Rook(130)

It was nearly highsun before Sophia managed to find something interesting in Madame Hasard’s room, and that interesting something was sewn into the bodice lining of her silk dress. And it was so interesting that Sophia had to sit down on a chair to read it a second time, a chair that she nearly missed. When she had read the documents a third time, she felt her hazy thoughts focus, sharpened against the whetstone of a hard, grinding fury. It was good to be angry. She much preferred it to being helpless.

She flung the door open, leaving it swinging on its hinges, almost running the corridor to the stairwell. Down, around the corner, down again, and then she was marching over the multicolored floor tiles of the dining room hallway.

“Miss Bellamy! Miss Bellamy!”

She heard the clack of Mrs. Rathbone’s not-very-sensible shoes coming up from the front hall. She’d completely forgotten about their meeting.

“Miss Bellamy! Really! Who are all these people in your house? What …”

Sophia threw open the door to the waiting room and then burst into the dining room. None of the lanterns were lit behind the glass, only three sets of candles illuminating Benoit, Peter, Enzo, and Francois seated around the table, their conversation coming to a standstill at Sophia’s abrupt entrance. She looked at them each in turn.

“How many of you knew?” she said, shaking the documents at them. “Who knew about this? Benoit?”

Then Mrs. Rathbone came through the door in a panting explosion of skirts. Wesson’s page sixteen, Sophia thought automatically. “Sophia Bellamy, whatever is wrong with you? If this is the way you’ve been taught to conduct business, it’s no wonder the family finances have gone the way of the bulb!”

Francois frowned. “What is a bulb?”

“It is a Commonwealth expression, Franc,” Peter explained, “there is no such …”

“I want to know about this!” Sophia yelled, shaking the papers.

“Sophia! I insist that you discuss my offer …”

Benoit frowned just a little. The mix of Commonwealth and Parisian in the room was confusing. “Tell us what you hold in your hand, Mademoiselle, and then we shall …”

And then they all turned as Tom came through the door, his stick in hand.

“What are you doing here?” Sophia said. She thought he’d gone straight back to the farm with Jennifer after the burial. Tom came so quickly across the room that his limp was hardly noticeable, then not noticeable at all in the bloom of rage that erupted over his face when he saw Mrs. Rathbone. Sophia stared. Tom was never angry. Not like her. And not like that.

“Why is she here?” he asked without removing his gaze from Mrs. Rathbone.

“She made me an offer to buy Bellamy House,” Sophia replied. “I haven’t told you yet …”

“Did you accept?” Tom snapped.

“No. I …”

“Then ask her where she got the money.”

Tom’s face had been made into something hard-edged. But there was a hint of a smile from Mrs. Rathbone.

“Ask her!” Tom demanded.

Sophia glanced over at the sound of footsteps in the waiting room, and then René, émile, and Andre filed in, mud on boots and, in René’s case, streaked across his shirt.

“Ask her, Sophie!”


She turned to Mrs. Rathbone. “Where did you get the money to buy Bellamy House?”

Mrs. Rathbone looked at them all, and then she pulled out a chair and sat, her large purse perched on her knees. “Tom would like me to confess. Wouldn’t you, Tom?”





“I don’t mind confessing,” said Mrs. Rathbone, “because it won’t do me any harm or you any good. I’ve already called on Mr. Halflife and Sheriff Burn to let them know that Bellamy is dead and that you’re both back safe and sound, and I’ve hinted just the tiniest bit that Tom might be taking off to parts unknown. They’ll be here quite soon, I think, instead of waiting for tomorrow. But if you sell me Bellamy House … Well, then I imagine you can show him the money, as it were, I’ll show Mr. Halflife the deed, and your troubles will be over.”

Sophia stared at Mrs. Rathbone. Then Tom reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper, much folded, the seal of the Sunken City showing through from the other side. He held it out to Sophia and let her read. It was the denouncement of the Bonnards, the real one. Sophia looked up again. “But …”

“Let me guess,” René said to Mrs. Rathbone. “Your name before marriage was Jacques.”

Sophia’s eyes widened at the name on the paper. Mrs. Rathbone smiled. “Yes, indeed. I was born in the Sunken City. I helped Mr. Rathbone set up his trade there. Until Ministre Bonnard taxed the daylights out of imported scrap and put him out of business. I was never very fond of Ministre Bonnard after that.”

“And so you sent them to their deaths. And their children! For a law you did not like,” said René. Enzo was translating quickly into Benoit’s ear.

“LeBlanc was going to pay someone to do it, and it was lucky for me that Bonnard didn’t have the sense to take an oath when he needed to. Vengeance is sweet, young man, and money no small matter. As you should well know. Now, about Bellamy House …”

“You denounced them,” Tom said. His expression was something Mrs. Rathbone should have been frightened of, if she’d had the sense to be frightened. “Then you took them in, pretended to help them, turned them in again, and collected. Again!” René’s uncles were a row of solemn faces.