The Adventuress (19 page)

“I am not shocked by any woman doing what she believes is necessary in order for her to survive,” I said. “If anything, I blame the men and the society that refuse these women other ways to earn their livings.”

“The duke is a duke. We all assumed him to have a fortune to match his title.” Marie stifled a giggle. “Do forgive me.”

“Is it possible that Mr. Neville was jealous of the attention given to the duke by Hélène?”

“I am most skilled at noticing such things,” Marie said, “and saw no sign of it. After Hélène left, Mr. Neville ordered more champagne and sat with me for the rest of the night. Nothing about him suggested disappointment.”

“What time did the party break up?” I asked.

“Around two in the morning,” Violette said.

I nodded. “I should have asked if any of you care for luncheon. The food here—”

“Is not worth eating,” Marie said. “The wine, however, is more than satisfactory. And the bread is not half bad.” She picked up a piece from the basket and spread butter on it.

“Do you know when Hélène will return from her mother's?” I asked.

“She was supposed to be back the day before yesterday,” Violette said.

“Is it usual for her to stay away longer than she had planned?” Margaret asked.

“Not at all. She was set to dance last night, and she knows that she will have to beg for her job when she does come back. We have to be dependable or we are let go. She needs the work, so something must have happened to keep her in Marseille.”

“Do you know how we might contact her there?” I asked.

“I have her mother's details, but not much else,” Marie said.

I wrote down the name and address she told me. “Do you know if anyone has heard from her since she went away?”

“No,” Marie said.

“Was the trip planned?” I asked.

“Yes, of course, we all knew she was going. It was her mother's birthday.”

“Are we offering you anything that helps?” Rose asked. “I do feel so awful about that poor man.”

“You are being most helpful,” I assured her. “I should like very much to talk to Hélène as well. Could you contact me at my hotel when she returns?”

“Of course,” Rose said.

Margaret ordered a second bottle of rosé. “Does anything else about that evening stand out in your mind?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

“The gentleman in charge—Monsieur Wells, I believe?—he insisted in pretending that we were all from Paris,” Violette said. “As if there are no talented dancers anywhere else in France. He is an insecure man, is he not? To worry so much about impressing his friends.”

“And his son!” Marie looked to the sky and the others moaned in unison. “He is a real oddity.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He sat in a corner table by himself and wouldn't speak to any of us,” Violette said. “Now that I think of it, he left early as well, at least I think he must have, because I do not remember seeing him when we all parted.”

“I don't either,” Marie said. “Rose?”

“I never spoke to him.” Rose said. “Didn't like the look of him. Something in his eyes put me off.”

“Did Hélène speak with him at all?” I asked.

“She did,” Marie said. “She is more patient that most of us.”

So Jeremy had abandoned the party before the rest, as had Augustus. Hélène could have left with either of them, but I was inclined to believe it more likely that she went with Jeremy, not only because Augustus was so odious, but also because Colin had reported that Jeremy had been with someone when he stopped at the hotel desk to request more pillows—or at least someone had been waiting for him outside.

We sat with the girls for a little while longer, then thanked them for their time and tried to press some francs into their hands before we departed, but they refused to take them.

“If you need help, we are here for you,” Marie said. “It is important that none of us feel we offer assistance in the hopes of compensation. Not from other girls.”

“I feel very sad,” Margaret said, as we walked away from the café. “It is so desperately unfair that they must live the way they do.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

“Do you think the House of Worth—” Margaret started.

“It is unlikely,” I said. “There are too many prejudices about such things. Perhaps we can find a way to better help them when this wretched business is finished.”

“Do you think Jeremy was with Hélène?” Margaret asked.

“I do, although—oh, I don't know. I cannot believe that he would—”

“That he would behave like most gentlemen of his class and rank?”

“He adores Amity.”

“How does that factor into the equation?” Margaret asked. “Jeremy makes no effort to hide his debauchery.”

“Yet have you ever heard of him doing something truly awful?”

