"Please sit down, Lady Ashton. I will get help immediately." Within a few moments, Monsieur Beaulieu, the manager of the hotel, arrived with a bottle of smelling salts that I quickly refused; I do not faint. I did, however, accept the glass of Armagnac he offered, and before long the police had arrived. Never had I been more grateful for the perfect English spoken by the staff of the Meurice. I speak French fluently, but, upset as I was, it was much easier to answer their questions in my native tongue while Monsieur Beaulieu translated.

"What on earth has happened here?" Andrew burst into the room. "I was in the lobby and heard of the commotion. Are you hurt, Emily?"

"No, I'm fine. It was like this when I entered the room."

"Is anything missing?"

"I really haven't had the opportunity to determine that, Andrew."

"How can I assist you?"

"I'm all right. Monsieur Beaulieu has been remarkably helpful."

"I should hope so, after the security of his hotel has been this lacking. How did the thief open the door?"

"It appears that the lock was forced," Monsieur Beaulieu replied. "I assure you, Mr. Palmer, that the lobby has been fully staffed all day. I am as shocked as you that someone could enter the hotel and do such a thing."

"It's not your fault, Monsieur Beaulieu," I said, looking at Andrew. "Andrew, could you please fetch Robert and Ivy for me?"

"Are they still in town?"

"They leave for Italy tomorrow."

"I wish they were going to London. I could arrange for you to travel with them. You should not stay here any longer." He left the room before I could reply, and soon returned with my friends, who agreed that I should make plans to go home. Nothing had been stolen from my rooms, leading the police to suspect that the burglar had been interrupted mid-task.

"What if he had still been here when you returned, Emily? What then? You really must go home," Robert said.

"There's no reason that I should leave."

"What if he comes back?" Ivy asked.

"Your burglar obviously did not get what he came for," Andrew said. "I believe it's likely that he would come back. Were he simply a sneak thief, he would have taken anything of value, and even if interrupted, would not have left empty-handed. Something would be missing. The fact that nothing is gone indicates to me that this man thinks you have something of great value. Perhaps he did not have time to complete his search of your belongings. At any rate, he'll certainly return."

"If you decide to stay, Lady Ashton, I can have your rooms changed to another location in the hotel," Monsieur Beaulieu said.

"You cannot think of staying!" Ivy interjected. "What if he returns when you are in your room? I cannot bear the thought of it."

I was not wholly convinced but will admit freely that I no longer felt entirely comfortable.

"It does seem odd, doesn't it, that a burglar would have taken the time to remove Renoir's painting from the frame and then left it?" I said.

The most senior police officer looked down at me and winced slightly. "Madame, perhaps his taste in art precluded him from taking such a work."

Two of the hotel staff restored my rooms to their original condition while Meg hovered over them, shooting menacing glances whenever she could. The episode had done nothing to improve her opinion of the French in general, and, unfortunately, she did little to hide her attitude. Robert and Ivy offered to stay in so that I wouldn't be alone, but I refused to let them cancel their plans for their final evening in Paris. Instead I sent a note to Cécile asking if I could spend the night with her. She replied immediately, saying that her carriage was waiting for me outside the Meurice. She had planned to dine in that evening with Margaret, whom she had befriended immediately after seeing her lovely dress at Mr. Bennett's, and assured me that they were both eager to see me.

"Mon Dieu!" Cécile exclaimed when I arrived at her house. "My poor girl! Thank goodness you kept your jewelry in the hotel safe."

"Nothing was stolen. It's very odd, don't you think?" I asked after recounting all the details of the incident.

"An inefficient crook, I imagine. I, too, am surprised he did not take the Renoir, but impressionist paintings don't command high prices. Our friends do not receive the level of recognition they deserve."

"I suppose you're right. My sketchbook is destroyed-all the pages torn out and scattered about the floor. Your books, Margaret, are damaged but not unreadable. I'm so sorry."

"Don't think about it. It's nothing," she replied, sitting next to me.

"I am convinced that the man I've seen following me is involved in this," I said. "The police assured me they would search for him but thought it was unlikely that they would meet with any success. But why would he follow me all the way to Paris to break into my hotel? Other than the Renoir, which clearly was not his object, I've nothing of consequence here that I didn't have in London."

"It would have been more difficult for him to rob your house in town. Your servants would have raised an alarm," Cécile replied. "He is not so inconspicuous as our cat burglar."

"Yes, but what if one of my servants was his accomplice? Before I came to Paris, my butler informed me that he had fired one of the footmen for rifling through Philip's desk. I wonder what I possess that is so interesting." I told them about the note I had found in Philip's guide to the British Museum.

"The footman was probably looking for some small trinket to sell. It's not such an uncommon situation," Margaret said. "I doubt he had more nefarious plans. As for the note, it's most likely been sitting in that book for years and years, probably put there by Philip. I don't see how it could possibly be related to what is happening to you now."

"I suppose you are right," I said, not entirely satisfied. "But I would very much like to know the story behind it."

"Are you going to stay in Paris?" Margaret asked.

"I have not decided."

