Cinderella Six Feet Under(67)

“Who told you that?” Lady Cruthlach. This had to be her doing.

“Bring me the stomacher by no later than ten o’clock on Saturday morning.”

“Why Saturday?”

“Do not worry yourself with details.”

“Why would I do this for you? Or for your client?”

“Because if you do not, I will be forced to go to the police and inform them of an American actress who has, in an exceedingly bizarre fashion, insinuated herself into the household of the Marquis de la Roque-Fabliau. It has a certain—what is it?—a romantic element, does it not? The actress and the earl, scheming to steal Cinderella’s diamond stomacher. Alas, my client grows impatient.”

Gabriel stood. “Good day, Cherrien.” He went to the door.

“Get me the stomacher, Lord Harrington,” Cherrien called after him, “or I shall be forced to have your little confidence trickster of an actress arrested.”

Gabriel attempted not to slam the door as he left.

*

Just as Ophelia was gathering her Baedeker and reticule—it was almost time to go meet Professor Penrose—there was a knock at her bedchamber door.

She expected Prue (not that Prue usually knocked). But it was Baldewyn, holding an enormous, flat paperboard box fastened with twine.

“A delivery for you, madame,” he said with undisguised contempt.

“Oh, Baldewyn, you are an old pet!” Ophelia gathered the box to her padded bosom and closed the door with her foot.

She placed the box on her bed. A small tag dangled from the twine: Madame Brand: Enjoy!—Madame Fayette.

Ophelia unfastened the twine and opened the box. She peeled away layers of tissue. A lovely plaid silk gown.

Her hands shook as she put the lid on the box and shoved it under the bed.

How could this be? The tag on the box said Madame Brand, but Ophelia had told Madame Fayette that her name was Miss Stonewall. She had also taken care to sign the note cancelling the order Miss Stonewall, and she had not included a return address with that note. Madame Fayette must have bribed the courier boy yesterday. And the order had not been cancelled, despite that note.

Not only was Madame Fayette wise to Ophelia, she was taunting her.

*

Noble mansions of red brick and yellow stone looked down upon Place des Vosges from all four sides. Tall windows, each with dozens of small, square panes, reflected a blank white sky. Bare linden trees dripped and the fountains didn’t gurgle. No children romped in the grass. Pigeons paced on sandy paths and perched on the statue of Louis XIII on horseback.

When Gabriel caught sight of Miss Flax on a bench near the statue, he breathed a sigh of relief; she wore her matron’s disguise. He would not be in danger of forgetting himself today, then.

She jumped to her feet when she caught sight of him and came hurrying down the path, umbrella in one hand, dumpy reticule in the other.

“Miss Flax, you look pale. At any rate, I suspect you look pale beneath all that muck.”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, out of breath.

“What has happened? Your note said—”

“Oh, my word. The feet.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She told him what she’d seen in Malbert’s workshop. “I tell you, Malbert’s a fiend. A foot fiend! He chops ladies’ dogs off and—and brines them.”

“The first explanation that comes to mind is that the feet are medical or scientific specimens of some sort. Medical training does, alas, include a certain amount of . . . dissection.”

“Malbert’s no medical man.”

“I have also heard of more than one example of the bound foot of a deceased Chinese lady being preserved in fluid for all posterity to inspect.”

“Ugh.”

“I do agree. At any rate, perhaps you stumbled upon the marquis’s cabinet of curiosities—which is rather like a circus freak show in miniature.”

“I have a better theory: how about Malbert is the murderer?” Miss Flax listed Malbert’s opportunities, peculiar behaviors, and possible motives.

“I did not yet mention this to you, Miss Flax, but Malbert is a member of the Jockey Club.”

“Indeed! I allow, it’s hard to picture him taking up with a ballet girl.”

“No? He took up with Henrietta.”

“True. But when Henrietta sets her sights on a fellow, he doesn’t have much choice about what happens next.”