Margaret hesitated. “No, I have not. However, leaving with Hélène, even if nothing came of it, would have given the appearance of debauchery.”

“In front of Mr. Wells?”

“They did not leave together,” Margaret said. “Hélène followed sometime after. That might have been a deliberate attempt at discretion. They could have met up outside, giving Jeremy the opportunity to make his friends think whatever he wanted them to.”

“It would be naïve of us to assume nothing transpired between them, although I find it difficult to believe. We ought to speak to Hélène as soon as we can.”

“Emily.” Margaret stopped walking. “I do not believe that Mr. Neville took his own life. It makes no sense—and that is what makes me believe his death to be a perfect crime, because suicide in and of itself makes no sense. The irrationality of it makes it impossible to expect a thorough explanation. We are meant to accept that we can't have all the answers.”

“And, as a result, we are told not to ask questions,” I said.

“Who would have wanted Mr. Neville dead?”

“I am not sure anyone did. The poisoned whisky was not in his room, after all,” I said. “Perhaps the question we need to answer is who wanted Jeremy dead?”

 

Amity

Amity felt relief at having been able to persuade her friends—and her mother—to leave her alone at the hotel so that they might enjoy an afternoon of shopping. Perhaps it was selfish, as she knew they, too, were concerned about the ruined hat and the effect it was having on her, but she wanted to be alone. She retired to her room and paced, feeling greatly agitated. She tried lying down, but could not bear to keep still. Eventually, she decided a walk by the sea might calm her, and by the time she had descended to the lobby, she had decided she would also send a telegram to Jeremy in Monte Carlo.

“It was a foolish extravagance,” she said, some hours later when the gentlemen, who had received her message as soon as they had arrived at the casino, returned to the hotel. “And I am most heartily sorry for having ruined your day, but I felt so vulnerable and exposed. I do hope you will all forgive me.” She had summoned them to her room, where they had found her curled up on a divan, her face damp with tears.

“You did the right thing,” Jeremy said, placing a protective arm around his fiancée's shoulder. “I do think, though, that we ought to open the curtains. It's dire here in the dark, and the day is fine. Sunshine will lift your spirits, my poor love.” Mr. Fairchild did as Jeremy suggested, and also flung open the French doors that led to Amity's balcony.

Amity pushed Jeremy's arm away and rose from her seat. “I am so dreadfully sorry to have spoiled your fun. I ought never to have sent that wire.”

“You should have thought to telephone, Amity dear,” Mr. Wells said. “It would have been half the cost and even quicker.”

“This is not the time to pinch pennies,” Birdie said, her voice firm. She would brook no argument. “Amity has suffered a terrible thing.”

“Where is the hat now?” Colin asked.

“The hat doesn't matter!” Amity said.

“I am afraid the hat does matter, very much,” Mr. Hargreaves said. His handsome face was serious, and there was no hint of humor in his dark eyes. Amity preferred him less grim. This version of Colin Hargreaves was almost frightening in its intensity.

“Madame du Lac did something with it,” Birdie said. “Amity wanted it thrown away, but the woman refused to satisfy her on that count.”

“Jack, may I have a word?” Colin asked. Amity watched as they stepped into the corridor and wished she could follow and listen to what they were saying.

“Do you trust Colin?” she asked Jeremy, taking his hand in hers.

“Hargreaves?” he asked. “With my life. There's not a more honest bloke alive.”

“I do hope you are right. It seems impossible that Emily would have done this—I cannot believe she would hurt you in any way, even through me—but I am afraid we must consider every possibility.” Amity bit her bottom lip. “I hope you do not despise me for saying that.”

“I could never despise you, my love.”

“I have tried so very hard to befriend her.” A small sob escaped from her lips. The door opened and Madame du Lac entered, followed by Mr. Hargreaves and Jack.

“Cécile has anticipated our desire to speak with her,” Mr. Hargreaves said.

