Treachery and Tea
The Mystery of Moriamis
Part 3. Chateau Morlay
“I could never understand this Fenswick fascination for tea.”
“Try it. And have some crumpets, as well. These are considered the best in the Known World.”
The hostess handed the man a cup, and he began to sip from it.
“Be careful! It’s hot!” she warned.
“Mais oui, but it is good!” he replied, smiling eagerly, the cream-colored tea staining his pale pink lips. “And where pray tell did you pick up such a taste for tea?”
“Oh, my fifth… no, sixth husband was a Fenswick nobleman. In Laterre, of course.”
“Of course,” replied her present “husband,” who was contentedly munching on a crumpet, like a dog with a juicy steak—or more like a wolf with a plump pheasant.
“He was a passionate one… and I loved how he called me ‘Diana.’ That was my name at the time.”
“Which reminds me, ma cherie, you should remember to spell your name with an e. It’s Diane, not Dian. If we are to keep up this charade, we have to be consistent!”
“Yes, yes, my dear ‘husband.’ But after nine or ten lifetimes, these details do get tedious!”
Dame Dian or Diane or Diana pouted at the white-skinned man in mock exasperation. He couldn’t help but be amused and gave out an almost feral laugh. She good-naturedly joined his laughter.
“So, do go on about Noussoir. I’m listening…”
“Well, he took the statue from my room, as you foretold,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “And not long after, he went to see Dolores.”
She gave a satisfied smile at the man who sat in front of her. Although his eyes were hidden behind his obsidian shades, she could tell he was looking at her intently, trying to understand his mysterious new ally.
“I wonder how the Princess would have reacted when she saw that figurine...” he mused.
“Oh, she would have certainly panicked like she has never had in her life. Dolores has many secrets, some more secret than others. But I tell you, mon chèr, this secret would be the most secret of them all!”
Again there was a pause. Again the albino man studied his beauteous conspirator, admiring her well-laid intricate schemes, as much as her curvaceous figure. He noticed that from somewhere beneath the folds of her dress, she had taken out this sanguine-colored vial, and started playing with it in the afternoon light.
“But I still do not understand the significance of that ruby dragon.”
“Oh, my dear Malachie, it’s just some secret of the past,” assumed Dame de Moriamis. “Don’t try to understand it all now. It might take a whole lifetime… or the next one.”
Fin
