Chapter 7
A fter a luncheon that felt far too long as Fatima held court, Melody retired to her bedroom, ostensibly to talk to Mary about an appropriate outfit for that evening. Fatima’s words to her retreating back still rang in her ears, “Do not worry, Melody. No one will expect a young English woman to be dressed in the height of fashion. You are not a Parisian, after all. I am sure that you have something in your extensive luggage that will suffice.”
Melody still had steam coming out of her ears as she opened the door and found Mary tidying up. Mary had known Melody most of her life and could always perfectly read her emotions. “What did she say now?” she asked, not needing to express who the “she” was. It had been clear enough the previous evening how much their hostess had managed to rile Melody up. If Mary had been asked her opinion, she might well have pursed her lips and said that Lalla Fatima was no better than she ought to be. Mary had no reason for making this judgement except that the woman had upset Melody, and that was crime enough for the always loyal servant.
As soon as she heard about the party that evening, Mary started rooting through the wardrobes where she had unpacked all the culturally and weather-appropriate outfits Melody had brought with her. There was no need for her to be told that Melody had to look her absolute best that evening.
As Mary busied herself selecting a range of dresses for them to choose among, Melody sat at the dressing table and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her emotions were so confused that she could hardly think straight. Was she confused about what exactly she wanted Alessandro and Rat to allow her to help with, or her feelings towards the handsome, infuriating Conte Foscari, or was she just irritated at Fatima? Melody couldn’t have really articulated what had her so discombobulated; she just knew that she was.
Perhaps what annoyed her the most about Fatima was that the woman seemed so self-assured. Whatever Fatima’s relationship with Alessandro is or was, she seemed unaffected by his presence. It was hard to believe that Fatima had any genuine interest in Rat, and yet she flirted with both men almost indiscriminately. If she was honest with herself, Melody wished that she could pull off the nonchalant gaiety that Fatima exuded. Melody was too straightforward, too plain-talking. The idea of trifling with men’s affections merely for her own amusement and vanity was repugnant to her. Yet, as much as she despised these female arts, she also wished she was able to emulate them, at least a little.
Melody knew that such feminine wiles were polished and practised in all the best drawing rooms in London. Wasn’t that how one was supposed to catch a husband after all? By lowering one’s eyes seemingly demurely but then glancing up from under fluttering eyelashes while saying something coy?
However, these were not the lessons that Granny had chosen to engrain in Melody. Instead, the dowager was far more interested in teaching the adored little girl the art of warfare, or at least warfare within society as the dowager countess viewed it. She had no time for simpering misses and certainly had no desire for Melody to become one. Whatever the dowager had felt was appropriate for her daughters and granddaughters to learn before their first season, she had very different ideas for the little girl she loved more than any child of her blood, perhaps more than any other person.
Up until the moment she met Fatima, Melody had been extremely grateful for the dowager’s version of social etiquette lessons. Now, she wasn’t quite so sure. Had she missed out on something? Was she lacking the necessary feminine skills to charm a man? After all, having thought that she had two suitors wooing her in Venice, it had turned out that both men were merely using her for their own purposes.
“Miss Melody, stop your wool-gathering and see what you think of these two options.”
Melody turned to view the choices Mary had pulled out of the wardrobe. One of the options was the lovely, green silk Worth gown that Melody had worn for the first time at the party Lady Bainbridge had thrown them on their first night in Venice. As much as she loved this dress, Alessandro had already seen her in it. She certainly didn’t want him to think that she only had one formal gown.
The other dress was another Worth gown, but this one was a beautiful pale blue silk. It was quite simple but beautiful cut and extremely chic. Even Fatima wouldn’t be able to look down her nose at Melody in this gown. As she had for Luisa’s masquerade party in Venice, Melody decided she would wear her pearl necklace. A small but perfect diamond pendant hung from the necklace. It had been a gift from Granny and paired beautifully with a pair of elegant diamond teardrop earrings that Tabby Cat had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
Melody told Mary her choice of dress and jewellery and was gratified to note the other woman’s approval. “You will be the most beautiful woman at the party,” Mary assured her.
