Violet’s stomach churned with acid at the casual way the empress spoke of the matter, but she also realized that de Lesseps had almost certainly given her a skewed version of events. “I do not believe there was a disagreement, as you say, Your Highness. Rather, I believe someone intentionally killed Sergeant Purdy, making it look like it was one of the other soldiers by using one of their sabers for it. In fact, it was my husband’s that was used.”
“Mon Dieu,” the empress breathed, ostensibly in sympathy, but Violet heard the fascination in her tone.
Louise-Hélène’s reaction was unexpected. “Pardon, who did you say was killed?”
“Caleb Purdy.”
Violet could have sworn a look of relief swiftly crossed the girl’s face. “That is very sad indeed,” Louise-Hélène said, composed once more. “What does this have to do with Isabelle?”
“Nothing, I hope. I would just like to ask her whether she noticed anyone or anything suspicious on the grounds of the villa during the party.”
Louise-Hélène shook her head, the dark mass of curls shuddering. “I’m sure she saw nothing. She was at the servants’ party for the evening.”
“Don’t be silly, ma louloute,” Eugénie interjected. “It would be most interesting to witness Madame Harper’s interview. You must ring for Isabelle at once.”
Violet was frustrated that she had to conduct another interview in front of an audience, but waited patiently while Louise-Hélène reluctantly pulled the bell cord to summon her servant.
Eugénie was not yet done with Violet. “Madame Harper, I have the most wonderful idea. You must sail with us aboard L’Aigle this afternoon down to Bitter Lakes so that you can tell me all about your little investigations.”
Violet hardly thought this could be termed a “little investigation.” “Your Highness, my husband is among those who have been imprisoned,” she said through gritted teeth.
How did the people who tiptoed around royal thrones endure it when their monarchs made such utterly oblivious statements, knowing they were unable to dress down their superiors by pointing out how thoughtless they were?
“Of course, of course. Well, we will take your mind off it for the day, won’t we? I think we can convince de Lesseps to have Pasha put on another picnic before we turn around and return. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Oh, perhaps Pasha could provide some of those Arabian horses for us to ride. We could shoot rifles in the air like the Bedouin.” Eugénie was already consumed with the next entertainment.
Violet nodded her head, knowing it would be impolitic not to accept the empress’s invitation.
Isabelle arrived, carrying a stack of folded chemises. “I am sorry for taking so long, mademoiselle, I was in the laund—” Isabelle halted as she realized that Eugénie and Violet were both there.
Violet gently took the clothing from the maid and set it upon a side table. “It is I who have requested your presence, Mademoiselle Dumont. I must ask you a few questions.”
“Regarding what? I am—I am very busy serving my mistress.” Isabelle’s eyes were wide with fear.
“This shall only take mere moments. Do you know Ross Keating?” Violet asked. The direct approach was probably best.
“Keating? Ross Keating? I do not think so. Mademoiselle? Do I know him?” she asked of Louise-Hélène, who shook her head no.
Violet thought a well-aimed barb might help improve the maid’s memory.
“Sergeant Keating admits to a relationship with a Frenchwoman whom he will not identify. Julie Lesage believes she saw you on the palace grounds last night, with this.” Violet pulled the bloodied shawl from her reticule. “Do you know this item?”
Isabelle blanched and shot her mistress a questioning look before saying, “I— No, I’ve never seen it before.”
“So you are not seeing Keating?” Violet said.
“Hasn’t this become most fascinating?” Eugénie said to no one in particular.
“Of course I am not.” Isabelle now glanced at Eugénie before finding her courage and speaking boldly. “I am not surprised that Julie would accuse me of such a thing since she hated me the moment we met. Her accusation is probably an attempt to cover her own wrongdoings. Undoubtedly she herself is the one carrying on the liaison.”
The room went silent, with everyone realizing that Isabelle had just tossed an incendiary explosive in front of Eugénie. Insulting the empress’s personal maid was no casual matter. Even Violet found that she was holding her breath, waiting for a reaction.
