Page 21 of Hell to Pay
“Yes,” Ben said, “but you alreadydolook really old. I mean, you’re dressed really well and everything, like you said, but …”
“Thank you,” I said, as Alix snorted a bit and Sebastian struggled to control his mouth. “I will accept your comment in the spirit of pragmatism.”
“What?” Ben asked.
Ashleigh, who’d finally stopped filming once we’d sat down, said, “She means she isn’t exactly happy to be told she looks ancient, but she guesses it’ll help if people feel sorry for her.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Very perceptive.”
“You do look really good, though,” Ashleigh went on.
“For an old lady,” I said.
“Well, yes,” she said, “but youarean old lady, so … That’s a great suit.”
“A St. John knit,” I said, touching a black button on the short raspberry tweed jacket, worn with its matching skirt. “My mother told me that it was better to buy one beautifully made piece that would last decades than twenty flimsier garments. Prescient of her, really, as she owned an entire roomful of beautiful clothes and I’m sure never imagined things turning out as they did. Ihavehad this suit for decades, though, so you see? Her lesson worked.”
“The pearls are a good choice, too.” Ashleigh said.
“Really?” That was Ben again. “Don’t you think that if she looks too rich, they’ll think, “Why do you need another piece of jewelry? Don’t you have enough stuff?”
“No,” I said. “They’ll think—subconsciously—that I am who I say I am, and have no need to swindle anyone.” At least I hoped so.
We sat there for nearly twenty minutes longer. Alix said, after fifteen of them, “What the heck are they waiting for?”
I said, “To see if we’ll go away, possibly. We are very polite, very respectful. And immovable, because it doesn’t occur to us that we will be refused.”
“Well,” Alix said, “you’re the right person for that.” I didn’t address that—I was, possibly, a bit more arrogant than I believed—but sat some more, until a severe-looking woman in a tweed suit—a gray one, and all wrong with her coloring, making her look drab and older than her years—came to a stop before us and said in English, “I’m Dr. Bauer, curator of the museum. And you are?”
I got to my feet. I put my hand on Alix’s arm to do it, and it wasn’t entirely acting. “Good morning, Frau Doktor Bauer,”I said, and held out a hand. “I am Marguerite von Sachsen Stark.”
Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. She took my hand, shook it briefly, and said, “Let’s speak in the conference room, as you are so many.”
The offices were down a corridor. I said, passing one of them, “The gun room. My father’s spaniel got so excited whenshe came through that door with him. And the flower room next door. Interesting that you’ve taken these rooms rather than using the grander apartments on the first floor. Doesn’t part of you long for a bit more elegance?”
Frau Dr. Bauer looked startled again, but showed us into a windowed room that looked out onto the Chiaveriegasse,the street that ran between the palace and theHofkirche,and also, of course, theHofkircheitself, which was as comforting as always. My bedroom and the nursery both had looked out on the towering spires and Baroque ornamentation of the cathedral, and its presence now was as comforting as an old friend. I said, “I notice the streets around the palace are closed to pedestrians now. Very wise, especially as people don’t look where they’re going when they’re distracted. You’d have a view of endless pedestrian fatalities otherwise, I expect.”
I took my seat at Dr. Bauer’s right hand and, once we were settled, introduced the others. I didn’t continue Sebastian’s charade, but introduced him as Alix’s fiancé. Always better, I find, to tell the truth when you can. So much less confusing, and easier to keep track of, too.
“All your relations,” Dr. Bauer said, “except Miss …”
“Who, me?” Ashleigh asked. “Ashleigh Finnegan. I’m the videographer.” She held up her phone. “Do you mind?”
“I’m afraid I do,” Dr. Bauer said. “This isn’t for some sort of a television program, is it?”
“No,” Ashleigh said. “New media.”
Dr. Bauer’s lips tightened. “No filming is permitted in the museum for commercial purposes without prior approval.”
“Disappointing, but oh, well,” Ashleigh said. “For now, I’ll just film Mrs. Stark outside the palace talking about all this stuff, and splice in pictures of the treasures and so forth. But maybe you can think about giving your approval once we really start searching. It would be great publicity.”
Dr. Bauer almost visibly shook off that unwelcome idea,then turned resolutely to me and said, “Perhaps you’ll explain what this is about.”
I did so as succinctly as I could, finishing with, “I haven’t wanted to come back to Dresden before this, even for the tiara. I didn’t feel I needed it, but as I near the end of my life”—how one does hate to appear pathetic, even for effect—“I find that I want to give my granddaughter her birthright, to share with her this much from my family.”
Dr. Bauer’s expression gave nothing away. She said, “And how did this parure come into your family, if I may ask?”
My hands were shaking a bit. How annoying, to lose control of one’s body. I said, “I’ll tell you the story as my mother told me. If you have questions, or if your information differs from mine, please stop me. In 1796, as you know, Napoleon Bonaparte married Josephine de Beauharnais. They had no children together, but Josephine had a son and daughter from her first marriage. The son was named Eugène de Beauharnais, and although Napoleon adopted him as a son, he was not his heir. Napoleon did, however, make Eugène Viceroy of Italy, and arranged for him to marry Princess Auguste of Bavaria, and they eventually made their home in Munich. Josephine had willed the parure to Eugène upon her death, as it was her property to give. The marriage of Eugène and Auguste was, of course, arranged, but like the marriage of his mother, Eugène’s union was a happy one, which has always seemed to be the special gift of the parure, fanciful as that sounds. Eugène gave the parure to his elder son, Prince Auguste, who married, as you will know, Queen Maria II of Portugal, then almost immediately died. We are now in 1835.”
