Abbey and Tam came toddling towards me across the flagstones, and I would have scooped them both up in my arms if Mrs. Malloy hadn’t done the honours with my daughter. What a rotten mother I was in not immediately rushing to them! Who knew if George planned to fight to the death in defending his beloved Nessie’s honour! And two men doing the washing up, let alone on the brink of a duel, could not be trusted to keep a proper eye on my children. And there was the moat to consider. There wasn’t any danger of my darlings drowning because we had put in drains before they were born. And being the ornamental variety of moat, there wasn’t a horrendous drop. But even so, the thought of one of them tumbling over the stone rim was enough for me to clutch Tam’s sturdy little body close to my palpitating heart.
Clearly Mrs. Malloy did not share my fears. Seating herself on a sarcophagus-style bench with Abbey on her knees, she offered up the observation, “A sight for sore eyes, if ever there was one, Mrs. H.” She wasn’t talking about the glories of nature, the sun in its heaven, the heady perfume of the flowers, or the green haze of the trees. Her eyes were focused on the two men standing with crossed sword blades at the far end of the courtyard. One born to dance the deadly minuet, invincible in his heroic good looks, his hair lifting around him in a triumphal banner before a blow was yet struck. The other, an uncouth yokel doomed to be speared like an over-ripe tomato and brandished on high by his opponent before being tossed through the air into the arms of his disappointed mother.
“What do you think, Mum?” George shouted. “Isn’t it time to say ready, set, go?”
“Mrs. Haskell, will you do me the immense honour of acting as my second?” Karisma bowed with masterful grace over his sword.
“This is silly.” My words were muffled by Tam’s hair.
“Oh, get on with it, do,” Mrs. Malloy instructed the combatants.
“Yes, I do not want to be late for church.” Karisma’s voice sang out as he held his blade at arm’s length and executed a series of dazzling dance steps.
“Did you say late for church?” George guffawed. “Or the churchyard, old cock?”
“En garde!” came the reply, and before I had time to catch my breath, the duel was in progress. The flash of gleaming steel hurt my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. Common sense had returned in dribs and drabs, and I was busily telling myself that Mrs. Malloy was right, that this was just a bit of harmless fun, when George’s feet skidded out from under him and he yelped “Tooch” as he went down smack on his back within inches of the moat.
But before his mother could finish turning pale, he had bounded back onto his feet, his sword still in his hand, ready to resume thrusting where he had left off. It became apparent to me as I watched that George’s willingness to test-pedal his own exercise equipment had paid off in muscle development, but whether he would have overwhelmed Karisma under his own steam is neither here nor there. For who should come wafting out into the courtyard like a summer breeze at the critical stage of the duel but Vanessa! Did she pause to take note of the fact that her fiance was occupied in a manly endeavour? Of course not. Without a glance at Mrs. Malloy and Abbey, she brushed past me and Tam and crossed the courtyard to tap George on the shoulder for all the world as though he were having a chat over the fence with a neighbour instead of being engaged in a fencing match.
“Darling, you won’t believe what I have to tell you!”
“Not now, Nessie.” George parried a thrust with commendable presence of mind. “I’m busy—”
“But it’s so exciting,” cooed my cousin as the blades flashed. “I’ve got the most marvelous piece of news. It turns out that the old stick who’s married to the lady vicar writes romance novels and he wants Ben to pose for the cover of a book called A Knight to Remember and there’s a very good chance I’ll get to model for the heroine.”
“What’s that?” George froze and dropped his sword, but luckily this didn’t present a problem for him. Karisma, understandably distracted, had taken a step backwards and fallen with a sickening thud into the empty moat.
Chapter
16
“Don’t say it, Eudora,” I said.
“Say what?”
“That you trust it was nothing trivial.”
“Ellie, how can you possibly think I would be …”
“So unchristian?” I laughed. My friend and clergywoman was looking particularly nice in a soft pink blouse with a matching cardigan. “Easy—you’re only human and you don’t like the man because he’s been a thorn in Gladstone’s flesh.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’d rejoice if he’d been badly hurt in that fall.”