To her great relief, Eugénie simply filled the room with her tinkling laughter. “Oh, ma louloute, our maids fight like the chats who live in the slums.” Eugénie held up a hand and imitated a curled paw swiping at the air. “What grand entertainment.”
Could the empress think of nothing else?
Louise-Hélène laughed weakly, and Isabelle seemed torn between pride in her response and a great desire to go scrambling underneath a bed in hiding.
Violet was not to be put off. “Julie says she saw someone, and if it was not you, it was someone else. Did you notice anyone on the palace grounds during the party?”
“I did see someone, actually,” Isabelle said, again darting a nervous look at her mistress. “That ferocious man from the Russian delegation.”
“General Ignatiev?” Violet said.
“Yes, that’s him. He was leaping about with a sword, as if practicing fencing moves. I thought he was merely intoxicated. Intoxicated men do the most foolish things, and—and . . .”
Louise-Hélène took up where her maid was faltering. “I’ve noticed this Russian for myself. He is very gruff and intimidant. Someone so large and strong—and inebriated—would be likely to run another man through with a sword, wouldn’t he?”
There was something evasive occurring between Louise-Hélène and her maid. With a sinking heart, Violet wondered if perhaps Julie was right that there was a liaison amoureuse in progress, only her jealousy made her too blind to realize that it was actually Louise-Hélène herself engaged in some sort of affair with one of the soldiers—an affair that Isabelle was trying to shroud in secrecy for her mistress.
Would Louise-Hélène really do such a thing, though? Violet could think of a hundred reasons why she might be drawn to a dashing soldier closer to her own age, yet she could also think of a hundred reasons why Louise-Hélène’s best prospects lay with Ferdinand de Lesseps.
A cold chill settled over Violet as she drew that thought out further and played with it. Perhaps de Lesseps had discovered Louise-Hélène’s affair, hence his insistence that all of the Americans be punished. It would explain de Lesseps’s refusal to even consider their innocence.
Moreover, what if de Lesseps himself had something to do with Purdy’s death? But that was simply unthinkable. He was, after all, Ferdinand de Lesseps, who had just completed the world’s greatest feat since the pyramids. Some might sarcastically call him the Ditchdigger, but it was undeniable that he was currently the most famous man in the world. Surely he was above jealousies and lovers’ revenges?
The evidence suggested he might not be. Regardless, she had no proof of anything and she was constantly coming up empty-handed.
Would no one tell Violet the truth?
Chapter 28
Despite her initial misgivings, Violet actually didn’t mind being aboard L’Aigle with Empress Eugénie and under de Lesseps’s custody. The empress took great pains to make Violet comfortable, and she soon realized that Eugénie was more concerned about Violet’s anxiety over Sam than she had let on inside Louise-Hélène’s rooms.
Still, it was like having her heart ripped from her chest to watch Ismailia fade into the distance, not knowing what was happening to Sam.
“Madame Harper, you must try this pastry,” the empress urged, handing her a tray full of confections. She was remarkably more serious now that the two of them sat on chairs on L’Aigle’s deck. Violet almost wondered if the lighthearted persona the empress typically wore was merely a facade for t
he public.
That impression was confirmed as the sailing continued. Louise-Hélène and Isabelle remained scarce, and de Lesseps made a single perfunctory visit, obviously displeased and uncomfortable with Violet’s presence.
As they glided through the water at the front of the flotilla, with Eugénie periodically waving to small groups of people positioned on the shore, the empress shared some of her own worries.
“These celebrations are very important to my husband, Madame Harper. They demonstrate France’s power and strength at a time when it is sorely needed.” Eugénie fanned herself lazily with the exquisitely painted fan she had held the day they arrived in Ismailia. It wasn’t particularly hot, and Violet suspected that using the fan was merely a habit the empress affected.
“Needed, Your Highness?” Violet asked. She knew little of France’s politics. The average Briton had stopped caring about France after Napoléon was defeated at Waterloo, leaving the minor political skirmishes to the elected officials.
