Daughter of the God-King(22)
Hattie was reminded that Bing was no fool, and was obviously drawing her own conclusions. “Yes. And I cannot like the feeling that I am playing blind man’s bluff while everyone else refuses to give me an inch of useful information.”
“And you mistrust the British authorities.” The statement hung in the air, a hint of a question contained therein.
Hattie could only reply with all sincerity, “I’m afraid I do, Bing; I have good reason, believe me.”
Her companion seemed satisfied with this assurance, and returned her attention to her tea and toast. “Then it is settled. I have always wanted to see Egypt, and quite look forward.”
The bell rang, and Hattie looked up in surprise as it was too early for morning calls. She heard a man’s voice—not Robbie’s—and then the maid came in to announce a visitor who was revealed to be the grey-eyed man, Robbie’s superior. That worthy did not stand on ceremony but strode directly into the breakfast room, his hat in his hand and his expression grave as the women hastily rose. “Miss Blackhouse, Miss Bing—please forgive my intrusion but I am afraid I have unsettling news.”
“Robbie?” asked Hattie in alarm.
Contrite, the man paused and held out a reassuring hand. “No—I am sorry to have alarmed you but instead it is Mr. Tremaine’s fiancée—I’m afraid there has been a terrible accident.”
Hattie stared at him, and then realized she was not, after all, very much surprised. “Madame Auguste? Why, what has happened?”
The gentleman’s gaze did not waver. “I am sorry to report she has met with a fatal accident; Mr. Tremaine has asked that I fetch you to the embassy so that you can support him at this time—”
Hattie interrupted with a touch of impatience, “Can you not tell us what has happened?”
Their visitor shook his head in a regretful disclaimer. “I do not know the particulars, Miss Blackhouse. But Mr. Tremaine has urgently requested your assistance.”
Hattie found it rather ominous that the man wouldn’t tell her, even though she would bet her teeth that he knew exactly what had happened to Robbie’s wretched bride—and it didn’t help that she felt a bit remorseful for being so short with the poor, doomed, aged woman. The British must be worried that Hattie was next on the list of victims, despite Berry’s assurance that she was in no danger; otherwise there was truly no reason for this exigency—or for this particular man to come fetch her—if her only role was to comfort the bereaved. Unless, of course, they wished to torture her secrets from her in the embassy basement, and the British usually frowned upon such procedures—or one would think, anyway. In any event, she wasn’t going to allow the gentleman to think she wasn’t aware that he was prevaricating, and so she bluntly concluded, “You must believe that I am in danger, then.”
She could hear Bing’s soft intake of breath at such plain speaking, but their visitor only bowed his head in acknowledgment. “All the more reason to come to the embassy, miss.”
“Of course; we will come, then.” Hattie turned to Bing. “Do you have any mourning bands, Bing?”
Bing shrugged her spare, black-clad shoulders with regret. “I am afraid not, Hathor, as I remain in full mourning for my dear brother.”
Hattie turned to the grey-eyed man and said briskly, “If you would allow me step into the draper’s for a moment on our journey to the embassy—it is just up the street—I can purchase mourning bands for poor Robbie and myself.”
The grey eyes regarded her without expression. “Perhaps such a purchase can wait—”
But Hattie quirked her mouth, and interrupted candidly, “I was unkind to the decedent on the one occasion when I met her, and so I feel obligated to show every consideration, to try to make up for it. I don’t want Robbie to feel I do not share in his sorrow.”
As expected, the gentleman assented, having little choice in the matter. “Very well, then.”
As the women fetched their gloves and hats, Hattie murmured to the hovering Bing, “Stand ready; we are going out yet another window. Bring along the passage vouchers.”
“Do we leave out the back?” asked Bing in tone that indicated she was willing but uncertain of the success of such a tactic.
“No—I imagine they are watching the house to make certain no one seizes me before they do. Good God, Bing; was there never such a place for dark doings? City of Light, my eye. Come with me and stay close.”
With all appearance of complicity, they accompanied their escort to the waiting carriage, Hattie noting with a quick glance that the embassy driver was the same as the hackney driver from the first night—which came as no surprise whatsoever. “Poor Robbie,” remarked Hattie aloud. She meant it, too—it would be embarrassing to act as chief mourner when one had hardly time to act as bare acquaintance. “Did Madame Auguste have family in Paris?”