She sent Tunstell to alert the local constabulary, the other actors and actresses back to their rooms, and the now-rather-worried-looking collective of Tunstell Troupe admirers off about their business. She had to use gesticulations, shushing sounds, and, eventually, a broom in order to accomplish this last.
The sky was beginning to pink and things were finally calm at Hotel des Voyageurs, when a dark shadow loomed in the doorway and Lord Maccon, wearing only a cloak and a sour expression, entered the room.
Alexia hurried up to him. “I know you are still angry with me, and you have a perfect right to be. It was beastly of me to keep the information from you, but we have a far more serious problem that needs your attention now.”
The frown deepened. “Go on.”
“Primrose appears to have been baby-napped. She was taken from her room several hours ago while the Tunstells were engaged in a performance. I was with them. Madame Lefoux has also vanished. Apparently, the nursemaid was asleep and when she awoke, she found both Primrose and Prudence had disappeared.”
“Prudence is gone, too?!” Lord Maccon roared.
The clerk, dozing fitfully behind his desk, snapped to attention with the expression of a man near to his breaking point.
Alexia put a hand on her husband’s arm. “No, dear, do calm down. It turned out ours had taken refuge under a bed.”
“That’s my girl!”
“Yes, very sensible of her, although she seems to be having some difficulty describing the kidnappers to us.”
“Well, she is only two.”
“Yes, but as she really must learn coherent phrasing and syntax eventually, now would be an excellent time to complete the process. And she has let forth a complete sentence lately. I was hoping… never mind that now. The fact is, Primrose is gone and so is Genevieve.”
“You believe Madame Lefoux took the baby?” The earl was frowning and chewing on his bottom lip in that darling way Alexia loved so much.
“No, I don’t. But I think Madame Lefoux may be chasing the kidnappers. She was around the hotel at the time, and the clerk said she left in a great hurry. Perhaps she spotted something out her window. Her room is near the nursery.”
“It’s a possibility.”
“I’ve sent Tunstell to the local authorities. I haven’t let anyone into the room. I thought you might be able to smell something.”
Lord Maccon nodded crisply, almost a salute. “I’m still angry with you, wife. But I can’t help but admire your efficiency in a crisis.”
“Thank you. Shall we go check the scents?”
“Lead on.”
Unfortunately, up the stairs and in the nursery, the earl smelled nothing of significance. He did say he thought he caught a whiff of Madame Lefoux and that it was possible she had grappled with the assailants or perhaps simply stuck her head in to see what had happened. It was also possible that it was a lingering remnant from the previous evening. He said he smelled a trace of the Egyptian streets about the place, but nothing more than that. Whoever had taken Primrose had hired ruffians to do it. He traipsed back out into the hallway, still sniffing.
“Ah,” he said, “there is Madame Lefoux again—machine oil and vanilla. And here.” He began walking back down the steps. “You know, wife, I do believe I have a fresh trail. I’m going after her.” He dropped his cloak, revealing an impressive bare chest matted with hair, and shifted form. Luckily the lobby was deserted but for the extremely harried clerk who watched, openmouthed, as his esteemed guest, a real British earl, changed into a wolf right there in front of him.
The poor man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he followed in the path of many a young lady that evening and fainted dead away behind the desk.
Alexia watched him fall, too dazed to make any effort to help him, and then turned back to her husband, now a wolf, carefully picking up his discarded cloak with his mouth.
“Conall, really, the sun is almost up. Do you think you’ll have time…?”
But he was already gone, dashing out the door, nose lowered before him like a scent hound after a fox.
Lord Conall Maccon returned well after sunup. Alexia was coping with an utterly distraught Mrs. Tunstell. She had finally convinced Ivy to take a dram of poppy to quiet her nerves. At which point both Ivy and her nerves became rather floppy and confused.
Ivy managed to raise her head from where it bent low over Percy, asleep in her lap, when Lord Maccon tapped quietly at the door.
Mr. Tumtrinkle, seated facing the door with Alexia’s gun in his lap, started violently and fired Ethel at the earl. Lord Maccon, slower than usual after a long evening’s run and a good few hours dashing about as a human under the scorching heat of an Egyptian sun, ducked too late, but the bullet missed him.
Alexia tsked at the actor and put out her hand for the return of her pistol. The man handed it over, apologized profusely to Lord Maccon, and resumed his chair in embarrassed silence. Lady Maccon noted, however, that he did take one of the rapiers, tipped for use in stage fights and thus rather useless, and placed it to hand. Alexia supposed he could ferociously poke someone if he tried hard enough.
“Osh, Lord Maccon!” cried out Ivy, head lolling back and eyes rolling slightly. “Ish that you? Hash you any… indigestion… no… information?”
The earl gave his wife a pained look.
“Laudanum,” explained Alexia succinctly.
“Not as such, Mrs. Tunstell. I am very sorry. Wife, if you could spare me a moment?”
“Aleshia!”
“Yes, Ivy dear?”
“We should go dancing!”
“But, Ivy, we’re in Egypt and your daughter is missing.”
“But I can’t see myself from here!”
Alexia stood up from where she was seated next to her nonsensical friend, experienced some difficulty in convincing Ivy to let go of her hand, and followed her husband out the door.
He spoke in a hushed voice. “I traced Madame Lefoux to the dahabiya docks. A peculiar sort of place. Lost the scent there. I’m afraid she may have boarded a ship. I’m going to go ascertain how Tunstell is getting on with the local authorities. Then I think we might need to notify the consular general. Bad publicity, very bad, a missing British baby on his watch.”
Alexia nodded. “I’ll go back to the docks, shall I? See if I can work my womanly charm and discover who accepted Madame Lefoux’s fare and where she might be headed.”
“You have womanly charm?” The earl was genuinely surprised. “I thought you simply harangued a blighter until he gave in.”
Alexia gave him a look.
Lord Maccon snorted. “Only one direction to head if one is going by dahabiya.”
“Up the Nile to Cairo?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, they might at least tell a female if a passenger had a baby. They might even be convinced to say if she was chasing after someone.”
“Very well, Alexia, but be careful, and take your parasol.”
“Of course, Conall. I shall require a parasol, as the sun is up. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yes, very amusing, wife.”
Neither of them mentioned sleep, although Alexia was feeling the strain of having been awake since four the previous afternoon. Bed would have to wait; they had a baby to catch and a Frenchwoman to trace.
Biffy awoke before sunset and, after struggling with his hair for a quarter of an hour, returned to the maps he’d laid out of Egypt and the expansion of the God-Breaker Plague. He’d awakened with a certain feeling that he was missing something. He went back to the circles he’d drawn and reviewed notes on times indicating the plague’s expansion and general location. He began to extrapolate inward, trying to determine its course. What if the plague had always been expanding, very slowly? What if there was a starting point?
He got so distracted he very nearly missed his appointment with Lady Maccon and the aethographor. He took the maps with him to the receiving chamber to await any missive, studying them carefully.