“You, as always, Monsieur Hargreaves, are too kind. I am merely responding to a note sent from Mademoiselle Wells, requesting that I meet you all here. Do forgive me if it pains you, Mademoiselle, but I have brought the hat with me.”

“Thank you, Cécile.” Colin took the box from her.

“I would ask you to remove the odious thing from my daughter's presence at once,” Mrs. Wells said. “She has suffered enough already.”

“Of course,” Mr. Hargreaves said. “Will you accompany me, Cécile?” They quitted the room before Amity could think of a good way to stop them. She appreciated her mother's concern, and she dreaded seeing the hat again, but curiosity about Mr. Hargreaves's reaction to it consumed her.

“Why did you have to drive them away, Mother? I wanted to hear what they had to say. Why do you think I asked Madame du Lac to come here?” Amity balled her hands into fists and stormed toward the door. “I am going after them.”

 

13

Margaret and I did not hurry when making our way back to the train station, where, for verisimilitude, we would hire a cab to take us to the hotel. We thought it best not to return too early in the afternoon, as no one would believe that we had found any Roman ruins less than thoroughly satisfactory and worthy of at least a full day's study. We stopped again at the park where we had earlier paused to watch the game of boules and sat on the same bench. I pulled out my Baedeker's and consulted it for what was, I am sorry to say, a somewhat meager description of the ruins at Fréjus.

“I am fairly certain there is an aqueduct there,” Margaret said, shielding her eyes with her hands. The angle of the sun proved most inconvenient. “Mr. Michaels gave me a lecture on everything I ought to see while in the south of France, and I do recall an aqueduct. Yes. Yes. That was definitely in Fréjus. There may be an arena as well, but very badly preserved. Or perhaps it was a theater. I'm hopeless.”

“I think it unlikely the others will know anything about the ruins,” I said. “Furthermore, they are even less likely to be interested in hearing much about them.”

“How can you be so unfair to your own dear husband?”

“Colin will take whatever we say as necessary, even if he knows it to be incorrect. We can trust him absolutely.”

“He hasn't the slightest idea what we have been doing?” Margaret asked.

“He doesn't need to. He will recognize that there is more to our story the moment he spots a factual error in it.”

Margaret took off her gloves, bent over, rubbed her hands in the dirt on the ground, and then smeared it, first down my left cheek and then across her nose. “No one will believe we have been climbing on ruins if we look so well put together. We should be dusty and perspiring.”

“Truly, Margaret, you ought to abandon classics and pursue the theater. We do not need to be covered with dirt.” I wiped my face with my handkerchief.

“That is perfect,” Margaret said. “Now it looks as if you have tried to clean yourself up, which is exactly what you would have done after a day in the field. I shall leave mine untouched. No one who knows me thinks I would bother to make the effort, particularly when Mr. Michaels is not here.”

“Anyone who knows Mr. Michaels would be well aware that he prefers you covered in ancient dust.”

“Quite right, Emily. Could I have married anyone who thought differently?”

We sat in the park for two hours before starting the walk back to the station. We paused in the telegram office there to send a message to Hélène at her mother's house, asking that she contact me immediately. That done, we climbed into a cab and returned to the hotel, looking much the worse for wear.

“I am surprised to see none of our friends on the terrace,” Margaret said as we walked past it. “I thought they had more or less taken up residence there.”

“I am glad,” I said. “This gives us the opportunity to speak with Colin in private before having to face everyone.” We went up to my suite, where my husband and Cécile were standing by a corner table, their heads bent over a hatbox.

“What ho?” Margaret flopped onto the divan that faced the windows. “You must have met with success on your shopping expedition if hats have been purchased. Cécile, I do hope it wasn't
too very
of us to have left you alone with them—”

“
Too very
is a compliment, Margaret,” I said, ribbing my friend with my elbow as I sat next to her. “At least so far as I can tell.” We both dissolved into laughter, stopping only when I noticed the stern look on Colin's face.