In my room, I found Anne-Marie unpacking boxes newly arrived from the modiste.
“Look at this!” she cried, holding up a silk lace chemise. “So much nicer than that old cotton stuff you wear. It feels so nice!”
“I’m glad my undergarments meet with your approval.”
“And the dresses!” From the bed, she grabbed a garment and placed it over her chest. I bowed to her, and taking her hand, we twirled around the furniture in a popular three-quarter time dance. When we finally stopped, laughing and out of breath, she said, “This latest job must pay well for you to splurge like this, madame.”
“All of this is courtesy of Mysir de duke.”
Her eyes grew round. “Are we living here for good? I could get used to it.”
“Certainly not. We should be back to the Crown by next week.”
Anne-Marie tried to hide her disappointment as she put away my new outfits. “So it isn’t for keeps?”
“Well, these are mine, but staying here? I might have to eat breakfast with his sister every day. And have you met his mother? Now, Anne-Marie, the dressmaker was supposed to send me a gown— oh, there it is. I’ll be using that one tonight.”
After a quick bath, and change, she was putting my hair up when there was a low knock on the door. It was the maid Georgette.
“Madame, His Grace says he wants you downstairs for a meeting in the library in about an hour.”
Downstairs, in the study, I found a war council already in session.
Archambeau, Jacques, Inspector Barbier, and Sergeant Dupont were in the middle of a discussion when I entered. Dupont, as rumpled as ever, fading into the background, was the only one who didn’t greet me.
The men stood around a table where lay a large piece of white butcher’s paper. Coming closer, I could see it was a roughly sketched map of the city area known as the Hells. Unlike the planned areas of the city, where the streets made decorative crescents along the canals, these were crooked narrow lanes. A black square was marked with the letter N, for what I assumed was the location of Nightingale.
“It looks like a rabbit warren,” I commented.
“The oldest part of the city,” said Archambeau. “Probably the only area to survive the blaze of ‘02, though I think a fire could improve it.”
“A thousand places for thieves and felons to hide,” said the inspector. “If you get into trouble there, getting you out might be difficult.”
“I understand,” said the duke. “But the Nightingale is our best clue and we must try. Now, Inspector Barbier will have plainclothes guardia here, here, and here.” Archambeau pointed with a pencil at places on the map that he marked with penciled small X’s. “They won’t come in unless we need them. Do we know anything more about the woman Giles Monet was visiting?”
“We found her lodgings finally, but no Gabrielle. According to her landlady, no one has seen her since Monet cashed his chips in,” said the inspector. “Her act is on tonight, but I doubt she’ll be there.”
Archambeau said confidently, “If she does not, we can use our time to discover more about her. Her clients, the manager, and the other girls. Someone will know something.”
“My people had no luck,” said the inspector sourly. Barbier wasn't enjoying the duke's highhandedness.
“I’m not saying your people haven’t done good work, inspector, but the Nightingale’s patrons will be naturally suspicious of the gendarme. But a man of means interested in her favors, and who is happy to flash the paper, will be tempting bait.”
To this, the inspector said nothing, but his back remained stiff and his manner disapproving. Turning to Jacques, the duke said, “Moreau, you come in uniform and act like an officer on leave, ready for a good time. But wait about thirty minutes after we arrive before you make your debut, and do not acknowledge us.”
“Fine, but I still don’t think Elinor should join us.”
“She wants to come. And we may need her expertise.”
“About ghosts?” asked Jacques with surprise.
“I’m coming for the tiara. I have some acquaintance with my father’s notes that he took about the royal collection when he surveyed it, and I can also tell real goods from false. Besides, have you all forgotten about the curse? In this room, who has experience with the Uncanny?”
The room grew quiet and the only noise for a moment or two was Archambeau tapping his pencil against the map.
“Fine. Warning taken. We need to be careful. No one touch the thing except Madame Chalamet or myself. If we find Monet’s girlfriend, I suspect we will learn the fate of our missing tiara.”
He nodded to Inspector Barbier to begin.
“Gabrielle Meijer. She's in her early twenties, but looks younger, with a round baby-face, brown eyes, and blond hair. A dancer well-known to the Nightingale and its patrons. Not seen for a week, but since we don't have her body in the morgue, at this point we are assuming she's gone to ground somewhere.”
Looking around the group, Archambeau said, “If she’s at the Nightingale, we take her with us. If she isn’t, who are her friends? Her confidants? Does anyone know her favorite haunts?”
Jacques shook his head. “There’s some big bull, a thug who controls the backstage. He won’t let anyone through unless you pay for a girl’s time.”
“I’ll leave that mission to you, then. Madame Chalamet and I will canvas the front of the house,” said Archambeau. “Now, Madame Chalamet found out some interesting information about Monet this afternoon.”
I told them about Dr. LaRue’s discovery of Monet’s drug habit.
“She thinks it started about three or four months ago, which would work with the timeline of him visiting the king and taking the tiara. Did he get his drugs at the Nightingale or from Gabrielle? Is his supplier involved in the tiara theft?”
