by Louise Allen
‘For goodness’ sake, Theo, you may as well. I am not going to faint away.’ It was completely unladylike, but now, with her body still singing from his kiss, she was more than a little curious about what a highly erotic item might look like.
‘Very well, don’t blame me if you are shocked. Two hundred years ago the then count was highly dissolute, positively depraved in fact. He, and like-minded friends, formed a club of sorts to indulge these tastes.’
‘Like the Hellfire Club,’ Elinor interrupted. ‘Sir Francis Dashwood. Don’t look like that,’ she added as Theo stared at her. ‘Mama does not censor my reading and there are books on every sort of subject in the library. I think we have something on him because of the architectural interest of the temple and catacombs at West Wycombe that Dashwood built.’
‘This was very much worse than Dashwood’s play-acting at monks and nuns with his friends,’ Theo said grimly. He did not sound even faintly titillated by the tale he was unfolding. ‘Dashwood employed prostitutes, but de Beaumartin took the women he wanted by force, and the more innocent they were, the better. He died mysteriously and the rumours were that outraged local peasants, tired of their daughters being debauched, rose up and murdered him.’
Elinor felt a sudden chill. This was not amusing any more—they were talking about a seriously unpleasant man. ‘A revolting person—but surely that is not why you are warning me about the present count?’
‘No. The family has spent a century and a half trying to live down the association of their name with depravity. But rumours still persist, amongst them the tale that objects of great value and artistic merit were created for the fellowship to use in their rituals. The finest of them was a chalice and that was what the late count offered to sell me. He needed the money and it is not an object that could ever be shown publicly.’
‘But you have seen it?’
‘Yes. I saw it, drew it and went back to England to discuss it with a certain connoisseur—let us call him Lord X—who collects objects of that nature. He owns some of Dashwood’s paraphernalia as well, but this far surpasses them in quality.’
‘May I see the drawings?’ she asked, interested in the craftsmanship more than anything else. She knew nothing about early seventeenth-century goldsmiths’ work.
‘Certainly not! I returned, with a very substantial amount of money and the authority to negotiate with the count. I purchased the Chalice from him at their Paris house, we exchanged receipts, I left for the coast. An hour from Dover I stopped at an inn to eat and change horses and I was attacked, knocked unconscious and the Chalice and the count’s receipt stolen.’
‘You have no idea by whom?’ Elinor found she was leaning forwards, her fingers clasped tightly together, completely caught up in the tale.
‘I thought at first it was Count Leon. He is very unhappy about the scandalous object being out of their family control. However, when I heard that his father had been found dead the next day, his head split open on the hearth, I did wonder. Would he go to such lengths to avert even the hint of scandal? But sons have killed fathers before now and it may have been an accident in the course of a quarrel.’
‘So you have come back to find it?’
‘I have told him I want to buy it, not revealing that I already have. He says he does not have it, that it has been stolen, but I do not know that I believe him. There were others I suspected, but they are all converging on Beaumartin. Why should they do that if they have the Chalice?’
Elinor gave an unladylike whistle. ‘No wonder the atmosphere was tense. From the way you spoke to the Marquesa, is she one of the suspects?’
‘She is in the same business as I am. Whether she was ever married to the Marqués de Cordovilla, or even if that gentleman existed, I have no idea. We met, acted upon a certain mutual attraction, and I can only guess she found my notebooks. So she is a possibility. She certainly has the cold-blooded determination for theft, to hit me over the head and possibly even to murder. And there are the two English collectors, man and wife, Sir Ian and Lady Tracey, who appear to have become aware of the Chalice from a leak at Lord X’s end of things. I had thought I had disposed of them neatly with a harmless trick. I would not suspect them of the violence, to be honest, but they owe me a grudge, and I cannot afford to dismiss anyone.’
