Sapphire Blue (21 page)

Madame Rossini walked slowly around me, and a satisfied smile spread over her face. “Entrancing.
Magnifique
.”

“Is this the ball dress?” I asked.

“No, it is ze gown for ze soirée.” Madame Rossini pinned tiny, perfectly formed silk roses in place around the deep décolletage. As her mouth was full of pins, she spoke indistinctly through her teeth. “Zere, you can wear your ’air unpowdered, and ze dark color will look fantastic with ze red. Just as I thought!” She winked at me mischievously. “You will attract attention, my swan-necked beauty,
n’est-ce pas
—although zat is not ze idea, but what can I do?” She wrung her hands, but unlike Giordano when he was wringing his, dumpy little Madame Rossini looked cute. “You
are
a leetle beauty, zere is no denying it, putting you in neutral colors would not ’elp. Zere we are, little swan neck, and now for ze ball dress.”

The ball dress was pale blue with cream embroidery and frills, and it fitted as perfectly as the red dress. It had, if possible, an even more spectacularly plunging neckline than the red dress, and the skirt swung around me for what looked like yards. Madame Rossini weighed up my hair, which was in a braid today, in both hands, looking worried. “I am not sure ’ow we should do ze ’air. A wig is not comfortable, not with all that ’air of your own ’idden underneath. But your ’air is so dark, with powder it will probably be a ’ideous gray.
Quelle catastrophe!
” She frowned. “Never mind. With powder you would be à la mode—but dear ’eaven, what a ’orrible mode!”

For the first time that day, I couldn’t help smiling.
’Ideous! ’Orrible!
Oh, how right she was. It wasn’t just the fashionable hair powder, Gideon was
’ideous
and
’orrible
as well, so far as I was concerned, and from now on, I was going to look at him that way, so there!

Madame Rossini didn’t seem to realize how good she was for my peace of mind. She was still getting indignant about the eighteenth century. “Boys, girls, ’aving to powder their ’air to look like their
grandmères
—’orrible. Now try on zese shoes. You must dance in zem, remember, but we still ’ave time to get zem altered.”

Like the corset, the shoes, embroidered red for the red dress, pale blue with golden buckles for the ball dress, were surprisingly comfortable, although they looked as if they came out of a museum. “Those are the most beautiful shoes I’ve ever worn in my life,” I said appreciatively.

“I should ’ope so,” said Madame Rossini, beaming all over her face. “Zere, my little angel, you are ready. Mind you ’ave a good night’s rest tonight. You will ’ave an exciting day tomorrow.” As I slipped back into my jeans and favorite dark blue pullover, she draped the dresses over her headless tailor’s dummies. Then she looked at the clock on the wall and frowned in annoyance. “Oh, zat unreliable boy! ’E was to be ’ere fifteen minutes ago!”

My pulse rate instantly shot up. “Gideon?”

Madame Rossini nodded. “’E do not take zis seriously, ’e think it does not matter ’ow ’is breeches fit. But ze fit of ze breeches is very, very important.”

’Ideous! ’Orrible!
I tested my new mantra.

Someone knocked on the door. Only a slight sound, but all my good intentions vanished into thin air.

Suddenly I couldn’t wait to see Gideon again. And at the same time, I was scared to death of meeting him. I wouldn’t survive those dark glances of his a second time.

“Ah,” said Madame Rossini. “’Ere ’e is. Come in!”

My whole body stiffened, but it wasn’t Gideon coming through the doorway, it was red-haired Mr. Marley. Nervous and awkward as usual, he stammered, “I’m to take the Ruby … er, Miss Gwyneth down to elapse.”

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll be finished with this in a moment.” Behind Mr. Marley, Xemerius was grinning at me. I’d sent him away before the fittings began.

“I just flew through a real live home secretary,” he said cheerfully. “It was cool!”

“And where is ze boy?” asked Madame Rossini crossly. “’E was coming for a fitting!”

Mr. Marley cleared his throat. “I saw the Diam—Mr. de Villiers just now with the other Rub—with Miss Charlotte. He was with his brother.”

“
Tiens!
I couldn’t care less about zat,” said Madame Rossini, annoyed.

I could, though
, I thought. In my mind I was texting Lesley. Just one word:
hara-kiri.

“If ’e does not come ’ere at once, I am complaining of ’im to ze Grand Master,” said Madame Rossini. “Where’s my telephone?”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Mr. Marley. Looking embarrassed, he was turning the black scarf this way and that in his hands. “May I…?”

