Scarlet in the Snow (25 page)

The main post office was a rather splendid building, too, and it was crowded with people, much to my
satisfaction. The harassed clerk who served me was much too busy to even look up when I asked for three envelopes and international stamps. He just threw them at me, calling out ‘Next!’ as soon as I’d paid for them.

I posted my letter, keeping the other envelopes and stamps in my purse, and headed to the room where the address directories were kept. Unfortunately, they were grouped into city districts rather than by surnames, though each district volume did list the names of residents in alphabetical order. So it took me quite a while to track down the five names I was interested in: Fontenoy, Gauvain, Mandon, d’Roch, Theodorus, plus a sixth, Vivian.

I wrote down all the addresses in my notebook. At least the Theodoruses and the Mandons lived in the same district, but the others were scattered here and there. The Vivians, I learned, lived in the same district where Lilac Gardens was situated. Though their address was at the opposite end of the district from the art gallery, the disagreeable discovery made my skin prickle as I remembered the unease I’d felt last night, and again I wondered if Felix’s father could be the sorcerer.

No, I told myself stoutly, for even if he was and his spies were out, they’d not have recognised me. I looked and sounded quite different from when Felix had seen me and I had not carried the rose petal with me, so there was nothing to link me psychically to Ivan. Indeed, ever since I’d left it behind at Old Bony’s, I hadn’t felt him near me at all. I didn’t want to linger on that thought, for if I did, I’d become frightened and sad, and I couldn’t afford to be. I couldn’t even afford to think about Ivan too much. I had
to simply concentrate grimly on my plan, as though it was all that existed, as though I was in a vacuum. Not a lover, not a daughter, not even a friend; just a person with a job to do. If I allowed my feelings to get the better of me, all would be lost.

The district where the Theodorus and Mandon families lived was the closest to the post office, so that was where I started. By now it was midday and the restaurants and coffee shops in this lively area were starting to fill up, and because the day was so bright, with a touch of coming spring, there were even people sitting at little pavement tables outside. But the street where the Theodorus family lived was an oasis of quiet; not the uneasy quiet of the area around Lilac Gardens, but peaceful and relaxing.

The Theodorus family occupied the first and second floors of a four-storey apartment house made of elegant grey stone, with decorated white balconies. Clearly, painting the ladies and gentlemen of Palume society did not make one a pauper. I rang the doorbell, and was confronted by another supercilious dandy, this time in a footman’s uniform.

‘All members of the public must go to the back door,’ he coldly informed me.

‘Forgive a foreigner’s ignorance, sir,’ I said humbly. ‘If you will direct me to where I should go, I’ll be very grateful.’ Over his shoulder I could see the grand entrance hall and a row of portraits, two of which especially caught my eye. They were of the same young man, but by obviously different hands.

The footman noticed the direction of my glance and shot me a suspicious look. ‘You need to go down there,’ he said, pointing to a side alley. ‘Understand?’

‘Yes, sir, of course. Excuse my rude staring,’ I said. ‘I could not help noticing those very fine paintings. They must be by great masters indeed.’

‘They are,’ said the footman, unbending just a little. ‘By the Messirs Theodorus, father and son. Family portraits, you understand.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I breathed. ‘In my country it is said that the name of Theodorus rides as high as the stars. Is that – is that the younger Messir Theodorus in those paintings?’

‘It is indeed. Messir Gaetan. One’s a self-portrait he painted last year, the other was painted by his father. They are reckoned to be most striking,’ said the footman, complacently.

‘That they are, sir. It must be wonderful to work for such great gentlemen,’ I said, fearing I may be laying it on a little thick.

But I needn’t have worried for the footman preened himself a little and said, ‘It is. But then the family only ever hire the very best-quality persons.’

I only just restrained an incredulous laugh. I bobbed my head and said, ‘Please forgive me for keeping you talking so long, sir.’

‘Not at all. Now, there’s your way to the back door. And in future, remember, in this country ordinary folk go to the back door. It is only guests and people of importance who may use the front.’

