A Poisoned Season (25 page)

“What would you say to this man if you met him?”

“I’m not sure. I’d like to know why he’s so fixated on Marie Antoinette.”

“Are you absolutely certain that none of the objects he’s stolen have come up for sale on the black market?”

“It’s difficult to determine these things, but so far as I can tell, yes. He’s keeping what he steals.”

“Or giving it all to Charles Berry,” Ivy said. “Who other than the heir to the House of Bourbon would have such a focused interest?”

“An excellent point, and we mustn’t forget the list I found in his room at the Savoy,” I said. “I’d like to know more about the evidence Mr. Berry uses to support his claim. He’s certainly not the first man who declared himself the direct descendant of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Apparently, early in the century, there were no fewer than forty pretenders vying for the prince’s rights.”

“Do you believe the dauphin did escape?”

“There are plenty of anecdotes that say he did. Supposedly, one of the women charged with caring for the boy early in his imprisonment grew quite fond of him. He had stayed in her house for a time before his captors moved him to prison. It’s said that she smuggled him out of his cell in a basket.”

“But a child did die in the jail,” Ivy said.

“Yes, but he may well have been a substitute for the dauphin. The doctor, a man called Desault, who treated him after the boy fell ill, died himself under mysterious circumstances soon after coming to the prison. He had assisted him some months earlier and would undoubtedly have recognized the child. Louis Charles’s death was announced only a week later.”

“Mr. Berry has the support of the Bourbon family. Surely they must be thoroughly satisfied with his story.”

“Yes, but think on it, Ivy. The entire Bourbon family stands to see their situation improve should the monarchy be restored in France. Perhaps persuading them to accept Berry wasn’t so difficult.”

“I’d be more inclined to agree with you if Charles Berry were the sort of man likely to inspire the people of France to embrace a monarch. You’ll never convince me that the Bourbons were thrilled to find the heir of the lost dauphin to be such a…well…” She did not finish.

“Regardless, I am convinced there is much we do not know about Mr. Berry. We must not make the mistake of underestimating him, Ivy. He stands to make enormous gains in the immediate future, and with such aspirations comes the risk of failure.”

“But does it matter if he never becomes king? He’s making an excellent marriage and has the goodwill of society behind him. I don’t see that he has anything to lose.”

I sighed. “I admit the soundness of your logic but take no pleasure in doing so. Colin’s right. I’m too bent on finding Mr. Berry guilty of something.”

“He’s guilty of being an arrogant, mannerless bore. Isn’t that enough?”

“Perhaps it shall have to be.”

I’
m absolutely delighted that your social troubles seem to be dissipating,” Lady Elinor said as we strolled through Hyde Park. “But I must confess that my interest in the matter is somewhat self-serving.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Isabelle is very anxious about her wedding, and I think you could ease her mind on the subject. Forgive me, but I worried about letting her spend too much time with you when…” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I never believed the rumors, but you know how awful people can be about such things, and Isabelle’s reputation must remain spotless.”

“Don’t apologize. You were one of the few people who didn’t cut me. And though I may be back on guest lists, don’t think that in private people aren’t still talking about me.”

“It’s so dreadful, but people’s memories are short. In another month they’ll have moved on to something else altogether.”

“I’ve been hearing lots of talk about Mr. Berry,” I said. “From what I gather, it sounds as if there is a chance that the monarchy will be restored in France.”

“Oh, Emily, if only that were true, but I’m afraid that it’s too much to hope for.”

“When is the wedding to be?”

“Everything will be ready before the end of the month.”

“So soon?”

She tilted her head to me and spoke softly. “If these political events to which you refer do take place, I should very much like the marriage finalized before then. Isabelle is not from a royal family, after all.”

Lady Elinor was wise in this regard. I had no doubt that Mr. Berry, if he were to become king before the wedding, would throw Isabelle over for a royal bride with a more impressive fortune. To my mind, however, this would be good news for Isabelle. I liked the girl, and hated the thought of her married to such an undesirable man.

“What does Isabelle think of marrying so quickly?”

“She’s a good girl, although it’s clear that she’s terrified. I know this is best for her, but I hate to see her unsettled. Would you be willing to talk to her? I’ve tried, of course, but sometimes such things are easier to believe coming from a friend than from one’s own mother. I’d be so grateful. I don’t want to see her consumed with worry.”

“Isabelle is fortunate. Most mothers are not so concerned.” I remembered the conversation I’d had with my own mother prior to my wedding; it was hardly encouraging. The primary thrust of it had to do with learning to bear the inconveniences required by marriage.
Inconveniences
. “Have her come see me tomorrow. I’ll do what I can to allay her fears.”

All of a sudden, a gentleman bumped into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. He grabbed my hand to steady me, mumbled a quick apology, and disappeared before I could say a word to him.

“How rude!” Lady Elinor exclaimed. “The park is simply too crowded these days, and so many gentlemen do not have the manners they ought to. I think—”

“Lady Elinor, will you excuse me? I must go home.” The man had pressed into my hand a folded piece of paper that opened to reveal a passage written in Greek followed by a single sentence in English:
Am I to get no thanks for my gift?

At last my admirer had shown his face! If only I’d had the presence of mind to get a good look at him. I had a vague idea that his eyes were blue, but was not certain even of that.

“Are you unwell?”

“Just a bit off balance. Forgive me. Send Isabelle to me tomor
row.” I rushed off in the direction the man had taken, not giving her a chance to reply.

