Page 5 of Grave Expectations
The Frenchman read it. Then he burst out laughing and ushered us inside. I lifted my brows at Lincoln, and he held out his hand for me to go ahead of him. Seth must have been quite popular with Monsieur Fernesse to change his response from savage to solicitous with a mere letter.
It was just as cold inside the gallery as out, thanks to its cavernous nature and high ceiling. A staircase at the back led up, and an alcove beneath the stairs was occupied by a table covered in swathes of colorful fabrics, sewing tools, and a lamp. The rest of the gallery was set up like a crowded drawing room. Sofas, armchairs, wing chairs, tables, cushions, vases and artwork filled every space, allowing only a narrow path for walking. Each piece was unique and displayed to exquisite perfection. A flash of gold beading, a delicate tassel, a heavy strip of elaborate embroidery…nothing looked ordinary, simple.
"Come, mademoiselle," Monsieur Fernesse said, taking my hand in his long, slender fingers. He led me through the maze to a sofa. He plumped the cushions then insisted I sit. "I will warm your cold hands, mademoiselle. Please, a moment."
He set about lighting the fire. Once it blazed to his satisfaction, he summoned Lincoln. "Help me, young man. My knees, you know, they are old, like me."
Lincoln assisted him to his feet, and the little man gave him a small bow of thanks. He stroked his hands over his gray hair but it remained a tangled mess that fell to his shoulders. He had a beard to match, and it was difficult to tell where beard ended and hair began. He rather resembled an aging lion with a mane of gray.
"You are friends of my boy, Seth, eh?"
His boy? "He's a very dear friend," I said. "When we told him we wanted to redecorate and were coming to Paris, he insisted we seek your advice. You're the best decorator in the world, he claimed." Those weren't quite his words, but close to it.
Monsieur Fernesse glowed. His grin split his face. "Ah, that boy. Always the sweet one, always so good to old Fernesse. Of course, I was not so old when I lived in London, not so gray." He stroked his beard. "They were good days, very good, but good days must end, no? How is my boy?"
"Seth's very well and sends his fondest regards."
"Fond?" He chuckled. "I do so wish to see him again, but alas, I do not like to travel now. You tell him, mademoiselle, to come to Paris and see me. Tell him I long to see his beautiful face again."
"I will."
He insisted on making us tea because, "You English cannot do a thing without tea first." Lincoln and I took the opportunity to inspect the items in the gallery.
"I do hope he's not too expensive," I whispered as I ran my hand along the curved back of a chair.
"The expense is not important."
I'd been brought up never to discuss money. My mother had claimed it was vulgar to speak about the cost of things or how much a man earned. I'd never asked Lincoln who paid him or where he got his money from. I assumed the ministry itself had funds. If that were the case, he must be in charge of finances, because he had not asked the committee's permission to spend it. They weren’t even aware we were in Paris.
Monsieur Fernesse directed us to sit again and handed us a cup each, served with airy little cakes that were as delicious as anything Cook made. We spent the next two hours choosing furniture, curtains and lampshades, to drag Lichfield's parlor and drawing room into a modern era. While I wanted to keep the parlor cozy, I allowed Monsieur Fernesse full reign in the drawing room. It currently stood empty and unused, but I wanted to turn it into a spectacular showcase. Lincoln was a gentleman, and the son of someone important, and he ought to take his place in London society. This could help launch him. All we would require would be some visitors other than the committee members. I wasn't yet sure how to go about encouraging callers, or if any would come to Lichfield, but there would be time to think about it back in London.
Monsieur Fernesse certainly had a lovely eye, and he was an excellent artist. He drew his plans for the rooms based on the dimensions Lincoln gave him.
We had everything settled for the two rooms when Lincoln suddenly said, "We also require the ballroom to be transformed."
"We're going to hold a ball?" I asked, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. I'd never been to a ball before, and the thought of hosting one was both thrilling and dreadful.
"In time," was all he said.
Once everything was settled upon, right down to the last tassel, Monsieur Fernesse assured us he would place orders for things he couldn't make himself and have it all shipped to England as soon as possible. We thanked him and left after promising to pass on his regards to "his dearest boy."
"He seemed very fond of Seth," I said as we walked away from the misty-eyed Frenchman.
"Very." Lincoln tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow.
"They must have been great friends, despite the age difference. I wonder why Seth warned me not to believe everything Monsieur Fernesse told us. Do you think he worried that his friend would regale us with the wild parties they attended together when Fernesse lived in England?"
"Perhaps."
"Considering we know many of the escapades Seth got up to, and still does, his concern is baffling. What could they possibly have done that Seth is too embarrassed for us to find out?"
"I suggest you don't ask him for fear of offending him."
"Oh."
After a moment, he added, "The curiosity is going to torture you, isn't it?"
I glanced up to see mischief dancing in his eyes. "I'll manage, thank you. And if not, I'll see what I can learn from Gus. They tell one another everything."
