Georgette Heyer

by Why Shoot a Butler?

  Amberley followed in a more leisurely fashion and drove his Bentley into Upper Nettlefold to buy tobacco on his way home. When he came out of the shop he found that his car was not unattended. A dark, wild-looking boy in grey flannel trousers, a polo sweater and a tweed coat was leaning against it, solemnly staring at the switches on the dashboard. He wore no hat, and a lock of black hair strayed artlessly across his forehead.

  Amberley paused outside the shop and began slowly to fill a pipe, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the dark young man.

  The youth continued to lean heavily.

  ‘Anything I can do for you?’ Amberley inquired.

  The dishevelled head was turned. ‘Nobody,’ said the youth simply, ‘need do any – anything for me.’

  ‘That’s good. Mind if I remove the car?’

  The youth disregarded this. ‘D’you know what I’ve been doing?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amberley frankly.

  ‘I’ve been – I – have – been having – tea with – with a fellow,’ announced the youth.

  ‘Strong tea. I should go home now if I were you.’

  ‘Thash – what I was going to do,’ said the youth. ‘He’s a fellow I met – th’other day. He’s a nice fellow. I don’ care what anyone says, he’s a nishe – a nice fellow. Shirley – Shirley doesn’t like him. What I shay – say – is bloody snob’ry. Thash what I say.’

  Mr Amberley’s expression changed from contemptuous amusement to sudden interest. ‘Shirley,’ he repeated.

  ‘Thash right,’ nodded the youth. He looked hazily at Amberley, yet with a certain cunning in his face. ‘She’s my sister.’

  ‘If you get into my car I’ll return you to her,’ said Amberley.

  The youth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘I’m not going to – to tell you anything. See?’

  ‘All right,’ Amberley said peaceably and managed to thrust him into the car.

  He was not an easy passenger. While he babbled aimlessly all went well, but when he had switched off the engine for the second time Amberley came near to losing his temper.

  Mark cringed a little before the wrath in his face and wanted to get out. He seemed to become obsessed all at once with the idea that he was being kidnapped. It was with considerable difficulty that Amberley succeeded in allaying his fears, and then he began to talk about the murder. Very little of what he said made sense, nor did Amberley press him to be more explicit. He said several times that no one was going to make a cat’s-paw of him, maundered a little of hidden dangers and of dark plots, and asserted loudly that whoever else got murdered it would not be himself. As Amberley swung the car into the lane that led to Ivy Cottage he suddenly grasped his sleeve and said earnestly: ‘I didn’t think there was anything in it. Shirley thought so, but I didn’t. A hoax. Thash what I thought. But it isn’t. I see it isn’t now. I’ve got to be careful. Not speak to anyone. Not give anything away.’

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ said Amberley, drawing up at the gate of the cottage. He got out of the car and went up the flagged path to the front door. He knocked, heard a dog bark, and in a few minutes was confronting Shirley Brown.

  She was evidently startled to see him, but she tried to conceal it. ‘May I ask what you want?’ she said brusquely.

  Mr Amberley wasted no time on delicate euphemisms. ‘I want to get rid of a damned nuisance,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought your brother home. He’s extraordinarily drunk.’

  ‘Oh, my God, again!’ she said wearily. ‘All right, I’ll come.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Decent of you to bother. Thanks.’

  ‘Stay where you are,’ said Amberley. ‘I’ll fetch him.’ He went back to the car and opened the door. ‘Your sister’s waiting for you.’

  Mark allowed himself to be assisted out of the car. ‘I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t, did I?’ he said anxiously. ‘You’ll tell her I didn’t.’

  ‘All right.’ Amberley guided his erratic steps up the path.

  Shirley looked him over. ‘Oh! You’d better go and sleep it off,’ she said. She took his arm and nodded to Amberley. ‘Thanks. Goodbye.’

  ‘I’m coming in,’ said Amberley.

  ‘No, thanks. I can manage him.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I am coming in,’ he repeated. He put her aside without ceremony, and guided Mark into the house and up the narrow stairs. ‘Which room?’ he said over his shoulder.