“Go ahead,” I said, sighing, and I let him blindfold me.

“I’m afraid that young hopeful is telling the truth,” said Xemerius. “Your sparkly-stone friend is flirting with your cousin for all he’s worth. So’s his pretty brother. What do boys see in redheads? I think they’re all going off to the cinema. I didn’t want to tell you myself in case you started crying again.”

I shook my head.

Xemerius looked up at the ceiling. “I could keep an eye on them for you. Would you like that?”

I nodded vigorously.

All the way down to the cellar Mr. Marley persistently kept silent, and I was deep in my own gloomy thoughts. Not until we’d arrived in the chronograph room and Mr. Marley took off the blindfold did I ask, “Where are you going to send me today?”

“I … we’re waiting for Number Nine, I mean Mr. Whitman,” said Mr. Marley, looking at the floor instead of meeting my eyes. “Of course I don’t have permission to set the chronograph myself. Please sit down.”

But as soon as I had sat down on a chair, the door opened again and Mr. Whitman came in. With Gideon right behind him.

My heart missed a beat.

“Hello, Gwyneth,” said Mr. Whitman, with his most charming squirrel smile. “Good to see you.” He pushed back the tapestry that hid the safe. “Right, so now we’ll send you off to elapse.”

I scarcely heard what he was saying. Gideon still looked very pale, but much better than yesterday evening. The thick white plaster was gone, and I could see the wound going up to his hairline. It was about four inches long and was now held together by lots of narrow strips of plaster. I waited for him to say something, but he just looked at me.

Xemerius came leaping through the wall and landed right beside Gideon. I gasped with alarm.

“Oops. Here he is already,” said Xemerius. “I wanted to warn you, sweetheart, but I couldn’t decide which of them to follow. Obviously Charlotte’s taken over babysitting duties for Gideon’s little brother this afternoon. They’ve gone off to eat ices, and then they’re going to the cinema. Looks to me like cinemas are the haystacks of the modern era.”

“Everything all right, Gwyneth?” asked Gideon, raising one eyebrow. “You look nervous. Would you like a cigarette to calm your nerves? What was your favorite brand, did you say? Marlboros?”

I could only stare at him speechlessly.

“Leave her alone,” said Xemerius. “Can’t you see she’s unhappy in love, bonehead? All because of you! What are you doing here, anyway?”

Mr. Whitman had taken the chronograph out of the safe and put it on the table. “Then let’s see where to send you today…”

“Madame Rossini is expecting you for a fitting, sir,” said Mr. Marley, turning to Gideon.

“Damn,” said Gideon, put off his stroke. He looked at his watch. “I totally forgot it. Was she very cross?”

“She did seem rather annoyed,” said Mr. Marley. At that moment the door opened again, and Mr. George came in. He was out of breath, and as always when he’d been making an effort, his bald patch was covered with tiny beads of sweat. “What’s going on here?”

Mr. Whitman frowned. “Thomas? Gideon said you were still deep in conversation with Falk and the home secretary.”

“So I was. Until I had a call from Madame Rossini and heard that Gwyneth had already been fetched to go and elapse,” said Mr. George. This was the first time I’d seen him really angry.

“But—Gideon said you’d asked us to—” said Mr. Whitman, clearly confused.

“I hadn’t! Gideon, what’s going on?” All the kindliness had vanished from Mr. George’s little eyes.

Gideon had crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you might be glad if we relieved you of that task,” he said smoothly.

Mr. George mopped the beads of sweat off with his handkerchief. “How very thoughtful of you,” he said, with a distinct sarcastic undertone. “But there was no need for that. You’d better go straight up to Madame Rossini.”

“I’d be happy to go with Gwyneth,” said Gideon. “After yesterday’s events, it might be better for her not to be on her own.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. George. “There’s no reason to suppose there’s any danger for her, as long as she doesn’t travel too far back.”

“Quite true,” said Mr. Whitman.

“Like for instance to the year 1956?” asked Gideon slowly, looking Mr. George straight in the eyes. “I was leafing through the
Annals
this morning, and I must say the year 1956 certainly sounds peaceful enough. The reports of the men on guard say
no unusual incidents
more often than anything else. A report like that is music to our ears, wouldn’t you say?”

