Blameless(30)

Madame Lefoux gave a funny little holler but did not go looking for the denizen of the abode. With the air of a regular visitor, she settled herself easily into a soft settee. Alexia, finding this familiar behavior highly irregular, resisted joining her at first, but due to the weariness of extended travel was eventually persuaded not to stand on ceremony. Floote, who seemed never to tire, laced his fingers behind his back and took up his favorite butler stance near the door.

“Why, Genevieve, my dear, what an unexpected pleasure!” The gentleman who entered the room matched the house perfectly—soft, friendly, and gadget-riddled. He wore a leather apron with many pockets, a pair of green spectacles rested upon his nose, a pair of brass glassicals perched atop his head, and a monocle hung about his neck. The clockmaker, no doubt. He spoke in French, but fortunately much less rapidly than others Alexia had met so far, allowing her to follow the conversation.

“There is something different about you?” The man adjusted his spectacles and contemplated Madame Lefoux for a moment through them. Apparently not pinpointing the enormous mustache draped atop the inventor’s upper lip as the culprit, he added, “Is that a new hat?”

“Gustave, you never do change, do you? I hope you do not mind such an unexpected visit.” Madame Lefoux addressed their host in the queen’s English, in deference to Alexia and Floote’s presence.

The gentleman in question switched smoothly into Alexia’s native language as though it were a tongue as familiar to him as his own. In the same instant, he seemed to notice Alexia and Floote for the first time. “Not at all, not at all, I assure you. I adore the company. Always welcome.” There was a tone to his voice and a twinkle to his blue-button eyes that suggested real truth to the social niceties. “And you have brought me guests! How marvelous. Delighted, delighted.”

Madame Lefoux made introductions. “Monsieur Floote and Madame Tarabotti, this is my dear cousin, Monsieur Trouvé.”

The clockmaker gave Floote a measured look and a small bow. Floote returned both in kind, after which Alexia found herself the object of bespectacled scrutiny.

“Not that Tarabotti?”

Alexia would not go so far as to describe Monsieur Trouvé as shocked, but he was certainly something more than complacent. It was difficult to see the exact nature of his expression as, in addition to the ubiquitous mustache, the clockmaker also wore a golden-brown beard of such epic proportions as might dwarf a mulberry bush. It was as though his mustache had become overly enthusiastic and, seized with the spirit of adventure, set out to conquer the southern reaches of his face in a take-no-prisoners kind of way.

“His daughter,” confirmed Madame Lefoux.

“In truth?” The Frenchman looked to Floote, of all people, for confirmation.

Floote nodded curtly—once.

“Is it so very bad a thing, to be my father’s daughter?” Alexia wondered.

Monsieur Trouvé raised both bushy eyebrows and smiled. It was a small, shy smile that barely made it through the shrubbery of his beard. “I take it you never met your father? No, of course, you wouldn’t have, would you? Not possible. Not if you are his daughter.” He looked at Madame Lefoux this time. “Is she really?”

Madame Lefoux dimpled at him. “Without question.”

The clockmaker brought his monocle up, peering through both it and his spectacles at Alexia. “Remarkable. A female preternatural. I never thought I would live to see the day. It is a true honor having you to visit, Madame Tarabotti. Genevieve, you always did bring me the most charming surprises. And trouble with them, of course, but we won’t talk about that now, will we?”

“Better than that, cousin—she is with child. And the father is a werewolf. How do you like that?”

Alexia gave Madame Lefoux a sharp stare. They had not discussed revealing the personal details of her embarrassing condition to a French clockmaker!

“I must sit down.” Monsieur Trouvé groped without looking for a nearby chair and collapsed into it. He took a deep breath and then examined Alexia with even more interest. She wondered if he might try to wear the glassicals as well as the spectacles and the monocle.

“You are certain?”

Alexia bristled. She was so very tired of having her word questioned. “I assure you. I am quite certain.”

“Amazing,” said the clockmaker, seeming to recover some of his equanimity. “No offense meant, no offense. You are, you must realize, a marvel of the modern age.” The monocle went back up. “Though, not so very much like your dear father.”

Alexia glanced tentatively at Floote and then asked Monsieur Trouvé, “Is there anyone who did not know my father?”