02 The Grand Tour Page 4

  "Dear me. Is he all right?" I asked.

  Thomas seemed indifferent to the state of his valet's health. "He has a headache, well-earned, I suspect. It seems he'd been flirting with a personable young woman since his arrival. He holds her responsible for his misfortune."

  "Who? Where is she?" asked Cecy.

  "She told him her name was Eve-Marie, and led him to believe she was a local resident, helping at the inn during our stay. In fact, no one here knows her, and unless the search the innkeeper is conducting proves unexpectedly successful, she's nowhere to be found."

  James frowned. "How could Piers allow himself to be fooled so?"

  Thomas chose his words with care. "Piers is convinced it is all our fault. The general air of, er, matrimonial bliss seems to have affected his judgment."

  "Eve, indeed," said Lady Sylvia. "My intruder was no woman. I trust the innkeeper has someone searching for him, too."

  "He has," Thomas said. "But no further trace of him has been found, either. I fear there's no chance of picking up his trail until daybreak."

  From the deposition of Mrs. James Tarleton, &c.

  Despite the stirring events of the night, James and I woke early the following morning. One of Lady Sylvia's maids had pressed my gray lustring carriage dress. She helped me into it while James's man shaved James, and so we were ready for breakfast much sooner than I had expected.

  Breakfast had been laid out in a side parlor, which, though tiny, appeared to have a very secure ceiling! Early as we were, Lady Sylvia was there before us. She looked up from La Mode Illustree, greeted us in a perfectly normal fashion, and recommended the cheese to James's particular attention. As we began filling our plates, Kate and Thomas arrived.

  "Ah, Kate, there you are!" said Lady Sylvia, who looked none the worse for the previous night's interrupted sleep. "Good morning, Thomas."

  "Good morning, Mother," said Thomas. "You've certainly had a busy time this morning. Don't you ever rest?"

  "A busy time?" I said. "Have you discovered anything new about that intruder last night?"

  Kate shook her head. "Thomas is put out because when he went to order the coaches, he found that Lady Sylvia had already done so."

  "Just so," said Lady Sylvia. "You had best sit down, both of you; there's just time for you to eat before we start for Amiens."

  I frowned. "But shouldn't we make some push to discover who was poking about in your bedroom, before we leave Calais?"

  "Whoever it was is long gone by this time," James said, giving me a look plainly meant to be quelling.

  "Perhaps," said Thomas. "Though he may not have gone far, with only one slipper."

  James turned his frown toward Thomas, but before he could speak, Kate said, "He can't have needed to go far. Isn't that why you didn't hunt for him last night?"

  "There, you see?" Thomas said to James.

  "How do you know the thief didn't have far to go?" James asked Kate in a tone halfway between horror and fascination.

  "Well, I hardly think anyone would wear Turkish slippers if he knew he'd have to run miles through the streets afterward," Kate said.

  "Nor would an ordinary thief wear Byronic fashions," I put in. "So Lady Sylvia's intruder was very likely someone staying at this hotel."

  "Which is precisely why I wish to leave it as soon as possible," Lady Sylvia said. "Drink your tea."

  "Surely you don't mean us to go on to Amiens just as if nothing had happened!" I said.

  "Not exactly," said Lady Sylvia. "But I most certainly do mean to leave for Amiens as soon as possible. Calais has been far too full of events for comfort."

  Unorthodox parcel deliveries, unstable ceilings, mysterious housemaids, midnight intruders—yes, I could see her point. "But nearly everything that has happened has happened to you," I said slowly. "Well, except for the ceiling, but, really, I don't see how that could have been limited. If you go on, and James and I remain here another day to investigate—"

  "Absolutely not," James said.

  "It would be far too obvious," Thomas put in smoothly. "No, I'll leave Piers behind, on the strength of his aching head. He can watch out for anything of interest while he recuperates, and report back when he catches up."

  Kate and I exchanged glances. It was obvious to both of us that our husbands did not wish either of us involved in looking into the matter of Lady Sylvia's intruder. Still, Thomas had a point. All of the travel arrangements between here and Paris had been made for five; it would look very odd if the party split so abruptly without a reason. If I had thought of it sooner, I might have pretended to be still recovering from my seasickness, and too unwell to travel. After the hearty meal I had eaten last night (and much of it in the garden, where anyone might have observed my appetite), such dissembling was unlikely to be convincing. I did not place any dependence on Piers's investigative abilities, but there really was no other choice.

