Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order) (23 page)

Maybe I was hunting in the wrong family. The man who had shed our blood could share it. Any number of deep family secrets or wrongs could have led to a discontented cousin seeking his revenge. Only, I had no family left who could reveal such secrets.

The coach shuddered as it hit a hole in the road. Madame Boucher jostled awake.

I didn’t have my family, but I did have a new ally, one who might know things my family wished to hide.

“Thank you for inviting me to your home,” I said. “I appreciate your taking me in.”

She smiled at me. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear.” She touched her neck at her collar. “I am so glad to have you.”

I KNEW I HAD MADE
the right decision when we crossed the bridge onto Île Saint-Louis. Fine townhomes lined the street, built so closely next to one another that they seemed to form one single creation of fine stone and polished glass windows.

The carriage brought us around to the northern side of the island, then turned before stopping near the point. I stepped down from the carriage and gasped. Across the river stood Notre Dame. The light of the noon sun caught on the glorious flying buttresses winging off from the cathedral. The two towers stood like the gates to heaven itself, with the sun pouring down in a clear winter sky.

I stood, dumbstruck in the road, until Madame Boucher cleared her throat. She seemed bemused as she allowed me to help her down.

“Do you like the view?” she asked.

“It’s wonderful.” I tried not to let my voice sound too breathy, but I couldn’t help it.

Madame Boucher’s eyes lit up, as if she were sharing the most delightful confidence. “It’s even lovelier from the tea room. Come.”

We entered the foyer, and I was shocked for a moment that no butler or footman opened the door. It was strange that there were no servants to greet us. In a home as large as this, there should have been six footmen, at least. The interior looked as if it had been carved from pure marble and painted with gold. There was no mistaking the wealth on display—from the modern paintings to the crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer. Even the heavy blue velvet draperies spoke of money, and a lot of it.

I had been wrong. The madam had not inherited well; she had inherited
very
well.

The madam didn’t call for anyone as she led me through the foyer and up a flight of stairs. I caught a glimpse of a courtyard in the center of the house. The trees and plants
that had once grown there were dead from the winter cold, or perhaps from neglect. Some of the remnants of the foliage seemed badly overgrown, as if the courtyard hadn’t been tended in years.

We reached a cheery room that had been painted with creamy yellow. Madame Boucher sat upon a dark green settee and watched as I gravitated toward the windows and the stunning view of the cathedral.

“I apologize, but it may be a moment before our luncheon is served.” Madame Boucher folded her hands primly in her lap.

“That’s quite fine.” I was glad to be in a house again. It felt safer than standing around alone in a cemetery all day. “What did your husband do as an occupation?” I asked. “This home is lovely.” Small portraits and pictures decorated the walls, and I turned to get a better look at them. Perhaps my grandmother’s painting was here in this room.

“My— Ah, yes. This fortune was built on textiles. I manage the business on my own.” She turned a figurine of a shepherdess so the porcelain girl faced the settee.

“You do?” I sat down across from her, eager for conversation. It was no wonder she had such fine sleeves. Business must have been doing well, for her to be able to afford all of
this. “How is that possible? I didn’t think that a woman could inherit in such a way. Wouldn’t the business have passed to your husband’s heirs?”

Madame Boucher remained impassive as she watched me. “He had no heir, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. The company is mine. As you can see, I’ve done well.”

“Very well. How remarkable.” I was so honored to have met this woman. It was one thing to run a small shop in Mayfair, but it was another entirely to develop an industry and manage such a large endeavor. “I work very hard in a toy shop. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to control a mill or a factory. However do you manage?”

“My dear, the stories I could tell.” She gave me a matronly smile. Perhaps after this was over, I could visit with Madame Boucher and count her as a mentor. She patted my knee. “You’re a clever girl,” she said. “Let me give you a piece of advice.”

I leaned forward, eager to hear her words even as I glowed a bit inside at her kindness.

