The Adventuress (20 page)

“I am afraid things took a rather unexpected turn here today,” he said. “Someone—the desk clerk says it was you, Emily—left a parcel for Amity this morning.” I crossed to him, peered into the box on the table, and stared, rueful, at the sad remains of what had once been a lovely little hat.

“I recognize that,” I said. “Amity had admired it in a store window.”

“Yes,” Colin said. “And now she believes you bought it, destroyed it, and gave it to her.”

“I would never do that. You must know—”

“
Bien sûr
, Kallista,” Cécile said. “No one of intelligence could give credence to the idea.”

“Were you at the desk this morning?” Colin asked.

“Only to turn in my room key,” I said. “The concierge summoned a cab to take us to the train station.”

“Didn't he call to the bellman?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, I think that is right,” I said. “The lobby was crowded when we were leaving. The desk clerk had a queue of people waiting to check out, so I stood at the desk for a while, but in the end left the key on it without speaking to anyone. I may have crossed back over to the concierge's desk after that, but I can't be sure.”

“Do you remember seeing this box on the counter next to you?” Colin asked.

“I don't, but I am not certain that I would have noticed it.” I inspected the container. “I did not write this label.”

“No, it is not your handwriting,” Colin said. “I have already visited the shop from whence the hat came, and the girl there told me that a fashionable lady of medium height and slim build purchased it. She could not remember eye color, but thought her hair was fair, although it was covered with a hat and a veil.”

“That could be nearly anyone,” Margaret said. “My hair is dark as midnight on a moonless night, but with the right hat and veil I could probably appear fair.”

“Possibly,” Colin said. “Please do not try.” Margaret pursed her lips and refrained from replying, but I could see her mind working. No doubt, before long, we would see her attempt at passing as fair-haired.

“Did the shop girl recall writing the label?” I asked.

“She did not. She wrapped the hat in tissue, and placed it in the box, which she tied up with string, but she said the shop does not use that sort of label.”

The label—more of a tag, really—was of a thick rectangle of cardstock with a reinforced hole punched in one corner, through which a bit of red ribbon had been threaded so that it might be tied to the string fastening the box. “I do wish there were something about it that seemed out of the ordinary, but I am afraid it is the sort of thing that could be purchased nearly anywhere,” I said.

“We could hardly hope that whoever did this would have used monogrammed stationery,” Colin said. His dark hair tumbled over his forehead as he leaned down toward the table, and his eyes flashed. He never was more handsome than when his mind was fixed on an investigation. “I wonder if there is a connection between this and the incident on Sainte-Marguerite?”

“And your invitation to Mrs. Wells's dinner,” Margaret said. “I do not believe that she accidentally wrote the wrong time.”

“Are you suggesting someone did it deliberately?” Cécile asked. “I am not sure what Amity—or her mother—could have thought to accomplish by such an act.”

“Whoever did it made us—me—look rude and inconsiderate in front of our friends,” I said.

“No one cared,” Margaret said. “If anything, Mrs. Wells made herself look bad by reacting so strongly when you did arrive.

“It is as if someone wants your friends to turn against you,” Colin said. “First, by making it appear that you played a silly trick on us in the prison to get attention, then by ruining a dinner party, and finally by sending a nasty gift to Amity.”

“The hat was a misstep,” I said, pressing both of my palms against the table. “For even if you all decided I was lying about the prison cell and the time on the invitation, why on earth would I ever sign my name to this poor hat?”

“Perhaps, Kallista, we are meant to think exactly that,” Cécile said, shaking her head and sitting down in a chair near the window. “You would not do it—it would be foolish—and, hence, you do not look guilty, unless one believes you planned this episode carefully, to make it appear that someone else is trying to hurt your reputation.”

“I see your point, Cécile, but it is causing my head to throb violently,” Margaret said, following her and flinging open the doors to the balcony. The air was still heavy with heat.

“Amity doesn't believe I am behind this, does she?” I asked. “And what about Jeremy?”

