"Perhaps he is Italian?"

"No, not at all. Even LeBlanc knows that he is English."

"Is he Colin?" I paused. "Colin Caravaggio. It does have rather a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Hardly. I have no indication of Caravaggio's identity, but Monsieur LeBlanc assured me that he is currently in Paris and would respond to me quickly." Cécile reclined on her couch. "I also learned much more regarding your husband's illegal dealings."

"From Monsieur LeBlanc?"

"Non. After leaving my note for Caravaggio, I visited three more shops and managed to bully a good deal of information out of a weaselly little man. When Philip wanted something, he informed the appropriate parties in the black market. These dealers, if we can call them that, scoured private collections and records of recent sales to locate the object. Whoever could find the object in question first received a handsome bonus. Your husband always made it clear that he had absolutely no interest in the provenance of any of the pieces, saying that he didn't care whence they came, only that they wound up in his collection."

I sat silently for a considerable time, pulling at my handkerchief. Caesar tugged at my skirts; I did not bother to push him away.

"'What are thou, boldest of the race of man?'" I paused. "I realize that this information provides details of things we already know, but somehow it makes his actions sound worse, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Kallista, you have built the man up too much in your head. He was an adventurer who hunted animals and antiquities. If he is still alive, you will have to accept him for what he is, not what you have styled him to be."

"I know you are right."

"I think it is perhaps time for you to tell me of your mysterious meeting with Monsieur Hargreaves after you fled Renoir's. Shall I ring for coffee or champagne?"

"Coffee," I said severely. "There really isn't anything to tell."

"Then bore me. I do not mind."

"I was upset. He consoled me, as is his style. Then he had the audacity to kiss me without first asking permission or begging my forgiveness afterward."

"How exciting! Philip grows less attractive with each passing moment," Cécile mused.

I glared at her. "Exciting is not how I would describe it."

"I would, after having seen your face when you arrived at my house that night."

"I shall not dignify that with a response," I said. "Can we please return to the subject at hand? Did you learn anything else this afternoon?"

"Only that no one I spoke to is familiar with Mr. Palmer or his unfortunate brother."

"Of course that doesn't mean much," I said. "Especially if either of them is Caravaggio. Did you ask about Colin?"

"I did. Only one person recognized him, and he laughed when I mentioned the name Hargreaves."

"What on earth could that mean?"

"If Colin is Caravaggio, I may have unearthed someone who knows his true identity. On the other hand, he may not have known him at all. He may have laughed because I described Colin as having the face of Adonis."

"You are impossible, Cécile." I frowned. "I should very much like to speak with that man."

"Do not consider it, Kallista. The people with whom I spoke this afternoon are not the sort with which you would want to trifle. They are dangerous. I have a certain reputation for idiosyncrasy that made my entrée into their society possible. You would not have such an easy time at it."

Before I could protest, a footman entered and handed Cécile a note from Caravaggio, requesting a meeting the following afternoon. Barely pausing before starting to dictate her reply, Cécile agreed that her mysterious contact could come to her house on the boulevard Saint-Germain at three o'clock. I felt strongly that the meeting should take place in a public location where we could easily get assistance if matters took a dangerous turn. Cécile, however, insisted that would seem suspicious.

"I am, as far as he is concerned, merely an eccentric old woman who wishes to buy some very famous, yet-to-be-stolen art. Would it make sense for me to conduct such business in public? Never. He shall come here. Besides, it will be much easier for you to observe us unnoticed. I shall receive Monsieur Caravaggio in the red drawing room, and you can listen from the back hallway."

"Will I be able to hear you through the door?" I asked.

"Yes. I did the same thing numerous times myself when my dear departed husband received lady visitors there. Discretion never was his strong suit," she said with a shrug. "I shall attempt to get Caravaggio to tell me as much about his operation as possible. If I am lucky, I will get enough evidence to bring about his arrest."

"And if you do not?"

