Chapter Twenty-Five

L’Hôpital des Enfants, 13 June 1870

“You have a message for me?” Iris asked. She glanced at Marie, who now knew an incorrect but damaging version of her secret, but she’d have to deal with the maid later. Now all she wanted to do was hear whatever he had to say and go back to the hotel and open the poison hiding contraption to see what it held.

“Oui, Mademoiselle.” He twisted his cap in his hands, and he reminded her of the urchin who had brought the invitation to the meeting that had started this all. Or perhaps it started before then. She filed the insight away for later pondering.

“I need my office back,” the nurse said. She eyed the photographer with the look of someone who watched an insect crawl across the floor but didn’t want to put the effort forth to squash it.

“Is there somewhere else we could talk privately?” Bledsoe asked. When Iris opened her mouth to object, he said, “I cannot allow you to go unchaperoned with a strange man, my dear.”

“Of course.”

“The garden is typically deserted this time of day because the hospital residents are eating lunch,” the photographer said. “I’ll show you.”

Iris refrained from asking whether that was when he did his work, and she hoped he hadn’t set up one of his clients in the garden to be photographed after they talked.

“Your father was fascinated by what I do,” he said once they were settled at a table under some fruit trees. “He said future generations would wonder about our customs when they saw them, why we took pictures of our dead, but he said it wasn’t that different from tomb decorations, only that those were for the dead and my creations are for the living.”

“And the message?” Iris asked. In spite of the warm breeze that made spots of sunlight dance through the leaves, something about the little man left her feeling cold, and she wanted to end the interview as soon as possible.

“He said you would eventually come to Paris, and he had a friend who would steer you here. He made me repeat this over and over and promise to tell no one but you.” He glanced at Bledsoe and Marie, who moved away a discreet distance, and lowered his voice. “He said to tell you that the dead will dance if given the right music, and that the keepers will kill to prevent the gardener from coaxing the rose’s petals open.”

“Was he already ill?” Iris asked. It sounded like gibberish, but creepy gibberish, and talking to him gave her the sensation of a thousand invisible ants crawling over her skin.

“Oh yes. But you knew that, didn’t you? He came here to die, to end the story, but you followed him too soon, so it must continue.” He leapt from the chair and stalked away, muttering about the story continuing, and wouldn’t it have a pretty ending now with lots of people for him to take pictures of?

Iris brushed at her arms to clear the odd sensation he left her with and to give her hands something to do. Now she really needed to get back to the hotel, but she also had to address the problem at hand.

“Marie,” she said. The maid came to her side, and they walked out of the garden onto the road, where Bledsoe set about finding a cab for them.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Marie said. “It must have come as quite a shock.” Her eyes, the color of the greenish-brown moss that grows on trees deep in the woods, softened, and Iris had a sense of complete sympathy. She guessed Marie, no matter the relationship with her mother, would miss Lucille terribly if the strange old woman were to die.

“Thank you,” she said. “And as much as I would like to be able to mourn properly, we can’t let word of this spread. At least not yet.”

Marie nodded with an air of utter practicality. “I understand. You need the money from this expedition more now, I imagine. Especially if what we found out last night is true.”

“Yes.” The sense of responsibility and need for independence tightened the imaginary cord twisting around her heart. “Now that Jeremy Scott holds the mortgage on Grange House, it’s imperative I make myself financially stable so I don’t have to marry him.”

“Lucille is using her contacts in England to verify that man’s claims. She is rather attached to you now.”

Iris suppressed a shudder at the fuzzy memory of something being done to her, sweaty palm pressed to cool one. “I’m not sure how I feel about her.”

Marie laughed. “You’re not the only one. She is a complex woman. By the way, if you want to keep the secret about your father, it is best you ask her directly. I suspect she will know within the hour.”

“How?” But the nurse had seemed eager to get them out of her office. Did she have tube access in there? Did Lucille have the nurse under her power somehow? It wouldn’t be a surprise. “Then let’s stop by the theatre on the way back.”

