Another Scandal in Bohemia (32 page)

“Where?” I asked.

“Paris, as I suggested today, although she denied it.”

“Paris—anywhere in Paris in particular?”

‘Twice, one publicly and once privately. But you only are aware or seeing her on one occasion, and that formal.” I loathed it when Irene pretended to greater knowledge than I, and then refused to demonstrate it.

“A formal occasion,” I pondered. “We have attended few formal occasions in Paris, unless one would consider that vile Bernhardt woman’s salons such an event.”

“Excellent, Nell,” Irene encouraged, rooting in her reticule for another cigarette.

While she was thus distracted I subjected my poor brains to the equivalent of St Lawrence’s hot gridiron, but produced nothing.

Irene, ensconced again with a smoking cigarette, was looking smug.

“Remember that tall blond woman present when I sang for the Empress of all the Russias?”

I frowned. “But she was... Irene, she was seen with the man passing himself off as the heavy game hunter, Captain Sylvester Morgan, that night! You mean to say that this woman is associated with that murderous wretch, Colonel Sebastian Moran! The man who before my very eyes plunged with Quentin Stanhope into the Thames only months ago! No....”

“You saw her before that night in Sarah Bernhardt’s salon,” Irene went on with the relentless air of a barrister, no doubt gained from her association with Godfrey. “I believe that she lingered on the cobblestones outside Notre Dame Cathedral when Quentin first approached us, when he fell at our feet subjected to a poisonous injection.”

“No! Irene—”

“I further believe that this ‘Tatyana’ is the Russian spy Quentin had heard of in Afghanistan just before the Battle of Maiwand
nin
e years ago, when he was known by the sobriquet of Cobra and Moran that of Tiger. You recall Quentin’s cryptic reference to ‘Sable’?”

“Irene, no! I recall none of this. And now you say this creature is the King’s mistress? You will go to any length to preserve your pride and concoct some absurd scheme to justify that opinion. Impossible! I cannot believe that a woman associated with Colonel Moran nearly a decade ago would surface at one of Sarah Bernhardt’s soirees.

“It’s even more ludicrous that she would hie to Bohemia and become the King’s mistress. Why? Simply to spite you? You have far too grand an opinion of your importance in the world, of your effect on kings and other foolish men, and of your memory and impressions.”

“Perhaps,” she said in a suspiciously meek manner. “I do depend a great deal upon your diaries for enlightenment. You are most precise about details, Nell, even if you do not fully comprehend them. I know you travel with these delicious little volumes. Please consult the proper volumes and we will shortly see how grievously I have erred on this occasion.”

She directed a stream of smoke as thin as a stiletto in my direction.

Chapter Twenty-one

GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER?

Once again
we had been forced to play false with our hotel rooms. Godfrey and I roomed in separate chambers. Irene as “Lady Sherlock” and her “sister Allegra” maintained their own suite.

Irene managed to intercept Godfrey when he paused at the hotel after a day of consultation among the bankers and financiers of Prague, before he was off for the evening. He was indeed to dine with the King at Prague Castle that evening, he had told her, upon His Majesty’s especial invitation.

When Irene, with Allegra in hand, collected me for another hotel dinner later that evening she informed me of this arrangement.

“Apparently, no interlopers—that is, women—are allowed. Not even the Queen will be tolerated for dinner.” Her melodramatic sigh of disappointment did much for her décolletage. “I should
so
like to observe Godfrey and the King at dinner together!”

“No doubt,” I responded, appalled. That was the last thing in the world that I cared to see, and the second-to-the-last thing would be the King and Irene together again in the same room.

“We shall simply have to plan our own adventures over dinner,” Irene added, linking arms with Allegra and myself on our way downstairs, and leading us off at a brisk pace.

I began to harbor deep doubts about this Bohemian venture, but dinner was pleasant enough, thanks to the company, although largely inedible—until we retired upstairs again. Allegra once more was banished to their suite while Irene slipped into my room for a consultation. She intended to stop last at Godfrey’s chamber, to which she had a spare key.

