When he woke, the world was the inside of a flour bag; he could taste the dust on his lips. There was a rag in his mouth; it tasted dry. He was sitting on a chair and with his hands tied behind him. The air was cold and as he shifted his feet he felt his boots drag against stone. Someone must have seen him move. The flour sack was pulled off him and he blinked hard. A cellar. He looked side to side. Wine bottles all round the walls in heavy, expensive ranks. His view forward was blocked by the bodies of two wide gentlemen in long dark coats. They wore round hats. One looked smooth and well-fed. The other had long sloping shoulders, the broken nose and evil eyes of a prize-fighter. The sort that gouges. Henri steadied himself; he knew the signs of a beating coming but he was confused too. He owed no one money. Not today! And if it was just the francs in his boots they were after, why had they bothered to tie him up and bring him down here? The little grisette in the bar was cheese on a trap then. He sighed.
The smooth man turned away once he had seen that Henri was awake, and said something in English. A woman’s voice replied, and straining in his chair Henri saw between the two men a woman standing further back in the shadows. She was wearing an evening gown and her throat sparkled with sapphires and diamonds. They seemed to gather the light from the oil-lamps and turn it into fireworks. Whatever she had said meant no good for him, for as the woman turned to go, the big man dropped into a fighting stance and drew back his arm. Henri closed his eyes and braced himself. Then another voice, female and rapid. The girl from the bar, but speaking English. Why was she still here? He opened one eye very cautiously. Her words had made the big fella hesitate. It seemed the jewelled lady was in charge, they were all looking at her now. She sighed and nodded to the girl, who then came trotting up to him. She bent down low and spoke in French.
‘Henri, I’m going to take that rag out of your mouth. Would you like that?’ He nodded. ‘But if you say anything foul, I’ll shove it right back in your gob. Understand?’ He nodded again.
She yanked out the rag and he spat on the ground at her feet, but held his tongue. She waited, but when it became clear he was going to keep quiet she dropped into a crouch next to him, holding on to the back of his chair for balance. He leaned away from her slightly.
‘Look, Henri, I’m sorry. These men are Americans. They work for the lady and they think you’ll be more likely to talk to us if they beat you up first.’ That was probably true. He looked at the prize-fighter again. The man was rolling his shoulders. ‘I say you’re not that bad a fella. Just made a few mistakes long ago, didn’t you?’ This whole thing was odd, but by the sound of her voice it was best to agree so he nodded hard. It made the pain in his head wake up and beat on the inside of his skull. ‘So will you answer this lady’s questions? Then we’ll let you go.’
‘Without the beating?’ She nodded and flashed a grin at him. ‘They ain’t police?’
‘They are Pinkertons.’ She breathed the word into his ear and he shivered. ‘American thugs for rich people. Clean-shaved, both of them! The gendarmes wouldn’t have them even if they could speak French worth a damn.’ He shot a quick look at the men. They looked wary, but obviously had not understood her.
‘You staying here?’
She put her hand on his shoulder as if he was a schoolboy being presented to the headmaster by his mother, and said, ‘He’s happy to talk.’
The woman in sapphires stepped towards them. ‘Yvette, remember I can speak French and I’m not so old I can’t hear what you’re whispering.’
His champion lost some of her bravery and looked down at the floor. ‘Yes, Madame.’
Sparkles looked him up and down for a moment or two. ‘You are sure this is the man?’
‘Yes, Madame. Henri Bouchard. He’s been talking tonight about not getting paid what he’s owed, and people taking advantage of his bad luck. I’m sure it’s him.’
Had he said that? Probably. Red wine and a big smile like that and he would run on. The tunes the band had been playing had made him mournful too, for his youth when the world seemed like a good place. Then the world took to teaching him the same lesson time and time again. People took advantage. And he’d never found the trick of making a woman like him without making her sorry for him, and he had been unlucky! He’d been caught swapping real stones for fakes when cleaning a necklace in 1893 and done five years for it. Now here he was, an artist really stuck making pennies in the back room of a dump that catered to shop girls. And he’d tried to keep his nose clean – at least till that shit Gravot turned up.
Sparkles was staring at him. He found he couldn’t look her in the eye so concentrated on the hem of her long dress. It shimmered with all sorts of fancy stuff.
‘The tiara, Henri? Who brought it to you?’
