“I’ve never had occasion even to fire,” Bing confessed. “But as a single woman I feel I must take precautions.”
“You must teach me,” said Hattie as she unlocked the door. “Then I could shoot Robbie; or better yet, Madame Auguste.”
“Don’t forget the Baron,” suggested Bing as they were greeted by the maidservant, who took their wraps. “And the cutpurse.”
“Good God, there will be no one left in the city at this rate—and I’ve only been here a day. I suppose I could spare this last gentleman, who has very good manners and apparently acts as a Cassandra-at-the-gate, giving ominous warnings. Perhaps he is worried about the so-called curse.” This, actually, was not a bad theory, as there seemed no other with which to work.
“Edward always said that superstition was a crutch for the fearful.”
Hattie smiled as they crossed the parlor, their steps muffled on the thick rug. “He was a wise man, then, and I must bow to science. But good God, Bing; even you must admit these are strange and untoward events.”
Bing ducked her chin. “Indeed; I suppose you will have mixed emotions, Hathor, when you meet with him tomorrow.”
“Yes—I wonder what it is he wants,” Hattie answered absently as she mounted the stairs, unaware that they spoke at cross purposes yet again.
Chapter 4
The following morning, Hattie’s childhood companion in misdeeds beyond counting presented himself at the door, his easy smile belying the trace of wariness in his eyes. So, she thought as he embraced her in a bear hug—there is more to this tale than there appears; fortunately, I know how to winkle it out of him.
“Hattie—Lord, you are a welcome sight. I am sorry I did not have the opportunity to speak to you at length last night.”
She decided it would be best to turn the subject away from her abrupt departure from the Prussian embassy, and instead introduced Bing. “Miss Swansea married the curate—did you hear?”
Taking her elbow, he escorted them to the waiting carriage. “I did; at long last the man screwed up his courage—my mother had despaired of him. And she wrote that Sophie finally had her pups—another big litter.”
Hattie arched a dark eyebrow as the driver opened the door for them. “Then I am relieved, Robbie—I was worried that all communication between you and your mother had failed for some reason.”
There was a small pause while Robbie bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I have been remiss; unfortunately, there has been little time to correspond—I must bring her up to date.”
“Ensure that she has her smelling salts about her, first,” Hattie teased as he handed her into the carriage.
With a grin, Robbie didn’t make an attempt to demur as he settled in the seat across from Hattie and Bing. “It is rather startling news, isn’t it?”
Hattie was feeling immeasurably better, now that she was able to gauge him without the annoying Madame Auguste clinging to his arm. It seemed to Hattie—who knew him better than most—that he was not particularly enamored of his bride-to-be. There must be some other explanation for this hastily patched-together betrothal and for whatever reason, he didn’t wish to reveal it. As the carriage rattled along over the cobblestones, she was suddenly given pause, aware that there was perhaps a ready explanation for such a hasty marriage. Impossible, she thought in distaste—at her age, the woman was nearly beyond child-bearing. Still, she had best tread carefully; Robbie may be honor-bound to marry her and if this was the case, Hattie had no choice but to support him—and support his poor mother, who would certainly need it.
With this possibility in mind, she did not press him but spoke of the news from home and other inconsequential matters until they arrived at the British headquarters in Paris. After crossing the threshold of this august building, Hattie and Bing were introduced to several gentlemen who were attached to the embassy in some manner—and who eyed her discreetly as she walked past. They must have heard about the contretemps last night, she thought, her color high, and wished she hadn’t been so gauche; she didn’t want to embarrass Robbie—although he seemed to need no help in that department. Honestly, men were so stupid, sometimes.
Unaware that she was casting aspersions upon his judgment, Hattie’s escort led the ladies around the facilities, explaining that everyone’s time was currently consumed by the negotiations surrounding the Congress of Vienna—even though progress was very slow as a result of everyone’s trying to take advantage and no one willing to cede an inch.
Hattie had followed what news she could find and could only agree—the post-war meetings were like one of those children’s games where you threw all the cards in the air and everyone ran and attempted to catch as many as they could; it would be a while before Europe was stable again, before new boundaries and alliances could be established.