Page 8 of The Affair of the Mysterious Letter
“Quite so, and the remaining three are scarcely less promising. The first, Mrs. Yasmine Benamara, is a poetess of some small repute and the wife of a noted barrister-priest. She and Eirene had a rather disastrous affair that severely damaged both her husband’s career and her marriage. She apparently swore to Eirene that she would ruin her future happiness by any means at her disposal.”
That Miss Viola had been so brazen as to seduce a married woman once again startled me. But, the pistol still being nearby and the ceiling having suffered quite enough for one day, I made an outward show of equanimity. “A marriage for a marriage seems a plausiblemotivation, but would a barrister’s wife really have the means to uncover the fate of Mr. Roux?”
“She moves in artistic circles. Her set are more conventional than those found at Mise en Abyme, but I’d be amazed if there was no overlap. On top of which, she has an income and it wouldn’t be so very difficult for her to hire an investigator or an informer.” My companion, who I was fast learning could not abide stillness, began pacing in front of the fireplace, pausing occasionally to sip from the decanter. “That just leaves the prince and the vampire.”
I spluttered. “I beg your pardon?”
“One of Eirene’s former lovers was the Contessa Ilona of Mircalla. My sources inform me that she has recently returned to the city and, vampires being notoriously possessive, I think it highly probable she would have concocted some scheme to win back Eirene’s affections. She appears so far down my list only because blackmail seems an uncharacteristically subtle strategy for such a creature.”
Since the Witch King Iustinian had counted a number of vampires amongst his court, and the church taught that they were unholy abominations in the sight of the Creator, I was inclined to concur but, having been recently chastened for my ethical simplicity, I said simply, “I am sure I would not know.”
“I mean they vary, of course, like any species, but the typical modus operandi is something rather more along the lines of ‘fly in on black wings of night, slaughter everybody you care about, and carry you away to a terrifying isolated castle.’” She paused, seemingly caught in something I could have sworn was nostalgia. “Nasty letters and veiled threats are so lacking in panache. But we live in changing times, and even the undying nobility have difficulty keeping their standards up these days.”
“And the prince?” I asked.
“Icarius Castaigne. Not technically a prince, but one must be allowed a little artistic licence now and again. Before Eirene left Carcosashe was betrothed to a scion of another of the great houses. For the last decade, she’s believed that he died in the revolution—either killed in the fighting or executed as an enemy of the people—but she discovered recently that he had survived, renounced his previous lands and titles, and accepted a position within the party.”
Hailing from a revolutionary background myself, I had followed the story of the popular uprising in Carcosa with some interest and had, in all candour, mixed feelings about the affair. The ancient regime had been a byword for decadence and corruption throughout the cosmos, but the stories one heard of the new People’s Republic were hardly less disturbing. There was talk of disappearances, of secret police, of labour camps and show trials. I was not sure what I thought of a man who would willingly serve such an administration, but perhaps he was only doing what was necessary in order to survive.
“But why,” I wondered aloud, “would somebody who had gone to such lengths to distance himself from his former life go to still greater lengths merely to ruin the happiness of a woman who now lives in another reality and of whom, in all likelihood, he has not thought in years?”
Ms. Haas’s attitude remained somewhat wistful. “Back in the good old days, Carcosan court intrigues were fabulously intricate, to say nothing of being tremendous fun. I mean, for the people who weren’t driven mad by them. I’ll admit it’s an outside chance but, in my experience, betraying your peers to a hostile power that threatens your entire way of life, vanishing mysteriously for a decade, and then pursuing your former fiancée with cryptic blackmail letters isexactlythe kind of thing that Carcosan nobility used to do all the time.”
This was not the first time, even given the relative brevity of our acquaintance thus far, that Ms. Haas had demonstrated an understanding of “fun” that differed not only from my own (as, in fairness, did those of most people) but from everybody else’s as well. It wouldcertainly not be the last. I elected not to draw attention to the fact at this juncture.
“And which of these individuals,” I asked, “do you think most likely to be the culprit?”
Ms. Haas cast herself upon the chaise longue and draped an arm across her brow. “Du Maurier. He has the most direct connection to the events described in the letter; his character fits a blackmailer perfectly; he has no need for money; and he is petty.” She sighed. “It would be so much more interesting were it to be somebody less obvious. But criminals seldom value originality.”
“I’m sure Miss Viola would prefer that the matter be straightforward rather than interesting.”
“Mr. Wyndham, I’m a consulting sorceress. My job is to do what my clients cannot. Their happiness is not my concern.”
I was forced to concede that, on some level, she had a point. Although I could not shake the feeling that on another, more fundamental level she had missed it entirely. “So, are we to bring our suspicions to the Myrmidons?”
“Certainly not.” She flicked her fingers in a languid, dismissive motion. “Firstly, Eirene, whose feelings you apparently care about intensely, would not wish it. Secondly, the last thing this case needs is a gang of jackbooted thugs like Lawson, Roberts, or Garibaldi blundering around interfering with my work.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“Youare to change immediately.”
“Might I ask why?”
“We are going to the theatre and you are most inappropriately dressed.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mise en Abyme
In truth, Idid not own anything that would be suitable for such a venture. The theatre had been banned in Ey since shortly after the revolution and while I had gone occasionally as a student I had always found the experience a little unsettling. I attributed this partly to the aversion one must naturally feel when undertaking an activity that is illegal in one’s homeland and partly to the equally natural hostility that the theatrical set expressed towards people of Commonwealth heritage.
Nevertheless, I attempted to comply with Ms. Haas’s instruction and promptly changed into my best quality doublet and polished the buckles on my shoes and hat. Emerging from my room, I found Ms. Haas already waiting for me, attired in a burgundy frock coat, embroidered with a pattern of gold roses, and matching breeches. Lace cascaded from her cuffs and collar, and her ivory silk waistcoat was worked with hummingbirds. I did my best to avoid looking lower, for her stockinged calves were clearly visible, but I found it difficult to ignore her frankly remarkable shoes, which were dark red satin, adorned with bows, their tall heels set with diamonds.
“I thought,” she said, “I told you to change.”
“I have changed. This is wool, not worsted, and I’m wearing new cuffs.”
Her gaze swept disapprovingly across my person. “You know, your kingdom used to be a really fun place for a party.”