That fucking tiara. Of course it was the tiara. He got half – no, half of half – what his work was worth, and now he was in a cellar. ‘I’m saying nothing.’ Sparkles said something in English to the two men; they started moving towards him. Yvette went pale. Not a good sign.
‘They are going to break your fingers, Henri!’
Shit. ‘Gravot! Christian Gravot!’ Sparkles held up her hand and the prize-fighter looked disappointed. Henri tried to catch his breath. ‘He found me. He … he knows about a couple of little jobs I did that the cops never caught on to: enough to send me away a good few more years. He said I had to do the job or “the information would get to them”. Bastard.’
Sparkles nodded. ‘How did you do it so fast, Henri?’
‘There are lots of drawings of that tiara. It’s famous, isn’t it? And they had a good photo of some American chit wearing it, so I had a few weeks to get ready.’ He couldn’t resist a little smirk. ‘Four days was plenty to polish them up nice and swap out the real ones.’ Sparkles raised her eyebrows and suddenly she looked sickeningly familiar. Shit again. The smirk disappeared and his shoulders slumped.
‘How many stones did you replace?’
‘Twenty plus the main stone,’ he mumbled miserably to his boots. ‘All the big ones. And the great fat cushion I recut. Been working on it since before Christmas.’ Sparkles flinched when she heard that. ‘Make it easier to sell. Just got the polishing done last night. Been doing nothing else since he brought it to me, but I did it fast even with Gravot breathing down my neck. Had to quit my job to do it. He made me. I just hope they’ll take me back. He said he’d give me the rest of the week, but all of a sudden it’s hurry hurry, can’t stand another stinking evening with me, won’t leave me alone for as much as a piss while I’m working.’
‘Why hasn’t he run, Henri?’ Yvette asked. ‘Why is he still in Paris?’
Henri looked up at her and shook his head. It made his jowls wobble like a bulldog’s. So they knew Gravot. Good. Let him sit in a cellar with the big fella then.
‘Why should he?’ he said. The thought of the prize-fighter catching up with Christian on a dark night and messing up his fancy suit gave him a twinge of pleasure. He could feel it under the pain in his head, his hands. ‘He thinks he’s in the clear. Good conman never runs. Just ambles off when he feels like it. He’s going to sell a few of the little ’uns here, then head off to America. Use the rest to found his business empire.
Henry spat on the ground again, thinking of Gravot sitting behind him while he worked, reading the business pages of the American newspapers, talking about opportunities. How America was the real place for a man with ambitions, not France. The country was full of peasants, he’d said while Henri sweated over that great rock for him, hardly losing any of its weight, but disguising it, keeping it just as beautiful, but anonymous. Like dyeing a girl’s hair and dressing her in a new frock.
The girl patted him. ‘Now Henri, you didn’t keep any for yourself, did you? I know you didn’t like the price he gave you, so weren’t you tempted just to keep one for your trouble?’
Of course he’d been tempted, feeling all that real ice at his fingertips. Such high-grade stones – the clarity, the neatness of the cut. ‘That arsehole knows his diamonds and he wouldn’t leave me alone with ’em for a second.’
Sparkles was taking the news pretty well, Henri thought. She hadn’t set the thugs on him or started crying or yelling yet. Just looked at the wine racks and frowned like she’d seen the Bordeaux sniggering.
‘Thank you, Mr Bouchard. Christian Gravot will be arrested and you shall testify that he brought you the tiara and what you did with it.’
Henri jerked up so hard the chair juddered and he almost fell. ‘No! No chance! I’m not going back to that hellhole.’ They were all looking at him like this was a surprise. ‘You don’t know what it’s like over there.’ No one did. The heat and disease, the men dying round you, the ones that lived beating you for rations or for sport even when they knew you had nothing to steal. He blinked hard. ‘You can kill me here, but take me to a cop and I’ll deny it all. I’ll say you lied and I never saw that dog … I’m not going back.’ He realised it was true as the words were going out of his mouth. ‘You can’t prove nothing. Only told you to be civil.’ He was not a brave man, he knew that, but letting those men kill him here and now with that girl Yvette fresh in his mind and a belly full of red wine would be a fine death compared with what waited in Guiana.
The American men might not understand French, but they knew a refusal when they saw it. The prize-fighter stepped in and swung hard into Henri’s kidney. The pain ran through his body like wine spilled on a white cloth and pushed the air out of his lungs. He heard Yvette cry out, and he squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself for the next strike. Sparkles said a word and no blow came. He opened one eye cautiously.
