by Joan Smith
“A nightmare,” Pronto mumbled, and staggered to a chair.
“The nightmare’s over, Pronto,” Deirdre said gently.
Pronto grabbed her hand. “Sorry if I was brusque to you before, Deirdre. A very nice outfit you’re wearing. You’re right about the shepherd’s staff. You can have it.”
His wig suddenly felt very warm. It made his head itchy, too. He pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. What remained of his luxuriant brown hair was all tousled. With his eyes beginning to shut, he looked remarkably like a bedlamite in his white sheet and beard.
“Why don’t you take Pronto up to bed, Réal?” Belami suggested. “You can put him in my room. I’ll get Carlotta to give me another room tonight.”
It proved to be a job for more than one man, so Belami went with them. Deirdre stayed alone in the room, thinking over the night’s activities. Like Dick, she too was busy inventing a story to help mitigate Pronto’s embarrassment. Yet she was happy to learn Pronto wasn’t really married to Elvira Sutton, né Claude Jalbert.
How had Dick figured it out? She blushed to remember the many intimate conversations she had enjoyed with Claude when he was being Elvira. Claude must be married to Lucy—which would explain Lucy’s sulky behavior when Elvira spent too much time with herself. She went scrupulously over their friendship, and while there was much to embarrass her, she had not been compromised.
It was a quarter of an hour before Belami returned to Deirdre. “Is he all right?” was her first question.
“He’s a million miles from all right, and will be worse tomorrow when he discovers his dilemma is not a nightmare.”
“You’ll have to think of something to help him, Dick.”
“I’ll work on it tonight. God, I’m glad it’s over. When I hit Claude and he crumpled over like a reed, I had the terrible feeling he really was a woman. He’s very slight in build, of course, which is the only reason he could carry off this masquerade. Slight, and fair in complexion. That black hair is dyed, I think. The newspapers said fair—and those delicate, fair-haired men have very little in the way of a beard. The truth didn’t hit me till this afternoon at the wedding, when I saw that nick on his jaw, just where the razor often catches. Then I began remembering other things.” He smiled and shook his head. “Did you know the Queen of Sheba had hairy legs?”
“What?”
“She had; it’s mentioned in the Koran. And Pronto said that Elvira had hairy legs. Suspiciously smooth arms though. I expect she—he shaved them,”
“Carlotta noticed his waist was large, when we were trying on costumes. And Elvira would only let Lucy help her undress. That’s why they were giggling behind the screen.”
“There were dozens of little clues. I noticed at the wedding that her ring was enormous. I remember Elvira hopping to open a door for the ladies, like a regular gentleman. And, of course, most telling of all, she had no use for me,” he added quizzingly, “nor I for her, if it comes to that.”
Deirdre patted her hair and smiled. “True. Elvira was particularly fond of me, actually.”
“I assume he behaved himself, or you would have twigged to it that Elvira was no lady?”
“What I am wondering is how Pronto didn’t realize it.”
“He never got anywhere near her. She dosed him with laudanum this afternoon after the wedding.”
“I mean all the time he was courting her.”
“He said she was shy, but the way he described, it sounded more like frigid to me. He did no more than pat her here and there. Why do I keep calling Claude her, I wonder? I remember he also said her muscle tone was very firm. There were dozens of clues staring us in the face. I took the notion she was Claude’s wife, and thinking I had plumbed her secret, I looked no further.”
Deirdre nodded. “We were always wondering where Claude was through all this business. Now we know.”
“If we had caught on to that, the explanation would have been really simple, as true solutions usually are. You said yourself it would make more sense if it were Claude and Lucy with Mrs. Sutton, instead of Elvira and Lucy. It explains how he got back into the Léon Bianco without being recognized the day he went off to Mira. He went to the inn and changed into his male’s outfit. It was a young man who called on Styger at Mira and later returned to the hotel in Venice.”
“Then he knew he was being followed?”
