Fatal Masquerade

by Vivian Conroy

  If the comte knew or suspected that Mrs Hargrove was already carrying the new heir, he would be burning to act and marry Denise, securing her fortune before time ran out for him and the prize was snatched away from under his very nose.

  But the comte had not persuaded Denise to run away with him on the night of the masked ball. She had been nervous enough in the hours before it began to suggest she had expected something very special of it. She had even admitted to Alkmene that Beak-mask had asked her to marry him and had given her the sinister emblem of the wolf’s head as a token of their engagement.

  Still, Denise was here at the house, as always, not on the run with the comte.

  What had gone wrong?

  Had the murder changed things?

  Was Beak-mask somehow involved?

  But how?

  Alkmene stared ahead. If she could prove Beak-mask had killed Cobb, he would go to prison and eventually he would even die. The risk of Denise becoming irreversibly entangled with him would be averted.

  Her friend would hate her for it, of course, but at least her life would be spared.

  Still, it would be hard to place Beak-mask at the boathouse. And what would have been his motive for wanting to kill a servant he’d probably never met before?

  With a sigh, Alkmene rose. Things were as clear as mud, and there was no sound indicating a car approaching, Jake returning with news. The only reason she could think of as to why he’d be detained was that he was gathering some crucial evidence he was about to bring back here. He had talked about her being careful, as if he thought she was in danger on her own. So he wouldn’t linger in town, for dinner at a club or a drink with friends. He’d come back here as soon as he could.

  Alkmene went up the stairs slowly, her hand on the railing. It was a little sticky, as if it had been treated with wax recently.

  Upstairs she hesitated, looking in the direction of Hargrove’s study. Something was bothering her about the night of the murder, the way he had stooped down over the body. His back had been turned to her, but his movements…

  Something about it wasn’t quite right. Had he reached out for something, removing it from the scene? Had he taken it from the boathouse in his hand?

  Why take such risk?

  If not for someone he cared for.

  His daughter?

  Alkmene made a decision and went for the door, not of Hargrove’s study, but her friend’s bedroom. She had to talk to Denise.

  As Alkmene approached the bedroom door, she blinked. Were her ears deceiving her or did she hear the sound of waves crashing? That was impossible. There was no water nearby, at least nothing with tidal waves.

  Intrigued, she closed the distance and pressed her ear to the wood. The sound of the waves was clearer now. Where was it coming from?

  Alkmene knocked on the door, but nobody answered. She waited a few more heartbeats, her blood droning in her ears. Then she turned the knob, opened the door a crack and peered in. The room was dark but for a little light beside the bed. The sound of the waves came from everywhere, it seemed, crashing around her.

  Lying spread out on the bed, her arms limp, hands over the edge, her wide eyes staring up at the ceiling, was Denise.

  Alkmene rushed to the bed and touched her friend’s hand. It was clammy but not cold.

  She leaned over and looked into Denise’s open eyes. The pupils were dilated. She reached out to slap her friend on the cheek, but a voice stayed her. ‘It is quite dangerous to break it off prematurely.’

  Alkmene swung to Mrs Zeilovsky. ‘Break what off prematurely? An experiment? My friend is not an animal for testing.’

  Mrs Zeilovsky smiled. ‘I’m only trying to cure her headache. The sound of waves has a calming effect on the human mind.’

  Alkmene didn’t pay too much attention to the gramophone producing the wave sounds, but looked Mrs Zeilovsky over. ‘What pills did you give Denise? I can see from her eyes she’s under the influence of some kind of medication.’

  Mrs Zeilovsky hitched a brow. ‘Are you a physician, Lady Alkmene?’

  Alkmene burst with anger. ‘No, but I can recognize a quack from yards away. You and your husband are not real psychiatrists, just clever manipulators of the human mind.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Mrs Zeilovsky said.

  She closed the door behind Alkmene and turned the key in the lock. She put the key in the pocket of her dressing gown. That same gown she had been wearing this morning when she had come down so late.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down there and I can explain to you how it works? As you have an analytical mind, you will appreciate the skill it takes to achieve results. Contrary to what you seem to think, my dear lady, this isn’t a trick. There’s scientific evidence that it works.’

