“Crickey!” said Charlot, awed. “You’ve done for him, Minette! Now what shall we do?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The conspirators decided to hide the unfortunate Edouard’s remains in the secret room, a feat accomplished with the assistance of a scandalized Orphanstrange. Such goings-on were not at all what he was accustomed to, the valet made known, nor had ever been, even in the service of the late Marmaduke. Having aired these disapproving sentiments, Orphanstrange then tottered off to the gaming rooms, lest any of the gamblers become aware that something distinctly fishy was in the wind. The conspirators repaired to the library, there to broach a bottle of the late Marmaduke’s excellent port.
“Mon dieu!” Minette sank down wearily in a high-backed reading chair. “I don’t mind admitting to you that this has given me a very nasty turn. I did not think we would get Edouard out of sight before we were discovered—and wouldn’t that have caused a contretemps?” She frowned at her glass. “Still, one doesn’t like to toss about a kinsman as if he were no more than a sack of oats, even if one can’t bring oneself to regret the fact that he is dead.”
Charlot similarly suffered no regrets. “Jupiter!” he said, not for the first time, as he settled with his menagerie upon an apple-green couch. “You tipped him a proper rum ‘un, Minette! How did you come to do so? And why was Vashti wearing a towel?”
“Er.” Minette surveyed Charlot over the rim of her glass. Though Minette was feeling considerably relieved that her kinsman would no longer torment her, she was not sufficiently composed to embark upon an explanation of the facts of life. She had just witnessed a murder, after all, and was in the unenviable position of being cast as murderess. “Edouard was convinced your sister had the memorandum, and was attempting to persuade her to give it to him.”
“Oh.” Charlot was precocious enough to need no explanation of certain facts. “If I'd been there, I daresay I’d have carved his liver out. But what are we to do now? We can’t leave him indefinitely in the secret room, because he’ll start to smell. Why are you looking so green, Minette? Are you going to cast up your accounts?”
It was a distinct possibility. Minette swallowed, hard. “We could say he stumbled into the room by accident and tripped and hit his head, and then could not get out.”
Charlot stroked Bacchus, who had emerged from his pocket to gaze inquisitively about. “We could, but we’ve already said that about Vashti, and no one believed it. I think we should dump him in the Thames.”
“Parfait! If we can contrive to transport him to the river without being seen.” Minette soothed her queasy stomach with another sip of port.
“That is a problem.” Charlot screwed up his face in thought.
The problem was destined to remain unsolved just then. The library door opened. Vashti, pale as death, entered the room. “Crickey, sis!” said Charlot. “First you entertain a gentleman in your bedchamber, clad only in a towel, and now you wander through the house in your dressing gown. I think you must be all about in the head!”
Without so much as a glance at her censorious brother, Vashti approached the library table, on which stood the port bottle. With shaking hands she splashed wine into a glass, and drank.
“Chérie!” Minette set down her own glass, guided Vashti to the reading chair. “You are supposed to be abed. Look at you, shaking as with the ague!” She removed her own shawl and wrapped it around Vashti’s shoulders. “Try to compose yourself. You have had a dreadful experience—but the trouble is behind us now, n’est-çe pas?”
“Behind us?” Vashti’s hands were so unsteady that wine spilled from her glass. “With a corpse hidden in the house? I think I shall go mad!”
“Clunch!” Charlot deemed it very poor-spirited of his sister to be affected so extremely by the minor problem of an inconvenient corpse. “You’re not going to make a kick-up now, are you, Vashti? We’ll never be able to decide what to do with Edouard if you’re raising a dust.”
Vashti set aside her empty glass and absentmindedly patted Mohammed, whose head rested in her lap. “Do with him?” she echoed. “What can one do with a corpse?”
“That is precisely what we ask ourselves, ma chère!” Minette perched, somewhat uncomfortably, on the arm of Vashti’s chair. “Clearly, Edouard cannot remain long where he is. He must be disposed of, but we are not certain how. Perhaps you may suggest a solution! We shall all put our heads together, eh?”
“You seem monstrous unconcerned about this business.” Vashti gazed appalled upon Minette. “Gracious God, your only kinsman is dead!”
