Heart of Gold (42 page)

He wasn't sure that Gallia was ready for a king again,
let alone an Albionite king. He was confident that Bertie
wouldn't do anything straightaway, but what would the
future hold?

Before leaving for the ball, Madame Calvert made
Aubrey and George stand in the entry hall while she
inspected them with the eye of a regimental commander.

Aubrey enjoyed formal clothes. The rigmarole of
dressing in the stiff-fronted shirt and attaching the
starched wing collar was an exercise in dexterity and
determination. He'd learned enough to make sure that
his white bow tie was tied imperfectly enough so any
observer would know it wasn't a pre-tied affair, but one
knotted by a real person.

Despite feeling weary from his exertions, he was
pleased to pass Madame Calvert's scrutiny. For a
moment, however, it seemed as if she were going to make
George get dressed all over again.

'This tailcoat hasn't been brushed, has it?' she
demanded. Instantly, a clothes brush appeared in her
hand. She attacked George with it while she kept up
her litany of the sartorial indiscretions he'd committed.
He bore it with genial good humour.

'The crease in your trousers, ghastly.' Brush, brush.
'And your waistcoat is crooked. Fix it.' Brush, brush. 'One
of the studs is missing from your collar.' Brush, brush,
brush.

'Here it is,' George said mildly. He held it up. 'I was
hoping you'd help me with it.'

Madame Calvert growled with frustration. The brush
disappeared. She took the offending stud and busied
herself with attaching the rear of the collar.

Aubrey nearly laughed aloud when George winked at
him.

'There,' Madame Calvert said. 'You look almost
presentable now.'

George bowed. 'And I'm grateful to you, Madame
Calvert. With your care and style, I'm sure you've made
a difference.'

She seemed mollified by this. She took George's top
hat from the hall table and handed it to him. Aubrey took
his and held it in the crook of his arm. 'The cab is here,'
she said. 'Now check your cuff links and your shoes
before you enter the embassy.' She pierced George with
a look. 'I won't be able to watch you all evening, so make
sure you take good care of Sophie.'

'I shall.' Aubrey noted that George wore his most
dutiful expression.

Madame Calvert stood in front of the mirror. She
adjusted the double string of pearls around her neck, then
nodded. 'Let us go then.'

T
HE EVENING WAS BALMY AS THEY ROLLED DOWN
Honesty Street in their open carriage. Looking
toward the river, Aubrey was glad to see that it was itself
again. Steam yachts cruised along, full of sightseers
enjoying the lights of Lutetia. Music and laughter wafted
from the cafés along the way, with many revellers
shouting out their good wishes as the paired greys clipclopped
past.

Twice, Madame Calvert asked George for the time,
and a little later she wanted the driver to turn around
because she'd forgotten her bag. Aubrey gently pointed
out it was on the seat next to her.

Madame Calvert's agitation increased the closer they
came to her niece's house. It was off All Saints Square, a
secluded part of the Crecy district. It was a very wealthy
precinct, to judge from the grand, detached houses which
were set well back from the street, behind stone or iron
fences and well-established gardens.

Aubrey nearly laughed out loud when George saw
Sophie Delroy. 'Sometimes, one can be luckier than one
deserves,' George murmured from the side of his mouth
as they stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Sophie was blonde and petite, with a smile that came
as readily and brightly as her laughter. She was a witty
and wry observer of Lutetia and Gallia, too. On the trip
to the embassy, she entertained them with her views on
the Prime Minister, the Assembly and the appalling
progress of women's rights in Gallia.

Aubrey was sure that she and Caroline would get on
famously.

'And what do you plan to do after you finish school?'
Aubrey asked when they rounded the corner into
Thriftiness Terrace. He was doing his best in the conversation
as George was too flabbergasted to contribute
anything useful. Aubrey was pleased that the boot was on
the other foot for a change.

'I intend to write for
The Sentinel
,' she declared, smiling,
as they passed the Exposition Tower. It was aglow with
electric light. Gulls wheeled around its heights, snapping
up insects.

'They don't have any female journalists, do they?'

'They will when I get there.'

George managed to contribute some questions about
newspapers and, when he discovered that Sophie was just
as intrigued by the agony columns as he was, they chattered
away as if they'd known each other for years.

Aubrey sat back, drumming his fingers, until they
reached the Hepworth residence.

He leapt out of the carriage before the driver had
pulled to a halt. 'Would you like me to come along?'
George asked.

'No. Thanks. No thanks. I know the way.'

'Here.' Madame Calvert leaned out of the carriage.
'Your tie is crooked. There.'

Aubrey thanked her and bounded through the doors.
He forced himself to wait for the lift rather than rush up
the stairs as he thought it might give his heart time to
slow.
Urbane
, he thought.
Urbane would be good.
He touched
his hair as the lift clanked upwards.
Debonair would be
acceptable. Compliment her on her dress.
He crossed the
landing to the Hepworth apartment and realised he
couldn't remember exiting the lift.
Charming. I'll settle for
charming. Charming would be satisfactory.

