Chapter
Seven
“D’accord, Lily Dubois,” Lily pulled the pins out of her hair and scraped the
remainder of the makeup from her eyelids, one did not simply walk into La Tête
de Porcs and expect no attention, but all the same she hoped to pass with as
little notice as possible. A knot in her stomach twisted, something about
having the right to be who she was wherever she went and have no fear, and Lily
pulled the edge of her dress up as far as it went and closed her eyes. Another
battle, another century maybe, and with that thought she pushed open the door.
She tasted the tang of men and alcohol in her mouth before she could even see
through the fog of a hundred Gauloises Brunes. It was late now and only the
most determined remained, men for whom paying for a room seemed like an
unnecessary expense and women who didn’t care. Lily’s boots skidded once on the
wet floor as she circled the seven corners of the room, hoping that she didn’t
have to actually enter any of them. She might have brushed off a dozen hands
and evaded a dozen more before she gritted her teeth at the feel of an arm
round her waist and loose lips on her bare neck. There was no point in talking
now, no words would be understood nor respected here, so Lily pulled herself
away from grappling hands to find someone who still might help.
She had Abberline’s money and, though she didn’t want to admit quite why, her
own wages stuffed into a loose pocket in her dress. She scoured the bar for a
woman she couldn’t have described if she was asked or for someone less drunk
who might have recognized a stranger in the bar, anyone who hadn’t abandoned
everything to right now. She stopped herself from running out of there, took a
breath of stale air, and approached a woman at the bar who had her eye in most
corners. “Pardonnez moi…Connaissez-vous Giselle Martin?” A flicker of
suppressed recognition in the woman’s eyes spurred Lily on, tonight was
absolutely the last time she intended coming here. “J’ai l’argent.” The curl in
her lip had Lily step back, perhaps that had come out wrong, mon Dieu, she
would be one of the lost in
“T’as de l’argent pour la payer?” Lily took a long look at the woman in front of
her; she was old beyond her years, hard as the dark
“Oui, ma dame m’a envoyé ici
pour la trouver; elle payera le prix que vous voulez.” (“Yes,
my lady sent me here to find her; she will pay whatever you want.”) Lily did
her best to look up, look like it was nothing, look like she had no scream in
her heart about buying another person, least of all a woman. “Combien? For the
rest of the night? What’s left of it? Madame…?” She didn’t think she could bear
to haggle about price, if all the money she had wasn’t enough, she didn’t know
what she would do. Lily’s glance followed the eyes of the woman sitting
opposite, and she struggled to control a wince.
“Je m’appelle Madame Moreau, and your lady has very poor taste…” They both
breathed out. Giselle Martin was barely conscious of the bar or of the man half
undressed already and certainly not aware of the danger she was in. Lily bit
her lip against a silent curse that carried the turn in her stomach.
“Oui c’est vrai! Mais Madame Moreau…encore...how much?” her hands reached into
to her pocket for a roll of francs. The flash of green apparently focused the
mind, and an instant calculation considered the roundness and the thickness
sufficient.
“She is yours.”
Lily closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Leaving Madame Moreau to deal with
the man’s unwilling sudden loss, she hauled a half-dead weight out into the
cold night air. Giselle protested a little but not enough to stop Lily Dubois.
They might have walked miles, or maybe a few streets, either way Lily was
swaying under the exertion of dragging this woman to the only person she knew
she could trust, Madame Tousson. Except she didn’t have time to wait for tea
and pastries, this time she had to get to Abberline fast. Luckily she knew just
where to find him.
A cab was not easy to come by, and she was almost shaking with anticipation and
exhaustion by the time the huge round wheels crunched across the gravel
approaching Les Tuileries. The whole of the
“I must see Inspector Abberline. It is of the utmost importance, and it
pertains to this case.”
Abberline had hoped that he had seen the last of the DGSE for one night but he
had been sorely disappointed when he was summoned away from Lily’s room. The
driveway of the Tuileries had been crowded with black carriages on his arrival,
and hushed conversations stopped to hang in the air as he stepped over the
considerable threshold. Once inside the mansion, Abberline had stood for a
while surveying the body of the comte; evidently from the look left on his
face, the manner of his dying had been as ugly as the way he lived his life.
There were things to examine and clues to be found as to the whereabouts of the
Fabergé egg and the comtesse—of that Abberline was certain—and in that way that
he had, he swept around the house, just looking. Of course fingerprints were
been dusted and statements taken, the stuff of “real” detection, but there was
a reason why Abberline was still employed and it had little to do with his
ability to handcuff suspects, he just knew things. Weird connections in his
brain perhaps, or maybe he was just weird, certainly there were many who
thought precisely that.
The Comtesse’s bedroom, that would undoubtedly be the place. Abberline walked
into that room and sat down on the heavily stuffed bed, the silk covers
slippery underneath his legs and cool against his hand, the scent in the room
was still of violets, and the dressing table bare. Ah...The inspector opened the
doors to the dressing room, he was unsure if he had ever seen so many clothes,
clothes arranged in sections. His long fingers trailed through the cloth—ball
gowns, day wear, light summer chiffon but not one heavy coat. Ah...boots, check
the boots. He was beginning to breathe deeper now. A thought led him out of the
dressing room to her sitting room, and Abberline closed the door behind him and
stroked the hair that graced his upper lip. He spied two glasses on a table.
What was that? He opened his mouth to taste as well as smell—vodka. Vodka…which
led to brandy.