“Now you’re learning how things work here.”

Marie hadn’t wanted to go to the theatre the night before, and she sure as hell didn’t now, but the sooner Iris learned how to play the game, the better for all of them. Lucille had only failed at one thing in her life—protecting her daughter from Parnaby Cobb. Marie had long ago acknowledged the role of her youthful stubbornness in that occurrence, and she always attempted to make it up to her mother when she could.

Thinking too much about these conflicting loyalties, and now her strange affinity for Iris and her emotions, made Marie’s head hurt. She focused more on what she needed to do now, which was to shepherd Iris through the process, keep Bledsoe out of the way, and get them all back to the Hôtel Auberge in time for a late lunch so Iris could rest and prepare for the Monceau gala that night. She hoped Lucille would cooperate.

The cab pulled up to the theatre. “So this is the Théâtre Bohème,” Bledsoe said. He alighted from the steamcab and helped the ladies out. “I’ve heard much about it.”

“And we’ve heard much about you,” Marie said. “Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t a recreational stop.”

“So you’re Madame St. Jean’s daughter. I didn’t put the last names together until yesterday evening. What are you doing working as a maid?”

Marie stalked up the walk of the residence next to the theatre and shot back over her shoulder before ascending the steps, “What I need to do to keep everything running smoothly.”

As she suspected, her mother was in her townhouse, not the theatre. That happened the day after a ritual, particularly if more than one other person was involved. Simple curses? No problem. Binding spells? Definitely more effort, especially if one of the participants wasn’t willing.

Lucille opened the door wearing a day dress. “You brought guests,” she said. It wasn’t a question or a challenge, simply a statement as if she’d been expecting them. Marie guessed the nurse sent a message updating Lucille.

“Yes, we thought we should speak with you.”

Lucille gestured for them to follow her, and they passed through the front hall and ascended the stairs to the parlor adjacent to the dining room.

Iris looked around warily before making eye contact with Lucille. Anger sparked in her dark blue eyes, but she held her tongue, thank goodness. Then Bledsoe walked in. Marie grabbed his arm. “You wait outside.”

“But I haven’t had the chance to make the acquaintance of the lovely and famous Madame St. Jean.” He smiled, and the temperature in the room increased by a couple of degrees, or so it felt, with him turning on his full charm. Marie wondered if he had some latent ability he wasn’t aware of, or maybe he knew all too well the power in his smile.

“You can save your smiles for the girls, Maestro,” Lucille said, but she held her hand out.

He took it and bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise. Go with Marie into the theatre. She’ll show you around. I have to discuss a few things with this young lady, who’s gotten herself in over her head.”

Iris gave Marie a “Don’t leave me!” look, but Marie shrugged. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite. At least not unless you provoke her.”

“Insolent girl,” Lucille said. “Now go. You did right bringing her here.”

Marie pulled Bledsoe not too gently into the hallway. She knew he was strong enough to resist, but he didn’t. Once in the gloom of the hallway, he took his hand from hers.

“Will she be all right?” he asked.

The concern in his voice startled Marie but also vindicated the suspicion that had sprouted in the cab. Was it possible that the enmity between him and Iris was growing into a different kind of passion? The Professor wouldn’t be happy with that, and in her opinion, he seemed the best match for the young archaeologist, at least with regard to preferences and morals. Bledsoe, Marie had heard, was a consummate rake. Evidence to the point: he had his hand on her bottom.

“The hallway isn’t that dark, Maestro. There’s no need to feel your way around.”

“So you pull me in here but don’t want to do anything? That hardly seems fair.”

Marie turned to face him and put her hands flat against his chest. With a shove, she said, “Don’t use me to distract yourself. I can see what’s going on.”

He didn’t move forward, but the lift of his eyebrows was obvious in the gloom. “And what would that be?”

