unexceptionable to the clerks of the Home Office.
A n hour later Miss Tolerance had achieved a highly reappearance calculated to suggest impoverished female virtue and bereavement without directly claiming either. Her dress was of dark gray wool, her dark blue coat was untrimmed, and she had removed the crimson ribbons and feather cockade which had formerly given her bonnet a rather dashing appearance. This costume, together with a posture and attitude which suggested anxiety at war with necessity, she hoped would gain the confidence of the Home Office. She hired a carriage to Parliament Street and began her impersonation there on the street, staring anxiously into her reticule and paying the driver with a collection of small coins, parting with each one with a slight frown of distress. Firmly in character, she entered the building and asked the porter for the office of Mr. Etienne d’Aubigny.
The porter looked distressed. He bade her sit and scurried off down the low-ceilinged hall. Perhaps the man was afraid she did not know of the chevalier’s demise and feared feminine hysterics; certainly he had gone to place the problem in more senior hands. A few minutes later the porter returned with a tall square-headed gentleman who asked her business with the chevalier. Miss Tolerance gave rein to her considerable sense of mischief.
“My poor dear cousin sent me,” she began. “The widow, poor thing. Quite distraught. I—” She stopped and applied a handkerchief to her eye as if to stop a show of grief. “Poor Cousin Anne! So much business to resolve! So many callers, so many letters to write! I only hope my small assistance may be useful to her. Indeed, when I left, she told me—”
This was apparently credential enough for the gentleman, who dismissed the clerk and invited Miss Tolerance into his office. Miss Tolerance took a seat opposite the desk, which made her the full recipient of drafts from which her host’s chairback protected him.
“Now, then,” the gentleman said. He settled himself at his desk. “I am Sir Andrew Parham. How may I assist you, Miss—”
Miss Tolerance disregarded the implicit invitation to give her name. “Sir Andrew, so very kind of you to see me. My poor cousin Anne asked me—’tis very hard to speak of it, such a horrid, untimely death, and of course everything left every which way. But her husband’s affairs, perhaps you might know, I’m sure the poor chevalier reposed the greatest confidence in you—”
From the expression on Sir Andrew’s face he had not much liked the poor chevalier. “That is very gratifying,” he began.
“You see, there it is,” Miss Tolerance rattled on. “Men always know so much more than they tell their wives. My poor dear cousin—so distraught!—is trying to discover who—that is to say, if you could help us learn—I imagine that—”
“Madam, if you would tell me how I may help you,” Sir Andrew said encouragingly.
“Ah, men are always so businesslike! You see, the chevalier told Cousin Anne that he had borrowed money from someone in his office, but she can discover nothing, and no one has come forward,
and she does consider it a debt of—of honor, and asked me to particularly inquire—”
Sir Andrew raised an eyebrow. “D’Aubigny borrowed money from someone in this office?”
Miss Tolerance pursed her lips and nodded. “That is what we believe, sir, and if you—”
“I hardly like to say this, Miss—” again the pause for a name, which Miss Tolerance again ignored. “The men at d’Aubigny’s level in this department are men with their ways to make. If the chevalier borrowed money here it was more likely to be a sixpence than a guinea. He certainly knew better than to approach me ,” he said sternly.
“Oh, of course, sir. But we thought—and with the poor chevalier such a promising man, and certain to rise in the service—”
Irritation, Miss Tolerance was pleased to see, was now plainly written on
A n hour later Miss Tolerance had achieved a highly reappearance calculated to suggest impoverished female virtue and bereavement without directly claiming either. Her dress was of dark gray wool, her dark blue coat was untrimmed, and she had removed the crimson ribbons and feather cockade which had formerly given her bonnet a rather dashing appearance. This costume, together with a posture and attitude which suggested anxiety at war with necessity, she hoped would gain the confidence of the Home Office. She hired a carriage to Parliament Street and began her impersonation there on the street, staring anxiously into her reticule and paying the driver with a collection of small coins, parting with each one with a slight frown of distress. Firmly in character, she entered the building and asked the porter for the office of Mr. Etienne d’Aubigny.
The porter looked distressed. He bade her sit and scurried off down the low-ceilinged hall. Perhaps the man was afraid she did not know of the chevalier’s demise and feared feminine hysterics; certainly he had gone to place the problem in more senior hands. A few minutes later the porter returned with a tall square-headed gentleman who asked her business with the chevalier. Miss Tolerance gave rein to her considerable sense of mischief.
“My poor dear cousin sent me,” she began. “The widow, poor thing. Quite distraught. I—” She stopped and applied a handkerchief to her eye as if to stop a show of grief. “Poor Cousin Anne! So much business to resolve! So many callers, so many letters to write! I only hope my small assistance may be useful to her. Indeed, when I left, she told me—”
This was apparently credential enough for the gentleman, who dismissed the clerk and invited Miss Tolerance into his office. Miss Tolerance took a seat opposite the desk, which made her the full recipient of drafts from which her host’s chairback protected him.
“Now, then,” the gentleman said. He settled himself at his desk. “I am Sir Andrew Parham. How may I assist you, Miss—”
Miss Tolerance disregarded the implicit invitation to give her name. “Sir Andrew, so very kind of you to see me. My poor cousin Anne asked me—’tis very hard to speak of it, such a horrid, untimely death, and of course everything left every which way. But her husband’s affairs, perhaps you might know, I’m sure the poor chevalier reposed the greatest confidence in you—”
From the expression on Sir Andrew’s face he had not much liked the poor chevalier. “That is very gratifying,” he began.
“You see, there it is,” Miss Tolerance rattled on. “Men always know so much more than they tell their wives. My poor dear cousin—so distraught!—is trying to discover who—that is to say, if you could help us learn—I imagine that—”
“Madam, if you would tell me how I may help you,” Sir Andrew said encouragingly.
“Ah, men are always so businesslike! You see, the chevalier told Cousin Anne that he had borrowed money from someone in his office, but she can discover nothing, and no one has come forward,
and she does consider it a debt of—of honor, and asked me to particularly inquire—”
Sir Andrew raised an eyebrow. “D’Aubigny borrowed money from someone in this office?”
Miss Tolerance pursed her lips and nodded. “That is what we believe, sir, and if you—”
“I hardly like to say this, Miss—” again the pause for a name, which Miss Tolerance again ignored. “The men at d’Aubigny’s level in this department are men with their ways to make. If the chevalier borrowed money here it was more likely to be a sixpence than a guinea. He certainly knew better than to approach me ,” he said sternly.
“Oh, of course, sir. But we thought—and with the poor chevalier such a promising man, and certain to rise in the service—”
Irritation, Miss Tolerance was pleased to see, was now plainly written on
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