“He might have spotted Réal or Nick lingering around the hotel. He knew I suspected him of being involved with the Jalberts in any case. So he changed his sex to make following his movements more difficult when he went to Styger. Réal even mentioned finding a razor in the ladies’ rooms—not in the box of paints, but by the water pitcher. And I, like a fool, only thought Claude had been visiting.”
“It’s odd that Claude went so far as to actually marry Pronto.” Deirdre frowned. “I mean I can understand letting him court her—No, I can’t though.”
“At the risk of tooting my own horn, that may have had something to do with me. As long ago as in Paris, Elvira knew I was suspicious. She could learn though Pronto what I was up to. And, of course, the great romance brought some pretty baubles her way—the diamond ring, the emerald brooch, the passport. I think the Jalberts intended to shear off before Saturday, but when Carlotta got hold of their dies, she was calling the tune. The wedding was arranged, and to cancel it would have caused suspicion. Pronto kept urging the wedding forward. Besides, I think Claude wanted to make Pronto look a perfect fool. He must have been pushed to the edge of fury by Pronto hanging on to him like a leech. It was a fiendish revenge.”
“Poor Pronto won’t be able to hold up his head if this story gets out.”
“It won’t,” Dick said firmly. “No one knows but us and Carlotta.”
“He’ll blab it himself,” Deirdre pointed out. “What we should do is convince him it never happened. He half thinks it was all a nightmare.” She noticed Belami wasn’t listening to her. He sat, staring into a corner with a frown on his brow.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Carlotta. Did you notice how broadly she was smiling when the Jalberts were dragged away? Why should she have been so happy? I wager she pocketed the thousand pounds Claude was supposed to be paying her for the dies. That was their agreed price.”
He rose and began looking around the floor for the money. “This is where they were talking. She took the money from him—I seem to remember seeing the envelope fall when Claude drew the knife on her. Ah, here it is!” he said, and lifted the envelope from the floor. The bills were still stuffed inside.
“She was just laughing to discover Elvira was a man.”
“No reason that should set her to grinning. She was happy, Deirdre. She was radiant. The diamonds!”
“There’s no way she could have gotten them. We were all in the room, watching her.”
“Not very closely. Didn’t you notice how Claude was gagging, trying to tell us something. I’m going to the police headquarters and make sure they got the diamonds.”
He opened the door and nearly fell over Réal, who had been listening at the keyhole. “Réal, you can go for me. You overheard what we were saying?” he asked, which brought Réal to bristling indignation.
“I am just this instant arriving!” Réal insisted.
“From where?”
Réal wished to prolong his glory. “From deep thinkings,” he announced, and tapped his forehead. “I am wondering if you remembered to give to the police the diamond necklace which Madame Pilgrim was not wearing when she is taken away.”
“He wasn’t wearing it?” Belami asked. “Are you sure?”
“But yes. When I come back from capturing Styger all by myself, I see at once the necklace is not on the neck as it was when I leave. You do not notice this?” Réal asked, with a condescending look. “Lord Belami, who is the great investigator of crimes doesn’t notice the diamond necklace is missing?”
“By God, no. Carlotta!” He glanced at Réal. Seeing the flush of victor
y on that saturnine face, he held out his hand.
With a dismissing shrug, Réal dropped the puddle of diamonds into it. “Lucky it is one of us keeps the eyes open.”
“Where’d you get it?” Belami asked, but he asked in the beloved tone of admiration used by one expert to another.
“From the jug in the hallway where the contessa conceals it when she goes off for wine, which she do not drink after getting it. I noticed this, me.”
Deirdre felt Dick was not being sufficiently effusive and said, “Réal, you’re a wonder! I wager Cerboni will offer a reward for the diamonds’ recovery.”
Praise was all the reward Réal wanted. He looked hopefully to his master. “Good work, Réal. What would we do without you?” Belami said, and clapped him on the shoulder.
Réal smiled modestly. “All in the day’s work,” he said, with a nonchalant toss of his shoulders.
