There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea.
Bernard-Paul Heroux
Chapter Ten: The Gray Earl
On Monday afternoon Emily met with Denis Chalin, the lawyer who had ordered one of the typewriters. Sitting across the desk from him she felt she was on trial. His intense dark eyes seemed to absorb every word, every mannerism, as if he was piecing together a complete picture of her in readiness to take before a judge. Although a little formal at first, he let Emily lead the conversation with enough terms to show she was well versed in the kind of work that a typewriter was best suited for.
"Madame, I work with two other partners. At this point we do not have the resources to have more than one of the machines as well as a full time typist yet" Denis informed her.
"I can understand that Monsieur. You will of course wish to try out the machine to see if it will be an asset that will pay for the investment you make in it. May I suggest something to you?"
"Certainly, Madame" he replied with a careless gesture.
"Do you hire legal aides? Possibly young law students or assistants, who are working their way through school," she asked.
"Yes, of course. The work they do prepares them to practice law."
"Would it not be expedient then for some of these assistants to become your typists? With some basic training they could start to copy your most recent case files, and if time permitted work on also copying over older files? In that way all of your files will be transcribed, they can be filed as they are finished, and your students have a greater exposure to your cases."
Denis Chalin smiled, "You are very good at this Madame Griggs. Did you ever wish to study law?"
After Emily left the law office, she took a cab to a local office that Phillipe had recommended that took care of rental properties. Emily found three that were centrally located and appeared to be within the amount of money she could afford to spend for more permanent lodgings.
She spent the remainder of the afternoon, a list in hand and a cab waiting as she quickly darted in and out of buildings for an apartment. One was her dream come true, well lit, in a quiet building with a small balcony, but it had already been taken. The rest proved unsuitable.
Going back to the hotel, she once again greeted the concierge and retrieved her messages. When he asked politely about her day, she gave a rather tired, unladylike snort and told him how much fun she had on a whirlwind tour of properties. He commiserated with her, and told her not to give up looking, something would turn up.
As she entered her room, she realized one of the notes she had in her hand was not a sealed envelope, but a folded up piece of paper. She opened her door, dropping her bag and hat onto the bed and sat down to read the note.
The boat was a mistake.
Emily felt a chill move through her, bringing goose bumps in its wake. Who ever had written the note, had hastily scrawled it in English rather than French.
Emily stopped by a small shop and picked up two oranges, slipping them into her bag, she intended to have them if she missed lunch because she had a busy day planned. She had already been to M. Dugast' office and Eustache Vaudry's home in the morning. Now, shortly before noon, she arrived at the door step of Monsieur De La Shaumette's home.
Etienne answered the door and ushered her into the parlor. "I'm sorry to stop in on such short notice, but I need to arrange to see Monsieur" she told him.
"If you will have a seat Madame, I shall see about getting you an appointment."
Emily stopped him as he turned towards the stairs, "Would it be alright if I said hello to Agnes?"
"Of course, Madame, she is in the dining room."
Upstairs, Erik invited Etienne in after he heard a knock. "Monsieur, Madame Griggs has stopped by and asked to schedule an appointment with you."
Erik sat back from his desk and looked at the clock, it was just going eleven. "Send her up, please. You may leave the door open."
As Etienne trod down the stairs, a thrill of edginess passed through him. This was the first time she had come to see without any invitation on his part. He had no time to organize his thoughts. He had gotten up late, and as such was not dressed as he usually was. No cravat, no vest, his top button undone. Gently running a finger along the edge of his mask he checked to see if it was secure.
A moment later Emily entered the room, "I am sorry to disturb you like this" she said by way of greeting.
Erik arose from his chair, "A pleasure as always Madame, will you take a seat?" He noticed she was wearing a simple dress that had small printed flowers on it. She must be conducting visits to people again, as her attire looked more casual. At least he wasn't the only one adopting a relaxed air today.
"Someone left this in my messages at the hotel last night" Emily offered him the note. She waited until he opened it, "It is written in English, it says 'The boat was a mistake'."
