"Indeed; but you are not a commerçant, and you haven't the faintest idea what passes between the likes of me and Bernard. Don't worry. If you were a commerçant, I shouldn't be attracted to you—just as I'm not attracted to Bernard."
"But it looked for all the world as if you were flirting."
"As indeed we were—but the intercourse to which this flirting will lead is not sexual."
"I am perfectly confused now—you are playing with me."
"Come now, Bon-bon! Let us review matters. Out of all the men in Germany, which did I choose for a friend?"
"Leibniz."
"And what is he?"
"A mathematician."
"Holland?"
"Huygens…a mathematician."
"England?"
"Daniel Waterhouse. A Natural Philosopher."
"France?"
"…"
"Come now! When I came to Versailles for the first time, and got invited to Court soirées, and was pursued by any number of randy Dukes, to whom did I give my affections?"
"You gave them to…a mathematician."
"What was that mathematician's name?" asked Eliza, cupping a hand to her ear.
"It was Bonaventure Rossignol," said Bonaventure Rossignol, and flicked his black eyes to and fro to see if anyone was listening.
"Now, when I got myself into a big mess of trouble outside of St. Diziers, who was the first to learn of it?"
"That fellow who was reading everyone's mail. Bonaventure Rossignol."
"And who came galloping to my rescue across half of France, and journeyed north with me to Nijmegen, and put me on a boat?"
"Bon—"
"Stop. The name is beautiful and distinguished. But I prefer to call him Bon-bon."
"Very well, then, it was Bon-bon."
"Who made love to me along the banks of the Meuse?"
"Étienne de Lavardac."
"Who else?"
"Bon-bon."
"And who helped me concoct a plan to get out of my terrible mess of trouble?"
"Bon-bon."
"Who helped me cover my traces, and forged documents, and lied to the King and to d'Avaux?"
"Bon-bon."
"And who is the father of my first-born?"
"I've no idea."
"Only because you avoided looking at him, when you had the opportunity. But I tell you Jean-Jacques looks very much like Bon-bon—there is no trace in him of the tainted blood of the Lavardacs. You are the father, Bon-bon."
"What is your point?"
"Only that it is absurd for you to be jealous of this Samuel Bernard. Whatever may pass between him and me in the way of business is nothing compared to the adventure that you and I had, and the son that we share."
The attention of "Bon-bon" had strayed to a painting of a fabulous, many-domed mosque that adorned a wall behind Eliza. "You remind me of things I would forget. I could have done a better job."
"Nonsense!"
"I could have exonerated you entirely from charges of spying."
"In retrospect, perhaps. But I do believe it worked out for the best."
"What…you married to a man you do not love, and Jean-Jacques held captive by a demented Saxon banker?"
"But that is not the end of the story, Bon-bon. We have met here today to further the story along."
"Yes. And it is an interesting choice of venue," Rossignol said, leaning far over the table and lowering his voice so much that Eliza nearly had to touch her forehead against his in order to hear him. "I have read every scrap of these people's mail for two years, you know, but never seen their faces, and certainly never sipped their coffee."
"Do you fancy it?"
"It is a cut above the usual swill, to be sure," said Rossignol, "but on its merits as a beverage, it would never be so chic if you and Madame la duchesse d'Oyonnax were not forever singing its praises."
"You see? There is nothing I would not do in the service of cryptology," said Eliza with a smile, and spread out her hands, inviting Rossignol to take in the magnificence of the Café Esphahan. "Have you learned anything recently?"
"This is not the place or the time to speak of it! But no," said Rossignol. "I have been much more preoccupied with reading your mail."
"Does it make for interesting reading?"
"A bit too interesting. To Lothar you say, ‘The invasion of England will surely be called off,' while to some financier in Lyon you are saying, ‘The invasion will happen soon and we must pay the troops!' "
"You don't know the half of it."
