The Counterfeit Heiress (13 page)

9

Monsieur Pinard’s offices in the rue de Courcelles, just south of Parc Monceau, conveyed luxury the moment one entered them. Fine art hung on walls paneled in sumptuous wood, silk Persian carpets blanketed parquet floors, and the chairs were covered with butter-soft morocco leather. Estella might not have had a taste for Worth, but Monsieur Pinard inhabited another league entirely. His clothes were of the finest fabric and could only be described as violently fashionable. Colin and I had come to his office alone, leaving Cécile and Jeremy at the café. Four was too large a party for this part of our work. The solicitor did not keep us waiting long, despite our lack of appointment.

“I do hope you are not here because Mademoiselle Lamar caused a commotion in London.” He sat behind an ebony desk after we refused the coffee he offered. “It would be very unlike her. She has proved herself a great adventurer, but has not once fallen afoul of the authorities in any of the countries she has visited. So please, Monsieur Hargreaves, do explain what my client has done to draw the attention of an agent of the British Crown.”

“You believe Estella Lamar is, or has recently been, in London?” Colin asked.

“Your presence here suggests just that. I cannot give you details, as I am not in possession of them. I know little beyond what her invoices tell me. In this case, I remember very well a large one from the House of Worth for a masquerade costume intended for the Devonshire House ball.”

“Mademoiselle Lamar did not appear at the ball,” I said. The solicitor shrugged.

“This is hardly my concern.”

“You should, perhaps, take better notice.” Colin rose from his seat, placed his hands on the edge of Monsieur Pinard’s desk, and leaned hard on them. “So far as we can tell, your client has not been in London at any time in the recent past. A woman came to the ball in the costume Mademoiselle Lamar commissioned from Worth. This woman identified herself as your client to the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire as well as to the rest of London society. When confronted by a lady who recognized the fraud, the woman fled, only to be found murdered some hours later.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Now Monsieur Pinard became serious. He tapped his hand on the desk. “You are quite certain Mademoiselle is not in the house in Belgravia?”

“She has not been there in more than two decades,” I said. “Does this surprise you?”

“To own the truth, I would be more surprised if she were there. She has developed a taste for things considerably more exotic. The last letter I had from her indicated that she is planning to start for China by the end of the month.”

“What exactly is your arrangement with Miss Lamar?” Colin asked.

“I was the executor of her parents’ estate, and have handled her financial interests since their deaths. Mademoiselle Lamar showed little interest in the details of her fortune, beyond a brief period—that amounted to nothing—in which she flirted with the idea of investing in industry. I pay her bills, manage her investments, and, since she has been away, ensure that her houses are well run in her absence. If you have been to Belgravia, I assume you are aware that she wants everything left as if she were there.”

“Yes,” I said. “Is that not rather a wanton waste of money? We were in place des Vosges before coming to you. That is not an inexpensive house to run.”

“Mademoiselle Lamar can well afford it. My job is not to judge her eccentricities. If she began to spend at an unsustainable rate, I would do my best to remedy the situation, but she has never approached that, even with her three houses.”

“The third is a villa in the south?” Colin asked.

“
Oui,
but so far as I know Mademoiselle Lamar has not visited it since losing her parents. I make an annual trip there and to London to check on things. Her staff are very loyal, but one must make sure they are doing what they ought.” He clasped his hands together on the desk and smiled. “I am painfully aware that this situation is most extraordinary. Servants running empty houses. An heiress traveling the world in the company of no one but a companion and foreign natives and all but refusing to return home. There is no denying the strangeness of all of it, but Mademoiselle Lamar is a grown woman in possession of a large fortune, and she has the unfettered right to spend it however she sees fit. My job is to do what she directs—I am employed by her, not vice versa.”

“You are not concerned about her in the least?” I asked.

“This business of the costume and the murdered woman is unsettling, I allow you that.” He paused, turned away from us in his chair, and looked out the windows behind his desk. “The only reasonable explanation is that Mademoiselle Lamar had decided to buy the costume for this other woman. Is it possible they met abroad?” He faced us again.

