Rook(127)

Uncle émile had given her hope for some money from Tom’s collection, but not near enough to fund a marriage. She’d taken him to the ballroom gallery to see the statue of the Looking Man as well, a piece that made him say things like, “Ah, extraordinary!” and “I am amazed!” But he did not think the statue would bring actual money. Or not very quickly. Even with his connections.

“A collector wishes for small things, things he can put discreetly on a shelf and move when needed. With this … the transportation alone would be dangerous and difficult. A museum might risk it, but not for a tenth of its worth, Mademoiselle.”

But he was taking René and Enzo and Andre up to the west fields to dig the next day, to see what could be found. Even one plastic bottle with its label on, he’d said, especially the ones with the mysterious word DIET, could bring what she needed with the right buyers, though finding one surviving in that kind of condition was rare. Very rare. It was a nebulous hope to be sure, and much less concrete than her offer from Mrs. Rathbone.

Mrs. Rathbone had come calling in what should have been their after-dinner time, though nothing was regular at Bellamy House at the moment. Sophia had just set off to find René when she spotted a flowered hat in the drawing room.

“Mrs. Rathbone?” Sophia inquired, backtracking to the door. She’d had her head wrapped up and was still in her filthy breeches, face streaked with dirt and tears. “I thought you were in the Midlands.”

Mrs. Rathbone sat herself straighter in the chair before Sophia could say more. “I haven’t come to chat, Miss Bellamy, though it looks to me as if we could chat all night. You seem to have been doing things I would find interesting. But as I was saying, that isn’t what I came for. I have come to remind you about my offer to buy Bellamy House.”


Sophia came and sat down heavily in her father’s chair, and only then did she notice that Madame was also in the room, legs crossed and with a cup of something hot in her hand. Giving her what Sophia had come to think of as the Hasard eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t be able to offer what it’s worth, mind,” Mrs. Rathbone continued. “Who could?”

Who indeed, Sophia thought. She seemed to be flush with valuable items that could do her absolutely no monetary good.

“But you could come close to the debt. I know you’re two days from Bellamy’s arrest …”

“Actually, Mrs. Rathbone …”

“… and I thought this way you could at least keep the sheriff away. You might prefer it to jail and the house going to Parliament …”

“Mrs. Rathbone, Bellamy … my father has just … died.”

“What?”

Sophia saw Madame again raise the one brow. It made her unreasonably indignant, that eyebrow. Was the woman incapable of lifting the other one? Or maybe it was just heartache that made her so irritable. Or Mrs. Rathbone.

“I’m also sorry to tell you that Spear is gone as well, Mrs. Rathbone.” The woman sat still in her chair. “He was buried in the Sunken City.”

“What?” Mrs. Rathbone repeated. She seemed truly taken aback. “Buried in the city? Whatever happened to him?”

Sophia stared down at the worn place her father’s shoes had made in the carpet, started feeling tearful, and with that, her journey to anger was complete. She was not going to talk about what had happened to Spear. She pressed her lips together.

“Well!” said Mrs. Rathbone. “This is not what I was expecting to hear, my dear. Not at all. Then it all falls to you, doesn’t it? I am so terribly sorry for you.”

“If you mean the debt, Mrs. Rathbone, that falls to my brother, actually.”

“Tom? But I thought …”

“News is a bit slow coming out of the city right now …” There was no telling what the papers would say when they did come. That was probably dependent on who ended up in power as much as the truth. “Tom is free. They had the wrong man.”

“So they did,” commented Madame Hasard.

Mrs. Rathbone shook her flowered hat. “This visit has taken me by surprise, and no mistake. Not to be crass, Miss Bellamy, but it’s getting hard to keep up with which Bellamys are alive and which aren’t, who’s jailed and who isn’t. And what about Monsieur, then? Not to get too personal, Miss Bellamy.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. Perhaps Mrs. Rathbone would also like to know the amount of money in her purse. Madame Hasard tilted her head to one side. “Mrs….?”

“Rathbone,” Sophia supplied, as if she hadn’t already said the name at least ten times. “I assume you’ve met Monsieur’s mother, Madame Hasard?”

Madame said, “I fear that things have not turned out as we had hoped in that regard, Mrs. Rathbone.”

Poor woman, Sophia thought, looking at Madame. How hard she must be wishing that lie was true.

“I see.” Mrs. Rathbone turned back to Sophia. She was sweating just a bit.

“So,” Sophia said, turning the tables, “not that I would wish to get too personal, either, Mrs. Rathbone, but do you have that kind of money? To buy Bellamy House?”

“Oh, I’ve been putting it by. Your father is … Your father was a very dear friend, and I would be very happy to do his children a service. Think on it, Miss Bellamy.”