“The short answer is that I made a damned mess of everything,” Nico said. “You were perfect, and I was a fool. If you want more than that—”
“Yes.”
“If you like. May I sit? Well, almost everything I told you was true, apart from the important parts. My father was an English gambler; my mother was French. My father came and went—mostly went, he was not a reliable man—so we lived for some years with my maternal relatives, including my cousin, Eve Perreau.”
“Perreau?” Titus said, pieces falling into place. “My valet Perreau?Perreauis your cousin Evelyn?”
“Regrettably.”
“You don’t look alike. Except the eyes, I suppose.”
“If you saw us together, you’d notice a resemblance eventually,” Nico said. “Which is why you didn’t see us together if I could avoid it. The point is, Eve’s mother and mine both worked at Versailles, and my Tante Anne was briefly chambermaid to Jeanne de La Motte.”
Titus blinked. Nico gave an approximate smile. “True. When La Motte got her hands on the necklace, she and her husband lost no time in breaking it up and selling the stones, and she spent like a sailor. Hiring Tante Anne was the least of it. Opulent furniture, all the clothes—”
“Wait. You’re saying La Mottedidsteal the necklace? The Queen was innocent?”
“Yes, of course,” Nico said indifferently. “Tante Anne swept La Motte’s rooms. She found a couple of small diamonds, and two of the enamelled bows from the necklace. Blue. You can see them in the painting. Well, Tante Anne pocketed them. She sold the diamonds for a wedding coffer, and kept the bows as souvenirs.”
“But that was evidence!” Titus protested. “Why did she not hand them to the courts during the trial? That could have helped prove La Motte’s guilt and the Queen’s innocence!”
Nico shrugged. “Admit a theft and involve herself in the affairs of princes? That would have ended poorly for her.”
“Yes, but—”
“She did what she did, and she kept the bows. Eve and I grew up hearing stories of Versailles, and of La Motte, until my mother died and I travelled with my father for a while. He took me to England for a few years. Didn’t like it. I went back, then eventually came to Paris. Actor, gambling hells, everything I said.” He waved a hand, casually encompassing a life Titus couldn’t even imagine. “Then Tante Anne died and left Eve the bows. You understand, there are people obsessed with Marie Antoinette who would pay a fortune for real parts ofthe famous necklace. The bows were Eve’s inheritance. But it would have been a very bad idea to sell them in France, so Eve came to England, and went to various collectors, including Chilcott Baynes.”
“He is certainly obsessed,” Titus said. “He has written to me twice in the past three days, wanting to buy the painting.”
“Don’t have anything to do with him,” Nico said. “He’s a madman.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Eve offered him the bows for five hundred pounds. He agreed to the price, and took the bows. Then, instead of paying, he and his serving-man gave Eve a beating.” His voice crackled with indignation. “It was daylight robbery. Chilcott Baynes stole Eve’s inheritance, and left my cousin with two broken ribs. Eve is prone to infections on the lungs. It could have been murder.”
“My God. Did he make a complaint?”
“Did the dubious, transient foreigner trust to English law and make a complaint of robbery against a rich local man?” Nico said. “No.”
“So what then?”
“Eve convalesced in a very bad humour and came up with an idea for revenge: Forge the painting and create a fake Comte de La Motte who would sell it to Baynes for a fortune. That meant having the painting made to order by a Le Brun expert, which was eye-watering—and not worth it, clearly. Plus the Comte’s wardrobe, that wasn’t cheap, and all the costs of establishing me in London Society. Eve borrowed the money from a man named Jacky Gaskin and hauled me in.”
“That was the task,” Titus said, realising. “You said you had to do it for your cousin.”
“We grew up together. We help each other.”
“But it’s insanity. You were masquerading as the Comte deLa Motte all over London! What if the real man had turned up?”
“There is no real man,” Nico said. “La Motte’s husband disappeared a long time ago, as well he might, and if their children survive, I have not heard of them.”
“You were still abusing their name,” Titus said. “And what about Marie Antoinette?”
“What about her?”
“You’ve been maligning a dead woman! Accusing her of perjury and adultery and theft! How could you do that?”
“She’s long dead,” Nico said, though he reddened a little. “And she wasn’t ‘a woman’; she was the Queen of France while people starved in the street. And mostly, if you ask me to choose between Marie Antoinette and Eve, I choose Eve.”