And Only to Deceive

28

Cécile had promised to contact me as soon as she returned from her black-market adventure, but as the morning passed in what seemed to be geological time, I grew tired of waiting for her in my room and decided to go to the lobby and sketch. I was comfortably settled in a quiet corner when I heard two gentlemen conversing as they walked past me.

"I'm sorry not to have more time to talk," Colin Hargreaves said. "I'm late for a rather important meeting."

This piqued my interest. As soon as Colin walked out of the hotel, I followed him, keeping a careful distance between us. It quickly became apparent that he was going to the Louvre. Once inside, I hung back as he walked purposefully up the Grand Escalier. I waited until he was out of sight to ascend the staircase myself. Unfortunately, before I got there, I saw Monsieur Pontiero.

"Lady Ashton! What a delight to see you back in Paris."

"Thank you, Monsieur Pontiero."

"How is your drawing?" He motioned to the sketchbook I was holding. "May I see your work?"

"I'm afraid I don't have time at the moment. I'm in a dreadful hurry."

"Very good, very good. Perhaps we can meet soon?"

"I shall send you a note," I said, rushing up the steps, hoping that I was not too late to figure out where Colin had gone when he reached the top. As soon as I reached the landing on which stood the Nike of Samothrace, one of the most beautiful statues in the museum, I saw Mr. Murray, the keeper from the British Museum, speaking excitedly to Colin.

"...removing a piece from its gallery is no small undertaking." He stopped immediately when he spotted me and bowed politely after I nodded to him. Colin turned around, clearly surprised to see me. Never before had I seen him look unruffled in the slightest; now, however, I detected a trace of color on his cheeks and something less than his usual cool demeanor.

"I'm sorry to have interrupted you," I said, fervently wishing I had heard more of their conversation.

"Not at all, Lady Ashton!" Mr. Murray cried. "I had no idea you were in Paris. I'm pleased to see you." Colin said nothing, nodding almost imperceptibly to acknowledge my presence.

"I am only here for a short time and thought I would take the opportunity to revisit my favorite pieces at the Louvre. Incomparable beauty to be found here."

"Quite," Mr. Murray replied as Colin stood motionless, looking rather irritated, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't you think that this statue is terribly displayed?" I asked. "It is most difficult to view." No one replied. "I should think a piece like this would merit an entire room, not a mere landing."

"As always, Lady Ashton, you make a keen observation." And that, apparently, was all I was to have from Mr. Murray on the topic of the Nike of Samothrace. I waited for him to comment further, but he said no more. Obviously his thoughts remained with the subject he and Colin had been discussing.

"I shall leave you two to your conversation," I said, aware that I would learn nothing more from them today. I descended the staircase and walked back through the Rotonde and into the Salle Grecque. After pausing to admire the lovely panels from the Temple of Apollo on Thalos, I hired a cab to take me back to Cécile's.

"Where have you spent the day?" she asked, patting Caesar. I wondered where Brutus was hiding.

"The Louvre. And I was not the only person of your acquaintance there." I quickly told her of my encounter with Colin and Mr. Murray.

"Monsieur Hargreaves again." She sighed. "Such an interesting man. What a coincidence to find him speaking to a keeper of antiquities about removing artifacts."

"I don't see how even you can defend him now." Brutus emerged from under the chair in which I was sitting, darted beneath my skirts, and started to chew on my shoe. I unceremoniously removed him and dumped him in his owner's lap. "Perhaps I should buy you a cat."

"I will refrain from passing judgment on the gentleman, having had great success on my own today. You may remember that when I made inquiries for you about Philip, I met a Monsieur LeBlanc, a man through whom some black-market dealers sell their wares. He is of interest to me at present because he has the means of passing on messages to a man who goes by the sobriquet of Caravaggio."

"Caravaggio?"

"I cannot explain the rationale of these criminals," Cécile said with a disinterested shrug. "That he chooses to style himself as an Italian is of no concern to me."

"Perhaps he is Italian?"

"No, not at all. Even LeBlanc knows that he is English."

"Is he Colin?" I paused. "Colin Caravaggio. It does have rather a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Hardly. I have no indication of Caravaggio's identity, but Monsieur LeBlanc assured me that he is currently in Paris and would respond to me quickly." Cécile reclined on her couch. "I also learned much more regarding your husband's illegal dealings."

"From Monsieur LeBlanc?"

"Non. After leaving my note for Caravaggio, I visited three more shops and managed to bully a good deal of information out of a weaselly little man. When Philip wanted something, he informed the appropriate parties in the black market. These dealers, if we can call them that, scoured private collections and records of recent sales to locate the object. Whoever could find the object in question first received a handsome bonus. Your husband always made it clear that he had absolutely no interest in the provenance of any of the pieces, saying that he didn't care whence they came, only that they wound up in his collection."