“I suppose that you will interrogate him mercilessly,” I noted as I turned up the lamps.

“That depends on how forthcoming Godfrey is. I must say that he is taking an unusual relish in this masquerade. He seemed actually... enthusiastic about his
tête-à-tête
with the King.”

“A man seldom has an opportunity to study his former rival. Besides, Godfrey takes his assignment for the Rothschilds most seriously. He will not let personal matters intervene.”

“Do you think that I will?” Irene indignant was especially impressive.

“What scheme have you in mind for us tomorrow?” I asked narrowly.

“Nothing of much consequence. It seems that bankers, kings, and barristers have so much in common that we poor ladies must fend for ourselves, and are condemned to minor matters. I propose an outing to the Old Town to hunt this convenient Golem of yours.”

“Do you imply that Godfrey and I were diddled by the Rothschild agent, that it was arranged for us to see a false monster?”

She shrugged. “The Golem is a Gothic element that adds a picturesque quality to a common and sordid political intrigue. I am sure that Baron Alphonse is well aware of my attraction to the exotic. So, no, I do not expect to find serious traces of the Golem, but I would like Allegra to see more of Prague than the autocrats on Hradcany hill. The streets teem with color and music, and I have missed them.”

“The streets are as dangerous to us as any Golem! We will be three women alone.”

“No, four.”

“Four?”

“I managed a discreet word with the Queen during our visit yesterday. She has agreed to join us—in disguise, of course.”

“The Queen! She is not suited for such expeditions.”

“Neither are you, Nell, but you go.”

“What are you up to, Irene?”

“Have you forgotten my first mission: to help Clotilde? I want to show her Bohemia, the real Bohemia, that she rules by a quirk.”

“How will this revelation solve the problem of the King’s indifference?”

“I don’t know, but it will aid the problem of the King’s and Queen’s indifference to their subjects.”

“You really think that Clotilde cares about such grand issues?”

“I think that Clotilde cares far more than even she guesses, and than this King could ever imagine.”

“Irene, I confess myself at an utter loss. I have no idea what you think you are doing here, but such a scheme cannot be useful or even healthy.”

“No,” she admitted with that charming frankness I found nigh impossible to resist, “but it may be effective.”

A knock at my chamber door the next morning sounded like the pecking of a sparrow.

Puzzled—for neither Irene nor Godfrey were timid knockers, and the hour was far too early for the affected scratch of the chambermaid—I opened the door.

Allegra Turnpenny stood before it, toying with her beribboned sleeve cuff. In her cashmere green-plaid Directoire redingote with its puffed sleeves, wide waist sash, and lace collar, she looked as charming as a shepherdess.

“Are we ready for breakfast, then?” I inquired, more eager to learn the results of Godfrey’s royal dinner than to breakfast like a Bohemian peasant.

Allegra looked away, clearing her throat. “I suspect that you and I will have to make a pair of it.”

“Oh?” Her unusually diffident manner alarmed me. I stepped back from the door so she could enter the room and we could speak privately. “What of Irene and Godfrey?”

Allegra came out with it in a burst. “Mrs. Norton did not return to the suite we share last night.”

“Irene is missing!? Heavens, child, why did you not say so immediately!?” I rushed to fetch my wrap, reticule, and my bonnet and gloves, naturally. Inquiries might be necessary, and that would require us to leave the hotel. My mind flailed for the last time I had been assured of Irene’s whereabouts. “I saw her after dinner, of course. She planned to wait up for Godfrey in his room and discover what he had learned at the castle. We must ask Godfrey when he came in, thus establishing when Irene might have... vanished. You did notify Godfrey first thing?”

I bustled Allegra out of the door, barely remembering my room key, and started down the passage. Allegra, rather than matching my haste, dragged her feet most annoyingly.

