Tasha Alexander - Dangerous to Know

“The Markhams’? Why on earth would you send me there?”

“I need Capet with me and I want you to have some sort of protection.”

“I’m sure your mother’s house is perfectly safe.”

“Capet told me he was followed here the night he arrived to meet you. We’ve no idea who was pursuing him or why. And no idea, in fact, if he was the person’s target. You may be, my dear. Can I risk that?”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“I do understand,” I said, my voice weak. “But it feels as if you are crushing my spirit, rejecting the very essence of me.”

“I’m not, Emily, I swear to you. I love the woman you are. We will figure our way through this, but we need to do it in circumstances less heated than those in which we’re presently embroiled. When we’re back in England—and we will go there, together, the instant this business is finished—we’ll talk it all through, and I promise you will not be forced into a position where your talents will go unused.”

He lifted my chin so that I was looking at him.

“Truly, no woman has ever been loved as I love you,” he said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for you. Please trust me.”

“Of course,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. He kissed me, gently at first, then with an increasing urgency and heat that was irresistible. I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. His embrace enveloped me.

“Do not lose faith in me,” he whispered. “I could not bear it.”

I woke alone the next morning. Colin had slipped out, not wanting to disturb my sleep, leaving me with two lines of poetry on a sheet of paper placed on his pillow:

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach…

Despite the difficulties of the night, he’d managed to make me smile. I rang for Meg and directed her to begin packing my belongings as soon as she’d helped me dress. Cécile and Mrs. Hargreaves were already seated at the breakfast table when I arrived downstairs. I sank into a chair, accepted a cup of steaming tea, and put a still-warm croissant on my plate.

“I confess, Emily, to feeling a certain sadness that my household is being so disrupted by all this tragedy,” Mrs. Hargreaves said. “It’s a dreadful thing not to feel one’s own home offers adequate protection for guests.”

“It’s no fault of yours,” I said. “There’s nothing more to be done. What of you, Cécile? Will you join me in exile?”

“Much as I hate to abandon you, Anne,” Cécile said. “I don’t want to leave Emily with only Madeline for company.”

My mother-in-law nodded. “She’s a dear girl, but not, perhaps, the best of companions given all that you’ve recently suffered.” I did like Madeline, but Sebastian’s suggestion that she’d pushed the gardener’s daughter to her death still haunted me, and I wondered if it could be true. I hated the thought of returning to the place where I’d seen the eerie specter in the dovecote, but preferred that to being shipped home by myself in what might be viewed by society as disgrace. “And at any rate,” Mrs. Hargreaves continued. “You shan’t be abandoning me. I’m to come with you as well. Colin doesn’t want any of us unprotected in this house.”

It was nearly four o’clock before we set off for our friends’ estate, where we were greeted with great exuberance from George and Madeline. I was happy to find Madeline in a lucid state of mind, free from any hint of madness, and wished there were some way to keep her from slipping again into its bonds.

“It’s a bloody disaster what’s going on,” George said, crossing to us and leaving his wife to direct the servants’ handling of our luggage. “But we’re so pleased to have you all here. It will be an unending party. I’ve set up Japanese lanterns in the garden and thought we could have midnight wanderings through the maze if it’s not too chilly.”

“An excellent plan,” I said. I was torn. On the one hand, I hated being cut out of the remainder of Colin’s investigation. On the other, so long as I was cut out, I felt tempted to throw myself with wild abandon into vacuous pleasures. If I couldn’t be useful, I might as well take full advantage of the entertainments presented to me.

“I think we should make this as extravagant as Carnival in Venice,” Cécile said. “The sooner we can push the hideous events of the past weeks from our minds the better. How much champagne do you have on hand, sir? And where is your butler? I would have him send a telegram to Moët for me.”

Before long we were all settled in pleasantly decorated bedrooms in the renovated section of the château. Cécile’s and mine were adjoining, which would make for excellent late-night consultation. Mrs. Hargreaves’s stood across the corridor, two doors down from that occupied by George and Madeline. Despite the size of the house, we were nestled in a cozy and friendly group.

Madeline had planned an exquisite menu for dinner, and when we were all stuffed with côtes de veau vallée d’Auge —the most tender veal cutlets I’d ever tasted, cooked in sweet Norman butter and doused with a creamy cider sauce—we retired to the sitting room where there was still a space on the wall for the missing Monet.

“Can’t you persuade Sebastian to bring it back?” George asked. “I can’t bear the room without it.”

“And I’m affronted that he no longer appreciates our taste,” Madeline said. She was happy and well-balanced, no signs of her illness tainting any facet of her personality. Her mother, however, had not joined us. She, George had told me, was in the midst of a bad spell, and was keeping to her room, where a nurse tried to calm her by reading aloud.

“I promise I shall ask him about it when next I see him,” I said. “He’s off with Colin now.”

“Saving the world,” George said. “And thank heavens someone will do it. I’m not capable, but I am tired of feeling as if our little slice of paradise is tainted by these murders.”

“It’s deeply unsettling,” Mrs. Hargreaves said.

“But we’re not going to think about it tonight!” Madeline said. “Let’s play cards until it’s dark enough to light the lanterns. I’ve had enough of worry and misery, and now want only to enjoy the company of good friends. Do you like bezique?”

“Only two can play that,” George said. “You ladies divide up and I’ll float between tables giving bad advice to everyone.”

I was not familiar with the game, but Cécile was a huge proponent, and soon she’d taught me the rules. We took one table and Mrs. Hargreaves and Madeline the other, laughter erupting with great frequency as George bounced between us, stealing cards and generally making mischief. Some time after we’d switched partners and I was paired with Madeline, a footman came into the room with a telegram.

George glanced at the envelope and handed it to me. I tore it open. “It’s from Colin,” I said. “He’s well. They’re close, he says, to having the final bit of evidence they need. He doesn’t think it will take more than three days and he’ll be back with us. And he says we’re safe where we are, that there’s no need for any worry.”

“This could not be better news,” George said and turned to the waiting footman. “Take Lady Emily’s reply, my good man, and then bring us a bottle of champagne.”

“You don’t think to celebrate now is premature, my dear?” Madeline asked, concern tugging at her pretty face.

“Only if you object to celebrating again once the madman has been apprehended and jailed,” George said.

“I do not understand, monsieur,” Cécile said. “Objecting to celebration? Is such a thing possible?”

We all toasted and drank to Colin’s efficient success, giddy with relief that the end was all but in sight. I was proud of my husband, delighted with the speed of his success, and eager to return to London. George was about to open a third bottle of champagne when Madeline stopped him.