The trip to Rye proved uneventful, and to make the day even worse, a gray sky and strong wind from the sea threatened a storm. Laurent dropped the comtesse off at the modiste’s and continued on to visit Madame Lafleur for half an hour. At the end of that time, he had the carriage return to Mademoiselle Chine’s to pick up Louise and the modiste.
The latter brought with her a bandbox, holding a nightgown and a change of linen, and a wicker basket, well known to the local ladies to hold the accoutrements of her profession—pattern books, ribbons, laces, buttons, and such things. The conversation between Pavel and Miranda all had to do with Rotham and the black trunk.
Pavel had rethought his position. “If Papa supports Rotham, then Rotham ain’t doing anything wrong,” he announced. “We have got hold of the wrong end of the stick somehow.”
She was happy to hear his opinion, but was not convinced. “If he is not doing anything wrong, why will he not tell us what he is doing?” she countered.
“Because it is a secret, ninnyhammer.”
“He has done something horrid, or your papa would not have given him that scolding the day he arrived.”
“It was more shock than anything else. The two of them were laughing before the meeting was over, and they have been meeting regularly in Papa’s office without arguing as well. When Papa disapproves, he gives one gigantic rant, treats you as if you did not exist for three days, and then it is over. He don’t behave the way he is behaving with Rotham now.”
They followed Louise’s carriage back to Ashmead at a discreet distance. The remainder of the day was a dead bore. Louise spent the better part of the afternoon in her room with the modiste, while Laurent scowled over the journals in the Blue Saloon. Of Berthier they saw nothing except at dinner, which he took with the family while Slack guarded the room.
The evening consisted of a quiet game of cards, without Berthier. He had returned abovestairs after taking port with the other men. Miranda began thinking it was time to return home. Rotham had not said when he would be back. He might stay in London for weeks or slip off to Brighton to visit Louise.
The next morning Miranda offered to continue repairs to the old tapestry in the Tapestry Room, while Lady Hersham worked at her high-warp loom. The warp threads were drawn tightly around rollers at the top and bottom of the loom to form a background on which threads of the woof would create the pattern.
Lady Hersham checked the cartoon taken from the wedding portrait as she worked at the back of the loom, with a mirror before the tapestry to show her how it looked in front. They were interrupted only once. Louise came to announce she would be leaving for Brighton the next day if that suited Lady Hersham.
“Ma’m’selle is making good time with your gown, eh? That is excellent, Louise. Is it all arranged that Madame Lafleur will accompany you?”
“Laurent settled the details this morning. She is aux anges. She does not get many vacances. I hope you and Lord Hersham will visit us as well. It is not far—an easy day’s travel. I shall notify you if the Prince Regent is there.”
“Yes, you do that, dear.” Lady Hersham smiled. Under her breath she added, “And we will be certain to stay away!” She knew Louise only wanted her there to attract those callers who would not come to pay their respects to the Comtesse Pierre de Valdor. Poor relatives were such an affliction, especially when they were socially ambitious.
Louise examined the tapestry and uttered exaggerated praise. “Of the most realistic! The horses so—horselike, as if they would gallop out of the loom. Such exquisite stitchery, madam. You are the genius.”
“The artist was the genius. I only do the common labor.”
“You are too modest. You are creating the masterpiece for posterity. And now I must go. Boxer is having my trunks descended from the attics. Ma’m’selle will do my packings for me, so as not to bother your servants.”
Lady Hersham just shook her head when the comtesse left. “The woman is a fool. If she did not make such a cake of herself, she would nab a husband easily enough, for she is really very pretty.”
“I think Laurent would like to marry her,” Miranda said.
“In a minute, if he could afford her. But then I would not wish him on my worst enemy. A dead bore. He speaks of nothing but politics. That is fit conversation for gentlemen; I should think a Frenchman would have a better notion how to entertain a lady. I duck when I see him coming toward me with that inevitable frown on his face. But I should not complain. Perhaps my sons would be the same if they had had Ashmead pulled out from under them. Life is very hard for Laurent.”
They gossiped as they worked. It was the custom for Boxer to bring Lady Hersham tea in mid-morning, as he did on that occasion. It was while she was pouring the tea that Miranda saw Louise in the park. Before the comtesse had walked ten yards, Laurent was rushing out after her. They strolled toward the pavilion, situated on the top of a rolling hill to give a view of the sea beyond.
Miranda glanced out again a moment later and saw Laurent struggling to pull Louise into his arms. A little tussle ensued, before Louise allowed him to embrace her in what Miranda considered a shocking manner. Miranda looked away hastily, embarrassed.
That kiss brought back vivid memories of Rotham’s attack in the study. She was trying very hard to forget it, but it came to her at odd moments, always causing a heat to invade her. She was happy that Lady Hersham had not seen Louise and Laurent. It was indiscreet of them to choose such a prominent spot for their tryst. The pavilion was visible from a dozen windows. Anyone might see them.
After a morning spent sitting down, Miranda agreed to go for a ride with Pavel in the afternoon. They rode through the park and spinney, down to the seashore. Andy Macpherson’s ship was just setting out for France. She wondered if Rotham had taken Castlereagh’s brandy to him, or if he had ever been asked to take it. They dismounted to walk along the shingle beach, with the cold wind blowing in off the sea. It snatched at her skirt and blew little balls of foam up onto the shingle, disturbing the horses.
