The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,25

alone with a man. Nor could she have dinner with him at a restaurant, although a light refreshment at a respectable tearoom, earlier in the day, might be tolerable. In smaller towns, these conditions were ignored, or others imposed, and the lower classes flouted these strictures.

But to wander onto a man’s doorstep like this? This behavior was not sanctioned. She trod on dangerous ground, the recklessness of youth on display.

“Well. It’s a thoughtful touch to bring the invitation all the way here, though you really shouldn’t have bothered,” he replied, taking the envelope carefully, as if it were made of porcelain and might break.

She vacillated, but only for a second. She’d spent most of the night rehearsing her words and it wasn’t too difficult to repeat the phrases she had memorized.

“The truth of the matter, Mr. Auvray, is that I came because I wanted to speak to you in private. The other night, you said you would tell me the secret with the cards. You could tell me now.”

“Now? In my home, Miss Beaulieu?”

“Valérie won’t ever let us discuss it when she’s around.”

“That may be true, but, Miss Beaulieu … you do realize it is unseemly to have you in my home by yourself?”

Nina stood up straight and looked him in the eye. If she’d come this far, she might as well speak plainly, not blush and be embarrassed by his words. At any rate, now that she had started this line of conversation, the words threaded themselves together and would not be pulled apart.

“Mr. Auvray, I have been warned endlessly about the liberties men may try to take with young women, but I think I’m correct in saying you are a gentleman and therefore above reproach. Also, when last a lad tried to take liberties with me, I soundly slapped him and that solved that problem.”

“You need not slap me, Miss Beaulieu. Come in, then. Voices carry and I’d rather not have the superintendent share every word we speak with the whole building, as she is apt to.”

Nina walked in and was amazed to see he had no formal foyer, the apartment instead extending and opening all around them. Four enormous windows on the east side let in an abundant amount of light. Lustrous armoires and chests and bookcases were set against the west wall. The dominant piece in the room was a table long enough for a dozen people to dine together, though that was impossible at this time since it was covered with papers, boxes, and a myriad of other items.

Paintings hung from the west wall, but others had been left haphazardly piled against a table leg or a chair. A six-panel lacquered dressing screen stood on the other end of the room, dividing it. Beyond it she could glimpse a dark hallway.

It certainly was a large apartment.

“You brought all these things from abroad?” she asked.

“Most of the furniture, except for a couple of pieces. But, yes. A great number of things. You wanted to ask me about my card trick?”

“I wanted you to teach me your card tricks,” Nina said, stopping in front of a wooden cabinet with the most darling hand-painted ceramic knobs.

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve tried it on my own, Mr. Auvray, but I cannot manage it.”

“Yes, but why? A proper lady learns the steps of a dance, not how to spin cards in the air.”

“You sound like Valérie,” Nina said, running a hand along the cabinet. “I thought you might understand.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said.

“I’ve had the ability since I was a baby. The maids claim I’d push dishes off the table without touching them before I had even learned how to speak. In the countryside, they say this means the spirit is restless. Your soul is trying to escape your body. Other times, they say you are a witch.”

She stopped to admire a still life depicting a vase with bright yellow flowers and kept her eyes on the painting as she spoke.

“My father was a modern, educated man. He put everyone in their place, informing them there was a rational and scientific explanation for my ability. But my father was not always around to correct people.”

She turned toward him, her hands behind her back.

“You must not think I am attempting to portray myself as a victim. I do understand their dismay. At times, I have not been able to control it. Everyone remembers that occasion four years ago when I shoved Johaness Meinard off his horse and nearly got him trampled. I didn’t mean