‘And they are attending the house party, too. Goodness.’ They were silent. Elinor digesting what she had just heard while Theo picked daisies and began to pull the petals off, his expression one of brooding thought. Doubtless he had gone over and over the conundrum, all to no avail. ‘I can understand why you started to become alarmed that you had involved Mama and me. Never mind, I am sure I can be a great help,’ she reassured him.
‘You will be no such thing,’ he said hotly. ‘You will be a perfect English miss.’ Elinor snorted. When had she ever been one of those? ‘You will pretend this is a normal houseparty and—’
‘Steer clear of my host who may be a parricide, my fellow guests who may also be murderers, one of whom was your lover and the other two who are your deadly rivals?’
‘Exactly.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘No. Put like that, it is clearly impossible. We must write and decline, say you have been taken ill or something. I will find some other way of searching the place.’
‘I do not agree; anyway, I would have to be at death’s door, otherwise Mama will simply leave me with Jeanie. She is not a clinging parent.’
‘I had noticed.’ Theo turned to look at Elinor, the frown even more pronounced. His indignation on her behalf gave her a twinge of pleasure. It felt strange to have a friend who defended you. ‘I try to imagine my mother abandoning one of my sisters if she was ill in a foreign town, and failing.’
‘Mama has even less sensibility than I.’ It was too late to start feeling hurt about it. Mama, if challenged, would simply look puzzled and explain patiently that it was simple common sense and that hovering about her daughter when she felt unwell was not going to assist her recovery. One should call the doctor and get on with one’s work. That was the rational approach.
The trouble was, the rational approach was beginning to feel a very cold thing to Elinor. Was that the result of one kiss? Surely not? Perhaps it was that Theo was making her see her mother, and her own situation, through his eyes. It was not a very comfortable picture.
‘I want to go to Beaumartin,’ she said, meeting his eyes squarely and putting all the conviction she could muster into the statement. ‘Mama can be in no danger—I doubt very much if she would notice a full-scale orgy taking place when she is working—and I am forewarned. I will just keep out of the way and let you get on with your search.’
There was a long pause while he thought about it. Elinor concentrated on looking as much like a meek and biddable young lady as was possible under the circumstances. ‘I am forewarned,’ she repeated as the silence lengthened. ‘And I know who to avoid.’
‘Very well,’ Theo surrendered with a frown. ‘It is going to be thoroughly awkward if we pull out now. But, Elinor—you stick to Aunt Louisa and concentrate on drinking tea and drawing interesting architectural features. Absolutely nothing else. You promise?’
‘I quite understand.’ Elinor nodded earnestly. And that is not a promise.
‘Then we had better be getting back. Even Aunt Louisa is going to notice that you could have tried on an entire wardrobe of clothes in this time.’
Theo got to his feet and stood looking down at her. She was aware of a moment of hesitation before he held out his hand to draw her to her feet. Against the light his body was reduced to a powerful male silhouette. Elinor placed her hand in his, conscious of the strength of the long fingers as they clasped hers, and was pulled easily to stand in front of him. The temptation to sway towards him and see what could happen was powerful. No, her curiosity, if that was what it was, had got her into enough trouble already, and Theo, she was sure, was regretting that kiss, even if she could not bring herself to. She applied some self-control inste
ad and stepped briskly towards the gig.
‘You did not tell me about your man, the one who carried my things and drove the carriage.’
The big watchful figure was waiting still when they came back into the square. ‘All you need to know about Hythe,’ Theo said as he reined in, ‘is that if anything happens and you can’t find me, you may trust him with your life.’
He tossed the reins to the man. ‘I am going to walk Miss Ravenhurst back. Wait for me.’
The next day they saw nothing of Theo and Elinor could only guess what he was up to. She and Lady James worked hard at the draft chapters on the basilica, visited three very ancient local antiquaries and the prior and got up to date with their letter writing. With Lady James engrossed in more academic correspondence, writing to her siblings was left to Elinor. As she wrote, trying to make an interesting narrative of their researches and the visit to the chateau, she wondered if everything that had passed with Theo had been a dream.