‘You mean that,’ Sparkles said. It was a statement not a question, but he nodded anyway. For a long time there was silence then she said, ‘How do we know you won’t warn Gravot?’
He’d bitten his tongue under the surprise of that last blow. He spat out the blood. ‘Because that shit got me here, and I’d love to see him here instead.’
Yvette put her hand on his shoulder again. ‘What’s he planning, Henri? Tell us something else.’ She leaned in very close to him. ‘Tell us, and I won’t tell them you keep your money in your stocking.’ Her breath tickled the inner shell of his ear like the sound of distant water on sand.
‘He hasn’t sold any yet. Rheims. He had tickets for Rheims in his hand. He’s been planning a little jaunt in that direction to sell a few stones and congratulate himself for driving me crazy. He leaves on Friday – back on the Sunday-evening train. He was going to give me till then to finish the polishing, but these last three days he’s been at my back every minute chivvying me along.’
‘Any more, Henri?’
Ah, fuck him. ‘Five of the smaller stones I put in a bracelet for him. Bit of a rush job, but they’re easier to smuggle about that way than loose. He wanted the others set too, but I told him he’d had all the work from me I could stomach. Thought he was going to blow, but in the end he just smiled and wandered off like a little king. The sod.’
Sparkles nodded. ‘Very well. I must go back to dinner. Boys, clean him up and get him out of here. Don’t leave town, Monsieur Bouchard, will you?’
He shrugged as well as his bonds would let him. ‘Where would I go?’
She looked into the shadows behind her. ‘Come on, my dear.’ A figure stood up from the darkness. Another woman, tall and shapely but dressed a little plain and pale in the face. Sparkles took her arm. They began to walk towards the cellar stairs. Sparkles looked over her shoulder. ‘Yvette?’
The girl bent down to kiss his forehead. ‘Sorry, Henri. You’re not a bad old devil.’ He looked at his boots and managed another shrug. The place where she’d kissed him glowed in the darkness she left behind.
* * *
‘Well done, Yvette,’ the Countess said. Yvette almost thanked her but bit her tongue. ‘So, Miss Heighton, you are vindicated. I believe you, but the law will take us no further. Still, again I thank you for bringing this matter to our attention and I promise it will not be forgotten. You look a little tired still. Go home and rest, honey. I must be getting back to dinner. Arthur will see you out.’
‘But what next, Countess?’ Yvette said.
‘Steps will be taken, dear.’
‘What steps?’
‘Oh, you’ll be informed. Now take that girl home before she falls over.’
‘Are they here?’ Maud said. Her voice sounded heavy and thick. Yvette tightened her grip on Maud’s arm and the Countess glanced behind her as if checking that Arthur was still standing at her shoulder.
‘They are here,’ she said.
Maud took half a step forward and Yvette saw such a look of animal rage on her face that she was afraid. The Countess did not move but the butler stepped closer to her. Yvette kept Maud pinned to her side.
‘Maud, you cannot,’ she whispered frantically into her ear. ‘Please, they will deny everything and accuse you, and nothing will be done but you will go to prison and die there.’ Maud was still staring up the hallway towards the receiving rooms of the Countess’s home. ‘For God’s sake, Maud, come away.’
‘I should not have let you in the house tonight, Miss Heighton. I hoped you would be sensible.’ Madame de Civray turned on her heel and crossed the hallway, the train of her gown perfectly pooling and slippering behind her on the polished parquet.
‘Maud – please, sweetie – come away,’ Yvette said, her voice sounding almost tearful. It was not that Maud was pulling against her, only she could sense the power of her anger ready to burst forward and felt, if it did, she would not be able to restrain her and Maud would be lost.
‘His business opportunities,’ Maud hissed. ‘His trip to America. How lucky that I was there to teach his “sister” better English. Yvette, take me away before I start to scream.’ Maud turned back towards the kitchen, and without any more ado let herself be led out of the house, the butler staying two steps behind the women until they were safe in the night and the door was locked and bolted behind them.
* * *
When dinner was over and the guests were being ushered back into the drawing room, the Countess claimed Tanya’s arm. ‘Sweetness, I have a new acquisition to show you, do let me steal you away.’ She ushered her into the morning room where they had met M. Beauclerc. There was a man in a grey suit sitting on the sofa, a round hat in his hands. As the ladies entered he got to his feet, but the Countess waved him back.