  Alkmene swallowed. She didn’t want to be locked inside this room with Mrs Zeilovsky and hear more about the evil she was up to with her gramophone and her pills. That some kind of drug had been administered to Denise was clear to Alkmene, even if she wasn’t sure how.

  Had Denise taken it of her own free will? Why? Did the Zeilovskys have so much power over her?

  Alkmene tried to steady her shaky nerves. She couldn’t leave Denise alone with this woman in her current state of mind. As long as she didn’t let Mrs Zeilovsky near her own person, nothing could happen. Could it?

  Denise moved her head, muttering, ‘Emile, darling...’

  Mrs Zeilovsky moved to the bedside. ‘It’s all right, Denise. Let him go. He’s not worth your time or effort.’

  As she spoke, she reached out and touched Denise’s forehead and cheeks with her fingertips, lightly brushing as if she was wiping something away.

  Denise turned her head away. ‘I want Emile. Mother will have a baby, and then I will be all alone.’

  ‘Emile cannot help you.’ Mrs Zeilovsky spoke low and convincingly.

  ‘He can take me away.’

  ‘He’ll abandon and destroy you like he did the others.’

  ‘There are no others. He only loves me.’

  ‘He says he loves you, but he doesn’t know love. He has no heart.’

  Alkmene watched in fascination as Mrs Zeilovsky spoke the words Alkmene believed Denise should hear. The woman was actually trying to wean Denise away from that dangerous comte!

  Had her father asked her to? Was that why he felt indebted to the Zeilovskys?

  Because they could heal Denise from her unhealthy infatuation with the wrong man and restore her to her family?

  But why could Mrs Zeilovsky not simply talk to Denise? Why did she have to use these strange methods of music and distortion?

  Alkmene glanced at the bedside table. A box of Turkish delight. Just like the one that had been in Mrs Zeilovsky’s room.

  ‘If you want one...’ Mrs Zeilovsky made an inviting gesture.

  ‘No, they’re too sweet for me.’ Alkmene forced an apologetic smile. ‘My father always says they’re so sweet you could...’

  Hide poison in them and nobody would notice.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Poison? Had Mrs Zeilovsky tried this ‘therapy’ on someone before and killed him or her? Had Cobb known about that and tried to blackmail her? Had she killed him for that reason? Had the figure in the lilac dress, disappearing into the garden, not been on her way to meet a lover, but to kill a man who posed a danger to her? She had claimed she had never gone to the boathouse, but that was just her word.

  ‘I want Emile,’ Denise said.

  Mrs Zeilovsky leaned over her. ‘What do you even know about Emile?’

  ‘He’s a pirate.’ Denise sounded drowsy, but amused. ‘He robs people for the fun of it.’

  Mrs Zeilovsky froze. She looked up at Alkmene. ‘She knows what kind of man he is and she doesn’t even care. Poor thing.’

  She waited a moment and added, ‘Marriage is a very important choice, Lady Alkmene. It can make you either very happy or put you into the greatest misery.’

  ‘If you don’t love your husband,’ Alkmene ventured, ‘
why don’t you leave him?’

  Mrs Zeilovsky laughed softly. ‘Do you think he would let me? He would kill me first. He’s told me so often enough.’

  Her strange light-green eyes watched Alkmene. ‘Where has Mr Dubois disappeared to, Lady Alkmene? Is he not coming back?’

  A shiver went down Alkmene’s spine. She wanted someone to come to the door and knock until they were admitted so she would be freed from this woman’s oppressive presence.

  She tried to sound calm. ‘Jake will be back soon. He promised me.’

  Mrs Zeilovsky smiled. ‘There are many things that can detain a man in the city. An encounter with a friend, a bit of enticing information offered to him that he just has to follow up on. Even a flat tyre when he is about to travel back.’

  Alkmene had told herself all these things to explain for Jake’s tardiness. Mrs Zeilovsky seemed to relish the prospect of Jake not coming back.

  Alkmene swallowed. Jake could take care of himself, of course, and he’d laugh if he knew she was worried about him. But still, something sinister was going on here, and Jake’s prolonged absence seemed strange. In her mind she saw his car driving away from London, then suddenly the brakes failing and the car crashing into the verge. She stopped herself before she thought any further.