“Just a bump on the back of the head and a red line where he brought the foil up against his own throat when he tripped.”
“That’s all?” Eudora leaned closer and whispered with endearing naughtiness in my ear, “Not a chance of any major bruising to his ego?”
We were in the library, hemmed in against the leaded windows overlooking Market Street by the press of people, ninety-nine percent of them women, waiting for the King of the Cover Models to arrive. Upstairs in the reading room, Bunty Wiseman and Mrs. Dovedale were setting out refreshments of little cakes and lemonade. There had been a minor panic when the cord for the percolator could not be found. Then it had been remembered that Mr. Poucher had used it as a lead when taking Heathcliff home. And Sir Robert Pomeroy had pointed out, with remarkable acuity, that a coffeepot that made at most ten cups would not be much use given the size of the crowd, with people still squeezing in through the library doors. Not that there was any excuse for Mr. Poucher’s failure to return a vital piece of library property, Sir Robert had concluded, “What! what!”
Had Miss Bunch still been in charge, she would doubtless have imposed a heavy fine, coupled with thirty days of stacking books. And it seemed likely her successor would take an equally grim view. Mrs. Harris now came up to Eudora and me, using her razor-sharp elbows to part the crowd. There was a glitter to her spectacles that boded ill for anyone intending to withhold knowledge of the purloined percolator cord.
“It has come to my attention that a serious breach of policy has taken place,” She made this pronouncement in ringing tones that violated the prominently posted notice that no one speak above a whisper, even should the library be on fire or an armed robbery in progress. “If this sort of thing continues”—the dragon lady wagged her accusing nose at me—“I shall have no choice but to deny the Library League continued access to these premises.”
“What sort of thing?” Eudora bit down on a smile.
“A boa was left on the meeting room floor the other night.”
Two women inches away from us let out piercing squeals. Envisioning the room erupting into a panic that would result in most of the female population of Chitterton Fells being trampled to death, I hastily explained for the benefit of anyone within earshot that we were talking about the feather variety of boa.
“It belongs,” I added, “to Karisma’s business agent, Mrs. Swabucher.”
“I don’t care if it belongs to the Queen Mother,” persisted the dragon lady. “Tell the woman, Mrs. Haskell, that I am running a library here, not a lost-and-found booth. It is to be hoped I shall have no further reason for complaint after this afternoon’s indoor picnic. Is anyone monitoring who comes through the door so that we will have a checklist should any books go missing?”
“Sir Robert Pomeroy is collecting the entry money,” I answered.
“And just when do we expect Mr. Karisma to arrive?”
“In about fifteen minutes.”
“Let it be clearly understood, Mrs. Haskell, that the man is not welcome to take over the reception desk. Should he wish to sign autographs, he may avail himself of one of the reading tables. And I do trust he will bring his own pen rather than expecting to borrow one of ours and running it out of ink. The library operates on a strict budget, Mrs. Haskell.”
“She certainly has mastered the knack of being unpleasant,” I said to Eudo
ra when the dragon lady disappeared into the crowd of bobbing heads.
“Perhaps she’s intimidated at having to fill Miss Bunch’s shoes.” My friend smoothed a hand over her grey hair. “While we’ve got a few moments, Ellie, I’d appreciate your telling me how you feel about the possibility of your very own husband appearing on the cover of A Knight to Remember.”
“If it makes Ben happy,” I smiled brightly, “I’m happy.”
“Oh, I do wish that had been my attitude when Gladstone decided, in the face of his publisher’s determination to have Karisma do the cover, that he would reveal his identity as Zinnia Parrish.” Eudora tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan. “But I thought only about myself and how I would feel having people know Gladstone had written those books with their vividly descriptive sex scenes. You saw how disagreeable I was when you came over to the vicarage to talk about the redecorating. And I’m ashamed to say, I’d been in the same kind of mood for days beforehand. Picking on Gladstone for leaving his knitting lying around. As if the bishop couldn’t have looked before he sat down. Grumbling at my dear one for, of all things, putting off”—Eudora lowered her voice—“having the circumcision done. Acting as if he hadn’t been considering my feelings when he moved into another bedroom, the intimate side of our married life being an impossibility until he is put right … down below.”