Alert, he rose from his chair again and went to the window, holding up the paper to the light. He then folded it closed, and re-opened the paper. Turning it over in his hands front to back he asked "Do they remember who left this?"
"No, I retrieved it from the concierge; it might have been put in my box at any time by one of the other employees or even a maid." She watched him as he paced across the room, looking at the paper as if he could will it to speak.
"As the staff receives the messages, do they stack them on top of one another?"
Emily though of the times she had seen someone behind the desk putting envelopes into the slots for the rooms. "Yes, I think so."
"So, we could assume, if it were given to someone to put into your box, that it's positioning would imply the time of day. He stopped again before the window. "Does Madame know what time of day the mail is delivered to your hotel?"
"Yes, it usually comes after noon, closer to two o'clock."
"Were there any letters from the post in your messages below this note?"
Emily sat back in her chair, in her mind replaying her steps to her room, unlocking the door and tossing things on the bed. She remembered sitting on the bed and taking a quick look at the messages. "The posted letters were on top of the note" she finally remembered.
"You say this is in English. Is there anything unusual about the words?"
"No, nothing that might indicate a Frenchman writing in another language if that is what you imply. It is a very basic sentence."
"So our author did get the note to the hotel before two o'clock. Once again in conjecture, how many people know English?" Emily did not reply as he seemed to be making a statement rather than asking a question. "What meeting did you have yesterday?"
"In the afternoon I saw Denis Chalin at his office. I then spent the remainder of the day looking at properties. The morning was mine; I spent it replying to Remington's letters, and an invitation to bring my typewriter to a local school next week."
"I shall return in a moment." With that, he left her to wait in the study. While Emily waited she looked at the bookshelves behind the desk, the differently bound leather spines looking like a serendipitous arrangement of ribbons. She got up and walked around behind the desk to look at the book titles. From the wide variety of subjects covered by the books, he must have quite a range of interests.
He had arranged them in groups by their subjects it appeared. One shelf featured scientific subjects, another had titles about mechanics. There were a few at the opposite end that were about artists, and few that were about music or composers. Looking at the bottom shelf closest to the desk, he had placed what would be his reference books, on business, and what looked to be a new book. Turning her head to read the printing along the spine she saw that it was a French to English dictionary. Emily grinned. From now on she would have to watch what she said in her own tongue; evidently he was bothered by her lapse into English the other evening.
She turned and went back to the chair. Looking at the opposite end of the room, she had the chance to take in the dimensions of the grand piano. She looked at the desk, the chair and sofa, then back to the piano. Glancing at the windows and door she wondered how on earth an instrument as large as that could have possibly been brought into a second floor room. As she sat down she thought, maybe he was a magician; he could wave a hand and make it transport itself.
A few minutes later, he returned to the study, and to his chair. He dropped the paper in front of him on the desk. "It is common enough paper, with no watermarks; it is not from a stationer, rather a common stock item that might be used in a business office. As Madame probably knows, most people make their own home ink. This ink appears to be a combination of a gum fixative and Elderberry. See how the color has changed" he indicated where he had wet the ink, drawing it out slightly leaving a trail of purple. "Most home inks are made of coal, bootblack or Elderberry. With this in mind, the note must have come from a residence rather than an office."
"I see what you are saying" she conceded, "but why would they send that information to me?"
"That is a question with several possibilities as well." He paused for a moment; shifting in his chair he rubbed his chin with one finger. He gave her a speculative look, "Would Madame care or a cup of tea?"
Emily blinked in surprised. "Certainly" she agreed.
Erik got up and left the study again. He moved quickly down the stairs and stuck his head inside the kitchen, "Agnes, could you make a cup of tea for Madame and me, and send some lunch up now?"
"Of course, Monsieur" she replied. "I'll send it right up with Etienne."
As Erik headed back upstairs, he wondered how Emily took her tea and hoped that Agnes would remember from the night she arrived. He swept back into the study, and sat down moving his chair a little away from the desk. He sat with his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed, slouching a little, his finger rubbing his chin again. Emily watched him as he seemed to be more relaxed, he must be still mentally working on the note.
