“Roque-Fabliau? Of H?tel Malbert? You must be mistaken. That pitiful little marquis, up to his fat chins in debt? His two daughters were thrust upon me at a lecture on Pliny the Elder not long ago. Ugly, grasping creatures. Surely they cannot be descendants of Cinderella.”
“If the manuscript is to be believed, then they are not descendants of Cinderella, but descendants of Cinderella’s father and stepmother.”
Lord Cruthlach’s mouth opened and shut like a carp fish.
“What is it that you know?” Gabriel asked.
“Know?” Lady Cruthlach smoothed the blanket on her knees. “We know nothing, my dear.”
“Perhaps, then, it would be best if we forego any trades in the future.” Gabriel replaced the sheet of paper in the book and snapped it shut. He stood.
“No!” Lady Cruthlach cried. “Stay. I shall tell you. I shall tell you! You are the most diligent, the most resourceful and adventurous collector that we are acquainted with, Lord Harrington. I would so hate to see the last of you.”
Gabriel remained standing, and he tucked the book into his jacket.
“We have heard tell, for many years past, of a most extraordinary relic hidden in the Cendrillon house,” Lady Cruthlach said. “The queen mother of all other fairy tale relics.”
“I don’t quite follow.”
“My lord Athdar is dying, Lord Harrington. Surely that is apparent. But there is something hidden in the Cendrillon house that will change that. Something of such fantastical power that my lord will be restored. And he will live. Yes, he will live.”
“What is the nature of this relic?”
“We know not.” Lady Cruthlach’s eyes glittered. “Yet.”
Had Miss Flax been present, she would have doubtless remarked that Lady Cruthlach wasn’t a very fine actress.
Gabriel gave Lady Cruthlach his card with the name of his hotel written on the back. He left the mansion with the uneasy sense that he had somehow revealed too much.
8
Ophelia had never laid eyes on the Malberts’ coachman, who the girls had called Henri, because she had never ridden in their equipage. She did know that Eglantine and Austorga kept him busy day and night with their chock-full social calendars and that he must, then, be always at the ready.
She slipped away from the ladies in the salon, donned her cloak, and went out into the rear courtyard through a pair of doors in the library. The mansion formed two sides of the courtyard, and the ivy-covered carriage house and a high wall formed the other two sides. Beside the large, curved carriage doors was another, smaller door. Ophelia knocked on the small door.
Rustling and footfalls sounded within, and the door opened. A fine-looking young man stood before Ophelia. He was not very tall, but he had well-formed muscles, a proud bearing, and floppy brown curls. He wore shirtsleeves and a coachman’s shiny boots. “Madame Brand, bonjour,” he said in a calm, deep voice.
“Do you speak English?” Ophelia asked.
“Oui, yes, a little, please only.” His dark eyes twinkled. “Madame la Marquise, she keep all servants only who speak English.”
Ophelia fancied Henrietta had kept Henri on for reasons quite unrelated to his English-speaking abilities. And it was no wonder the three young ladies were so quick to spring to Henri’s defense. He would’ve caused a sensation on the dramatic stage.
“How did you know my name?” Ophelia asked.
“Baldewyn, he always tell me name of guest, oui? So that I might be, how you say, polite. Good servant.” His winning smile hid something sly.
“Well, I simply wished to ask you, Henri, about the carriageway key.”
“Ah, oui? It is kept locked always, madame, for we are in city very big.”
“No, no, I do not wish to go through the gate. I merely wished to ask if it had been left open, by you, on the night that, well”—Ophelia lowered her voice—“that the poor girl was dragged into the garden.”
“Non. I tell police. I never forget of locking gate. Never. That evening, aussi, I stay in. Here, in carriage house, parce que the mademoiselles entertain at home.”
“You were here.”