“Well, you would say that, Mary. However, I do believe that I will have no reason to be ashamed.”
“Ashamed! You never have reason to be ashamed; you always look elegant and beautiful. However, tonight, you will look sublime.” Mary threw her a sly glance. “I am sure that Conte Foscari will appreciate your outfit.”
“Mary! I do not care what Conte Foscari thinks of me or my outfits.”
The look on Mary’s face expressed her scepticism, but she made no further comment.
Melody decided to take a nap to be as refreshed as possible for their evening out. She lay down and closed her eyes, only intending to rest for perhaps an hour. More than two hours later, Mary finally decided that she would have to wake up. Melody awoke groggy and momentarily confused as to where she was. The ever-efficient Mary had brought up a tea tray with her and gave Melody the choice of mint tea or coffee.
Melody thought that she would need coffee if she were to clear her head. Mary had also brought up a plate with dates and some biscuits on it. Sitting up in bed with the plate on her lap and the cup of coffee in her hand, Melody tried to get herself together. Unlike many of London’s society events, this party was starting quite early. She could already hear Mary running her a bath and thought that a soak would be just what she needed in order to compose herself for the evening ahead.
Finishing up her coffee and eating one more date, Melody went into the bathroom that adjoined her room. There was a heady scent of rose lingering in the warm, steamy air.
“There is some wonderful bath oil in a jar here that I added. There is also another jar with some cream that also smells of roses. When you get out, we can use some of that to moisturise your skin.”
Melody removed her clothes and got into the large, clawfoot bathtub. She sunk into the warm, perfumed water with a moan of ecstasy. It was tempting to fall back to sleep again, but Mary was determined to wash her hair, so Melody sat up and submitted to Mary’s ministrations.
An hour later, after being coaxed out of the bath, dried, and dressed, Melody was sitting at the dressing table while Mary brushed and dried her hair. There was a knock at the door. Mary put the brush down and went to open it. Looking over, Melody was surprised to see Rat standing there.
“May I come in?”
“Of course, silly. As long as you don’t mind Mary continuing to do my hair.”
Rat sat on the edge of the bed while Mary closed the door behind him and then resumed her work. Looking at her brother in the mirror, Melody noticed that he seemed nervous. Usually, Rat was the calm and collected one.
“Is there something in particular you wish to discuss?” Melody asked.
Again, there was an uncertainty that flashed across Rat’s face before he answered, “Well, mostly, I wanted to check on you and make sure you’re alright.”
“Me? Why would you think that I am not?”
“You just seemed very out of sorts during lunch. Actually, since we arrived.” Rat hesitated before continuing, “I get the sense that you do not like Fatima.”
So, there it was, Melody thought. Well, she had wanted to talk to Rat about this very topic, so it was probably fortunate that he was the one to seek her out and raise the subject.
“I do not know her well enough to like or dislike Fatima,” Melody lied. She did not doubt that further exposure to the woman would only deepen her immediate dislike. However, her qualms about their hostess would sound more reasonable if they were not coloured by personal animosity. Melody was sure that her concerns were valid and had nothing to do with her feelings about Fatima as a person.
Melody paused and thought about how best to phrase what she wanted to say. “Do you not find it unusual that a woman who is of Moroccan and French descent and was raised in Paris should be so seemingly willing to help Britain?”
It was a fair question, and if he were honest, Rat had thought something quite similar. As mesmerised as he was by the woman’s beauty and charm, he had been surprised that Alessandro had chosen her home in which to base their mission in Casablanca. Of course, far be it for a newly minted Secret Service Bureau operative like Rat to question someone who had been working in the field for many years. Nevertheless, the decision had caught him by surprise.
Despite his reservations, Rat felt compelled by loyalty to Alessandro and infatuation with Fatima to reply in a determined voice, “Fatima also spent some years in Britain. Remember that she met Alessandro while she was there.”
Melody cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “Really, Rat? Are you seriously suggesting that a year or two in a country is sufficient to push aside all loyalty to the country of your birth and that of your mother?”
