Lady in the Stray

by Maggie MacKeever

  Wealthy gamblers plunged heavily at hazard and macao and, in a less noisy room, at whist. The evening promised to be a profitable one, despite the heavy expenses involved in bringing it about, expenses that Minette had defrayed without application to solicitor or family plate. Instead she had discreetly sold off a few of the more portable of the house’s furnishings, items that she doubted would ever be missed. For this sleight of hand, Minette’s conscience suffered not a twinge. Servants were more important than bibelots, she thought. Who could run a gaming hell without dealers and croupiers, a waiter to serve the wines, an ex-pugilist to soothe any gentleman grown peevish as result of his ill luck?

  None of the gentlemen flocked around Minette were peevish, at any rate, which had more to do with that damsel herself than with the spin of the E.O. stand. Minette had done an excellent job this evening of complying with current fashion, the general aim of which was to seem as near-naked as possible, as result of which Paris this winter had been stricken with an epidemic of influenza known commonly as the “muslin disease.” The skirt of her classical gown boasted a flounce, the bodice a low neckline and high waist, and there was precious little in between. Her dark hair was frizzed lightly on front and sides, the remainder twisted round the back of her head in a double chignon and fastened with a comb. Minette looked positively delicious, and deserved every speck of the attention she received.

  Gratifying as that attention was, Minette didn’t allow it to go to her head. Even as she watched the gyrations of the little E.O ball, Minette was aware of what went on around her. There were no Greeks at Mountjoy House, or Captain Sharps, or fuzzed cards. Even Marmaduke himself, despite his myriad sins, had never been accused of fleecing unfledged ensigns of the Guards or French émigrés.

  Minette was particularly aware of Lord Stirling, who was one of the new faces to appear upon the reopening of the gaming rooms. A handsome face it was, if most often contorted into a grimace evocative of thunderstorm.

  Minette could only conjecture as to what had brought Stirling to Mountjoy House. His purpose seemed more certain. From the determination and skill with which he played, she concluded he meant to break the faro bank.

  As Minette pondered how to avert this disaster, she glimpsed a figure and countenance much more familiar than she liked. She gestured to a servant to take over the E.O. stand and, amid a disappointed male chorus, fled.

  Flight availed her little, save that he accosted her in the hallway instead of in a crowded room. Minette winced as his hand fell upon her arm. “La vache! Is it necessary that you startle me half out of my wits, Edouard?”

  He was a slender, pale man, effete in appearance, with hooded eyes and hair as dark as her own. “So I startled you, petite? A thousand pardons. I had the oddest notion that you sought to avoid me—foolish, was it not? Of course I was in error. You could not have cause to avoid the sole remaining member of your family, no?”

  She wrinkled her mischievous little nose. “I don’t know what you are talking about. You’re hurting my arm, Edouard.”

  Though he did not release her, the force of his grip eased. “You are in looks, ma cocotte. I confess it pleases me beyond measure to find you are still here. I was concerned as to what would become of you following the so-untimely demise of your benefactor.” His lips drew back into a humorless smile. “How tragic, had you been cast out. But as usual you contrive to feather your nest. What a very enterprising family ours is, to be sure.”

  “Mais oui,” Minette responded drily. “As evidenced by yourself. It was your enterprise from which Marmaduke rescued me, if you have forgot. Now that he is dead, you make free of his house.”

  Still Edouard wore that strangely chilling smile. “Did you expect that your benefactor would arise from his grave to deny me his door? Ungrateful Minette! You wound me with your suspicions. I came only to assure myself that you are well.”

  Minette didn’t argue, although she knew beyond question that no concern for her welfare had brought Edouard to Mountjoy House. Edouard’s concern was wholly for himself, his only use for others his own potential gain.

  Through narrowed eyes, Minette viewed her kinsman, who was resplendent in coat and waistcoat and breeches of, respectively, black and white and sage green. His coat was smartly cut, with high collar and scarcely any skirts; his very high shirt collar was in the French style, rising above his neckcloth almost as high as his nose. On Edouard, the exaggerated fashion didn’t look ridiculous. What did he want of her this time? Minette would be wise to find out.

