CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Philidor

WEDNESDAY EVENING PHILIDOR was in the ballroom practising his new tricks, imagining again the eyes upon him as the audience marvelled at his power over the supernatural. Unable to sleep, he’d come down earlier with a bottle of wine and his lamp, the light of which bounced off the chandeliers above and fell upon him like raindrops. He was imagining his act now, with Antoinette and Elanor. Perhaps he would arrange them as if they were taking tea: Antoinette fluttering her fan while Elanor nodded, then inviting an audience member to sit with them as cake and teacups were passed around. Or something more … interactive. Have Elanor walk through the crowd, allow people to touch her. Or even arrange private appointments where they could hold her hand in private. So many options, so many ideas but – Cavendish. According to Marie he didn’t want Elanor anymore, but would he give her up easily, for the right price?

And Marie. Philidor could send for Gribble and his attendants to collect her as soon as tomorrow.

Footsteps pattered down the tunnel. A voice from out of the darkness.

‘Philidor?’ Marie called. ‘Are you there?’

‘I’m here,’ he said, and lifted his lamp.

‘You have to come back to the house. She’s gone. I went to see her, and she’s gone.’

‘Who?’

‘Elanor!’

She walked quickly down the aisle, hair dishevelled, as he jumped from the stage to meet her in the middle. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

‘Gone as in gone. Vanished. She was moved to the tower. I have a key, the valet has the other, and the room is empty.’

‘She’s gone out with the valet then, or Cavendish.’

‘Pah. Cavendish loathes her, as does the valet. No, it looks as if there’s been a struggle – I’m certain she’s been taken.’

‘By whom? Who even knows she exists?’

‘Only you, me, the valet, the duke and …’

‘And who? Who else did you tell?’

‘No one, monsieur. She was a secret. But what if it’s that man I told you about, whom I have seen in the grounds?’

Philidor cursed. Could this man be real after all? Or was it the Collector? No, out of the question now. He had no motive. This had been done by someone strategic. Cunning. Vindictive. Who wanted to ruin him.

‘Pinetti,’ he said. ‘He’s found me. No one else would attempt something this audacious. I stole his plans for the peacock automaton, so he steals my human automaton.’

‘But how?’

‘He could have bribed the valet, waited for just the right time then pounced.’

Marie sank heavily into one of the chairs and pushed her fingers over her eyes. ‘I cannot believe he would do this. This girl, she was everything. Antoinette was something, but Elanor – walking, thinking – she is valuable beyond price. We are ruined.’

‘Let’s go back to the house. I assume you checked the room thoroughly?’

‘You may see for yourself,’ said Marie.

The door to the tower was still open. Philidor took in the disordered bedcovers, a small table upturned, and the cupboard doors gaping with hangers discarded on the floor. But something was sitting in the middle of the bed.

He picked up his gold tobacco box, opened the lid. No ring inside but a message instead.

I have taken the girl. A shame you were so careless with your greatest trick, but then again I was always smarter than you. I have a proposal that will be mutually beneficial. If you come to my new lodgings at Baker Street, which I understand are your previous lodgings, at half past midnight, we will discuss it in person. No tricks, Philidor – I do not think you want to jeopardise your wellbeing or that of your creation.

‘What does it say?’ Marie cried. ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s safe for now, with Pinetti as I thought. He wants to meet at Baker Street – in our old lodgings, which is uncanny but then so very like him. He traced me here, with Druce probably telling him everything. What time is it?’

‘Ten, but what will you do?’

‘I will go and bring Elanor back.’

‘Oh, but you can’t. It’s too dangerous, monsieur. We have to call the Constable – he will notify the authorities in London and they can deal with Pinetti properly.’

‘That is the one thing we will not do,’ said Philidor. ‘Too much attention, too many questions. I don’t want a scandal. I will deal with him myself.’

He stormed out the door, Marie trailing him to his bedchamber. ‘What are you going to do? Please, please, you cannot go. You will get yourself killed, and then what?’

‘I do not intend on dying.’ He pulled out his drawer and retrieved his pistol, then sat on the bed and began polishing it. ‘But I do intend on causing a death.’