"Let us run far away, as far as we have strength to go."

"How did you become so well educated if you were brought up as a servant?"

"I was sent to school by a benefactor."

"I see. I wondered if you had some sort of hidden trust."

He raised his eyebrows. "A hidden trust? Where would you get such an idea? Have I been misled about your character? Tell me you don't read bad fiction. I thought you were devoted to Homer?"

"Don't try to distract me. Surely you're not going to stand aside while Charles Berry ascends to the throne in France?"

"What concern is it of mine? My family has done more than enough."

This simple statement touched my heart. The pain this poor man must have suffered! I could only imagine the horror he felt from the knowledge of the brutality of his relatives' executions. To think that he'd had to live his entire life denying his identity, posing as a servant, when, by birthright, he should have been surrounded by every luxurious comfort. Despite myself, I took his gloved hand in mine and squeezed it.

"You're quite right. But you cannot allow him to claim something that is rightfully yours. Even if the monarchy is never restored, he should not be able to say he is the true heir to the House of Bourbon."

"And you think I am? Oh, this is a delight. No, no, darling, I'm no relation to the poor dauphin. If anything, I'm sick to death of hearing about him."

"But the Bible? Bernadette Capet? I know that she came to England with the dauphin."

"Yes."

"And his daughter was your mother."

"No, you've lost the story completely. Bernadette and her son, my grandfather, brought Louis Charles to England, but they did not stay with him. It was of paramount concern that his identity remain a secret, so the boy was given to the guardianship of a childless couple."

"Did they know who he was?"

"Of course, but they never told a soul."

"But Capet was the name given to the royal family."

"And dear Bernadette adopted it for just that reason. There's nothing my family is fonder of than honoring the French monarchy. You can't imagine how tedious it is."

"If that's how you feel, why have you devoted yourself to stealing things that belonged to Marie Antoinette?"

"Yes, it's quite a conundrum, isn't it? My mother was fixated on the Bourbons and the service Bernadette had done for them. From the time I could speak, she taught me the history of France."

"Is that so awful?"

"When it's done to the exclusion of all other things, yes. She had a practiced litany of all the things that had been stolen from the Bourbons. I couldn't stand listening to it. After I'd gone to school, I knew that I did not want to go back to Richmond. She was horrified that I would consider staying away. Insisted that I remain."

"She had no other children?"

"No. Just me."

"Perhaps she wanted your comfort in her old age?"

"No. She believed emphatically that it was necessary for me to stay because that, darling, is what Marie Antoinette would have wanted. Bernadette, you see, swore that she would stay near enough Louis Charles and his heirs to make sure that they were always well. Her son followed her, as did his daughter, and now I am supposed to do the same."

"You were to watch the dauphin's heir?"

"Yes. Can you imagine? It's been a hundred years since the revolution. Surely it's safe for us to move on." He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it with some force over the flower bed across from us. "We had a terrible argument, and I left. Came to London, changed my name, started anew."

"But you took the name Capet?"

"I've never been able to resist such a fine opportunity for irony," he said. "Before I came to London, she tried to give me that bloody snuffbox, and I wouldn't take it. It was the most precious thing she owned, you see. The dauphin had given it to Bernadette, and it had been passed down since then. My mother used to show it to me when I was a boy but would never let me touch it. She told me that inside was a piece of paper on which the entire story was recorded, written in Bernadette's hand."

"Why did you refuse to take it?"

"Whoever has the snuffbox has tacitly agreed to look out for the dauphin's heir. I had no intention of doing that."

"You didn't return to Richmond, even when she died?"

"No. What would have been the point?"

"I still don't understand why you are now collecting things that belonged to the queen."

"I felt a terrible guilt after my mother died. I'd left her alone and mocked what she viewed as the sacred purpose of her life. Shortly after her death, I overheard a gentleman saying that he owned a Limoges box purported to have belonged to the French queen. I knew that my mother would have loved to own such a thing."

"And you couldn't afford to buy it from him?"

"Not at all. I'd had a difficult time earning a living in London and had discovered that I possess a certain talent for entering houses undiscovered. And that talent, once developed, offers a handy way to supplement one's income. It was simple to get the box from Lord Grantham's house."

"And the rest?"

"It's rather addictive, sneaking about like that, causing a stir. Quite exciting."

"So why did you return the pink diamond?"

"Despite my best efforts, it was impossible for me to completely rid myself of the hereditary awe for the House of Bourbon my family has passed to me. Once I realized that I'd taken the stone from the dauphin's heir, I thought I ought to give it back, particularly as it was he who paid for my schooling."

"David Francis is the true heir?" I wondered if Beatrice was aware of this. "You didn't know this when you took the diamond? Surely your mother would have told you?"

"No. That was something revealed only once a person had agreed to carry on the family business. Absurd, isn't it? So I didn't know it was Francis. Not until I read in the newspapers that he owned the snuffbox. When I'd refused it, my mother made a great show of saying that it would be gone from our family forever, that I'd left her no choice but to return it to the Bourbons."

"Who do you think killed him?"

"I've not the slightest idea. Of course this all proves my mother right. The Bourbons did still need watching."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," I said.

"No, it wouldn't have."

"How did you get Léonard's letters?"

"I'm afraid they were one of the first things I stole. I stumbled on them quite by accident. I'd gone into the library at a country house to get an enameled Fabergé box that was on display. When I removed it, I noticed a bundle of papers behind some books on the same shelf. They were held together with a red ribbon, and I thought they might be love letters. Being the romantic that I am, I pulled them out, hoping for a good read. So far as I know, the gentleman who owned them still has not noticed that they're missing."

"Who is it? I should return them to him."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Of course I would."

"Then I shan't tell you."

"Why didn't you take Marie Antoinette's letters from Mr. Francis when you stole the pink diamond?"

"I had no idea that he had them." He rose from the bench and stood in front of me. "This has been lovely, darling, but I'm afraid I must run."

"No, wait. What about the things you've stolen. Will you give them back?"

"Certainly not."

"Not even Cécile's earrings? For me?"

"Maybe if they were yours." He reached down and turned my head to the side, gently touching my ear. "They would look lovely on you."

"You're not planning to disappear again, are you?"

"I've no reason to stay."

"Can you at least tell me how to reach you?"

"For what? So that you can abandon the dashing Mr. Hargreaves for me? I don't think so, darling. But I'll always come if you need me."

"I don't like being followed, Sebastian."

"You can reach me through the Times." He bowed and walked away. I didn't bother to call after him but sighed and looked down at where he had sat next to me. There, on the bench, he had left my notebook.

31

The moment I returned home, I pulled out the letter I'd received from Colin the previous week, the first he had sent from France. He'd written it on the ferry and posted it as soon as he'd arrived in Calais, even before boarding the train for Paris. I smiled as I read it; he always managed to make letters sound like his half of a conversation, and I could almost hear him saying the words, picture him sitting across from me, running a hand through his tousled hair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I did not, however, let this entrancing image distract me from my purpose. I skimmed the rest of the page until I found the sentence for which I was looking.


We've tickets for the opera on the third, seats in the first row of the balcony.


I composed a cable for him, a clumsy-sounding message, but it would convey its intended meaning when he read the first letter of every third word. This would provide him a brief but incisive update on the situation in London, particularly as it pertained to Charles Berry.

"Did you see that another letter arrived from Paris today, madam?" Davis asked as he took the cable from me, looking not at me, but at the pile of unopened mail on my desk.

"No, I haven't had a chance." I skimmed through the letters until I found one addressed in Colin's familiar handwriting.