  "Oh, very well," I said. "But do at least get a list of the other guests from the innkeeper, James. It may tell us something useful. Try not to let him know why you want it."

  "I did that last night," Thomas said.

  "Nicely done, dear," said Lady Sylvia. "And I look forward to discussing it with you all—after we are out of Calais."

  With these important matters settled, we applied ourselves to our meal. Lady Sylvia had instructed her servants as to packing and loading the trunks, so that by the time we finished eating, we had nothing more to do but settle our bill, distribute the vails, and climb into the coaches.

  I soon realized one of the reasons Lady Sylvia had been so insistent on such a speedy, early start. The roads in France are far worse than those in England. I suppose it was only to be expected in a country that had been at war so recently, and for so long, but it slowed our progress noticeably. The coaches lurched so dreadfully that even thinking was difficult, and I had the greatest concern that we would break a wheel or an axle. We changed horses at a posting inn and forged on. Near Boulogne, the roads improved somewhat, but they deteriorated again as soon as we were away from the city, and so it was quite late by the time we arrived in Amiens.

  Amiens

  From the commonplace book of Lady Schofield

  12 August 1817

  Amiens

  At the Coq d'Or

  The road from Calais to Amiens is long. Even if it weren't, the condition of the road would have made it seem so. Most travelers make the journey in easy stages, with a stop in Boulogne, but Lady Sylvia had arranged only a change of horses there, and so we forged onward and made the journey in a single weary day.

  By the time we arrived at the Coq d'Or, we were all somewhat fatigued. Cecy took the journey in good part, and James hardly seemed to notice any discomfort. Lady Sylvia and Thomas, unfortunately, seemed to be thoroughly tired of each other's company. Thomas was interested in discussing the list of names the innkeeper had given him. Lady Sylvia kept her counsel with such firmness that eventually even Thomas noticed. A distinct chill was evident between them as we settled in at the Coq d'Or.

  I was grateful to gain the quiet chamber allotted me. After the jolting of the coach, the bed seemed to offer irresistible solace. With a sigh of heartfelt thanksgiving, I took off my half boots and stretched out atop the coverlet.

  Thomas came to sit beside me. "We really must see about finding you a maid."

  "I'll be fine. Lady Sylvia will loan me Aubert until we reach Paris." There, I knew, my doom would come upon me. There, I would be drawn into the details of interviewing and engaging a properly trained Parisian lady's maid. The prospect alarmed me. I knew it would take a true lady's maid only moments to judge my crumpled gown and snagged stockings—and to despise me. "You are doing without Piers, after all."

  "No sacrifice there," said Thomas, as he started to pluck his neckcloth into submission. "The fellow wouldn't know a waterfall from Waterloo."

  "Does it matter so greatly?" I asked. Thomas never followed fashion any great distance, and his neckcloth usually owed more to
his mood when tying it than to any deliberate design.

  "That's what I pay a valet for, so I don't have to know myself. I leave that sort of thing to fellows like your clunch of a cousin." Thomas gave up on his neckcloth and lay beside me. After a thoughtful moment, he observed, "Plaster seems fine here. I think we're safe to stay, don't you?"

  I stopped thinking how warm and pleasant it was to lie nestled against Thomas, sharing the same pillow. Instead, I peered up at the ceiling. It was clean and in good repair, but not perfect. "There's a crack."

  "Only a little one. Looks old, too. It's probably been there for ages." Thomas studied the ceiling intently. "It looks like the harbor at Genoa."

  "No, it looks like Aunt Charlotte's profile. See, there's her mouth—"

  Thomas caught my hand as I pointed. "Stop that. Think of Genoa, please. I don't fancy seeing your aunt under any conditions, least of all these." Thomas removed my glove and held my hand in his. "We definitely need to see about a maid for you. I can't always be here, you know, and you're always dressing and undressing, buttoning and unbuttoning..." Thomas trailed off as he concentrated on the palm of my hand.