‘I’ll remember, sir. Thank you,’ I murmured, feeling an overwhelming desire to kick him in his self-important behind. Of course I did no such thing but scuttled round to the side alley, pretending to head for the back door. As soon as I heard the front door close, I sidled out again and took off in the opposite direction. I had no need of any more inquiries at the Theodorus house. I had learned all I needed to know and could now cross Gaetan off my list.

The Mandons, brother and sister, lived about five minutes’ walk away. Their house was rather smaller than the Theodorus residence, and the fresh-faced maid who answered the door was also nowhere near as expensive-looking or superior as the Theodorus’s footman. Upon being told I was a journalist who wished to interview the ‘very talented Mandons’ for a Faustinian magazine, the maid told me quite readily that Messir Thomas and Mam’selle Anne were out lunching in the Blue Bird, ‘as is their custom’.

‘Oh, yes, the Blue Bird, that famous place where artists and writers gather on Blue Street,’ I said cunningly. ‘Even in Faustina we have heard of this.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not Blue Street,’ corrected the maid, just as I’d hoped. ‘It’s on Luna Street.’

‘Of course. I’m just confused,’ I said with a rueful smile. ‘Well, thank you for your help. I will return later. When do you expect them back?’

‘Not for a few hours. But you may leave a note if you like.’

‘No, it is fine. I will come back later.’

‘I will tell them to expect you, Mam’selle . . .?’

‘Ter Zhaber. Mam’selle Alexandra ter Zhaber of
The Mirror Magazine,
’ I said glibly. ‘Thank you. And good day to you.’

‘And to you,’ she said, sounding just a little puzzled, as if she was beginning to wonder what all that had been about.

If Thomas Mandon was out lunching with his sister, it was unlikely he was Ivan. Still, it didn’t hurt to check, and so I headed for Luna Street and the Blue Bird with a brisk step. On the way I passed a bookshop and saw, displayed in the window, several volumes of Anne Mandon’s latest bestseller. And next to them, to my delight, was a charming portrait of the blonde, blue-eyed writer, displayed on a small easel, with the initials ‘T.M.’. Thomas Mandon had painted his sister’s portrait, thus making my job a good deal easier.

The Blue Bird was only a few blocks away. It proved to be one of those small wood-panelled restaurants with stained-glass windows, of which Palume seemed to have more than its fair share, and it was crowded with mostly young people chattering and laughing. I could not see all of them properly from the street, so I went in and ordered a small coffee, to consume while standing at the counter. I sipped the liquid slowly, scanning each table till I finally spotted Anne Mandon’s unmistakeable features. She was sitting at a table at the far end of the room with a group of young men, one of whom must be her brother, to judge from the strong family resemblance. There could be no doubt – Thomas Mandon was not my Ivan.

Now there were three left. I was hungry by now and the next closest address – Charles Gauvain’s – was a fair
walk away. I bought myself a slice of onion tart from a bakery – the cheapest thing I could find – and ate it while sitting in a nearby park dotted with statues and fountains. I was just shaking the crumbs from my lap and getting up to go when a familiar voice hailed me from behind. It was Madame Gerard, arm in arm with an auburn-haired young woman wearing a pretty little hat. The hat was trimmed with something I recognised – the silk flowers.

‘Alexandra!’ said Madame Gerard, beaming. ‘I thought it was you! What a good surprise! I am most pleased to see you!’

‘And I you, Madame,’ I said sincerely. ‘How is the show? And Messir Gerard?’

‘Both good. Louis is at the show again today, meeting up with his old army cronies. But tell me, my dear, did you manage to get a room at Emilie’s – I mean, at Madame Pelty’s?’

‘I did, thank you. It is a very pleasant place to stay.’

‘Oh, good. And what news of your aunt?’

‘None yet. But I am hopeful I will find her soon.’

‘I too. Oh dear, how remiss of me,’ she exclaimed, looking almost comically dismayed. ‘Here I am completely forgetting my manners. Alexandra, my dear, may I introduce you to my daughter Finette?’

‘How do you do?’ I said, and shook Finette’s hand.