‘Honey, this is Mr Carter of the Pinkerton Agency. We had a very interesting chat with a new friend of Yvette’s this evening and the law is a no-go, I’m afraid.’
‘She found him? Oh, she is a wonder! But you know Maud is innocent?’
‘Oh, as the day is long, dear. But this fellow Henri refuses to say anything to the police.’
‘And did you send people to Rue de Seine? Did you find the stones?’
The Countess smiled. ‘It was worth a try, but no, they were not there.’ She turned towards Carter. ‘Your people left no sign the place had been searched?’
‘None, ma’am.’
Tanya was confused. They had not found the diamonds and this Henri would not talk to the police – and yet the Countess looked perfectly content.
‘We have a chance to play the long game,’ the Countess continued. ‘It seems Morel is going to deliver himself into our hands.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well then, shush kitten, and we shall explain. Mr Carter? You OK if he goes in English?’ Tanya nodded.
‘There are limits to what we can do in Europe, ma’am,’ Carter said. ‘Taking a known criminal like Henri off the street and getting him to talk – well, that’s one thing, but it wouldn’t do for us to give the same treatment to a fellow like Morel. He hasn’t pulled any scams we can pin on him in Paris and he’s spent freely enough around town to make some friends. Even this Miss Priddy woman…’
‘Prideux,’ Tanya said.
‘Prideux,’ he gave a respectful nod. ‘From what I hear, her son the solicitor said there was no use chasing the money, and we’ve asked around about the accident. No one saw anything suspicious, and we can’t find anyone who saw her with Morel that night. No surprise there – he’s not dumb, but I’m just saying he can’t be touched on that.’ He cleared his throat and Tanya waited without speaking. ‘Now he plans to get a boat over to New York at the end of the month. There our life will be a lot easier. We can reverse-scam him. We’ve the people for it, the contacts, and we can take him for every penny he’s got. Perhaps if we’re lucky we’ll even get the big stone back. Take it as security on some deal.’ Tanya noticed he had a light baritone, the same camel colour as his overcoat. ‘There’s no way to stop him selling a few stones in Rheims, but we’ll get back what’s owed to the Countess in the end.’
‘That is all?’ Tanya said.
The Countess laughed. ‘Honey, it’s perfect! The fooler fixed. We’ll make him good and uncomfortable, and I’ll get my money back. Shame about the grand stone, but if Henri is as good as they say he is, and we con Morel out of it in New York, then perhaps I can make something pretty out of it.’
Tanya shook her head. ‘And that is all?’
Mr Carter frowned as if she was making a joke he couldn’t quite understand. ‘The money will be recovered and he’ll be sorry he took the stones. That’s what we want. Sure, if we took him to the law he might get his neck stretched, but that’s not going to happen, like the lady says, and I can’t go round assassinating people, Miss Koltsova. Not in Europe at any rate!’ The Countess made a little cooing noise between amusement and sympathy.
Tanya spoke quietly, though there was a shimmer of distress in her voice. ‘They threw Maud in the river. They told her friends she was a thief then a suicide. I ask you again: is that all?’
Mr Carter stroked his smooth chin. ‘I suppose, given Miss Heighton’s honesty in coming to you, ma’am, and at some risk to herself … a reward of some sort perhaps?’
‘Of course. I shall arrange something nice,’ Madame de Civray said in her usual bright voice. Tanya was disgusted, but the Countess was not even looking at her. ‘Oh, and while we are tidying things up…’ She rang the bell and her butler appeared in the doorway. ‘Tell her to come in now, Arthur.’
A maid, certainly less than twenty with thick ankles and apple cheeks, was ushered into the room. She looked very frightened. ‘You wished to see me, Madame?’
‘I did, dear. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave my service at once. You will go tonight, and I will not be giving you a recommendation to future employers.’ From her tone of voice you’d have guessed she was sharing plans for some surprise party for her children.
The girl went white and her eyes became watery. ‘But, Madame…? If I have not pleased you I will work harder. Please, Madame. My mother, my little brother all rely on my wages here. If you send me away without a reference, what shall I do?’