Was that what he was suggesting? Of course, he wasn’t. Yet, Rat couldn’t find the words to express his faith in Alessandro. It was not lost on Rat that barely a couple of weeks before, he had been the one sure that the conte couldn’t be trusted and berating Melody for falling under the man’s sway. Yet, here he was, seemingly doing the same thing. But it was different.
Rat’s self-confidence, as fragile as it already was, had been sorely strained by the resolution of the investigation in Venice. It was the undeniable truth that the murders would not have been solved without Melody’s assistance. Furthermore, it was mortifying that the Venetian police had been able to follow the siblings for almost two days without him noticing. Worse even, that he had been so oblivious to his surroundings and so lacking in experience and common sense that he had talked openly, and apparently quite loudly, in public about the case such that the police knew his next steps was mortifying.
Then, as if that were all not bad enough, he had been unable to extricate himself and his little sister from Xander Ashby’s clutches and had needed to be rescued by Alessandro and the police. This was really the final nail in the coffin of Rat’s confidence in his abilities. No, perhaps the final nail had been the revelation that the powers that be back in London had also been so unsure of Rat’s abilities that Alessandro had been tasked with following and observing him. The only redeeming part of this revelation had been that Lord Langley had not been behind this bureaucratic doubt. In fact, it seemed that Alessandro’s orders had been given without Lord Langley’s knowledge. Rat wasn’t sure he could have borne the humiliation of knowing that his mentor questioned his readiness for the mission.
Despite all this, Alessandro had shown nothing but kindness and compassion towards the younger man. Rat would not have blamed Alessandro if he had sent Rat back to London with his tail between his legs, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had taken the novice operative under his wing and had insisted that Rat accompany him to Morocco. Such graciousness had totally won Rat over.
If he had learned anything on the harsh streets of Whitechapel as a boy, it had been the importance of loyalty. Sometimes, it had been the only currency the most desperate inhabitants of the East End had to give. Ever since Wolf had caught Rat trying to pick his pocket and had employed him rather than turning him into the police, Rat had felt an unwavering loyalty to the man. That steadfast faith had been extended to Tabitha, the dowager, and then Lord Langley. And now, the Conte Foscari was part of this circle of allegiance. If Rat knew anything, it was that such loyalty could not fluctuate or be situational. If you stood by someone, you did so even when it might be hard.
Rat didn’t know precisely what had taken place between Alessandro and his sister such that she had done such a complete turnabout on the man. He had a vague sense that his sister had formed a romantic attachment to the man, and he assumed that the much older Alessandro had rebuffed her. Under normal circumstances, Rat might have felt compelled to be his sister’s unfailing defender and protector. However, Rat knew that there were far more important things at stake than Melody’s girlish infatuation. And if Alessandro had not returned her feelings, wasn’t that the right thing to do? After all, there were more than ten years between the two of them, and Rat was sure that Alessandro was worldly in ways that could only end up causing his sister pain.
So, he came back to Melody’s question. He realised that he had been lost in thought and that she had turned around so that she was now facing him with that cynical, questioning look still on her face.
“I do not know,” Rat confessed. “However, I do believe in Alessandro, and if he feels that Fatima can be trusted, then I must have faith in his far more seasoned judgement.”
Because, in the final analysis, this was the truth: while he had his doubts, Rat felt he must subjugate them to the other man’s far more experienced decision-making.
Melody had watched all of this play out on her brother’s face. She knew him so well and understood the deep well of self-doubt that had only grown deeper in Venice. Despite her enthusiasm for her newly discovered investigative skills, she was profoundly sorry that this knowledge seemed to have come at the expense of her brother’s confidence.
She had felt compelled to alert her brother to her fears, and she had done so. Melody had hardly expected that he would immediately embrace her concerns. She wasn’t even sure what he could have done if he had. Realising that she had done all she could for the time being, Melody turned back to the mirror and said, “You should go and get yourself ready, Rat. We will be leaving soon for the vice-consul’s home.”