A Poisoned Season

22

"It's not working, Emily." Ivy handed the books I'd given her back to me. "I've tried four nights in a row, and Robert told me to ask the doctor for something to help me sleep."

"He didn't stay with you?"

"He sat on the edge of the bed until I managed to fall asleep."

"Oh dear."

"I don't know what to do."

"What exactly did you say to him?"

"I did just what you said. I left my door open and called to him when he came in. He was concerned to find me still awake, and I explained that although I was dreadfully tired, I couldn't sleep."

"I think he took you at your word. You couldn't very well expect that he would...that...well...he thought you needed rest. Next time look at him wistfully while you speak, make it clear that you've no intention of sleeping but that you want his...company."

"Be serious, Emily."

"I'm quite serious. Colin gave me this for you." I put The Woman in White on the table next to her. "It comes highly recommended."

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I'm exhausted."

"I'm sure Robert is just trying to be considerate."

"He's got to know that being considerate is never going to produce an heir."

"Ivy, I'm shocked!"

"Well you shouldn't be. You were married."

"Not shocked like that. Shocked to hear you speak in such a way." I wanted to ask her if she suspected her husband had a mistress, but did not want to give her something else to worry about. "You two always seem perfectly happy when I see you at parties."

"He's all attention when he needs to be."

"Do you want to help me with my investigation?" I asked, hoping to distract her.

"How?"

I showed her the letters and explained the general principles of steganography. For the next hour, we pored over them but found nothing.

"I have an idea, Emily," Ivy said. "It's probably silly — "

"No, tell me."

"Have you stepped away from them? Looked from a distance? I'm thinking of how the paintings of the impressionists look so different close up. You almost can't make sense of them. Of course, you can't exactly read letters from afar, but — "

"Ivy, that's inspired," I said. Taking a step back from my desk enabled me to see more than a single letter at a time, and if it were possible to be enlightened instantaneously, I was at that moment.

Ivy spoke before I could. "It was stupid. There's nothing to see."

"No! Ivy, don't you see it? Of course not. You haven't read the letters a thousand times like I have. But look — look at the numbers."

"Numbers?"

"There is a number written out in every single one of them. Il y a dix ans que j'ai lui parlé. Ten. J'ai quatre livres. Four."

"Yes, yes, I see."

I reached for a blank piece of paper. "This must be the key." For the rest of the afternoon, we played with the numbers, but still the formula eluded us. Nonetheless, I knew we were on the right track. Eventually, we would hit on a permutation that produced something other than a random string of letters.

"Have you figured out who gave these to you?" Ivy asked.

"I'm assuming the Marie Antoinette thief. I can't imagine who else it could be."

"And you've no idea who he is?"

"No. Unfortunately not." I told her my ideas for drawing him out of hiding.

"It sounds as if he's not the sort of man whom you can goad into revealing himself," she said. "But what if you baited him?"

"Ivy, I'm impressed. Tell me more."

"What if you had something that belonged to the French queen?"

"I don't know how he could possibly break into my house again. It's too well guarded."

"Mine is not. And my husband is rarely home. You could come stay with me to keep me company."

"Robert wouldn't let me into the house with an object certain to lure a thief to his door," I said.

"I suppose you're right."

I knew better than to suggest that we not inform Robert of the scheme. "What if I were to make a production out of it? Let's say I had a necklace of Marie Antoinette's and told everyone that I was not afraid to wear it. He could take it directly from me at a ball. Your ball."

"That sounds more dangerous than luring him into my house. I don't like the idea of your wearing the piece when he comes after it."

"It might work, though, and I don't think he would harm me. How could he in a crowded ballroom?"

"It would be a departure from his normal modus operandi. He always breaks into houses. And at any rate, you don't own anything with a provenance that would attract him."

"No, but I could buy something that does. Or pretend to have bought such a thing. Cécile mentioned that the stones from the notorious diamond-necklace affair still exist. I could find out who owns them."

"And persuade the owner to part with them?"

"I think most people view owning Marie Antoinette objects as a liability at the moment."

"Only people in London. There's no reason to think the diamonds are here."

"You may be right. I could have a copy made, though, and ask the owner of the true necklace to act as if she sold it to me."

"What would you say to this man if you met him?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to know why he's so fixated on Marie Antoinette."

"Are you absolutely certain that none of the objects he's stolen have come up for sale on the black market?"

"It's difficult to determine these things, but so far as I can tell, yes. He's keeping what he steals."

"Or giving it all to Charles Berry," Ivy said. "Who other than the heir to the House of Bourbon would have such a focused interest?"

"An excellent point, and we mustn't forget the list I found in his room at the Savoy," I said. "I'd like to know more about the evidence Mr. Berry uses to support his claim. He's certainly not the first man who declared himself the direct descendant of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Apparently, early in the century, there were no fewer than forty pretenders vying for the prince's rights."

"Do you believe the dauphin did escape?"

"There are plenty of anecdotes that say he did. Supposedly, one of the women charged with caring for the boy early in his imprisonment grew quite fond of him. He had stayed in her house for a time before his captors moved him to prison. It's said that she smuggled him out of his cell in a basket."

"But a child did die in the jail," Ivy said.

"Yes, but he may well have been a substitute for the dauphin. The doctor, a man called Desault, who treated him after the boy fell ill, died himself under mysterious circumstances soon after coming to the prison. He had assisted him some months earlier and would undoubtedly have recognized the child. Louis Charles's death was announced only a week later."

"Mr. Berry has the support of the Bourbon family. Surely they must be thoroughly satisfied with his story."

