Page 88 of The Art of Theft
Meanwhile, Mrs. Watson had her own skirts up and the maharani was on her knees, fastening Charlotte’s discarded items of men’s clothing to the ribs of Mrs. Watson’s reinforced bustle: They didn’t want to leave behind any of Charlotte’s menswear. If the guards were questioned, they wanted Moriarty’s men to be looking for a portly young man, preferably a portly young man in a bright teal jacket.
That way they wouldn’t look too closely at a woman in an unremarkable beige gown.
Charlotte signaled Mrs. Watson and the maharani, who were done secreting Charlotte’s garments, to leave. She didn’t want them all to rush back to the ballroom at the same time.
She took off her mask. Livia set a wig on Charlotte’s head, covering up Charlotte’s very short hair. Charlotte put on her mask again, this time reversing it, so that it was a solid and unexciting blue-grey, instead of teal on black-and-white.
She gestured at Livia, who nodded and slipped out of the door. She waited one minute and stepped out herself. Lord Ingram was waiting for her.
They had just stepped back into the ballroom when the ground shook. Chandeliers jerked and swung, crystal drops clinking together like a sudden rainstorm striking the windows. The guests, congregated near the windows for the best view of fireworks, looked up and around.
Unsettled murmurs rose.
“How much dynamite are they using?” wondered Charlotte.
If she were planning this rescue, she would have started in the chapel, which, according to Mr. Marbleton, had been guarded by two men when he last reconnoitered. Even if there were four men guarding it, it would still be possible to get them out of the way without too much trouble.
From there, all the way to the reinforced and heavily locked door before which Lord Ingram had turned back, there had been nothing that needed explosives, not even that very door. They must be trying to destroy something made of pure steel.
Charlotte glanced around at the gallery. Livia and Mr. Marbleton, who was again in proper evening attire, stood fifteen feet away. Lieutenant Atwood, Mrs. Watson, and the maharani were twenty feet away in a different direction. Everyone looked different. The horns on Lieutenant Atwood’s mask was gone, as were the prominent purple plumes on Mr. Marbleton and the maharani’s masks. And their masks, like Charlotte’s, were now worn on the reverse, their former splendor exchanged for black and grey nondescriptness.
Lord Ingram leaned an elbow on the parapet. Even with his mask on, it was obvious he was frowning. “I don’t understand why Moriarty would give away the combination to the safe.”
Charlotte had been wondering about that, too. “Demolition isn’t Moriarty’s usual method. These people coming to rescuing him aren’t his loyalists, but people they have hired. But what did theyhave to hire them with? Moriarty probably kept a tight control of his organization’s finances and Madame Desrosiers certainly wouldn’t help fund his rescue.
She should have realized that there was something ramshackle about the plan to blackmail the maharani, and others like her, into theft. The maharani did not make for the best candidate, if one wanted an art thief—nor did the aristocratic Grandmaman. Knowing what she did now, she could see that Moriarty’s loyalists didn’t have much to go on. It was difficult to get messages to or from a locked-up Moriarty. All the blackmail evidence was in a safe to which no one had access. And given the secretive nature of the organization, even the loyalists probably only knew a handful of quarries to whom they could apply pressure, cases they had worked on personally.
“While the loyalists still had infiltrators in the château, it’s possible they got Moriarty to agree to give the combination to the dynamiters,” she went on. “But I doubt he was happy about that. He could have given them a false combination, but I think it pleased him far more to give the correct one, but in such a way that he was sure no one would be able to use. Even if the dynamiters heard him tapping everything out on the day of the reception, it was in code—and in a code that he judged to be far beyond their ability to solve.”
Outside the fireworks continued to go off. They were louder here, producing long, sinuous whistles as they shot up and solid bangs upon bursting. But they could no longer hold the full attention of the guests, who were looking around and talking uneasily with one another.
“And the dynamiters were happy with that?” asked Lord Ingram. “Some tapping they might or might not have heard and couldn’t make heads or tails of?”
“His loyalists probably had to cough up everything they had and it’s possible they aren’t terribly pleased with him at the moment. But enough about Moriarty,” said Charlotte. “When I spoke to LadyIngram, I told her to leave. But she insisted that she owes Madame Desrosiers more loyalty than that.”
Lord Ingram pulled his lips. He, obviously, did not care for Lady Ingram’s concept of loyalty. But in this, Charlotte did have some sympathy for Lady Ingram, who had probably thought she needed to pretend to love him for only a short time, and that he’d then lose interest in her and start confessing his devotion to other women.
In Lady Ingram’s shoes Charlotte, too, would have found that sort of devotion suffocating.
But Lord Ingram didn’t let his opinion of his wife get in the way of his gallantry. “Do we need to help Madame Desrosiers against Moriarty?”
Charlotte shook her head inwardly. “I dropped my nightstick during the scuffle. I have only one bullet left in my derringer and a heavy weight hanging on my hindquarters. Maybe the other ladies are in better condition to fight, but my sister has no training or experience with dangerous scenarios. I need to get her out as soon as possible.”
The château shook again. Crystal beads fell from the chandeliers. Fortunately, most of the guests were still at the windows, and no one was struck from above. But the floor glittered with broken shards.
“There’s an anarchist attack!” shouted a man.
“Mon Dieu, bombs, bombs!” yelled another.
Cries of panic ricocheted in the ballroom. Livia came running. Charlotte took her hand. “Remember, we expected chaos.”
“Not this much chaos!”
Charlotte squeezed her sister’s fingers. “But our response must be the same. Don’t succumb to it. And don’t add to it.”
The ballroom was on the ground floor, but because the château was set on an island, it didn’t have French doors leading to a terrace outside. On the balcony above the ballroom, they were at an advantage, as the rest of the guests must first come up the steps.
“Let’s go,” said Charlotte.
