Page 63 of The Art of Theft
“When I was in the first branch tunnel, I heard some very faint tapping.” Lord Ingram set down his cutlery, pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, and passed it to Mrs. Watson. “I recorded it as best as I could but haven’t been able to make sense of it.”
Everyone examined it, but Livia sensed that they were all waiting for the code to reach Charlotte, who was eating her carrot salad in a terribly refined and ladylike manner, while eyeing the potatoau gratinin itschauffe-plat, kept hot above a bain-marie.
But Charlotte, when the piece of paper came to her, passed it on with barely a glance. “I don’t know what it says either, not without taking some time and effort to decipher it.”
Lord Ingram tucked away the code carefully. “I wonder whether the tapper is the same person as the one who tried to run away the first time Mr. Marbleton and I visited the château.”
“A prisoner,” murmured Mrs. Watson, pushing around the food on her plate.
“I hope there won’t be another,” said Lord Ingram. “There is a female guest at the castle. The hostess, possibly Madame Desrosiers, led her into a secret tunnel to show her the peepholes, as a way of explaining why she hasn’t been given more luxurious lodgings. But later I saw a room that might be hers—of that I have no assurance—but that one, too, can be spied upon.”
“I saw her arrive in the afternoon,” said Livia, relieved to be able to add something, at last, to the discussion. “When ice was delivered, I happened to look out as a woman stepped down from a hired carriage. She had a hooded cloak and held the hood low with her hand, so I didn’t get a good look at her face. But I did see that it was Monsieur Plantier who welcomed her.”
She’d seen Monsieur Plantier again, when he came into the gallery where she’d waited an eternity to see a single guest, and she’d easily inferred his status as the host.
“What’s this woman’s purpose at Château Vaudrieu?” asked Mrs. Watson. “Is she at all related to the ball and the trap it sets for the attendees?”
Lord Ingram frowned and slowly shook his head. “If the guest Miss Olivia saw arriving was the same person who was shown the secret passage, well, the way they spoke, it sounded as if she and Madame Desrosiers barely knew each other. The guest was prickly and Madame Desrosier was careful to reassure her—but nevertheless didn’t entirely trust her.
“And yet Madame Desrosiers also appeared keen to prove her sincerity. Her last words to the guest, concerning how she would achieve that, was ‘Let’s just say it involves a syringe and a choice of injectable solutions.’”
The dining room was silent as everyone pondered the cryptic sentence.
“What else did you observe?” Charlotte asked Livia.
Alas, Livia’s usefulness as a spy had been severely limited not only by the amount of work heaped on the temporary staff, but alsoby the general watchfulness of the permanent staff. “There were guards stationed along the routes the temporary staff used to carry food and other things back and forth. I can mark those places on the architectural plans, but I think the guards were just there to keep an eye on us.
“I did learn that most of the food at the reception was catered by an establishment in Paris. Usually they deliver the food in the afternoon, but this time, men from the château went to Paris in the morning and brought everything back. The cooks at the château did some final baking, assembly, and garnishing—I heard them grumbling over this additional work.”
“Thank you, Miss Olivia,” said Charlotte, a note of approval in her voice. She placed a beef paupiette on her plate and turned to Mr. Marbleton. “Did you notice anything interesting, sir?”
He thought for a moment. “Several things, though I don’t know whether they are of any use or not. First, I overheard some permanent staff complain to one another. They don’t like outsiders at the château. For the ball temporary staff is considered unavoidable, but usually the permanent staff takes care of the reception, and those I heard didn’t care for the last-minute decision to hire extra help for the occasion.
“Which makes me wonder if this ‘servant problem’ isn’t related to the attempted escape that Lord Ingram and I didn’t quite witness the other night. Maybe more guards were needed for the prisoner. Maybe some were let go because they let him get as far as he did. Maybe that was why the château suddenly found itself shorthanded even for the reception.”
He loved his little jokes and moments of lightheartedness, but now he spoke with an assurance beyond his years. Livia’s heart skipped a beat. This moment she found him rather... manly.
“Second,” he went on, “I’m almost certain that a few other members of the temporary staff from last night were also there under false pretenses. But I can’t be sure that they were interested in art orways of stealing art. In fact, I couldn’t understand what they were doing until just now, when Lord Ingram mentioned the code that he heard someone tap, in the bowels of the château.
“I don’t know whether Miss Olivia noticed, but several of the waiters in the gallery with us, during the time we waited for guests to appear, seemed to be always tying their shoes, straightening a corner of the tablecloth, or wiping away stains on the floor. But then I’d notice that they still hadn’t stood up. One time I crossed the room for more napkins at my station and saw that a waiter had disappeared altogether.
“After a minute, he was back. The floor was solid—he couldn’t have gone anywhere so he must have been under his station, concealed by the tablecloth. And it stands to reason that he was there listening for the code, though I’m not sure whether he or his cohorts would have heard anything.”
“Wait!” Livia exclaimed. “Was this the fellow with the thinning blond hair and a small mole next to his nose?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Good gracious, I caught him in a pantry on the floor. I thought he was taking a nap. He must have been listening there, too—he even had the audacity to wink at me. I thought he was some cheeky bloke happy to be paid to do nothing.”
A chill ran down Livia’s back. She’d stood in that gallery, doling out champagne, without the least idea of the undercurrents raging all around her. She glanced up to see Mr. Marbleton looking at her, his expression clearly conveying the question,Are you all right?
After a moment, she gave him a small nod. She’d been fine the night before at the château; there was no reason for her not to be fine now.
Beside Mr. Marbleton, Lord Ingram took a sip from his water goblet. “Do you think those men were there for the code?”
The question was for Charlotte.
“They could have been, provided the code is a code and is meantto be overheard—and not, for example, someone merely tapping along to a piece of hummed music.” Charlotte raised a hand to forestall the collective objection from around the table. “I am not denying the likelihood, merely considering all possibilities.”