Then a little shiver ran down her spine and that pooling heat deep in her belly reminded her that, yes, she had been kissed and held in those strong arms. And if truth be told, she wished very much it would happen again. She sat back, biting the end of her pen and thought ruefully that the legend about Pandora and her box was something she should have attended to.
On Friday morning a local lad brought a note from Madame Dubois telling her that her clothes were ready for the first fitting. ‘Is there a horse and gig to be hired in the town?’ she asked the boy. ‘A very quiet horse?’
‘Mais oui, mademoiselle.’ He nodded earnestly. ‘Jean le Grand down in the square has a livery stable, he will have something for mademoiselle. He is not busy just now, I know, for I help him. Shall I run down and ask him to make one ready?’
He was hoping for a tip from both ends, Elinor guessed, smiling at the slightly grubby face upturned to hers. ‘I will come down now. You run ahead and talk to Monsieur le Grand for me. A quiet horse, remember!’ she called after him as he took to his heels.
‘Mama, I am going down to the dressmaker. I expect I will be back later this afternoon—there are all the gowns to try on.’ And she might meet Theo and have luncheon at the inn. Or walk by the river again. And try to pretend that kiss never happened.
‘You are walking?’ Lady James looked up from her work.
‘No, driving, Mama.’
‘Good.’ The rigidly coiffed grey head bent over the table again. She hasn’t even remembered I cannot drive, Elinor thought, snatching up her hat. She hesitated over her bulging satchel, wondering if she should take just her reticule, then lifted it and slung it over her shoulder. There might be an opportunity for some sketching.
The lad, whose name, he informed her, was Pierre, had been as good as his word and the stable owner was standing in the square, holding the head of a placid-looking grey mare harnessed to an equally elderly gig. ‘As quiet as you could wish, mademoiselle,’ he assured Elinor, helping her up. ‘She will give you no trouble.’
‘Thank you.’ She leaned down and handed the lad a coin and he doffed his cap, informing her that he, above all the other boys, was at her service for any errand. The reins felt stiff and awkward in her hand, and she did not risk trying to hold the whip as well. ‘Walk on!’
The mare pricked her ears and set of at a reassuringly steady pace. Elinor took a deep breath and tried to look as though this was not the first time she had ever driven a carriage all by herself.
By the time they had reached St Père her back was aching and her arms were weary, but the little mare had been as good as gold and she felt sure she could drive back after a rest. ‘Good girl!’
Stretching, she led the mare into the lean-to stable and found the gig and Theo’s horse. He was here. With a smile of anticipation she tied up the mare, pulled some hay into the manger in front of her and lugged over a water bucket before lifting down the satchel and going to the shop.
The door was ajar, so she tapped and pushed it open. Garments in fabrics she recognised lay on the work table, white basting stitches all over them and the hems raw. A tape measure and a big pincushion were on top and the stool was overturned.
‘Madame?’ No answer. Puzzled, Elinor righted the stool and wondered if she should sit down and wait here, or go outside and watch for the dressmaker.
There was a thump from overhead, the sound of something heavy landing on the boards, a man’s voice muffled and then abruptly cut off. She could make none of it out clearly, but it sounded like violence. Theo?
She might be making a complete fool of herself, but she was not going to risk ignoring it. Elinor delved in her satchel and came out with two objects that she eyed with some misgiving. She untied her bonnet and set it on the table and kicked off her shoes. There was another thud from upstairs. Cautious on the old boards, the pulse pounding in her throat, she began to climb the winding stair in the far corner.
It emerged on to a dark landing, lit only by a small window at the far end. The door leading to the room over the shop was ajar. She hesitated, wondering if she was imagining things. Then a voice that she realised after a moment was Theo’s said, ‘How many times must I tell you? I haven’t got the damned thing, and I haven’t got the money either.’ It sounded odd, as though he was speaking with no air in his lungs.
‘His lordship isn’t going to like that,’ said another voice, also speaking English, closer to the door and much clearer. It was a man and he sounded profoundly unimpressed by what he was hearing. ‘His lordship is going to be very unhappy indeed.’