“Yes.” Eugénie sighed and took a bite of a tart that was bursting with apples and almonds, then leaned back quietly against her chair. Violet had almost decided the empress was asleep when suddenly Eugénie sat up straight again and continued fanning herself. “I am from Spain by birth, but have adopted France as my homeland. It is distressing to see that our—France’s—power has weakened in the ascent of Prussia’s military power. My husband believes that if he could defeat Prussia in a war, it would stave off the current Republican opposition to our dynasty, thus strengthening us both politically at home and militarily in the world. As such, he is at Tuileries right now, concocting an excuse to attack Prussia. I fear what will happen if he goes through with it.”
Violet could at least understand all of the implications in this. “Your Highness, there is a general in my husband’s country named Lee. He once said that it was well that war is so terrible—‘Otherwise we would grow too fond of it.’ ”
Eugénie nodded. “I believe I have heard of this general. His saying is wise. I think Napoléon wants the glory that would accompany his being a conquering hero, much like his namesake uncle. I have my doubts, though, about his ability to win against Prussia. Why indulge in so much loss of life in order to feel proud of himself? If only he recognized the canal as a crown of glory. De Lesseps would no doubt share the crown with the emperor of his own country. Alas, I am trying my best to achieve diplomatic peace with Austria, anyway. I accept Franz-Josef’s attentions and his tedious stories. His little love notes, too, which he has had rowed over, secretly placed in my belongings, or sent to me by every other method except the carrier pigeon. All so that he might view France favorably in light of my husband’s actions against Prussia, and so that Franz-Josef will not believe Napoléon will come after Austria, as well.”
So the note that Violet had witnessed Julie pass to her mistress in Ismailia had been a love note.
Eugénie leaned toward Violet, speaking quietly and confidentially. “Sometimes, Madame Harper, I even start little fights with Franz-Josef so that he believes us to be in lovers’ quarrels. This at least makes it a little interesting for me. I wonder sometimes if my husband has these quarrels with his mistresses. There are so many of them, though, that he probably discards them the moment they express any colère, non?”
The empress sat back. “Anyway, Frederick is like a walnut shell. Very hard to crack through to see the meat inside, although it is rumored he does not wish war under any circumstances. I cling to that hope.”
“It must be a difficult balancing act for you,” Violet murmured.
“This is the life I was born to, madame, and so I live it as best I can. Ah, look!” Eugénie pointed ahead to where Violet saw that yet another crowd was awaiting them on the banks of their next stop.
“Do you know why this place is called Bitter Lakes, Your Highness?” Violet asked. “It seems a most unhappy name.”
“De Lesseps says these weren’t really lakes at all prior to the canal, but dry salt valleys. The canal made them actual lakes. Seawater now flows freely into this lake from both the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. De Lesseps also says the current flowing north of Bitter Lakes is different from that on the south side, but I do not understand why.”
Violet couldn’t hazard a guess, either. Her limits of scientific application were the principles of rigor mortis and bodily decomposition.
They sailed along in silence for some time, each woman leaning back against her chair, lost in her own thoughts, until a feminine voice broke the hypnotic sounds of the craft slicing through the water and the gulls squawking overhead.
“Your Highness, do you wish to change for supper?” It was Julie. It appeared that court etiquette was to be obeyed even on a casual sailing trip.
“I suppose I must. Bring me a couple of choices to look at.” Eugénie had already returned to a reclined position, waving the fan gently below her chin.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Julie curtsied even though Eugénie was not watching her, and then she nodded to Violet. Violet thought it a little onerous for the maid to have to lug two heavy outfits to the deck, only to haul them back down to the empress’s cabin again for the actual changing, but then, royalty probably did this all the time.
Forming an idea, Violet told Eugénie that she was going to seek out the necessary room and would return shortly. With the empress’s permission to leave, Violet followed Julie belowdecks. “Mademoiselle,” she said before Julie could open the door to a cabin. “I would speak with you, please.”
