Page 52 of The Art of Theft
“Why not?” asked Mr. Nariman, his expression one of sincere puzzlement. “I assure you, Monsieur, I am in no likelihood of overbidding, as I have very little interest in art. We shall be there strictly as spectators.”
“I cannot say more than that, Monsieur Nariman. In fact, Ishouldn’t even have said what I said. Please promise me that as far as anyone else is concerned, the topic of Château Vaudrieu never crossed my lips.”
“Of course not. But I am very touched by your concern.”
Monsieur Sauveterre sighed, perhaps recognizing a lost cause when he saw one. “I know that young men seldom turn aside from adventure on the advice of old men. But if you must head to Château Vaudrieu, then be careful.”
“Surely, our lives will not be in danger,” Charlotte, as Mr. Hurst, said hesitantly.
“No, but be wary and prudent, gentlemen,” answered Monsieur Sauveterre, his brow furrowed. “Be wary and prudent, lest you come to regret much.”
?“Interesting choice of words, do you not think?” said Lieutenant Atwood when they neared the train station.
Charlotte nodded slowly. “Very interesting.”
Be wary and prudent, gentlemen.What happened to those who were unwary and imprudent at Château Vaudrieu? They ended up paying more for art? Or did they, like the young scion of the Sylvestre family, suddenly agree to part with treasured art?
After they had made the discovery the day before, she and Lord Ingram had spent hours trying to ferret out whether the Sylvestre clan had fallen on hard times, going so far as to observe their manse from the outside. They unearthed no evidence that the Sylvestre fortune was thinning. That did not prove anything, but added another layer of oddity to the situation.
The countryside outside Paris had its fair share of châteaus, ranging from those hardly bigger than a farmhouse to majestic ruins of former royal palaces, now only stone walls and broken pillars in a slate-blue twilight.
Receptions were usually held later in the evening and ended early in the morning. But since the château was not in town andguests needed to take the last train that stopped at the small villagegareon its way to Paris, this particular reception started at an earlier time, when Parisian Society would have just started the second course at dinner.
The guests had been instructed to arrive on the same train. They were shown onto four large double-deck omnibuses, each with a seating capacity of about twenty. Unlike most such vehicles, their top decks were enclosed, with braziers placed at regular intervals to keep the space heated.
Charlotte, far more gregarious as her own masculine counterpart, made pleasant small talk in French to those seated near them, a frosty grande dame and a young man who appeared to be her grandson. He was clear-featured, with a ready smile and what must be a handful of rings under his left glove. When he gave his name, she recalled having come across it in an article about the ball—a family of industrialists, with the haughty matriarch the daughter of a duke.
Grandmaman was seriously interested in at least three of the paintings, the young man informed them. But before he could enthuse more, Grandmaman cleared her throat and he stopped, apparently reminded that the kindly looking man he was speaking to was in fact a competitor who might drive up prices.
Inside the gate of the estate, the chestnut-lined boulevard leading to the château was illuminated, not extravagantly, as it would be on the night of the ball, but with only one or two lanterns on each tree. The omnibuses stopped before the bridge. The guests alit and crossed the bridge on foot.
Charlotte dropped a pebble as she strolled over the spot where Lord Ingram and Mr. Marbleton must have trod increasingly icy water, as dogs and men race past. Lieutenant Atwood glanced down and then in the direction of the chapel.
“Sounds deep,” he murmured.
“Sounds cold,” she replied.
The others who had arrived on the same omnibus had already gone past them, and the minders were busy checking the vehicle to make sure no one had been left behind.
For the moment, they had a measure of privacy.
“The young man isn’t related to Grandmaman,” said Lieutenant Atwood. “He does a decent imitation of her accent, with overlays of both Paris and Normandy. But I hear the wharfs of Marseille underneath that.”
Charlotte didn’t have as good an ear for traces of regional French accents, but she also knew that the two were not family.
“Grandmaman, on the other hand, is the genuine article. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” she murmured. “And by the way, Mr. Nariman, when you were at the architect firm of Balzac & Girault, looking for the architectural plans, did you notice any slack in that particular box or drawer?”
?Livia did not enjoy herself.
She, Mr. Marbleton, and ten other temporary servants arrived at the château at noon. They were given a quick meal of stew and bread. She was too nervous to eat but didn’t want to appear suspicious by not finishing the contents of her bowl—a maid who didn’t have steady employment was not one who would forego any food put down in front of her.
Then the work began.
She had practiced a servant’s work with Mr. Marbleton, but she was not prepared for the scale of the reception at Château Vaudrieu. Plates, silverware, glasses by the hundreds, napkins by the gross. Everything had to be taken out of the butlery and carried halfway across the manor to be set up. Ice was delivered at four in the afternoon. She wasn’t asked to load large blocks of ice onto handcarts, but she couldn’t escape having to squat for an hour, chipping ice with a hammer and a pick.
Once she opened the door of a smaller pantry to find a temporarywaiter taking a nap inside. When he’d opened one bloodshot eye to see her standing there, he’d winked lazily and gone back to sleep. She’d never envied anyone so much for sheer impudence.
The servants were given their supper—the exact same food they’d had for lunch. By this time, Livia was no longer nervous, only exhausted, her back aching, her haunches burning. She made herself eat anyway and was grateful for the scalding coffee passed around after the meal. At least now she could stay awake.
