than you, if not better—it is in the matter of her origins, her own history, her past. I believe not even Sherlock Holmes could make an accurate deduction on that score, although . . . I should really like to see him try.”
This was the first time such an idea had occurred to me and I spent a few happy seconds considering a confrontation of that sort.
“Your wish is too late, Nell, by a day,” Godfrey observed. His voice was tart enough that I gathered that he was not entirely happy with Mr. Holmes’s visit. Unlike Irene, he did not underestimate her innate ability to charm even the resistant.
“He was too interested in that crackled old violin,” I said.
“You sound as if you resent it.”
“I suppose I resent anything that implies a bridge between two people who are opponents under the skin, if one of them is Irene.”
“You see why you must go with her? You are her shield. She may need one more than ever if there is any truth that a mother remains to be found.”
“Godfrey, you talk as if she has reversed course and decided to answer Nellie Bly’s impertinent summons. Irene’s will is an oceanliner. It will not be diverted from its mission by a . . . cheeky little tugboat.”
Godfrey laughed so uproariously that Casanova lofted, squawking and fluttering his wings and Messalina scampered into the rhododendron bushes to hide. The mongoose was valiant when a cobra was in sight, but found the daily domestic hullabaloos of human life annoying.
“Nellie Bly would not appreciate that comparison, Nell,” Godfrey observed when he could speak again, “but I do. I wish I could be there, I really do, when these two meet again on Pink’s home ground.” He sobered. “But the affair in Bavaria is too urgent to abandon.”
“As bad as matters have been in Bohemia of late?”
“Worse. I cannot say more, only that these small, so-called fairy-tale kingdoms spawn more intrigue than Sarah Bernhardt.”
Mention of my bête noire had me rustling my figurative feathers as violently as Casanova his genuine ones. Godfrey swiftly passed over mention of Irene’s friendship with That Awful Actress.
“At least Irene cherishes no deep or deluded affection for Pink,” he said, “so she will be skeptical of extravagant claims.”
“She does not disapprove of her as much as I do,” I warned Godfrey.
“Well, who could?” He smiled beneath his neatly trimmed mustache as a conspirator does. “You are not a person to be taken in by anyone, which is why you must accompany Irene to America. I fear that the matters she may encounter there could . . . impair her judgment.”
“Judgment is my bailiwick, that is true, Godfrey. I suppose I can sacrifice my domestic comfort and moral unease to accompany her on yet another foray into foolishness.”
“You know, Nell, I was sure that you would see it that way.” He seemed pleased.
“We are united in our desire for only the right things for Irene.”
“Indeed. As she is determined to desire only the right things for us. I believe I can convince her to go, for she will not be a whole woman again until she has laid this question to rest, and admitted as much to me last night, most reluctantly.” He sighed and stared at the fading lilacs. “I wish I could go, too. I’d like to see America, actually. Perhaps another time.”
“I sincerely hope not, Godfrey! We will settle this vexing if unspecific matter on this trip and then have no need to set foot on that uncivil continent again.”
“As we have put Bohemia behind us, this third and last time.”
“Exactly.”
Godfrey leaned past me to retrieve a grape and loft it toward the bush that hid Messalina. She darted out, dark and lithe, and captured the treat as if it were prey. “As we put all past matters behind us,” he said, “if we are lucky. Permanently.”
Once he returned inside I gazed at my remaining companions. Messy had come to my hem, as she was wont when we were alone. Her bright animal eyes
This was the first time such an idea had occurred to me and I spent a few happy seconds considering a confrontation of that sort.
“Your wish is too late, Nell, by a day,” Godfrey observed. His voice was tart enough that I gathered that he was not entirely happy with Mr. Holmes’s visit. Unlike Irene, he did not underestimate her innate ability to charm even the resistant.
“He was too interested in that crackled old violin,” I said.
“You sound as if you resent it.”
“I suppose I resent anything that implies a bridge between two people who are opponents under the skin, if one of them is Irene.”
“You see why you must go with her? You are her shield. She may need one more than ever if there is any truth that a mother remains to be found.”
“Godfrey, you talk as if she has reversed course and decided to answer Nellie Bly’s impertinent summons. Irene’s will is an oceanliner. It will not be diverted from its mission by a . . . cheeky little tugboat.”
Godfrey laughed so uproariously that Casanova lofted, squawking and fluttering his wings and Messalina scampered into the rhododendron bushes to hide. The mongoose was valiant when a cobra was in sight, but found the daily domestic hullabaloos of human life annoying.
“Nellie Bly would not appreciate that comparison, Nell,” Godfrey observed when he could speak again, “but I do. I wish I could be there, I really do, when these two meet again on Pink’s home ground.” He sobered. “But the affair in Bavaria is too urgent to abandon.”
“As bad as matters have been in Bohemia of late?”
“Worse. I cannot say more, only that these small, so-called fairy-tale kingdoms spawn more intrigue than Sarah Bernhardt.”
Mention of my bête noire had me rustling my figurative feathers as violently as Casanova his genuine ones. Godfrey swiftly passed over mention of Irene’s friendship with That Awful Actress.
“At least Irene cherishes no deep or deluded affection for Pink,” he said, “so she will be skeptical of extravagant claims.”
“She does not disapprove of her as much as I do,” I warned Godfrey.
“Well, who could?” He smiled beneath his neatly trimmed mustache as a conspirator does. “You are not a person to be taken in by anyone, which is why you must accompany Irene to America. I fear that the matters she may encounter there could . . . impair her judgment.”
“Judgment is my bailiwick, that is true, Godfrey. I suppose I can sacrifice my domestic comfort and moral unease to accompany her on yet another foray into foolishness.”
“You know, Nell, I was sure that you would see it that way.” He seemed pleased.
“We are united in our desire for only the right things for Irene.”
“Indeed. As she is determined to desire only the right things for us. I believe I can convince her to go, for she will not be a whole woman again until she has laid this question to rest, and admitted as much to me last night, most reluctantly.” He sighed and stared at the fading lilacs. “I wish I could go, too. I’d like to see America, actually. Perhaps another time.”
“I sincerely hope not, Godfrey! We will settle this vexing if unspecific matter on this trip and then have no need to set foot on that uncivil continent again.”
“As we have put Bohemia behind us, this third and last time.”
“Exactly.”
Godfrey leaned past me to retrieve a grape and loft it toward the bush that hid Messalina. She darted out, dark and lithe, and captured the treat as if it were prey. “As we put all past matters behind us,” he said, “if we are lucky. Permanently.”
Once he returned inside I gazed at my remaining companions. Messy had come to my hem, as she was wont when we were alone. Her bright animal eyes
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