CHAPTER FORTY

Philidor

‘I MUST CONFESS,’ MARIE said to him, as they walked towards Cavendish’s study, ‘I have seen something.’

‘Yes?’ Perhaps this was it – she would reveal the information she had about Cavendish.

‘A man has been lurking around the grounds, in the shadows beneath the trees that face my bedchamber window, for what purpose I do not know.’ He looked into her face, waited til her eyes met his and tried to detect if there was any madness there. No, she looked calm, composed and rational. This wasn’t a hallucination then, but there must be a simple explanation.

‘Probably one of the villagers. Daring each other to trespass and see if they can glimpse Cavendish.’ Oh, surely it wasn’t the Collector. ‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall, broad. Dark. Not dressed like any of the ground staff. Well dressed in fact, looked like a London gentleman actually.’

Not one of his attendants then either, who he thought may have been intrigued by the ballroom and wanted to see more of the grounds. It could only be the Collector; Gribble must have lied to him. The Collector had taken the gold tobacco box with the ring, and now he wanted more. Surely Philidor’s debts were not quite that substantial; surely he could ask for more time – but the Collector didn’t negotiate.

Something was amiss. This was not the Collector’s usual way of doing things, and why would Gribble have betrayed him? No, he wouldn’t. Not when he was upholding his end of the unsaid agreement, that of providing access and opportunity for Gribble to analyse Marie.

‘Perhaps,’ Marie conceded. ‘But there is something else – I am afraid that the valet may be spying on us. The papers on my desk have been disturbed. More than once, I have returned to my chambers to find things moved, and not for dusting. My notebook has been opened, my drawings placed out of order. Drawings for new designs, attractions – I had the most wonderful ideas that I wanted to present to you, but now …’

‘What?’

‘Now I wonder. This man in the shadows could be paying the valet to spy on us.’

Yes, that made sense: the valet could be conspiring with the Collector. But would the young man do that, after their recent discussion when he had seemed so pleased with the terms agreed upon? Could he be that duplicitous?

‘You surely have enough secrets of your own,’ remarked Philidor.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Whatever you know about Cavendish was obviously enough to scare him. You said in your letter this morning something about him conceding to honour the arrangement for the next three months? No man would concede so readily if he wasn’t scared.’

‘Possibly. But here we are.’ They had arrived outside the study door. ‘You must peek through the keyhole,’ she whispered. ‘No talking, just look.’

‘What exactly am I looking at?’ He matched her whisper. ‘Just look,’ she insisted, and he did.

It took a long moment before he withdrew his eye. ‘Elanor?’ His palms were damp. The desire was immediate.

‘You do not see anything remarkable about her?’

He pressed his eye to the keyhole again. Oh, how enticing she was. ‘She looks perfectly ordinary.’ He kept his tone light but inside he was recoiling to see her there, locked up, wasting away when she could be the most marvelous of spectacles sharing in the adulation, the applause. Afterwards, alone with her, he could explore what she was really capable of.

‘And yet that is the very thing you should notice. Her skin has the wax pallor because her skin is the wax … but she breathes for herself.’

‘She has the device in her chest that you made,’ Philidor said.

‘But it wound down, and I have not wound it back up. And Cavendish has not been anywhere near her. She breathes now of her own accord. And moves. I have seen it myself, she walks around the room unaided.’

‘Impossible,’ he shot back. ‘What sort of trick is this?’

‘What sort of trick?’ hissed Marie. ‘You think I brought you up here, took you into my confidence and shared my discovery only to have you accuse me of deception?’

He gave no answer but returned to the keyhole. His hands snuck up either side of the hole, applying pressure to the door as she noticed his desire intensifying.

Marie touched his arm, and signalled to leave. ‘Forgive me, monsieur for a hasty departure,’ she said when they were out of earshot. ‘But I felt a bit faint. I have not been sleeping well because of this man in the forest, and I may have swooned.’

Philidor regarded her closely. Had she seen his desire? Or was she really unwell? ‘And now?’

‘Just a moment still, monsieur, and I will be fine. But the duke is mad, don’t you see? He doesn’t want her for himself. He wants to lock her up.’

‘But that’s … well, that’s ex—’ He stopped but the word continued in his mind. That was excellent. If Cavendish didn’t want her and Marie was removed then Elanor was his without question.

‘Yes, I find myself not liking this idea, monsieur. If he doesn’t want her, he must be persuaded to give her up.’

‘To me – I mean, us?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Persuaded … or forced?’

‘That remains to be seen. Either way, we cannot let our creation – our living, breathing, thinking creation – be gaoled in this madhouse. We have put too much of ourselves into her to have it all come to nothing. Imagine what we could do with her in our show.’

‘Imagine,’ said Philidor, his temperature rising as he imagined Elanor as he’d first seen her, and what he would like to do with her.

‘I’ve spoken with her. She wants to come with us.’

Spoken with her. That was certain then. Marie was hallucinating even though she appeared sane. ‘I see. Then we need to plan how to deal with Cavendish’.

‘It will require some thought.’ Marie tucked up her loose hair into a pin. ‘My faintness has passed. Tell me, what do you think about our creature coming alive? It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? Are you pleased with my little secret?’

Philidor grinned. ‘Your little secret? Isn’t she our little secret now?’

Marie smiled in return. ‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say.’

Heavens, she really was mad! The depth of her madness unnerved him but he needed to appease her for now. After all, it was further evidence for his case that Marie be placed into Gribble’s care. How silly of him to doubt Gribble when it was clear the man in the forest was just another of her fancies. When the time came she would put up a fight, but Gribble’s attendants would help on that account; she would be no match for brute force and a straitjacket.

Gribble had replied not just an hour ago to say he would come alone for breakfast the following morning to make an initial assessment. It would be Marie’s word against Philidor’s, and he was sure that with enough provocation she would demonstrate her hysteria. He would then have Elanor to himself.