Lady in the Stray

by Maggie MacKeever

  So they must. The gentlemen pondered their dilemma, Mr. Thorpe occasionally muttering under his breath about precedents.

  They had missed the point, thought Lionel, and it was an oversight for which he must be glad. That Minette had known enough to tell him about the memorandum didn’t look well. Were Edouard a French agent, his culpability extended to his accomplice, willing or no.

  Was Minette willing? That was the crux of the matter, Lionel realized. Then a further possibility smote him. Perhaps Minette herself was the spy.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As result of her recent confrontation with provoking Lord Stirling, Vashti was feeling a trifle out of sorts. Indeed, if truth be told, she was as cross as a cat. This irritation of the spirits she attempted to alleviate by means of a nice long soak in a hip bath. Unfortunately, the bath was not designed for prolonged soaking, and the water rapidly grew cold. Of this latter fact, Vashti only became aware when she commenced to shiver, so rapt had she been in thought.

  So his lordship would not censure her? His lordship had censured her continually from the first moment they had met. Considering he believed her guilty of grave duplicity, Stirling had been surprisingly forbearing, nonetheless. How could Vashti convince him his suspicions were unfounded? The truth clearly would not serve. And why the deuce should she be so concerned with the opinion of a self-confessed rogue?

  A rascal, was his lordship? Vashti decided Yves Santander was also something of a philanderer. He had a way with the ladies, of that there was no doubt. Though Vashti’s experience in such matters was scant, she doubted few gentlemen could insult and berate a lady and still hold her intrigued. As for herself, Vashti decided she was something of a pea-goose, else she wouldn’t dwell wistfully upon thoughts of his lordship philandering with her. The male of the species was an odiously contrary creature. Even Charlot had taken advantage of her absence from Mountjoy House to slip away on some mysterious errand of his own. She would have a great deal to say to that young man upon his return, decided Vashti as she stepped out of the bath.

  The opulently Oriental bedchamber was dimly lit by candlelight. Sinister shadows lurked about the lacquered cabinet, the pine bureau bookcase, the huge tent bed where Calliope snoozed. Vashti wrapped a large towel around herself, walked across the Axminster carpet to dry her hair by the fire that blazed on the hearth, averting her gaze from the carved mandarins that leered from the ornamental panel of the oak mantelpiece. Dragons and pagodas and the like might have suited the eccentric Marmaduke, but Vashti didn’t applaud her cousin’s taste. She couldn’t banish an uneasy expectation that the grotesque figures might momentarily spring to life. A slight noise alerted her. Nervously, she glanced at the door.

  Before Vashti’s astonished gaze, the carved mandarin doorknob turned, and the door swung slowly inward. But she had locked it before commencing her ablutions! Perhaps the ghost was paying her another visit? No raddled figure from a previous era stepped across the threshold, however. This was a gentleman in proper evening dress.

  A gentleman? Vashti’s treacherous heart raced. Could it be—The intruder’s face was in shadow. But though Lord Stirling might well have worn a white waistcoat and dark-blue coat, light-colored breeches and silk stockings and shiny pumps, he would never have affected gilt buttons as large as saucers, or such an inordinate number of fobs and seals.

  The intruder stepped forward, raised a quizzing glass. Edouard! Vashti froze, as motionless as one of the mantel’s carved mandarins.

  So overwhelming was the late Marmaduke’s bedchamber on first viewing that Edouard did not immediately realize he was not alone. Nor, for this oversight, may he be fairly blamed. Few chambers existent could boast a combination of vaulted ceilings and Gothic windows juxtapositioned with Chinese wallpapers and lavish Oriental furnishings, although this horror was quite in keeping with the rest of Mountjoy House. With fascinated revulsion Edouard surveyed the room. But he had come to search, not to marvel—and then his affronted gaze swung to the hearth.

  It is difficult to say who was the more stunned, Vashti or Edouard, but he recovered first. Gad, but Vashti Beaufils was a fetching piece, crouched there before the fire, clad in naught but a towel, her amber eyes wide with fright, and her honey-colored hair drying into riotous curls. Had he only time—

  “Pardon, Mademoiselle Beaufils!” he said genially. “I had not expected to find you here. Tout de même, it may yet prove a stroke of good fortune. I have been wishing that we might have a tête-à-tête.”

