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of Marie Antoinette?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Four

The lost diamonds of Marie Antoinette .

I'm turning Atherton's words over in my head. An image forms in my mind: a newspaper sketch of extravagantly looped and tasselled gems. The description comes back to me.

'Constructed from two million francs' worth of diamonds and commissioned by the late French King for his working-class mistress,' I say, reciting from memory. 'When he died, his son wouldn't honour the debt. Marie Antoinette refused a necklace of such vulgar provenance. It was stolen, four years ago.'

'You've a good recall,' Atherton says. 'A confidence trickster later convinced the jeweller that Marie Antoinette had changed her mind, disguised a prostitute as the Queen and stole the jewels. The thief was caught, and the ensuring court trial became a national scandal.'

'Lèse-majesté,' I say, it was all flooding back now. 'The Queen tried to convict not just the thief but the jeweller, too. She accused him of disrespect for daring to believe she would have met a man alone and at night. But she lost the case.'

'It was all but decreed by law that Marie Antoinette was debauched,' agrees Atherton. 'After that, the gossip was unstoppable. The ripples of real discontent began back then. People thought that Marie Antoinette was venal, vengeful. The jewels vanished. Rumours started up that the Queen had taken them.'

'They're something of a legend now, aren't they?'

'So people have been led to believe,' he says. 'But whilst you've been in Russia, we've been working to find the missing jewellery. We got hold of it in London, before it was to be broken up and sold.'

'Impressive,' I admit. 'You tracked the necklace for all that time, through all the smugglers and shadowy jewellers whose hands it must have passed through. Wait until everyone thought it lost for ever. Then pounce. So,' I pour him more rum, 'I imagine you plan to smuggle it back into Versailles? Make it appear the Queen kept it all along.'

'I'd forgotten how clever you are at guessing plots.' He smiles at me over his glass. 'The French King and Queen are hated. It will take only the slightest push for the French people to revolt. A scandalous diamond necklace appearing in Versailles,' finishes Atherton, 'is just the pressure needed. Put the diamonds back, let the right servants see it ...' He waves his glass to suggest the ease with which this could take place.

'This is Lord Pole's doing?' I say. 'He's still trying to stop the French King sending troops to America.'

I can always smell my uncle's schemes a mile away; they have a distinctly cold-blooded reek to them. I picture Lord Pole, a spider in his web of intrigue, making plans, weaving futures for the unwitting.

'He has a genius for plots of this kind.' Atherton's tone is as disapproving as mine.

'It all sounds very interesting,' I admit, 'but I've saved Gaspard once. And there's a slave-trading ship docked off Portugal that needs my attention.'

Atherton rubs his face in the way he does when he's exasperated.

'I don't have a choice in this, Attica. Lord Pole has the highest authority in the Sealed Knot.'He says it in a way that means: ' You don't have a choice.'

'This is apprenticeship level,' I protest. Humiliation is blooming.

'We didn't mean for you to vanish into Russia and start organizing our embedded men without permission,' he continues.

'I saw an opportunity. I took it.'

'It was a daring and brilliant mission,' says Atherton, 'in many ways a great success. But there is more to freeing slaves than fieldwork. And if you can't take orders ...'

I glare at him. I am so tired of hearing how people should wait a little longer in servitude whilst well-fed men decide their fates by warm fires.

Atherton sighs. 'It's Lagos slave docks all over again, Attica. You can't just go in burning things down for your own agenda.'

'A youthful grudge, now behind me.' I try for a winning smile.

'I took a chance on you, Attica. Everyone knows women aren't suitable for active service. You're proving them right.' He takes my glass, fills it, pushes it back into my hands. 'If you complete this mission, they'll let you back at the slave rings. Just prove you're willing to do as you're told.'

'You'd have me playing bodyguard? Those people in Russia have their eyes gouged out for looking at the wrong person.'

I toss the rum back in one, grab the bottle and pour myself another measure.

'I won't do it,' I say, as the alcohol burns. 'It's taken years to get inside those slave rings. I know Lord Pole. This is his way of putting me in my place, making sure Lord Morgan's daughter doesn't get above herself.'

'Maybe,' admits Atherton. 'But you know how clever he is.' There's a warning in his green eyes that makes me snap to attention.

'He knows I'll refuse,' I say, tracking Lord Pole's likely thought processes. 'I'll bet he's put some penalty in place.' I drink more rum, feeling suddenly confidant. 'There's nothing he can do to make me go to France.'

Atherton has a strange expression on his face, almost as though he's wincing.

'What?' I demand.

'If you don't go to Paris and deliver this necklace,' says Atherton, 'Lord Pole will have you married off.'

I'm absorbing this when something else occurs to me.

'The unrest in Paris,' I say. 'Customs gates are on high alert. Lord Pole would have needed someone trustworthy to smuggle the diamonds into France.'

'I don't know who was sent,' says Atherton. 'Why do you ask?'

A horrible feeling slides into my stomach.

'Atherton,' I say, 'do you remember my cousin Grace?'

'The chubby girl who won't stop talking about politics? Small-pox scars?' He gestures around the eyes. 'How could I forget?' His expression darkens. 'The pair of you were absolute savages, digging forts in the tennis lawns and stuffing that old cannon with goose feathers. Wasn't it Grace that had you both using mud as warpaint?'

'She was absolutely fearless,' I say, grinning. I'd forgotten Atherton had been around back then. 'Grace kicked my slave terrors right out of me. I think my father must have known she would. We were kindred spirits.'

'Fortunate she grew out of it all,' says Atherton with feeling. 'It's far harder, nowadays, to bribe prison officials.'

'Grace is from a poorer branch of the family,' I say, 'so perhaps she considered she didn't have a choice. Her lack of nobility also makes her a natural target for Lord Pole's nefarious schemes,' I add pointedly. 'Grace wasn't at my father's wedding; I was told she was shopping for her wedding trousseau ... In Paris.'

I feel suddenly uneasy for my clever cousin.

'Grace does as she's told now,' I say. 'If you had absolutely no conscience, you might consider her an excellent choice to smuggle diamonds.'

We look at each other for a long moment.

'No.' Atherton is shaking his head. 'He wouldn't have. Not even Lord Pole would stoop to that.'

 

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