“My dear, what dreadful news. I am so sorry to hear of Mr. Babcock.”
“Oh, indeed!” said the brown-frizzed Miss Mortimer. “What a shock for you, Miss Tulman. To have your heart broken yet again!”
She grimaced hard as the blonde Miss Mortimer stepped deliberately on her foot before flouncing down onto the settee beside Henri. He shot me the impertinent grin, the brown eyes amused, almost sparkling, one brow slightly up. Mrs. Reynolds gave me a cold nod and then smiled as she joined them, well pleased, evidently, by the seating arrangements.
“Mrs. Hardcastle,” I said, voice lowering, “I would speak to you for a moment, if I might.”
She raised the pince-nez, following me to two chairs arranged companionably together in front of a cabinet of curios. We sat, the two Miss Mortimers doing an excellent job of filling the other end of the room with chatter while I prepared to set aside my pride. Mrs. Hardcastle watched me expectantly.
“I will spare us both and be direct, Mrs. Hardcastle. I know we have not been friends, but I need to ask a favor of —”
I saw her give a start. “And why, Miss Tulman, do you think we have not been friends?”
I stared at her frank face, uncomprehending. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten all that tea in Aunt Alice’s morning room? Those moments were some of the most painful in my existence. Mrs. Hardcastle chuckled.
“Well now, don’t look at me like that, my dear. If there was no friendship between us, it certainly wasn’t on my side.”
I blinked. This conversation was nowhere near the topic I had intended, but I could not let this pass. “Mrs. Hardcastle, for years you visited my aunt’s home and showed her every consideration, tittering and laughing behind your cups while she treated me abominably, and you visited Stranwyne Keep — on her request, I remind you — and started the proceedings to have my uncle committed to a lunatic asylum. How exactly would you perceive such behavior as ‘friendship,’ Ma’am?” I could feel my cheeks burning, pent-up emotion boiling up hot from my chest. Mrs. Hardcastle raised her eyebrows.
“Why, whoever laughed at you, child? Alice’s behavior was so ridiculous it was an absolute lark. Why do you think we ever came there? We were all waiting for the day you would stand up and tell her to go to blazes but apparently you did it without us, more’s the pity. I’d quite looked forward to that.”
I was so angry I could scarcely see straight. “And how was I to tell her to ‘go to blazes’ and still feed myself, Ma’am? Had you thought of that? Or did you think her incapable of putting me on the streets?” I’d nearly shouted this last, and the conversation on the other end of the room faltered for just a moment before resuming, though not without glances thrown our way.
“Miss Tulman,” said Mrs. Hardcastle, moderating her voice, “let us be calm. How could Alice have turned you out without losing the income on your father’s money, the money for your upkeep? You didn’t really think Alice Tulman would have turned her back on those pounds to make a point to you? When the woman threw away money right and left? Ridiculous! Really, my dear, I would have thought you had more intelligence than —”
“Mrs. Hardcastle …” I leaned forward. “… I was not aware that I had one farthing from my father until I inherited Stranwyne Keep.”
Mrs. Hardcastle sat back in her chair, the pince-nez plopping onto her bosom. “Really!” she said. “Well!” And then, inexplicably, she chuckled, and then she laughed. “Why, what a poisonous little toad that Alice Tulman is! Truly! She didn’t tell us about that after you left, my dear, not by half!”
Though she’d told them plenty else, I’d wager.
“Well, that does explain a good bit,” she said, sighing through her laughter. “You see …” She scooted forward to the edge of her chair, as if about to confide a secret … “I enjoy folly, Miss Tulman, in all its forms, not excluding my own. There is nothing more amusing than observing the foibles of others. It makes the day pass faster. And my, but didn’t your aunt Tulman provide plenty to be amused about! I daresay I might have behaved differently had I known the true situation, though I’m not certain what good it could have done. To be honest, I’ve never considered Alice Tulman far beyond the occasional letter and our little morning teas. …”
Her gaze wandered over my head for a moment, then she smiled at me again. “But I must say that your uncle looked as if he belonged in an asylum to me, my dear. When he threw that hammer I can strictly promise not to have run so fast before or since. Another bit of fun I must thank you and your aunt for! Now …” She tapped me lightly on the knee. “I’m so glad we got that settled to satisfaction, Miss Tulman. What is it that you wished to speak to me about?”
It took me several moments to stop staring at Mrs. Hardcastle, to give up contemplating the result of living a life in which nothing worse had ever happened than a wrongly colored ribbon or a particularly vexing maid, a life so vain and pampered that the pain of others was nearly indecipherable. I clasped my hands together, reformulating my view of my childhood. Mrs. Hardcastle was not an evil woman, I decided, but her mind had the depth of a Parisian puddle, and it occurred to me that sometimes the result could be the same.
“Miss Tulman?” Mrs. Hardcastle prodded.
I took a breath. “It is my aunt I wished to speak to you about, actually. I was hoping to ask you for … a favor.”
Her little eyes lit up behind the spectacles. “Anything!” she replied.
“My aunt Alice was afraid of Mr. Babcock, legally speaking, and she had good reason to be. I think as soon as she hears of his death …” I paused. “I think that she will seek to prove me incompetent and take Stranwyne Keep. On behalf of her son, of course.”
Mrs. Hardcastle nodded her understanding.
“It may be some time before I can return to London and talk with anyone in Mr. Babcock’s offices, and my affairs there could be in some disarray. I wanted to ask if you would keep up a correspondence with my aunt, and if … if you would not mention our meeting here in Paris. If you would be so good as to inform me of any plans or proceedings that are moving forward, I would be most grateful.”
Mrs. Hardcastle grinned hugely, as if I had presented her with some sort of delectable tart. “Why, I would love to, Miss Tulman. Of course! I told you I relish folly, and a regular correspondence with your aunt is a veritable treat! And now that I am aware of some of the truer circumstances, I shall relish it even more!”
I smiled, perhaps the first genuine smile I’d ever given Mrs. Hardcastle. I had expected to beg, crawl, and flatter to win her to my side, and the relief of not doing so was intense. But even as the smile came, the expression froze on my face. My eyes had wandered to the little curio cabinet I had noticed before, just beyond Mrs. Hardcastle’s shoulder. On the top shelf, behind the curved glass door, the light from the open curtain had caught on a collection of silver. Little animals, palm-sized, carved in intricate detail.
I leapt up from my chair, reached over Mrs. Hardcastle, and pulled open the curio’s glass door, rattling the porcelain figures that stood precariously on top. I touched a silver dog in a dreaming sleep, a raven, a lumbering bear, and in the back, a fish. The posture of the fish was stiff, not natural like the others animals, as if its model had been made of metal plates. I grabbed it up. Tiny, minute rivets ran down the edges, levers entering the body from the fins. Not a replica of an animal, but of a machine.
I whirled about, facing the other end of the room. They were all watching me, the girls openmouthed, Henri with his forehead wrinkled, Mrs. Reynolds offended. Mrs. Hardcastle looked back and forth between us through the pince-nez. I held out the fish.