Page 34 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
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Claudette drained the glass set upon Lucrezia’s dressing table and looked regretfully at the near empty decanter.
A shame…but perhaps for the best.
If Madame McCaulay summoned her, it would hardly look well to be unsteady on her feet.
Not that such a thing seemed likely.
She’d brought Madame her pot of hot chocolate and placed the warming pan between the sheets over an hour ago. She and his Lordship would now be asleep, and Claudette left in peace until it was time for her to bring Madame her toast and coddled eggs.
Of course, the stewards on board could have performed such tasks, but Lord McCaulay had been most particular that he wished only Claudette to enter their suite.
Not that she was complaining.
The luxurious cabin located beside her mistress offered every comfort.
And she might do as she pleased, as long as all was set to rights come morning.
Picking up a garnet earring, Claudette clipped it into place and admired her reflection. The facets caught the candlelight so prettily, and wasn’t her own neck just as graceful as the Italian mademoiselle’s? Having attached the other, she turned to the matching necklace and fastened it in place.
As she’d thought, the vermillion of the garnets suited her dark colouring—just as they did Miss di Cavour.
It was regrettable that the more expensive jewels were locked in the purser’s safe, for how she would like to see the diamonds about her throat.
With her hair pinned in the latest fashion, and wearing one of the mademoiselle’s gowns, she would defy anyone from knowing she was not born tola noblesse.
Still, Miss di Cavour’s dressing gown had a certain elegance. It was one of several purchased in Milan—all in the same emerald silk, and embroidered so prettily.
Claudette’s fingers roamed lightly over the multitude of pots and bottles upon the table.
Opening the rouge, she dabbed a little upon her cheeks and then smeared her finger across her lips.
Ah yes! Becoming indeed.
From the glass vials of perfumes, Claudette passed over the Otto of Roses and the Imperial, choosing the Extrait au Chypre. It was more complex than the Bergamot and lemon oil the Madame had purchased for her upon her last birthday; more of the earth, with its wood and moss notes.
It reminded her of the shadiest part of the garden of the Villa Scogliera, and a certain young man who had escorted her there. She’d been picking small leaves from her hair even the day afterward.
It had been a most diverting interlude and, had circumstances been otherwise, perhaps she would have considered his proposal.
But, there was more to see of the world, and the Madame was generous.
I am still young, and there is plenty of time for love.
With a sigh, she reached again for the decanter. Better to finish it, and say that she’d thrown it out for going stale.
She swallowed, savouring the rich warmth of the wine, and rested her head upon her arms. She would just close her eyes for a minute, before returning the jewels to the drawer and hanging up the silk robe.
Deep in slumber, Claudette didn’t hear the pins turning the lock, nor the footsteps of her uninvited guest.
She did not wake even when strong hands lifted the ebony hair from her nape and encircled her neck.
