RAVENNA RUBBED SLEEPLESS hours from her eyes, dressed, and sought out General Dijon’s daughter. Arielle sat in the empty drawing room, her fingertips listless upon the keys of the pianoforte. Her pretty eyes lit with hope as she stood and crossed the room.
“Have they found ma petite?” she said eagerly. “Have they found Marie?” Her English was soft, her Gallic accent adding music to her voice.
Ravenna shook her head. “Not yet. But I’m certain they shall.”
Last night she and Lord Vitor had not spoken of the dog, though she had intended to. They had not searched for the dagger or reviewed any other details of their investigation either. Instead, they had held hands in the dark. And he had nearly kissed her.
Ravenna’s cheeks felt warm as she sat with Arielle on the sofa.
“Why are you alone here? The prince ordered that everyone must always be with at least two companions.”
“Mademoiselle Anders came here with me, but some minutes ago she became impatient and departed.”
“Impatient concerning what? Do you know?”
Arielle shook her head.
“Mademoiselle Dijon, I have not yet had the opportunity to speak with you about the night Mr. Walsh was killed.”
The French girl’s pretty brow dipped. “Then it is true,” she said. “You and Lord Vitor hope to discover the madman who did these crimes?”
“Is that known?”
“Lady Iona said to me she believed this to be. Monsieur Sepic, he is . . .” She made a thoroughly Gallic gesture with her slender shoulders.
Lady Iona was too observant for Ravenna’s tastes, and Monsieur Sepic clearly inspired faith in no one at Chevriot.
“Is it true?” the French girl asked.
“May I be frank with you?”
Arielle nodded, black lashes wide against her pale skin. She was loveliness itself, with china smooth skin and black ringlets and perfect lips, like a doll.
“Yesterday Monsieur Sepic suggested to me and Lord Vitor that your dog went missing at precisely the moment that, if you had murdered Mr. Walsh, you would wish to provide a sympathetic distraction to draw attention away from yourself as a suspect.”
Arielle’s eyes flew wide. “Mais, I would not murder a man!”
Ravenna released a tight breath. “I hoped you would say that.”
“What else might I have said?”
“That you would never put Marie in danger or part with her, even to disguise your crime.”
Distress tweaked her rosebud mouth. “But I would not.”
“Of course you would not. I understand your devotion to her. Because of it your immediate insistence that you did not murder a man speaks to your innocence.”
“If I did not think murder impossible, I would have spoken first of my Marie?”
Ravenna nodded.
Arielle’s slender hand rose to her quivering lips. “But I am devastated that she is gone.”
Ravenna grasped her hands. “We will find her. I promise it.”
“Ah,” came a silken purr from the doorway. “What an affecting scene.” Lady Penelope bent her golden head to her sister’s silvery locks. “It seems that our friend from the West Country does not know that a lady refrains from mauling her acquaintances.” She made a delicate little shrug and moved into the drawing room. “I don’t suppose you mind it, do you, mademoiselle? In America you must encounter infinite gaucheries, n’est-ce pas?” She dimpled sweetly and lowered her behind, clad in a stunning morning gown, upon a settee. Her sister perched beside her. Despite the absence of servants, both of them appeared each day pristinely elegant. They had each other’s assistance, Ravenna supposed.
Arielle wrapped her other delicate hand around Ravenna’s. “Merci, mademoiselle,” she said softly.
Lady Penelope chuckled. “Dear Mademoiselle Dijon, she does not understand French. Miss Caulfield, she said she is grateful.”
“Thank you for the translation. I am glad to see you, in fact. Monsieur Sepic asked me to ask you, your mother, and Lady Grace about the night of Mr. Walsh’s murder,” she lied without a single prick of conscience. “We can begin now.”
“You will speak of my mother as Lady Whitebarrow,” Penelope said, “when I allow you to speak of her at all. And I will tell you when I and my sister are prepared to answer impertinent questions from an upstart country pauper.”
“Her sister is a duchess, Penny,” Lady Grace whispered as though they all couldn’t hear her perfectly well.
“Did you enjoy the dancing last night, Miss Caulfield?” Lady Penelope asked sweetly. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know how to dance, do you?”
Heat darted through Ravenna.
“Look, Grace,” Lady Penelope said with a curl of her perfect lips. “The blush does show through her skin after all. Remarkable.”
“Well, isn’t this a pretty gathering of little birds?” Lady Margaret exclaimed upon a labored breath where she stood in the doorway with her hand tucked in Petti’s elbow. His eyes twinkled. He preferred the company of loquacious women and handsome men to any other. With Lady Margaret and Duchess McCall in residence, as well as several attractive gentlemen, he’d been in perpetual good humor despite the murder and theft hanging over them all. Ravenna had to smile.
They came forward, and only then mousy Ann appeared in her mother’s bustling wake.
“Come, Ann dear.” Lady Margaret waved a plump hand. “You must show off the pearls your fond papa gave you this morning.”
The mouse peeked from behind the matron.
“Oh, Miss Feathers.” Arielle went to draw Ann to a chair away from her mother. “How beloved you must be to your father. It is a fine necklace.”
It was large and vulgar and must weigh half a stone. Sir Henry had superb taste in Thoroughbreds but apparently little discernment in ladies’ jewelry. Poor Ann’s shoulders practically bent over, and two spots of crimson perched upon her cheeks, at odds with her gray and yellow pin-striped gown.
“Dear me,” Lady Penelope purred. “What an impressive display.” Rather than Ann’s necklace, she looked at Lady Margaret’s ample bosom that bubbled like slow-boiling soup at the edge of her scooping bodice. Sir Henry’s wife had taken to wearing daring gowns and bending over in front of Lord Prunesly. The scholar renowned throughout Europe for his discoveries in natural philosophy seemed to take no notice of the eager biological specimen.
“Agreed, m’dear,” Petti said affably, and settled Lady Margaret in a chair beside the twins. “Ladies charm especially well when they are specially adorned.”
Penelope nudged her sister.
“But don’t you think, sir,” Grace blurted, “that given present circumstances it is inappropriate to behave as though we are attending a party every day?”
“But, my dear, we are attending a party. And our host wishes us to enjoy ourselves. Therefore, we must. When there is a murderer afoot, it behooves a lady to make herself as pretty as ever. To give us all cheer, don’t you know. We must take our cue from that medieval fellow who wrote that clever book. When all the peasants were dropping dead of the plague, the ladies and gentlemen removed themselves to the country and diverted themselves with delightful stories. Ten stories each night for ten days, until the pestilence passed.”
“Really?” Ann peeped.
“Certainly, m’dear. Those Italians were vastly clever.”