"It makes me worry that you are about to get in trouble again and I shall have to go back to galloping hither and yon, forging documents, and lying to important people…all of which I would gladly do!" he added hastily, as the beginnings of a pout had appeared on Eliza's face. "But I think it a miracle that you were forgiven, by the powers that be, for the previous go-round of spying and lying. If you do it again—"
"Your misinterpretation is total," Eliza said. "There was no forgiving, but an œconomic transaction. And I did not get off scot-free, as you seem to phant'sy, but paid a price so terrible I do not think you'll ever fathom it. To you, perhaps, it seems that I am plunging once more into a sea of intrigue from which I was absent for a couple of years—restful years for you, Bon-bon!—but to me it seems I have been submerged in it the whole time, and am only now getting my head above water where I can see and breathe again. I mean to keep clawing away until I have dragged myself out."
"You'll never be out," said Rossignol, "but if it is in your nature to claw, then claw away. Speaking of which, my back has healed since the last time—"
"I have three more engagements to-day, but perhaps I could append a fourth," said Eliza. She reached across the table and set a packet of letters in front of Rossignol. "My out-going mail," she explained. "I was going to post it, but then I thought, why not give it directly to Bon-bon?"
"I shall decrypt them while I await your fourth social engagement," said Rossignol. "Here is your incoming." And he handed Eliza a packet.
"Thank you, Bon-bon. Anything interesting?"
"Compared to most of what I have to read? Madame, you have no idea."
19 APRIL 1692
I am in receipt of your recent note urgently requesting information concerning the Mint and the men who run it. I cannot fathom why you desire to know such things, so hastily. I can assure you that I am the wrong chap. The right chap is the Marquis of Ravenscar. I have taken the liberty of forwarding your questions to him. You may be assured of his discretion. I hope that everything is well with you; for I am, as always, &c., Daniel Waterhouse.
20 APRIL 1692
A LETTER
To Her Grace, ELIZA, Duchess of Arcachon and (though 'tis not recognized in France) Qwghlm
Madame,
Most humbly do I set before you this Offering, and do pray that Your Grace may deem it a satisfactory Answer to those Inquiries lately despatch'd to my wise Friend and Colleague, Dr. Daniel Waterhouse, F.R.S.
APOLOGY
Olympus' Court no fairer Visage housed
Than that of Helen. Goddesses were roused
To ENVY: which though petty Vice on Earth
When spent on High where all's of greater Worth
Loosed Havock down below. Fleets sailed, Gods vied,
For Helen cities fell and heroes died.
ELIZA's Fame on Rumour's wing hath come
To Albion's shores. French flatterers, struck dumb,
Have kept her beauty hid 'til now, it seems;
But as a light beneath a Bushel gleams
Thro' any Chink, ELIZA's Charms are out,
And putting Goddesses to rout.
A-tremble, Men gaze up, and shall be glad
Not to be Players in her Iliad.
MY LADY,
You who are accustom'd to that incomparable Palace of Versailles would find little in London worthy of casting your eye over, and least of all my habitation near Red Lyon Square, which is yet but a pile of loose stones and timbers. Its sole Glory, at this time, is its Architect, Dr. Daniel Waterhouse, Secretary of the Royal Society, who being a diligent man is oft to be seen in its Precincts surveying, measuring, drawing, &c. Today I chanc'd to meet Dr. Waterhouse about the Property and, upon supplying him with certain Libations, learnt from him that his letter-box had been graced by a missive from the incomparable Duchess of Arcachon and of Qwghlm, who is the subject of some debate among Persons of Quality in this Country; for while some would have it that her Wit is exceeded only by her Beauty, others would have it the other way round. I confess myself incompetent to have an opinion on the matter, for while your letter to Dr. Waterhouse leaves me confounded and dazzled by your Wit, I cannot but suppose that were I to have the honour of encountering you in Person I should be as a-maz'd by your Beauty. Setting aside, then, this Question, which I cannot answer for lack of sufficient Data (though not, I assure you, for want of Curiosity), I shall apply myself to the Question that you put to Dr. Waterhouse in your recent Missive, viz.: who is in charge of the Mint at the Tower of London, and is it reasonable to assume that he is a good Tory?