  Denise rolled her head over the pillow, left to right and back. ‘I want Emile. Once Papa has his son, he won’t know me any more. He won’t care at all.’

  She burst into tears.

  Mrs Zeilovsky sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Denise up and into her arms.

  Alkmene’s jaw dropped that Denise could let this happen. She barely knew the woman!

  ‘You need not worry about the baby.’ Mrs Zeilovsky’s words were soft, but deliberate. ‘It may not be a boy. It may not even be his.’

  Alkmene shot upright in shock. Not be his?

  Denise muttered something. Mrs Zeilovsky released her and lowered her into the pillows. ‘It is not his,’ she repeated. ‘Not his.’

  ‘Not his,’ Denise muttered. ‘Not his heir.’

  Alkmene whispered, ‘What are you doing? If this nonsense about the child Mrs Hargrove is carrying not being Hargrove’s gets around, it could mean the end of their marriage.’

  Mrs Zeilovsky smiled at her. ‘Is that not what Denise has wanted all along? To have her father all to herself?’

  Alkmene shook her head. ‘How dare you...’ She waved a hand at the Turkish delight. ‘Drug her and then put this nonsense into her head. Is this your idea of helping someone?’

  There was a loud knock at the door. Jake’s voice called, ‘Alkmene? Are you in there?’

  Mrs Zeilovsky extracted the key from her pocket and handed it to Alkmene. ‘Open the door.’ Her eyes flared a moment. ‘It seems it wasn’t a flat tyre after all.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alkmene doubted for a moment whether she could leave it at this, but there was little else to do. Jake was pounding on the door, disturbing half the household. She ran over, inserted the key in the lock and opened the door.

  Jake stared at her. ‘What on earth did you lock the door for? Are you girls afraid of something?’ He fell silent as he stared over Alkmene’s shoulder. Alkmene guessed he had spied Mrs Zeilovsky. The strange wave sound was still playing, although much softer than before.

  Jake leaned over to her. ‘What on earth is going on here?’

  Alkmene didn’t reply. She turned her head to Mrs Zeilovsky. ‘Shall we leave?’ The stress on the plural could not be missed.

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Zeilovsky gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Denise is asleep now. She will feel better soon.’

  No thanks to you, Alkmene thought, but said nothing.

  Mrs Zeilovsky sailed past her, down the corridor to her own room. Would she tell her husband about her success with Denise?

  Or was this a private project Zeilovsky knew nothing about?

  Alkmene looked at Jake, noticing now there was dried blood on his temple, right underneath an ugly bruise. Her heart clenched. The terrible thoughts about a car accident returned full force. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was too eager for a bit of information. It was my luck the thug swung at me too early. I caught the movement and was able to prevent him from hitting me full on the head. If not for that, I’d still be lying in that alley.’

  Alkmene shivered. Not on the road, but in the city. ‘How did you get away?’

  ‘Punched him in the stomach, sent him flying into a couple of overfull rubbish bins. Made a run for it. London seems to have become an unhealthy place for me.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘It’s my own fault, I guess. I stir up too much trouble for the wrong people. Got a reputable jeweller arrested for dealing in stolen gemstones. Proved a certain club was a meeting place for foreign agents. They don’t like that.’

  Alkmene shook her head as well. ‘I don’t think it’s related to earlier cases. Mrs Zeilovsky just suggested to me you wouldn’t be coming back tonight. She mentioned how tempting information is to a reporter. She must have lured you into a trap.’

  Jake hitched a brow, then winced as his damaged face hurt. ‘How? She had no idea where I was going and why. It must have been a coincidence. Now, what was going on in here?’

  Alkmene glanced back into the room. ‘Ah, yes… there’s something else I need you to check with your contacts right away. Analysis of sweets for a drug possibly hidden inside them.’ She walked over to the bed to pick up the box with Turkish delight.

  It was gone.

