Chapter Twelve #3
This little inspiration had been germinating for some time. She’d never told this to another soul. She’d never even dared
say it aloud to herself.
Pike merely nodded. “I can’t think of anyone more suited for that job.”
She smiled at him radiantly.
Whereupon he looked almost stricken, as if he’d taken a blast of sunlight in the face.
She yelped exultantly when someone knocked on the door.
Then spun and tore across the foyer toward it.
“Damn.” Pike leaped the last two stairs and gained on her.
She got there first and opened the peep hatch.
“Good morning!” she said to a pair of brown eyes and woolly eyebrows that appeared to belong to a man. “Welcome to the Grand
Palace on the Thames, the most exclusive boardinghouse in London!”
“Well, good morning, miss!” The man on the other side of the peep hatch sounded relieved to hear her cheery tone. “I have
a delivery for the Earl of Highgrove. It’s a prize he’s won.”
She glanced at Pike, standing over her shoulder now. He shrugged.
To Dot, it sounded a bit like a prank.
“I’m afraid we haven’t an Earl of Highgrove currently in residence, sir.”
“I went first to Lucifer’s Fall, where I was told that Mr. Marchand would be willing to accept the prize on behalf of the
earl. But Mr. Marchand was not in. I don’t know where to find the earl, but I was told Mr. Marchand was currently staying at this boardinghouse. And so that’s where we came.” The man sounded a bit desperate.
Mr. Marchand was a name she at least recognized.
“I’m sincerely hoping you’ll take her off my hands,” the man added. “We’re both getting a bit tired, and she’s a bit cranky.”
Dot was very taken aback. She was very certain a “she” should not ever be delivered as a prize.
She exchanged a concerned look with Mr. Pike.
“One moment, sir,” she said a little too brightly to the man, and hastily closed the hatch.
“Hold on—isn’t the Earl of Highgrove Miss Woodville’s brother?” Pike whispered.
As if summoned, Miss Woodville crossed the foyer then. She was wearing a marigold-colored pelisse. To Dot, she looked like
sunshine on two legs.
“Miss Woodville,” Dot said quietly. “I have some unusual news. A man standing outside the door has brought a delivery for
the Earl of Highgrove, care of Mr. Marchand.” She paused. “He says the delivery is a ‘she.’ ”
Miss Woodville froze.
“Oh, God,” she croaked.
Dot and Mr. Pike gazed at her in silent commiseration.
“What would you like us to do?” Mr. Pike asked quietly.
“What’s the trouble?” Mr. Marchand entered the foyer, looking as though not a thing had ever troubled him in his life, clean
shaven and dashing in a dark gray coat and dark trousers. “Because your expressions and the presence of Miss Woodville suggest
there is one.”
Miss Woodville shot him a dark look.
“Someone has brought you a ‘she,’ Mr. Marchand,” Miss Woodville said tautly. “Or, rather, someone has brought my brother a
‘she.’ Apparently, she is one of the things he won at Lucifer’s Fall.”
Miss Woodville and Mr. Marchand locked eyes in an exchange more complicated than any conversation Dot had ever heard.
“Is something the matter?” Delilah called from the first-floor landing, where she stood with Angelique and Mrs. Pariseau,
who was on her way to the museum.
Dot put a finger to her lips and beckoned them with swoops of her hand. They scrambled down the stairs, each of them wearing
identically worried expressions, although Mrs. Pariseau’s was also just a little thrilled. It wouldn’t be the first time a
drama had unfolded in the foyer.
“The Earl of Highgrove, Miss Woodville’s brother, won a prize. A man has brought this prize to the door.” Dot was thoroughly
enjoying the opportunity to pause dramatically, which she did until everyone leaned closer. “He says the prize is a ‘she.’ ”
Delilah, Angelique, and Mrs. Pariseau reared back, and they all hissed in breaths between their teeth.
“And he says that she’s tired and cranky,” Dot added, with relish.
Mr. Delacorte, happily full of breakfast, ambled through the foyer then, blinking in the sunlight. He was whistling softly
and carrying his case of unusual medicines, on his way to visit a few apothecaries.
He halted when he saw the crowd. “Well! What’s the occasion?”
Dot took a breath in preparation for launching into her story again.
Miss Woodville was still staring accusingly at Mr. Marchand.
“Miss?” the man called plaintively from the other side of the door.
“I’ll take care of it,” Mr. Marchand said grimly.
He opened the door a few inches, slipped out, and closed it behind him.
Dot put an ear to the door and a finger to her lips while everyone crowded around her.
They staggered backward when the door swung open again seconds later.
Mr. Marchand reappeared in the doorway. His expression implied he was very carefully suppressing some unidentifiable emotion.
“Why don’t you all come out and meet her?” he suggested neutrally.
Quizzical glances darted between all those gathered.
Mr. Marchand stepped aside, flung open the door, and beckoned with a flourish.
Everyone nearly tripped over one another to get out into the courtyard.
Whereupon Mr. Delacorte stopped abruptly and clapped a hand to his chest.
A beatific smile spread slowly across his lips. A near-celestial radiance suffused him. His expression suggested that, like
Job, he’d at last been rewarded for all the trials and noble sacrifices he’d lately endured. The torment of chess with Dot.
The slings and arrows of Daniel’s crossed eyes and belly thumping.
“It seems your brother won a donkey, Miss Woodville.” Mr. Marchand gestured.
A little brown-and-white donkey, saddled and haltered, switched her tail and flicked her long ears. She sported long, long
eyelashes and limpid, sweet brown eyes, much like Daniel Peck’s.
“Eeee AWWW!” she announced.
Mr. Delacorte beamed toward the sky, as if God himself had dropped it at their door.
“We can’t keep a donkey,” Miss Woodville said despairingly. “We don’t need a donkey. Why did Hogarth wager for a donkey? We already have William, who eats enough for a whole herd of goats.”
“Hold on—William is a goat?” Mr. Marchand was indignant.
Ginny was impressed that he’d remembered what she’d said about William.
The donkey stretched out her neck, bared her teeth, and chomped the blooms off the violets Dot was holding.