“He’s not one to be accommodating,” Robbie disclosed with an apologetic shrug. “I am dashed sorry you heard the news in such a way, Hattie; my fault—I should have broken it to you myself.”
At Bing’s glance of inquiry, Hattie apprised her of the unsettling silence from her parents, but Bing, as was her wont, did not become distressed and instead reminded Hattie that it was not so very unusual, after all. “Edward always said they were all-consumed; particularly when they came across a new find. I have no doubt they are not aware they have raised alarm, and will soon reveal another extraordinary wonder to the world.”
But Hattie was not convinced by this pragmatic advice, having gained the impression that the grey-eyed man was not to be trifled with in his own turn. She asked Robbie, “Is the gentleman your superior? He did not mention his position.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Robbie offered a rueful smile. “He’s rather a hard taskmaster, as you can imagine.”
“He can’t be worse than the Irish schoolmaster, I’ll not believe it.” The conversation then turned to a lively reminiscence of that gentleman’s short but memorable tenure at the Tremaine manor while Hattie noted well that her lifelong friend was not going to tell her what he knew about her parents and this very strange situation. All the more reason for Hattie to keep her plans close to the vest, and so she carefully avoided any inquiries about why the British authorities were so interested in her Egyptologist parents or why Robbie was to marry a woman he never bothered to mention. When she had a chance to have a private word with Bing as they took off their hats back at the townhouse, Hattie asked quietly, “How well do you speak French, Bing?”
“Passably,” Bing responded, considering it. “I couldn’t write a book.”
“I would like to sail for Cairo as soon as possible, and I’d like you to slip away and book passage while I distract Mr. Tremaine in the parlor.”
“Certainly; it seems the best course to take, given the circumstances.” Without a blink, Bing began buttoning up her pelisse once again.
“Don’t mention it to anyone, please.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” her companion replied, and exited toward the kitchen.
Robbie was standing at the bow window with his hands clasped behind his back as Hattie joined him and called for tea. He held out a hand, and with easy familiarity, she placed hers in his. “I’m wretchedly sorry about all this, Hattie—shall I take you for a tour of the city, to take your mind off it?” He brought his other hand to cover hers, and regarded her with a warm and rather tender expression that was very unlike his customary casual treatment.
“Will your fiancée come along?” Mainly, she asked just to discomfit him; someone should make an effort to mention the poor woman.
But he was not to be thrown off in his attempt to sweeten her up. “I believe she is otherwise occupied—it would be just you and me.”
“And Bing,” Hattie reminded him—just to make it clear she was no longer in short skirts, tagging along behind him. She wondered what he was about, making up to her like this, and was curious enough to resist an impulse to cuff him; instead awaiting his next move with interest.
“—and Bing,” he agreed, smiling. “Lord, it is good to see you, Hattie—you remind me of home, and of a simpler time.”
“A bit too simple for my taste,” she admitted. Robbie dropped his gaze to finger her hand, and Hattie wondered if she would have the wherewithal to spurn an advance if he proceeded to make one. She was not to find out.
“Mademoiselle Blackhouse; forgive me if I intrude.” Berry stood at the entry to the parlor, completely at his ease. “The door was open and there was no servant.”
For whatever reason, Hattie did not believe him and allowed her skepticism to show in her glance as she introduced the two men. There was no answering gleam today; instead the Frenchman’s expression was politely correct. “Tremaine? Then you must be the gentleman who was in Thebes—the neighbor to Monsieur and Madame Blackhouse.”
“Indeed. And you are—?”
Hattie awaited the reply with interest, thinking it unlikely they were to hear the truth, but with a small bow, the visitor explained, “I was the Blackhouse agent in Cairo.”
While Hattie endeavored to hide her astonishment, Robbie addressed the man with renewed interest. “Yes; we—the British consulate—we were trying to reach you, to discover if you could cast any light on their whereabouts.”
She could see from Berry’s expression that he was not best pleased that Robbie had already raised the subject of her missing parents, and for a moment his enigmatic gaze rested on her face with a trace of concern. “If you do not mind, monsieur, I should discuss the matter in private with Mademoiselle Blackhouse.”