“That one is my favorite too,” she told Tommy with a wink, and he ducked his head shyly as she walked away.
As his cheeks turned pink, I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. He was growing up so quickly now, and all I could do was watch. But I did not have much time to ruminate as thegirl swiftly returned with our drinks as well as the cake, which was as delicious as it looked.
“Did you really only visit the museum once before?” Tommy asked between comically large bites of cake.
“Yes, I’m afraid I was more partial to the South Kensington Museum as a girl,” I replied, as I poured us both a steaming cup of tea.
Mr. Dorian gave me a considering look over the rim of his coffee cup. “That one is mostly art, correct?”
Tommy made a face. “Sounds dull.”
I laughed. “Not to me. My favorite was the room with all the casts of masterpieces like Michelangelo’sDavid. It’s an important museum,” I said, now warming up to the subject. “Not everyone can travel to places like Rome or Athens to see such things in person, but why should that stop them from experiencing great works of art?”
Mr. Dorian was watching me with one of those inscrutable looks I couldn’t begin to interpret. “Well said,” he murmured, while Tommy shrugged and took another forkful of cake.
“I suppose,” he conceded. “But I still like the Natural History Museum better. Because that one has skeletons.”
“To each their own,” I said with a smile.
Once we finished, Mr. Dorian insisted on paying, despite my protests.
“May we walk home through the park?” Tommy asked once we were back on the pavement.
“Certainly.” By then, the day had warmed considerably, and there was even a bit of sun poking through the clouds. I was just about to bid Mr. Dorian good-bye when Tommy asked him to accompany us.
“If that is all right with your mother,” he replied, turning to me.
I managed to mimic our server’s sunny smile. “Of course.”
Together, we headed to Hyde Park, which was just a short walk away from the tearoom, and once we were past the gate, Tommy raced ahead.
“I truly do not know where he finds the energy,” I marveled.
Mr. Dorian chuckled. “It’s because he doesn’t have to worry about anything or work for his supper.”
“Yes, that’s true.” I hadn’t thought about that. But then, from what he had shared back on Corfu, Mr. Dorian’s childhood hadn’t been very idyllic.
“You asked about Madame Fontaine,” he said, as if he had heard my thoughts and was deliberately steering the conversation away from himself.
I nodded. “What made you visit her?”
“Mrs. Langham suggested it,” he said, and my jaw tightened. But, of course, he would have discussed this with his … his … whatever Mrs. Langham was to him. “They know each other from the theater scene, and apparently she knows a great deal about the baron’s set on account of her … work.” His mouth twisted a little as he said the word, and I recalled his threat to expose Madame Fontaine.
“You don’t approve of her,” I replied, and he turned to me, surprised.
“Of course not. She’s a charlatan. It’s one thing to provide entertainment for people like Lord Linden, but she makes the bulk of her coin preying on those who can barely afford it. Surely you can agree.”
I tilted my head in consideration. “I might have thought so before I met her. But I can see how she provides a kind of comfort for the grieving. And anyone who is so desperate as to try to commune with the dead needs all the solace they can find. Even if it’s made up.” Mr. Dorian scoffed, and I raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Is that really so different from speaking with a priest?”
He stared back at me in wonder. “Are you telling me you are a nonbeliever, Mrs. Harper?”
I looked ahead. “I’m merely saying that both provide a service that is based on faith. On a belief in something that cannot be seen.” Mr. Dorian hummed in response. I turned back to him. “So what did she tell you, then?”
“That Charles Pearson was a bit of a cad—and married to boot. Madame Fontaine seemed to think he owed people money.”
“She said the same to me.” Then I pursed my lips. “I need to know more about his business with antiques. The man had a telephone in his flat, you know.”
That seemed to take Mr. Dorian by surprise. “Did he, now?” Then he frowned in thought. “I assumed he inherited much of his wealth and the antiques were more of a hobby.”