‘You should have thought of that before you entertained gentlemen callers here, shouldn’t you?’ The girl covered her mouth with her hand and the tears began to run down her face. ‘You have my sympathy, honey, but what would it look like if I were to just let you go with a thank you and a recommendation? I would be inviting riot into my home. Mr Carter, would you be so kind as to watch her pack and check her luggage in case she takes any souvenirs?’
Mr Carter stood up and placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder. She looked up at him, astonished and afraid.
‘Come on, dear,’ he said, and steered her out of the room. The girl herself seemed too stunned at the sudden collapse of her world to speak.
The Countess stood and gave herself a little shake. ‘There, that is done. Oh, I shall enjoy hearing all about Morel’s plans for New York.’
‘She let Morel into your house?’ Tanya said.
The Countess smoothed her gloves up her arm. ‘Yes, honey. I was wondering, you see, taking Maud in like that … all the preparation. They knew exactly what they wanted and where it was. The cook wormed the truth out of Odette. That she had been walking out with a gentleman and had brought him here. Not that any of them know about the tiara being plucked, of course.’ She took Tanya’s arm. ‘If they ask you, honey, you can say I was showing you that little Morisot in the corner.’
Tanya pulled away. ‘Perhaps you can tell them I am still lost in admiration for a few moments more.’
The Countess shrugged. ‘If you wish, dear.’ She left the room and the butler slipped in through the door to wait with Tanya. His eyes were fixed straight ahead and his hands clasped behind his back.
‘Arthur, are there writing materials I may use in this desk?’
‘Yes, miss.’
She opened the drawer and found a plain sheet and envelope and a slim fountain pen. Hoping she would ruin the nib forever, she wrote, To whomsoever it may concern, I give this gift to … ‘What is that girl’s name, Arthur?’
‘Odette, miss. Odette Suchet.’
… Odette Suchet, to do with as she will. She unfastened a bracelet at her wrist, fumbling a little with her evening gloves and her indignation, then added to the page, It is a bracelet of diamonds and sapphires. She signed the note and added her Paris address below, then put note and bracelet into an envelope and handed it to Arthur.
‘See that this reaches her, please, Arthur, and that Mr Carter does not take it back. Have I made myself clear?’
He tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat and bowed to her. ‘Perfectly, Miss Koltsova.’
* * *
Maud hardly heard Yvette wishing her good night. Every word that Henri had said about Morel burned in her, made her drunk. How pleased he must have been with himself, ready to wander out of town whenever they liked and start their new life in America, stepping over her corpse to do it without a thought. If they thought of her now it was as a nothing, carried away by the river with the rest of the rubbish. They were there now, untouchable in the lamplight, scraping their knives on the Countess’s plates and drinking her wine while Maud remained here, neither dead nor alive.
She undressed and slid shivering under the sheets and again dreamed of her drowning. She must have cried out in her sleep because when she woke suddenly, she found one of Suzanne’s waifs standing in her doorway. He was a good-looking young man in his twenties, though the flesh on his face looked rather loose and pale, his eyes yellowish. She started.
‘Don’t be afraid! I heard you shout and I wanted to see you were not needing help. I am Amedeo.’ He put out his hand and smiled. His Italian accent was heavy, curling his words and throwing them at odd angles into the air.
‘I recognise your voice. You’re the Dante scholar?’ She sat up in bed and took his hand. It did not seem shocking now, this man wandering into her bedroom in the middle of the night and she found she was not frightened.
‘I am!’ He stared at her thoughtfully. ‘You look ill.’
‘So do you.’
‘Ha! Perhaps! But I am not really drunk yet. I came looking for Suzanne. When I find her she will give me money to get drunk and I will be well again. You need nothing?’
Maud shook her head and he shrugged and began to saunter back towards the door.
‘Amedeo?’
‘Yes, young lady?’
‘What does Dante say of revenge?’
He turned back. ‘That it is a sin. A sin of anger, and those who commit it are surrounded by a rank fog, forever tearing each other apart or gnawing at their own limbs. They are trapped in the marsh.’ He sighed. ‘I shall not waste the poetry on you if you do not speak Italian. I shall tell you instead what my mother told me when I came home from school covered in bruises from the bullies there.’
‘What did she say?’
‘To forget a wrong is the best revenge. But she was not right. Some wrong you must get a hot blade into it, take out the poison matter even if it costs you a little flesh. She said I must trust in God – but why should I trust Him to punish my enemies? He let them hurt me in the first place. Good night, young lady.’