‘And what’s all this about you and Miss Austen?’
‘She is downstairs.’
‘You haven’t shaken her off yet?’
‘No, though I wish Jane would stay where it is safe. Sherevealed last night that she wroteSense and Sensibility– in truth and not just as a lie to explain her accompanying me about town.’
‘Did she indeed?’ said Jacob, noticing the ladies were now on first name terms, a sign of the new intimacy between them. ‘We will have to be careful with Miss Austen or find ourselves skewered in her next novel as an insufferable bore or outrageous flirt.’
‘I should’ve guessed what she was up to. She was too clever, too quick to be an ordinary banker’s sister.’
He laughed at that. ‘I, by contrast, am not surprised. The women in my life are continual surprises to me. And I know Frank. There is a strain of the extraordinary in the Austen family.’ He reached for his jacket.
Dora held it out for him. ‘If I can’t persuade you to spend the day in bed, then where are we going?’
‘To find Julien, the new Comte D’Antraigues.’
‘Of course. I should’ve thought of that. Any idea where to start?’
‘If he has given up the house in Barnes, then Queen Anne Street is our best bet.’ He waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Fortunately, we know someone who has already been introduced there and can pave the way for our introduction.’
Dora groaned. ‘She won’t let me forget this. Jane told me she would be useful to the investigation, and she is right.’
Music was playing as they knocked on the door of the D’Antraigues house in Queen Anne Street. It was a jarringly perky military march performed on a piano in what should be a house of mourning. A sullen footman opened the door.
‘Comte D’Antraigues is not receiving,’ he intoned.
A gust of convivial laughter came from a nearby room.
‘Play it again!’ boomed a man’s voice, vowels rich with a Russian or Polish accent.
The march began again.
‘Clearly,’ said Jacob in a clipped tone. ‘However, this is not a social but a business call. One of our party he already knows.’ Hegestured to Miss Austen. ‘Please give him my card and say the matter is urgent.’
With a sceptical look at the two women behind Jacob, the footman allowed them to wait in the hall while he went in search of his master. Jacob studied with interest the collection of paintings on the wall. If he was any judge, there was a Watteau and a Zoffany hanging here. Both painters had a theatrical style that suited the house of a former opera star. Dora and Miss Austen were heads together over a collection of prints displayed on a marble table, including one of Vesuvius and another of the Fountains of Versailles. Compared to the paintings, they were rather dull pieces. The piano music broke off and there was a murmur of voices. The footman returned.
‘He will see you now. Come this way.’ The footman wasn’t very good at his job. He hadn’t even asked for the names of Jacob’s companions. Standing at the door, he announced: ‘MrFitz-Pennington and guests.’
Jacob strode into the room, making for the young man sitting at the piano. ‘Actually, my name is Dr Sandys. The lady there is Miss Fitz-Pennington, my business partner, and I believe you’ve met Miss Austen?’
Seeing the females in the party, Julien, the new Comte D’Antraigues, sprang up and straightened his coat tails. He shook Jacob’s hand and bowed to the ladies.
‘Forgive my man. He is still in training. Carl, please ask the cook to send up refreshments for my guests.’ He retained only a hint of his French upbringing in his accent. No doubt he had spent almost all his life outside France thanks to the revolution booting his parents out in 1789.
While Julien was correcting the footman’s error and instructing him what he should know to do without asking, Jacob took a quick survey of the company gathered for the musical morning. The host Julien was tall and thin with apronounced nose. One would think that would make him ugly but there was something mesmerising in his dark eyes and sleek black hair that lessened the impact of his nose, somehow making it the perfect feature for his striking face. He was Gallic through and through, from his hand-waving gestures to his shrugs and exclamations of frustration at the quality of the servants he had been able to engage since the collapse of his family and, presumably, his finances. Jacob wondered how much longer Julien would be able to continue in this house. Only until the end of the lease, he would guess. As Julien’s father had been the government pensioner, that would have stopped immediately on his demise. Julien had no obvious motive to be a party in their deaths because he must now be far worse off and without an income. Hopefully, the art collection that adorned the walls in this room and the hallway was his and he could sell it to survive a little longer until something else turned up.
Turning his attention to Julien’s company, Jacob realised he had met one of them the day before: Count Ivan Vorontsov, aide to the Russian envoy, last seen at the Silver Cross. He bowed.
‘Count Vorontsov, how was the chop?’
The count’s confusion at this greeting cleared as he got a good look at Jacob. ‘Ah, the friend of Thornbury! It was excellent. Delighted to meet you again.’
Jacob introduced Dora and Miss Austen without explaining their presence. He hoped they would get a moment alone with Julien, but the count looked very at home in the music room and made no sign of leaving. In his turn, the Russian introduced his wife, Countess Vorontsova, and her companion, Yekatarina Petrovna. The elegant countess was small and blonde, a complete opposite to her bluff, curly-haired husband. Miss Petrovna was about Dora’s stature and had the lively expression of one who found much to mock in life. She was finely dressed and had her brunette hair styled in intricate ringlets whichindicated she was no impoverished lady’s companion but had her own maid.
Julien invited them all to take seats.
‘I cannot tell you how distressed I was to hear of the deaths of your excellent parents,’ said Miss Austen, settling into the chair near the piano while he perched on the stool. ‘Please accept my heartfelt condolences.’
