fell silent. Her father’s frequent journeys didn’t just mean freedom to do her own thing, but also freedom from his endless suggestions on whom she could marry. He always seemed to think of somebody new. Somebody equally abhorrent to her mind.
Dubois made another dismissive gesture. ‘It is none of my business. Just don’t pay anything.’
‘I was almost tempted to put an empty hat box in the place indicated and watch who will come and get it. Then we have our blackmailer.’ She couldn’t keep the triumphant note out of her voice.
Dubois shook his head. ‘Not likely. He will send another messenger like the one who delivered this letter to your home. He won’t come in person. He won’t show his face anywhere where he can be seen and captured.’
Alkmene nodded. ‘Probably not. He is the king of this criminal capital, right, and he wants to stay in that position.’
Dubois gave her a hard stare. ‘So meek and understanding of my point of view? You won’t do anything foolish on your own, will you?’
Alkmene shrugged. She dragged the toe of her left shoe over the floorboards with an innocent expression.
Dubois sighed. ‘If you are dead set on doing something, don’t do it alone. At least promise me that, huh?’
Alkmene leaned back on her heels, still not affirming anything. She sensed Dubois was getting antsy about her reluctance to promise she was dropping it. She might gain something here. ‘I am just so bored every single day alone, while my father is away. I could do with something…useful to pursue. Now you are after the killer of this Silas Norwhich. I wanted to get him, but I don’t have the connections or resources you do. I can do nothing but…get myself in trouble because I don’t know what is good for me.’
Dubois’s mouth jerked as if he had to laugh at her meek little act, but suppressed it.
He said, ‘You are riling me, right? You don’t think my connections or resources mean anything.’
‘They do. You found the person who dropped the fare there that night. Now we know from two different witnesses that there was a late visitor. The killer or otherwise the last person to see Silas Norwhich alive. That is great. I couldn’t have done that. And you knew the man who determined for us that the brooch came from Saint Petersburg. I mean, Leningrad. Again, I would not have known how to establish that.’
Dubois looked her over. ‘You do have connections of your own. I want to talk to Oksana Matejevna to find out why she asked about Evelyn Steinbeck at the Metropolitan. But I need an excuse to do so. I have decided I will use the brooch. I will ask Oksana if she knows of any Russian acquaintances of the countess who own such a thing. Now if I go there and ring the bell, asking for Oksana, I will be shooed away. But you can ask for her freely and will be admitted on the basis of your title alone. We could go together.’
Alkmene felt excitement rush through her veins, but she tried to sound doubtful. ‘And once we know whose brooch it is, you will discard me again?’
Dubois sighed. ‘No, you can come along then too. Provided you leave that here for dinner.’ He pointed at the wrapped fish.
Alkmene had to laugh at his pride that compelled him to ask a payment for taking her along. ‘The seller sprinkled it liberally with cigar ashes as he was cleaning it so you are most welcome to it.’
Dubois grinned. ‘It will be sprinkled with other things when I am done. I know how to prepare fish.’ He waited a moment. ‘Will you eat some with me here when we are back from the countess? We need a little lunch before we tackle any new leads Oksana Matejevna may have provided us with.’
Alkmene hesitated a moment. She had told Cook she wouldn’t lunch at home so she might as well have some with Dubois.
Dubois jutted his chin up. ‘Unless this is too lowly for your taste.’
‘That is not it, and you know it.’ She pulled back her shoulders. ‘All right. We see Oksana Matejevna and find out what we can about the brooch, and about Oksana’s secret meeting with that bellboy at the hotel. Then we come back here, and you make me a lovely fish dish where we discuss our next steps. But you’d better understand I am used to haute cuisine and I expect a lot from you. Especially as you are half French.’
Dubois’s expression softened a moment. ‘My mother made a great apple pie that was baked upside down. A traditional French recipe.’
‘She learned from your father? Or his mother?’
He shook his head. ‘Your deductions were wrong, Lady Alkmene. My mother was French, not my father.’
‘But your name is Dubois, right?’ Alkmene was puzzled. ‘I thought that meant that your father had to be…’ She faltered. If his mother was French, and Dubois bore her name, that suggested he had been…born out of wedlock? Had he perhaps travelled to England to look for his father? It would make a compelling reason for him to be here.
Dubois had walked away to get the dark blue jacket that belonged with the pants. Returning, he swung it on and handed her the brooch. ‘You handle the subject. I will just observe Oksana’s response and if she is not yielding, I will find a way to make her confess what is up.’
The countess lived in one of those grand city homes that have stood the test of time and have not faded but only increased in beauty. The stone was a soft yellow, the windows painted a dull beige, the door broad and dark green with a little grille in it through which the butler could see who was at the door.
He was a tall dark man with little grey in his neatly combed and pomaded hair. He stood very tall like a soldier on duty. His English was polished with a vague hint of an accent that Alkmene could not quite place.
She wondered if the man had come from Russia with the countess or was the count’s loyal servant, brought in from Luxembourg. She explained they wanted to speak with Oksana Matejevna. He seemed puzzled by the request, but said she was in the kitchens getting food for the countess’s songbirds. ‘You can wait in the sun room for her return.’
He went ahead of them at once, leading them upstairs.
They were brought into a large room, decorated with countless icons on the walls and several cages with colourful canaries singing to their heart’s delight. The left wall was dominated by a big painting of a village among a pine forest. The cute little cottages were covered with snow, and a troika – a sledge drawn by three horses – came across the road towards it.
Looking more closely, Alkmene kept spotting details like girls going to the well, a wolf lurking between the trees and birds of prey dabbing the skies above. Father would know which ones just by their silhouette.
A small dog with a very flat snout ran for Dubois and circled him, sniffing his trouser legs and yapping excitedly. The long brown silky hair looked so soft to the touch.
‘Pick up Pushkin,’ Alkmene said. ‘He likes to be carried.’
Dubois looked as if he was about to decline, but when he caught Alkmene’s suppressed laughter, he reached down and picked up the dog, carried him in his arms, and held him in his lap as he sat down on the sofa.
The embroidered pillows he dislodged piled up behind him, one plunging over the edge.
The door opened, but instead of Oksana Matejevna with the bird feed, the countess herself came in. ‘Delighted to see you, Alkmene, and you, Mr Dubois. I hope you have some interesting news for me to hear. But first I must feed my birds. My darlings.’
Dubois threw Alkmene a quick glance asking ‘what now?’
Alkmene shrugged. They’d have to go along with the countess’s chattering and hope they could see Oksana Matejevna alone later. Her large knitting bag lay on a stool so she would probably return here soon.
The countess walked around, giving small seeds and bits of apple to the canaries that flew to sit close to the bars to receive their treats from her.
She chatted incessantly