“Almost certainly not,” Colin said. He had resumed his seat, but was staring at Monsieur Pinard with great intensity. “She was a midwife and a failed actress and would have had neither the means nor the opportunity to travel.”

“It is quite a mystery then. Perhaps someone at the House of Worth could offer you assistance? If the costume were made for someone other than Mademoiselle Lamar, they would have had to know in order to make it fit the wearer, would they not?”

“Could we please see your copy of the invoice?” I asked.

“This is no problem.” He pulled a thick folder from one of the side drawers in his desk, rustled through the papers in it, and produced the invoice in question. “You may take it with you if you like. I will also give you a note, explaining that you are working with me on a matter concerning Mademoiselle Lamar, so there will be no difficulties.”

“Thank you.” Colin’s tone was all politeness, but I recognized a tension in it as well. “We will also need to go over all your records concerning Miss Lamar.”

The solicitor threw his hands in the air. “I am most sorry, Monsieur Hargreaves, but I cannot allow that. My client’s finances are confidential, and unless she directly orders me to share her private information with you, I am bound by ethics to deny your request.”

I could see it was time for me to intervene. “Monsieur Pinard, no one could doubt either your keen sense of ethics or your devotion to your client.” I smiled at him, forcing my eyes to linger on his. “I am most concerned about Mademoiselle Lamar. This murder, though it did not directly impact her, at least not so far as we know, is connected to her in some way, and she may be in a great deal of danger. Surely you will help me. I need you so very much. Without you, how can we protect Estella?”

He smiled while I spoke, which I took as a positive sign, and he fidgeted almost indiscernibly—I spotted it—before he replied. “Lady Emily, you are most passionate in your plea, and I am tempted more than you can know. I care deeply about Mademoiselle Lamar, but unless you can prove to me that she is in danger, I am afraid I cannot comply, no matter how charming you may be.”

My face flushed hot. I was mortified to have so misjudged the situation—but who would not have made the same mistake? I had believed all Frenchmen susceptible to a friendly flirtation.

“My wife’s worries stem from more than general concern, Monsieur Pinard. As you had no way of knowing that, you of course misunderstood her. Are you acquainted with Cécile du Lac, your client’s closest friend from her years in Paris?”

“I do not know her personally, but am aware of her relationship to Mademoiselle Lamar.”

“Madame du Lac is convinced something terrible has happened to her friend. As I explained, I am an agent of the British Crown. My wife is an investigator in her own right, and she is here not only to support my role, but also to further her own work. Madame du Lac has charged her with locating Estella Lamar.”

I could have kissed Colin on the spot for having made something very nearly sensible come out of my blunder. “Forgive me if I was unclear before, Monsieur Pinard,” I said. “Madame du Lac has no doubt that her friend is in the most perilous situation. Like you, I am bound by the confidential nature of the services I provide, and cannot disclose everything my client knows. I would never want to do something of which Mademoiselle Lamar would not approve. How long do you think it would take for you to receive a response from a telegram to her? Perhaps you could send one, and if she doesn’t reply in a timely fashion, you would be willing to reconsider your position? If there is nothing wrong, she is bound to answer straightaway, either granting or denying you permission to give us what we have asked.”

Confusion clouded the solicitor’s face. “If Mademoiselle Lamar were easy to reach, Madame du Lac could confirm for herself that there is no problem. My client is not traveling in accessible locations. One cannot send a wire to the jungles of Siam.”

“Do they have jungles in Siam?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “I have never traveled there myself.”

“I am no expert on the geography. All I can tell you is that I cannot reliably communicate with Mademoiselle Lamar. She sends directions when she sees fit. She is not obligated to keep me abreast of her every whim.”

“So if something were to go dreadfully wrong with her, you might not know in time to offer even the slightest assistance?” I asked.

“One could look at it that way, Lady Emily, but my job is not to offer assistance. It is not to rescue my client if she chooses to put herself in dangerous situations. As I have already said, I manage her finances and her properties, and unless someone in a position of authority requires me to share Mademoiselle Lamar’s private information, I will not do so.” He rose from his seat. “If you will be so good as to excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do.”

