He examined Cecily. For the first time in more than a year, he saw beyond the picture of her created by the dossier of her past that he had read in London. He gazed past his personalinteractions with her. The social events that denoted her as a leader of the court, a confidante of those most high. Now, he saw her as the surrogate mother to two accomplished young charges. The undaunted young woman who had saved both girls, encouraged them, fed and clothed them, then educated them in the ways of the Frenchbon ton, in the manner of survival in a land of snakes.
So had she also by precept or example taught them more? Taught them to love freedom? How to prevaricate and subdue? How to…spy? No, surely not.
“Who met you at Vaillancourt’s door?” he asked. Amber had told him Vaillancourt’s butler was a fine fellow of like mind, once associated with a man on her aunt’s staff.
Cecily gave him the half-smile that said she was pleased at his turn of mind. “Themajordom. An old friend of my own man.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“Two footmen and Vaillancourt’s valet. I know neither.”
Of no help, then.
“But in addition, there is the maid, young Marie. She adores Amber. I know because I saw it today. She is”—Cecily sent Ram an evil smile—“the daughter of Vaillancourt’smajordom.”
“Useful?”
“I know she is. Her father, too. They receive, shall we say, a stipend from me?”
Ram cocked a brow. “After this day of helping you and me, they may need more from you than that.”
She inhaled. “I am ready.”
He needed only one more thing from her.
“And the location of Amber’s bedroom?”
*
Corsini took morethan an hour to find a Berline he could rent.
Ram met the Italian and the coach best used for traveling at the corner, lest anyone watch his house. He’d noticed no one. He expected no one, either. After Amber had decided to part from him last year, no one bothered to watch his house nor track his comings and goings.
He climbed into the shabby cab and thumped on the roof to signal the coachman to drive on. He had instructed Corsini to tell the man to go to Amber’s address and find the servants’ door.
It was mid-May, so dusk came half after nine at night. Ram had set ten for the time of his arrival. Corsini had learned that Vaillancourt gave a dinner party this evening. Ram could not care. He had his pistol and a knife. Not that either would be to hand with his arms full of his darling, but he would nonetheless be prepared. Still, he hoped he’d need neither.
He climbed down from the cab and pulled out the extended seat concealed in the opposite bench. It added three inches at most, but it was better than nothing. Amber could lie down, even if the jostling of the coach would hurt her back.
He took a deep breath and rapped on the kitchen door.
“Yourmajordom,s’il vous plaît,” he said to the young girl servant. Ram hoped he’d enter with help, but if the man balked, he still had Cecily’s map of the house.
The maid scurried off, leaving him in the cramped scullery.
Minutes later, themajordomappeared.
“I am the friend of Comtesse Nugent, monsieur. I ask for your help finding Madame St. Antoine’s bedroom.”
The man lifted a hand as if to listen for voices and movement, then he crooked a finger.
Ram followed.
At the servants’ stairs, they paused. The butler raised a staying hand. Off he went, and in a moment he returned with a young girl. “My daughter, Marie.”
The girl nodded at Ram and tipped her head toward the stairs.
She opened the door, and Ram noted the width of the staircase. It was so narrow, he’d never get down this with Amber in his arms. He’d need to take the main staircase. Being discovered by the deputy and his illustrious guests would work in Ram’s favor. What man would admit to giving a party with his paramour ill unto death upstairs? Ram would walk out of that house with Amber, so help him God.
