Page 33 of The Art of Theft
He couldn’t imagine Holmes doing such a thing. Not that she wouldn’t ever meet his train if she needed to, but that her emotions should run away with her to such an extent that she would rush back to town just so that she could see him half a day sooner.
He was very much that sort of person. She, not in the very least.
“Forêt, is he here, or did he accompany her back to Paris?”
“Back to Paris,” answered Mr. Marbleton.
That might also explain why she took herself there, so she could have a private conversation with Leighton Atwood, away from theothers in their company. The good lieutenant was traveling on official business—granted, it was only the return trip. That he was participating now in a private inquiry probably wouldn’t raise too many brows, but he had not wished his identity to be made known, and Lord Ingram had acceded to that.
“Good,” he said. “With Forêt on hand, her tea and supper will be seen to.”
He ordered his supper. Then the company moved to Mrs. Watson’s room, so as not to be overheard in their discussions.
“I was just talking to the innkeeper,” said Mr. Marbleton. “It would appear that the occupants of the château have not been frequently seen in the village. And they rarely employ anyone local, not even for the ball. Instead Madame Desrosiers brings in additional servants from Paris. We’ll need to find out where in Paris they get those servants. Properly trained footmen aren’t everywhere to be had.”
“There are agencies specializing in providing temporary staff,” answered Lord Ingram. “My godfather’s French relatives should be able to furnish us with a list of the reputable ones.”
Reassured on that front, his companions proceeded to describe their rudimentary tour of the château, outside its fences.
“Seems a rather idyllic setting,” said Miss Olivia, “but the grounds are far too small for the manor. It’s sitting on a handkerchief.”
France had experienced great upheavals in the past century and a half. The château would have lost most of its demesne, the attendant territory that would have rendered it self-sufficient, during the more turbulent times. These days it was but a costly country house that generated little income and required wealth to flow in from elsewhere for its maintenance.
The reason it was currently owned by a Swiss manufacturer.
“It’s also easier to patrol that way, with smaller grounds,” said Mr. Marbleton sagely.
The talk turned to the night’s plans. The gentlemen would start from the inn at one o’clock in the morning and be back before dawn. Mr. Marbleton left to get a few hours of sleep.
Miss Holmes was the next to leave. “Please look after yourself, my lord. And please keep an eye on Mr. Marbleton.”
“I will,” he assured her.
And now it was just him and Mrs. Watson, who had been quiet and not at all her usual ebullient self.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I don’t know, Ash. I don’t know.” She poured amber liquid into a glass—Calvados, by its aroma—and downed two fingers in one draught. “Until this afternoon I was full of fear for the maharani. But when Mr. Marbleton said he planned to visit the château at night, to go over the fence and get as close to the manor as possible, I—I suddenly became afraid forus. Is it really necessary to reconnoiter in the middle of the night?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Her anxiety was a feeling of constriction around his own heart. Other than for his children, it was for Mrs. Watson that he’d always felt the purest affection, this woman who had watched him grow up and been unwavering in her warm devotion.
She clutched at the empty glass. “But you said invitations would be forthcoming. We’ll be able to walk in the front door.”
“And steal from a place we’ve never seen?” He shook his head. “If we were able to walk through the front door again and again, that would be a different matter. But since we will only be able to do so on the night of the ball—and at the earlier reception, if all goes well—we must know as much about the place and its surroundings as possible. Since there will be few opportunities for approaching during daytime, we have to do what we can at night.”
“I can’t help but think of the people in the château—I don’t know how they are related to those who blackmail Her Highness, but they must be somehow.”
This was his worry, too. And no doubt Holmes’s.
“I’m well aware of the potential dangers, ma’am, as is everyone else here.”
Maybe not so much Miss Olivia, who wasn’t, as of yet, accustomed to thinking of the world in such terms, but certainly Holmes. And most certainly Mr. Marbleton.
“And I am excruciatingly aware of the fact that you are all here because of me.”
He moved closer, took the empty glass out of her grip, and held her hands in his own. “Ma’am, this is exactly where I wish to be. When I needed help, you did everything in your power to provide it. Let me return the favor.”
