Page 44 of A Proposition for the Comte
‘That sounds like a dangerous place to be.’
‘It is, but de Beaumont can disappear in a heartbeat just as he can appear in one. He was the one who helped Summerley Shayborne home to England and he has aided countless others.’
‘English people?’
‘And French and Italian and Spanish. His speciality is dealing with the trickiest of diplomatic disasters and resolving them when it suits those in charge of the power in France. I doubt he has failed in one single mission.’
‘Not a man to trifle with, then.’
‘Or a man to settle. As your godfather, Violet, I would advise you to stay well away from him.’
Amaryllis coughed in a strange way. ‘The French Comte did save her life yesterday, my lord. He can’t be all bad.’
‘Untamedis a better word, Mrs Hamilton. He’s like a wolf in a henhouse when he graces the hallowed halls of theton. All teeth and hunger.’
Charles was right in that, Violet thought. Every person in the room was approaching this conversation from a different angle. On her behalf, she wished Aurelian might come back and gobble her up again.
‘If there are any developments with your assailant, Violet, I shall send word. As it stands, the guards outside will protect you and Cummings and his department are doing their very best to try and make the miscreant talk.’
‘Thank you.’ She gave her gratitude in a haze, everything that had happened over the past few days sending her mind awhirl. She wished Aurelian would come tonight to see her, but Charles had said the Comte would not be back in London until tomorrow.
The smell of rivers never changed, Lian thought. Not in Paris nor in London nor in any far-flung stinking hellhole into which he had trawled in order to find information.
The tone of the calls of the working boatmen across a falling day seldom changed, either; the congestion of the evening leaving a heavy wash on the boards of the lighter upon which he travelled.
The others about him pressed in, trying to escape the wetness. Drying heavy wool in winter was difficult and it was far better to simply do away with the need for it. Hence the man to his right was almost plastered to his chest, the smell of old tobacco and cheap liquor on his breath and sharp interest in his eyes.
The note that Violet had showed him last night worried him. The paper had smelt faintly of some scent he could not quite get a hold of. A hand of disguise, but a light hand none the less.
‘You be going over for the celebrations of the wedding of the MacKintosh party?’
The man beside him waited for an answer and, having little idea of what he alluded to, Lian simply shook his head. He’d long been at home with accents and had an ear for returning the cadence of languages so the thought of falling into conversation was not worrying him.
What was concerning him was the fire he could see on the bank to the left, a fierce wind whipping the sparks south into the timbered wall of a shack on the close.
He’d been in the middle of the July fire in Paris of 1810, when the Austrian Ambassador had given a ball to celebrate the wedding of Napoleon to Marie Louise of Austria. Ever since, he’d been wary of flame and this one seemed to be growing by the moment.
Others, too, seemed to be becoming increasingly aware, the shifting weight causing the wherryman to shout at the top of his lungs for the passengers to keep still as the wooden piles of the wharf came beneath the boat.
The air was thick with rancid smoke though the wind was swirling and the next moment it was gone to blow in an opposite direction.
John Wylie was waiting for him.
‘We’ll need to go away from the riverfront because of the fire.’
‘Is it being put out?’
‘Oh, aye. The firefighters have arrived and the place is self-standing, so the only problem now is finding a seat in another drinking establishment, given the tavern here has been emptied. I coulda come to you, guv, if ye’d wanted it so.’
Aurelian shook off the idea. ‘No. It’s better here. Is Welsh with you?’ After yesterday at the park he could not be sure he wasn’t being watched.
‘Over there with Peter Flavell. They both did as ye asked.’
The room they found after walking up the incline was at the back of the tavern, a small rickety space with the barest of privacy.
‘The man in the custody of the Home Office is dead, guv.’
Aurelian swore. ‘You are telling me that he died under lock and key and well guarded? That’s something to think about and think about hard.’