  “Voyons! If I am ungracious, I apologize,” she sighed. “I’ve been very busy, what with arranging for the reopening of the gaming rooms, but you won’t wish to hear of that. As for my surprise, I’m not accustomed to seeing you here— Marmaduke did forbid you the house.”

  Edouard’s thumb idly stroked her wrist. “I am devastated to discover you would do likewise.”

  “I would?” Minette strove to look innocent, no small feat for a young lady who had drawn every eye to her this evening simply by the depth of her décolletage. “I’m sure it’s nothing to me if you come here or not. It is for me to decide who has the entrée.”

  “No? You’re not disinterested, I think.” With a strange expression, Edouard looked back into the room they had recently left. “Whatever else may be said of you, you are excellently well acquainted with the practical details of running a gaming hell, petite. It was you who was responsible for the smooth operation of the place when Mountjoy was alive—a pity you could not prevent him gaming away the proceeds elsewhere! You see how closely I have kept watch over you, even from a distance. We are bound together by bonds even your benefactor could not break.”

  Reprehensible as had been the late Marmaduke, he had been a paragon of virtue in comparison to the man who now clutched her arm. Whatever the cost, Minette vowed that she would not again be caught up in Edouard’s evil schemes.

  To tell him so outright would be to invite him to coercion, a pastime he liked overwell. Minette summoned forth a smile. “What would you, Edouard? We are family, after all. Me, I think you make too much of Marmaduke’s dislike. He thought you were no good influence on me, and that is why he refused you admission to the house.” Prudently she refrained from voicing Marmaduke’s additional suspicion that her kinsman was less than forthright in his dealings with the cards and dice.

  Indifferently, Edouard glanced around him. “It is a great mausoleum, hein? Not the setting I would choose for ma petite. But tell me, is Stirling often here?”

  “Stirling?” This abrupt change of topic startled Minette anew. “I’ve never seen him before this night. Why do you ask?”

  Edouard was not prone to anything so straightforward as explanations. “I was right; it is here. The old fool!” he murmured, almost to himself. “What was that noise? It sounded like rats in the walls. I’m not fond of rats, Minette.”

  Minette thought her kinsman should be rather more tolerant, being himself possessed of a somewhat ratlike aspect. “Then you wouldn’t like to live here, Edouard; the house teems with vermin. Rats and beetles—we even have a frog and a turtle and a snake. Not to mention a pair of very unusual lovebirds— unusual because they both are male.”

  Edouard’s brow lowered suspiciously. “You jest.”

  “Ah, ça non!” Minette brimmed with good cheer. “I assure you it’s true. But you didn’t come here to speak to me of vermin—nor to assure yourself of my continued good health. You want something. Let us beat no more around the bush.” On second thought, this talk might be better continued somewhere with an absence of noisy walls, an affliction that had stricken a great many rooms of late. “You will wish to be private! Come with me.” A somewhat circuitous route led them, at length, outside.

  The Prior’s Garden, as for some unknown reason it was called, was in perfect keeping with Mountjoy House, being overgrown and neglected and an excellent setting for any prospective haunts. The small walled area had much more the aspect of a cemetery than a garden, d
espite the inclusion of Apollo and Daphne in bronze.

  Against the latter, Minette leaned. “Now, then, Edouard.”

  He raised his hands to frame her face. “Now, then, you are alone at last with your preux chevalier. You offer me opportunity to furnish a proof of my devotion.” His icy fingers fell to her bare shoulders. “It has been a long time since I was so honored, Minette.”

  Now she was in for it! Minette cursed her lack of foresight. She would have rather a snake crawled over her skin than endure Edouard’s touch. In truth, Edouard was as cold and calculating and conscienceless as any reptile—and as dangerous. Therefore, impassively, Minette suffered his caress.

  He laughed and released her. “Clever Minette! You should know better than to seek to play off your cajoleries on me for I know you too well. We are wondrous great together, are we not? But we shall discuss that another time, ma cocotte. Curb your disappointment: I mean to see a great deal of you. We have been too distant. You will learn to rely on me, now that you are alone in the world.”

