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down and murdered the old count, his father. If he was innocent, then the danger would come when whoever did have it attempted to sell it back to the count. Theo could send the women packing as soon as that happened.
His hand went to the small of his back where the pistol was wedged into his belt and then down to check the knives slipped into his carefully made boots. Things were safe enough now. His mouth settled into a thin smile that did not reach his eyes.
‘Good afternoon, Elinor.’ Lady James hardly glanced up from her work table as Elinor came in, a rustic jug with the wild roses in her hands. She looked around for a free flat surface, then gave up and stood them in the hearth.
‘Good afternoon, Mama. Did you have a good day?’
‘Passable. Those sketches of yours are acceptable, I do not require any of them redone. What was the church at St Père like?’
‘Of as late a date as you supposed,’ Elinor said indifferently. At least she did not have to spend any more time squinting into shadows in the basilica. ‘There are the ruins of the old church next to it, but nothing of any interest remains.’
‘You were a long time.’
‘Cousin Theo and I went for a walk. I found the exercise invigorating after so much time spent drawing.’
‘Very true. A rational way to spend the day, then.’ Lady James added a word to the page, then looked up, apparently satisfied with the sentence she had just completed. ‘What have you done to your hair?’
‘Oh.’ Elinor put up a hand, startled to find the softness against her cheek. ‘My hair net caught on a twig and was torn. I had no hair pins, so braiding it seemed the best thing to do.’ In for a penny… ‘I ordered some new gowns while I was in the village. Cousin Theo’s landlady is a dressmaker.’
‘Nothing extravagant, I trust. There is plenty of wear in that gown for a start.’ Clothing, especially fashionable clothing, was not just an unnecessary expense, but a drug for young women’s minds, in Lady James’s opinion.
‘They are well within my allowance, Mama—a positive bargain, in fact—and they are practical garments.’ She had lost her mother’s attention again. Elinor half-stood, then sat down again. Normally at this point she would retreat and leave Mama in peace, but today, after the experience of spending hours with someone who actually understood the concept of a reciprocal conversation, she felt less patient.
‘Mama, Cousin Theo tells me that there is a most interesting chateau in St Martin, a village beyond St Père. He has an introduction to the count and thought you may like to accompany him tomorrow and see the building.’
‘Hmm?’ Lady James laid down her pen and frowned. ‘Yes, if that is the Chateau de Beaumartin, I have heard of it. I believe it has an unusual early chapel, a remnant of an earlier castle. Tomorrow is not convenient, however.’
‘It is the day Cousin Theo will be visiting. That and no other, he says, so I am afraid we will have to be a little flexible if we are not to miss the opportunity.’
‘Flexible? He obviously has no concept of the importance of routine and disciplined application for a scholar. Very well. I never thought to see the day when I would have to accommodate the whims of a scapegrace nephew.’
‘I believe he is calling on business, not for pleasure, Mama. And he is a most accomplished artist,’ she added, feeling the need to defend Theo in some way. He would be amused to hear her, she suspected. Somehow he seemed too relaxed and self-confident to worry about what one eccentric aunt thought of him. ‘He will be here at ten, Mama.’
‘Indeed? Well, if we are to spend tomorrow out, then we have work to do. Those proofs will not wait any longer, not if I am to entrust them to what passes for the French postal system these days. It pains me to find anything good to say about the Corsican Monster, but apparently he made the mails run on time.’
‘Yes, Mama, I will just go and wash my hands.’ It did not seem possible to say that she would rather spend the remainder of the afternoon while the light held in working up some of the rapid sketches she had made during the day. The one of Theo drawing, for example, or lying stretched out on the river bank with his hat tipped over his nose, or the tiny scribbled notes she had made to remind her of the way that blue creeping flower had hugged the ground.
Never mind, she told herself, opening the door to her little room on the second floor. They would still be there in her pocket sketchbook, and her memory for everything that had happened today was sharp. All except for those soft, vague minutes while Theo had been plaiting her hair and she had fallen asleep. That was like the half-waking moments experienced at dawn, and likely to prove just as elusive.
She splashed her face and washed her hands in the cold water from the washstand jug without glancing in the mirror. She rarely did so, except to check for ink smudges or to make sure the parting down the middle of her hair was straight. Now, as she reached for her apron, she hesitated and tipped the swinging glass to reflect her face. And stared.
Her nose was, rather unfortunately, becoming tanned. Her cheeks were pink and her hair… She looked at least two years younger. Which was probably because she was smiling—not a reaction that looking in the mirror usually provoked. Or was it that?
Elinor assumed a serious expression. She still looked—what? Almost pretty? It must be the softness of those ridiculous tendrils of hair escaping around her forehead and temples. Looking pretty was of no practical use to a bookish spinster. On the other hand, it was rather gratifying to discover that her despised red hair could have that effect. And the unladylike tan at least disguised the freckles somewhat.
What would have happened five years ago during her disastrous come-out if she had dressed her hair like this instead of trying to hide it? Nothing, probably. She was still the younger daughter, destined to remain at home as Mama’s support. And she had always been studious, which immediately put men off. It took a long time, and numerous snubs, before she realised she was supposed to pretend she was less intelligent than they were, even when their conversation was banal beyond belief. But she never could bring herself to pretend. It was no loss; she would be bored to tears as a society wife.
The apron she wore when she was working was still in her hand, the cuff-protectors folded neatly in the pocket. She looked down at the sludge-coloured gown and tossed the apron on to the bed. The gown was going, it might as well go covered in ink spots.
Elinor ran down the twisting stairs, humming. Even the waiting proofs of A comparison between early and late eleventh-century column construction in English churches did not seem so daunting after all.
‘Pink roses?’ Lady James levelled her eyeglass at the crown of Elinor’s villager hat, decorated with some of yesterday’s roses. ‘And ruby-red ribbons? Whatever are you thinking of?’
‘The ribbons match my walking dress, Mama. And I think the roses look charming with it. The dress is one of those Cousin Belinda persuaded me to buy, if you recall. I thought I should make an effort for our call.’
‘Hmm. Where has that young man got to?’ As the clocks had not yet struck ten, this seemed a little harsh.
‘He is just coming, Mama.’ Reprehensibly Elinor had her elbows on the ledge of the open casement and was leaning out to watch the street. ‘Good morning, Cousin Theo. You are very fine this morning.’
‘And you, too.’ He swept off his tall hat and made a leg, causing a passing group of young women to giggle and stare. Biscuit-coloured pantaloons, immaculate linen, a yellow silk waistcoat and a dark blue coat outshone anything to be seen on the streets of Vezelay on a workaday Wednesday morning. ‘Has the bonfire occurred?’
Jeanie, their Scottish maid who had travelled with them from London and who was proving very adaptable to life in France, came down the stairs, opened the door with a quick bob to Theo, then vanished down the street with a large bundle under her arm.
‘Unnecessary, as I told you.’ Elinor whispered, conscious of her