  I enjoyed the sensation he created very much. Whiskers (and by the end of a long day, Thomas definitely displayed signs of incipient whiskers) created an interesting contrast with the warm softness of his lips against my palm. I spoke dreamily, almost at random. "Are we going to Genoa?"

  "Only if we take ship to Italy, which Heaven forfend, given Cecy's reaction to the Channel crossing. I have every intention of showing you Venice, at least, but I think we'd be wise to cross overland instead."

  "Through the Alps, like Hannibal," I said. "Uncle Arthur will be so happy."

  Thomas pushed himself up on one elbow to take a better look at me. "Are you homesick, Kate?"

  I stared at him. "Of course not. I might have complained about the road, but I am having a lovely time. What gave you that idea?"

  "Just that you keep talking of your family: Aunt Charlotte, Uncle Arthur, and Oliver."

  "You mentioned Oliver, not I."

  "So I did. Well, I wondered, that's all. Do you miss them?"

  I thought it over. "No, not really. It sounds dreadful, but I was counting the hours until I could get away. Oh, that's not what I mean. It's just that I was so eager to have the ceremony over with and to be safely married to you—"

  "I know what you mean." From the warmth in his voice, I think Thomas really did understand what I was trying, in my muddled way, to express.

  "Since then, of course, we have scarcely had a moment to ourselves," I finished.

  "Didn't you know? That's what all marriages are like. Never a dull moment. Dressing, undressing." Dexterously, Thomas removed my other glove. "Though I should like to insist on keeping duties like this to myself."

  I knew he was joking, but his touch was so sweet, so deft, and so gentle, I said, "I wish you could. I don't want a maid. She'll disapprove of me."

  "Disapprove?" Thomas put his arms around me, an embrace that belied his growl. "Why? Whatever for?"

  "Spoiling my clothes. Losing things. Mussing the coverlet—"

  Thomas interrupted me with a kiss. When we were both breathless, he said, "I refuse to have anyone who disapproves of you in our employ. Therefore, I forbid you to engage anyone you are intimidated by. No sophistry, now. You are not to use my mother's opinions as an excuse, though she'd never permit you to be such a goose. Nor would Cecy. You must face up to it, Kate, and engage the lady's maid you want. Anything less is shirking your duty."

  Thomas so seldom attempts to be stern. I found the contrast between his dignified tone and his undignified position endearing. He cheered me.

  "Yes, Thomas," I said.

  Thomas eyed me with suspicion, "I expected you to argue."

  I was meekness personified. "No, Thomas."

  "'Yes, Thomas'? 'No, Thomas'?" he echoed, incredulous. "Is that you, Kate?"

  I widened my eyes and nodded.

  He sprang to his feet and made for the door. "Whoever you are, you're not the woman I married."

  No one could resist such temptation. I said, "Whatever you say, Thomas."

  "Stop that at once!" he said, and went to see about dinner.

  I lay back against my pillow in a state of pure contentment. Matrimony is a highly agreeable state.

  13 August 1817

  Amiens

  At the Coq d'Or

  I think rest was just what we needed. I know we all feel the better for our unbroken night of sleep. At breakfast this morning, Lady Sylvia received a reply to an urgent message she had sent on our arrival in Amiens. With satisfaction, she informed us we would be taking tea with the Bishop at four o'clock. "We will leave here together promptly at a quarter to the hour. I have letters to write, so I'll be here all day. However you plan to divert yourselves today, do be back here on time." After making quite sure that we heard and would obey, she excused herself. That left the four of us to decide precisely how we would amuse ourselves.

  "James and I are visiting the Roman ruins," said Cecy. "Won't you come with us? Papa will be so pleased when we write to tell him how studious we are, he won't notice if we never see another antiquity the entire trip."

  I said, "I don't mind antiquities, but I wonder if this might not be a good time to see about investing Thomas's magic?"

  Cecy's eyes are one of her finest features. At times they can seem positively enormous. "Oh, that sounds much more interesting than Roman ruins."

  "Thomas might care to perform that little task in decent privacy," said James. "The fewer distractions, the better."

  "Have you thought of an object for me to use for the investment?" Before I could reply, Thomas held up a hand to silence me. "Don't tell me what it is. Not just yet. Let it be like a birthday wish."