“You’re attracted to Mademoiselle Iris, but you don’t want to move in on her because she’s about to have an understanding with your friend Edward.”

“Oh, is she? Has she said something to you?”

“No, but that’s obvious too. You men are dense.” She turned and stalked down the hall. He followed her, his footsteps hesitant and then more confident. “Good,” she said. “If you want a tour, follow me. But not too closely.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle. Your wish is my command.”

The low purr in his voice made the spot where he’d put his hand tingle, and she wondered again if he had some sort of extra ability, something to explain why people flocked to his concerts and women to his bed. From what her mother had told her, that would be unusual enough for a man, but she didn’t doubt it was possible. Anything was possible, and every rule had an exception.

Now she hoped she would be the exception to his charm. Time to turn on the shrew and hope he doesn’t take it as a challenge to tame me.

She took on the scowl from one of her favorite roles and said, “Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

Iris and Lucille squared off in spite of the overtone of the visit being pleasantly social. The thought crossed Iris’s mind that life was much easier when all she had to do was figure out how to maintain her household and avoid unwanted marriage proposals. This world of manipulative theatre owners and death photographers with cryptic messages seemed needlessly complicated.

Lucille spoke first. “Have a seat, Mademoiselle.” It wasn’t a request.

Iris perched at the edge of the chaise where she’d lain the night before when Lucille had done whatever she did to link her and Marie. Iris sensed Marie was somewhere near and that her emotional state was as conflicted as her own.

“So you have something to report?” Lucille asked and sat across from Iris on a fringed armchair in a ridiculous dark pink color. “And don’t scowl at me like that, Mademoiselle. You do not like having to tell me, this I can see, but I can also help you.”

“I’m here as a courtesy. How could you possibly help me?” Iris asked. “I mean, I appreciate the clothing, but this adds another layer of complexity to an already impossible situation.”

“And what is impossible about it, ma petite? That you want more from your life than you can achieve due to your sex? That you counted on your father to help you navigate around the obstacles society will put in your way so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice what so many before you have?”

Lucille’s words brought to mind the courtesans who had carried the poison in secret places on their bodies in the little containers Anctil had shown Iris. This was the second such uncomfortable conversation. She wasn’t interested in that part of life—coupling made people stupid and selfish, but she wasn’t going to use any attractiveness she might have to manipulate anyone else.

“It’s hard because every time I think I get closer to an answer, I have to deal with some pointless requirement by someone who thinks they know better than I what’s best for me. I wish people would leave me alone to figure all this out.” She knew that wasn’t completely true, but she did want to let Lucille know she was unhappy with this… Well, whatever it was. Lucille wasn’t her mother. She’d already had one of those, and it hadn’t worked out well.

“Ah, but the best problem-solving happens with others. Isn’t that why there are such things as universities? Because people think better together?”

“Not me.” That, at least, Iris could say with certainty.

“And you are so sure, I can see this. But there are things you would not have known had it not been for others. Even if you have a quick mind, you need information from others to put it all together.”

“All right, I’ll give you that.” Iris wished she could sit back, but the corset wouldn’t let her. “But I don’t see why I should have to report to you. My affairs are none of your business.”

“They are now because they involve my daughter.” Lucille stood and paced the narrow avenue between the dining table and the back of the chair she’d been sitting in. “You truly do not know what you are up against.”

“If this is information I need, please enlighten me.”

“Your father has died, which you knew, but instead of being in a place on the coast, it was in a hospital here in Paris. Another man has died, this one right in front of you. Yet you insist on staying in the realm of puzzles, not human lives, which means yours is in grave danger. And along with yours, my daughter’s.”

The objects in Iris’s purse called to her to read them, but she refused to do so in front of Lucille. “If you have the information already, why did you need to speak with me? I could be figuring out this problem and bringing us closer to a solution rather than wasting my time here. Unless there’s something else I need to know.”