He rang the bell.

When Caroline opened the door, his brain turned to
vapour. Dimly, he hoped it wasn't streaming from his ears.

'Don't stand there like that, Aubrey. You look like a
wax dummy.'

It was green. The dress was green. White gloves. Very
long. Sparkly things around her neck and wrist. Jewels.
Her hair was twisty and wrappy and piled up. Shiny, too.
With a feather in it.

'Well? Are you coming in?'

She turned and moved inside. Her perfume drifted to
him; he nearly gave up and ran away. Steeling himself, he
followed her with one aim in mind: not to trip over his
own feet.

He abandoned any chance of urbane, debonair or
charming. He was happy to aspire to anything better than
village idiot, second class.

With some pride, he managed not to bang into any
walls. He followed Caroline into the parlour. Along the
way from the front door – a journey that seemed to take
a strangely indeterminate amount of time – he'd assembled
enough of his wits to frame coherent thought and,
at a pinch, attempt short sentences. So when he saw Mrs
Hepworth in a ball gown, he was able not to goggle. She
wore an assembly of blue silk windings that floated and
made her look stylishly exotic, and an iridescent turban
affair on her head. 'You're coming to the ball?'

'Naturally,' she said with a smile. 'I was going to go
with Alphonse Caron, but since he's been called away
. . . If you don't mind, I'll accompany you two.'

Aubrey was conscious that Caroline was looking at
him. 'Delighted,' he said and wondered why it was so hot
in the room.

Caroline arranged a white silk shawl around her shoulders.
'Shall we go?'

Aubrey introduced Madame Calvert and Mrs
Hepworth. They chattered, George and Sophie chattered,
and Aubrey spent the rest of the journey trying not
to stare at Caroline. He was quite proud of his remarks
about the weather and decided that for someone with an
evaporated brain, he was doing quite well. He gave
himself some chance of seeing out the evening without a
major social blunder.

Their carriage was stopped a block away from their
destination by streets choked with traffic. All Lutetia
seemed to be heading toward the social event of the year.
A cheery police officer assured them that the line of
carriages was moving, and so it proved when, thirty
minutes later, they arrived in front of the many-pillared
Albion Embassy.

Guards in full uniform stood on either side of the gate.
Aubrey noted that they weren't merely ceremonial – their
rifles were standard-issue bolt-action Symons, well oiled and
maintained. A full colonel inspected invitations of everyone
attempting to enter. Aubrey approved of the precautions.
Even if the Heart of Gold had been restored, the city was
still a hotbed of intrigue and the embassy ball presented a
ripe opportunity for mischief on a grand scale.

Their invitations satisfying the colonel, Aubrey offered
his arm to Caroline. She placed a gloved hand on his
elbow and they walked to the great doorway. Aubrey was
sure he was glowing brightly enough to be seen by a
low-flying dirigible.

Footmen swarmed about in the foyer of the embassy,
periwigged and resplendent in brocade knee breeches.
They carried chairs, potted plants, trays of glasses, platters
of small mysterious delicacies, and all with an air of
utmost dedication. Two appeared from nowhere to take
Caroline's shawl and his top hat.

A major-domo announced them as they entered the
ballroom, which was the size of a small cricket ground.
The ceiling was at least thirty feet overhead, and it was
painted with a pastoral scene full of nymphs, shepherds
and rather puzzled-looking sheep. A dozen huge chandeliers
lit the arena. False columns marched along each
wall, soothingly painted in greens and pinks.

Aubrey enjoyed how people watched their entrance,
whispering to each other and wondering who the
handsome couple was.

'They're looking at the people behind us,' Caroline
murmured.

Aubrey was about to protest when he heard the
major-domo announce the Prince and Princess of
Antioch. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the
gorgeous silk garments of the Middle Eastern royalty
and shrugged. 'They should be looking at you.'

She dimpled. 'That was a very straightforward compliment,
Aubrey. Thank you.'

He blinked. He supposed it had been. No guile, no
subterfuge, no elaborate courtly gestures. Perhaps he was
better at this than he thought.

He saw Caroline's mother whisking Madame Calvert
toward a cluster of well-dressed Lutetians, all of whom
seemed delighted to see her. He blinked, and tensed for
an instant, when a photographer's flash powder went off.
The small orchestra on the stage moved into another
waltz and the night was under way.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. 'Inspector Paul!' he said
with real delight. He stood back and examined the
beaming police officer. 'That's a different uniform.'

'Good evening, Miss Hepworth,' Inspector Paul said.
'Yes. This is new and I hope my new salary will be able
to pay for it. A full dress uniform for a commander is
not cheap.'

'Commander Paul? A promotion? Congratulations.'
'With your assistance, Fitzwilliam. I thank you. When
we captured the bulk of the Sons of Victor, my superiors
could ignore me no longer.'