“Amity is shaken and not thinking clearly,” Colin said. “Jeremy is only looking to protect her.” I could tell from his tone that he had very little faith in Jeremy's opinion on the matter.

“I must go to her without delay,” I said. “I cannot let her think I am skulking around avoiding her.”

“First perhaps you could tell us how it went with the dancers?” Cécile said. “I am most disappointed not to have met them myself.”

“Margaret can tell you,” I said, feeling extremely agitated. “I must see Amity now.”

Margaret had begun to warm to the topic even before I made my way out of the room and looked as if she were about to perform the cancan as a method of getting her audience into the proper mood. When I reached Amity's suite, Jeremy opened the door to me, grave concern etched on his face. “What is going on, Em?”

“You cannot think I did this,” I said, keeping my voice low. He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind him. “Why would I ever have signed my name to such a thing?”

“I don't know,” he said, his voice tense. He focused his gaze, so far as I could tell, somewhere beyond my shoulder. “Mrs. Wells insists you did it just so that you could say that it was so ridiculous it proves it wasn't you.”

“Cécile postulated that someone might come up with that theory,” I said. “Why would I want to torment Amity like this?”

“I do not think you would, and neither does she.” He shifted his weight awkwardly and blew out a long sigh before finally looking directly at me. “The others, though, are having a more difficult time agreeing with us.”

“May I please speak with her?”

“She is sulking because I did not let her follow Hargreaves and Cécile when they took the hat.”

He reached around to open the door, but it had locked when he pulled it shut. We knocked, and Jack opened it, his mouth a hard line when he saw me.

“Lady Emily,” he said. He had never before in his life addressed me by my title. I walked past him without comment and went straight to Amity, who was sitting next to Christabel on a divan identical to the one in my own room.

“Amity, I cannot express my dismay at your having received such a cruel present, and I want to assure you that I had nothing to do with it.”

Christabel looked away, but Amity met my eyes and smiled. “I knew you would never do such a thing. You've far too sophisticated a sense of the aesthetic to destroy a hat that lovely.” Christabel glared at her. “Oh come now, Christabel, stop being so sour. Emily has never been anything but kind and gracious to me.”

“Then who did it?” Christabel all but spat the words. I crouched in front of them.

“I understand your feelings, your anger, Christabel,” I said. “I share them, and I promise that I shall do everything I can to find out who is tormenting our friend.”

It was evident, both from the strained look in her eyes, and her little clenched fists, that Christabel was employing all of her will to keep from replying.

“You will help me, won't you?” Amity asked. “Colin said he would as well. He and Emily stop murderers, Christabel. Do you really think they will have the slightest bit of trouble finding whoever played this prank?”

“Can you prove you didn't do it?” Jack asked, standing up very tall and very straight, every inch the soldier. “Forgive me, Emily, but I must ask.”

“It is all but impossible to prove a negative,” I said.

“You were standing at the desk next to the box,” he said. “The clerk insists he remembers that.”

“That does not mean I put the box there,” I said. “Can I prove that I did not? No.”

“But we cannot prove that you did,” Amity said. “He admitted that he did not see her carrying the box or placing it on the desk. It means so much to me that you came to me directly, Emily. I knew you had nothing to hide. Now distract me with something more pleasant. Tell me about your day. Were the ruins spectacular? I would so have liked to see them. Next time, you must include me in your plans.”

A pang of guilt stabbed at me, and for a moment even I believed I had been to the ruins and that I ought to have invited Amity. I shook myself back to reality. “There was not much to see, I am afraid. We only went because Margaret had a telegram from her husband asking her to check an inscription he thought was there—he needed a quick answer for a monograph he is writing. We didn't want to disturb any of you so early, when there would have been so little to be gained by it.”

“It would have been exciting,” Amity said, “even if they were only small ruins. I've never seen someone search for an inscription with an actual academic purpose. And we could have brought a picnic on the train.”

“I shall plan an excursion to Nice, specially for you,” I said. “There are wonderful ruins there.”