Jesus, the thought of it, of her, Lily, sitting there smiling in her nightgown,
those buttons she hadn’t been bothered to do up, a bottle of brandy to her
lips, and the sort of welcome home in her eyes that could make him want to
never leave the house in the first place. Abberline frowned, it was here
somewhere, the answer to the puzzle—he would find it and get back to her. And
then he found it, the pad next to the phone. It said
Abberline was almost running down the stairs at the moment Lily slid past the
policeman at the door, like Cinderella in reverse but the clock was way past the
time for a ball, and she just ran into his chest. Her eyes searching all of
him, her fingers running over his lips so she could feel the pulse of his
blood, “I found her Abberline. Giselle...I found her.” He had known that she
would, didn’t dare hope, just knew, and, grabbing her hand they were helter
skelter out of the open doors.”
“Come with me, Lily. We have a train to catch!”
Their thighs were just touching as the carriage carried them back through the
huge iron gates and onto the boulevard, a kick in the horse’s step, and they
had a few minutes before the imposing facade of the Gare de l’ Est would tower
above them. He couldn’t keep from touching her, gentle on the side of her face
whilst his tongue found the sweetness in her mouth, her fingers now finding his
chest and his throat, “Oh Lily…” He clenched her hand in his, waves of release
but an inch away, an inch and an investigation away, “Where is she?”
“Safe...” her hand slipped under his jacket to burn in his heat, and he put his
head back on the hard of the carriage wall.
“And how did you manage that?” well he might have spoken, he wasn’t quite sure.
“I bought her, Abberline,” her words were stark and hard, and neither of them
moved nor breathed. There was not a man alive who would understand even a
sliver of what that would mean for her, except maybe him, and she needed to
know. His hand was still over hers as he opened his eyes, deep dark brown that
looked right back, a slight nod that was all she needed. “Promise me,
Abberline…” and whatever it was she was asking he would have given right then,
as long as she just didn’t stop kissing him.
It was a cold dawn breaking in the sky over the Gare de l'Est when Lily and
Abberline stepped out of the carriage a little breathless, the huge windows catching
the flashes of light that were breaking the clouds and the last fingers of
another long night. High above them the hands on the white face of the clock
clunked through another minute, 6.15 already, and they had yet to find the
platform from which the Orient Express would depart for
There was no way that the train that caught the eyes of Lily and Abberline was
anything but the Orient Express; long, black and sleek, even its wheels looked
polished, and everywhere guards were assisting those with enough money to
travel in such a train, the promise of a large tip this early in the morning
would surely enable a nap in the guards room later. It was impossible not to
gasp as glimpses of white table cloths laid with silver and crystal and rich
red leather seats slid past their eyes through glass windows, the doors of
cabins opened to reveal porcelain and sumptuous linen, and Lily almost forgot
why she was here.
Fred’s eyes, however, were searching faces; a knot of dread that maybe he had
been wrong, a dread that maybe she wasn’t here at all, coiled in his belly. A
loud blow of the whistle signaled 5 minutes to go before the pistons would
slide into motion, and billows of steam clouded through the platform condensing
in the cold air. Jesus where was she? Desperate now, Abberline let go of Lily’s
hand and jumped onto the train into a guard barring his way, “The Comtesse de
Richelieu, where is her cabin?"
“She has yet to board, mMonsieur,” a nervous look at his fob watch revealed the
lateness of the hour, “though her trunk is stowed already.”
Good, that was good—at least he could
say his hunch was right, even if he didn’t turn up back at the office with the
Fabergé egg, a murderer, nor a crime report, the Christmas bonus looking even
less likely than normal. Almost resigned to the disparaging looks, Abberline
cast his eyes over the length of the train, at once unfocussed and now with the
ability to see. She was a specter in the smog, her thin frame about to step
into the carriage, almost transparent despite the thick furs which enveloped
her and he was racing down the platform, “Comtesse…!”
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Did you want something? I am delayed
already, monsieur, the train is about to leave and I must find my cabin.”
“I am Inspector Abberline, Madame le Comtesse, and I most assuredly do want
something- your presence in the back of my carriage as you accompany me to the
police station to be charged with theft and murder.”
A flinch of irritation crossed her mouth, “This is already resolved, he assured
me…”
Another whistle and doors were beginning to slam shut, there was just a moment
when she went to step up and felt the pressure of his hand on her thin arm. A
woman used to the obedience of almost all around her, she looked back at Fred
Abberline with something like surprise. It was he who spoke first, “Comtesse,
there is no one I can think of that will mourn the passing of your husband, and
I can live with the disappointment of not seeing you at the gallows, two deaths
seeming to be a high price even for a marriage made in hell. What I can’t do is
let you leave with that egg.”
The comtesse threw back her head, “Ah another of you bent policemen, oh no
wonder you are despised. Did the DGSE send you after all?” Lily watched as the
muscles in his face hardened.
“Clearly a life surrounded by lies and deceit has corrupted your perception,
madame, for that I suppose I should pity you. Your ‘friends’ will no doubt fail
to recall your name as you climb the steps to the block. Now you have one
minute to decide, your freedom or the egg?”
Thin leather-clad fingers reached into the sequined bag that she had clutched
to her chest, a look of sheer exasperation on her face as she pulled out a silk
covered treasure. “Take it...” Fred Abberline nodded and slipped it into the
pocket of his jacket.
“I suppose I should thank you, Inspector...” but his reply was lost in the rush
of steam.