  “Not alone, precisely.” The air was chill, and Minette chafed her bare arms. “You forget the turtle and the frog and the lovebirds—not to mention the rats. Your concern overwhelms me, Edouard, but I go on quite nicely. I wish you’d make your point.”

  “Take care, lest I think you don’t enjoy my conversation, petite.” Edouard took off his elegant coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Witness my solicitude! I shudder to think what may become of you if you don’t take better care of yourself. You are very precious to me, Minette.”

  Minette turned her head to gaze up at the rooftop, half expecting to see a raddled figure peering out from amid the tall pinnacles and gargoyles. “Precious, am I?”

  Edouard drew that coat tightly around her throat. “Certainement! You are my means of access to Mountjoy House. There is less time than anticipated, if Stirling is nosing about. He will be acting for his godfather, of course. I thought that imbecile Mountjoy was involved in this business when first I heard of it. This is a heaven-sent opportunity! I must find it first.”

  These remarks, directed less to her than to himself, prompted Minette to temporarily cast caution to the winds. “Does the whole world know of Marmaduke’s treasure?” she cried.

  “ ‘Treasure’?” Edouard’s voice was soft and deadly, his grip harsh. “What ‘treasure’ is this, petite?”

  “I don’t know! Truly!” Minette sought to pry away the hands so tight upon her neck. “It was what he used to say—that he had hidden away his treasure in Mountjoy House, and it was worth a fortune in the right hands. That’s all I know, I swear it, Edouard! Let me go!”

  He did not let her go entirely, but slightly loosened his grip. “If you’re lying to me, Minette—”

  “I’ve already taken my oath that I am not. Consider, Edouard: if you strangle me, you will have no easy access to Mountjoy House.” With a muttered curse, he withdrew his bruising fingers. Minette drew in deep lungfuls of air and rubbed her sore neck.

  “That is why you remained at Mountjoy House,” he said, as calm as if it were commonplace for him to half strangle his lady friends. “I wondered at it, because I also knew Mountjoy had left you nothing— and precious little to anyone else. You sought to find Mountjoy’s ‘treasure.’ “ His laughter, this time, was genuine. “Poor Minette!”

  Of all the things she disliked in her kinsman, his sense of humor was high on the list. Minette waited. Edouard would not deny himself the pleasure of explaining his amusement.

  Nor did he. “You envisioned gold or jewels, if I know my Minette—treasure, in truth. You would discover these riches and be wealthy beyond all imagining, eh, petite? Little pea-goose! Even did you find Mountjoy’s so-called treasure, you’d be none the richer for it—or any the wiser. Indeed, I shall count myself fortunate if you haven’t already thrown it on the fire.”

  Minette wished she were before a fire just then, her kinsman’s words and the chill temperature having combined to make her very cold. “I shall succumb to the muslin disease if I must stand here much longer!” she snapped. “I wish you would tell me what you are talking about. Don’t try and put me off. If this treasure of Marmaduke’s is of so little value, you wouldn’t be so interested in it.”

  “I didn’t say it was valueless. The item that you seek has a great deal of value for me, because I can use it to gain influence and power. That memorandum is worth a great deal more than mere money, Minette.”

  “ ‘Memorandum’?” Minette echoed, incensed. “All this time, I have been searching for a piece of paper?” She lapsed into French profanities, interspersed with a highly unflattering delineation of the late Marmaduke’s character, emphasized by dramatic gestures and considerable stamping of her plump little foot.

  “Hush, petite!” Such was Edouard’s tone that she immediately complied. “By serving me you may yourself be well served. We will join forces. You will assist my search.”

  Join forces with a man who had come perilously close to strangling her just moments past? Minette thought not. She knew the folly of trusting Edouard. Still, it would be to her advantage did he think her compliant. “It is important, this memorandum?”

  “Most important, put to its best use. I wonder what use Mountjoy meant to make of it—but that makes no difference now.” Edouard’s hooded eyes gleamed. “I wonder too why I should believe in your sudden amiability, Minette. Take my word for it, petite. This time you are out of your depth.”