*   *   *

“My deepest apologies for having bungled that. I thought a little flirting would distract him enough to say yes to whatever we wanted.” Upon leaving Monsieur Pinard’s office, Colin and I walked the short distance to Parc Monceau, and had settled on a comfortable bench to discuss our situation.

“It was not an altogether ridiculous strategy, although even a Frenchman, Emily, is bound to hesitate at flirting when the lady’s husband is sitting two feet away.”

“You know full well that is not true! I have seen, any number of times—”

“Do not excite yourself.”

I sighed and slumped as much as my corset would allow. “Monsieur Pinard does not seem to have the slightest concern for Estella’s well-being.”

“He is correct when he says that is not his job. What matters at the moment, however, is that he had believed Estella to have been in London for the ball. His copy of the invoice from Worth gave no information about where the costume was to be delivered or mentioned anything to suggest it had been intended for someone other than Estella. We will find out more when we go to Worth.”

“Do you not find everything about Monsieur Pinard suspect? I can hardly abide the sight of him. He is smug and so very ostentatious in the manner he displays his wealth. Did you see the size of the gold links on his watch chain? I should not be surprised at all if he is stealing from Estella.”

Colin took my hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Your rampant imagination is getting the better of you. I had hoped he might give up his records, but knew it would be unlikely. Do try to remember that despite the fiction I wove for Monsieur Pinard, we are not here on Estella’s behalf. We are here to investigate the death of Mary Darby.”

“Which is intricately bound to Estella Lamar.”

“It may be, or it may not. Until we know more, we must focus on Mary.”

“I hope you know how deeply I am concerned with finding justice for her,” I said. “No one deserves to suffer such a fate, and we know what a good and decent woman she was. Magwitch was in Paris less than a week ago. Is there any hope of determining what he was doing?”

“There would be more hope if we had the slightest clue as to his identity.” Colin rose from the bench and pulled me up beside him. “Perhaps one of the Messieurs Worth will be able to enlighten us.”

Cécile and Jeremy had kept the carriage with them, so we hired a cab to take us to the House of Worth. Of Charles Frederick Worth’s two sons, who had taken over the business after their father’s death, I was better acquainted with Jean-Philippe than Gaston-Lucien, and so asked to see the former.

“Lady Emily! This is an unexpected pleasure. I did not know you were coming to Paris, did I?” A look of concern crossed Jean-Philippe’s narrow face as he kissed my hand.

“No, Monsieur Worth, this visit was spontaneous and, more’s the pity, does not include time for me to peruse your new offerings. I have some questions for you that are best posed in private.”

He led us through the ground-floor showroom, filled with a delicious concoction of gorgeous sample gowns, hats, parasols, and other accessories, and then took us upstairs to his office, which provided a study in contrast to Monsieur Pinard’s orderly surroundings. Fabric samples, spools of decorative trim, and sketches of designs covered the desk and three tables. A dress form stood in the corner, draped with a shimmering silk voile so lovely I could not resist inspecting it.

Jean-Philippe picked up the fabric and draped it over my shoulders. “This would be stunning on you, Lady Emily. The color suits your complexion. I have only a few bolts of it—it is an extremely limited production. We will speak of it after you have asked me your questions.” Colin passed him the invoice from Monsieur Pinard and explained our general purpose. “Ah, yes, I do remember this. I had worried you might be cross with us, Lady Emily, for creating a costume for the Devonshire House ball with so many similarities to your own. The color was different, though, and Mademoiselle Lamar had very unique ideas about what she wanted from her headdress.”

“Do not trouble yourself with worry, Monsieur Worth. No one commented on the similarities, so as far as I am concerned, they did not exist. Did you speak with Mademoiselle Lamar about the design?”

“We corresponded by telegram. She had not previously been a client of ours, but explained that she has been abroad a great deal and was unable to come in even for a fitting. I nearly refused to work with her, as I had grave doubts that she could be satisfied with a costume made without us so much as seeing, let alone measuring, her, but she had her seamstress send me detailed information. It turned out that Mademoiselle Lamar matches almost precisely in size one of the models I already employ, so I agreed to the commission.”