Jacques said, “He could have stolen the thing to sell it to pay for his drugs; zhimo is not a cheap high.”
“Or extremists used his addiction to force him to prevent the treaty,” said Archambeau. “The trade treaty between Sarnesse and Perino is to be signed in four days. As a gesture of goodwill, King Guénard will return the tiara stolen from them during our last war. Without this former national treasure, that treaty is as good as dead in the water. So, gentlemen and madame, can we try really hard not to risk an international incident?”
After the group broke up, I was briefly alone with the duke. If I expected Archambeau to say anything about my new outfit, I was in for a disappointment. At least Jacques knew how to hand out a compliment.
“Elinor, you look lovely!” He took my hand and gave it a kiss.
"I could say the same for you. So handsome in your scarlet and black."
Archambeau wore a black tailcoat in wool with silk lapels; his white waistcoat gleamed and his cufflinks were onyx. He shrugged into a thick gray wool overcoat that Ruben the footman held for him.
"Wait a moment, madame!" called Anne-Marie as she trotted down the stairs holding my new fur wrap. Jacques placed it around my bare shoulders and, without further ado, our party went out the front door.
At the curb, Jacques opened the door to his own quick-cab and jumped in. “Good hunting!” He waved out the window as his vehicle rolled away.
Archambeau handed me into another carriage. Unlike his personal coach, this one had no coat of arms on the polished black door. As the two horses started forth, their hooves clip-clopped loudly against the cobblestones. I settled back, my heart racing with anticipation.
“I am guessing your fur is a recent acquisition.”
My hand automatically went up and stroked it. “Indeed, your Grace. One of several treats I rewarded myself for putting up with you and your family.”
My comment didn't seem to offend him because he chuckled. “I better check my bank balance.”
“Does a duke need to check? I would think the Chambaux family would have enough credit to buy a country, let alone a few dresses.”
“From the amount of boxes I saw going up the stairs this afternoon, I did buy a small country. Well, I think you look lovely.”
The last startled me until I realized the duke’s ghost had said it. Worryingly, Archambeau hadn’t seemed to notice the slip. The two needed to be separated, and soon.
“I know you may not have much trust in Ghost Talking, Your Grace, but it is important that we evict your ghost as soon as possible. Meanwhile, please try to keep better control of it.”
“I am in control.”
Nothing like a man in denial. Time for a lecture.
“There are several common types of ghosts. The recently dead, like Giles Monet, can produce a spiritual vision of his last moments through a Ghost Talk. A true ghost is an entity that shifts between the realms of the Earthly and Beyond; they return because of a powerful emotion or a horrific death.”
There was a moment of silence before the duke said diffidently, “Have you heard what they say about my dead wife? That she walks my house and attacks women?”
I would not lie to him. “Jacques told me something about that. Even your mother warned me from contacting her.”
From his corner seat, the duke's face flickered in and out of shadow as we passed gas street lamps glowing in the dark. I could not read his expression as he asked, “Have you seen her?”
“No. But I haven’t looked either. I won’t, unless you ask me to do so, for it would be a breach of your privacy.”
“I have not seen her, but sometimes I think I smell her perfume.”
We had entered the Hells, and without street gas-lamps Archambeau’s corner was now very dark. I could only make out the gleaming white of his waistcoat and gloves.
“You think loudly, madame, did you know that? Even in this dim light I see the shine of your eyes wondering, hear the gears of your mind ticking away like a hall clock. Wondering if I indeed killed her like I said. Trying to figure out why or how, or if I could be mistaken. No. It was no accident, no death by unintentional means. It was a gunshot wound to the heart which killed Minette instantly. I am an excellent marksman, even at twenty paces.”
I wet my lips about to speak, but Archambeau changed the subject.
“Enough of the past. Let us speak of tonight. We are to play-act as jaded nobles, seeking amusement.”
“I do not think anyone of quality would be foolish enough to visit such a place, Your Grace.”
“I have visited far worse for my king,” he muttered under his breath before saying in a normal tone, “Our cover story is that I’m showing you the seedier side of Alenbonné for a cheap thrill. Some foolish people deliberately court danger in order to feel more alive. This is the reason for our presence, so be sure to look pleasurably shocked, yet thrilled, when we get inside.”
“I shall try my best.”
The carriage slowed to a stop. I looked out the window and cried out so loudly that heads turned our way, “Oh, look at the funny people! Why is that man sleeping in the gutter? He’d better get up before he catches cold.”
When mysir de duke handed me down, I stumbled against him, giggling. Pressed against him, he whispered in my ear, “Is that a weapon I feel in your pocket, madame?”
I gave him a playful shove away from me. “Don’t ask a girl to reveal her secrets! Not until I see a show and dinner. Remember, you promised me both!”
He held his arm out for me, and I tucked mine under his. Together we weaved past the drunks, the whores, and the gamesters to enter the Nightingale.