Aubrey was pleased. Paul deserved his promotion.
Steering a course through the byzantine politics of the
Lutetian Police Force was a challenge, and he'd done
very well. Aubrey was keen to tell his grandmother that
the low opinion she had of the Gallian police was not
true of all its members.

A young police officer hurried up and whispered in
Paul's ear. From the frowning reaction, Aubrey judged it
was not good news.

'Please excuse me, Miss Hepworth, Fitzwilliam. I have
a matter to attend to.'

'Something urgent?'

Commander Paul moved a step closer. He stood
looking over the sparkling throng. 'The Sons of Victor
apparently still have friends. Four of them escaped an
hour ago, including Gabriel.'

Aubrey grimaced. 'Good luck.'

Commander Paul disappeared into the crowd.

'A good man,' Caroline said.

'My father always says to surround oneself with good
people. You develop a reputation that way as a person of
worth.' He peered about the room. 'And speaking of my
father, where is he? And George and Sophie. I've lost
track of them, too.'

'Let's find them.'

Aubrey then enjoyed a delicious ten minutes wandering
through the crowded ballroom with Caroline on his
arm. The most important Lutetians were there: politicians,
businessmen, high-ranking military officers in full
dress uniform, pre-eminent churchmen, as well as a
sprinkling of artists, writers and academics. The
renowned Gallian sense of style was on full display with
the formality of the occasion. The men were all in full
evening dress with tailcoats and white bow ties. The
women were in an array of gowns that was dazzling in
the range of colours, styles and fabrics. Aubrey would
have been astonished if he hadn't had eyes only for
Caroline.

He saw Duval with a tall, blonde woman in a blue
dress. Duval smiled and gave a good imitation of an
Albionish thumbs-up. Aubrey was relieved that Duval
had turned his attention away from Caroline and had
remained good-natured about it all.

In the distance, Aubrey spied George. Sophie was
talking in animated fashion with someone whom Aubrey
recognised as the Nawab of Dharmat. 'They seem to be
having a good time,' Caroline said. She had to lean close
to speak over the din, which Aubrey didn't mind in
the least.

'You see the way George is nodding? With his finger
along the edge of his jaw?'

'Yes.'

'It means he has no idea about what's being said. None
at all.'

'It doesn't seem to be worrying him.'

'George, worried? In the company of a charming
female? It's his favourite place on earth.'

Caroline laughed, eyes sparkling. Aubrey was gratified.
He liked to make her laugh.

The orchestra began a polka. Soon the dance floor was
a mass of people moving with the aplomb that only came
from expensive lessons.

Aubrey was torn. He knew he could dance well
enough, and he actually enjoyed it, but he did need to
find his parents.

'Later,' Caroline said, interrupting his thoughts. 'I'd like
to dance later.'

'Am I that transparent?'

'Not often, but sometimes.' She inclined her head. 'Is
that your father?'

'I believe it is.'

Before Aubrey could move a step, a strong hand took
his arm. 'Fitzwilliam. You are not dead then?'

Disengaging himself from a conversation between a
befuddled-looking cardinal and a diplomat from
Liburnia was Hugo von Stralick.

'And neither are you, Hugo. The explosion didn't get
you?'

Von Stralick's gaze was steady. 'Hush, now, Fitzwilliam.
Many ears are at work this evening.' He bowed to
Caroline. 'Miss Hepworth. You look divine. Much too
good for this weak-kneed Albionite. Come with me and
I'll introduce you to some countrymen of mine. They
have no taste to speak of, but they are extraordinarily
rich and they have very fine posture.'

'I don't think so, Mr von Stralick. I'm happy where
I am.'

'Really.' Von Stralick scrutinised Aubrey. 'He must have
cast a spell on you.'
Caroline looked sharply at Aubrey. He blinked. 'Spell?
Me? I wouldn't. And I'm not sure if I could. Even if
I wanted to, not that that's at issue. Because it isn't.' He
spread his hands. 'I don't know what he's talking about.'

'Hmm . . .'Von Stralick said. 'Perhaps not. It appears as
if you've addled his brains too much, Miss Hepworth.'
He gestured. 'Walk with me a little, Fitzwilliam.'

'I can't. I have to see my parents.'

'I know. I have a few things to tell you before you talk
to your father.'

Aubrey apologised to Caroline. 'I won't be long.'

'It doesn't matter how long you are.'

'No?'

'I'm coming with you.'

'Of course.' Aubrey could think of no reason why not.

Von Stralick raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. 'Well
enough.'

He led them through the crowd. It took Aubrey a
moment, but he realised what was different about the
people. They were happy, full of the good spirits that had
been missing from Lutetia for some time.

Aubrey was proud. Returning the Heart of Gold had
not only stabilised the political situation in Gallia, but it
had restored the Gallian nature of the people.