I sat silently for a considerable time, pulling at my handkerchief. Caesar tugged at my skirts; I did not bother to push him away.

"'What are thou, boldest of the race of man?'" I paused. "I realize that this information provides details of things we already know, but somehow it makes his actions sound worse, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Kallista, you have built the man up too much in your head. He was an adventurer who hunted animals and antiquities. If he is still alive, you will have to accept him for what he is, not what you have styled him to be."

"I know you are right."

"I think it is perhaps time for you to tell me of your mysterious meeting with Monsieur Hargreaves after you fled Renoir's. Shall I ring for coffee or champagne?"

"Coffee," I said severely. "There really isn't anything to tell."

"Then bore me. I do not mind."

"I was upset. He consoled me, as is his style. Then he had the audacity to kiss me without first asking permission or begging my forgiveness afterward."

"How exciting! Philip grows less attractive with each passing moment," Cécile mused.

I glared at her. "Exciting is not how I would describe it."

"I would, after having seen your face when you arrived at my house that night."

"I shall not dignify that with a response," I said. "Can we please return to the subject at hand? Did you learn anything else this afternoon?"

"Only that no one I spoke to is familiar with Mr. Palmer or his unfortunate brother."

"Of course that doesn't mean much," I said. "Especially if either of them is Caravaggio. Did you ask about Colin?"

"I did. Only one person recognized him, and he laughed when I mentioned the name Hargreaves."

"What on earth could that mean?"

"If Colin is Caravaggio, I may have unearthed someone who knows his true identity. On the other hand, he may not have known him at all. He may have laughed because I described Colin as having the face of Adonis."

"You are impossible, Cécile." I frowned. "I should very much like to speak with that man."

"Do not consider it, Kallista. The people with whom I spoke this afternoon are not the sort with which you would want to trifle. They are dangerous. I have a certain reputation for idiosyncrasy that made my entrée into their society possible. You would not have such an easy time at it."

Before I could protest, a footman entered and handed Cécile a note from Caravaggio, requesting a meeting the following afternoon. Barely pausing before starting to dictate her reply, Cécile agreed that her mysterious contact could come to her house on the boulevard Saint-Germain at three o'clock. I felt strongly that the meeting should take place in a public location where we could easily get assistance if matters took a dangerous turn. Cécile, however, insisted that would seem suspicious.

"I am, as far as he is concerned, merely an eccentric old woman who wishes to buy some very famous, yet-to-be-stolen art. Would it make sense for me to conduct such business in public? Never. He shall come here. Besides, it will be much easier for you to observe us unnoticed. I shall receive Monsieur Caravaggio in the red drawing room, and you can listen from the back hallway."

"Will I be able to hear you through the door?" I asked.

"Yes. I did the same thing numerous times myself when my dear departed husband received lady visitors there. Discretion never was his strong suit," she said with a shrug. "I shall attempt to get Caravaggio to tell me as much about his operation as possible. If I am lucky, I will get enough evidence to bring about his arrest."

"And if you do not?"

"Then I shall have to go through with my purchase of the panel of the Elgin Marbles and turn him in afterward."

"That could take months!" I cried. "I cannot wait that long to depart for Africa."

"Well, then I shall have to do my best to collect information," Cécile observed. "I do rather hope Colin is Caravaggio; it would delight me to use all my wiles on him."

"You are terrible, and I am leaving," I teased, rising from the table.

The day had given me much to consider. My thoughts turned to Philip. Could he escape prosecution for his own crimes? A good barrister could probably argue that Lord Ashton knew nothing about the source of his prized collection and was guilty of nothing more than poor judgment and ignorance. I sighed, wondering what it would be like to live with such a man as my husband on a daily basis.

Thoroughly disheartened by the time I reached the Meurice, I ignored the telegram Meg handed me as I walked into my suite and headed straight for the bathroom, desperate for a hot bath. After a satisfactory soak, I stepped out, slipped into a lacy pink tea gown entirely unsuitable for a woman in mourning, and told Meg to bring me tea as quickly as possible. Back in my sitting room, I opened the telegram.

I read it through twice before storming to my desk and scrawling a brief note. I shouted for Meg and thrust it at her, filled with an anger I had never before experienced.

"Take this to Mr. Palmer and tell him that I expect to see him immediately."

23 APRIL 1888

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

K greatly surprised that I arrived back in London before expected. She is more lovely than when I last saw her. Am delighted that she has no objection to my returning to Africa in autumn — it is a fortunate man who finds such a bride.

My mind is still full of Africa and plans for the next safari. I've yet to do a Masai lion hunt with spears. Wonderfully primitive — and a decided challenge after growing used to the ease of rifles. Perhaps in autumn...