“Quite,” I said.
“I only hope and pray, Ellie, that I can make things up to Gladstone.”
I put my arm around her, which wasn’t easy, given the size of the crowd. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself? I can understand your concern that some narrow-minded people, including your bishop perhaps, might take a dim view of a clergy woman’s husband writing torrid romances.”
“That wasn’t the problem.” Eudora stared out into the sea of faces. “What bothered me was the prospect of standing in the pulpit at St. Anselm’s being ogled by my parishioners, all of whom would know that Gladstone hadn’t made up all that steamy stuff inside his head. No man, Ellie, has that much imagination.”
“I see your point,” I said, trying without success to banish the picture of Eudora surrendering her virginity on a billiard table, in transports of unclerical abandon. “But the good news is that the publisher has agreed not to use Karisma for the cover art of A Knight to Remember, and in return Gladstone has promised not to reveal that he is Zinnia Parrish.”
“I’d like to think, Ellie, that my secret is safe.”
“I remembered, a bit belatedly, to warn Ben and Vanessa to be discreet. Mrs. Malloy and her son do know,” I admitted. “It would be practically impossible to keep them in the dark, seeing that Vanessa is going to marry George. But he and his mother both gave me their word that they won’t say anything to anyone. And I’m certain you can trust them.”
Eudora’s eyes narrowed. “I wish that I could feel as sure of Karisma. Don’t mistake me, I don’t believe he would risk running afoul of Gladstone’s publishers by a public announcement, but I wouldn’t put it past him to leak word as to the true identity of Zinnia Parrish while he’s here in Chitterton Fells.”
“You could be misjudging him,” I told her.
“The man’s a snake, Ellie.”
This last word was picked up by a woman standing two feet in front of us, and it was buzzed on to another, who said she had previously heard mutterings about a boa constrictor left loose in the upstairs reading room, but she had believed this to be an unfounded rumour started by one of Karisma’s more fanatical fans as a ploy to thin out the mob of autograph hounds.
“Hello, you two!” Bunty Wiseman appeared out of nowhere to dazzle Eudora and me with her sunbeam smile. “We’re taking our lives in our hands being here. Most of this lot would kill to be first in the queue. That doesn’t include my ex-husband, I need hardly say. Li has made it one hundred percent clear he showed up only to pay his five quid for the good of the cause. A regular philanthropist, that’s him.” Bunty opened her china-blue eyes wide and batted her lashes. “Not a bloody chance he took me seriously when I told him Karisma was so thrilled at having me take photos of him yesterday that he offered me the job on a permanent basis, with all fringe benefits included.” She wiggled her hips, knocking the unfortunate woman standing next to her sideways and creating a domino effect with half a dozen others.
“Did Karisma really ask you to be his photographer?” Eudora asked her.
“Not on your Nellie.” Bunty grinned impishly. “Every time I snapped a picture, old Mrs. Poucher had to get in the act, swooning and mooning in his arms like a bloody schoolgirl. Honestly! I could have killed her; but you know me—always the good sport. I told our pal Mr. Poucher, who at this late stage of the game probably can’t find any way out of being her son, that he got first dibs on pushing her into the moat. Now, why are you looking at me with that funny expression on your face, Ellie?”
“We had an accident this morning at Merlin’s Court.”
“Blimey!” Bunty looked stricken. “And here’s me rattling on about a lot of nonsense. Did something happen to Ben? Is that why he’s not here?”
“No, he’s fine,” I said.
Eudora spoke up. “My husband and Ben are having a meeting. It’s about Parrish”—and I had no doubt that being a truthful woman, she added the extra r—“business.”
“Something that cropped up at the last minute,” I hastened to contribute.
“Gladstone is not one to lightly shirk his responsibilities to the Library League.” His loyal spouse had to raise her voice to be heard over the animated conversation taking place among a group of people to our right. “I’m here as his proxy and will be only too pleased to take over any responsibilities assigned to him.”
