by Vanessa Gray
“The count does not expect me to pay an immoral visit to him, Nell!” exclaimed Phrynie in outrage. “How can you think it?”
“Aunt, I apologize. I do not in the least think it. I merely think it likely that he may wish to know whether we have missed the parcel. Could he possibly come to inquire?”
“I suppose he might. I gave him no encouragement at all, for I do not like his style. But — he was quite forceful, and in truth I do not know what he is capable of doing.”
“Dear Aunt, we’ll come out all right.” Nell wished she were as positive as her words sounded. “Now, let me have your cloak, Mullins.”
“Whatever for?” demanded Phrynie.
“I must get into the library. If not by an inside door, then there is no help for it but to try the window.”
“Nell, you can’t!”
“I do not like the idea above half myself, I assure you. But we must get the parcel back. I shudder to think we might be forced to spend the rest of our lives abroad rather than face the Duke of Whern, whoever he might be.” She was aware of her aunt’s troubled expression. “If you have a better suggestion, believe me I shall welcome it.”
“Were I to go to the count and — beguile him in some fashion?”
Nell objected with vigor. “Not in any fashion! Besides, we might still have the servant to deal with.”
“Do you think I could just tell the count we are aware he has removed some of our possessions? No need to make specific mention of the parcel. No, I can see you don’t approve. Nor do I, as a matter of fact.”
“Mullins, help me with this cloak. I shall endeavor to keep from harming it.”
“No matter, miss,” said Mullins, with a hearty sniff. “It’s all my fault.”
“Now, Mullins, you must not blame yourself. Good, it has a hood. I’ll just cover my hair, you see, and if need be I’ll bring it across my face, so.”
“You have a regrettable facility in this kind of intrigue,” Phrynie pointed out. “I shall not inquire how you came by such nefarious knowledge.”
“Nor,” said Nell briskly, “shall I tell you.” Pulling the dark cloak close, she whispered, “Wish me luck,” and was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Mullins, anxious to make amends for her dereliction, accompanied Nell as far as the door at the end of the hall. “Watch the steps, miss. I think the hall at the bottom goes straight to the outside.”
“Will the outer door be barred?”
“I dunno, miss.”
There was, if it could be seen in the faint light, an odd emotion on the maid’s face. All this skulking around in the night ought by rights to be left to her betters. Such havey-cavey goings-on were entirely beneath her dignity. Mullins had worked her way from parlor maid up to the infinitely satisfying and undemanding position of personal maid to Lady Sanford. She shrank from revealing any knowledge of the workings of lower levels of domestic service.
But, aside from her wounded dignity, she was out of her element, in an alien land, beset in all likelihood by cutthroats and outlaws, and far too many Frenchmen to suit her taste. She longed with all her heart to be back in Mount Street, all the tools of her trade at hand, enjoying the gratifying deference to her position of the lesser servants.
“Mullins!” whispered Nell urgently, “you’re not coming down the steps with me?”
“No, miss, begging your pardon, that I’m not. I may be to blame for this hullaballoo, but I’m not about to wait down there in the dark for who knows what kind of monster. You can smell the damp and the mold all the way up here. No, miss. Not if you was to fire me this minute!”
“We would in that case have to leave you behind when we depart.”
The maid gasped, but no amount of persuasion on the part of Nell, sadly hampered by the vital need for silence, would serve.
“Well, if you can’t, I suppose I should be grateful that I won’t find you slumped in a swoon when I return. Do you think, Mullins, that if you put your mind to it you could manage to leave this upper door open, so that I can see my way when I come back?”
The maid agreed, adding a mutter that sounded like “ If you come back, miss.”
Even Mullins’ dubious company would be better than none. But Nell, driven by necessity, stepped with extreme caution down the cement stairs that led from the second floor of the old tower to the ground floor of the west wing. She had no wish to be found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken limb, at least until she had the parcel safe in her possession.
She stumbled at the bottom, expecting another step and meeting the floor. She paused to consider where she was, stretching her hands out to both sides. The corridor was so narrow that her arms were not extended to their full length. In truth, she wondered how the kitchen maids could manage their huge trays in the confined space.
The stone walls were cold to her touch. She shuffled ahead, lest she fall against some obstacle in the dark. Her fingers moved along smooth walls for an interminable time. Then, surprisingly, the wall on her left hand fell away. She held her breath for a moment, until, judging from the intensified aroma of cooked cabbage, she realized that she had reached the kitchen door.
So far, she was encouraged. From what Mullins had told her, the corridor stretched straight on from here to the door opening to the outside. It was entirely possible, it occurred to her for the first time, that the door was bolted from the outside. Her inquiry of the maid had been simply to know what to expect when she reached the door in utter darkness.
But suppose that the count’s domestic security depended upon locked and barred doors. It was likely that the master of the castle had reason to look to his own safety, judging from his swift and criminal response to her aunt’s indiscreet hints.