  She was standing at the foot of the stairs frowning up at him. ‘On the left.’

  When he came down again some minutes later she was still standing where he had left her. She said: ‘I daresay it’s very kind of you to take so much trouble, but I wish you’d go.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. Where did you learn your pretty manners?’

  ‘Where you learnt yours!’ she shot back at him.

  ‘Do you know, I think I’m treating you with a remarkable amount of forbearance,’ he said. ‘Did anyone ever slap you really hard when you were a child?’

  An unwilling smile crept into her eyes. ‘Often. Thank you so much for bringing my brother home. I’m most awfully grateful, and I do wish I could ask you to stop, only unfortunately I’m rather busy just now. How’s that?’

  ‘I prefer the original version. You might ask me into your sitting room.’

  ‘No doubt, but I’m not going to.’

  ‘Then I won’t wait for the invitation,’ he said, and walked in.

  She followed him, half angry, half amused. ‘Look here, I admit I owe you a debt of gratitude for not making trouble the other night, but that doesn’t give you the right to force your presence on me. Please go. Why are you so anxious to pursue our acquaintance?’

  He looked sardonically across at her. ‘I’m not in the least anxious to pursue it. But I’m interested in that murder.’

  ‘Of which I know nothing.’

  He said unpleasantly: ‘Lie to me by all means, Miss Brown, but choose a better lie than that. If you’ve any sense you’ll stop being mysterious and tell me just what you’re playing at.’

  ‘Really?’ She raised her brows. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your extreme reluctance to behave in a normal manner is fast convincing me that you’re up to some mischief. I don’t like lawbreakers, and I have every intention of finding out what your game is.’

  ‘You’ll be very clever if you do,’ she said.

  ‘You are likely to discover, my misguided young friend, that I am considerably cleverer than anyone you’ve yet had to deal with.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. But I have no game and I am not at all mysterious.’

  ‘You forget I’ve spent half an hour in your brother’s instructive company.’

  Her calm left her; she cried hotly: ‘So you pumped a drunken boy, did you? A rotten, low-down trick!’

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now we’re getting at something.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing of which I could make sense,’ he said. ‘Surprising as it may seem, I refrained from pumping a drunken boy. I am also refraining from pretending, in order to make you talk, a knowledge I don’t possess.’

  She glanced up at him in a puzzled way. ‘Yes. Do you mind telling me why?’

  ‘Natural decency,’ said Mr Amberley.

  ‘Mark talks a lot of nonsense when he’s drunk,’ she said. She seemed to consider him. ‘I wonder what you think I am?’ she said with a crooked smile.

  ‘Do you? I’ll tell you, if you like. An objectionable little fool.’

  ‘Thanks. Not a murderess, by any chance?’

  ‘If I thought that, you would not be standing here now, Miss Shirley Brown. You are obviously playing some game which is probably silly and almost certainly dangerous. If you let that brother of yours out alone you’ll very soon find yourself in a police cell. As an accomplice he’s rotten.’

  ‘Possibly,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want another. I believe in playing a lone hand.’

  ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘Then I
’ll say – au revoir!’

  ‘Dear me, am I going to see some more of you?’ she inquired.

  ‘You are going to see much more of me than you want to,’ said Mr Amberley grimly.

  ‘I’ve done that already,’ she informed him in a voice of great sweetness.

  He had reached the door, but he turned. ‘Then we are mutual sufferers,’ he said, and went out.

  She gave a sudden laugh and ran after him as far as the front door. ‘You’re a beast,’ she called; ‘but I rather like you, I think.’

  Mr Amberley looked back over his shoulder. ‘I wish I could return the compliment,’ he answered, ‘but honesty compels me to say that I do not like you at all. So long!’

  Four

  Odd how a mere strip of black velvet alters people,’ remarked Corkran, surveying the shifting crowd critically. ‘I’ve made three bloomers already.’

  Amberley was dangling his mask by the strings. ‘You can usually tell by the voice.’

  ‘You can’t always. Oh, hell!’

  ‘What’s the matter now?’