  Slowly, tightly clutching the towel, Vashti stood upright. “How dare you, sir!” she gasped. “Leave this room at once!”

  “It is a compromising situation in which you find yourself.” Chillingly, Edouard laughed. “Do you but oblige me, our business may be concluded in a few moments, and you may preserve your honor intact. Do you not oblige me—” He shrugged. “How very lovely you are, mademoiselle, when you are looking absolutely sick with fright. So lovely, in fact, that you tempt me to alter my plans. Tell me, pretty Vashti, how would you like a shawl embroidered in gold and silver acorns? A sable muff?”

  Was the man mad? Vashti reached behind her for the fireplace poker, managing with difficulty to keep the towel in place. “All I want from you, sir, is that you leave this room!”

  “And that I cannot do, hélas.” Indolently, Edouard strolled across the Axminster carpet, pausing to glance beneath the cushions in an imitation bamboo chair. “Accord me your attention, mademoiselle, and we may strike a bargain that will benefit us both. You wish to return to France. Alors, so do I; and time grows short. Perhaps you do not know that Bonaparte delivered an order to Junot that all Englishmen between the ages of eighteen and sixty, or holding any commission from His Britannic Majesty, are to be constituted prisoners of war. Already the cutter Nancy and the packet Prince of Wales have been seized at Calais. Do you understand the significance? The Peace of Amiens draws to an end. If we are to return to France, it must be now.”

  Briefly, Vashti forgot her own peril. “Papa!” she cried.

  “Is that the price of your cooperation?” Indifferent, Edouard continued to disarrange the room’s furnishings. “So be it. Minette’s price was more dear. Eh bien! We are agreed. You will hand over to me that which I seek, and I will arrange that you are reunited with your father.”

  Not even for an instant was Vashti tempted to accept this offer. “I thought Minette did not wish to marry you! You threatened her, I suppose. All for a wretched memorandum that no one is certain exists. Well, your luck is out, sir. I don’t know where the wretched thing is, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!”

  “Enfin, du courage!” Edouard mocked. “Your bravery is very foolish, mademoiselle. As are your lies. I have explored a great many of the nooks and crannies of this abominable old house, and I have concluded that I waste my time. You have played a clever game with me. Mountjoy left you word where he had hid the memorandum. You have bided your time.” His indolent manner changed. “I will have the memorandum now, if you please.”

  Had Vashti possessed the blasted memorandum, she would have immediately handed it over, so menacing had Edouard’s manner become. “I don’t have it!” she protested, and raised the poker. “Stay away from me!” Whatever Edouard’s failings, he was no coward. With a vicious oath, he sprang.

  It was a very short struggle, and the outcome was never in doubt. Vashti was no match for Edouard’s strength, and she was additionally hampered by her efforts to maintain decorum with her towel. In those attempts, she was not entirely successful. Edouard’s breath quickened; he twisted her arm behind her, so roughly she cried out. With his free hand he reached for the towel.

  “Merde alors!” came an indignant voice from the doorway. Edouard released Vashti as abruptly as if she were a hot coal.

  Sobbing, Vashti retrieved the towel and stumbled away from him. “Minette! Thank God!” she gasped.

  “Oui! C’est moi.” Minette closed the door, then bestowed upon her kinsman a severe glance.
“Mon dieu, Edouard, what is this madness? Is it not enough that you must betroth yourself to me, without additionally forcing yourself on Vashti? And if it was Vashti you wanted all along, why did you betroth yourself to me? It has all been most inconvenient, because I wished to be betrothed to—to someone else!” She put a comforting arm around the weeping Vashti. “There, there! I fully enter into your feelings. Edouard is a swine.”

  Vashti mopped her damp face with the edge of her towel. “You do fancy—”

  “Oui!” interrupted Minette with a warning frown.

  “I thought so!” By this intimation that at least one of her assumptions had been correct, Vashti was a little cheered. “Then why—”

  “Pfui!” Minette said crossly. “It was stupidly done of me, but what have you? Edouard is mad as Bedlam, as you can observe. Always he nourishes the evil design—and always he seeks to embroil me. This time he offers me the highly flattering alliance— oh, yes, I assure you it is true! I am to return with him to France, and set myself up in the latest mode.”