But then, common sense informed her that safety would depend upon barring the doors from the inside, and this could not be managed by the servants who left for the night. She entertained high hopes that the door would be closed by a simple latch and that it opened from both sides.
She went on, and bumped suddenly against the door at the end of the passage. She fumbled for the latch and felt it give beneath her fingers. How dark it was! She had come far from the dim light provided by the open door at the top of the stairs. If Mullins closed the upper door, as well she might in her muddled way, Nell’s return up the entire stairway would be made in stygian darkness.
Even Mrs. Mary Meeke could never have been in such a situation, even though dank stone passageways appeared with monotonous frequency in Midnight Weddings.
Hand still on the latch, Nell paused. What would she find outside? She was on the outer wall of the new wing to the west, a duplicate of the extension that held the salon, dining room, and library. Therefore, she must make her way to the left, into the courtyard, and steal unobserved to the library window.
At this moment, there were questions of some importance still unanswered in her mind: Was the parcel indeed secreted in the library, and if so, where? And how would she get into the library when she located it from the courtyard?
Time enough for that, she thought with rosy optimism when she found the pertinent window. Certainly she could not solve either question standing here in blackness, one hand on the latch of the outer door.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, carefully lest its hinges squeal, and stepped outside. She must come back this same way, and prudence told her that her return might be accomplished in some haste. Still holding to the door, she felt around on the ground for something to hold the door ajar while she was gone. Her fingers located a stone of some size, and she wedged it in the door opening.
Now she stood on the bare ground and examined her surroundings. She was at the far end of the west wing. She knew that to her right the hill fell away precipitously to the river valley.
Far below she could see the faint glimmer of the moving waters of the Marne. There were small farms along the valley, she knew, because she had seen them in that panoramic view from the salon in the other wing. B
ut not a light was showing now. Everybody in the world, she thought, was in bed as they should be, except for certain wakeful and worried individuals in the building behind her.
It was a clear night. Overhead the stars were as brilliant as spangles on indigo blue gauze. The site of the chateau was clear for the most part of trees, whether by ancient design to provide no shelter for attackers, or simply from the likelihood that, with the heavy forest looming behind, the count had a sufficiency of trees and wished for no more.
At any rate, the lack of cover made it easier to see where she was going. The thought that such lack of protection also made it more likely that she would be discovered was promptly set aside.
Even from this point she could see that her scheme was not as simple as when she had explained it to Phrynie. She had simply intended to tiptoe past the entrance door, discover the window of the library — the first one past the door. she was sure — open it, in a way she had not yet devised, and retrieve her parcel.
The plan in her mind bore little resemblance to the facts.
Ahead and to the left stretched the courtyard. Now she could see that it was not an entirely enclosed space. Rather, the stables and domestic quarters lay at some distance beyond, the buildings standing unattached one to another.
The count’s servants kept early hours. There was not a light to be seen in any of the buildings. The only relief in the opaqueness was a splotch of lighter darkness, so to speak, in the center of the courtyard. She stared at it, trying to discover its significance. At last it came to her. The starlight was reflected in a pool of ornamental water she had seen without noticing when they arrived that afternoon, a century ago.
She did not stir for a long time. There was no movement anywhere, and she concluded at last that her presence was so far unnoticed.
There was, she believed, little chance that her movements would be observed, at least from those distant buildings. Nearer at hand, however, was another question. The wing beside her was deserted. At the intersection of this ell with the old fortress was the entrance.
The round tower of the keep stretched to the sky. If Nell were to allow her fancy full rein, she might have imagined herself a medieval damsel, clad in kirtle and wimple, stealing back to the castle after a forbidden escapade. She shivered, not entirely from the cold. The tower was dark, ominous, seemingly ready to sprout armed defenders and flying arrows.
She stood still, trying to get a grip on her rioting visions. To steady herself, she looked along the wing at her left hand. Idly she thought it seemed far too short to contain the endless corridor she had just now traversed. She stepped away from the building. It was then that she saw the light.
The light, from a candle and not the remains of a fire in the grate, streamed out of an uncurtained window beyond the keep. Nell counted — the first window, and therefore the library window. And someone was within!
She considered her next step. Among the alternatives was not a return, her mission not accomplished. Instead, she noted with gratification that there was shelter provided, even though not in abundance.
Along the new extensions shrubbery had been planted and seemed to have thrived. The thick woody branches would provide cover of a sort if she were required to take quick action. She began to make her stealthy way along the kitchen wing. She blessed Mullins’ enveloping cloak, for it was of a color to blend in with the shadowy shrubs.
She eventually came to the gravel walk leading to the entrance. A glance around told her she was so far not observed. She crossed the gravel on delicate tiptoe. The library window was a golden-lit rectangle just ahead. Now was the time for finesse. With infinite care, she inserted herself between the stone wall and the thick bushes. She was now certain that no matter who crossed the courtyard on licit or illicit errands, she was all but invisible behind her twiggy screen.
