that Mr. Babcock had sent ahead from Stranwyne; on the second, a halo of blonde hair that bobbed once before flying away to the lower floors, a book tucked beneath her arm. Mary turned to watch the girl who had been scrubbing the sidewalk descend. “Who is she?” I asked Mrs. DuPont.
“She is my child, Mademoiselle, Marguerite.”
“I see,” I said, though I was mentally gaping. Nothing about Mrs. DuPont’s looks, age, or demeanor could have possibly suggested such a daughter. “And please remember that I have asked to be referred to by my name, Mrs. DuPont.”
At the top of the third set of stairs, we stood in an unpapered, unpainted hallway beneath a sloping ceiling, one oval window overlooking a jumble of foliage below. There was a railing around the stairwell, a row of three doors to the right, and on our left, only one. I took a quick look at the empty chambers on the right — for servants, most likely — then opened the single door on the left. Behind it was an uninviting room, plain lathe and plaster, the wall opposite covered in unused shelving. One high window, cut into the slope of the ceiling, showed a square of cloudless sky, leaving a corresponding block of sunshine on the scarred wooden floor. But it was the shelves that had drawn my attention.
“This shall be my particular room,” I declared. “To be used for matters of business.”
For once, Mrs. DuPont seemed neither angry nor dead, just rather bewildered. “But it is only a room for the storing, Mademoiselle!”
“It is quiet and private, and will therefore suit me well. I will have much to attend to over the next few weeks.” I heard Mary’s fingernail tapping insistently on the pocket watch. “And now that we have that settled, I shall go back downstairs. I am perfectly capable of viewing the other rooms on my own. You and your daughter are free to go home, Mrs. DuPont, but if you would be so good as to come back in the morning, to discuss our further arrangements, that would be most appreciated.”
“But —” Mrs. DuPont began.
“Half past ten will do. Please leave whatever keys you may possess on the table in the foyer. Knock, and we will let you in.”
I turned and nearly ran back to the staircase, Mary trotting close behind me, leaving Mrs. DuPont to make of this what she might.
Downstairs I found a grimy young man I’d never seen before setting one of our boxes onto an already precarious pile of similar packages, while Mr. Babcock was coming backward through the front door, directing the steps of both of our drivers as they hauled in the steamer trunk.
“Careful!” I said, hurrying over to flatten the wrinkles in the rug. “Set it down gently, please.” I motioned Mr. Babcock away from the others and whispered, “I’ve found where the entrance must be, it is just as described, but I have not yet been inside. Three flights up, I’m afraid.”
Mr. Babcock considered. “How long before he wakes?”
“Perhaps five minutes. Ten if we are fortunate.”
“He will need another dose?”
“Yes, I think we shall have to. He shouldn’t wake until we have gotten all his things into the room. This is going to be difficult either way, so we might as well start with all our advantages. The boxes from the workshop are on the first landing. I’ve sent Mrs. DuPont and her daughter home until —”
But my thought was interrupted, cut neatly in half by a high voice, falsely cheerful, saying my name from the doorway.
“Katharine Tulman!” the voice said again, and in an instant the years had melted and I was back in my aunt Alice’s morning room, pouring miserable tea in a gray worsted dress. The feeling of suffocation was so overpowering I had to clutch Mr. Babcock’s arm, making certain I had the capability of breathing, before turning around.
And there she was, smiling beneath a garish feathered hat, complete with overlarge bosom and the inevitable pince-nez perched on her nose. One of the dearest, truest friends my vile aunt Alice ever had.
“Mrs. Hardcastle,” I replied.
9
Mary dropped the stack of hatboxes she’d been holding and ran pell-mell across the foyer, past Mrs. Hardcastle, and sat herself abruptly on my steamer trunk. She lifted her chin and then crossed her arms, swinging her dangling feet. Mrs. Hardcastle gave her and the now-ruinous pile of scattered bonnets a thorough going over through the pince-nez spectacles, and then swung them around to examine me.
“Katharine,” she said, “this is indeed a pleasure. It has been too long. Too long, my dear. You are looking well.”
I smoothed back a chunk of wildly curling hair that had escaped my pins. “Thank you, Mrs. Hardcastle. How pleasant to see you. May I present Mr. Babcock? Mr. Babcock is my solicitor.” My eyes darted to the steamer trunk, where Mary was gesticulating wildly and incomprehensibly at me while Mrs. Hardcastle and Mr. Babcock both inclined their heads.
“I believe I have heard your name before, sir,” said Mrs. Hardcastle. She turned back to me, grinning hugely. “What a head for business you must have, dear, to bring your lawyer with you all the way to Paris.”
“I assist Miss Tulman in all things, Ma’am,” said Mr. Babcock, his ugly face the picture of calm. “Shall I have your trunk brought upstairs, Miss Tulman?”
“Yes, thank you, indeed.” I leaned my head close and whispered, “Three flights, a single door on the left. Mrs. DuPont has not come down, and the daughter is running about somewhere, too.”
He gave a brief nod and then lifted his hat to Mrs. Hardcastle, who was gazing through the pince-nez, watching us whisper. “Your servant, Ma’am,” he said, and hurried out the front door. My glance brushed past Mary, and then remained there. Mary’s eyes had gone very wide, her chin jerking repeatedly toward the trunk. Mrs. Hardcastle followed my gaze over her shoulder, and Mary’s expression became instantly nonchalant. I dug my nails into my palms. I wasn’t sure what Mary had heard, but Mrs. Hardcastle had to leave. Now.
“Well, this has been lovely,” I said quickly, “but as you can see we have only just arrived. We are all rather tired and shall be going straight to bed.”
Mrs. Hardcastle faced me once again, still smiling, brows raised slightly, causing the spectacles to fall, bounce, and then dangle from their chain over her bosom. “The journey from England is wearisome in the extreme,” she said. “Enough to make anyone wish their bed at half past noon, I’m sure. This is why, of course, I came to invite you to dinner this evening.”
I opened my mouth, to make an excuse of I knew not what, and then I heard what Mary must have: a distinct
Mrs. Hardcastle turned about again, her head cocked a little to one side. “Why, certainly, Katharine dear, if you would like to show it to me.” I stepped around the fallen bonnets and indicated the still-open doorway on my right. Mrs. Hardcastle entered the room with the pace of a royal, lifting the pince-nez. I slid the pocket door closed behind her as quickly as decency would allow, immediately plunging us into an almost complete darkness after the sunshine of the hall.
“Oh,” I said in confusion, “I am so sorry. Let me open a drape.” I bumped into a sheeted chair, looking for a window, then fumbled for the tassel to pull the curtain back, only to discover the window to not only be draped, but shuttered as well. I was feeling about for the latch when I heard a familiar
