"Why does he despise me so?"
"You've had the bad taste to refuse to be his mistress."
"It must be more than that. I've never publicly rebuffed him. But I have confronted him about his relationship with David Francis. What about that might lead him to drown me with vitriol?"
"Could he have killed Francis?"
"I think he knows something about the murder, and I'm convinced there's a connection of some sort between the Marie Antoinette thefts and Mr. Francis's death."
"Those are beautiful flowers," Margaret said, indicating the sorry-looking bouquet from my carriage.
"They're from the man who undoubtedly knows more about both of these crimes than either of us." I showed her the note that had been tied to the roses.
Don't you think it was disloyal, Kallista darling, to have left the museum with him when you were waiting for me? I don't like being disappointed. Your flowers wouldn't be in such dreadful condition had you all owed me the opportunity to present them yesterday.
I told Margaret what had happened at the museum. "There was no indication in the note the docent gave me that I would see my friend, if I may use the word loosely, later that day."
"I don't like that he's following you."
"Nor do I. But let's consider the situation from his point of view. He gave me a stolen diamond, so he knows that I must think he's the one who took it. Although he is enamored of me, he's not so foolish that he would trust me blindly. I could have had the police ready to arrest him at the Rosetta Stone. So, he stood back, watched to see if I had come alone, and maybe was going to approach me as I left the museum. Enter Colin — "
"Does he know Colin is an agent for the Crown?"
"I've no idea. But even if he doesn't, he's hardly going to speak to me when I'm with another gentleman."
"So he follows you the next day?"
"He can't deliver things to my house anymore — it's too well guarded. What options has he left?"
"There is something oddly romantic about it. If I didn't wonder at his involvement in the murder, I'd probably suggest that you consider his suit. What an adventure to be married to such an exclusive thief."
"Really, Margaret. No good could come of associating oneself with a person of such ambiguous morals."
"There's nothing ambiguous about them. He's bad through and through. Very appealing. I bet that if you married him, you could get him to steal Helen of Troy's jewelry for you."
"We'd have to live in the villa. The police would be less likely to track us down in Santorini than in England." I looked at the note again. "I wonder if it's significant that he didn't write anything in Greek this time."
"This is a rebuke, not a love note. You've had your first spat."
"You're very amusing," I said. "But it's all rather unsettling. Can any good come of disappointing a criminal?"
"We'll just have to hope that his crimes are limited to stealing, not murder."
Lady Elinor called on me the next day, and she brought with her a postcard album. "I collected these on the trips my husband and I took," she said. "Looking at them is the nearest thing to traveling without leaving England, so I thought you would enjoy them."
"How thoughtful," I said, paging through the book, which was filled with images of Pompeii, the Great Pyramids, Luxor, Rome — all places I longed to visit.
"Have you considered traveling, Lady Ashton? There's no reason you shouldn't. I'm sure you'd have no trouble finding a companion. Thomas Cook and Son offer tours that are perfectly suitable for ladies."
"I think I should prefer to find local guides, explore archaeological sites, learn local customs. I'm not well suited for a planned tour."
"So much the better. What adventures you could have!" She pulled an envelope out of her reticule and handed it to me. "This is an invitation to a ball I'm giving to celebrate Isabelle's engagement. I do hope you'll come."
This was the first ball to which I'd been invited in weeks. "Thank you, Lady Elinor. I shouldn't dream of missing it. How is Isabelle?"
"She's managing well enough, becoming used to the idea of getting married. She and Mr. Berry are spending a great deal of time together, and she is beginning, I think, to welcome his affections."
"Then I am happy for her," I said, wondering how on earth Isabelle could welcome anything from Mr. Berry.
"I never did properly thank you for taking care of her when she threw herself on your mercy. It was very wrong of her to leave the house, but I'm glad that she had the sense to come to you."
"I'm afraid there are not many mothers in London who would agree with that sentiment."
"Your views on marriage are, perhaps, not traditional. But I am an excellent judge of character. You're not the sort of person who would sanction ruinous behavior. I know that Isabelle was quite safe with you."
I wondered if her opinion of me would change should she discover that I had allowed her daughter to be alone with Lord Pembroke.
"And, really, I'm most grateful to you. Because of your...unconventional ways" — she smiled — "Isabelle was more willing to listen to what you had to say. Had she looked to any of her other friends for solace, they would have told her to abandon Pembroke, and she knew that. Hearing the same advice when she did not expect to was more powerful than fifty ladies telling her the same thing."
"So long as Isabelle is happy, I am glad."
"I've told you before, I would never press my daughter into a situation that would not bring her joy. She is everything to me, Lady Ashton."
"She is a lucky girl," I said. Lady Elinor stayed some while longer, but I found myself too distracted to take much notice of what she said. I did not like the idea that I was somehow responsible for Isabelle's acceptance of her impending nuptials, particularly given the grave concerns I had about the character of her fiancé.
14
Before I returned to my investigation of Mr. Berry, I headed back to the offices of the Times, where I placed another message for my disappointed admirer. Ivy thought that it was perhaps not wise to further engage him, but I saw no other way to draw him out of hiding. Maybe, if he thought I was willing to communicate with him, he would eventually reveal himself. This time I did not ask him to meet me; I merely admonished him for sending me dying flowers.
When I had finished placing my notice, I went to Oxford Street to visit a shop that sold rare prints, books, and some historical documents. I hoped the clerks there would be able to help me in my search for Léonard's letters to Marie Antoinette. I like to think that I have reasonable expectations; I knew it would be too much to hope for specific information, but I thought it likely that they would be able to tell me in general terms how best to begin my quest. But even this, it seemed, was too much to expect. Aside from taking note of my interest in the letters, and promising to inform me should they ever come up for sale, there was little they could do. Private correspondence changing hands in private sales could not be readily tracked.
Undaunted, I walked to the park. It was a fine day, the heat not having bothered to return after the rain stopped, and the crisp air inspired clear thinking. I found a bench near the Serpentine, pulled out the notebook in which I was recording details of my investigations, and looked over what I had written down.
"Slumming, Lady Ashton?" Charles Berry leaned over from behind the bench. "This isn't the most fashionable section of the park."
"I was hoping for some solitude."
His eyes narrowed as he looked over my shoulder at the notebook on my lap. "Why are you so interested in David Francis? Is his wife a particular friend of yours?"