she be now?” Corinne asked. That “when she was younger” gave her hope.
“She must be forty if she’s a day,” Coffen said. “A bit long in the tooth for my taste, but a looker, all right.”
“A little younger, I think,” Luten said. “Late thirties. She married very young.”
“What did the mama have against her?” Corinne asked, unhappy with Luten’s quick objection to forty and expecting to hear something scandalous.–
“Yvonne was an actress at the Comedie Française .”
“An actress!” Coffen exclaimed. He had a great love of actresses. “By the living jingo, I didn’t know that.”
“The Comedie Française is not considered so déclassé as our theaters,” Prance said “That would hardly sink her chances.”
“The story I heard is that Yvonne was from a rather common background, but being an actress, she managed a decent accent, and with her looks she would have fared well had not the old comtesse shut the door on her,” Luten explained. “Didn’t leave Yvonne anything in her will, either.”
“But Yvonne brought some valuable paintings with her, eh?” Coffen asked.
“Not with her. She landed at Brighton in a dinghy with only the clothes on her back. Yarrow was the one who ferried the family paintings ashore years later. Her husband had hidden them somewhere in France—in a church basement, I believe. Only Yvonne knew where, or no doubt the old comtesse would have got hold of them. Perhaps that is what they fought about. Or perhaps it was the by-blow Yvonne tried to palm off as her husband’s child a year or so after his death. I have only Yvonne’s side of the story. She was quite frank about her background and her affairs. Yarrow was running back and forth across the Channel in some diplomatic capacity during various lulls in the fighting. Yvonne caught his eye, and he did what he could to help her.”
“Is she his mistress?” Reggie asked eagerly. “Was the by-blow his?”
“I believe the by-blow preceded Yarrow’s acquaintance by a few years. Perhaps he only brought the pictures across to ingratiate Prinney, who ended up with most of them.”
“She may be his mistress, but I can tell you one thing,” Coffen said. They all looked at him. “She can’t stand the sight of the old blighter. Winces when he latches on to her with those fat old sausage fingers of his. She looked like a baited animal when he touched her.”
Corinne remembered how the comtesse had stiffened when Yarrow put his hand on her arm. She hadn’t noticed the woman’s expression. Surely she had smiled, though?
Prance stared as if he had been shot in the heart. “Why did I not notice that?” he asked in a hollow voice. “But you know, I did sense some negative ambience in her saloon. I am sensitive that way. I thought it was just Corinne’s reaction to another beautiful lady, but perhaps it was Yvonne’s loathing of Yarrow. She must be rescued. Surely we all agree on that?” He looked about the room for support.
“Rescued, my foot!” Corinne scoffed. “I didn’t notice her wincing. Yarrow was very kind to her.”
Coffen screwed up his forehead and said, “I went to her house planning to fall in love with her, but I have no intention of falling afoul of Yarrow. He could ruin a fellow. All I want to know is that the Poosan I’m buying is the goods. She ain’t the sort that would sell a fellow a forgery, is she?”
“Sell forgeries to the prince, and with Yarrow’s approval?” Luten asked, his thin eyebrows lifting. “Your wits are gone begging, Pattle. Yarrow would never contrive at something so dangerous to his own welfare. And he would certainly know a forgery from the genuine thing. He’s sharp as a needle about art.”
“But would she try to palm a fake off on someone like me?”
“I wouldn’t put it a pace past Yvonne, but she would not do it with Yarrow’s knowledge or approval. If he was there, you need not fear.”
Corinne heard that casual “Yvonne” with
“She must be forty if she’s a day,” Coffen said. “A bit long in the tooth for my taste, but a looker, all right.”
“A little younger, I think,” Luten said. “Late thirties. She married very young.”
“What did the mama have against her?” Corinne asked, unhappy with Luten’s quick objection to forty and expecting to hear something scandalous.–
“Yvonne was an actress at the Comedie Française .”
“An actress!” Coffen exclaimed. He had a great love of actresses. “By the living jingo, I didn’t know that.”
“The Comedie Française is not considered so déclassé as our theaters,” Prance said “That would hardly sink her chances.”
“The story I heard is that Yvonne was from a rather common background, but being an actress, she managed a decent accent, and with her looks she would have fared well had not the old comtesse shut the door on her,” Luten explained. “Didn’t leave Yvonne anything in her will, either.”
“But Yvonne brought some valuable paintings with her, eh?” Coffen asked.
“Not with her. She landed at Brighton in a dinghy with only the clothes on her back. Yarrow was the one who ferried the family paintings ashore years later. Her husband had hidden them somewhere in France—in a church basement, I believe. Only Yvonne knew where, or no doubt the old comtesse would have got hold of them. Perhaps that is what they fought about. Or perhaps it was the by-blow Yvonne tried to palm off as her husband’s child a year or so after his death. I have only Yvonne’s side of the story. She was quite frank about her background and her affairs. Yarrow was running back and forth across the Channel in some diplomatic capacity during various lulls in the fighting. Yvonne caught his eye, and he did what he could to help her.”
“Is she his mistress?” Reggie asked eagerly. “Was the by-blow his?”
“I believe the by-blow preceded Yarrow’s acquaintance by a few years. Perhaps he only brought the pictures across to ingratiate Prinney, who ended up with most of them.”
“She may be his mistress, but I can tell you one thing,” Coffen said. They all looked at him. “She can’t stand the sight of the old blighter. Winces when he latches on to her with those fat old sausage fingers of his. She looked like a baited animal when he touched her.”
Corinne remembered how the comtesse had stiffened when Yarrow put his hand on her arm. She hadn’t noticed the woman’s expression. Surely she had smiled, though?
Prance stared as if he had been shot in the heart. “Why did I not notice that?” he asked in a hollow voice. “But you know, I did sense some negative ambience in her saloon. I am sensitive that way. I thought it was just Corinne’s reaction to another beautiful lady, but perhaps it was Yvonne’s loathing of Yarrow. She must be rescued. Surely we all agree on that?” He looked about the room for support.
“Rescued, my foot!” Corinne scoffed. “I didn’t notice her wincing. Yarrow was very kind to her.”
Coffen screwed up his forehead and said, “I went to her house planning to fall in love with her, but I have no intention of falling afoul of Yarrow. He could ruin a fellow. All I want to know is that the Poosan I’m buying is the goods. She ain’t the sort that would sell a fellow a forgery, is she?”
“Sell forgeries to the prince, and with Yarrow’s approval?” Luten asked, his thin eyebrows lifting. “Your wits are gone begging, Pattle. Yarrow would never contrive at something so dangerous to his own welfare. And he would certainly know a forgery from the genuine thing. He’s sharp as a needle about art.”
“But would she try to palm a fake off on someone like me?”
“I wouldn’t put it a pace past Yvonne, but she would not do it with Yarrow’s knowledge or approval. If he was there, you need not fear.”
Corinne heard that casual “Yvonne” with
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