The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes creased more deeply with sudden seriousness. “Never let anything get in the way of your aim. Be flexible if you must, but never accept defeat.”

I nodded. I let her words sink deep into my mind, determined to keep them there like a precious gem of knowledge. Madame Boucher turned around and lifted a small chess set from the table nearby. The squares of the board were inlaid ebony and creamy alabaster set on the lid of a box with sculpted edges. Silver vines and leaves adorned the edges above delicately painted pastoral scenes. Madame Boucher collected the pieces. She turned the black side to herself and waved her hand over the board.

“They say chess was created to teach strategy in war without real men coming to arms.” She placed the king on the board. Something in her demeanor changed. Her expression grew heavy. “If only men could settle their differences through a game instead of blood.”

“Did you lose someone to war?” I asked as gently as I could.

“A son.” She placed the row of pawns, a neat rank of easily sacrificed soldiers. “He went to war against my wishes and returned a broken man. No mother should lose a son in such a way.”

“True, but what can be done?” I set my rook on the board. “There will always be war.”

“For all their inventions, I’ve often wondered why the
Amusementists haven’t found a solution,” she said as she placed her dark queen.

“That seems an impossible task. You can’t change the nature of man.” With the pieces set, I folded my hands.

“Men respond to many things,” she said as she leaned back and waited for me to make my first move. “Greed, power, lust.” I reached forward and moved my first pawn. She gave me a subtle grin. “Fear.”

“What is there to fear greater than war itself?” I asked as she brought out her dark knight.

“That is the question, isn’t it? As I recall, your grandfather was a fine chess player. Did he teach you as a child?” she asked.

I moved another pawn. “Of course.”

She smiled at me. “Be warned. He never won a match against me.” She made her countermove.

“You must have known my grandfather well.” I had to think through the various chess strategies I knew to determine my next move. “Can you tell me about him?”

“Your grandfather was a man who commanded attention, which is why half the Society adored him. In his youth he knew little restraint, but he was a keenly intelligent man. If he had one fault, it was his ambition. He was never quite
satisfied with what was before him. It was unfortunate, really. He could be very reckless,” she admitted. “And he didn’t often think of what that recklessness could produce.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” I watched Madame Boucher’s hands as they smoothly moved her queen forward. I didn’t understand what she was doing. Didn’t she see my rook?

“Here is another piece of advice for you,” she said as she crossed her arms and waited for me to make my move. “Always think about the consequences of your actions. What brought you to the forbidden grave?” she asked.

“Curiosity,” I said. I wasn’t sure how much I should admit. Members of the Society were known for their gossip, and I had to be careful with what I revealed. I also had to be careful of a looming trap. I didn’t trust that dark queen. Madame Boucher had probably changed the topic to distract me from the game, and at the same time I desperately wanted her to continue to tell me more.

“I find it interesting that you searched out that particular grave, considering.” She glanced out the window as a black bird flew by. “Your grandfather was very closely aligned with the man buried at that grave. He was a part of the family, really,” the old woman said. She moved a pawn. “It was inevitable.”

I leaned forward, feeling I was on the cusp of something I
needed to know. I moved my knight to take the pawn. “What was?”

“That the daughter of the man you sought would fall in love with him.” The old woman’s eyes met mine. “They tried to keep it secret. They were very discreet, but some things cannot be hidden forever.”

I let my hand fall away from the piece I was about to move. My heart beat faster. I was so close to the answers I sought. I could feel it. “I heard she had been sent off to protect her from her father’s scandal.”

Madame Boucher took my knight with her rook. “That is only partly true. There were other circumstances that required discretion.”

Other circumstances? What other circumstances would require a girl to be sent so far away from her home? A knock pounded on a door below us, and the old woman rose.

“If you would excuse me. I have a matter to attend to.”

