Page 79 of The Art of Theft
Over the years a number of guests would have gone upstairs to those bedrooms, in search of forbidden pleasures. Knowing what she knew of how Château Vaudrieu operated, those unfortunate guests, already threatened with exposure, were probably also compelled to return year after year, lest attendance from the best Parisian Society seemed to wane over time.
She glanced at the couples spinning past. How many of themhad to force themselves to dance and make merry? How many whirled in the midst of a place they loathed, gritting their teeth to convey good humor and high spirits?
All at once she couldn’t wait to be gone from this accursed manor.
But not until they’d done what they needed to do.
Every minute lasted an hour. Yet somehow she felt that they were behind schedule. Lord Ingram and Mrs. Watson, according to the plan, should be strolling arm in arm on the balcony above, alert for any guests exiting toward the bedrooms. And Lord Ingram’s ally was watching the galleries where those who’d attended the reception and received special personalized tickets were to place those tickets, on which they’d handwritten their offers, into glass jars marked with the names of the paintings.
They were also on the lookout for a third signal. Charlotte was certain that at least one group of art thieves would try to sabotage the supply of electricity. She was also sure that the château must have a second electrical plant and that the outage would not last very long.
But when that moment of sudden darkness came, the guests, some of whom were already a little tipsy, might become amorous in their conduct. Which meant that after the light was restored, there would be a steady exodus of guests searching for privacy.
Charlotte and co. were to make their move after Lord Ingram’s ally had put in his bids, but before the stampede toward the bedrooms.
“Haven’t we danced enough? Shouldn’t we be at the next stage of the plan by now?” Livia whispered, as the music came to an end.
Charlotte glanced toward the balcony. “Maybe we already are.”
Lord Ingram and Mrs. Watson were nowhere to be seen, but a man in a distinctive black horned mask stood with an elbow braced on the balustrade. Charlotte offered her arm to Livia, and together they climbed up.
“Mr. Nariman,” said Charlotte in a jolly tone, “did you put in your bids?”
Was this man Lord Ingram’s mysterious ally?
“I did,” he said in slightly accented English. “But there were only glass jars for incoming offers in the galleries, and no artworks at all. I spoke to the staff stationed near the glass jars and they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell me anything.”
Livia’s stomach rolled. They knew that the château had taken a number of defensive measures, including guarding the chapel against unauthorized entry and going to a different agency for the temporary staff required for the night of the ball. But removing the artworks altogether when the ball was also a celebrated occasion for transactions in art?
What was going on?
It was difficult to gauge Charlotte’s reaction with her mask on. She was silent for some time, and when she spoke, it was only to say, softly, “Here are Madame and Mr. Marbleton.”
Everyone addressed Mrs. Watson’s friend as simply Madame. Her black ballgown was modestly cut and revealed a Mediterranean skin tone. Mr. Marbleton had on the usual black formal attire. They wore matching gold masks with enormous purple plumes that nodded from above their heads.
“What does this mean?” asked Madame tightly, in French, when she and Mr. Marbleton had been informed of the latest development.
The five of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the parapet of the gallery. Below, the dancers eddied and swirled. For a moment Livia had the disconcerting sensation that she might fall into this human tide and be carried away.
“The château must have decided to neutralize all the would-be art thieves tonight,” said Charlotte. “All their plans of disruption would have been contingent on the paintings being within reach. Remove the paintings altogether and there is no point in any of the plans being put into motion.”
“You have been prescient, Miss Charlotte, in bypassing the Van Dyck in your preparations,” said Madame.
“Not this prescient.” Charlotte smoothed a gloved hand on the parapet. “Let’s not wait for any other signals. We will proceed to the bedrooms now.”
She placed Livia’s hand on Mr. Marbleton’s arm. Then she offered her own arm to Madame. Lord Ingram’s ally tucked Madame’s other hand into the crook of his elbow. A lone man wandering the hallways might make the guards suspicious, but a couple, or better yet a ménage à trois, would pass for revelers feeling a little too frisky for their own good.
Livia didn’t feel frisky. She barely felt the ground beneath her feet. Only Mr. Marbleton’s arm seemed real and solid. She clung on, trying not to double over in panic.
As they neared their destination, they encountered Lord Ingram and Mrs. Watson, who had been directing traffic. “Only two parties came up so far, and they went to the other corridor. But there is a guard stationed outside the linen closet.”
They needed to access the first secret passage Lord Ingram explored, the one in which he had to hide from the two women who entered, one of whom being possibly his wife. From studying the architectural plans, which did not show any of the secret passages, Charlotte had deduced that that the women must have used a hidden door in the back of a linen closet.
And now the linen closet was guarded.
Livia’s heart beat so hard her chest hurt.
“This is not unforeseen,” said Charlotte coolly. “We’ve rehearsed for it. Let’s proceed.”