By now my heart was in my mouth. The way Gideon was acting, he must have found out what I’d really been doing yesterday. But how on earth
could
he know? After all, I’d only smelt of cigarette smoke, which might be suspicious but couldn’t possibly have told him what had really happened back in 1956.

Mr. George returned his glance without batting an eyelash. At the most, he looked slightly irritated. “That wasn’t a request, Gideon. Madame Rossini is waiting. Marley, you can go too.”

“Yes, Mr. George, sir,” muttered Mr. Marley. He almost saluted.

When the door had latched shut behind Marley, Mr. George, eyes flashing, looked at Gideon. Mr. Whitman, too, was looking at him in surprise.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Mr. George coolly.

“Why did you let Gwyneth land in the afternoon, in broad daylight? Isn’t that against the rules?” asked Gideon.

“Uh-oh,” said Xemerius.

“Gideon, it is not your—” Mr. Whitman began.

“It makes no difference what time of day or night she landed,” Mr. George interrupted him. “She traveled to a locked room in the cellars.”

“I was scared,” I said quickly, and perhaps my voice was a little too shrill. “I didn’t want to be alone in that cellar in the middle of the night, right beside the catacombs—”

Gideon turned his gaze briefly to me, raising one eyebrow again. “Ah, yes, you’re such a timid, shrinking little thing. I’d quite forgotten.” He laughed softly. “Nineteen fifty-six—that was the year when you became a member of the Lodge, wasn’t it, Mr. George? What a strange coincidence.”

Mr. George frowned.

“I don’t see what you’re getting at, Gideon,” said Mr. Whitman. “But I would suggest you go up to Madame Rossini now. Mr. George and I will look after Gwyneth.”

Gideon looked at me again. “Let
me
make the following suggestion: I get the fitting over with, and then you can simply send me on to join Gwyneth, never mind where or when. Then even if it’s night, she won’t have to be scared of anything.”

“Except you,” said Xemerius.

“You’ve already fulfilled your quota for today,” pointed out Mr. Whitman. “However, if Gwyneth is afraid…” He looked at me sympathetically.

I couldn’t bear him a grudge for that. I supposed that I really did look kind of terrified. My heart was still in my mouth, and I was totally unable to say anything.

“Well, I don’t mind if we do it that way,” said Mr. Whitman, shrugging. “Any objections, Thomas?”

Mr. George slowly shook his head, although he looked as if he wanted to do the opposite.

A smile of satisfaction spread over Gideon’s face, and he finally moved from his rigid position beside the door. “See you later, then,” he told me triumphantly. It sounded like a threat.

When the door closed behind him, Mr. Whitman sighed. “He’s been acting very strangely since he got that knock on the head, don’t you think, Thomas?”

“Definitely very strangely,” said Mr. George.

“Maybe we should talk to him, mention the tone to be taken with senior members of the Lodge,” said Mr. Whitman. “For his age, he is extremely … ah, well. He’s under great pressure. We have to take that into consideration.” He looked at me encouragingly. “Well, are you ready, Gwyneth?”

I stood up. “Yes,” I said. I was lying through my teeth.

The raven red, on ruby pinions winging

its way between the worlds, hears dead men singing.

It scarce knows its strength, the price it scarce knows,

but its power will arise and the Circle will close.

The lion—as proud as the diamond bright,

Though the spell may be clouding that radiant light—

In the death of the sun what’s amiss will then mend,

While the raven, in dying, discloses the end.

  F
ROM THE
S
ECRET
W
RITINGS OF
C
OUNT
S
AINT-
G
ERMAIN

NINE

I HADN’T ASKED
what year they’d sent me to, because it made no difference anyway. In fact, the place looked the same as on my last visit. The green sofa still stood in the middle of the room, and I cast it an angry glance, as if everything was all that sofa’s fault. Chairs were stacked up against the wall where Lucas had made his hiding place for the key, the same as last time, and I struggled with myself. Should I clear out the hiding place? If Gideon suspected its existence—and he definitely did—then searching the room was the first thing he’d think of, right? I could put the contents of the hidey-hole behind the loose brick out in the corridors somewhere, and come back into the room before Gideon arrived.

I began frantically pushing the chairs aside, but then I changed my mind. First, I couldn’t hide the key outside the room, because I’d have to lock the door again, and second, even if Gideon did find the hiding place, how was he going to prove that it was meant for me? I’d simply make myself look silly.