaire gold, and a gloved hand reaching out, sweeping it all into a sack. I got goose-bumps, just imagining the smoky, chaotic scene. And if Armand took the gold gambling chips as payment for all the tapestries he’d made for Lunaire, who could blame him?
Honorine was practically jumping out of her seat now. “And then,” she cried, “Armand takes the gold, saying to himself, ‘If Lunaire won’t pay what he owes me, then I shall do it for him!’ And he grabs it, and runs away. That must be what he meant when he said he’d soon arrive with a dowry of the money owed to him!”
Leonora looked shocked, unbelieving, and still indignant. “Why is it that no matter what fanciful story anyone comes up with, it always ends with your ancestor being a thief?” she demanded.
“Not a thief, exactly,” Philippe chuckled, as if this were a sort of parlor game, speculating about one’s forebears. “But, perhaps, a man who had a sense of justice. Perhaps he did not intend to run away, not at first. He may have taken the gold to hold, to force Lunaire to pay his bills.”
“But later,” I suggested, “when he heard of the trouble that Lunaire had gotten himself into, and while the soldiers were busy digging up Lunaire’s estate outside Paris, maybe Armand panicked and escaped to Grasse.” Everyone fell silent for a moment, pondering this. It was Honorine who spoke first.
“Then, it’s gone?” she said, crestfallen. “The soldiers took the dowry?”
“On the other hand,” said Jeremy, “Maybe not. It raises quite another interesting theory.” Everyone turned to him attentively. “Suppose that, when the soldiers caught up with Armand on the road, he hadn’t just arrived in Grasse? What if he’d found out, moments earlier, that the soldiers were in town looking for him, so he hurriedly hid his treasure somewhere? If so, he could have been on his way to his daughter’s house to tell her, after he’d done the deed.”
“So when the soldiers found him, he didn’t have the gold on him! That would mean,” I said, “it’s been here somewhere, right under everyone’s noses, for years and years . . . maybe even . . . in those flower fields!”
I immediately thought of the tapestry, with its dramatic sequences laid out like a movie storyboard. Now, in my mind, it seemed as if each image was passing over the light of a film projector, becoming illuminated and springing to life like a moving picture. And at this moment, I was seeing a close-up—of that circlet with Lunaire’s insignia.
“Didn’t Charles say that Armand got permission to complete his daughter’s wedding tapestry while he was under house arrest?” Jeremy was saying. “And since Armand wasn’t allowed to receive visitors or even letters . . . well, the only way he could possibly communicate with his daughter to tell her where he’d hidden her dowry was . . .”
“The tapestry,” I squeaked.
“Which we no longer have,” Leonora said meaningfully.
“Absent the tapestry, Penny’s photos are all we have to go on,” Jeremy remarked.
“Those ‘J.L.’ initials on the tapestry have always bothered me,” I exclaimed. “I mean, why would Armand put his patron’s insignia on a tapestry that was never intended for Lunaire? It has to be about the gold.”
Honorine looked astonished. “What, you mean that old tapestry could be a treasure map . . . of the flower fields?”
“It’s a long shot,” Jeremy cautioned. “But, perhaps, one worth checking out.”
Now it really was deadly quiet, as Philippe and Leonora exchanged glances of alarm and distress, which I did not comprehend at first. “But David is out there right now!” cried Leonora. “He is about to make a deal, to sell the fields to a real-estate developer who wants to make condominiums . . .”
“Holy cow, you gotta stop him!” I cried involuntarily.
“Easy, girl,” Jeremy cautioned. “If we’re wrong and you queer this deal . . .”
“Gee whiz, you can always find people who want to build condos!” I cried. “But how often do you get a chance to . . .” I didn’t have to complete that sentence. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
Philippe nodded to Honorine. Leonora exclaimed, “Honorine, vite! Get David on the phone and tell him to wait!” The three of them jumped up and went into the library to make the call.
“You do realize,” Jeremy said to me in a low tone, under all the excitement, “that we can’t exactly go there and dig up the entire field, to figure out if they’re sitting on a cache of Lunaire gold.”
“No, we certainly can’t destroy those priceless flowers—they’ve been growing for centuries to make some of the world’s finest perfume,” I agreed. “How are we ever going to figure out where Armand hid them?”
Chapter Thirty-four
David was supremely irritated by the wild phone call he got from Honorine, telling him to delay the deal that he’d been working on for nearly a year, which would have netted him a tidy sum. His wife Auguste was none too happy about it, either. But Philippe serenely believed that his illustrious American relative (alias, moi) would come up with the goods, and, after all, this was basically what Leonora had been hoping for all along, one way or another. So they said they’d hold off the deal . . .
“But hurry!” Honorine advised me.
Jeremy and I went back to the villa, to pore over my photographic jigsaw puzzle of the tapestry. It still had plenty of missing pieces, but I hoped to find some clue we’d overlooked. We spread them out, end to end, across the dining room table, and we kept scrutinizing them until I was bug-eyed.
“I knew it, I just knew that Armand was trying to tell his daughter something,” I muttered.
“I wonder,” Jeremy mused, “if Armand realized that he was about to be implicated in the poisoning plot. Perhaps not. Possibly he just knew he had to hide the gold for safekeeping. I imagine he believed that his hiding place would be temporary. And, when the soldiers came to arrest him, I’ll bet he thought it was simply for the theft of the gold. Imagine his surprise
to learn of the more serious charge against him, for conspiracy! Next thing he knew, he was stuck in his house up there around Paris.”
“Yeah, that must have been so frustrating, being locked up far away from here, knowing that the gold was just sitting out in the fields,” I agreed. “Until he thought of using the existing wedding tapestry to communicate. He’d have to be clever, and come up with a coded message that his daughter could figure out, all mixed in there with his nice wedding stories about marriage. But it would be tricky business, because he wouldn’t want anyone else to decode the clues.”
“Keep in mind that this is only a theory,” Jeremy cautioned.
“Phooey,” I said stoutly. I got up from my chair, and went scampering over to a closet. I came back dragging a funny old machine of mine, left over from my earlier research days. Jeremy stared at it.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he demanded, looking bemused.
“Just clear away those lamps from that wall, my good man,” I said, pointing. “I need a nice, big drive-in-movie-sized empty space. This is how we researchers project photographs to make them bigger than life. Which is exactly what we need right now.”
“Ah,” he said. “Foolish of me to forget that I am in the hands of a pro.”
We projected some images, examining their enlarged details. The entire house got so quiet that we could hear Guy’s clock in the nearby drawing room, ticking away the minutes so audibly that Jeremy muttered, “I can’t think straight with that damned thing going like a metronome in my skull.”
“Focus, willya? This would be a lot easier if we had that tapestry,” I groused. “It certainly gives Drake the advantage. He’s probably staring at it right now, trying to beat us to it.”
“Chances are, he doesn’t know where the fields are,” Jeremy reminded me. “So, focus yourself. I do think theses pieces are going to add up to something.”
A Rather Charming Invitation Page 27