  ‘This blasted sword again,’ said Faust disgustedly. He hitched it round. ‘Can’t dance with it, can’t move a step without jabbing somebody in the shins with it. I’m going to park it somewhere soon and trust to luck that Joan doesn’t spot it.’

  Joan, a dazzlingly fair Marguerite, passed at that moment in the arms of an Arab sheikh. She caught sight of the two in the doorway and slid out of the dance, drawing her partner with her. ‘Haven’t you got a partner for this one?’ she asked in concern. ‘Point me out somebody you’d like to be introduced to.’

  ‘My dear old soul, I can’t dance with this sword on,’ protested Corkran. ‘I’ve made myself fairly unpopular as it is.’

  ‘That,’ said the sheikh, ‘is putting it mildly. I’ve got about an inch of skin missing from my calf.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Joan, looking distressed. ‘Can’t you manage to keep it out of people’s way, darling?’

  ‘I can,’ said Faust. ‘I can go and take the blighter off.’

  ‘But you look so awfully nice with it on,’ she sighed. ‘You ought to lay your hand on the hilt, like that.’

  ‘In the best circles,’ interposed Amberley, ‘it was never considered really good form to dance with a sword at one’s side.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ said Joan doubtfully. ‘But I’ve seen pictures…’

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ announced Faust, and prepared to depart.

  As he turned, the end of the scabbard dug into a complete stranger who looked furious and said icily that it was quite all right. ‘That makes the third time I’ve caught that bloke with it,’ whispered Faust, not without satisfaction.

  ‘Perhaps you had better do without it,’ Joan said reluctantly. She turned her attention to Amberley. ‘You mustn’t take off your mask till midnight, you know,’ she reproved him.

  He put it on again. ‘Why are masks de rigueur, Marguerite?’ he inquired.

  ‘You mean we ought just to have had dominoes with them? I know, but I specially wanted a fancy-dress ball, and masks are such fun that I thought we might have them too.’

  ‘Your brother doesn’t wear one, I notice,’ remarked the sheikh, nodding to where Fountain, an imposing Cardinal Wolsey, stood talking to Mme de Pompadour.

  ‘No, because he’s the host. Shall I find you a partner, Mephistopheles?’

  Amberley was watching a girl at the other side of the ballroom. ‘Will you introduce me to the contadina?’ he asked.

  Joan glanced in the girl’s direction. ‘Yes, of course, but I don’t know who she is.’

  ‘Kitty Crosby, isn’t it?’ said the sheikh.

  ‘I thought Kitty was coming as a gipsy.’

  ‘Oh, was she? It might be Miss Halifax. No, I don’t think it is, though.’

  Joan looked up at Amberley. ‘That’s the fun of it. Do you know, I didn’t recognise one of my oldest friends? Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

  She led him to where the contadina was standing. ‘May I introduce Mephistopheles?’ she said, smiling.

  The contadina’s eyes gleamed through the slits of her mask. She bowed and cast a fleeting glance up at the scarlet-clad figure before her.

  ‘Shall we dance?’ said Mr Amberley.

  ‘I should like to,’ she replied.

  He drew her out into the room and took her in his arms. She danced well, but showed no desire to talk. Mr Amberley guided her through the maze of shifting couples and said presently: ‘I wonder whether you are Miss Halifax or Miss Crosby?’

  The red lips curved. ‘Ah!’ said the contadina.

  ‘Or neither?’ pursued Mr Amberley.

  The hand in his moved slightly. ‘You will see at unmasking, Mephistopheles.’

  ‘I wonder?’ said Mr Amberley. He was aware of her gaze searching his face and smiled down at her. ‘A bit of a mob, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Do you think the Fountains can really know everyone here tonight?’

  ‘Oh, but surely!’

  ‘In these days of gate-crashing…’ murmured Mr Amberley.

  ‘I don’t think that is done in the country,’ she said.

  ‘I expect you know much more about it than I do,’ he agreed politely.

  The music came to an end. Mr Amberley did not join in the clapping, but led his partner to the door. ‘You must let me get you something to drink,’ he said. He nodded towards a sofa in an alcove of the hall. ‘Will you wait for me there?’

