A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

  *

  “Isn’t Monte Cristo a small island without any inhabitants?” inquired the Comte d’Arras, a thin aristocratic looking man with an equally thin moustache. The question was posed with more inquisitiveness than disparagement, in an honest effort to learn more about the mysterious guest. The small group surrounding them leaned in to hear the response, as they were all similarly intrigued.

  “Ha, ha, indeed it is,” the Count laughed easily in response, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. “There’s nothing but sheep and wind on that small rock of an island, to be perfectly honest. The title was bestowed on my Great Grand Father as an insulting joke by a jealous Monarch. Although I think my ancestors and I have had the last laugh.”

  Everyone laughed in agreement, clearly seeing the wealth of the Count and by the beautiful Countess draped on his arm.

  “Tell me your Grace, why haven’t we seen you in Marseille before?” asked Madame Dutours, the artificially attractive wife of the army colonel commanding the local garrison. Her husband owed his advancement to his political connections and his wife’s socializing, so they were regulars on the cocktail scene.

  “We’ve actually just returned from the orient,” Pierce explained vaguely, hoping that it would be sufficient enough to avoid elaborating. He figured that he knew enough about Japan or China to bluff his way past people without televisions or the internet.

  “Ahh,” accepted the crowd with a mixture of admiration, approval, and some jealousy.

  “Darling we’ve hardly danced at all tonight,” reproached Jane playfully, trying to disengage themselves from the growing crowd surrounding them.

  “You’re right me dear, I’ve been too busy boring these fine people,” Pierce admonished himself with a wink, earning laughing disagreement from everyone. Pierce took Jane’s fluted champagne glass and placed it beside his on the tray of a passing footman, freeing his hand to lead her towards the crowded dance floor.

  Luckily a slow melodic song was playing, one that didn’t require changing partners or specific movements. Neither of them knew the current dances and wanted to keep the illusion of their sophistication.

  “So far so good,” he whispered to her has they joined in the revolving queue of dancers spiralling around the dance floor. “How are you doing?”

  “Me? Fine but it’s simple for me, I’m just the eye candy.” she replied coquettishly batting eyelashes.

  “Well you’re filling that role admirably,” Pierce acknowledged, catching the quick glimpses of men they passed.

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “That depends,” Pierce deferred more casually than he felt. “Is it working?”

  Jane merely smiled and continued dancing, truly content for the first time in ages. The hotel ballroom had been decorated in opulent splendour; crimson and gold fabric flowed from the ceiling and crystal chandeliers filled the room with sparkling light. Long tables followed the windowed walls looking out onto the harbour beyond and were creaking from the weight of bottles, bowls, and trays of delicious food.

  “You can almost forget we’re tracking a crazed madman bent on changing the history of the world,” Pierce observed, agreeing with the look he read off Jane’s happy face.

  “Almost,” She agreed, and then quickly refocused on the task at hand. “We should move up to one of the tables on the gallery above.”

  Pierce followed her gaze upwards as they rotated again, shooting a quick glance to the ballroom gallery. Staircases at either end wound up to the second floor dining area opposite the large windows of the ballroom. Tables and chairs were laid out for those wishing to take a break and rest their feet and indulge in some of the fine food provided. It would be the perfect perch to observe the whole room.

  The song they were dancing to ended a few minutes later to appreciative applause. Hand in hand they walked towards the closest staircase with poise, the crowd parting naturally for them to pass, like two sharks passing through a school of fish. The comparison made Pierce smile slightly, as they were indeed predators on the hunt.

  A waiter at the top of the stairs immediately guided them to a small table by the railing, offering a direct view to the party below. He helped Jane into her seat before taking Pierce’s order. Just as before, a small tray of food and bottle of champagne appeared with impressive speed.

  “I seem to have hurt my knee while on the dance floor, nothing serious,” Pierce told the waiter as he poured their drinks. “Have one of the footmen fetch my walking stick.” The waiter nodded professionally and marched off to fulfill the order.

  “You weren’t limping on the stairs up,” Jane noted with slight confusion, worried that they had developed a setback.

  “I’m fine,” he reassured her conspiratorially. “But I want to have my walking stick with me. Bufford should be making his appearance at any moment and I feel a little naked without it.”

  “It’s certainly a very impressive accessory, but what’s so special about it?”

  “It’s got a sharp surprise within it,” Pierce replied cryptically as a footman approached with it in his hands. He accepted it gratefully and flipped the servant a coin for his effort, much to the footman’s delight. Once they were alone, Pierce carefully checked to make sure the stick was actually his own. After hearing the quiet click, the handle turned and he pulled it back, revealing a sliver of the sharp blade. Satisfied that it hadn’t been switched, he closed it and leaned it against the table.

  “Now that is impressive,” Jane saluted with her drink, having never seen a similar weapon before.

  “Any sign of Bufford or our footman?” Pierce asked as he took his own glass and peered over the railing.

  “Nothing so far,” Jane replied after looking around for herself. “You don’t think the whole ball thing is a ruse do you? Some sort of red sardine provided to throw us off the scent?”

  “Red sardine? Pierce repeated in confusion before letting out a small chuckle. “Oh you mean a red herring! A fake clue is called a red herring.”

  “Whatever it’s called, there’s a possibility he won’t even show up,” she retorted, trying hard to hide her embarrassment.

  “I very much doubt it. He needs to meet with the ship owner to get his cargo loaded and a party like this is the perfect place for a discreet meeting. Plus Bufford wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of digging a tunnel between the hotel and the building next door if he had no intention of coming here.”

  “You’re right,” Jane nodded, having forgotten about the tunnel. “It’s just the longer we wait the more nervous I feel.”

  “It was a good thought,” he reassured her with what he hoped was a calming smile. “Don’t worry I’m nervous too. But that’s good; it means we’ll be careful.”

  They continued their vigil with few words spoken between them. They picked away at some of the food at their table and took tiny sips of their drinks, unwilling to succumb to the influence of the alcohol but wanting to remain in character. Eventually they saw their footman enter the room below, walking the length of the floor attempting to find the Count of Monte Cristo.

  It took all of Pierce’s patience to calmly sit and wait for the footman to find them and not stand up and frantically wave him over. He could feel the tension and excitement rising within him as their messenger climbed the nearby staircase.

  “Well here we go,” Pierce muttered to himself, unsure on how the rest of the night would play out. He looked over to Jane, still stunning in her evening gown and realized he had another reason to succeed tonight.