The paths in Hyde Park were crammed with the best of society, and it was difficult in the extreme to maneuver along them with any sort of speed. My friend had a decent head start and the advantage of anonymity; I had little chance of finding him. I did try, though, not giving up until I reached the Achilles statue. Ready to admit defeat, I looked around for an empty bench, but there was none in sight. I stood for a moment, wondering if he was watching me, hidden somewhere in the vicinity. How could I know?

Then something caught my eye. Not my admirer but a familiar face: Robert Brandon, walking arm in arm with a lady I recognized from Lady Elinor’s ball. They leaned close together as they spoke, laughing at something, their heads nearly touching. I was stunned. Surely Robert would not be so indiscreet as to appear with a mistress in Hyde Park. I managed to make my feet move and started after them. I would not remain a silent party to this.

“Good afternoon, Robert,” I called as I approached them.

“Oh, Emily. Delighted to see you.” His expression did not match his words.

I smiled at his companion. “How lovely to see you, Mrs. Reynold-Plympton.”

“Likewise, Lady Ashton,” she replied, scrutinizing every detail of my dress as she spoke.

“Where is Ivy this afternoon, Robert?”

“With the Duchess of Petherwick, I believe.”

“Of course.” I managed another smile but suspected that he could see me seething behind it. “Are you a friend of Mrs. Brandon’s?” I asked his companion.

“I’m not much acquainted with her,” the lady replied. This came as no surprise.

“How unfortunate. So nice to see you both. I’ll leave you to your
walk.” I did my best not to spit out the words but cannot vouch for my success. As they walked away from me, I looked at the paper that was still in my hand:

Although the message was short, the Greek was beyond my sight-reading abilities, so I went home, where, with the aid of my lexicon, I was able to translate the passage:
Eyes, how long are you draining the nectar of the Loves, rash drinkers of the strong unmixed wine of beauty?

23

I
WAS NOT SURE WHAT TO DO NEXT.
T
HE MATTER OF DECIPHERING THE
letters was certainly urgent. Finding my admirer was something that might provide answers beyond those that I sought for personal reasons. And then there was the question of what Robert was doing with Mrs. Reynold-Plympton. All this was in addition to the problem of solving the murders in Richmond.

Saving Jane Stilleman from a guilty verdict deserved primary importance, and it could be argued that the letters and my admirer tied in to this. But can I be faulted for wanting to help Ivy first? I penned a note to the one person in London who would be able to provide the most possible information about Robert’s friend; I only hoped it would not take long for her to reply.

Next, I wrote a notice for the
Times:

What an exhilarating encounter. I’d prefer that next time you stay long enough for a chat. Many, many thanks for the letters.

I debated asking to set up a meeting but rejected the idea. I’d do
better trying to catch him following me. If only there were some simple way to draw him to me. I would think on this later. For the moment, I needed to apply myself to unlocking the secrets of Marie Antoinette’s correspondence with Léonard, but no sooner had I set out the letters than I was interrupted.

“Hard at work?” Colin asked once Davis had closed the door after announcing my visitor.

“Always,” I replied as he kissed my hand.

“I’ve checked up on Berry and am convinced that he had nothing to do with the wayward coach.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he went straight from Lady Elinor’s to a…er…club of sorts with Bertie.”

“You believe him?”

“I believe the Prince of Wales.”

“Mr. Berry needn’t have been inside the coach himself, you know. He might have hired someone to drive it.”

“A valid point, but I don’t see how he could have alerted the driver to our departure from the party. The prince collected him at the Routledge house, and they left together more than an hour after we did.”

“And was Mr. Berry never out of sight during that hour?”

“Lady Elinor’s watching Isabelle like a hawk—didn’t let her out of sight the entire evening. She’s a chaperone nearly as ferocious as your own mother.”

“You’ve never had to tolerate my mother as a chaperone.”

“Ashton told me all about it.”

“Oh.” A feeling of vague discomfort swept over me, but I forced myself to ignore it. “He could have arranged it ahead of time.”

“He might have, but I’m certain that the coach was not following us.”

“It could have been on a street out of sight, waiting to see us leave
Lady Elinor’s. As soon as we’d passed, it rushed to Berkeley Square ahead of us and was there, ready, when we arrived.”

“I shan’t discount the possibility,” he said. I handed him one of the letters I’d been working on. “Will you help me? I’m close to cracking it.”

“I think you’re headed in the right direction,” he said after I’d told him my theory about the number words being the key. I kept track of each system I’d tried, and the list was growing hideously long.

“Paragraphs—that’s what I’ve ignored,” I said, my head bent over the letter before me. “Of course. It’s not simply the third letter of each word. The code doesn’t begin until the third paragraph.” I quickly copied the letters; more nonsense. I threw down my pencil and picked up another note.

“It’s incredibly frustrating, isn’t it? I’ve a colleague who refuses to spend more than thirty minutes on any single code. Insists that if he can’t break it in that time, he’ll never be able to.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Well, he’s quite good. There’s not much he can’t crack that quickly.”

“Where is he now?”

“Vienna.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Have you tried applying the numbers to the next note in the series?”

“Yes, no luck.”

“What about the dates?” he asked. “They’re the only other place that numbers appear.”

“Combine them with the others, you mean?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. I stared at the document in front of me.

“Yes, I think that’s it. Look, the number in this one is
vingt,
and the date is the
vingt-trois juillet
. Subtract twenty from that and you’re
left with three.” I scribbled down the pertinent letters. The result appeared to be another random string, so I decided to skip to the third sentence, and when that failed, to try every third letter of every third word. This last attempt didn’t result in enough letters, but I was convinced that I needed to look at every third word. Maybe every other letter of every third word?