"Yes, but think on it, Ivy. The entire Bourbon family stands to see their situation improve should the monarchy be restored in France. Perhaps persuading them to accept Berry wasn't so difficult."

"I'd be more inclined to agree with you if Charles Berry were the sort of man likely to inspire the people of France to embrace a monarch. You'll never convince me that the Bourbons were thrilled to find the heir of the lost dauphin to be such a...well..." She did not finish.

"Regardless, I am convinced there is much we do not know about Mr. Berry. We must not make the mistake of underestimating him, Ivy. He stands to make enormous gains in the immediate future, and with such aspirations comes the risk of failure."

"But does it matter if he never becomes king? He's making an excellent marriage and has the goodwill of society behind him. I don't see that he has anything to lose."

I sighed. "I admit the soundness of your logic but take no pleasure in doing so. Colin's right. I'm too bent on finding Mr. Berry guilty of something."

"He's guilty of being an arrogant, mannerless bore. Isn't that enough?"

"Perhaps it shall have to be."

I'm absolutely delighted that your social troubles seem to be dissipating," Lady Elinor said as we strolled through Hyde Park. "But I must confess that my interest in the matter is somewhat self-serving."

"How so?" I asked.

"Isabelle is very anxious about her wedding, and I think you could ease her mind on the subject. Forgive me, but I worried about letting her spend too much time with you when..." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I never believed the rumors, but you know how awful people can be about such things, and Isabelle's reputation must remain spotless."

"Don't apologize. You were one of the few people who didn't cut me. And though I may be back on guest lists, don't think that in private people aren't still talking about me."

"It's so dreadful, but people's memories are short. In another month they'll have moved on to something else altogether."

"I've been hearing lots of talk about Mr. Berry," I said. "From what I gather, it sounds as if there is a chance that the monarchy will be restored in France."

"Oh, Emily, if only that were true, but I'm afraid that it's too much to hope for."

"When is the wedding to be?"

"Everything will be ready before the end of the month."

"So soon?"

She tilted her head to me and spoke softly. "If these political events to which you refer do take place, I should very much like the marriage finalized before then. Isabelle is not from a royal family, after all."

Lady Elinor was wise in this regard. I had no doubt that Mr. Berry, if he were to become king before the wedding, would throw Isabelle over for a royal bride with a more impressive fortune. To my mind, however, this would be good news for Isabelle. I liked the girl, and hated the thought of her married to such an undesirable man.

"What does Isabelle think of marrying so quickly?"

"She's a good girl, although it's clear that she's terrified. I know this is best for her, but I hate to see her unsettled. Would you be willing to talk to her? I've tried, of course, but sometimes such things are easier to believe coming from a friend than from one's own mother. I'd be so grateful. I don't want to see her consumed with worry."

"Isabelle is fortunate. Most mothers are not so concerned." I remembered the conversation I'd had with my own mother prior to my wedding; it was hardly encouraging. The primary thrust of it had to do with learning to bear the inconveniences required by marriage. Inconveniences. "Have her come see me tomorrow. I'll do what I can to allay her fears."

All of a sudden, a gentleman bumped into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. He grabbed my hand to steady me, mumbled a quick apology, and disappeared before I could say a word to him.

"How rude!" Lady Elinor exclaimed. "The park is simply too crowded these days, and so many gentlemen do not have the manners they ought to. I think — "

"Lady Elinor, will you excuse me? I must go home." The man had pressed into my hand a folded piece of paper that opened to reveal a passage written in Greek followed by a single sentence in English: Am I to get no thanks for my gift?

At last my admirer had shown his face! If only I'd had the presence of mind to get a good look at him. I had a vague idea that his eyes were blue, but was not certain even of that.

"Are you unwell?"

"Just a bit off balance. Forgive me. Send Isabelle to me tomorrow." I rushed off in the direction the man had taken, not giving her a chance to reply.

The paths in Hyde Park were crammed with the best of society, and it was difficult in the extreme to maneuver along them with any sort of speed. My friend had a decent head start and the advantage of anonymity; I had little chance of finding him. I did try, though, not giving up until I reached the Achilles statue. Ready to admit defeat, I looked around for an empty bench, but there was none in sight. I stood for a moment, wondering if he was watching me, hidden somewhere in the vicinity. How could I know?

Then something caught my eye. Not my admirer but a familiar face: Robert Brandon, walking arm in arm with a lady I recognized from Lady Elinor's ball. They leaned close together as they spoke, laughing at something, their heads nearly touching. I was stunned. Surely Robert would not be so indiscreet as to appear with a mistress in Hyde Park. I managed to make my feet move and started after them. I would not remain a silent party to this.

"Good afternoon, Robert," I called as I approached them.

"Oh, Emily. Delighted to see you." His expression did not match his words.

I smiled at his companion. "How lovely to see you, Mrs. Reynold-Plympton."

"Likewise, Lady Ashton," she replied, scrutinizing every detail of my dress as she spoke.

"Where is Ivy this afternoon, Robert?"

"With the Duchess of Petherwick, I believe."

"Of course." I managed another smile but suspected that he could see me seething behind it. "Are you a friend of Mrs. Brandon's?" I asked his companion.

"I'm not much acquainted with her," the lady replied. This came as no surprise.

"How unfortunate. So nice to see you both. I'll leave you to your walk." I did my best not to spit out the words but cannot vouch for my success. As they walked away from me, I looked at the paper that was still in my hand:

Although the message was short, the Greek was beyond my sight-reading abilities, so I went home, where, with the aid of my lexicon, I was able to translate the passage: Eyes, how long are you draining the nectar of the Loves, rash drinkers of the strong unmixed wine of beauty?