“Oui, and I am very sorry for it, but that does not alter the fact.” Minette wrinkled her nose. “Du vrai, I shall be honest: I am not sorry at all! It pleases me beyond measure that I shall no longer be plagued by Edouard. Now I have shocked you, but you would feel no differently had Edouard been your kinsman, and you had spent a large portion of your life with him worrying you to death!”
Recalling her own recent encounter with the villainous Edouard, Vashti was not so shocked by this viewpoint as she should have been. She sighed deeply, and sneezed.
Eh bien!” cried Minette. “You have taken a chill. That too must be laid at Edouard’s door, because he kept you standing about an unconscionable long time in that damp towel.”
Charlot scowled. “About that towel—it’s not the thing, sis! Even I know that! What was Edouard doing in your bedroom, anyway?”
Vashti had not spirits just then to appreciate her brother’s suddenly developed concern for the proprieties. “I’m damned if I know!” she snapped. “I’m sure I locked the door.”
Without a great deal of humor, Minette laughed. “Edouard would not be deterred by so simple a thing as a locked door. But this is fair and far off. We must determine what is to be done with Edouard.”
“I think you might be a little more grateful, Vashti!” scolded Charlot. “Minette did save your life. Had she not bashed Edouard over the head, there’s no telling what he might have done.”
Vashti greeted this advice with a visible shudder. “But it wasn’t Minette! It was the ghost.”
Charlot’s eyes widened. “Jupiter! Was it, Minette?”
“In a point of fact, she’s not—” Minette paused. With a corpse abovestairs awaiting discovery, the moment was not propitious for a lengthy discussion of Delphine. “It was the old woman, yes.”
“Crickey!” Charlot was agog for further explanations. Vashti forestalled his questions by inviting Mohammed up into her lap. “If we’re caught with a corpse in our keeping, it won’t be a ghost who’s called to account for it,” she said. “I don’t know precisely what is done to murderers, but I doubt that it is nice.”
“Murderers!” In his excitement, Charlot fairly bounced on the couch. “I say, Vashti, do you think we shall be hanged?”
Vashti put her arms around Mohammed, and rested her cheek against the hound’s warm back. “I shouldn’t be surprised!”
“Pfui!” Minette removed herself from the chair arm and the hound, which evidenced a determination to wash her face. “Me, I have no intention of being hanged, I assure you! It wants only a little contrivance on our part.” In search of inspiration, she approached the port.
Came a period of reflection, during which the conspirators pondered mightily, aided by the wine. Even Charlot was permitted by his sister to partake of a glass.
“What did you do with Edouard’s pistol?” Vashti suddenly inquired.
Minette tried to remember. “I left it in your room, chérie—I think. All was such a confusion, and you were of no assistance, with your vaporing and having to be revived with smelling salts. I thought at one point that you would hide with your cat beneath the bed! Tout de même, I do not mean to scold you. My affection for you remains undiminished, Vashti, even if you are not so very brave.”
So now she was accused of cowardice? “Thank you!” Vashti said.
“You are very welcome!” Minette was oblivious to sarcasm, so deep was she in thought. “Enfi
n, I have hit upon a solution to our little problem. I shall pretend to be Edouard, because I see it is a prudent thing if he is observed to leave Mountjoy House. For his failure to return, there will be good excuse; I shall say I decided I did not wish to be betrothed to him, and sent him to away. He would not return to us under those circumstances, naturellement. And no one would be surprised that I did not wish to marry such a vipère!” She beamed.
Vashti was less enthusiastic. “How will you pass yourself off as Edouard?”
Minette was very impressed by her own inventiveness. “It is of a simplicity! I shall wear his clothes.”
At thought of stripping a corpse of its apparel, Vashti shuddered anew. “The blood!” she gasped.
“Perhaps you have a better suggestion?” Minette irritably inquired. “You can be très tiresome, Vashti!”
“Tiresome!” Vashti’s own temper sparked. “I am not the one who betroths myself to one gentleman when I want another, and goes sneaking about in search of what isn’t mine! Had you found it, you would have stolen Marmaduke’s treasure from right beneath my nose. And you need not think I’m unaware that certain items are missing from this house!”