Julie frowned. “Again?”
“Yes. I wish to ask you more about what you saw with Mademoiselle Isabelle Dumont.”
“Oh. That.” Julie entered the empress’s quarters while Violet remained in the doorway, certain that she shouldn’t enter this domain without permission. She stood quietly while Julie sifted through gowns separated by tissue inside large leather trunks. She found one, then another, and took a horsehair brush to each of them to ready them for presentation to her mistress.
When she was done and the two dresses lay across the back of a sofa, Julie turned back to Violet. “I must tell you, madame, that I did not actually see anyone being murdered during the party. I found the bloody shawl, and it gave me the idea to claim I had witnessed a murder and hopefully throw a shadow upon Isabelle.”
Violet stared in disbelief. “Why would you wish to commit so heinous an act?”
Julie shrugged. “I do not like her,” she said simply. “She is not trustworthy, and it’s just a matter of time before she exposes her real self.”
“She is hardly the only one with an integrity problem,” Violet snapped, causing Julie to stare openmouthed in return. Violet softened, as it would do no good to alienate the empress’s maid. Besides, whether or not Julie had lied about witnessing the murder, there had indeed actually been a body.
Did the shawl belong to Louise-Hélène, or to someone else in the delegation? Even if she found the owner, would it actually lead her to a murderess, or just send her down another complicated badger’s burrow? Time was quickly running out for Sam and his friends, and Violet was no closer to an answer.
Chapter 29
November 21, 1869
After traveling another day to reach Suez for an overnight stay and more fireworks, during which she saw little of Louise-Hélène and Isabelle, Violet obtained permission to return to Newport while the ships realigned themselves in the port. Fortunately, Captain Nares must have decided he had fully made his point to the French, and did not attempt to maneuver Newport overnight to the head of the flotilla. L’Aigle proudly sailed ahead of everyone else for the day’s return trip to Ismailia, accompanied by great fanfare on shore and from the deck of Viribus Unitis. The journey left Violet nearly a nervous wreck in her anxiety to return, to ensure Sam was still safe.
When everyone had disembarked from their respective ships, they headed toward the great pavilion. There were more tedious speeches, among them one by the Prince of Wales, waxing on about havi
ng ceremoniously opened the dam of the first section of the canal back in March with his wife, Princess Alexandra. Included in his oration was a non sequitur of having acquired a fabulous mummy from Egypt’s Twenty-Sixth Dynasty.
Violet left the self-congratulatory proceedings, thinking she might attempt to see Sam again. She was truly down to hours now to figure out who had committed this crime in order to see the Americans freed. If the canal celebrations ended without uncovering who killed Caleb Purdy, there was no question in Violet’s mind that Pasha would simply declare Sam and his friends guilty and dispose of them. And sadly, no one in the dispersed delegation would give much thought to the citizens of a country that had no real representation at the festivities.
Violet was desperate.
She tried to find Hassan in the crowds, but instead managed to bump into Tewfik, who was not with his father onstage. “Lady, why the hurry?” he asked.
Seeing the boy made Violet realize that perhaps she could win him to her side. Tewfik could influence his father or, at the very least, could get her back inside the prison so she didn’t have to ask Hassan to risk his own life again.
“Ah, I am very sad,” she said, clinging to his arm.
He smiled and led her away from the throng of people. “You must tell me all.”
Tewfik led her out to the chieftains’ tents, which were doing a sorry business with all of the populace off to the speeches. They all clamored and barked for Tewfik’s attention, particularly upon recognizing who he was.
The khedive’s son paused at a tent to purchase a cup of Turkish sand coffee for Violet. She watched as the servant inside made it precisely as de Lesseps’s servant had done, and gladly accepted the cup. Tewfik smiled to see that Violet liked the taste of it.
“Now, my lady, it is not possible to be sad after having this nectar, but you must tell me what upset you previously.” He led her away, toward the outskirts of the Arab tents.
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