“Why on earth was such a thing commissioned?” I demanded.
Tiberius gave me its history. “Our grandmother Vane was an heiress, more money than the Rothschilds, and our Templeton grandfather, in spite of his very old title, was poor as the proverbial church mouse. He needed her pots of cash. Unfortunately for him, every other regency buck was in pursuit of her, writing her sonnets and sending her pretty baubles.”
Stoker picked up the tale. “But Grandmama did not care for titlesor poetry or jewels. She lived to hunt. Grandfather sold everything he could get his hands on to buy her a gift to persuade her to marry him.”
“And he bought herthis?” I asked, incredulous.
“Good God, no,” Tiberius corrected. “He bought her the best hunter in Ireland, an enormous brute of a horse called Tewkesbury. No one in that country could ride him, but he was fast as the wind and beautiful to boot. Grandmama sent back every other gift but that hunter and she eloped with Grandfather to Gretna on that very mount. But a viscountess must have a tiara, so Grandfather thought he would commemorate her favorite sport. He commissioned this monstrosity with her money and had it set with the teeth of every fox she had run to earth as well as the last of the Templeton rubies.”
He lifted it from its velvet nest and set it on my head. “Have a look, my dear,” he urged. I went to the looking glass perched over his washstand. The tiara was formidable, gruesome, teeth grinning even as the rubies winked in the lamplight.
“Frightful, isn’t it?” Tiberius asked with a smile.
“It is the most dreadful thing I have ever seen,” I told him truthfully. “I both loathe and adore it.”
“I thought you might,” Stoker told me. He glanced at Tiberius. “The armillae too, don’t you think?”
Tiberius nodded. “Yes, there is something quite savage about them.” He rummaged in the boxes until he unearthed a pair of armillae. Wide cuffs of gold, they were heavily figured in a triple spiral pattern, the triskelion, an ancient and feminine symbol of power. He fitted them over my sleeves, just above the elbows. “You will want to wear these on bare arms, of course. But they will do nicely.”
I tipped my head. “You seem terribly certain. Have you been to the Club de l’Étoile?”
Tiberius shrugged. “Upon occasion. I have been approached anumber of times by the lady who runs the establishment, offered membership as it were. I have yet to accept, but she has left the invitation open.”
“I suppose it would be a feather in her cap to secure the presence of the Viscount Templeton-Vane,” Stoker said blandly.
“My dear boy, you have no idea,” his brother said with an arch smile. “Among certain circles, I am famous.”
“Not so much circles as pits,” Stoker said.
To my astonishment, the viscount laughed.
“Don’t be churlish, Stoker,” I chastened. “This is not the first time Tiberius’ interesting proclivities have been of use to us.”
“And I bloody well hope it is the last,” Stoker put in with fervor.
The viscount and I ignored him. “What should we expect?” I inquired.
Tiberius gave it some thought. “It is a refined establishment. Most of these places are so draped in frills and furbelows, one can hardly tell where the upholstery leaves off. But Madame Aurore has exquisite taste, as one would expect from a lady with her history.”
I propped my chin on my hands and widened my eyes, doing my best impression of a schoolgirl. “Do tell, Uncle Tiberius. And don’t leave anything out.”
“Cheeky wench,” he said with a fond smile. “Very well. I suspect nothing will shock you, but if Stoker falls about blushing, do not say I failed to warn you.” He settled back into his chair, lacing his fingers over his slim waist. “No one knows where she came from. There are a thousand different myths, but she confirms none of them. She sprang, like Athena, fully formed on the stage of the Opéra, warbling out a passable Cherubino. It was not the quality of her voice which enthralled, you understand. It was the shapeliness of her calves in her costume as a footman.”
“Naturally,” I said.
“Her form attracted attention, as she no doubt intended it should. Her voice, as I say, was only passable. But she played a longer game, going into the keeping of a gentleman of wealth and renown. He polished her up, burnishing her to a brilliant shine. She left him within months for a prince of the blood. Then was an industrialist, an American, I believe. She had been, for eight months, the talk of Paris. And then the Prussians came.”
I shivered. No one who had heard the stories of the siege could forget them, the proud city, bombarded by the Prussians until the Parisians were so assailed by hardship and privation they turned to eating rats and domestic pets. Seventeen years had passed since the siege of Paris, but there were survivors of that time who still shuddered every time they saw a rabbit on a plate because of its unfortunate resemblance to cooked cat.
“Why did Madame Aurore not leave? If she had an American lover, surely he could have got her away? America was neutral during that war.”
He shrugged. “No one knows what held her in France, but she stayed. And because she stayed, she became a legend, suffering with her people. The lady never sang again. She put it out that starvation had ruined her voice, and all of Paris exalted her for her sacrifice. When the city was freed and life went back to what passed for normal, she found new lovers, a string of them, and devoted herself to becoming the continent’s most beloved courtesan. It was a title she held for a decade.”
“Then what?” Stoker roused himself to ask.
“Then, for reasons that are—like much in the lady’s life—shrouded in mystery, she left the Continent and established herself in London. Some said it was to renew an acquaintance with the French emperor in his exile, some say it was to escape the memories of a city that had grown too thick with ghosts. In any event, she made a success ofherself because she is careful and discreet here. Her house is equipped with multiple entrances and exits so that one may enter and leave unobserved. She keeps no formal membership list, no records.”
I flicked a glance to Stoker and back again as I pondered Eddy’s vulnerability. In giving a costly proof of his affections to such a woman, he had put himself squarely in her power. “Then she would not be likely to blackmail one of her guests?”
