They both gave contented sighs.
“It’s settled then. Let’s go tell Mrs. Gallagher the news,” Delilah said happily.
Chapter Four
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Madame Aubert. I know this must be a terribly concerning time for you. Time is of the essence, so I shall not keep you long.”
Lady Aurelie Capet’s lady’s maid, slim and spare as a ruler and chic in russet silk, merely nodded once, warily. She probably wasn’t accustomed to a gentleman like Hawkes thanking her for anything, let alone asking to speak to her privately.
It was the day after Hawkes had agreed to help Brundage, and Hawkes sat opposite Madame Aubert in the sitting room of the suites she had shared with Lady Aurelie in her guardian’s home in Paris.
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and her hair was twisted into a knot as smooth and gleaming as a doorknob, dead center on the top of her head. This knot was pierced through with a little copper pin.
He noted she’d applied powder and rouge with a somewhat heavy hand, which seemed at odds with her understated elegance.
“I’ve naught else to do, with Lady Aurelie away.” She unlinked her hands for a moment to gesture fatalistically, then folded them back up again.
Hawkes had spent the first few hours of the morning enjoying various seemingly casual conversations with the other servants in the household, each one sosmoothly orchestrated that they never sensed they were being steered into useful revelations. He’d then spent another few minutes with Lady Aurelie’s guardian’s bookkeeper to confirm, among other things, that every last pence of Aurelie’s allowance had been accounted for. So if she’d run away, she’d had assistance.
“I’m given to understand that you were the last person to see Lady Aurelie.”
Madame Aubert regarded him for a moment silently, her mouth a stubborn line, her eyes implacable. “You are in the employ of Lord Brundage, Mr. Hawkes, I presume. Which means he is paying you to find her.”
“He has asked me to find his fiancée before any harm comes to her. He is greatly worried about her welfare,” he said easily.
Her chin went up. “You may ask your questions, Mr. Hawkes, but I can tell you no more than I told your employer, Lord Brundage. Which is that I know nothing about where she went or why she went. You can do what you will, but I will cast myself in the river before I say more.”
He took this in solemnly.
“This will seem a presumption,” he said slowly, “and I apologize if I transgress, Madame Aubert. But the world is a cruel and capricious and often ugly place, and lovely women such as yourself are what make life worth living. I find the notion of you casting yourself into the river distressing. It would diminish the beauty of the world.”
Her eyes widened as she listened to this, and then she cast them ceiling-ward and shook her head, clearly fighting a smile. “Oh good heavens. You are incorrigible, Mr. Hawkes.”
He’d always appreciated that French women viewed flirtation as an art.
“I am devastated that you see right through me, Madame Aubert.”
She lost her battle with the smile, and it was lovely.
He smiled back at her.
He watched everything about her soften just a little.
He’d leaned forward, his hands clasped, ostensibly confidingly, but in truth because he thought he’d seen a dark mark on her cheek below her left eye.
This is what she’d attempted to cover with powder and rouge.
What had Brundage said?
She’d been dealt with “summarily.”
He felt a pinprick of ice in his gut.
“I was a soldier, Madame Aubert, and your kind of loyalty is precious and valuable. I admire you greatly. Lady Aurelie is fortunate to have you in her employ.”
She hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, with dignity.
“You must be terribly concerned about her,” he said very gently.