Page 49 of The Art of Theft
“I would like to continue, if you don’t mind, ma’am,” said Lord Ingram.
“As would I,” said Mr. Marbleton, grinning, “for the handsome reward I’ve been promised.”
Livia had been with him earlier, when Mrs. Watson came to apologize, wholly unnecessarily, and to offer to let him go. He’d given the same cheeky answer then.
“I plan to stay with Charlotte,” she said.
“And I,” said Charlotte, “will stay with you, Mrs. Watson.”
Mrs. Watson’s throat moved. “In that case, you all have my profound gratitude. Miss Charlotte, would you discuss our next steps?”
Charlotte inclined her head. “I’ll be happy to do that, ma’am.”
She was in one of the dresses Livia had smuggled out from home, a dusty rose velvet adorned with at least fifteen tiers of scarlet flounce. Despite their sheer yardage, the flounces were narrow enough that the ensemble was almost elegant, considering that this was Charlotte.
“We have learned some things,” Charlotte began. “One, I visited a Parisian art dealer yesterday. From speaking to him, I gather that Château Vaudrieu has a reputation of achieving higher prices than elsewhere. Also, that the dealer was personally wary of Château Vaudrieu, for reasons he did not specify but which, to my ears, had nothing to do with art.
“Two, I believe everyone knows that Mrs. Watson and I called on her friend this morning. But you may not know that the friend has revised the description of what she needs from us. Getting to the painting is not the end, but only the beginning. Once we have the painting we will receive further instructions.”
Livia hadn’t heard this before. Mr. Marbleton raised a brow. Lord Ingram gave no reaction, and Mrs. Watson’s expression of general unease did not change.
“This complicates matters, obviously. Earlier it was understood that come the ball, whether we succeeded or we failed, our task would be finished that night. Now, even if we succeed, we will only have succeeded in part.
“But while we must keep that in mind, at the moment what we need to do remains essentially the same: to locate this painting and create enough of a distraction that we can take it out of the château.
“To that end, we must accomplish a number of goals simultaneously. The first is that Lord Ingram’s ally and I will attend the reception, two nights hence at the château, for the most likely buyers. We will try to familiarize ourselves with the château, but I fear that the guests will be heavily herded and that we will not be free to move about.
“Our second goal is to get as many of us into the château aspossible as temporary staff. Thanks to Lord Ingram and his ally, we now know which agency Madame Desrosiers uses for the extra waiters and maids required for the ball.
“Lord Ingram is not suitable for the task, as his face has been in the papers of late. English papers to be sure, but we don’t want anyone at the château to recognize him by some chance. We will also need at least two of us to be among the guests, and it seems to make sense that our ally and I should serve in that capacity, given that we will already be expected to be there, based on our attendance at the reception.
“So that leaves Mrs. Watson, Miss Olivia, and Mr. Marbleton. We are in luck—the staffing agency has dispatched most of its regular roster of personnel to a large house in Paris, for a visit by a foreign dignitary. Which means that they will need to hire extra people very soon. I expect the advertisement to be in the papers by morning. Will you three be willing to try for those positions? Lord Ingram will provide expertly forged letters of character.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Marbleton. “I can even provide my own forged letter of character, if Lord Ingram is busy.”
“It’s only right that I do everything I can,” said Mrs. Watson.
Livia was apprehensive. What if she was the only person whom the service wouldn’t take? Or worse, what if she was the only person they did take? “I will do my best.”
Charlotte nodded. She took a slice of mille-feuille and set it on her plate. Livia hadn’t seen her choose anything so rich since they’d met again—and apparently Charlotte, too, realized her mistake. She gazed at the mille-feuille with a longing that would have been deeply poignant if its object weren’t mere pastry, and then she approached Lord Ingram and offered him the plate. “I made a mistake in my selection, my lord. Would you care for it?”
Lord Ingram didn’t appear remotely interested. Yet he accepted the plate and, with his attention still squarely on Charlotte, bit into the mille-feuille.
At the sight of his teeth sinking into the dessert, Livia’s face heated. She had long believed that Charlotte had no romantic interests. Certainly she’d never mentioned any such inclinations toward Lord Ingram—in fact, Livia had rarely seen them in one setting. But in Lord Ingram’s expression there was a certain... familiarity. Mr. Marbleton, for all his lively interest in Livia, did not look at her like that.
Good gracious, the boy Charlotte had kissed when she was barely pubescent—Livia had long assumed him to be the very pretty and completely feckless Roger Shrewsbury, but what if it had been Lord Ingram? That made much more sense, didn’t it? Mr. Shrewsbury had no discretion at all. And Lord Ingram, other than Charlotte, was the most tight-lipped individual Livia had ever met.
Rather abruptly, Lord Ingram strode across the room, set down his plate, and poured himself a glass of cognac.
“And you, my lord?” Livia heard herself ask. “We haven’t heard what you would do yet.”
He studied the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m not sure whether what I plan to do has any purpose.”
Near the other end of the library, Charlotte ate a slice of orange and made no comment.
“When Mr. Marbleton and I were hiding in the lake, under the bridge, we saw men and dogs running toward the chapel,” said Lord Ingram. “I believe they were chasing something. What do you think, Mr. Marbleton?”
“I agree, but reluctantly, since I never saw what or whom they were chasing. Where did they all go when they vanished for several minutes? Did they catch their quarry? They certainly returned tamely enough, those that passed near us.”
