Heart of Gold

Sir Percy glared. 'Letters have arrived for you. Collect them from the Under-Consul on your way out.' He smiled coldly. 'A message from the Magisterium has arrived for you too.'

Clattering down the stairs to the entrance of the embassy, George gave a low whistle. 'What was that about?'

'Sir Percy was appointed by the previous PM.'

'Ah. One of Rollo's old boys?'

'Which makes him automatically suspicious of my father.'

Caroline was waiting for them. She was still smouldering. 'Helpless?' she said as soon as she saw Aubrey and George. 'Helpless? That's the sort of attitude that's keeping women oppressed.'

Aubrey nodded. 'We tried to tell him that you were just as guilty as we were, but he wouldn't listen.'

'Up to your neck in criminality,' George added.

Caroline nodded. 'Good. I'm glad you stood up for me.' Then she laughed. 'I was furious. The maids were so frightened they called for the sergeant-at-arms.'

Aubrey would have liked to have seen that. 'Good for you.'

A harried-looking functionary scuttled out from a nearby door. 'Your letters.' He thrust a string-tied bundle into Aubrey's hands.

He groaned. 'More jobs to do, no doubt.'

'Let's eat, then,' George said. 'Looks as if you'll need all your strength.'

THE RESTAURANT WAS BUSY, TWO STREETS FROM THE RIVER and crowded with students and artists, half-hidden by swirls of pungent cigarette smoke. They found a table in a corner under an ornate gilt mirror. Once food had been ordered and served, Aubrey took the chance to cast a discreet muffling spell so the three friends could talk without being overheard.

He was absurdly grateful when it worked flawlessly. It wasn't that he took his skill for granted, it was more that he was afraid of what he'd be if he had no magic. He liked being a talented magic worker. It set him apart, made him special, and he enjoyed that.

Am I that shallow then? he wondered, but he reprimanded himself. Despondency was a trap and he aimed to avoid it.

Nonetheless, his hands shook after casting the spell and he hid them under the table. I just need some rest, he told himself, that's all.

Caroline crossed her arms. 'Now, I'd like to know why you're really in Lutetia.'

For you. Aubrey's eyes went wide. For an instant, he thought he'd blurted his thoughts aloud. Hastily, he waved a hand in an effort at nonchalance. He nearly slapped a waiter, who sniffed at him but didn't stop. 'Ah. You could say that it's more than just a simple holiday.'

'I gathered that. Nothing is simple where you're concerned.'

'True,' George said as he tucked into a plate of mussels. He gazed forlornly at the empty bread basket. From a table nearby, a pretty red-haired girl noticed and threw George a roll. He caught it and grinned at her. 'I learned that long ago.'

Aubrey knew he had a salad on the table in front of him, but he had no appetite. In fact, the smell of food made him queasy, and he did his best to avoid looking at it. He leaned back in his chair and started when he bumped into a vase full of ostrich feathers. 'I have many things to do here.'

He decided to take her into his confidence. It wasn't entirely a ploy to become closer to her, he told himself. It was a practical step. She was very . . . useful.

He outlined his father's task, Bertie's request, his grandmother's mission and, finally, his mother's wish to find Dr Romellier.

Caroline patted her lips with a napkin. 'Why didn't you simply ask me for help?'

'Because he never asks anyone for help,' George said. 'Goes against his nature. Independent beast is our Aubrey.'

'And with so much to do,' Caroline said, 'why didn't you divide the tasks between you? You'd get more done more quickly that way.'

Aubrey realised he'd never thought of it. 'George doesn't know any Gallian.'

'Give me some credit, old man. I get by. And I'm not afraid of asking for help, especially from some of these cheery Lutetian girls.' He waved at a quartet at a nearby table and won laughter and smiles in return.

Caroline continued. From the gleam in her eye, Aubrey decided that she was enjoying his discomfort. 'What if I told you that I'd recently heard about this mysterious Dr Romellier?'

'Dr Romellier?' Aubrey said. 'You?'

'He's been working with some of the researchers in the same department as I am. He never appears himself, simply sends letters and crates of specimens. I've seen them lying around.'

'Does his correspondence have a return address?'

'No idea. It's not really relevant to my work.'

'But you could find out.'

'Yes. I could. We're all very friendly in the department. Charming, polite people.'

George nudged Aubrey. 'Go on, old man, ask her.'

Aubrey sighed, then leaned forward and fixed Caroline's gaze with his. 'Miss Caroline Hepworth, please grant me this boon: find Dr Romellier's return address and convey it to me. My gratitude will be immediate and long-lasting. In fact, I thank you for even considering my request, unworthy wretch that I am.'

She smiled. Aubrey smiled back and felt like he'd won a substantial prize. 'Very prettily put,' she said. 'I'd love to.'

'But?'

Caroline tilted her head on one side. 'I am busy, you know. I can't just drop everything and go gadding about on errands.'

'Of course, of course,' Aubrey said. It took an almighty effort, but he stilled his tongue and said nothing more. He had an inkling that Caroline actually wanted to help, and if he let her she'd find a way to do it.

'But I suppose I could squeeze in some time,' she said and Aubrey thanked the stars. 'A little. Here and there. If I can.'

Aubrey sat back in his chair. 'I would appreciate it greatly, you know. I'd love to scratch one task from my list.'

'Well,' George said, 'I'm not one to be left out. What if I do some of that ancestor hunting for the Prince tomorrow? I can tramp around a few churches and take notes, if that's all it is. I might learn a thing or two, broaden the mind and all that.'

'Judging from Bertie's notes,' Aubrey said, 'that should cover it.'

'Well then.' George beamed. 'What about you?'

'I still have plenty left to do.'

'What about the message from the Magisterium?' Caroline asked.

Aubrey had forgotten all about it. He'd hung his jacket on a coat stand next to the table. He fumbled inside it until he found the sealed message.

The restaurant had, if anything, grown more crowded. No-one seemed to be paying them any attention. He held up the message gingerly. 'It must be important. This is an etheric message.' Caroline and George were puzzled. 'The Magisterium can send encrypted messages via a magic cylinder. It's highly technical, though – they only use it in extraordinary circumstances.'