“Nothing broken today, Mrs. Right!” Mr. Huberville said.
The housekeeper swallowed a sigh. Mr. Huberville’s standards, or lack of them, were such that not breaking something was the pinnacle of success.
“Mrs. Right,” Charlie said, “why did that count send over those strange biscuits?”
“I imagine he meant to impress,” she said. “It’s probably a custom of some sort in his country.”
Charlie snorted derisively. “I don’t like these continental people with their strange biscuits and strange accents. Italian, French, German, they’re all the same.”
Mrs. Right smiled. She did not think they were quite all the same. The Italians and Germans had not produced a Napoleon, for one thing. It was the French that had inflicted the world with that despot.
Then she paused. Would not everybody hate a foreign count who was somehow aligned with the French? The count had not given any indication of it and she thought it highly unlikely, but that did not mean people could not start to believe it. If there was one thing thetonwas good for, it was believing preposterous rumors. They did not have enough to occupy their days and so gloried in chewing over a story, the more unlikely the better.
What if a story were to go round that Napoleon’s intimates were staying with that precious marquis in that villa the count seemed to be so proud of?
If society began to believe that the count was somehow sympathetic to the French, he’d have doors slammed in his face everywhere. He’d have to pack up and go.
Mrs. Agnes Right thought that if she knew anything at all, she knew how to get a story traveling round. The newspapers had been her right hand in the matter in years past and they could be again.
She would compose a tidbit to set tongues wagging. The Sardinian count was aligned with the French.
“Charlie, I must run out on an errand just now. Keep an eye on things and ensure that Mr. Huberville does not break anything.”
Charlie nodded gravely and she hurried from the room.
“I haven’t touch any of the glass!” Mr. Huberville cried out behind her.
Mrs. Right hoped he kept it that way.
*
Two days hadpassed and Damiano had no way to discover how Lady Valor had received the Susamelle he’d sent to the house. He must suppose she would be appreciative of it and that it would set him ahead of Tramondeley. Continental bakers were far superior to the stodgy English nonsense Lady Tallifer was always trotting out for tea. Deviled salmon sandwiches seemed to be a favorite. Lady Tallifer was always going on about the salmon from Scotland, another cold and dreary place. And then the mayonnaise she so loved. What a revolting thing to put on one’s food. And of course the rolls at dinner wereheavy enough to sink ships. He could just imagine the consequences if the marquis were presented with such a thing. Sardinians had a far more refined palate.
And in any case what could Tramondeley even produce from Cornwall? Rude people and a basket of fish?
His fluttering little hostess came fluttering into the drawing room appearing somehow more fluttering than she usually did.
“This is terrible,” Lady Tallifer said, waving a newspaper. “Just terrible, I cannot think what we are to do, too terrible, I cannot think, oh dear oh dear oh dear.”
“Lady Tallifer, calm yourself,” Damiano said. It would not be the first time he’d found himself asking the lady to calm herself. Every minor bump in the road assaulted the lady like a full-blown disaster of epic proportions.
“Calm!” the lady said, sinking into a chair. “How can one be calm at a time like this?”
“A time like what, if you would be so kind to enlighten me,” Damiano said, preparing to hear that the lady’s cook had threatened to quit again. That fellow was always throwing his apron to the ground and stomping off over something or other. Lady Tallifer generally chased after him and soothed him. If anything remotely like it ever occurred in his father’s villa, that cook would not live to see the morning, nor would he expect to.
“This, this, this,” Lady Tallifer said, opening up the newspaper and pointing to it. “Now, be assured count, I would not for the world believe it. The problem is, the worldwillbelieve it. I cannot think where this report has come from, with you being every bit the gentleman and the marquis, well, he is the marquis.”
Damiano became more concerned than he had been, as this was clearly not about the lady’s cook. He took the paper and read the section that was just now punctuated by her stabbing finger.
We have recently received a report that a certain Sardinian count justnow making the rounds in Town arrives having concluded a more unsavory sort of business at home. This count is alleged to have long and close dealings with some who are members of Napoleon’s trusted circle. Dare we speculate that the marquis may even be entertaining these devils in his villa? We wonder, if this is true, what brings the count to London?
Damiano dropped the newspaper. Who knew about Monsieur Bernard? He would not go so far as to say that buffoon was part of Napoleon’s trusted circle, but certainly this report referred to him.
He’d come to do a bit of business in England, but was it possible that somebody loyal to the English was doing a bit of business in the environs of his father’s villa? Damiano had sent Monsieur Bernard out of the villa while he was away so that the man did not end up poisoned. However, that had necessitated renting him rooms elsewhere. Was that where the information was coming from?
It would be just like that crass little man to get himself drunk at a taverna and take to bragging that he was usually to be found in the villa. He might well do. Monsieur Bernard was a very full-of-himself individual. He had long bored Damiano with reminisces of the conversations he’d had with Emperor Napoleon, most of which Damiano believed lived only in his imagination.
He could feel Lady Tallifer’s eyes boring into the top of his head. He said, “What a bit of nonsense. Who imagines that my father, the marquis, would be so imposed upon? Naturally, the French do not dare it. Lady Tallifer, you know the marquis as your dear cousin. As one who knows him, you know this would be impossible.”