  She looked around, even sank to her knees to see under the bed. Nothing. ‘She must have taken it. Hidden it under that robe of hers.’ Alkmene gritted her teeth. ‘So, whatever drug she used on Denise, it was in the sweets, just as I suspected.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  Alkmene returned to the door and softly told him all that had transpired. ‘At first I genuinely believed she was giving Denise some kind of treatment to wean her away from the murderous count. But when she started about the baby Mrs Hargrove is carrying not being Hargrove’s… I think she has something different in mind. She wants to drive this whole family apart.’

  Jake pursed his lips. ‘Isn’t that a bit drastic? Perhaps she’s just a quack who can’t resist meddling in people’s affairs, thinking she can make their lives better.’

  ‘Well, she did remove the box, so we can’t test what was in the Turkish delight. Did you have a chance to look into her past? Find out anything about the initials RD on the comb and brush set?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the emblem or signature of the maker of the set. It’s on all the bespoke items he creates. It has nothing to do with Mrs Zeilovsky. About her past I couldn’t find anything. She married him before they came to London, that’s all I know.’

  Alkmene exhaled in frustration that it was a dead end. ‘And what did your friend say about the code found on the paperwork in Cobb’s box?’

  ‘Relatively simple, should have full details in the morning.’

  Alkmene frowned. ‘Were you followed when you went out to see him?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘If the encounter in the alley was no coincidence, but related to this case, and the people who are caught in this now know the papers with the code are at your friend’s house, they might go there to get them out of his hands before he can break the code.’

  Jake looked her over. ‘I’m telling you, Alkmene, you’re turning paranoid. Drugs in Turkish delight, brainwashing of girls to destroy their family, now my friend getting robbed of the code… This isn’t some big conspiracy.’

  ‘I suggest you telephone him anyway and tell him to be careful.’ Alkmene nodded firmly. ‘And now I will go and ask Mrs Hargrove to keep an eye on Denise tonight so I can get some rest. I feel exhausted.’

  To her own surprise and delight, Alkmene slept like a baby and woke up feeling refreshed and energized to tackle the case with new zeal.

  But as she stepped into the corridor, eage
r to get to breakfast, she heard the sound of quarrelling voices. Not just speaking with each other in raised tone, but outright screaming.

  Mrs Hargrove stood in the doorway of her boudoir, her hair down, giving her the air of a vulnerable young woman. Denise stood opposite, her posture tight with anger, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. ‘You’re a liar. You know full well what I mean. Who is Matthew? You explain that first.’

  Mrs Hargrove grew deadly pale. She staggered back, collapsing against the doorpost.

  Alkmene closed in quickly. ‘She’s fainted. Are there smelling salts around?’

  ‘You help her.’ Denise’s eyes shot sparks at Alkmene. ‘I have nothing more to say to her.’

  She dashed away, almost bumping into her father. Ignoring his questions about what was amiss, Denise hurried down the stairs and out of the front door. They heard it bang shut.

  Hargrove rushed past his fallen wife into the boudoir and came back with a flask. He pulled out the stopper and held it under her nose. She jerked her head back and sighed. It seemed she was coming round again.

  ‘Poor darling,’ Hargrove said. ‘This is terrible, in her condition.’ He glanced at Alkmene. ‘We’re not speaking of it yet, but...’ He broke off awkwardly.

  Alkmene rushed to reassure him. ‘I’m aware of her condition. I guessed it, and she confirmed it to me, asking me to keep it to myself as it was still early days.’

  Alkmene hesitated a moment. ‘Denise seems upset about it. I thought it was expected that… I mean, you remarried because...’

  Hargrove sighed. ‘She thinks that as soon as I have my son and heir I won’t care for her any more. But I will. Of course I will. She’s the only thing I have left from my first marriage.’

  His wife blinked and stared up at him. ‘You… Did you hear...’

  He looked confused. ‘Hear what?’

  ‘Denise is gone now,’ Alkmene hurried to say. ‘Perhaps you’d better go down to breakfast, Mr Hargrove, and I will help your wife get better. Then we’ll join you.’

  Hargrove grunted assent and pushed the flask into Alkmene’s hand. He rose and ambled off, glancing back once or twice before he vanished down the stairs. Like most men, he probably believed such scenes were better left to women.