"Then I shall have to go through with my purchase of the panel of the Elgin Marbles and turn him in afterward."

"That could take months!" I cried. "I cannot wait that long to depart for Africa."

"Well, then I shall have to do my best to collect information," Cécile observed. "I do rather hope Colin is Caravaggio; it would delight me to use all my wiles on him."

"You are terrible, and I am leaving," I teased, rising from the table.

The day had given me much to consider. My thoughts turned to Philip. Could he escape prosecution for his own crimes? A good barrister could probably argue that Lord Ashton knew nothing about the source of his prized collection and was guilty of nothing more than poor judgment and ignorance. I sighed, wondering what it would be like to live with such a man as my husband on a daily basis.

Thoroughly disheartened by the time I reached the Meurice, I ignored the telegram Meg handed me as I walked into my suite and headed straight for the bathroom, desperate for a hot bath. After a satisfactory soak, I stepped out, slipped into a lacy pink tea gown entirely unsuitable for a woman in mourning, and told Meg to bring me tea as quickly as possible. Back in my sitting room, I opened the telegram.

I read it through twice before storming to my desk and scrawling a brief note. I shouted for Meg and thrust it at her, filled with an anger I had never before experienced.

"Take this to Mr. Palmer and tell him that I expect to see him immediately."


23 APRIL 1888

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON


K greatly surprised that I arrived back in London before expected. She is more lovely than when I last saw her. Am delighted that she has no objection to my returning to Africa in autumn — it is a fortunate man who finds such a bride.

My mind is still full of Africa and plans for the next safari. I've yet to do a Masai lion hunt with spears. Wonderfully primitive — and a decided challenge after growing used to the ease of rifles. Perhaps in autumn...

29

"I am surprised and delighted to see you dressed in such an inappropriate color!" Andrew cried when he saw me.

I ignored his good humor. "Sit, Andrew." I handed him the telegram. "Could you please explain this?"

"I don't understand," he began. "How is this possible? We shall have to change our course of action, but that is not-"

"I do not think it is quite so simple, Andrew. The Anglican Church Missionary Society states rather clearly that they have never heard of Mr. Wesley Prescott. Whoever that man is, he obviously is not recently returned from the mission at which my husband is recovering."

"Yes, I am quite stunned."

"I find that rather hard to believe," I said, looking directly at him. "After all, aren't you the one who gave Mr. Prescott my wedding photo?"

"Emily...how could you think-"

"Spare me the lies. I know you removed it from Renoir's studio. Enlighten me, Andrew. What is going on?"

He closed his eyes and sighed before speaking. "All right, you have found me out. I should never have done it. I don't know any better than you whether Philip is alive or dead. When you told me you wanted to go to Africa with us, I realized that if we discovered that Philip is in fact dead, I would have the perfect opportunity to renew my suit for your hand. If you could only imagine the hope this brought to my heart! But I began to fear that your friends would convince you that the trip would be too dangerous, too hopeless. I thought Prescott's story would ensure that nothing could keep you from traveling with me. I never meant to hurt you, Emily. You already had good reason to believe that Philip is alive. I only wanted to give you further confirmation."

"You have manipulated my emotions in an unforgivable way, Mr. Palmer. The game is up, and you may as well accept the fact that I shall never marry a man of so little principle."

He bristled visibly when I said this and leapt from his chair. "I admit that what I did was wrong. Obviously you have never desperately loved someone who did not return the emotion. You may insult me if you choose, but I will suggest that you consider your husband more carefully before you call me unprincipled. Perhaps you did not know Philip so well as you think."

"I can assure you that I am painfully aware of his shortcomings."

"And should I assume that you are prepared to overlook his blatant disregard for all things decent?" He flung the telegram to the ground. "Of course you are! Rich aristocrats will do anything to avoid scandal."

"I do not like your temper."

"Forgive me. It infuriates me. People like Ashton, Hargreaves-they always get what they want. He never deserved you."