“You call me a thief?” Minette stood with hands on her plump little hips, highly incensed. “If I had not sold off those certain items, there would have been no money to reopen the gaming rooms. But I suppose I shouldn’t expect gratitude for the efforts I have made in your behalf.”
“No, you shouldn’t!” retorted Vashti. “In my behalf, my foot! It was your own pockets you set out to line.”
In all fairness, Minette could not dispute this allegation. “I meant it for the best. If you wish to have me up for thievery, it is your right.”
Vashti’s irritation was not soothed by this sudden capitulation. “Don’t be a goose-cap! Of course I don’t mean to do anything of the sort. But you must not accuse me of being tiresome, you know!”
In Charlot’s opinion, both his companions were tiresome. Without appreciation, he watched them embrace, a conciliation somewhat impeded by Mohammed, who was delighted by this opportunity to lavish affection upon two faces at once. “Who does Minette wish to be betrothed to?” Charlot inquired.
“Why, Lionel, of course!” With the sleeve of her dressing gown, Vashti dried her dog-damp cheeks.
“Scant chance I have of that,” mourned Minette, fending off the affectionate hound. “When Lionel discovers what I have been up to, he will never speak to me again! And if he does, it will be to scold me even more severely than you have done, Vashti!”
“My dear!” Vashti was stricken with remorse. “I didn’t mean the things I said!”
Minette was not so easily soothed. “Lionel will mean it! I am destined to wear the willow, hélas.”
“If you don’t hang first!” remarked Charlot, his patience at an end. “May I remind the pair of you that we must dispose of a corpse?”
In this guilt-fraught moment, there came a tapping at the door. Before permission could be granted, Orphanstrange sidled into the room. Recent events had not sat well upon the valet. There was extreme nervousness in his every movement, and a frantic wildness to his eye. “We are undone! Lord Stirling and Mr. Heath are belowstairs!” he gasped. “Demanding to speak with Miss Vashti!”
“Stirling!” Vashti leapt up, causing Mohammed to tumble off her lap and land with a whoof upon the floor. “I cannot see him! He will take one look at me and know!”
Despite their peril, Minette giggled. “Does Stirling see you in your dressing gown, he will not think of memorandums and the like, chérie! Perhaps it would be a good thing—”
“Moonshine!” Charlot was busy at one of the bookcases that lined the walls. “You can’t go running through the halls like that, Vashti! Here!” One section of the shelves swung open to reveal a passageway. He pushed his sister within and swung the panel shut.
When Lord Stirling and Lionel Heath entered the library scant moments later, they discovered Minette and Charlot calmly sipping port. Lionel glanced at Minette, and quickly away. Lord Stirling’s gaze fell upon a third, half-filled wine glass. “We require a word with Mademoiselle Beaufils. Where is she?” he demanded.
“Bonjour, Stirling, M’sieur Heath.” Minette summoned forth every smidgeon of composure and charm at her command. Stirling was looking excessively formidable, she thought. As for Lionel—there was no use crying over spilt milk. “I regret to inform you that Mademoiselle Beaufils is indisposed. You will have to content yourselves with our company. What is this so-urgent matter that brings you to us? Have you come to make yet another attempt on the faro bank? But I forget my manners! Pray be seated.”
Lionel did so, choosing a seat as far away as possible from Minette and very nearly inflicting mortal damage upon Greensleeves, who had been snoozing in the green chair. Lionel started. Minette giggled. The solicitor cast her a reproachful glance.
Immediately, Minette grasped her opportunity. “I am not betrothed to Edouard!” she said.
“You’re not betrothed?” echoed Lionel, bewildered. “But everyone said—”
“Ma foi! You should not listen to ‘everyone,’ mon cher, but instead attend to me.” For Lord Stirling’s benefit, Minette added: “Vashti has taken a chill!”
“What has Vashti’s health to do with whether or not you are betrothed?” Lionel inquired, further perplexed.
“A chill? In this weather?” His lordship’s skepticism was not unfounded; the past several days had been very warm.
“The weather is not of a significance,” Minette said absentmindedly, her green gaze firmly focused on the puzzled Lionel. “It was caused by a damp towel. As for Edouard—”
Charlot was not of the persuasion that children should be seen and not heard. “Perhaps you should tell me what you want with Vashti, Lord Stirling— because I can’t approve of all this cuddling, and plaguing my sister half to death!”