"It would be terrible if you felt you must flee to London after such an occurrence," Cécile said.

"I have mixed feelings about leaving but must admit that I'm quite interested to see if my mysterious friend will turn up again in London. Meg would be delighted to go home, of course. She insists she knew that something dreadful would happen if we stayed in France for any length of time."

"I have my maid looking after her. Odette is charming and very clever; I think they will get along well. Perhaps a small step toward changing her perceptions?"

"It would be nice." I laughed. "But I fear there is little hope of that."

"I think you should return to London," Margaret said matter-of-factly. "But not because I'm afraid the thief will return."

"Why then?" I asked.

"Because I think you would benefit from attending the lecture series I told you about this afternoon." She turned to Cécile. "Don't you agree?"

"I suppose so, although I'm certain you could find many equally interesting opportunities in Paris, Kallista." She looked at me. "But I think you have already decided that Margaret would make an excellent traveling companion."

"I admit that the idea of the lectures appeals to me greatly."

"Then it's settled," Margaret said in her firm, bright voice. "You will leave with me, and I will depend on you to offer me asylum at regular intervals. I'm staying with a friend of my mother's who may well bore me to death."

"We must have some champagne. It is, after all, almost your last night in Paris. We are not going out, but we must make something of the occasion." Cécile rang for the footman, who returned with a bottle and three tall glasses. "Has Worth finished your dresses?" she asked as the footman filled the glasses.

"No, but he will send them to his London shop for the final fittings."

"Excellent. I look forward to seeing you in the blue gown."

"Yes, I shall have to return to Paris at once when I'm out of mourning," I said with a smile.

I retired early that evening, more tired than I realized. Margaret and I departed on the first train Thursday morning, and before long we were welcomed to London by a particularly dreary day.


20 MAY 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON


Dined with Fournier, who is wonderfully furious over losing vase to me. I suggested we view it together in the museum; he was not amused. He is in the process of acquiring several pieces of gold jewellery found at Mycenae. I wonder at the channels through which such things become available-though he assured me the provenance is beyond reproach.

Rest of the day spent on mundane errands. Palmer has goaded me into buying a new horse, which I shall call Bucephalus, and I placed an obscenely large order with Berry Bros. & Rudd. Must keep the wine cellar up to snuff. Was forced to converse with Miss Huxley in the park on my way home. New-faster-horse shall keep me safe from suffering such a fate in the future.

10

I had always considered the house in Berkeley Square as Philip's and, even after living in it for more than two years, thought of myself as a visitor. Upon returning from Paris, however, I felt the pleasant sensation of homecoming as I looked up at the elegant Georgian edifice, with its classical lines and tall windows. The entire upstairs staff queued up next to the baroque staircase in the entrance hall to welcome me back, and Davis seemed genuinely pleased to see me return. He assured me that everyone on staff would be on the alert for any sign of the man who had followed me and that it would not be possible for the thief, whoever he was, to break into my house. Cook outdid herself at dinner. According to the lower footman, who had a tendency to speak to me while he served, she wanted to make sure that I felt no culinary loss at my return to England, where she was certain the beef was superior to any that could be found in France.

After dinner I retired to the library and looked for something to read. The book I had carried on my honeymoon caught my eye, and I picked it up as I rang the bell for Davis.

"Would you bring me some port?" I tried to sound nonchalant and a bit sophisticated as I spoke.

"Port? Perhaps your ladyship would prefer sherry, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion."

"I believe that my husband had a fine cellar, did he not?"

"Yes, madam."

"I see no reason that it should go to waste so long as I am in the house, and I've never cared for sherry."

"Which port would you like, madam?"

I looked at him searchingly. "I have no idea, Davis. Could you make a professional recommendation?"

"The '47 would be an excellent choice."

"That will be fine," I said, noticing that my solemn butler nearly smiled as he disappeared in search of the port. I looked at the book in my hand and wrinkled my nose. Lady Audley's Secret was not the book a young bride ought to have taken on her wedding trip, and my mother had forbidden me to pack it. I, of course, had not listened to her and began reading the story of the gorgeous Lucy almost as soon as our train pulled out of Victoria Station. If Philip disapproved, he did not show it, laughing instead when he saw what I was doing. He asked that I promise never to push him down a well, as Lucy did her husband to avoid being exposed as a bigamist. I remember assuring him that, as I had no intention of being married to more than one man, he had little to worry about, but that one never could be too careful around wells. I also noted with some satisfaction that he knew the plot and so must have read the book himself.

Davis returned with my port as I was lost in this memory, and I jumped a bit when I realized he was standing next to my chair.

"Thank you," I said, taking the glass he presented to me. I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I shall like it?"

"The 1847 was the best vintage of the century, madam. It does not disappoint."

I took a small sip and sat for a moment. "Delicious." Now my butler did smile. "I saw that, Davis. You shall never be able to intimidate me again now that I know you smile." He clearly did not know how to respond. "I've been sitting here thinking about Lord Ashton. You worked for him for many years, didn't you?"

"I was in his father's household when Lord Ashton was a boy."