“Hurry, dear girl! Not a moment is to be lost. Irene may be off on some secret escapade, but then again she may have been kidnapped by the King’s agents, or—Allegra, are you coming or not?”

The girl drew to a stop behind me, still fidgeting with the ribbons on her gown, I could have shaken her, and tried to do so verbally.

“Allegra!”

“I have not yet... disturbed Godfrey,” she admitted.

“Then we must notify him immediately. Gracious! We do not even know that
Godfrey
is in his room, or that he returned last night. Heavens! Irene may have fallen asleep waiting for Godfrey, while he may have been captured by the King, who has known Irene’s identity all along, and now Godfrey is being held prisoner in the dungeons of Prague Castle—”

“Miss Huxleigh,” Allegra interrupted me, “I truly doubt that Godfrey is languishing in Prague Castle’s dungeons, or that he is in the least discomforted at the moment. Neither do I think that you should actually... knock at Godfrey’s door.”

“Not knock? I have never been afraid to knock at a door in my life. I am not much noted for courage, but in that regard I am a lion. As long as one knocks politely, one can do no wrong.”

“I considered doing it myself,” she confessed, “but—”

“But? You have become a very school-roomish miss. Courage! We may discover the worst, but we will at least know more than we do now.”

I had pulled Allegra toward Godfrey’s door despite her folly in hanging back. We must discover what had happened to our companions no matter how mystifying or frightening the news.

“Either they are in here, or they are not,” I told Allegra, poising a firm fist above the wood.

Allegra Turnpenny stayed my hand, hanging from my arm like a distraught child. “Please, Miss Huxleigh,” she begged in an agonized whisper. “I don’t think that you understand.”

“Nonsense! It is you who are too timid to face facts.”

“Miss Huxleigh, I am not afraid that Mr. and Mrs. Norton are
not
in the room; I am afraid that they are!”

The absurdity of her remark froze me in mid-gesture. Allegra whispered in my ear. “Mrs. Norton has always returned to my room for the night until now. The reason for this abrupt change in habit may not be sinister, as you think, but merely... marital.”

“Oh.” My arm dropped back to my side.

I considered such matters as room arrangements in purely practical terms when we traveled. Once a person had accepted a room as hers or his, she or he stayed there, as one would in a home. I never thought of—but then it was none of my business.

I let Allegra lead me down the passage a little before I said, “What do you suggest?’

“Mr. Norton’s and your rooms are single chambers, while Mrs. Norton’s and mine is a suite. If we knock and are... precipitous, no other room cushions us from the... occupants. Perhaps we should breakfast on our own and investigate later. Mrs. Norton planned to await Mr. Norton in his room. If we assume that nothing untoward has happened... we must not intervene until a more suitable hour. If you are indeed right, and some perfidy has been afoot, then we shall berate ourselves bitterly for not acting. That is why I came to your door. I do not want full responsibility for whatever action we take.”

I considered. Allegra was correct. How much better to assume we were witnessing the results of a domestic improvisation—however awkward and embarrassing—rather than a criminal attack.

“I will not be able to eat so much as a kipper until I know that all is well,” I complained.

This time Allegra took my arm to led me toward the stairs. “We must give time a chance, dear Miss Huxleigh, to prove that ordinary rather than extraordinary actions explain our dilemma.”

“Irene’s irregularities in habitation set a most improper example for you!”

Allegra’s smile displayed her dimples. “On the contrary; I do not blame her in the least. As for propriety, they are married, after all.”

“Yet to let you wonder and worry all night! She should have said something.”

“What?” Allegra asked with eyes as candid as Evian water.

What, indeed?

We went down to the hotel’s usual uninspired breakfast: strangely spiced sausage, eggs and potatoes, and the Bohemian national delicacy: leaden, lumpy dumplings.

We had survived the worst and were consoling ourselves with heaping bowls of fresh berries and cream when a motion in the dining room archway caught our eyes.