‘Very well, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘It is very nice to meet you and to have the opportunity to thank you as well.’ She pointed to the flowers. ‘They are so beautiful and are of such wonderful quality. I’ve never seen finer,
and in our shop we get a lot of these from Faustina. Which firm made it?’

‘Oh, just a small firm called . . . called Luel,’ I gabbled. ‘You will not know it because, er, Madame Luel, the owner, is a seamstress who used to work for my family, then she set up this business. Only a year since.’

‘I see. Maman told me you brought more of them with you,’ said Finette, with a questioning tone in her voice.

‘Yes, that is so,’ I agreed cautiously.

‘Then might you perhaps consent to bring some to the shop where I work? I know my employer, Madame Ange, would love to see them and buy some if, of course, they are indeed for sale.’

‘Why, yes, of course,’ I said eagerly. This was an unexpected opportunity and I did not intend to miss it. ‘When would you like them by? I have left the goods in my room of course but I could bring them to the shop later on today, or tomorrow if that is more suitable.’

‘Later on today will be perfect,’ said Finette. ‘I just had the morning off to be with Maman and I am going back to the shop at two. Perhaps if you might call around three or four?’

‘Very well, I will bring a good selection,’ I said.

‘I look forward to it very much,’ she replied.

I parted company with them soon after, pleading an urgent errand, and hurried as fast as I could back to Argent Lane. On the way there, I bought some tissue paper and a cardboard box from a stationer’s, for I’d need to pack the flowers so they wouldn’t crush.

With my door safely bolted, I sat on the bed with the comb. I pulled it once through my hair and down tumbled a lovely spray of golden mimosa mixed with jasmine, set against a backing of silver lace. Twice, and there was a tiny bouquet of rosebuds of an unusual shade between orange and pink. I hesitated. Rashly, I’d said I’d bring a good selection. But I had no way of knowing how many more the magic would give me. It wasn’t like with the sweets, where I could see at a glance how many I had left.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I combed my hair again and this time into my lap tumbled a perfect shower of miniature flowers, everything from violets to geraniums, daffodils to lilies, bluebells to pansies. And rosebuds of red, white, gold, mauve and pink.

Hastily, I lay the comb aside, hoping that the sudden bounty didn’t mean the comb’s magic was exhausted, the way a stressed plant might produce a rush of flowers
or fruit just before dying. I had no way of knowing that except by running it through my hair again and that I was certainly not going to do. At least now I had more than enough to take to Finette’s shop, and could leave a few behind as well, just in case.

I carefully made my selection. I’d take the spray of mimosa but leave the rose bouquet behind. And I’d take three or four of the individual rosebuds, as well as several other types of flowers. The rest I’d leave for another day. I wrapped the selected flowers in tissue paper and laid them gently in the box, all except for one, which I pinned to my hat. Then I crept out of my room with my precious cargo, down the stairs and into the street, without being spotted by anyone.

The millinery shop was a good distance from Argent Lane and I did not want to run the risk of crushing my parcel under my arm on a long walk, so I spent the last of my coins on a ride on the underground train. I’d have to hope that Finette was right and that Madame Ange did love the flowers, or I’d be in something of a pickle till I could get the handkerchief to conjure up something for me – only
if
it would, of course. From everything I’d ever read, it’s foolish to have faith in that sort of
feya
magic, for it is unpredictable and can stop working every bit as easily as it started.

More than ever I wished Luel would contact me. Things would be a lot less uncertain if she were with me. Old Bony had said she’d ‘followed her nursling’ – which meant she had gone in search of Ivan. She had not been the sorcerer’s target; it was Ivan who was in danger from him.
So where did that leave Luel? She had been able to keep Ivan safe, hidden away, but had been powerless to break the spell-curse. Now that Ivan was in the sorcerer’s grasp, was she also perhaps helpless and unable to rescue her lord, able only to watch him from a distance? That must be it. Luel was in hiding. She didn’t even know I was here, and I couldn’t find her. Once again, my doubts about leaving the rose petal behind resurfaced. For not only was it my link with Ivan, it also allowed me to speak to Luel. If I’d had it, I might have been able to reach her through a mirror. But that way was closed to me now, leaving me quite on my own.