Tasha Alexander - Dangerous to Know

“You have brought him?” His eyes grew wide in disbelief.

“I caught him on Mrs. Hargreaves’s estate this morning.”

“How did you manage that?” he asked, the concern in his eyes replaced with a spark of astonishment.

“I, Mr. Markham, used myself as bait.”

“Daring girl! I want to hear every detail. No wonder you’re so flustered. I’d be overwrought.”

Taking the arm he offered, I struggled to slow my racing mind. “I want to take him to Giverny, to let Monsieur Monet confront him.”

“All the way to Giverny?” He bobbed his head back and forth, pensive. “That’s more than fifty miles from here. And there really isn’t any question of his guilt, is there?”

“No.” I paused, my hands growing cold as we approached the dovecote. “But I confess to having something of a soft spot for Mr. Capet. I’m hoping Monet will perhaps forgive him and leave the police out of it.”

“A soft spot for a criminal?” The slightest hint of amusement crept into his voice.

“It’s not what it seems,” I said. “It’s just that when he’s not liberating objects from their rightful owners, he pays an invaluable service to a friend of mine.”

“Ah, now I begin to see. He is someone’s lover.”

“Heavens, no! He’s offering protection to a child in an extremely vulnerable position.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “Whose child?”

“A woman I know.”

“This is all most mysterious, Emily. I’m intrigued. Do you have a checkered past?”

“Nothing of the sort.” We had passed the dovecote, where the upper window was now empty. “The child’s father is dead, so Mr. Capet looks out for him.”

“And to ensure his continuing ability to do so, we must travel to Giverny?”

“Yes. We could telegraph Monsieur Monet, but a personal visit could make all the difference. Furthermore, he’s a great friend of Cécile’s and mine as well. We could picnic in his magnificent gardens.”

“Now it’s all clear to me—you’re looking for an excuse to abandon the dreary halls of Chez Hargreaves. You ladies are not entirely impossible to decipher. Though I think you’d find things much more simple if you told us chaps what it is you actually want,” he said.

“You’re too clever,” I said. I never made a habit of being deliberately opaque about my wishes. Picnicking was, in my mind, a secondary priority, but I saw no point in arguing his erroneous belief. At the moment, I was simply pleased to be away from the dovecote. As we approached the house, I saw Colin and Cécile standing, he placid, she bemused. Madeline, who’d joined them, was engaged in vigorous conversation with Sebastian and looked to be giving him a piece of her mind. When he saw us approaching he all but lunged at George.

“I must beg your forgiveness,” Sebastian said, bowing low before him with excessive flourish. “Please accept my apologies. I never meant to disturb your household, only to provide what I believed would be an outstanding addition to your already spectacular art collection.”

“I never object to a well-planned prank, sir, but your antics have deeply upset my wife,” George said. “Which means I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in longer than I care to remember.”

“A tragedy, good man, but one that can be remedied.” Sebastian turned back to Madeline. “My dear lady, I humbly beg your forgiveness and give you my word that I will never again disturb you.”

“What good is the word of a scoundrel?” she asked, stepping toward him and meeting his eyes, smiling. “I couldn’t possibly trust you. George, will you shoot him?”

“Not today, dear,” her husband replied. “I never shoot on Wednesdays.”

“You’re a lucky man, Monsieur Capet,” Madeline said. “I suppose I shall have to accept your apology.”

“My gratefulness knows no bounds,” Sebastian said, kissing her hand more slowly than necessary or decent. He knew exactly how to flatter and flirt and make his roguish self irresistible. George was, perhaps, not quite so impressed, but he laughed nonetheless.

“A consummate con man,” Colin said, arms crossed, voice low, as he stood close to me. “I do hope you have the sense not to fall for his antics. He’s not some romantic anti-hero.”

I was not so naïve as to be completely duped by Sebastian. Still, I had to admit his charms did have a certain appeal. Whether Colin needed to know that was something I had not yet decided. “That may be,” I said. “But we do need to keep him out of prison for Edward’s sake.”

“You give him far too much credit, my dear,” my husband said. “I could ensure—”

But he wasn’t given the opportunity to finish. Madame Breton, the skirts of her golden-colored gown swirling, stepped out of the house. Today her hair was well groomed, swept up in a flat twist, her face relaxed. She beamed when she saw Sebastian.

“Monsieur Vasseur! What a surprise! How we have missed you!”

Sebastian did not miss a beat. All elegance, he bowed, took Madame Breton’s hand, and kissed it. “A delight to meet you. But I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Impossible!” Madame Breton said. “I could never forget those eyes.”

“I should like to think you’d never have reason to,” Sebastian said. “I can only wish, however, that I were the gentleman you have in mind.”

“Ce n’est pas possible,” she said.

“ Maman, you’re confused,” Madeline said. “This is Monsieur Capet. He’s the one who brought us the painting.”

“Painting?”

“Of the cathedral in Rouen.” George took his mother-in-law’s arm.

“ Oui, I remember seeing it,” she said, her voice strong and full of authority. “He captured the light perfectly. But then, Monet always does, doesn’t he?”

“My mother used to paint,” Madeline said. “She was an amazing talent. Exhibited with Berthe Morisot once and became quite close to her.” Morisot was probably the most famous woman to paint in the Impressionist style, and Cécile was convinced her work had an influence on Manet’s.

“I would love to see your canvases,” Sebastian said.

“You’ve no time for anything right now but using your dubious powers of persuasion to convince Monet not to set the police on you,” Colin said.

“Have you any idea how far Giverny is from here?” Sebastian said. “Surely you don’t mean to leave now.”

“We won’t leave now,” Colin said. “You shall be my guest this evening. We’re long overdue for an extensive chat.”

All this time I’d paid only half attention to the conversation. What I wanted to know was why Madame Breton called Sebastian “Monsieur Vasseur”. So while Colin dragged our increasingly unruly thief into line, I pulled her aside.

“Do you recall where you met Monsieur Vasseur?” I asked, my voice hardly above a whisper.

“I’ve known him forever.” She looked in Sebastian’s direction. “Did you not hear me greet him? We’re old friends.”

Her eyes had taken on a cloudy look, surrounded by deep lines. I could see coherence slipping from her. “Of course,” I said, not wanting to cause her further confusion or distress.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Marie,” she said, scrutinizing me. “But you shouldn’t dress above your station. I know you can’t possibly have afforded a dress like that on your wages, which can only mean you’ve an inappropriate gentleman friend. I can’t keep you in the household given that kind of behavior. Especially with the child around.”

“I—” How was I to respond to this?

“There’s no use arguing. My mind is made up.”