"It's very likely that one of them is the thief," Colin said, when at last we abandoned our search. "Whom do you suspect?"
"I hope it was the gentleman. I didn't like the docent's beard."
"Really?"
"Too scruffy."
"Is that so? I was thinking of growing one. It might look fashionable." He rubbed his smooth chin.
"Since when are you concerned with fashion?"
"A wife, Emily, might be able to influence matters concerning her husband's appearance. As it is, I have no one to answer to but myself. I'd look quite distinguished with a beard."
"I shan't dignify that with a response," I said. We had left the museum and were nearly halfway back to Berkeley Square when the rain began to fall in earnest, the wind blowing it in sheets parallel to the street. Despite our two umbrellas, we were well on our way to getting soaked, so Colin hailed the first available cab and sat next to me on its narrow bench. "I'm beginning to despise my no-kissing policy," he said, leaning so close to me that our heads nearly touched.
"Only beginning to despise it? I've deplored it from the moment you adopted it."
"You always did have a keen eye for the absurd."
Now I leaned closer to him and lifted his hand to my lips. "You could abandon the policy."
He almost did. Not taking his eyes off mine, he took my face in his hands and brought his lips near enough that I could feel his breath. But then he stopped. "The temptation is great, my dear, but I will remain strong. I think, however, that in the future, I shall avoid sharing hansom cabs with you."
The following day it became clear that I was not the only one lamenting the loss of Cécile, or, to be more precise, the loss of her maid. Davis saw to every detail of their trip personally, organizing their luggage, ensuring that the carriage was ready to take them to the station. He even directed Cook to prepare a picnic luncheon for the journey. And though he did all of this in his usual exacting manner, it was obvious to anyone who knew him well that he took no pleasure in any of it. His eyelids drooped ever so slightly, and he held his mouth more firmly than ever in a stiff, straight line. I even caught him starting to slouch when he thought no one was looking.
"I understand that Odette will be sorely missed by the staff," I said as we watched the coach pull away from the house.
"She is a most capable woman, madam, and provided a great deal of help in the aftermath of the robbery."
"Cécile is lucky to have her." We watched until the carriage had passed out of Berkeley Square. "I believe Odette is quite fond of walking around the Serpentine in Hyde Park."
"Yes."
I smiled. My own maid, Meg, never could resist keeping me on the qui vive when it came to gossip from the servants' quarters. Last month Davis had requested Wednesday rather than Sunday as his weekly day off. Odette always took Wednesdays, and from the time Davis altered his schedule, she never walked alone.
"Well, I do hope that you'll be able to rally your spirits. If not, I'll simply have to relocate the entire household to Paris. I cannot have a sullen butler." It gratified me no end to see that this made him smile. I bade him farewell and set off for Mr. Barber's studio, not eager in the least to go back into my own house, which was certain to feel empty without Cécile. I hoped that Mr. Barber would be able to offer me some insight into his friend David Francis.
The sculptor had just started chipping away at a large block of marble when I interrupted him. He insisted on making me a cup of tea, which I accepted gratefully.
"Mint," I said, as I took a sip from the rough ceramic mug. "Delicious."
"Wonderful, isn't it?" He poured some for himself and sat on the edge of the marble. "I've been taken with mint tea ever after I first had it in Constantinople."
"I should love to go there."
"But you have not come here to discuss my travels."
"No. Beatrice Francis has asked for my help, so I am trying to figure out who would have wanted her husband dead."
Mr. Barber frowned. "David was not the sort of man who collected enemies. He was very gracious, very...well, it might sound silly, but he was very noble."
"Nobility attracts as many enemies as it does friends."
"David wasn't close to many people, but he was thought of kindly by everyone he met. He was a perfect casual acquaintance. Only rarely did he open himself up enough to form true friendships."
"I am told that he did his best to help those in need."
"I am proof of that. I wouldn't have this studio if it weren't for him."
"And now that he is gone?"
"I'm fortunate. I've sold enough of my work to keep myself afloat for the next few months."
"And after that?"
"We'll see," he said, smiling. I did not want to cause him any embarrassment, so did not offer assistance but decided at once that I would purchase his statue of the woman gathering flowers from the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition.
"Why did Mr. Francis tell me that his wife was so shy?"
"David was always fiercely protective of Beatrice."
"She's a perfectly capable woman. Why did he hide her away in Richmond?"
"I can't say that I know. He liked to keep his life in London separate from his life at home."
"Did he spend much time in town?"
"Not a lot."
"So why the secrecy?"
"Well." He cleared his throat. "It's difficult to say."
"He had a mistress, didn't he?"
"Please, Lady Ashton, do not ask me to impugn the character of my friend."
"Had he a recent falling-out with this woman?"
"I don't know, but it's unlikely. She was distraught when she learned of his death."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm the one who told her what happened. It would have been awful for her to have seen it in the papers."
"Does Beatrice know?" I asked.
"No, no, of course not. David was discreet to a fault."
"What is this mistress like?"
"Liza? I don't know her well."
"Yet you are already familiar enough with her to use her Christian name?"
"Not at all. I apologize."
"Did he speak of her often?"
"No. He never mentioned her. I only learned of her existence after his death." He picked up his hammer and chisel and began working on the marble. "David gave me a letter years ago and asked me to promise not to read it unless he died. I laughed about it, because he was always a picture of health, but he assured me it concerned a matter of great importance."
"But he gave you no idea what it said?"
"None."
"And you never looked at the letter while he was alive?"
"Of course not. I promised him I wouldn't."
I admired Mr. Barber's will, wondering if I would have been able to stave off my curiosity for such a long time. "What did the letter say?"
"He asked that I personally inform Mrs. Liza White of his death. That was all."
"Was she his mistress?"
"I believe so, Lady Ashton. She grieved like a wife."
I felt sorry for her, but my sympathy was tempered by my allegiance to Beatrice. Once I had assured Mr. Barber that I would not reveal his friend's secret to his widow, he gave me Mrs. White's address. She did not live terribly far from the studio, but the directions were confusing enough that I let my driver take me in the carriage. We stopped in front of a decent, middle-class house, nothing at all like I had expected. I must confess that my reaction horrified me. For all that I thought I was enlightened, liberated, free from the ignorant biases of society, I had judged this woman from the moment I knew she was having an affair with someone else's husband. I expected to find her low, common, no better than she ought to be. In fact, it was I who should have been better. I knew nothing of this woman, her heart, her love, her reasons for the affair. I had no right to criticize her.