it’s going to be a lot harder to mislead her. And they’ll have to find her.’
‘Oh, they will find her,’ Devere assured me. ‘The brothers are widespread from Scotland to Egypt, from Ireland to India, and everywhere in between.’
‘If we don’t tell anyone she’s missing,’ I suggested forcefully, ‘then how shall the brotherhood know? Especially if we send correspondence home that indicates she is still with us.’
‘That would allow us a little more time,’ Devere conceded. ‘If you would aid me to employ these new skills of mine to find my wife, then perhaps all is not lost,’ he appealed, his eyes so like my beloved’s, although a paler shade of blue.
‘I will help you,’ I said, not yet convinced his intentions were as pure as he claimed. ‘Only, if you are lying to me now, Ashlee will see through you at a glance and I will be happy to have her deal with you and your brotherhood in any way she sees fit!’ This was a threat, and no feeble one at that. ‘If what you are saying is true, then Ashlee needs to know the whole of it. And as her friend, it is my duty to find her.’
Real or faked, my brother-in-law was very relieved at my decision. ‘Thank you.’ His gratitude was heartfelt and emphatic. ‘Do you know where my wife was headed?’
I realised he’d just been waiting to get me on side before springing that question. ‘I have no idea, she didn’t say,’ I told him truthfully and perhaps a little harshly, for the truth obviously crushed him. ‘But my guess is that she’ll head deeper into Europe.’ I tried to be encouraging. ‘Paris is the next major stepping stone from here, so that should be our first stop.’
‘Well, I can’t be of much use to you if I stay here.’ Yes, it was insane, but suddenly the idea of not knowing what I’d be doing tomorrow or where I’d be had great appeal.
‘James will never allow you to travel with me,
‘Then we will just have to convince your dear brother that it is his duty to help us find our lost sister.’ I served Mr Devere with a wink. ‘But my brother’s political agenda—’ I held up a finger to hush his concern. ‘Just leave my Lord Oxford to me.’ FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE
Post-revolution Paris was my kind of town. In the vacuum of Napoleon’s departure, the city had become a hive of artists, writers, theologians and radical thinkers. If you spoke decent French, and it was commented that I did, the Parisians were very helpful and to the point.
This city may not yet have been as organised and developed as London—many of the streets were covered in a black muck that was a mixture of human and animal waste and mud—but construction had started on several very ambitious new landmarks, in addition to a gaslight system for the city streets. A grand art gallery, the Louvre, was nearly completed and already hosted many exhibitions and fine works of art. At one end of a wide dirt road in the city, a construction site marked the unfinished Arc de Triomphe. The growing city also boasted its first railway line, between Paris and St Germain. There were some very fine tea and coffee houses, which proved to be excellent centres for obtaining information.
In social situations, Nanny Beat conveniently transformed into my mama, but as she was not confident with conversing with her betters—and quite often didn’t understand them anyway—she developed a hearing problem. This gave her cause to speak coarsely, or to ignore people when the need arose.
In one sitting of afternoon tea we learned of some excellent accommodation, and when it became known that I spoke and read several different languages, I was told that the chief librarian of the Arsenal Library in Paris was looking for translators at present.
The Arsenal was a major depository for mediaeval occult manuscripts: an extensive collection of magical, cabalistic, Cathar and hermetic disciplines. More recently the library had taken charge of all the books and manuscripts that Napoleon had confiscated from the Vatican and many other monasteries around Europe. There were more than three thousand cases of material that were being translated at present. Apparently Rome was negotiating for the return of some of these texts to the Vatican, and a group of library staff were soon to embark on a journey to the Holy City.
Travelling by land was probably the most direct route to my destination: the longer land route down through Italy to Sicily would make for a short sea voyage and, due to pirates in the Mediterranean, less risky than any alternative routes. Perhaps I could arrange to travel with the library’s party at least as far as Geneva. There I could brave the trek through the mountains and the cold of Switzerland and on to Venice, where I could catch a boat down through the Adriatic Sea and across the Mediterranean to Cairo. An alternative was to continue south through France to Marseilles and take the extended sea voyage via Sardinia and Malta.
It seemed like too great a coincidence to let pass without investigation. What’s more, how could I forgo a peek into such a library to drool over all the texts that my schedule would not allow me time to read? Perhaps I might be able to come back here one day, but who could say? That was the most wonderful thing about my present life; I couldn’t really see beyond the moment and I liked this constant being in the now.
Our terrace accommodation backed onto a lovely courtyard shared with several other terraces, all of which had their own table for taking tea in the sunny private area. The central feature of the court was a beautiful little tree surrounded by a colourful bed of flowers—trees in Paris were few and far between. We were a good enough distance away from the manure stench of the well-trodden thoroughfares, but a short walk down a paved street took us to the heart of Paris.
Nanny was concerned about how I planned to pay for our comfortable accommodation, so I confided in her regarding my secret treasure and she nearly had a fit!
‘You can’t keep such riches in something so easily lost or stolen,’ she insisted in a whisper, as she looked over the red book.
‘Then how should I transport it? I have no pockets.’
‘The very thing!’ Nanny clapped her hands. ‘You leave it to me.’ She winked at me confidently.
The next day Nanny headed off to go shopping, and I caught a carriage to the Arsenal Library.
The library was a very imposing, two-storey, L-shaped structure. My carriage drove into the courtyard and I alighted at the door, which was positioned in between the two wings that angled back toward the street on either side of me.
