Gabriel turned to him. “Good morning, Monsieur—?”
“Crawley. Dalziel Crawley.”
Good God.
“Miss Bright,” Gabriel said, “step away from this man. He is dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Dalziel’s my friend.”
Gabriel studied Dalziel. He appeared to be intelligent, kind, and, most important, sane.
“I am my grandparents’ ward,” Dalziel said.
Ah. That explained quite a lot.
“I found your card, with this hotel’s name jotted on the back, amongst Grandmother’s things,” Dalziel said. “I knew I could bring Miss Prudence to you. She cannot return to H?tel Malbert.”
“Of course not.”
“I’d like to go and get Ophelia,” Prue said, “back at the Malbert house.”
“Miss Flax is here,” Gabriel said.
*
“Madame Brand, I must go.” The Count de Griffe stood, and treated Ophelia’s hand to another smooch. As he bent, beads of sweat dripped from his brow.
Was Griffe sweating it out on account of what he’d revealed about Prince Rupprecht? Or was it because of his peculiar passion for Miss Stonewall?
Griffe straightened. “Madame, I beg you, where is your niece now?”
“Oh, shopping for perfume. Or did she say she was going with friends to a panorama exhibition? I simply cannot recall.”
“Edifying herself, eh? An intelligent young lady. I have the utmost regard for intelligent ladies. Please, madame, would you ask your niece to accompany me to Prince Rupprecht’s ball on the morrow?”
“I really don’t think she—”
“Madame, my very happiness depends upon it. Without her at my side tomorrow, I shall wilt in sorrow, decay like the—”
“Very well. I will ask her.”
“Ah, bon. I shall leave here this afternoon for the countryside. I hope to have her answer by then.”
Griffe loped away. Poor lovesick critter. If he only knew the truth about his soap and tallow heiress from Cleveland, Ohio.
*
The reunion of Miss Flax and Miss Bright was quite as noisy and teary—the tears were on Miss Bright’s side—as Gabriel expected. They brought Miss Bright and the young Mr. Dalziel Crawley up to Miss Flax’s suite of rooms and ordered food and drink for Miss Bright. She requested flapjacks and bacon; Gabriel told the waiter to bring strawberry crêpes and jambon de Bayonne.
It took a quarter of an hour to hear Prue’s story.
“You ought to have told me about Hume,” Miss Flax said to Prue.
Although Miss Flax’s voice was scolding, Gabriel saw the tenderness in her eyes. Besides which, she was hand-feeding strawberries to a turtle. Apropos of nothing, it occurred to Gabriel that Miss Flax would make an excellent mother. Miss Ivy Banks would, naturally, always have regiments of nursemaids to help rear her offspring, and Gabriel supposed that was for the best. Miss Banks seemed to care more for her King Charles Spaniel than she did for her nieces and nephews.
Miss Flax set the turtle on the carpet, stood, and paced over to the windows.
“What is it, Miss Flax?” Gabriel asked.
She turned, holding her elbows tightly in cupped hands. “In all the excitement about finding Prue, I forgot to mention that I fancy I’ve worked out who the murderer is.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gabriel said.
Prue took a large bite of whipped cream. Dalziel leaned forward in his chair.
“Prince Rupprecht,” Miss Flax said. She recounted how Griffe had invited Miss Stonewall to accompany him to the ball, and what he’d said about Prince Rupprecht’s discontentedness with ladies. “The prince is mad about the Cinderella story—we already knew that, right, once we learned he’d commissioned the ballet? Now, what I figure is, Prince Rupprecht became acquainted with girls from the ballet company—with Caleb Grant’s assistance, probably—and dressed them up like Cinderella in the gown and such. That’s why he wishes to have the stomacher tomorrow—to give it to whomever this new lady is. The one he means to introduce at the ball.”