  I remembered that we were at breakfast in a well-frequented inn. No matter how sturdy the ceilings, the walls could well have ears. "I've been thinking about it since you asked me to help. You need something small, or at least portable, don't you?"

  "Something unobtrusive, certainly," said James.

  Cecy looked more intrigued than ever. "Yet you can do magic without it, can't you? After all, when Sir Hilary had the chocolate pot, you could still perform magic."

  Thomas said, "I work far better with a focus. It can be nearby, but I'd prefer something I could carry with me."

  "You won't want anything noticeable," said Cecy thoughtfully, "in case you must disguise yourself."

  "Why on earth would Thomas wish to disguise himself?" James asked. Before anyone could reply, he added, "Not that I haven't seen him disguised on more than one occasion."

  "Viper," Thomas said to James. "You'd be as enthusiastic as Cecy if you were only better at it."

  I leaned close and murmured in Thomas's ear. "I thought perhaps—a ring."

  Thomas considered a moment, then murmured back, "I only wear one ring—" Beneath the breakfast table, he took my left hand in his, so that our wedding rings touched. "Rather ostentatious, wearing a ring if I do have to disguise myself. I suppose in a pinch I could put it on a chain, wear it around my neck."

  "I thought," I whispered, "my wedding ring. If it's true that it can be nearby and still work for you."

  Rather loudly, James said to Cecy, "Do you know, I get the oddest feeling that we're not wanted here. Would you care to accompany me to the ruins of the Temple of Minerva Victrix?"

  "Oh, is that what it's called?" Cecy looked relieved. "Papa's handwriting can be quite deceptive at times."

  "Seems perfectly clear to me," James said. "Temple of Minerva Victrix, Cathedral of Ink Pot, Chapel of the Kippered Herring, and so on. Come, before Thomas invites himself along."

  "I thought they'd never leave," said Thomas, quite audibly. When we were alone with the remains of breakfast, he added, "I think your idea will serve very well. I'll need a few items for the ritual, but they won't be much bother. I should be ready to perform the investiture before lunch."

&n
bsp; In fact, Thomas's supplies took a bit longer to procure than he'd anticipated. Such a ritual required a clean, quiet place, which our bedchamber provided, a pitcher of spring-water, which Thomas insisted on fetching himself, a basin, a great many candles, a chicken feather, a broom, and a pound of salt, all of which the innkeeper provided without betraying the slightest curiosity. The ways of the English, it seemed, had long ceased to interest him.

  Thomas rolled back the carpet and swept the chamber floor twice, once to get the floor clean and once to go with his soft incantation. He made a ring of salt on the bare floor and spaced the candles carefully about the ring. He put me in the center of the circle, cross-legged before the basin, and lit the candles. He poured springwater as I washed my hands. When that was done, I took the feather he handed me and held it over the basin.

  Thomas said some words, and I repeated what he said. I tried to capture not only his pronunciation but his pitch and intonation as well. The words might have been Chinese for all I knew. Despite my ignorance, I could tell that each word had its own music, a tone below the sound, low notes I strove to echo.

  "Fiat," said Thomas. Even if I hadn't known that must be his final command, the curious sensation the word provoked would have alerted me. As he finished the ritual chant, the ring on my finger pulsed with a cool energy, which rippled away to stillness.

  I stared at Thomas. Thomas nodded encouragingly to prompt me. "Fiat," I said. The ring pulsed again, and this time Thomas stared at me, mouth ajar.

  Silence hung between us for a long time. At last, Thomas swallowed audibly, cleared his throat, and said, "Just hand me the feather and stay where you are. I'll tidy up."

  With utter serenity, I watched as Thomas took the feather from me and set about with deftness and care to remove every trace of the ritual from the chamber. At last, when all was cleared away, he drew me to my feet.

  "I'd forgotten what it's like to be properly focused," Thomas said. "Quite a powerful sensation."

  "It worked." I had no doubts at all.

  Thomas rolled the carpet back into place. "You felt it, too?"

  "I felt—a sort of throb. When you said that last word." I thought it might be wise not to say fiat aloud for fear of setting the ring to pulsing again.