A break in the soggy weather the next day made me eager to try my new two-wheeled riding machine. My steel steed was the latest in mechanical engineering, the Lady’s Safety Edition.
Wheeling it out from a storage shed in some nearby stables, I walked it across the street to the park. Steadying myself I mounted, only showing a hint of my shapely ankle, but unfortunately, no one of significance was about to admire it.
Learning how to coordinate the steering with balance plus speed had been more difficult than I imagined. Being my third trip out, I was still learning and sometimes rang the warning bell on the handlebars to remind pedestrians to let me pass on the promenade.
Cruising along beside the canal, and enjoying a bit of a brisk wind against my cheeks, I caught sight of the Duke de Archambeau and his sister, Lady Valentina Fontaine. The two were standing stubbornly in the middle of the walkway, arguing.
This was first time I’d seen them since leaving his house two months ago. Surprised, I forgot how to apply the brakes, and there was a flash of a white face and startled eyes before Lady Valentina opted for the safety of the grass. Meanwhile, the duke took the collision of my bicycle with his back and since boulders do not bounce, I sadly lost the day.
“Madame Chalamet, may I assist you?” The duke’s voice was politely detached as if he was asking a poor relation to partner him at a dance held at an inferior establishment.
As I gripped the duke’s hand to stand up, I heard a ripping sound. The chain held my skirt! So much for the safety guard; the manufacturer would get a strongly worded letter and a bill for damages tomorrow!
“Stop moving. You’re making it worse,” commanded the duke. He bent down to untangle the hem of my skirt. “You’re free now, but I fear your machine isn’t in good shape.”
Sadly, I looked down to see the front wheel to be crooked and bent. Walking it back was not really an option.
“Tristan!” said Lady Valentina, while being helped to her feet by a passing stranger. He ignored her, asking me, “Are you hurt? That was quite a tumble.”
“No, I’m fine.”
This meeting threw me in confusion and I felt myself blushing. The last time we had seen each other was two months ago after solving the mystery of the king’s tiara, and this wasn’t the meeting I had fabricated in my mind. It was supposed to take place with me wearing an elegant evening dress and greeting him with a smoothly cultured laugh. Instead, I looked an absolute fright, with grass and grease stains on my skirt and my hair trailing down my back.
As usual, he was impeccable in his turnout. Walking coat, frock coat, trousers, and vest all tailored to perfection. His snow-white cravat tied in the square knot style known as The Intellectual.
Lady Valentina came to his side and possessively put her arm within his own. “Since Madame Chalamet says she is fine, can we can continue our way through the park? Or does she want to knock us down again?”
He absentmindedly patted her arm before dropping it.
“I think I must help a lady in distress, Valentina. I doubt she can get this thing home in the condition it is now.” Stepping to the curb, he hailed a passing quick cab. As it pulled up, the duke asked me, “Are you still at the Crown hotel, Madame Chalamet?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
One royal coin joined with a few others exchanged hands. “Would you take Madame Chalamet’s damaged steed to the Crown hotel?”
“Eh?” said the man, not understanding the duke’s request. Archambeau pointed to the Lady’s Safety Edition bicycle, now sadly crumpled, and, at the emergence of more coins, he speedily complied. In a moment, the two men had the bicycle on the back of the quick-cab. I moved to leave with him, but the duke stopped me.
“Even a brave Ghost Talker must feel rattled after taking such a tumble. Come and sit with us before you return home. You can entertain us with tales about your latest haunts.”
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