She could hear the ragged echo of her breathing rattling around the square, shouting for notice. It took a strenuous effort of will to understand that the sound was entirely within her head, and the outer world still lay wrapped in slumber. She would be all night at the job at this rate, she told herself firmly. She was as pea-brained as any novel heroine, letting her fancies take such desperate grip on her. She must do what she had come to do and make a speedy retreat. She moved ahead.
She sidled to the side of the window and peered in. The bottom of the Window frame came no lower than her waist. But the curtains were not drawn, and from her vantage point she was able to command an excellent view of the interior.
The sole occupant of the room was the count himself. His back was toward her, and he was near enough that, if the window were open, she could reach in and touch him. All he had to do was to turn his head, at the slightest sound, and see her frightened face framed in the window. Quick as thought she ducked below the sill.
At length, when nothing untoward developed, she rose slowly and peered again through the window. What was he doing? She moved to look from another angle. He seemed to be bending over some object on the large table before him, a magnifying glass in his hand.
Suppose he had unluckily decided to work on his accounts until midnight! It was quite obvious that he was not waiting in his quarters for a nocturnal visit from Lady Sanford. Nell sent a mental apology to her aunt.
The count gave no sign of moving. She took one step beyond the window, leaned her back against the stone wall, and closed her eyes, preparing for a long wait. The damp of frost permeated the thin soles of her evening sandals. But no matter how uncomfortable, how truly miserable she might be, she must stay until the lights went out and she would be able to recover the parcel.
If, in fact, it were in the library!
Breathless, she leaned again to take another look. This time she was rewarded. The parcel sat, in plain view, on the table. It was her parcel, no question about it, and it had been the object of the count’s intense scrutiny.
She returned to her post, grateful at least for the knowledge that the parcel was at hand. The only question was how to retrieve it through a closed window in the dead of night, its present possessor not an arm’s length away.
Perhaps, too, the squint-eyed servant might later be posted within the library as a guard, leaving his chair in the foyer.
Providence could not be so cruel!
At this moment, she recalled that no more than a sennight since, she had stood in her aunt’s sitting room and plotted to get her own way. What she had said to her aunt came back to her now in precise detail: “I should not like to think that Tom’s credit would be lost for want of a little exertion on my part.”
A little exertion, indeed!
In England, the successful completion of the scheme now in train would have resulted in an invitation to spend a few years in Newgate Prison. But of course this was France — and she would not think about the guillotine. She had a dark suspicion that the count, if he discovered her in her present situation, would not trouble the forces of law in his country, but instead — it did not bear thinking on, for her knees began to tremble.
She could not go through with it!
She even made a move to return the way she had come, but the prospect of returning again empty-handed and facing the collapse perhaps of England’s safety was not to be entertained.
But at least dear Rowland was not here to see to what undignified depths she was forced to descend merely in order to see him. Even as strong as was his devotion to her, she had the clear perception that he would not approve. He might even make objections, and she would not be overly surprised were he to forbid her to do aught but return to her bed. But he was not here, and to her surprise she found she was grateful for his absence. Now, setting her fiancé aside, she sent her thoughts in the direction of her next step.
At length — at long length — the light in the library went out. Time must have passed, for when she moved she was stiff from long inaction. Her feet were nigh frozen, and her hands, even though they had been sheltered by the cloak, were cold as well. But the
light had gone out, and unless the count were sufficiently eccentric to lie in wait in the dark to protect his booty, the room was now empty.
She forced herself to remain still, giving him time enough to instruct his servant and to find his way to his bedroom. His quarters, from Mullins’ information, were on the second floor of this wing, above the salon, the dining room, and even the library. She devoted a moment to the intense hope that his bed was not directly above her. The slightest noise from the library might well alert a man lying awake on the floor above.
She waited. Finally, a light appeared in an upstairs window. She leaned out to observe and saw that only the windows at the far end of the wing were illuminated. The rooms, then, above the library would be unoccupied.
She stepped silent as a shadow to the library window.
*
The window was of the kind that in England was called casement. It was made in two panels, swinging outward from a joining in the center. The trick, she decided, was to push against one leaf in the hope of springing the lock.
She pushed against the window. It did not move. She pushed harder, and at last she felt it move beneath her palms. It gave slightly, but no more. She ran her hands up and down the center frame as far as she could reach, to find the exact location of the latch that held it, and pushed again, with no more success than before. She felt panic rising in her. She had to get into the library and retrieve the parcel. She had seen it on the desk. Suddenly the unwelcome thought came to her that perhaps the count had carried it with him when he went upstairs. In that case…
In that. case, she would know soon enough. Just now, she must get into the room. She glanced around once to see if she were still unobserved. It might come to smashing the glass, but that could not be accomplished without a certain regrettable sound in the night and ensuing alarums.
She pushed harder, with diligent concentration, at the window frame.
Her concentration played her false. She did not hear the soft footfall behind her. The first intimation that she was not quite alone came with a hand clamped without ceremony over her mouth and an arm around her waist, pinioning her to the body behind her.