  “In a shawl embroidered with gold and silver acorns,” supplied Vashti, “and a sable muff? My dear, I fear you have been quite taken in.”

  “Jamais!” retorted Minette, severely. “Edouard would prefer to see me adorned in my shroud. But he is a dangerous man to cross, and so I led him on a little bit. I did not really believe he would keep his promises to me, naturellement—he never has yet! Ah, ça, who are you to scold me, chérie? I am not the only one who has pretended a little bit. You are not at all like Marmaduke described you! A regular dash, he said you were. I say, in a pig’s eye!”

  “Do you know, I am very tired of hearing all that I am not?” Vashti glowered, equally cross. “And for you to rail at me is like the pot calling the kettle black. Cousin Marmaduke thought I was another member of the family, Valérie.”

  “Tiens!” Minette digested this information. “Ma chére, that won’t fadge. Marmaduke may have been eccentric, but he wasn’t insane. It is not conceivable to me that he could have mixed up your names.”

  “He could have if Valérie used mine.” Vashti shivered in her damp towel. “Which I promise you she did. And if ever I set eyes on Valérie again—”

  “Que diable! You are so angry, Vashti, that I think this queer explanation must be true! So Marmaduke was taken in by this Valérie. How he would laugh to hear it.” Envisioning her deceased benefactor’s amusement, Minette clapped her hands.

  One member of the less-than-convivial little group, however, was a great deal less amused. “Assez!” Edouard snapped.

  Minette did not immediately attend. “I know just how it is!” she said to Vashti with a great sigh. “One does not like to admit that a member of one’s own family is not comme il faut. Me, I feel similarly about Edouard. And he is the member of my family left, which makes it doubly unfortunate that he is a vipère.”

  Again, the vipère sought to gain the ladies’ attention. “Je m’excuse!” He was sufficiently successful that they realized he held a gun. “Oh, la vache!” muttered Minette, staring at the pistol. Vashti blanched.

  “About the memorandum,” Edouard continued. “I will have it—and I warn you both that my patience grows short.”

  “Patience? Bah!” Minette flounced to one of the mock-bamboo chairs and sat down. She glanced at the frightened Vashti. “Do not look so terrified, chérie. Edouard dares not shoot us without bringing down on himself the whole house.”

  Vashti doubted such considerations would weigh with this man. Furthermore, he dared not leave them able to raise the alarm.

  Perhaps she might somehow stall for time. What such delaying tactics might achieve, Vashti was not certain. No one else was likely to invade her bedchamber, and catch Edouard off guard.

  Nonetheless, she must make some effort to save Minette and herself. Vashti licked her dry lips. “This memorandum is prodigious important. Why?”

  Minette answered for her kinsman, sardonically. “Edouard wishes to ingratiate himself with Bonaparte. He believes this memorandum will insure him an open-armed welcome once he returns to France.” She shrugged. “Me, I do not think even Bonaparte would wish to clasp to his bosom a vipère. I know I do not!”

  Though Edouard did not want Minette, he did not appreciate her constant assertions that she returned the sentiment. “You wish instead to embrace a certain solicitor, n’est-çe pas? It is a great pity you will not be granted the opportunity, ma cocotte. You cannot say you were not fairly warned. I told you how it would be if you dared oppose me.” Minette, staring down the barrel of her kinsman’s pistol, for once found nothing to say.

  Lest Minette be shot down before Vashti’s very eyes—and Edouard’s inimicable expression indicated that possibility was imminent—Vashti cleared her throat. “What makes this memorandum so important that everyone is desperate to lay hands on it?”

  “Everyone?” Edouard’s pistol swung toward Vashti. “Who is ‘everyone,’ mademoiselle?”

  Vashti tried to swallow the lump that had obstructed her throat. “Why, Stirling and yourself, primarily. I suppose it was in your behalf that Minette searched.”

  “Not really,” remarked that intrepid damsel. “It was Marmaduke’s treasure that I wanted, so that I might share it with Orphanstrange and—er! Marmaduke made no provision for us, the cabbagehead. Naturellement, he did not expect to break his neck, so one should not be too severe. But we were forced to contrive, because we had no place else to go. I only pretended to assist Edouard, because he assured me if I didn’t he would break my neck!”