She left the room and shut the door behind her. I wasn’t quite sure what she’d been implying, unless— Oh my goodness. She couldn’t have meant the girl was carrying a child. Certainly someone would have heard of the birth. I couldn’t believe that a scandal of that magnitude would have escaped Oliver’s grandmother’s shrewd ears.

I took a close look at the chess board.

“Blast,” I whispered. My king was in check.

Feeling fidgety, I stood and circled the room, busying myself with the various portraits and paintings hanging on the walls. A particularly lovely one of a vase of flowers and a bowl of oranges caught my attention. Next to it was a portrait of a young woman.

I realized with delight and surprise that it must have been a portrait of Madame Boucher. The woman in the portrait had the same round face, though her features were softer, with rosy cheeks and full lips, and hair that had to have been the envy of all around her.

She was a remarkably beautiful woman, and she was wearing a dark pendant at her throat. The pendant was small in the portrait, and wasn’t completely clear, but . . .

I walked to my satchel and rummaged around in the bottom of the sack. Finally I caught the chain of the pendant in my hand. I had lifted it out of my satchel to compare it to the portrait, when the door opened.

A young housemaid appeared with a tray of food for our meal. She was dressed in a proper uniform with her hair tucked under a frilly white cap, but she looked directly at me as she placed the tray down and then approached me.

I took a step back. It was very odd behavior for a maid. I would have never approached a houseguest in such a way when I had been a maid, if we’d ever had any guests, which we had not. But that was hardly the point.

“You should not be here,” she said quite frankly, squaring herself to me.

Aside from her olive complexion, we had remarkably similar features—the same height, build, even the same shape to our jaw and similar eyebrows. With her maid’s uniform, I felt I might have been staring at a mirror of who I’d been only a year ago.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You must leave, now.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. Affronted by her rudeness, I tugged my hand away and then reached up and grabbed her cap from her head. Short black curls tumbled out.

“You were the boy who drove the carriage!” I dropped the cap to the floor. “What is going on here?”

Her expression turned desperate. “There is no time to explain. You are in danger.”

I felt a quickening in my blood. A tingling behind my ears. A voice in the back of my mind told me to run, and I listened to it. Something was very wrong here.

I had to get out.

I ran toward the door.

It opened, and I nearly collided with Madame Boucher.

Backing up, I did my best to give her a calm and pleasant smile. The maid retreated quickly into the corner and cast her eyes down. Her cap was still on the floor, her short hair wild around her ears. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you our luncheon had arrived,” I said, attempting to turn to the side so Madame Boucher would step out of the doorway. As soon as a gap appeared, I intended to run. The old woman wouldn’t be able to catch me.

I could feel the sweat gathering at my brow. My throat went suddenly dry. “Won’t you sit down?” I asked.

Instead she looked at my hand, still clutching the pendant.

She tilted her head much in the way a cat does when it has discovered a mouse. Then she smiled just as she had when she’d moved her last chess piece.

“I see you found my necklace,” she said, taking a step forward. I didn’t know how it was possible, but she straightened, turning herself from what had been a bent old woman to an imposing wall.

She took the pendant from my hand, and in my shock I let it go. With steady hands she then placed it triumphantly
around her neck. “I didn’t expect to see it again. You see, I sent it to Henry to lure him here. How kind of you to return it.”

She covered the pendant with her palm, pressing it against her bare throat. Boucher closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she’d just found a long-lost treasure. When she drew her hand away, the dark stone had come alive. Shimmering from the heat of her skin, the spiraling ram’s horn glowed with bright red and orange.

It was Haddock’s mark.

“You’re Haddock’s daughter.” I braced myself on the back of the settee for support.

Whatever had been sweet and motherly in the old woman’s face vanished in that moment, as if she had peeled away a mask. The eyes that met mine were as hard as steel.

“I knew you were a clever girl,” she cooed. “I’d like you to meet my son.” A large figure filled the doorway. His black cloak swished against the clean white wainscoting as he looked up.

I fought my panic as I stared into the mechanical eye of the man in the clockwork mask.