Lucille threw up her hands with stage-ready flair. “The important question, which you need to consider, is whether searching for a solution is the best course of action. Perhaps you should return to England and resume your life there. To continue this path is madness, and as I said, you endanger others, not just yourself.”

Iris recalled her unintentional reading of Marie’s brooch, the peridot one with the stylized C. “Is this about me or about thwarting Parnaby Cobb? Whatever he did to or with your daughter is not my concern.”

“If you, too, are caught in his net, it is your concern. He will be a kind benefactor as long as you cooperate, but if you do not… Believe me, Mademoiselle, he is pulling your strings, and I am your most powerful ally against him.”

“Then tell me what you can do to help me!” Now Iris stood. “I’ve had enough riddles and hints and secrets to last a lifetime. If you have something for me, give it to me. If not, don’t confuse an already convoluted situation. No, I don’t like it that we’re dependent on Cobb, but you don’t seem to understand that I’m doing what I need to survive.”

“I sense you will need my help before another day passes. All I ask in return is that you remember that others’ lives are at stake. There are many kinds of survival and many more ways of dying. You walk where the dead dance with the living and try to pull them across.”

“Another riddle.” Iris sighed emphatically. “I will do my best to take care of Marie, but keep in mind she is more than capable.”

“She is more vulnerable than you think. That is why I had to ensure you would stay close—she is strong where you are weak and vice versa.”

“Right.” Iris suppressed another sigh. At least Marie has a parent who cares for her, whereas I am dreadfully alone. “Well, I appreciate any help you can give me, but I should be going. Big night tonight.”

“Yes, do not go without Marie. Remember servants are invisible and often overhear valuable information.”

Finally, a helpful tidbit! Iris smiled and curtsied. “I will do what I can. I’m afraid our itinerary is up to Maestro Bledsoe.”

Lucille smiled with the grin of a woman who knew more than most when it came to the male species. “Most men are easy to manipulate. I have faith you can arrange it.”

Iris walked out of the apartment and exhaled with relief once she reached the sunny street outside. The stifling feeling of the marital trap Jeremy Scott laid for her increased with the sense something bigger than she led and pushed her to an end she didn’t understand. She’d thought the expedition would give her the means to live independently, but would it instead keep her stuck in a cat-and-mouse game with only glimpses of the predatory feline? Lucille’s words confirmed her intuition about Cobb—that he worked from less than honorable motives.

But we won’t know until we get to the end of this journey.

A flash of gold caught Iris’s attention, and she spied a clockwork bug climbing down from Lucille’s window. She checked the angle of the sun and reached into her reticule for a mirror. She didn’t know if it would be enough to melt the wax cylinder, but perhaps the heat from the reflection would be enough to at least warp whatever information had been collected. She ducked behind a parked carriage and managed to aim a bright spot at the thing when it crawled into a sunny place. She hoped the already bright sunlight on the gray stone masked her intervention. It stopped and quivered. Iris counted to twenty before it fell from the building and into the hands of a waiting street urchin, a rag picker Iris hadn’t noticed.

Servants are often invisible. So are the poor.

She watched the boy dart into an alley. Unfortunately she was not quick enough to follow him, not that she could without attracting attention.

Voices raised in argument drew her attention to the front of the theatre, where Bledsoe and Marie emerged.

“The pit is more than sufficient for the music that is needed,” Marie said.

“Not if you want to have large productions.”

A musician who’s being blackmailed, a maid who isn’t a maid and who is working for Cobb, a doctor with secrets of his own, and an Irish tinkerer who doesn’t seem to know what place he wants in the world… And an injured professor who is the only one with clear motives in the whole bunch. And as much as I want to tell him about my father, the fewer of us who know about this, the better, especially since he is being given the painkillers and may say something out of turn. So that leaves these two.

Iris stepped into the sunshine to greet her erstwhile allies, but a chill passed over her at the thought of the enormity of the task ahead and the tangled threads around it.