“You are simply too very! I will hold you to it and cannot wait to make the trip,” Amity said. “Thank you again for coming to me, Emily. It does mean the world to me, as does your promise to help me uncover the truth of this hideous day. Now, you must have a bath without delay. You look a fright and we are to have cocktails on the terrace in only just an hour. I do not think Birdie can survive you being late again.”

 

Amity

Christabel and Jack rose and opened their mouths almost in unison to speak the minute Emily had left the room.

“You cannot believe her!” Christabel said.

“I want to believe her, but I have very grave doubts—” Jack began.

“That is quite enough from you both,” Amity said, a sweet smile on her face. She tugged at the Venetian lace spilling from the cuffs of her emerald green gown. “Jeremy, my darling love, would never be friends with someone who could be so cruel, especially to me. I will hear not another word on the subject.”

“Amity is right,” Jeremy said. “Jack, you know Emily far too well to—”

“To what?” Jack asked, glowering. “To not have noticed the obvious thing no one is willing to mention.”

“Captain Sheffield,” Christabel's voice was small. “I think it is best—”

“Best that we keep pretending there is nothing else at stake here?” he asked. “I cannot remain silent, Miss Peabody.”

“Why have you two regressed to such formality?” Amity asked, crossing first to Jack and then to Christabel, standing in front of each and studying their countenances. “It is decidedly odd, given not only our proximity these past months, but the nature of our friendship going back to our first days in India. Are the two of you trying to hide something?”

“What could we possibly have to hide?” Christabel asked, her face scarlet.

“What about you, Jack?” Jeremy asked, tilting his head and crossing his legs on the table in front of him. “I thought you could no longer remain silent? Or is candor necessary only when it pertains to personal matters that do not affect you?”

“You know that is not the case, Jeremy,” Jack said. “I only mean to—”

“Think carefully before you speak, my dear brother,” Jeremy said. “Words can cause irrevocable harm, even when they are not true, and I have had quite enough of this nonsense. Amity, we are not going to meet the others for cocktails. I am taking you to the casino, where we are going to spend the evening playing baccarat. I cannot bear a moment longer in the company of anyone save you.”

“What a perfect idea,” Amity said. “May we dine out as well?”

“Whatever you desire, my love.” Jeremy beamed at her.

“I am so fortunate to have found you,” Amity said. “What should I have done if my parents had forced some other duke on me? Do you know that before we met I worried that you would be old and grey, despite your brother's reassurances to the contrary? He made you out to be the handsomest man alive.”

“I always thought Jack noble and honest, but I am most grateful that brotherly affection trumped the truth when it came to telling you about me,” Jeremy said. “I owe you, Captain.” He raised a glass to his brother and drank. “Now. Baccarat.”

 

14

Back in my room, I applied myself to my ablutions with a focus on speed, not wanting to further irritate Mrs. Wells by being late again. Colin, looking extremely dapper in his evening kit—white tie suited him so very well—escorted me to the terrace. I had dressed without an eye to restraint, deciding that as Amity now seemed to be an ally, I no longer had to concern myself with upstaging her. Her mother, on the other hand, I thought might respond better to me if I presented myself to her in a blaze of fashion. My strategy proved correct.

That Mrs. Wells was unhappy with me was evident the moment that my husband and I stepped onto the terrace. She pulled her shoulders back and scowled, but then noticed my diamonds and rubies and the way they enhanced the silver threads shot through the pale shell pink silk of my gown. I had been so thrilled to discover, on my last trip to the House of Worth, that the balloonlike sleeves that had been popular for far longer than I should have liked had at last fallen completely out of fashion that I ordered three times the number of dresses I had intended. The Messieurs Worth were delighted, Colin amused, and I outfitted like an empress. Styles were softer now, meant to accentuate the hips and graceful movement. My enthusiasm had dampened slightly when I realized this meant that skirts had become so narrow as to restrict movement, but I no longer felt obliged to be an absolute slave to fashion, and I ordered my gowns cut wide enough so that I might move freely without destroying the overall effect.