“What have you been doing all day?” Miranda asked, in a desultory manner.
“I have been keeping an eye on the comings and goings in Rotham’s room. I am a bit worried, after that drugged tea Slack was served. I notice Ma’m’selle Chêne takes her meals in the kitchen. It would be easy enough for her to slip a bit of powder into the teapot. I had a word with Cook. Rotham had already warned her to be on the qui vive.”
“Louise and Laurent are leaving tomorrow for Brighton.”
“That would explain why Laurent was in the attic.”
“Yes, Boxer was to bring Louise’s trunks down. Very likely she sent her slave up to tell Boxer which trunks are hers. They were kissing in the park.”
“She is not quite the thing, when you come down to it. Pretty as can stare, but too fast by half. I say, you ain’t going to spend the evening in the Tapestry Room, I hope? I have got a dandy new word game for us to play. You make up little cardboard squares of all the letters, and each gets seven cards.”
Miranda let him rattle on. The visit had become very flat since Rotham’s departure. When they returned to the house, Berthier was belowstairs in the Blue Saloon, talking to Lord Hersham. This was not a major excitement. Berthier and Slack took turns guarding the trunk. In fact, Berthier usually took his meals with the family. He and Lord Hersham had struck up an unlikely friendship, based on their common interest in sheep.
Miranda assumed the book they were poring over was a farmer’s almanac, until Berthier said, “Oh, quite! The stitchery is exactly—”
As she glanced at the book, Hersham snapped it shut and set a newspaper over it. “Ah, back from your ride. Where did you go?” he asked in a strained way.
Pavel told him, which left Miranda’s mind free to consider what they had been looking at. It was a picture of men in pointy hats, like those on the embroidered linen in the black trunk.
“Why do you not get Sissie a glass of wine, Pavel?” Lord Hersham said. Then he rose, taking the book with him, and said to Berthier, “If you have a moment free, Berthier, I wish you will come into my study. I would like to ask your opinion about a pair of rambouillets Lord Melcher is trying to sell me. Excellent wool. He brought them from France, but they were bred from Spanish merinos.”
Berthier rose and bowed to Miranda before leaving.
As soon as they were gone, she said, “They were looking at a picture of the old linen embroidery.”
“Eh? Where did they get it?” he said, handing her a glass of wine.
“It was in that book your papa took away.”
“Rubbish. There has not been time to get it painted and into a book. Rotham only brought it home a few days ago.”
“But it was the same one. I am sure of it. You remember all those men in pointy hats. And they had circles on their clothing, too. The thing must be famous if it is in a book.”
Pavel took a sip of his wine. “Thing to do—get a peek at the book. I think I have got it figured out now.”
“What is it?” she demanded.
“The thing was famous before Rotham stole it.”
“Obviously. But how can we see it? Your papa took it to his study.”
“Never locks his door. Let us run along and see if he has left it open now. We might hear something.”
They went into the hallway, around the corner, and down the corridor to Lord Hersham’s study. They could see from the end of the corridor that the door was open. The windows cast a patch of light on the floor by the open door. But when they reached the study, it was empty. They searched the desk for the book; it was not there.
“Now that is deuced odd!” Pavel exclaimed.
“Ask Boxer where they went.”
Boxer had no hesitation to inform Lord Pavel that his lordship had gone abovestairs with Mr. Berthier.
“They are checking the book against the embroidery!” Miranda exclaimed. “I was right! That was a picture of the embroidery they were looking at. What can it be?”
“If Papa brings the book down again, I shall keep an eye to see where he hides it. One thing it cannot be is a secret message. I mean to say, if it is old as the hills, it can have nothing to do with Boney.”
They gnawed over this new aspect of the puzzle until it was time to change for dinner.
Pavel said out of the side of his mouth as he led Miranda in to dinner, “Papa brought the book down with him. Locked it in his study. I shall take a nip outside after dinner and see if by any chance he left a window open. Not likely. He hates a draft, and that wind is rising.”
Berthier dined with the family again, but of course, no word was mentioned of the book. The ladies went to the Blue Saloon while the gentlemen had their port. Louise soon excused herself to go and speak to Ma’m’selle Chêne. “My new green gown is proving très difficile” she explained. “I want the fitting to be just right. You will excuse me, madam?” she said to Lady Hersham.
“Of course, Louise. Miranda can entertain me.”
She proceeded to entertain herself by falling into a gentle doze by the cozy grate.
She did not awaken when Pavel darted in to say in a low tone, “Wouldn’t you know it, Papa’s window is closed tight as a drum. He is in his study now. Laurent claimed to have a megrim and went to his room. I believe I shall go and have a word with Papa. What could I use for an excuse?”
“If he is examining the book, he will only close it. We already know what it contains.”
“That is true. I shall get a cardboard to make the letters, then.”
That was how they passed their evening. The only small consolation was that Pavel was such a poor speller that Miranda won two shillings. At eleven Lady Hersham awoke and announced that it was time to retire. Miranda accompanied her upstairs.
“Tomorrow we shall have another go at the tapestries,” Lady Hersham said.
The morrow promised to be another dull scald. “That will be nice,” Miranda said dutifully. She would go home tomorrow. Sukey’s spots must be gone by now. But Wildwood would be dull, too, without Rotham. Perhaps Trudie would invite her to visit. She had spoken of finding a parti for Miranda.