Dressed in a finely tailored coat, breeches and Hessian boots, I look every bit as dashing as the militiamen by the bakery, but a lot more mysterious. Where they smile, I brood. Where they bow, my back remains unbent. According to Sandra, “imperiously aloof” is Fitzwilliam Darcy’s middle name before he melts for Elizabeth. That’s what I’m going for. Without much difficulty, I must confess.
My appearance causes a jolt of surprise in the audience, followed by a hush of anticipation.
We’re going to let them stew for a few minutes, until we reward them with a bout of verbal sparring between Elizabeth and me. To fill the gap and enhance the physicality of the show, Sandra has imagined a short ensemble number at this point. As a bonus, it also entertains the few children in the audience.
Two puppeteers deploy a booth-like structure called acasteletin front of the modiste’s shop and perform an interactive sketch. The audience takes part in the jokes and howls with laughter.
Theater within the theater has been done before;The Producersarguably did it best.Butimmersive theater within the immersive theater?I don’t think so. This was a brilliant idea. One of Sandra’s many brilliant ideas. If that woman ever directs for screen, she’ll have a standing offer from Royal Riviera as soon as I get wind of it!
It goes without saying that Mr. Darcy stays away from the rowdy puppet show. Charles Bingley has abandoned him, unable to resist the pull of the entertainers. Mr. Collins takes his place at once, droning on about the generosity of Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
At the end of their number, the puppeteers take their bows. I’m about to send Collins on his way and stride toward Elizabeth when a burst of color and movement above the clapping crowd draws my attention. It’s beanbag balls. Someone in the audience must’ve brought them along to show off their skills. I peer at that person. She looks oddly familiar…
It’s Max’s wife, Lucie!And the man standing next to her is Prince Maximilian himself.
What are they doing here? Did they buy last-minute tickets to enjoy the show like Leo who’s coming to see it on Saturday? Or are they here to impart some urgent message to me—something confidential enough that the royals didn’t want to relay it over the phone?
Both Gigi and Adam Von Dietz have warned me to never assume that phone lines are secure. Not even the supposedly secure ones. It follows, if one recalls how a few years back the NSA got caught listening in on a bunch of European heads of state. Allies included. With our own Kurt Ozzi problem to boot, MESS has been increasingly resorting to old-school methods of communication and encouraging the royals to do the same.
I make a detour on my way to Elizabeth so that I can nod to Lucie and Max. Now they know that I saw them and will look for them during the intermission.
Suddenly, it can’t arrive soon enough.
CHAPTER14
JONAS
I usher Max and Lucie into my basement “dungeon,” as Gigi so aptly called it, and pull the door shut. “I’m sorry, Your Highnesses, but I have twenty minutes, tops. If you can hang around or come back, I’ll have a lot more time tonight.”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” Max says. “Twenty minutes now will do.”
He turns to his wife, letting her deliver the message.
“Adam Von Dietz believes he knows who the mole is.”
If there was a chair in this room, I’d be sitting down. “Who?” I ask.
Max and Lucie exchange a strangely hesitant look, as if expecting I won’t like the news.
“Prince Leonardo di Borbone,” Max says to me.
My head jerks back. “As in, my best friend Leo?”
They nod.
“Impossible,” I say. “I’ve known Leo since we were kids! And he isn’t just my friend; he’s a friend of House Montevor, too. You can’t deny that.”
They don’t.
I go on, “Dowager Princess Gertrude loves him, Prince Richard loves him, the peerage appreciates him… He’s a principled man, and he’d never betray his friends.”
We stare at each other for a few silent seconds.
The part we don’t say aloud, because there’s no need, given how acutely we’re all aware of it, is that the royal family has been shunning Leo lately. Since last spring, to be precise. The day Kurt Ozzi launched a diplomatic war on Mount Evor, Leo went from being a guest of honor at every major event, always welcome to stay for extended periods of time, to an undeclared persona non grata. The official and unofficial invitations ceased, not because anyone seriously suspected Leo of wrongdoing, but out of precaution. He is, after all, a nephew of Kurt’s.
It occurs to me that the months of forced estrangement between the royals and Leo are an argument in his favor.
“If he were the mole,” I say to Max, “he would’ve been unable to apprise Kurt of your progress with the key, or of Arnaud’s itinerary, or of Theodor’s destinations. He wasn’t in Mount Evor during any of it.”
