“It isn’t fair,” Jean-Marie said, more of a statement than petulance.
“No, it isn’t,” Loretta said. “But I’m afraid that’s how it is. Mrs. Pringle and Landon will look after the two of you tonight. So please be good for them.”
“Yes, Maman.” Clarisse pouted.
The conversation turned to other things, but Mira couldn’t shake her nerves. The Renaldis were an older family and set a high standard as a result. Not that Mira’s family wasn’t respectable, but their fortune was fairly new. They had always had enough money, always been in the upper middle class. Yet, as much as Cyrus blustered about status and chided them about what was proper, he himself didn’t always live up to the standard.
Cyrus had a great desire to appear correct in all social norms but was the first generation of the family expected to do so. Elias Griffon, his father and Mira’s grandfather, brought the family from poverty into wealth, but couldn’t provide the necessary skills to help them thrive in the new society. Cyrus compensated by traveling the world and continuing to build up the fortune. He didn’t prioritize his social standing until he was given guardianship of Mira and Walker.
Suddenly, he had expectations to live up to, children to raise, and a society to fit into—and he no idea of how to go about it. He’d started by purchasing a copy of the peerage and keeping up with the news of the court. It had seemed the sensible thing to do, though it didn’t give him the practical knowledge he needed.
He hadn’t recognized the necessity of hiring a governess for her or a tutor for Walker. While he had sense enough to ensure a good education for her brother by sending him to boarding school, he only sent Mira to finishing school as an afterthought. Thank goodness he had, otherwise she’d be lacking in all the social graces. And then, once they were grown, Cyrus had forgotten about the need for chaperones entirely and had been easily persuaded to allow Mira live on her own.
Looking back, it was impossible to know if his leniency in raising them was due to ignorance, his own grief, or a desire for them to have some happiness after such a great sadness, but regardless of the reason it had left them with a deficiency of manners.
Loretta, on the other hand, was already working out her children’s education. Georges would get an apprenticeship, and she would arrange for a tutor for Jean-Marie and a governess for Clarisse. She was making plans for dance lessons and negotiating with tailors and dressmakers for new wardrobes.
For years the Lavignes hadn’t had the option to follow thesocial standard because of the debts left by Mssr. Lavigne. But now there was an opportunity to improve their circumstances and Loretta was primed to take it. Conforming to social expectations seemed to come naturally to her, though perhaps that was because in doing so she ensured a better future for her children.
As for Mira, she still struggled to remember everything that was expected of her. Walker did too. Would it have been different if their parents hadn’t died? Their father came from a well-established family. Had their mother cared about propriety and status? Or would she have had the same attitude that Mira did about hairstyles and hats?
Would Mira be less anxious for this party with the Renaldis?
“Mira?”
She looked up at the sound. Her uncle was looking at her expectantly.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked if you’d talked with Mr. Constantine about this evening.”
“Oh. Yes. He should be here in time to walk with us.”
“Good. Good.”
***
Mira spent the rest of the morningunpacking and helping her aunt with the odd task. Sometime in the afternoon she hid away in the library, settling onto a rug near the hearth with a stack of letters. Most of them were addressed to Palace Court. As an independent detective, Byron had correspondence from all sorts of people. Since he’d been gone for almost three months, the letters about cases and leads piled up.
She had taken about half of the stack of envelopes to sort through, but there hadn’t been time to chip away at them yet with all the unpacking and excitement. They’d only been backin London for a day. Letter opener in hand, she set to work on thinning the pile.
First, she discarded the obvious advertisements and ordered the remaining correspondence by postmark deciding it would be best to work from the earliest and move forward. Some of the leads she came across had definite timeframes that were already long past. Those, she set aside. The aim was to find any communications that merited immediate response. The rest could wait until they had time to write an apology for being out of the country.
It didn’t take long before she came upon some information that made her pause. It was from the police in Reading. The two thieves Byron had helped to capture back in November, Charles Montague and Aaron Dennis, had escaped. They had worked under Selene and possibly under Circe before that. They’d broken out on December twentieth, just before their court martial trial was to be held.
Mira had visited them in early December at the prison in Reading to ask about Selene’s potential whereabouts in Paris. She bit her lip as she read over the note again. Montague, or Monty as he was called, had been incredibly cooperative. Dennis was the bigger worry. Something about the man hadn’t set well with Mira at the time, especially after learning that Dennis had pulled a knife on Byron. He was violent and had a vengeful streak.
She set the letter to the side, as something to be dealt with sooner rather than later. She glanced at the clock. It was almost time to get ready for the party, but she found it difficult to stop. A little lower in the stack, she came across a missive that made her stomach turn.
Detective Constantine,
If you are reading this, I am dead.
Her eyes flicked to the bottom of the page and she found the nameSelene Vermiellein cursive script. She brought a hand to her mouth, memories of the thief’s death in the catacombs flooding back. The blood, the dust, the bones. She forced the images away and kept reading.
Durant has just visited me, and I fear that he will not keep his promises. Even if he does, it is only a matter of time before Circe decides I am a loose thread that needs cutting. You must know that everything I have done has been in self-preservation. But my loyalty to Circe has long faded. If they kill me I do not want the knowledge I carry to follow me to the grave.
The handwriting was shaky,as if written in a hurry. Mira couldn’t imagine what Selene had felt as she wrote it. She herself felt sick just reading it.