‘I gathered tha—’ Theo’s voice was cut off in a grunt. The sound of the blow made Elinor flinch. The silence that followed was broken only by Theo’s gasping breaths. ‘I am trying to find out who took—’ This time she heard a body hit the floor and the sound of retching. Her stomach churned. Theo.
‘If anyone did take it.’
There had to be two of them, the one who was hitting and the one who was talking. And Theo was not going to stand around to be hit without fighting back, so at least one of them must have a firearm. Elinor swallowed hard and edged the door open, then slid through the gap.
One man was standing with his back to her, a shotgun in his hands, blocking her view into the room. He was about Theo’s height and build with strands of greasy black hair slicked over a bald head. His companion she could just glimpse, a great bruiser of a man, his attention on something at his feet. She had to duck down to see Theo lying on the floor, his body curled up protectively as the man drew back his booted foot to kick. There was a great deal of blood on the boards, on Theo’s shirt, on what she could see of his hands raised in front of his face.
Anger washed through her, driving away her fear and the shock of the violence. Elinor gripped the object in her right hand and pressed it firmly into the small of the bald man’s back, right into his spine. ‘Tell him to stop. Now.’ She could feel her voice shake and steadied her diaphragm as though she were singing to try to stop it.
‘What!’ The man half-swung round and she jabbed harder, nauseated by the stink of sweat, blood and violence emanating from him.
‘Stand still. This is a pistol, it is loaded and I am holding it at half-cock. My thumb is not very strong; I suggest you do not make me lose my grip.’
‘It’s only some gentry mort,’ the other man said, his attention distracted from Theo for a moment. ‘Where would she get a pop from? Just a bluff—you get her, Bill, and we’ll have some fun with her. That’ll make him talk.’ Theo moved convulsively and was kicked in the head.
‘It is no bluff, and neither is this.’ Trying not to think about what was happening to Theo, Elinor lifted her left hand and pushed the point of the old kitchen knife she kept in her satchel for sharpening pencils against the man’s throat. ‘Put down the gun carefully and tell your bully boy to step away from him.’
‘That’s a chive right enough, Bill,’ the big man conceded.
‘I know it is, you jolterhead. It’s my throat the silly girl is sticking
it into.’ The bald man bent his knees slowly and Elinor followed him down as he laid the gun on the floor. She put out a foot and kicked it across to Theo, praying he was conscious.
‘Theo!’ He stirred and looked up, his face a mask of blood. ‘The shotgun.’ He pushed himself up with one arm and reached for it with the other and then all hell broke loose.
The man in front of her turned so fast that she lost her footing. The pistol in her hand went off, the explosion deafening her, and spun away into a corner of the room. Elinor felt herself falling and struck out with the knife, found flesh without knowing what she had hit, then was knocked away with a backhanded blow to her jaw.
The big man was roaring, the words meaning nothing, then there was sudden, shocking, silence. ‘If she is hurt, you are dead,’ Theo said in a voice she hardly recognised and Elinor opened her eyes to see him leaning against the wall, the shotgun in his hands and the two men huddled together in the opposite corner. ‘Nell?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said firmly, managing to stand up, dizzy with her ringing ears. It was true, you did see stars…
‘Come round here, don’t get between me and them. My satchel is on the bed—take out some of those leather laces. You two, turn around.’ He waited until they obeyed him before he moved, and as he began to walk towards them Elinor realised why: he could hardly stand. ‘Kneel down, hands behind you.’
They went down on their knees and she approached cautiously from the side, looped the leather around first one and then the other, pulling it as tight as she could, making herself concentrate on the knots.
‘Guv’nor?’
The voice from below had her spinning round in alarm, but Theo called out, ‘Jake!’ as feet pounded up the stairs.
‘Oh hell.’ Hythe burst through the door and stopped at the sight of Theo, then saw Elinor, ‘Saving your presence, ma’am. Who are these two?’