It was well the door was open and Réal was there to play propriety when the Duchess of Charney came storming in. She glared first at Belami, then her niece. “I hear some very strange rumors running around the ball,” she announced. “I daresay you are at the bottom of them, Belami. What’s afoot? The Suttons have left, and someone said Pilgrim was taken to bed drunk. A fine thing, and this his wedding night.”
“It’s true there was a little altercation,” Belami said discreetly. “Something to do with the Suttons having paid for Elvira’s necklace with counterfeit money. In fact, the Suttons are the Jalbert gang.”
“What the devil is the Jalbert gang?” she demanded. So he told her. She listened with varying emotions, not least amongst them regret that she might have got hold of some of that counterfeit money herself had she had her wits about her. There was much in his story to please her, as it gave her a whole battery of reasons to deride this handsome young jackanapes and send him packing.
“Fine work. You knew all along the Suttons are thieving criminals and hadn’t the decency to tell us. You let Deirdre and myself be exposed to them. We might have been robbed or killed in our beds.”
“The Jalberts are counterfeiters, not murderers. And if you will recall, your grace, all I did was to arrange a carriage for them. It is yourself who befriended them.”
As this was true, the duchess turned to another imagined victim. “And you set young Pilgrim on to them to find them out,” she charged. “A fine way to treat a friend. The man will look an utter jackass when word gets about you married him off to a man. That was doing it a deal too brown, sir.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Deirdre objected.
She was hard pressed to account for the little smile that lit Dick’s eyes. “More or less like that, but Pronto quite insisted on involving himself.”
“Dick! Pronto didn’t—”
“Of course he didn’t want to do it,” Charney interjected. “You may have such mawworms as Pilgrim and the contessa dancing to your tune, Belami, but I take leave to tell you I am not one of your puppets. Dinner is being served, Deirdre. Come along. I have found an extremely eligible partner for you. A marchese, very old Italian family, the Laderchis. The conte recommends him highly. He is a good friend of the Ginnasis.”
“Yes, you run along, Deirdre,” Belami said. She tossed a pout over her shoulder as she left. “I have to take these diamonds to the police station. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Belami did as he said. As Réal sped him across the canal, Belami was deep in thought. Rescuing Pronto from disgrace was the more exigent matter. And as soon as he’d done that, he’d think of some way to beguile that old Tartar, Charney.
Chapter Eighteen
It was late the next morning when the duchess came tottering along the hall from her bedchamber to the staircase. She leaned on Deirdre’s arm, wondering why the chit was suddenly stepping up the pace. She could hear nothing yet, but was familiar with Deirdre’s stunt of trying to rush her out of the way of any interesting doings, particularly when they involved Belami.
What caused Miss Gower’s haste was a view of the contessa storming into a bedchamber. It was an unused room so far as her grace knew, for while she seldom missed a beat, she was unaware that Dick had switched rooms the night before.
As they passed the door, however, Charney heard that dulcet voice she knew and loathed. “Good morning, Carlotta,” Belami said. The duchess gave up any pretense of doing anything but eavesdropping. Had her spine been less rachitic, she would have leaned over and put her ear to the door. Failing this flexibility, she shuffled closer and listened, motioning Deirdre to silence with a bat of her hand. Deirdre was of two minds. She was nearly as eager to overhear the conversation as to prevent her aunt from doing so.
“Where is it?” they heard the contessa demand imperiously. This was neither the tone nor the speech Charney expected, but she listened avidly.
Deirdre knew Dick was enjoying himself when he answered in his affected drawl. She could see in her mind’s eye the lift of his brow, the flash of amusement in his dark eyes. “Are you referring to the money Claude left behind for the dies or to the diamond necklace?”
Neither of the listening ladies was familiar with gutter Italian, but they realized from the contessa’s voice that she was extremely irritated. “I’m referring to my necklace.”
“The pretty Strass glass beads you wore last night, Carlotta, or the diamond necklace you purloined?”
“I knew it!” Charney grinned. “The strumpet has stolen the conte’s diamonds!”
“It’s bought and paid for,” Carlotta replied.
