The Adventuress (31 page)

It came again, this time accompanied by the rattle of scattering stone, as if someone had dropped a handful of pebbles. I held my breath, listening. Whoever it was, I wanted to be ready. I squatted on the ground, feeling around for something I could use as a makeshift weapon, settling upon a broken brick whose sharp edge, as well as its solid weight, recommended it.

The sound was moving closer, and whoever was making it seemed to be picking up speed. I braced myself and raised the brick above my head, ready for anything. That is, almost anything. Anything, in fact other than the appearance of a sleek cat, whose silvery fur was spotted almost like a leopard's. It leapt off the wall, landing directly in front of me, gave me a look of feline disdain and meowed loudly before pawing at my boots. I looked back at it sternly and continued to make my way carefully through the ruins. The creature followed me for a while, until, apparently frustrated by my lack of progress, it raced ahead and out of sight. I had never before then had much of an opinion one way or another about cats, but I found now that I wished it had stayed with me. Its presence, oddly enough, had been reassuring.

Eventually, I reached a room that had no ready exit. The walls were tall—a good four or five feet above my head—but I saw no option other than to attempt to scale them. I tore strips from my petticoat and wrapped them around my palms to protect them, then dug the toe of my boot into a convenient space between bricks, pulling myself up as I went. When I reached the top, the moonlight revealed my surroundings to me. I was two-thirds of the way through a large complex of ruins. To my left were the passages from which I had just emerged. To my right, below me, the space was more open. The remains of standing columns suggested a courtyard or atrium of some sort, beyond which stood a much taller wall than the one I was currently sitting atop, so high that it must have been the edifice of a building with more than a single story. The walls were dotted with a series of archways and a considerable number of windows. The height made visible more features of the walls, which had been fashioned from white stones and bands of narrow red bricks.

I heard the cat again, meowing, but then something else. This time there could be no question: it was footsteps, and the low rumbling of voices, coming from the far end of the site, the direction from whence I had emerged, and, I surmised, most likely toward the gate through which I had entered. If my abductor had returned for me, he would soon discover my absence, and the current spot which I occupied, on the top of a wall, did not strike me as a decent hiding place. The height would have made for a dangerous drop, so I scrambled to climb down, straining my ears in an attempt to determine whether one or more persons were speaking.

The fabric from my petticoat served its purpose well, and I was able to cling to the wall until I had found a spot into which I could wedge the toe of one of my boots. I made my way down slowly and deliberately, careful to be as quiet as the circumstances allowed. One of the voices was louder now, closer, and I could identify it: Jeremy was carrying on what sounded like an ordinary conversation.

 

Amity

Amity remained alone on a bench after Jeremy left, watching the path of the balloon that carried her friends high above the white-capped waters of the Mediterranean. Their ride over, they tumbled out of the balloon's basket, while Amity, who had walked over to greet them, applauded and threw at them flowers she had purchased from a vendor.

“How I wish I were as brave as the rest of you,” she said. “Now that it is over and you are back safely, I am regretting my cowardice.”

“You were not a coward,” Christabel said. “It was terrifying. I spent the entire time clinging to the basket and wishing I was safe on the ground with you.”

“But the view must have been incomparable,” Amity said, noticing that Mr. Fairchild had helped Christabel descend from the basket.

“It was,” Jack said. “Next time, Amity, you are coming.” Amity smiled. Was he now playing at Christabel's game? Flirting to make her jealous? Foolish boy.

“Count on it,” she said, and let him take her arm, bestowing on him her loveliest smile.

“Where is Jeremy?” Margaret asked.

“A message was delivered, summoning him,” Amity said.

“Where?” Madame du Lac asked. “And by whom?”

“He did not say. It appeared to be a matter of some urgency.”

“He rushed off, without so much as a word about the content of the message?” Colin asked, his brow creasing. He stepped closer to Amity.

“Yes,” she said. “I did not like to press him for details. He looked rather upset.”

“He did not tell you whom the message was from?” Margaret asked.

“He did not.” A stricken look clouded Amity's pretty face. “You all think I am very foolish, don't you? I should have asked more questions. I can tell by your response you think something is wrong.”

“
Non
, Mademoiselle Wells,” Madame du Lac said. “Bainbridge is not much of a mystery. I should not be surprised in the least if this concerned some part of his costume for tomorrow night. I heard him saying that he would not wear a toga and was trying to find a Roman general's uniform instead.” This coaxed a weak smile from Amity. “You must promise to act surprised.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“We had no fixed plan for dinner, did we?” Christabel asked. Jack glared angrily at Mr. Fairchild, who hadn't left her side from the moment they stepped onto the balloon.

“We did not,” Mr. Fairchild said. “Why don't we see if we can get a table at the West End Hotel? It is a short walk along the promenade and I understand has a decent reputation.”

“I am going to the casino,” Augustus said. “Not hungry.” Without waiting for a response, he gave his sister a quick kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

“He cannot abide any of us, can he?” Margaret asked.

Amity laughed. “Augustus has always been a man unto himself, even when he was a little boy. Do not take the slight personally. Do you really believe I ought not worry about Jeremy, Margaret?”

“I am positively certain,” Margaret said and took her by the hand, pulling her in the direction of the West End, one of a long row of fashionable hotels that lined the Promenade des Anglais, offering their guests unparalleled views of the sea. Amity tolerated this for a short while, then freed her hand and let Colin take her arm, after which she slowed her pace so that the others pulled ahead.

“May I ask you a terrible question?” She looked up at him through her long, thick lashes.

“I can hardly refuse,” Colin said, “terrible though it may be.”

“It is only that … well … you are the only other person on earth who might understand what I am feeling. Emily is not with us because she got invited to dinner, correct? Just this morning, at breakfast, she told us all that Monsieur Guérin was leaving Nice tomorrow. That is why he would not be able to show us the ruins himself.”

