Cinderella Six Feet Under(91)

The few minutes it took to reach the hotel were just about the longest of Ophelia’s life.

*

Later, Ophelia lay curled in a tight ball on the grand four-poster bed. On the floor beside the bed, the turtle swam gently in the washbasin of water Ophelia had set down for him. She’d propped the Baedeker and a cushion against the washbasin as a sort of stairway for the turtle to get in and out.

The smooth bed linens smelled of laundry soap, starch, and geraniums. Ophelia’s toe throbbed quietly. The deep scratches the mechanical bear had made on her shoulder were red and stingy, but nothing serious. She’d washed them with soap and water and applied calendula flower salve.

If one could not be on speaking terms with one’s self, well, that’s what she was right now. She’d kissed another lady’s betrothed. And now she lay in this impossibly plushy hotel suite that had been paid for by that same man, which made her . . . what?

Well, it made her one more actress kept in luxury like a pampered cat.

They were looking for Prue, she kept reminding herself. Prue and Henrietta. But the reminding didn’t help, because there was that confounded kiss. Her mind wished to roost on the memory, to nestle into it, to return to it again and again like a bird flying home.

It took hours to fall asleep.

*

The whole caboodle of nuns walked two blocks to mass every morning. Prue had no choice but to go along with them. They walked in a line like ants, eyes cast down to the paving stones. Prue was accustomed to having fellers stare at her on the street. Staying invisible in her borrowed nun’s habit was a relief.

The church was big and blocky, with huge red doors. Inside, incense swirled through air stained red by the windows. Sad-eyed Mary statues gazed down, oversized baby Jesuses on their hips. Off to one side, hundreds of candles flickered on brass stands.

The nuns silently filed into pews. At the back, Prue copied what the other nuns did and knelt, but she wasn’t sure what came next. She’d never really been to church before.

“Psst,” someone said behind her, just as she was folding her hands.

She tried to ignore it.

“Miss Prudence.”

Prue swiveled around. Dalziel stood halfway behind a huge marble pillar to the back of the pews. He crooked a finger.

Prue glanced around at the nuns. All busy praying. She hoisted herself off the kneeler and tiptoed over to Dalziel. “What in tarnation are you doing here?” she whispered. “How did you find me?”

“You forget that I was present when Sister Alphonsine told you of the pensionnat.”

“Oh. Right. Well I can’t talk now. We’re churching.”

“You must come with me.”

“Not on your nelly!”

“Miss Prudence, please listen to me. I am the only soul in all of Paris who knows where you are.”

“That’s the notion, clever-boots.”

“But I feel responsible for you. And you must leave this place. You aren’t a nun.”

“I could be if I set my mind to it.”

“Miss Prudence!”

“I thought you wished for me to be safe. I’m safe with the nuns, so why would I leave them?”

Dalziel didn’t answer at once, but his aching eyes said it all. He wanted to take Prue away from the nuns because he wanted her for himself.

Prue knew what Ma would say: Splendid work, sugarplum! Now reel him in! Easy does it—don’t allow him to slip the hook.

“If you stay with me, Miss Prudence, I shall take care of you,” Dalziel said. “You require someone to take care of you.”

Prue thought of Hansel. He didn’t seem to reckon she required care. She stole a glance at the nuns, black domed shapes in rows. “Will you help me go to my friend, Ophelia? Take me in a closed carriage, maybe? I’ve been trying to figure how to get hold of her without being seen or having some spy of a messenger boy read my note—not that I’ve got any money for a messenger boy, anyway, and I’m not sure if I could find the Malbert mansion again even if I tried—”

“Yes.”

Prue sighed with relief. “Then let’s go.”

*

Ophelia dressed that morning in her Mrs. Brand disguise. The bombazine gown was, of course, the only one she had at this point. She’d stitched up the rip the mechanical bear had made the best she could, with a needle and thread from her theatrical case. But she didn’t need to wear the Mrs. Brand cosmetics. She was no longer camped out at H?tel Malbert.