As she sat quietly waiting, she noticed that she was becoming painfully aware of how many times people touched their faces. Since she had met him and seen the mask, she tried not to rub her nose, rest her face in one hand, or make any motions that touched her face. She also refrained from adjusting her ear rings, or smoothing her hair.
Sitting as they were she used the moment to surreptitiously look him over. He was a mature man; some small lines creased the corners of his eyes. Whether due to age or luck of birth, he didn't seem to have grey hairs mixed in with his darker ones. His features were even and well formed. She glanced at the desk, and wondered about the mask. She didn't want him to come out of his thoughts and find her staring at it.
There was a knock at the door, and Erik invited in Etienne who entered bearing a tray. Sitting it on the desk, Etienne smiled at Emily and said "We made the gray earl for you."
Noting the glance Erik directed at her, she explained, "He means 'Earl Grey' it is the name of a tea from England. I brought some for Agnes to try."
This was interesting. Evidently Emily was accepting the people around him as if she had always been one of them. She seemed to engender a comfortable feeling in everyone she dealt with. He wondered if that was why Remington had sent her, because her true strength lay in her ability to make people at ease. As he thought about her, he wanted to know what her failings were. There had to something she was lacking in.
Etienne sat the tray on the desk, placing their cups before them, and setting out two small plates along with a larger plate that was stacked with small finger sandwiches. He left the room with Erik shutting the door behind him.
Emily picked up her tea and drew in a whiff of the spicy steam rising from her cup. She tipped it and took a sip of the tea. She still had her two oranges, but the small sandwiches now looked very tempting. And as long as he was going to sit back and enjoy one, she thought she would indulge as well.
She watched over the rim of her cup as he reached over and took one of the sandwiches off the plate. He had nice hands as well, long fingered and quite elegant in their movements. She wondered if he played the piano often, and how fluid his hands would move over the keys. Or anything else he chose to touch with them.
She dropped back into the habit of talking out loud in English "Get your mind busy on something else girl before you start blushing." Erik turned to her with an inquiring look. "Ah, just thinking" she quickly recovered.
With an elegant lift of his eye brow he asked "Do you always talk out loud to yourself, Madame?"
"I don't know" she said truthfully. "If I do it only seems noticeable because I don't do it in French." She enjoyed this quiet interlude with him, but felt she should steer him back to the note. "Have you any more information from Phillipe or Javier from the trip yesterday, anything that might add to this note?"
He shook his head and took a drink from his cup. "Nothing we did not know already. There doesn't seem to be a definite trail leading anywhere."
"Except what you mentioned about this man, Jules Gaultier?"
"Yes. But truthfully I can not find a reason for him to jeopardize our relationship with something as overtly destructive as the damage to the boat."
A thought formed in her mind, and she voiced it, "You know, when I first arrived I was talking to Georges Dugast, and he said you were like a magician, that you directed the attention elsewhere. What if that is what is happening here?" She had his interest now, so she continued. "What if there was another party in this, and they thought that an attack on you would bring you to the conclusion that Gaultier would be the one to have a reason to cause it?"
"And they believe they can keep us both busy distrusting each other?" he added. It was a theory he had been entertaining as well. "Not only would it 'direct the attention' as you say, but make for bad dealings between us. With Gaultier having the larger boat built, he may want to sell off his smaller boats. I would be interested in buying them, if I have the resources at that point."
"And if you and he are no longer on good terms, it would make the sale more difficult?"
"Possibly. It could be that the attack on the boat was an error. Or they have realized that Javier was getting close to finding out who they are, and are waiting for another opportunity."
'And the note, by way of apology, to say 'sorry, we didn't mean to threaten anyone'."
"I pray it is so. Damage to property is bad enough, but putting my employees in danger is quite another." His voice could have dripped acid. He was clearly not used to being challenged, and took it personally.
His words echoed back to her 'my employees'. Well, there you have it she thought; so much for her silly romantic fantasy. Even Javier must be mistaken, she was just another employee.