Bunty gave her a cheeky grin. “That’s awfully nice of you, Eudora. I’m sure Mrs. Dovedale will let you pour the lemonade. And if you make a success of that job, there’s a good chance you can progress to something more challenging, like helping Sir Robert count up the money we’ve collected. But don’t think”—she tossed her blond curls—“you can have the job of being Karisma’s assistant for the day, because I’ve already offered to stand next to him when he signs autographs and blot his fingers if his pen leaks.”
“Speaking of our celebrity”—I deemed it time to get this conversation back on track—“he’s the one who had the accident—but don’t worry, he wasn’t badly hurt.”
Bunty’s blue eyes grew big. “What happened?”
“He fell in the moat.”
“It wasn’t Karisma’s fault,” Eudora interjected, then surprised me by adding with uncharacteristic snideness, “believe it or not, he wasn’t attempting to walk on water.”
“There isn’t any water in the moat,” I said. “And if I have anything to say about it, there won’t be any more duels taking place at Merlin’s Court.”
“Any more what?” Bunty’s voice shot above the babble going on all around us and I explained what had happened as concisely as possible, adding that George Malloy had made it difficult for me to remain cross with him because he had insisted upon doing penance by baby-sitting Tam and Abbey until Ben or I got home.
“To be fair to George,” I added, “his mother was the main culprit. She put him up to the idea of the duel because she thought he needed to get his jealousy of Karisma out of his system.”
“Sort of like fighting it out on the school playground?”
I nodded at Bunty. “According to Mrs. Malloy, George got his underpants in a twist because he’s engaged to Vanessa and he thought Karisma fancied her.”
“Oh, surely not,” exclaimed Eudora. “I can’t believe Mr. Magnificent would be unfaithful when he’s already heavily involved.”
“Don’t tell me that! How did I miss reading about it in the tabloids?” Bunty’s lower lip protruded and she dug her knuckles into her eyes.
“I was talking about Karisma’s long-term love affair with himself.” Eudora did not hang her head even when she added, “Please forgive me for my u
ncharitable attitude.”
“I get it”—Bunty winked at me—“being in the church—and married to boot—our friend here is in bloody torment trying to come to terms with her intense physical feelings for a sex object. It’s all clear as could be now.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Why Gladstone wasn’t gung ho when the Library League talked about inviting Karisma to make an appearance, and why he’s now at a parish meeting with Ben instead of being here asking people if they want a big or a little piece of cake. The man has to be riddled with jealousy, just like George Malloy.” Bunty heaved a sympathetic sigh. “But you mustn’t blame yourself, Eudora, if you’ve been talking in your sleep about the love god. You’re a woman. And it won’t do a bit of good telling yourself you’re too old for emotional high jinks. You should have seen Mrs. Poucher yesterday.” A flutter of the eyelashes. “There’s a woman who should be in a museum as an archaeological exhibit! Instead, she was all over Karisma. And I’ll bet money that when the old bat finally dragged herself away from him, she hopped on the bus and went shopping for a vibrator.”
“Bunty!” I glanced around, fervently hoping that no one in the ever-swelling crowd was listening in on this exchange.
“I bet the old bird said she needed the latest model to help relieve muscle tension or a pinched nerve in her neck,” came the irrepressible reply. “You see them advertised in magazines all the time as life-savers for sufferers of chronic neuralgia.”
“I must bone up on my reading,” said Eudora with a half-smile.
“You’re a busy woman,” Bunty excused her. “Honestly, I’m amazed you have time to get your nose stuck in anything except the Bible. I’ve been meaning to read it myself”—here she looked momentarily virtuous—“but someone kind of spoiled it for me by telling me how it ends. And I must say, Eudora, I’d never have figured you—no offence meant—for a person who reads romances. What are your favourites? Regencies? Or the doctor-and-nurse ones—where she’s the junior on the ward, forever running afoul of Matron for not pinning her cap on straight, and he is Sir Somebody-or-Other, whiz pathologist, who drives a grey Rolls-Royce and has a dear old nanny who keeps house for him.”
How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams Page 26
