As the rain came down outside, Hattie was compelled to endure the prescribed half-hour visit with their distinguished guest, her only consolation being Bing’s small nod in answer to her look of inquiry that indicated that her companion had indeed booked passage away from this god-forsaken city. The baron was all solicitous attention—polite and charming in an old-world way—but Hattie found him off-putting with no explanation for her reaction.“You are too kind,” she said for the second time, responding to his offer to drive out to Versailles. She meant it literally, but she could see that he interpreted the comment as a young girl’s proper sentiment in reaction to his generosity, and was well pleased. Fortunately, the gentleman wasn’t to know that by this time tomorrow she would be away from this place, and from everyone’s opportunings.
With a proprietary air, the Frenchman continued, “I understand you have seen little of the world and I will be delighted to change this unfortunate circumstance—the Sun-King’s palace is one of its wonders.”
“Ah, yes—the Sun-King,” nodded Hattie, at sea.
“Louis XIV,” interpolated the ever-helpful Bing. “An extraordinary ruler.”
“Similar to the god-king, Seti,” Hattie offered so as not to seem completely ignorant.
The vice-consul was so taken with this comparison that Hattie feared for a moment he would embrace her on the spot. “Exactly,” he smiled, his pale eyes gleaming. “My dear mademoiselle—you are very discerning.”
“That I am,” she agreed, and wished she could discern him taking his leave.
But it was not yet to be, and her visitor continued to regard her with an expression of warm approval. “History records the great men—men who leave a blazing legacy in their wake, chère mademoiselle; they are few and far between and we are indeed fortunate if we are given the opportunity to serve such men.”
From all reports, it did not seem he referred to France’s recently restored Bourbon king and she entertained a suspicion that he spoke of the now-deposed emperor, who was England’s greatest enemy. This seemed in bad taste, and so she steered clear of the subject by offering in a neutral tone, “I suppose it must be exciting to feel one is participating in historic events.”
“We live in extraordinary times, mademoiselle; and history has not yet closed its books.”
This said with an air of suppressed exultation that Hattie found incongruous, and so she tentatively agreed, “Yes—the congress has yet to come to a conclusion and I suppose France’s future is a bit uncertain.”
At this remark, he lowered his gaze and a small smile touched his lips. “Pour la gloire, mademoiselle.”
It occurred to her that he hadn’t mentioned the one subject that—one would think—should be foremost in his mind, and so she ventured, “As the vice-consul in Egypt, I imagine you are aware that my parents are missing.”
Immediately he raised his eyes to hers, his expression apologetic. “I did not mention it, mademoiselle, because I was not certain you knew of this and I felt it was not my place. Please accept my sincere assurances that everything possible is being done to find them.”
“Yes; I spoke with their agent, and it was he who told me the unfortunate news.” Hattie watched to see if this man was aware of the other, but he easily acknowledged, “Yes, Monsieur Berry; a very capable man, and well known to me. He is dévasté, of course, but he holds out hope.”
Now, that is doing it a bit too brown, thought Hattie, who then realized that—in truth—no one seemed very dévasté; instead everyone seemed much more interested in the elusive strongbox. “They also have a solicitor in Cairo, I understand. Would he be of use?”
The baron pressed his lips together in subtle disapproval. “He is a native man, with a tendency to be belligerent, as is in keeping. We can expect little cooperation from such a one; instead he will be looking to feather his own nest.”
“That is indeed a shame,” offered Hattie with barely concealed impatience. “One would think everyone involved would be eager to cooperate, instead of working at cross purposes.”
Her ironic tone, however, was apparently lost on the man who seemed to suddenly remember his initial purpose as he leaned in again to touch her hand. “You are without protectors, at present, Mademoiselle Blackhouse. Allow me the honor of standing in, as the occasion arises.”
“You are too kind,” Hattie reiterated. “I shall indeed count on your support, as well as that of Mr. Tremaine, from the British embassy. You may not know that we are long-time acquaintances.” This last to remind him she was not exactly friendless.
This time, the baron smiled a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Ah, yes; Monsieur Tremaine and his unexpected bride.”
His tone was slightly derisive, and Hattie could feel her color rise until she remembered that this gentleman and Madame Auguste seemed to have a rancorous relationship, based upon the barbed conversation at the embassy soirée. Seeking to turn the conversation, she observed only, “Mr. Tremaine was always full of surprises.”
The older man nodded, the gleam still in his eye. “Eh bien; I believe he sees himself in the guise of a shining knight—the widow having been so recently bereft.”
“Was she?” Hattie knew she shouldn’t be gossiping about Robbie but was unable to help herself. “Monsieur Auguste having passed away recently?”
“Murdered by footpads in Cairo,” the vice-consul replied, smoothing a sleeve. “Most unfortunate; it left your parents in an awkward situation.”
Hattie blinked. “Was Monsieur Auguste involved with my parents?”
Her visitor lifted his cup to sip his tea. “D’accord; he was their liaison with the Ministry of Antiquities.”
There was a small, rather shocked silence as Hattie and Bing assimilated this unexpected connection. “Do you think…” ventured Bing.
Disclaiming, he set his cup down and shook his head. “No, no—there appears to be no connection to the Blackhouses’ disappearance; a random crime, only—there are violent elements in Cairo as there are in any other large city, and your parents were in Thebes at the time. Nonetheless, the deplorable act has made it all the more difficult to mount a search for your parents.” He reached across to touch Hattie’s hand again. “Rest assured, it is my only priority, and no resource will be spared, mademoiselle; I stand at your service.”
“Thank you.” Hattie forgot to tell him he was too kind, as instead her mind was occupied by this news of yet another unexplained death—assuming her parents were dead—and everyone’s extreme determination to bedevil her. Perhaps there was something to this curse business, after all.
As if on cue, the distinguished Frenchman asked in a serious manner, “Are you aware where your parents kept their strongbox? Perhaps it would contain information helpful to the search.”
“I haven’t a clue,” confessed Hattie. Thinking to forestall him, she added, “And I do not know if they had any other properties.”
“A pity.” He raised his head to smile indulgently, although the expression in the pale eyes remained unreadable. “Nevertheless, I shall see that you are well taken care of.” To her dismay, his gaze rested discreetly on her breasts for the barest moment.
“You relieve me no end,” Hattie assured him in a brittle tone, and wondered if it would provoke an international incident if she pushed the old lecher out the door. She refrained from putting it to the test, however, and at long last she stood with Bing at the window to watch his elaborate carriage draw away. “Behold my new beau, Bing.”
Bing crossed her arms. “One of several, it seems.”
Hattie gave her companion an arch look. “Come now, Bing; if you refer to Monsieur Berry, I believe he is more your beau than mine.”
Bing made a wry mouth and turned from the window. “I can see what’s before me.”
Secretly pleased with this insight, Hattie merely replied, “Then see to it we have no more visitors, if you please; I am beginning to believe there is something to this curse, after all.”
“Nonsense,” said Bing. “Merely an unfortunate sequence of events—save one.”
Smiling at the addendum, Hattie turned to mount the stairs, unwilling to confess to Bing that she was expecting yet another visit from the same.