'No. Thanks. No thanks. I know the way.'
'Here.' Madame Calvert leaned out of the carriage. 'Your tie is crooked. There.'
Aubrey thanked her and bounded through the doors. He forced himself to wait for the lift rather than rush up the stairs as he thought it might give his heart time to slow. Urbane, he thought. Urbane would be good. He touched his hair as the lift clanked upwards. Debonair would be acceptable. Compliment her on her dress. He crossed the landing to the Hepworth apartment and realised he couldn't remember exiting the lift. Charming. I'll settle for charming. Charming would be satisfactory.
He rang the bell.
When Caroline opened the door, his brain turned to vapour. Dimly, he hoped it wasn't streaming from his ears.
'Don't stand there like that, Aubrey. You look like a wax dummy.'
It was green. The dress was green. White gloves. Very long. Sparkly things around her neck and wrist. Jewels. Her hair was twisty and wrappy and piled up. Shiny, too. With a feather in it.
'Well? Are you coming in?'
She turned and moved inside. Her perfume drifted to him; he nearly gave up and ran away. Steeling himself, he followed her with one aim in mind: not to trip over his own feet.
He abandoned any chance of urbane, debonair or charming. He was happy to aspire to anything better than village idiot, second class.
With some pride, he managed not to bang into any walls. He followed Caroline into the parlour. Along the way from the front door – a journey that seemed to take a strangely indeterminate amount of time – he'd assembled enough of his wits to frame coherent thought and, at a pinch, attempt short sentences. So when he saw Mrs Hepworth in a ball gown, he was able not to goggle. She wore an assembly of blue silk windings that floated and made her look stylishly exotic, and an iridescent turban affair on her head. 'You're coming to the ball?'
'Naturally,' she said with a smile. 'I was going to go with Alphonse Caron, but since he's been called away . . . If you don't mind, I'll accompany you two.'
Aubrey was conscious that Caroline was looking at him. 'Delighted,' he said and wondered why it was so hot in the room.
Caroline arranged a white silk shawl around her shoulders. 'Shall we go?'
Aubrey introduced Madame Calvert and Mrs Hepworth. They chattered, George and Sophie chattered, and Aubrey spent the rest of the journey trying not to stare at Caroline. He was quite proud of his remarks about the weather and decided that for someone with an evaporated brain, he was doing quite well. He gave himself some chance of seeing out the evening without a major social blunder.
Their carriage was stopped a block away from their destination by streets choked with traffic. All Lutetia seemed to be heading toward the social event of the year. A cheery police officer assured them that the line of carriages was moving, and so it proved when, thirty minutes later, they arrived in front of the many-pillared Albion Embassy.
Guards in full uniform stood on either side of the gate. Aubrey noted that they weren't merely ceremonial – their rifles were standard-issue bolt-action Symons, well oiled and maintained. A full colonel inspected invitations of everyone attempting to enter. Aubrey approved of the precautions. Even if the Heart of Gold had been restored, the city was still a hotbed of intrigue and the embassy ball presented a ripe opportunity for mischief on a grand scale.
Their invitations satisfying the colonel, Aubrey offered his arm to Caroline. She placed a gloved hand on his elbow and they walked to the great doorway. Aubrey was sure he was glowing brightly enough to be seen by a low-flying dirigible.
Footmen swarmed about in the foyer of the embassy, periwigged and resplendent in brocade knee breeches. They carried chairs, potted plants, trays of glasses, platters of small mysterious delicacies, and all with an air of utmost dedication. Two appeared from nowhere to take Caroline's shawl and his top hat.
A major-domo announced them as they entered the ballroom, which was the size of a small cricket ground. The ceiling was at least thirty feet overhead, and it was painted with a pastoral scene full of nymphs, shepherds and rather puzzled-looking sheep. A dozen huge chandeliers lit the arena. False columns marched along each wall, soothingly painted in greens and pinks.
Aubrey enjoyed how people watched their entrance, whispering to each other and wondering who the handsome couple was.
'They're looking at the people behind us,' Caroline murmured.
Aubrey was about to protest when he heard the major-domo announce the Prince and Princess of Antioch. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the gorgeous silk garments of the Middle Eastern royalty and shrugged. 'They should be looking at you.'
She dimpled. 'That was a very straightforward compliment, Aubrey. Thank you.'
He blinked. He supposed it had been. No guile, no subterfuge, no elaborate courtly gestures. Perhaps he was better at this than he thought.
He saw Caroline's mother whisking Madame Calvert toward a cluster of well-dressed Lutetians, all of whom seemed delighted to see her. He blinked, and tensed for an instant, when a photographer's flash powder went off. The small orchestra on the stage moved into another waltz and the night was under way.
He felt a tap on his shoulder. 'Inspector Paul!' he said with real delight. He stood back and examined the beaming police officer. 'That's a different uniform.'
'Good evening, Miss Hepworth,' Inspector Paul said. 'Yes. This is new and I hope my new salary will be able to pay for it. A full dress uniform for a commander is not cheap.'
'Commander Paul? A promotion? Congratulations.' 'With your assistance, Fitzwilliam. I thank you. When we captured the bulk of the Sons of Victor, my superiors could ignore me no longer.'
Aubrey was pleased. Paul deserved his promotion. Steering a course through the byzantine politics of the Lutetian Police Force was a challenge, and he'd done very well. Aubrey was keen to tell his grandmother that the low opinion she had of the Gallian police was not true of all its members.
A young police officer hurried up and whispered in Paul's ear. From the frowning reaction, Aubrey judged it was not good news.
'Please excuse me, Miss Hepworth, Fitzwilliam. I have a matter to attend to.'
'Something urgent?'
Commander Paul moved a step closer. He stood looking over the sparkling throng. 'The Sons of Victor apparently still have friends. Four of them escaped an hour ago, including Gabriel.'
Aubrey grimaced. 'Good luck.'
Commander Paul disappeared into the crowd.
'A good man,' Caroline said.
'My father always says to surround oneself with good people. You develop a reputation that way as a person of worth.' He peered about the room. 'And speaking of my father, where is he? And George and Sophie. I've lost track of them, too.'
'Let's find them.'
Aubrey then enjoyed a delicious ten minutes wandering through the crowded ballroom with Caroline on his arm. The most important Lutetians were there: politicians, businessmen, high-ranking military officers in full dress uniform, pre-eminent churchmen, as well as a sprinkling of artists, writers and academics. The renowned Gallian sense of style was on full display with the formality of the occasion. The men were all in full evening dress with tailcoats and white bow ties. The women were in an array of gowns that was dazzling in the range of colours, styles and fabrics. Aubrey would have been astonished if he hadn't had eyes only for Caroline.