  The contadina appeared to consider. Then she shrugged. ‘Very well.’

  He found her seated on the sofa when he returned with two glasses. ‘You haven’t run away,’ he observed, and handed her one of the glasses.

  ‘Why should I?’ she said coolly.

  ‘I thought you might have grown impatient. There’s a bit of a barge round the refreshments.’ He sat down beside her. ‘You remind me so much of someone I’ve met,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Now who can it be?’

  She sipped her hock-cup. ‘Funny,’ she said. ‘I don’t seem to know you at all. You don’t live here, do you?’

  ‘Oh no!’ he replied. ‘I’m merely a bird of passage. I’m staying with the Matthews’.’

  ‘Yes? For long?’

  ‘No, just till I’ve cleared up a little matter that’s interesting me.’

  She inclined her head. ‘I see. It sounds most intriguing.’

  He looked down at her. ‘Somehow I don’t think you can be the girl I had in mind.’

  ‘No? Who is she?’

  ‘Oh, nobody you would be likely to know. Rather a callow young thing.’

  She stiffened. ‘Really, I can’t pretend to be flattered.’

  ‘But didn’t I say I felt sure you couldn’t be her?’ he said. ‘Let’s talk of something else. Are you fond of shooting?’

  ‘I have never done any,’ she replied in a voice of dangerous calm.

  ‘No? It’s an odd thing, but nine women out of ten would rather have nothing to do with firearms.’ He offered her his open cigarette case. ‘You occasionally find an exception to the rule. I met a girl the other day who carried a businesslike automatic about with her. Fully loaded.’

  She took a cigarette from his case; her hand was quite steady. ‘In these days it’s probably wise to carry a gun after dark,’ she said.

  He paused in the act of striking a match. ‘Did I say it was after dark?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘I assumed that it must be,’ she replied rather sharply. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  He held the match to the end of her cigarette. ‘As a matter of fact it was,’ he admitted.

  She exhaled a long spiral of smoke and turned her head slightly so that she could survey him. ‘I’m trying to place you,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling you are probably a newspaper reporter.’

  She saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me why you think that?’ he suggested.

  She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t like to be rude,’ she said sweetl
y. ‘Are you a reporter?’

  ‘No, fair lady. I’m a barrister.’

  He guessed that she was frowning.

  ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘A barrister.’

  ‘In the criminal court,’ nodded Amberley.

  She got up abruptly. ‘That must be most interesting. I must go back to the ballroom; I’m engaged for this dance.’ She paused and he saw her lips curl scornfully. ‘May I compliment you on your costume? It suits you to perfection.’

  Mr Amberley’s shoulders shook slightly. He watched her walk away across the hall and wandered off in search of his cousin.

  He had seen her go upstairs with an infatuated youth not long before. Mr Amberley had a poor opinion of the youth, and saw nothing against interrupting the tête-à-tête and claiming Felicity for the dance which was undoubtedly his. He picked his way between the couples scattered on the staircase and reached the upper hall. It was as spacious as the one below, and had been provided with chairs and screens placed discreetly to form small sitting-out places. At one end was the broad staircase lit by a great window with many lights; at the other a graceful archway gave onto a wider passage that ran at right angles to it. Having reason to believe that his cousin was to be found in the picture gallery, which someone had said lay at the back of the house, Amberley went to the archway and glanced up and down the passage.

  One end to the right of the arch was lit up; the other lay in shadow, as though to indicate that that portion of the house was not being used tonight. Amberley guessed that it led to the servants’ quarters and the back stairs, and turned right.

  The floor was carpeted in pile that deadened the sound of footsteps. Various doors, one labelled Ladies’ Cloakroom, opened onto the passage at wide intervals; between them stood some obviously show pieces of furniture, very different from the massive mahogany that ruined the sitting room downstairs. Apparently the late Mr Fountain had preferred the solid productions of his own period to these more graceful furnishings of an earlier age. Nor, it seemed, had his heir cared to banish the Victorian chairs and tables and cabinets in favour of these banished works of art.