Rook(87)

Crammed against the interior of the suitcase were official documents, what Spear had brought back from the forger. She rummaged among them, finding the stack of gate passes and the stick of black wax she had brought for such an occasion. She spread out the documents, carefully melting wax onto the bottom corner of the paper without dripping the tallow of the candle. As soon as she had a tar-like blob she rolled LeBlanc’s signet ring across the soft surface, impressing his seal.

She did it again, and again, and eight more times before there was a soft knock at her door. “Coming!” she said, hoping her voice would carry through the door and no further than émile. The knocking came again. She rolled the signet ring on the last pass, wondering briefly what the Parisian gossips would think if Uncle émile were seen sneaking in or out of her bedroom. She suspected he had a reputation that would do hers no good. She flung open the door.

“Spear!” she said, surprised and a bit relieved. “Good, you’ll save me a trip and I’m in a hurry.” She pulled him into the room, shut the door, and locked it again, running to gather up the papers that now bore LeBlanc’s seal. “They got LeBlanc’s ring, the scoundrels. This is for you.” She thrust a gate pass at him, the signet ring on her forefinger, and began to hastily replace the false top in her suitcase.

“I need to talk to you, Sophie.”

“So talk,” she commanded. She was cleaning away any remnants of black wax now, trying to find a place to stash the telltale bits. “And where have you been all nethersun? We didn’t do our last go-over. I know we’ve already done it a thousand times, but …”

“Sophia Bellamy.” He grabbed her arm. “Stop and listen to me!”

She stopped and narrowed her eyes. Spear had yanked her arm, actually yanked it, and the bits of wax were now all over the carpet. She straightened. His perfectly chiseled face was drawn in, as if there were a string pulling too tight from the inside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You think you love him.”

Her stomach wrenched once. “Spear, this is not the time to …”

“Answer me. You’re going to marry him anyway, aren’t you? Without the fee.”

She looked up at Spear’s taut face, at the broad shoulders heaving as if he’d sprinted to her door. She owed him honesty at least. “Yes. If he will have me.”

Spear just stared at her, hands in pockets. Then he said, “Sophie, you’re being played.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“By the Hasards. All of them. You’re being played.”

“Oh, Spear. Listen …”

“No. You are going to listen. For once in your life you’re going to close your mouth and you will listen to what I have to say. Do you really think that Hasard was just pretending to work with LeBlanc, that he had his own interests, and that they just so happened to coincide with coming to Bellamy House to marry you? That Madame just happened to arrange some fool marriage that would bankrupt her family? There is no marriage fee, Sophia.”

“Spear, we both know that. He told me himself …”

“Of course he did. But I mean there never was one. Ever. The Hasard fortune has been dwindling for a long time. Madame arranged a marriage to you for no other reason than to get her son and LeBlanc into Bellamy House. Somebody’s been talking, Sophie. LeBlanc already knew where we’d been landing.”

Sophia was shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How do you think they’re planning on building their fortune back? How have they kept their business through the revolution? Do you really believe they just stole that ring you’re wearing? Or did LeBlanc walk in here tonight and hand it to them? You’re being played. You …”

“Just stop. Stop it!” she yelled. “You’re jealous, Spear, and I’m sorry for it. But I don’t have time for this and I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

The drawn look on Spear’s face tightened. “I know you don’t believe me,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t. Because you want to believe what he tells you. You want to believe in him; you have almost from the beginning. I’m no match for his lies, Sophie. It’s taken me time to realize it. I thought you’d come to your senses, but I know I’m no match for him. I’ve had to wait for proof, and now I have it.”

He reached beneath his black jacket and pulled out a crisp piece of paper with the seal of the Sunken City showing through. He offered it to her, and Sophia came and took the paper reluctantly, reading the first few lines before she looked up again, confused.

“The denouncement of Ministre Bonnard?” she asked.

“Yes. Signed by a citizen of the Sunken City, swearing the Bonnards committed treason against Allemande. The reason the entire family was arrested and nearly executed, right down to their toddling children.”

She read, her eyes glossing over the words until they reached the signature at the bottom. And when they did Sophia stepped back, and then back again until she bumped into the gold-papered wall. She stared at the ink, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. The name on the bottom was René Hasard, the same looping signature she’d seen on one hundred and thirty-eight engagement-party invitations.