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What, not ‘Then pay it back right!’? You’re slacking, Mr Ambrose.
It was hard to keep a grin from spreading all over my face. Our plan was working perfectly. Now all that remained was for the king to take the bait…
‘Do you realize what that means, Guizot?’ the king demanded, turning to his foreign minister.
The minister was eying Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh, his eyes wandering between the two. ‘To be honest, not quite yet, Your Majesty. But I will soon.’
‘Alors! It is not so difficult to understand, n’est-ce pas? The revolutionists are stirring again! We must send envoys to Britain and ensure ourselves of their good will and support in case of another revolt. If ever we’ve needed good relations with our neighbours, it is now.’ His head whipped back towards my dear employer. ‘What do you think, Mr Ambrose? You are an influential person in your ‘omeland. Do you believe the Queen would be amenable to deepening relations?’
‘I’m quite sure Her Majesty would be delighted.’
‘Excellent! Excellent! And you, Lord Dalgliesh, would you be inclined to facilitate such an improvement of our diplomatic relationship?’
You could almost hear Dalgliesh’s teeth grinding. ‘Certainly, Your Majesty. I shall do all that is within my power.’
‘That is a relief.’ Rising to his feet, the king went over to Mr Ambrose. ‘Thank you for being here tonight, and for acting so quickly. You shall always be welcome at my court.’ Then he turned to Dalgliesh. ‘And thank you, too. If you hadn’t invited me to the opera, the assassin might ‘ave struck at a less opportune time, and I might not have survived.’
Not bursting into laughter is a true art. And sometimes, that art is really difficult. With relish, I watched the changing expressions on Dalgliesh’s face.
‘You’re welcome, Your Majesty. I am delighted that I was able to serve you in some small manner.’
Heavy footsteps sounded outside again, and more soldiers started to file through the door, mixed with gendarmes. They surrounded their king, some cheering, some shaking Mr Ambrose’s hand, but all keeping a vigilant eye on what was going on in the rest of the opera house.
‘Well, My Lord, Messieurs, Mademoiselle…’ The king gave us all a nod and a smile. ‘I won’t go so far as to say it’s been a pleasure, but it has definitely been an interesting evening. I think I shall turn in for the night. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day.’
There were bows from all around, except from me, because (A) I was a woman and (B) I was still sitting on the floor. This carpet was really quite comfortable. Nobody really seemed to mind my taking it easy. With a last smile at Mr Ambrose and me, the king left the box.
‘I shall be retiring as well,’ Lord Dalgliesh informed us. He did not smile. ‘His Majesty is right. Tomorrow will be a busy day.’
And with that ominous statement, he stepped into the corridor. His footsteps receded, which left Mr Ambrose and me in the company of the Minister Guizot.
‘Mademoiselle?’ Stepping forward, the thin Frenchman offered his hand to me.
‘I’m quite comfortable down here, thank you.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, I deserve a little break after all this excitement, don’t you?’ And I leaned back against the balustrade, crossing my arms behind my head.
‘Assuredly, Mademoiselle.’ The minister’s thin lips twitched in a humourless smile. ‘Unfortunately, I ‘ave a feeling that I myself will not be getting one in the near future.’
Stepping up to the balustrade, he peered over to the other side of the room, to the box from where the shot had come.
‘It is not so far away.’
Mr Ambrose and I exchanged looks.
‘Interesting, n’est-ce pas, that an assassin, whom you would presume to be an expert marksman, missed from such a close distance.’ He whirled around and strode over to the wall. Eyes narrowed and nose flaring like bloodhound on a scent, he began to examine the walls, the columns, any and all surfaces he could get his hands on.
‘Très interresant…’
‘Minister?’
‘Monsieur Ambrose, you are a man of the world, are you not? An experienced man, who has ‘andled firearms? I even believe you own a company that produces them?’
‘More than one, Minister.’
‘Excellent. Then perhaps you can help me understand.’ Turning towards us, the minister sent Mr Ambrose a penetrating stare over his hawk-beak nose. ‘Can you explain to me how an assassin could fire several bullets from a vantage point that is quite close to ‘is target, and yet not only miss, but, even more astonishingly, fail to leave leave a single bullet ‘ole be’ind?’
