I gave myself a pat on the back as I left. I had positively had him eating out of my hand. Now if I could just find out if he had the queen’s snuffbox at the villa, it should be an easy enough matter to slip inside and pinch it when I went down for a swim. Suddenly I felt very daring and worldly. I had flirted with a dashing marquis. I had been invited out by two English boys and wangled an invitation from Sir Toby. All in all a good evening—apart from falling off a runway, losing the queen’s necklace and seeing Darcy.

I came home to find Queenie waiting up loyally for once.

“My feet are killing me,” I sighed as I flopped onto the bed.

“You can soak them in that little footbath as soon as I remove your smalls. I have been washing them out in it,” Queenie said.

“Footbath?”

“In the bathroom. Ever so handy it is. I was thinking of going down to the seashore tomorrow to see if I could catch some crabs. We could keep ’em in there until they’re wanted.”

With curiosity I followed her into the bathroom. There were my underclothes soaking in the bidet!

“Queenie, that’s not exactly a footbath,” I said.

She looked puzzled. “Then what is it for? It’s not a toilet. It’s too low for a basin.”

“It’s—” I said. “This is France. You figure it out.”

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Villa Marguerite
January 26, 1933
Today I go for a sail on Sir Toby’s yacht and with any luck I
return with the queen’s snuffbox.

I woke to find Queenie bending over me, a tea tray in her hands.

“I figured it out, miss. It’s for yer bum, ain’t it?”