Henrietta peered over the banister. Mademoiselle Garnier stood below in the entry hall. “It’s imperative that I speak to him,” she repeated, louder, as if the butler was deaf.
Henrietta marched down the stairs. “I’m afraid my father isn’t here.”
Huge, frantic jewel-like eyes searched hers. “I have received a note—May I speak with you privately, Lady Henrietta?”
“Of course.” Henrietta turned to the butler. “We shall take a dish of Bohea in the drawing room, thank you, Frankston.” She turned to the stairs. “I’m afraid we are at sixes and sevens here at present. The servants don’t like it when things fail to run smoothly.”
Frankston frowned, disapproving as he took the lady’s redingote and bonnet. Old snob, Henrietta thought.
“Oh, what beautiful dogs.” Mademoiselle Garnier fell to her knees on the drawing room carpet where the spaniels stretched out by the fire and stroked their heads. “I am so very fond of animals.”
Henrietta’s cool attitude toward the Frenchwoman warmed a little. She hoped she might learn something from her.
Henrietta sat on the sofa. “You’ve heard from my father?”
Mademoiselle Garnier’s cheeks flushed. “He has gone?”
“Yes. During the night.”
She left the dogs and came to sit beside Henrietta. “He sent a note this morning. I hoped to see him before he left.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I am very much afraid for him.”
Henrietta inhaled sharply. “My uncle, yes, but not my father, surely.”
Mademoiselle Garnier leaned forward and placed a gloved hand on Henrietta’s arm. “You don’t understand. As soon as your father puts a foot on French soil, he will be hunted down. I must get word to him.”
Henrietta gasped. “I know it to be unsafe there.” She frowned. “But why would they want my father?”
“Believe me when I say they do. Your father could be walking into a trap.”