  Edouard was determined to convince her that his precious memorandum was of no value to her, Minette shrewdly thought. “Believe what you wish! It was your idea that I should help you search. Me, I don’t give a fig for a silly piece of paper. It was very bad of Marmaduke to hint he had a treasure, when it was a dreary old memorandum instead.” If Marmaduke’s treasure was a memorandum, she silently added, a matter about which she cherished doubt. Whatever her continued efforts disclosed would not be shared with her kinsman.

  Almost as if he had access to her thoughts, Edouard reached out and roughly grasped her chin. “Do you play me false,” he said with chilling sincerity, “I very seriously and solemnly assure you that I will enact a singularly unpleasant revenge.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  No little time later, Vashti concluded her halfhearted search, and with Mohammed and Calliope and Greensleeves slowly mounted the stair. Sounds of revelry came to her from the gaming rooms. Vashti hoped the gamblers might prove as unlucky as they were roisterous. Were her labors in the library any indication, armaduke’s treasure would not be easily found. True, her thoughts had been a trifle preoccupied with a blond-haired blue-eyed madman, but she had not been neglectful, all the same. That nothing was hidden in the library, Vashti was convinced. She proceeded along the upper corridor to her bedroom.

  Candlelight softened the Gothic outlines of the chamber, rendering it both more welcoming and more opulent. Vashti again marveled at her cousin’s flamboyant taste, the Chinese papered walls and oak mantel with carved mandarins, the huge bed with its gauzy gold-fringed draperies which when closed would resemble an exotic tent.

  Mohammed strolled to the hearth and collapsed there with a groan; Greensleeves hopped into a far corner of the room. Vashti put down the book she had brought with her from the library—Sir Hugh Platt’s popular cookery and household book of early seventeenth-century receipts, Delights for Ladies— and followed Calliope over to the bed. She was almost tired enough to fall asleep without undressing, she thought.

  Calliope growled. In the act of drawing aside the gauzy draperies, Vashti froze. There was a large lump beneath her bedcovers. Surely the madman who had accosted her in the library would not dare—

  “Hullo, sis!” Charlot emerged from beneath the covers, sleepily rubbing his eyes. “I was waiting up for you, but you took so long. Did you find anything? Why are you looking so pulled-about?”

  Vashti could hardly explain to a lad of such tender years that she felt all out of reason cross to discover that a handsome b
lue-eyed stranger had not invaded the sanctity of her bedchamber. Not that Vashti would have welcomed such an intrusion, naturally, save for the opportunity offered her thereby to give the bold intruder a sharp setdown.

  She perched on the edge of the tent bed. “I thought you were the madman.”

  Curiously, Charlot eyed his sister, who was looking far from her usual neat self, with tousled hair and a preoccupied expression and dust on cheek and gown. Something was definitely in the wind. “What madman?”

  “The madman who accosted me in the library.” Absentmindedly, Vashti pulled a protesting Calliope into her arms. Diplomatically, she refrained from explaining the precise manner in which she had been accosted, or that she had liked it overwell.

  “Accosted you?” Charlot echoed indignantly. “Jupiter! Shall I mill the scoundrel down?”

  This chivalrous offer roused Vashti from her preoccupation. “No need for that, my pet! I’m making a piece of work about nothing. The gentleman thought he knew me, and I’m quite in a puzzle as to why. He even made free with my name, though I don’t recall having ever set eyes on him.” The gentleman was one, she mused, who wouldn’t be easily forgot.

  Doubtfully, Charlot stared at his sister, who still cradled the hissing Calliope. “Tell you what, Vashti! Mayhap he had shot the cat.”

  “I wondered that myself at first, but he didn’t act like a gentleman in his cups.” Save for offering her attentions that had been too pointed, the stranger’s behavior had not been that of a gentleman who had overindulged in the grape. Or so Vashti fancied, not having had a great deal of experience with gentlemen in this state. Or any other. For all she knew to the contrary, gentlemen might habitually go about embracing unfamiliar females at whim.