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the doctor—who knew the full truth of what had happened yesterday, one of a select number who knew it was Mother who had dealt with the attack, not some mystery man—and one of the select few who knew the full extent of the family business, not to mention my own part in it.
    I had awakened that morning with sunshine in my life. At last all those
vérités cachées
I’d been asked to keep made sense. At last I knew why it was that our family seemed so different from the others, why I myself had never fitted in with the other children. It was because my destiny lay along a different path from theirs, and always had.
    And best of all, “Your mother shall be your tutor in all things,” Father had said with a warm smile at Mother, who in turn had reflected his love to me. With a smile he stopped himself. “Well, perhaps not in
all
things. Perhaps in matters of beliefs, you would be better advised to heed the words of your father the Grand Master.”
    “François,” Mother had chided, “the child shall make up her own mind. The conclusions she reaches shall be her own.”
    “My love, why do I have the distinct impression that for Élise, today’s events are not the surprise they might have been?”
    “What do you think we ladies talk about in our perambulations, François?”
    “Shoes?”
    “Well, yes,” she conceded, “we do indeed talk about shoes, but what else?”
    He understood, shaking his head, wondering how he could have been so blind as to miss what had been happening right under his nose.
    “Did she know about the Order before today?” he asked her.
    “Not as such,” she said, “though I daresay she was prepared for the revelation.”
    “And weapons?”
    “She has had a little training, yes.”
    Father indicated for me to stand. “Let’s see if you have learned your
en garde
, Élise,” he said, adopting the position himself, his right arm outstretched and forefinger pointed like a blade.
    I did I was as I was told. Father shot an impressed look at my mother and studied my posture, walking around me as I bathed in the glow of his approval. “Right-handed like her father”—he chuckled—“not a lefty like her mother.”
    I bounced slightly on my knees, checking my balance, and my father smiled once more. “Do I detect the hand of a certain Englishman in our daughter’s training, Julie?”
    “Mr. Weatherall has been helping me in filling Élise’s extracurricular hours, yes,” she agreed airily.
    “I see. I had thought we were seeing a little more of him than usual at the château. Tell me, does he still hold a torch for you?”
    “François, you embarrass me,” chided Mother.
    (At the time I had no idea what they meant, of course. But I do now. Seeing Mr. Weatherall the other night, a broken man. Oh, I do now.)
    Father’s face became serious. “Julie, you know I trust you in all things and if you have been tutoring the child, then I support you in that, too, and if what she’s already had helped Élise keep a cool head during yesterday’s attack, then it’s been more than justified. But Élise will be Grand Master one day. She will follow in my footsteps. In matters of combat and tactics she may be your protégé, Julie, but in matters of belief, she must be mine. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, François.” Mother smiled sweetly. “Yes, that is understood.”
    A look passed between Mother and me. An unspoken
vérité cachée
.
    viii
    And so, having escaped Ruth’s unnecessary concern, I arrived in the reception hall ready for my walk with Mother.
    “You will take Scratch, and the guards, please, Julie,” Father told her in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.
    “Of course,” she said, and indicated one of the men who lurked in the shadows of the reception hall, our whole house feeling a little more crowded all of a sudden.
    He came forward. It was Mr. Weatherall. For a second he and Father regarded one another carefully, before Mr. Weatherall bowed deeply and the two