“Paid for with counterfeit coin, and even that not paid by you. What makes you think you should have it?”
“Because I was the only one who had the wits to make off with it.”
“Another adage blown to bits,” Belami drawled. “There is no honor amongst thieves after all.”
“I have as much right to it as you. Where did you hide it?” Carlotta demanded.
“I hid it at the police station last night. Cerboni came down and collected it. If you have your heart set on stealing it, you’ll have to break into his shop. That should pose no problem to one of your talents, Contessa.”
“Get out of my house. Get out this instant, and take that gaggle of noble geese with you!”
“Our rent is paid till the end of the month,” Belami reminded her.
“Rent?” the duchess demanded. She spoke to Deirdre, but her voice was rather carrying. Deirdre tried to pull her aunt away. “Do you mean to tell me the jackanapes has paid for our rack and manger, and here I have been making myself a servant to that bath-chair antique of a conte?’’
“Shh, they’ll hear you, Auntie,” Deirdre said.
The duchess put her ear to the door to hear the contessa’s reply. “You’ve got the money Claude gave me for the dies. Let that be your refund. And don’t think to apply to Guy for permission to stay. I pay the bills in this mausoleum. What I say goes. And I say I want you out of my house today.”
There was a patter of footfalls indicating that Carlotta was approaching the door. Deirdre hastily pulled her aunt toward the staircase, narrowly avoiding collision as the contessa came pelting out. “That goes for you, too, your grace,” Carlotta snipped.
Charney shook her head sadly. “I recognized that one for a trollop the minute I laid eyes on her. Common as clay. Come along, Deirdre, I shall have my gruel, as it’s bought and paid for. Were you aware Belami was footing the bill for us here?”
Deirdre knew her aunt’s dislike of what she called “betrayal” and claimed ignorance. “I had no idea. So generous of him.”
“Hmph. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown it in our faces before now. No doubt he’ll present me with a bill when he learns his ruse didn’t work, and he has not got my permission to court you.” This last was said with a commanding glare.
“He hasn’t been courting me.”
“Some gentlemen don’t know when a treasure is staring them in the face. He’d rather carry on with that thieving baggage. What’s all this about
her trying to steal Elvira’s necklace?”
While the duchess ate her gruel, Deirdre gave her a brief account of the affair of the necklace. Charney listened with some interest, but her mind began wandering off to other matters. It would be a touch uncomfortable continuing on here with Carlotta in the boughs. She could always threaten to tell the conte his wife had stolen the Ginnasi diamonds, but the conte had an inexplicable fondness for his trollop, and might not be so severe as she could wish.
Feelers had been put out to friends and relatives of the conte, but no offers had been received yet to visit other noble Italian homes at no cost. Having come this far, her grace was not averse to seeing more of Italy. Rome, for instance, ought to be worth a look. One could obviously disparage the papists more expertly if she had been to Rome and seen their depravity with her own eyes.
“Where does Belami go from here?” she asked Deirdre.
“I expect he’ll go to Ravenna next, then down the peninsula south to Naples. He has friends all along the way who will be waiting to receive him,” she added cunningly.
With very little knowledge of geography, Charney said, “Then we shall go to Rome to avoid him. I’ll speak to the conte after breakfast and get letters of introduction along our way.”
As soon as the duchess had finished eating, she went in search of the conte. Deirdre was about to go upstairs when she heard Belami’s voice approaching the breakfast room. Looking up, she saw Dick and a very chastened Pronto enter. She looked to Dick, hoping for a clue as to how she should behave.
“Good morning,” she said.
Behind Pronto’s back, Dick winked. She understood from this that he had conjured up some face-saving device for his friend and waited eagerly to discover what it could be.
Pronto sat down and said, “G’day, Deirdre. I expect you’re surprised to see me and Dick still alive. About the duel—called it off. Heat of the moment, lost my head. Apologized.”
“I’m so glad,” Deirdre said. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Hit the spot,” Pronto agreed, and passed his cup.
