02 The Grand Tour Read online

  Thomas gave us all a chance to examine them closely, then James and I looked on as Thomas and Cecy prepared to stow each item safely. The robe, the Sainte Ampoule, the sword, the ring—individually they spoke of the romance of history and the battering of time, but together they made a breathtaking assembly. I tried not to think what Theodore must have looked like wearing them. They could do him no more credit than his bedsheet had.

  It is true that the coronation robe was falling to pieces. The cloth of gold was so grimy it was dark brown, almost black in places. The linen undercoat that lined it, sturdy in its day, was rotting away. Yet even so, the garment held a faint scent, a spiciness like the best beeswax candles—if I may be fanciful, a last whiff of fragrance from a lost world.

  The alabaster flask of the Sainte Ampoule was well preserved, quite lovely in its way. The ring was curiously made, adorned with little knobs of gold like grains of rice. "Granulation, they call the technique," James told us. "The Etruscans were quite good at it."

  "Is it that old?" Cecy exclaimed, turning the ring in the palm of her hand so it glowed in the firelight. Given the size of the thing, it could almost have served as a small doorknob.

  "It's far from likely." James took the ring from Cecy and gave it back to Thomas.

  "But not impossible?" I asked.

  "Not quite impossible," said Thomas, as he put the ring safely away.

  At first glance, the sword was almost as unprepossessing as the robe. A rusty bit of metal, I would have said. Upon consideration, however, the sword looked the oldest of all the regalia. Held at the proper angle, the dull surface gave back a gleam of blue gray, a hint of what the metal beneath must have been in its day. The curve of the blade was graceful, the balance perfect, making it seem deceptively light for its size.

  Thomas let me hold the sword only for a moment, but when he took it back, it was to angle the blade for me so that I could see, so faint I would have missed it without his help, a pattern of flowing curves etched on either side of the thickened rib in the center of the leaf-shaped blade.

  "Oh, like ocean waves," I said. "How lovely."

  "Geometric," said Thomas. "I wonder what they used to draw the pattern? It's as regular as if they used a pair of compasses."

  "It doesn't look old, does it?" I meant the pattern. The clean line of the curving design was simplicity itself, as pure as the first leaves in the spring.

  With great care, Thomas took the sword back. "It must be very old indeed. Perhaps even older than the ring. A true treasure."

  Working together as James and I looked on, Thomas and Cecy prepared the trunk for their spell. Then they wrapped each piece of the regalia in white linen and stowed it away, locked the trunk, and set a spell to secure it.

  "It mustn't be permitted to fall into the wrong hands again," said Cecy, when they were finished.

  "Indeed not," James agreed.

  Thomas cleared his throat. "I'm delighted to hear you voice those sentiments."

  Something in the way he devoted his attention to the lock on the chest, which was already quite thoroughly locked, made me suspicious. "Thomas. What have you done?"

  Thomas regarded me with the most perfect expression of injured innocence it has yet been my pleasure to see. "Kate. Don't you trust me?"

  "With my life," I answered honestly, "but in smaller matters, I have occasional reservations."

  Thomas cleared his throat again. "I suppose I really ought to have consulted you all before I agreed to it."

  "Oh, Thomas." James was looking pained. "What are we in for this time?"

  "Now that we've dealt with young Daventer and the rest, I've replied to Wellington's letter. I've promised him I will see each of these items safely back where it belongs." Thomas corrected himself. "At least, safely back to where Wellington deems they belong."

  A small silence fell as we took in the implications of this.

  "Very sensible precaution," said Cecy. "We're bound to return to Paris eventually, so the Sainte Ampoule will be no trouble. The ring came from Aachen, and the robe is from Castile. Do we take the sword back to Milan?"

  "No, oddly enough, Lord Wellington believes it belongs in Vienna," Thomas said.

  "After all the planning we've done, it would be a shame to miss Vienna," I conceded.

  "All on dry land," said Cecy, with great satisfaction. "Although now that I've created a focus, it shouldn't be out of the question for me to travel by ship."

  "Fortunate," said James, fondly, "given that we will have to cross the Channel to go home eventually."

  "Not for months yet," Thomas reminded him. "We'll have to wait until spring for the mountain passes to reopen. I'm not melting my way over the Apennines twice."

  "No, indeed." I did my best to conceal my shudder as I recalled the toll that journey had taken on Thomas. "We can make ourselves comfortable in Rome until it is quite safe to brave the passes again. I daresay we shall amuse ourselves very well."

  "Remember," Thomas said, "at the next full moon, your lessons begin."

  "I remember," I said. Thomas has promised to start me off with the most basic lesson possible, the magical equivalent of a musical scale. Still, I view the prospect with mild alarm.

  "And no doubt there will be an opera performed somewhere." Cecy sounded most unenthusiastic at the prospect.

  If I am any judge of expression, James wholeheartedly shared her views. "No doubt," he agreed, gloomily.

  I could not resist saying, "But surely you and James will be far too busy for the opera, Cecy."

  Cecy knows me well enough to catch my every tone of voice, so she looked a little wary as she asked, "Will we, Kate? Why is that, I wonder?"

  "Oh, you'll he simply besieged with invitations. All the world will want to meet Mr. and Mrs. Tarleton, to see for themselves that you haven't absconded with Thomas after all."

  Cecy, bless her, looked quite put out at the reminder. From the liveliness of her annoyance, I had no doubt James had given her a full account of his experience with Lord Sutton. "What a ridiculous notion. I've a good mind to box the ambassador's ears for him."

  "I know precisely what you mean," said James, with feeling, "but I beg you to resist the impulse."

  "Truly, I would never box Lord Sutton's ears." Cecy's statement was not as comforting as it might have been, despite its transparent honesty, for she was getting that gleam of speculation that those of us who love her have learned to view with alarm.

  In haste, I added my counsel to James's. "Don't do anything irrevocable to Lord Sutton, I pray you. It would not endear us to Lady Sutton or her mother, Mrs. Montgomery, and I have every intention of learning as much as possible about Mrs. Montgomery's connection with Lady Sylvia. Another member of the League, no doubt. She was knitting in the Bishop's best style. I really must practice. When I write of all this to Lady Sylvia, it will require skeins and skeins of yarn. Enough to make a coverlet."

  As I had hoped it would, this distracted Cecy. "Lady Sylvia knows half the world, doesn't she? And Papa knows the other half."

  "Never fear," said Thomas. "By the time we return home, we will have met half the world ourselves, and we can practice our knitting as we keep up our extensive correspondence. In ten years, if nothing else, we will excel at all sorts of letter writing."

  Ten years. I tried to imagine it and failed. In ten years I will be twenty-eight, which is very nearly thirty years of age, which is quite ancient. "It does not seem possible."

  Thomas was looking as pleased with himself as I've ever seen him. "It's far from likely, I agree, but not impossible."

  "Not quite impossible?" I asked fondly.

  Thomas gave me a fond look back. "Not quite. We'll just have to wait ten years and see."

 

 

 
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