Yves elevated his brows. “Are you asking my intentions, bantling?”
His lordship looked thunderous, thought Charlot. “Yes, sir. Since it seems clear to me that someone must.”
More stalwart souls than Charlot had quailed before Lord Stirling’s anger; even Minette cast Charlot a cautionary glance. Fortunately, his lordship decided to be amused.
“I don’t know what my intentions are regarding your sister,” Yves admitted when he had recovered from his paroxysms of mirth. “There is the matter of a certain memorandum to be resolved. I have just come from a meeting with my godpapa—”
“It was the memorandum that Edouard wanted, not me—for which I thank le bon dieu!” Assured that Lord Stirling would inflict no bodily harm upon Charlot, Minette returned to her own attack. “Assuredly, I never wished to be betrothed to him.”
Lionel was determined not to be hoodwinked a second time. “Hah!” he said.
“It is true, I assure you!” protested Minette. “You will see! Edouard will plague me no more.”
Lest Minette go on to explain further the detestable Edouard’s reformation, Charlot interrupted. “It is you Minette wishes to be betrothed to, Mr. Heath! Now can we get back to the memorandum?”
Lord Stirling, during this conversation, had fallen into contemplation of the library steps where he first kissed Vashti. “Additional information concerning the memorandum has recently come to light—What the devil is that dog about?”
Indeed, Mohammed’s behavior was noteworthy; the hound was sniffing at the bookshelves, and whining, and in general acting very odd. To no avail, Charlot whistled and called his pet. “Pay Mohammed no mind, sir!” he said as he tried to drag the dog away. “He is merely—”
Abruptly a section of the shelves swung open, causing Charlot and Mohammed to tumble in a tangle on the floor. Through the opening stumbled Vashti, clutching her jaw. “Edouard isn’t dead!” she cried, and collapsed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Dead?” echoed Lionel, and fixed Minette with a stem glance. They were alone in the library, Charlot having gone to investig
ate the secret chamber, and Lord Stirling having borne the swooning Vashti off to her own room. “I would appreciate it very much if you would explain!”
“But of course you would, mon cher!” To fortify herself for the ordeal, Minette essayed another glass of port. “I meant always to explain to you, vraiment, once we were again on speaking terms. You became very unapproachable once you heard I was betrothed, M’sieur Heath. And it is of a large difficulty to exchange confidences à la distance!”
Lionel turned his back on her reproachful face. “Now is your opportunity.”
He had taken her in disgust, Minette thought sadly, else he would not prefer to gaze upon a chimneypiece inspired by dreary old tombs. “I do not know where I should begin! Edouard is a vipère. I never wished to betroth myself to him, but he noticed my interest in you, and issued threats. If he knew I had confided in you about the memorandum—” Her voice trailed off.
“Blast the memorandum!” said Lionel, to the chimneypiece. “Why did you think he was dead?”
“Because Charlot said—and there was so much blood—we were in such a great hurry to hide him away, it did not occur to me that he still might live.” Minette wore a darkling look. “Which is probably a very good thing! I don’t know what I would have done, so angry was I—not that I am in the habit of feeling fit to murder someone, mon cher!”
“I may murder you if you don’t cease to try to hoodwink me.” Lionel swung round to bestow a very severe look upon Minette. “You’ve been playing a deep game. I’ll have the truth now—and no more whiskers!”
“You are angry with me.” Minette contemplated her wine glass. “I understand. I am no better than one of the wicked and it is no more than I deserve, that you should hold me in very low esteem.” Through her long lashes, she glanced hopefully at the solicitor.
He did not reassure her. “Gammon! The truth, Minette.”
She drained her wineglass, set it aside. “I did not like Edouard,” Minette said plaintively, “even if he was the only family I have left. It was not so bad when Marmaduke was alive, because he forbade Edouard the house—Marmaduke wasn’t so much of a loose screw that he failed to realize Edouard was a curst rum touch. But after Marmaduke’s death, Edouard commenced to plague me. He wanted the memorandum that he believed hidden in this house. Mon dieu, how he wanted it! He even promised to take me in triumph with him back to France.”
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