“Yes.”

“But then this unexpected invitation comes, and she abandons us tonight. Are we really to believe he is hosting a dinner party just before leaving town?”

“It would not be wholly unusual,” Colin said. He was dreadfully handsome. The wind had picked up again and was tousling his thick hair. His hat was in his hand. “And at any rate, his wife will have made all the arrangements, not him. She may not be leaving town tomorrow. He seemed wholly unconcerned with the plan when he called on us at the hotel. Why is this troubling you?”

“It is troubling me, Colin, because only a short while after she deserted us…” Her voice trailed, and she looked up at him again, now with tears pooling in her eyes. Colin handed her his handkerchief without a word. “Thank you,” she said, pressing it daintily to her face. “Jeremy gets a mysterious summons and flies off without a word of explanation. I can hardly say what I suspect.”

“Emily did not summon Jeremy,” Colin said. His voice, firm and decisive, ought to have inspired confidence in Amity, but she found she could not believe quite so readily as he.

“You trust her so very much.”

“I would never doubt her.”

“Where else could he have gone?” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief. “I know there is no one else with the power to induce him to do whatever she needs. And I am not so naïve as to believe that he received an urgent message about a costume for a Roman banquet.”

“You are falling prey to vicious gossip promulgated by your own mother.”

“Can you really tell me, hand on heart, that my fiancé is not in love with your wife?” Amity stopped walking and stood squarely in front of him, her little hands clenched in hard fists.

Colin did not reply immediately. He looked at Amity, her trembling lips, her tear-stained cheeks, and he did the only thing a gentleman could in such a circumstance. He lied.

“I can, Miss Wells,” he said. “Bainbridge is not in love with my wife. Come now, we have almost lost sight of the others. What you need is a nice meal and some lively conversation to restore your spirits. If you would like, I shall send word to the Excelsior telling them to alert Bainbridge to our location, so that he will know where to come meet us should he wind up back at the hotel.”

“You are very kind,” Amity said, “but I fear I am in no state for social discourse. Would you be so good as to find me a cab? I should like to return to the hotel and rest for a while.”

“I shall take you there myself.”

“No, please, Colin. I can hardly criticize my own fiancé for flirting if I am willing to be seen entering and exiting a cab with someone else's husband. It would not be appropriate, and I think it is time I begin to give more consideration to my actions.”

As a gentleman, there was no way Colin could argue with that.

 

22

When I first heard Jeremy's voice resonating from above the ruins, I felt relief. Someone had come for me! But the sensation did not last. If he were looking for me, why was he not calling my name? And if my friends knew me to be missing, would not my husband have come himself? I almost called out, but bit back the words, knowing it would be foolish to reveal my position, particularly if Jeremy had been brought here against his will or, like me, lured under false pretenses. I scuttled across a more open section of the site, where the walls were considerably lower, doing my best to use the occasional column to hide my progress, and made my way to the tall edifice, having decided it could offer me both protection from being seen and an excellent vantage point from which to better observe how I might get back up to modern street level and away from this place.

Jeremy was speaking again. I thought I heard him laugh, but no amount of straining could enable me to see him. From the direction of his voice, it was apparent he was still above me. The smell of cigar smoke wafted from the general direction of the entrance to the ruins, and I started to wonder if he had even the slightest idea that I was here. Had he and Amity—and, no doubt, Margaret—decided to steal into the site? It seemed unlikely, and I did not hear any female voices. If Margaret were with him, she would be (loudly) reciting Virgil in Latin, but surely Jeremy would never have come on his own, unless—no, that thought was too dire even for my current circumstance.

I was tempted to try to move closer to him in order to hear what he was saying, but knew I ought not. Instead, I climbed to one of the arched doorways partway up the façade, at what would have been the first floor, pressed my body against the side not illuminated by the moon, and waited. The height of my perch would protect me, for anyone searching would be likely to assume I had remained at ground level. Every instant felt like a lifetime. The voice—or voices—had stopped, and the silence was oddly terrifying. I tried to distract myself from an impending sense of doom by considering why these archways were so far above the courtyard. Had there originally been a terrace of some sort that looked over the more open space below? The cat was now sprawled out on the top of one of the shorter walls, meowing loudly. Then, in the snap of a second, I heard a cracking sound, a cry, and a dull thud. The sickening feeling in my stomach told me Jeremy was being treated to the same warm hospitality I had enjoyed upon my entrance to the site.

The sound of a grunt was followed by footsteps coming closer, and soon a hulking figure appeared in the moonlight. Monsieur Guérin—although at this point I could no longer believe the person who had introduced himself to me as such was actually the archaeologist—carrying a lifeless form over his shoulder. Jeremy. A second form appeared a few yards behind him.

“There,” Amity said, pointing, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Tie him to that column and then go get the other one and bring her to me.”

The man dropped Jeremy at the base of the column, took a large coil of rope that had been slung over the shoulder opposite the one that had carried my friend, and moved him into a sitting position before wrapping the rope around his chest and the column, again and again. He tied what appeared to be an enormous knot. “That will hold him.” He spoke to her in heavily accented English.

“Good,” she said. “Now get her, quickly.”

The man took a lantern from her and slunk away, back toward the entrance, which I could now see was accessible from the courtyard via a modern, if somewhat haphazard-looking, staircase, without going through the stone maze into which I had been flung. As soon as he was out of sight, Amity stood directly in front of Jeremy and pulled something from her reticule.

“I am very sorry to have to do this,” she said. “You must understand you give me no choice. It is nothing personal, I assure you, and I am grateful that you made it so easy. Anyone could see that you love Emily, and no matter what her devoted husband claims, it will be easy enough to convince the world that she loved you as well.”