Susan Carroll by Masquerade Page A

"Gilly, will you stop teasing?" Seizing her cousin by the
arm, she dragged him into her grandfather's anteroom. The chamber,
now devoid of its morning throng of satin-clad beggars, was as
solemn and silent as the hall beyond. Phaedra hastened to light an
oil lamp.
    "Now tell me," she demanded, "what have you
found out? What did you discover about Varnais?"
    Gilly swept off his cape. "Ah, and to think I
had a notion it was myself you were missing, you were so glad to
see me at your door."
    He mournfully shook his head. "Well, if
tidings of Varnais is all you are after, my darlin' cousin, I fear
you are doomed to disappointment."
    Phaedra frowned. "You've been gone nigh a
week. You must have learned something. Who is Armande de
LeCroix?"
    "Exactly who he claims to be. The Marquis de
Varnais."
    "If such a family and title exist. Did you
make inquiries of the French Ambassador?"
    "Ambassador!" Gilly snorted. "My dear, if you
truly wish to know any secrets, you don't go asking an ambassador.
You speak to his footman or his cook."
    "And so what did his excellency's footman
have to say?"
    "That the name of Varnais is well-known in
the south of France. Both title and family are as ancient as Notre
Dame. The present marquis's parents died when he was but a babe. He
had two elder brothers, both of whom are also dead, without issue.
Consequently, the title came to de LeCroix."
    "Then he really is the Marquis de Varnais,"
Phaedra said slowly. She was uncertain whether she felt relieved or
disappointed. "And Armande himself? What did you learn of him?"
    "Let me see." Gilly rubbed his chin, staring
up at the ceiling. "Well, he orders his snuff from Trebuchets in
Oxford Street. He prefers French tailors to English, and has
ordered no new clothes while in London."
    "Gilly!" Phaedra was startled by the
sharpness of her own voice. Her cousin regarded her with
open-mouthed surprise, and, turning aside, she fidgeted with the
pole fire screen, the panel done up in her own indifferent
needlework-a relic of the manner in which she had filled her days
before embarking upon the far more interesting career of Robin
Goodfellow.
    "I beg of you to stop tormenting me," she
said. "This matter is far too important for jesting. Now did you at
least make inquiries about him at his former lodgings?"
    "Aye," Gilly's voice was subdued when he
answered her this time. "But I couldn’t get much out of the
landlady. The laundry maid, the porter and the scullery girl had
nothing but praise for the marquis, no doubt owing to how generous
he is with his vails. And the man has no personal servants.”
    “Don’t you find that odd? That a nobleman
such as Varnais would not at least have a valet?”
    “According to his laundry maid, the marquis
was obliged to dismiss his last manservant for stealing and had yet
to find another valet to meet his exacting standards.”
    Phaedra heaved a deep sigh of frustration.
This scanty information was not what she had waited a week to
hear.
    "Admit it, Fae," Gilly said. “You've got
yourself in a dither over nothing. This marquis of yours is a
little more aloof than most men. You've allowed your imagination to
run riot, conjuring up all sorts of sinister fantasies."
    Phaedra closed her mouth in a tight, stubborn
line. No one, not even Gilly, took her suspicions seriously.
    "I suppose you did the best you could," she
said stiffly. "Doubtless you are right. I am making a fool of
myself as usual."
    "Fae, don't be angry with me. If you want, I
could try to follow the man-"
    "I wouldn't dream of wasting any more of your
valuable time." She scooped up his cape and folded it across his
arm.
    He fetched a deep sigh, but made no move to
leave. He lingered by the door, regarding her wistfully, his eyes
bearing the soulful expression of a great galumphing puppy, begging
to be let in out of the rain. It was the same look that had been
getting him out of scrapes ever since he was five. Phaedra was not
proof against his charm.
    "It's an