“She will like this better.”
Hector turned his attention back to his papers.It’s done,he thought.It’s done and nothing may come of it, but I hope something does.
Chapter 3
LISE ANDLINETTE LIVED INThree Bridges Quarter, a section of the city where the river flowed beneath the eponymous three bridges, and tiny houses, all painted white, rose three stories high. The color was traditional in the quarter. Once, twenty years before, the mistress of a famous composer had attempted to paint her home a pale shade of blue, but this had been met with such ardent opposition that she had to refrain.
Each house in the quarter was a century old and had a garden at the front of it, with an iron fence bordering it and a path that led three steps up to the door. For the homes on the easternmost side of the quarter, the back door of the house led five steps down to a canal. Once upon a time barges had sailed there, following the current, though most of the traffic had now been diverted and went down the Erzene.
Lise and Linette’s house was humdrum; the only detail setting it apart was the profusion of crocheted items inside. Lise had a passion for it, and she had made tablecloths and many doilies. There were doilies under cups and glasses, doilies on the sofa, doilies on the bookshelves. If Lise could have wrapped their cat in crocheted dresses, she might have done it.
Lise and Linette welcomed Luc Lémy into their crochet museum, wondering at the sight of him. He was outfitted in a plaid jacket, a jaunty cap angled on his head, as befitted a man engaged in a sport.
“Which is this one? Is this the Lémy who was married last fall?” Lise asked, taking out her spectacles. “Let me see you, young man.”
“No, Great-aunt, this is Luc,” Nina replied.
“Bah, if they bothered to look different, I might tell them apart.”
“What?” Linette yelled.
Nina could not help but giggle. Luc, however, was the picture of courtesy. He greatly flattered both women and he was as charming as he had been at Oldhouse, which meant it took them nearly an hour to leave since her great-aunts kept chattering with the young man.
Once outside, Nina surveyed the promised motorcar. She’d seen a couple from afar, but they were rarities and carriages dominated Loisail. Etiquette said a lady could ride with a man in these contraptions, the same as a man could escort a woman home in a carriage after a ball, but driving one was another story. The devices were the toys of city boys who, like Luc, might drive them around the block to impress their friends with the apparatus.
The motorcar was a two-seater, finely constructed and painted a glossy black. Luc held the door open for her, and she admired the upholstery. It suited Luc well, she thought, being as new and ostentatious as he was.
The streets nearby were empty and Luc was able to maneuver the motorcar with ease, humming to himself as they went around. At length they stopped by an area of greenery bordered by more of the white houses that characterized the quarter. It was not a park proper, merely a plot of land where the locals had once cultivated vegetables in an impromptu communal garden, now abandoned and growing wild with weeds. Someone would build more tiny houses there one day, but for now it was forgotten.
Luc helped her out and they strolled through the grass until they reached a stone bench, solitary and weathered, that stood in the center of the plot. Nina sat down, surveying the plants and the yellow flowers that grew all around them. She could hear insects buzzing, everything around them teeming with life.
“How do you like the motorcar, then?” he asked, sitting by her side.
“I like it, though you should let me take a turn at it. I’ve seen how you drive and can imitate you.”
“No, that’s impossible.”
“It’s not. I’m sure I could drive it without even using my hands,” she said, and as if to prove it, she cut a flower that grew by the bench using her talent and lifted it in the air, offering it to Luc.
He held the flower, examining the petals. “I think you would kill me with fright if I let you drive the motorcar with the powers of your mind.”
“I can open a lock without touching it,” she said. “That takes more effort than spinning a wheel.”
“I’m sure—still it is not my motorcar, I’ve only borrowed it from my brother. And why were you lock-picking, anyway?”
“It helped me pass the time.”
She did not specify that it had helped her pass the time during the winter months when she had needed to think of things that did not concern Hector Auvray, but Luc must have divined it because he eyed her with caution.
“Can I ask you what happened with you and Hector last summer?”
She had received in the past five days five boxes, each one containing a delicate beetle. A calling card came with every box, Hector’s name printed on it. When she had been handed the first two boxes, she had not opened them, but at the third, driven by her natural curiosity, she’d finally unveiled their contents and remained mutely staring at the creatures.
Nina did not know what they meant and did not attempt to interpret them. The specimens now rested in their boxes, stuffed in the back of a desk.
She wondered if Hector had sent Luc for this reason, or if the arrival of the beetles had nothing to do with him. Was he spying on her?
“We were not a favorable match,” she said, and her voice was beautifully calm and collected. If this was an attempt to gauge her state of mind, Hector would obtain nothing.
