She thought about what he had said, but the information rang no bells. "I'll ask if any of my women have heard of such a man. Were there any other clues?"
"Not as such. But I have wondered…" Robin's voice trailed off as he deftly removed them from the path of a drunken Russian officer whose enthusiasm for waltzing exceeded his skill.
When they were safely clear, Robin continued, "Is it possible that the name might come from a family crest or some such? The man we are after is certainly someone of power and position, and would likely have a family coat of arms."
She felt a tingle at the words. In his own way, Robin was as intuitive as Maggie herself, and it would not be the first time that a small fact triggered a mental leap to something quite different. When inspiration struck, he was usually right.
"That's very plausible," she agreed. "I'll ask around to discover whose arms involve any kind of snake. There can't be many. It will be good to have something concrete to investigate after so many days of frustration."
During the latter part of the dance, she described her meeting with General Roussaye and her suspicions of him.
Robin listened intently. When she had finished, he said, "I'll see if I can find any snakes in his background. I think we're on the edge of a breakthrough. But for God's sake, Maggie, be careful. My informant seemed to think Le Serpent is a direct representative of Satan. Whoever he is, the man is dangerous."
The music ended. Robin had maneuvered so that the last bars brought them to the Duke of Candover. Gracefully handing Maggie back to Rate's keeping, he bid them good night, then disappeared.
Maggie's worried gaze followed him. Robin must be as tired as she was, but if she knew him, he would spend half of the remaining night in Parisian stews and gaming hells looking for further traces of Le Serpent. And he told her to be careful!
Intent on her friend, she didn't see the black look on Rafe's face as he observed her preoccupation.
Chapter 10
The first thing the next morning, Maggie began her inquiries about snakes and related heraldic creatures by calling on a fragile old lady in Faubourg St. Germain. Madame Daudet had lost all her male descendants in Napoleon's wars, and she longed for peace. She also knew the history, marriages, and arms of every important family in France. After listening to Maggie's request, she promised that within forty-eight hours she would have a detailed list of possibilities among both the old and the new French aristocracy. With luck, it would provide some clues.
Around noon, a note was delivered from Rafe saying they would join the Castlereaghs for luncheon the next day. Maggie nodded with satisfaction, then prepared to call on a gossipy woman who was an expert on the upper levels of Bonapartist society. Perhaps she would also be well informed about serpents.
Maggie's departure was delayed when the butler brought in the card of an unexpected visitor. Mrs. Oliver Northwood.
Curious what Cynthia Northwood might have to say, she ordered her butler to admit the visitor. The young woman was tense when she entered, her pretty face pale against the dark curls.
"I'm glad to find you at home, Countess," she said in labored French. "I wish to discuss something with you."
Responding in English, Maggie said, "But of course, my dear. Would you care for some coffee?"
At her visitor's nod, Maggie gave orders to the butler, then seated herself, gesturing Cynthia to a sofa near the window where it would be easy to read her expression. Maggie made general remarks and received monosyllabic replies until coffee and delicate pastries were served. When they were alone, she said, "If you have something to ask me, perhaps you should simply come out with it."
Cynthia's wide brown eyes slid away. "It's harder to say than I thought it would be. You scarcely know me, and have no reason to listen to my troubles. But… but I needed another woman to talk to."
"And you chose me because of our mutual relationship with Candover?"
Cynthia looked startled, then smiled faintly. "Perhaps that is it. Since we have a… mutual friend, and you listened kindly once, I thought I could talk to you." She drew herself up with visible effort. "When we spoke before, I told you that I was unhappy in my marriage."
"When I met your husband later that evening, I understood why," Maggie said encouragingly. "Why did you marry him?"
Cynthia spread her hands in a despairing gesture. "I fancied myself in love, of course. Oliver was handsome and dashing and lived such an exciting life compared to mine in Lincolnshire, where I grew up. The aunt who presented me was impressed that he was the son of a lord, and told me what a splendid conquest I had made. I didn't look beyond his lineage and tailoring.
"He was handsome seven years ago, before his indulgences caught up with him. I was only eighteen, dazzled that such a man of the world should court me. It never occurred to me to consider his character." She shrugged. "I got what I deserved. It's incredible that we choose our life's companions after a handful of meetings, usually under the most artificial of circumstances. Since Oliver came from a noble family, my father saw no reason to deny his suit. I was so pleased by my good fortune that I never asked what he saw in me."
"You are too hard on yourself. You are a very attractive woman, one any man might fall in love with."
"Perhaps," Cynthia said, unmollified. "But it was more to the point that I had a fine dowry. As a younger son, Oliver would have needed to marry well in any case, but his gambling debts made the situation urgent." She sighed. "It took very little time for me to realize what a poor bargain I had made. I come from simple country folk who believe in old-fashioned things like fidelity. I won't bore you with how I discovered about his women, but it shattered all my illusions. When I confronted him, he mocked me for being a provincial little fool."
Cynthia's voice broke, and she stopped speaking. Ever practical, Maggie poured her more coffee. The girl choked when she sipped it, then continued her depressing tale.
"I decided to pay him back in his own coin." She flushed and stared into the depths of her cup. "It was foolish. Women are not the same as men, and it was a poor form of revenge. Except for Rafe, I have few good memories of that time. He was always kind, and he told me to put a higher price on myself."
She glanced up again. "I didn't know what he meant at first, but I did eventually. I started behaving in a way that would not shame my father if he knew of it, and I found it much easier to live with myself."
"Yet something has gone wrong to bring you here."
"I fell in love, and was happier than I had ever been, and now everything is much, much worse." Cynthia's eyes were bleakly unhappy. "Michael Brewer is everything I should have sought in a husband, but was too foolish to appreciate. He is kind, reliable, and honorable. Most of all, he loves me, in spite of all the mistakes I have made."
Maggie looked at her with compassion. No wonder the poor girl looked so miserable. She was in a situation where there was little prospect of a happy resolution.
Cynthia put her cup down and toyed nervously with her wedding ring. "I want to marry and settle down somewhere in the country with Michael and raise lots of babies and get plump and warm my feet on his back in the winter. That is what he wants, too. He hates the dishonesty of what we are doing."
"But as long as you and your husband live, that is impossible. In England divorces are virtually unobtainable. Even if you had the money and influence to get a bill of divorcement through Parliament, you would be an outcast."
"There is no time for that," Cynthia said grimly. "I am with child."
Maggie inhaled sharply. "And it is not your husband's?"
"We have not been man and wife for years. Unfortunately, while he doesn't want me for himself, he doesn't want anyone else to have me, either." Cynthia shuddered. "I am frightened about what he will do when he learns I am increasing."