  “Marmaduke’s treasure?” echoed Vashti. “Do you know what it is?” In this same instant, Edouard, who had no interest whatsoever in hypothetical treasures, announced that he still might well do his kinswoman bodily harm. “And to you as well, Mademoiselle Beaufils. And I could accomplish it without rousing the household.”

  Minette’s green eyes sparkled angrily. “As on a previous occasion, when you knocked poor Vashti over the head. Oui, chérie, it was Edouard who assaulted you. Always, I have suspected it, but there was nothing I could do.”

  Nor was Vashti, in that moment, capable of any action save to try and clench her chattering teeth. So darkened and enraged were Edouard’s features that she dared not even beg to exchange her sodden towel for the dressing gown that lay beneath Calliope upon the bed.

  Minette was notably braver, or more foolish. “You dare not shoot us, Edouard, or break our necks. Even if you escaped the house undetected, suspicion would still fall on you.”

  Edouard’s eyes narrowed. “And why is that, petite?”

  Minette tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and smiled. “Mon cher Edouard, you must know I am indiscreet. I cannot keept a secret. Several people know of your interest in the memorandum, I fear.”

  Time hung briefly suspended in the late Marmaduke Mountjoy’s opulent bedchamber. Even the shadows ceased to dance. No sound broke the silence, save for the crackling of the fire and the now-familiar rustlings in the wall. Vashti thought despairingly that Edouard would surely kill them now. Consequences would not weigh with him, so consuming was his rage. She could not bear to look at him, at the contorted features, the mad eyes, the pistol that was doubtless destined to shortly end her life.

  Her fugitive gaze brushed the carved mantelpiece. So distrait was Vashti that it seemed one of the carved mandarins returned her stare. They remained that way for what seemed a small eternity: Edouard, snarling, his pistol cocked; Vashti clutching at her towel and staring despairingly at the fireplace behind him; Minette sitting somberly in her mock-bamboo chair.

  Then the moment was shattered, by a great commotion in the huge tent bed, Edouard swung toward it, swearing, pistol aimed. Calliope emerged from amid the bed hangings, murmuring sleepy queries.

  Edouard’s finger tightened on the trigger. “No!” cried Vashti, and scooped up Calliope, irregardless of her slipping towel. “Don’t you dare shoot my cat, you—you blackguard!” Minette, whose composure was not half so gr
eat as she pretended, burst into nervous giggles. Vashti cast her an angry glance— and in so doing saw a section of the carved mantel swing out. Through the opening emerged the raddled old woman whom Vashti had last glimpsed in the secret room. If a ghost, then a ghost with a substantial wardrobe, Vashti thought inconsequentially. On this occasion, the old woman wore a long-sleeved gown, the pale green skirts looped up to reveal Chinese slippers with turned-up toes. Around her shoulders was a white cotton fichu, and atop her powdered curls was a butterfly cap of ribbon and lace. A parchment fan hung on a gold chain around her waist. The old woman grimaced terribly at Vashti and picked up a heavy vase.

  Edouard was also staring, but at Vashti, who did present a compelling spectacle, clad in nothing but an angry cat. Daintily, Delphine advanced.

  “A pox on the lot of you!” uttered the old woman, and felled Edouard with a mighty crash. Vashti’s sensibilities could withstand no further shock; she slid to the floor in a dead faint. Delphine briskly brushed fragments of broken vase from her skirts and returned to the fireplace Behind her, the mantelpiece swung shut. It all took place so quickly Minette had not even stirred from her chair.

  Now she did so, first removing the pistol from Edouard’s inert hand, then rescuing Calliope from beneath Vashti. Spitting, the cat darted beneath the bed. Minette retrieved Vashti’s towel and draped it over the unconscious girl. Then she sank back on her heels and contemplated Edouard. Blood pooled on the pottery-strewn carpet beneath his head. What a very awkward business this was, Minette thought. She supposed she should tell some what had happened— but how was she to answer the questions that must result?

  As matters arranged themselves, however, Minette had no chance to raise the alarm. Once more, the bedroom door was flung open, and Charlot ran into the room. “Vashti! I must speak with you! We have decided—” The sight of Minette crouched beside Edouard’s body brought him up short. He dropped to his knees beside her, staring at the bloody head.