by Anna Lord
“No, no,” she tempered, “we are not the main game here. Remember we only arrived at the last minute. Our presence here is pure chance. Nothing was contrived to lure us here.”
“Do you mean game as in prey or game as in play?”
She thought for a moment. “Both – prey and play. A game is being played out but we are not players, we are spectators. We are not prey, we are observers of the hunt.”
“Who is being hunted?”
“One of the men, or possibly all four.”
“But that story about Sherlock?” he bleated, backtracking.
“It was designed to unnerve you.”
“Well, it succeeded.”
“It is no secret you are the best friend of Sherlock Holmes and worked alongside him. Our hostess was just letting you know that she knew it. There was nothing sinister about it. It may even have been her way of warning you to keep your nose out of things.”
“What things? How can I keep my nose out of something if I have no idea what that something is? It is like playing a game that has no rules.”
“All games have rules even if the rule is that there are no rules.”
“Don’t start with that gobbledygook logic – my brain is fagged out.”
“Tread warily, that’s all. This game is like blind man’s bluff.”
“I hate games!” he moaned. “Especially blind man’s bluff. I shall refuse to play.”
“Too late! The game’s afoot and tonight was the opening gambit.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Our hostess insisted on the session of story-telling. The men squirmed in the seats and looked uncomfortable. Herr von Gunn tried to beg off. She cut him off at the knees. The others quickly fell into line. You went first and paved the way. That spared the men. It gave them some breathing space. By the way, your story was excellent. I never knew green wallpaper was loaded with arsenic. I think the drawing room in Mayfair has green flock wallpaper. I shall be reviewing it as soon as we return to London.”
“If we return to London,” he whined.
“Stay focused. Where were we? Oh, yes, opening gambit, stories, murder, getting away with murder - my brain has reached a dead end.”
“I know you said not to think the obvious but I still think it has something to do with armaments and munitions and war. I think our hostess is the go-between. She is bringing together different military powers and revolutionaries such as the Fenians, radical groups that wouldn’t normally engage in dialogue.”
“Mmm, Germany, Prussia, Ireland and the Balkans. Where is Russia? You cannot have a war without Russia.”
“She is dead.”
“What?”
“She got run over by a carriage.”
The Countess was suddenly intrigued. “Are you referring to the Princess Roskovsky?”
“Who else!”
“No, no, she was a frail old lady.”
“The best spy is the one you never suspect.”
The Countess continued shaking her head. “I cannot even begin to conceive –”
“She has ties to the Tsar – what is better?”
“Who killed her and why?”
He shrugged. “My job is to do or die, your job is to figure out how and why.”
“Very droll! My thoughts have reached an impasse. I’m going back to bed.”
His voice stopped her at the door. “Tell me again who has a bedroom in our wing. I didn’t pay attention when we were being ushered to our rooms.”
“Just the two of us, plus Xenia and Fedir. The four men are in the west wing on the opposite side of the great hall. Our hostess has her own apartments in the south tower which can only be reached by the spiral stairs. Think of Chanteloup as an eagle in full flight. The great hall is the body. The south tower is the head, round in shape. There are two elongated wings – east and west – for guests. In the belly are the domestic rooms where Velazquez, Inez, Desi, Milo and the caretaker couple are housed. The entry gate is the tail of the bird. It faces north. Do you want Fedir to stand guard tonight?”
He shook his head. “No, let him sleep. He needs to rest his eyes. Just make sure you lock your door and keep your gun handy. Do Fedir and Xenia still have the weapons you issued to them on the train?”
“Yes.”
“Let them hang onto them for the duration of our visit here.”
Dr Watson’s fears were compounded the next morning when he came down to breakfast to discover that none of the servants from the village had shown up. The Countess and the other four guests were discussing the matter around the breakfast table. Faces ranged from seriously annoyed to seriously concerned.
“We should dispatch Velazquez to find out what has happened,” suggested von Gunn as he tucked into a plateful of fried potatoes and a garlicky German sausage.
Desi was helping with the breakfast to cover for the missing servants and tripped over her own clunky feet as she was advancing toward the table. A stack of crispy bacon rashers kissed the cold stone floor.
“Clumsy oaf!” rebuked von Gunn. “Pick that up before the cat gets to it! No! Don’t take it back to the kitchen. Everything else will be cold by the time you fry more bacon. Just put it here on the table and go!”
“Velazquez should not go alone to the village,” suggested the Countess. “My man, Fedir can go with him.”
“Make sure they are both armed,” advised the Baron between mouthfuls of spicy sausage and runny egg.
“I’ll go with them,” volunteered Moriarty, picking up on the Countess’s unvoiced fear. “It could be some sort of trap on the part of Sarazan. I’ll just finish my coffee first.”
“I’ll go too,” said Dr Watson, finding himself in agreement with the Irishman.
“I’ll station myself by the gate,” added von Gunn. “Reichenbach can provide back-up. We may need to shut the portcullis in a hurry.”
“Should we wake our hostess?” asked Moriarty. “I think she should be informed.”
“No,” responded the Baron forcefully, wiping egg yolk from his upper lip. “Let her sleep. We don’t need women getting in the way.” He looked directly at the Countess. “It might be best to remain in your bedchamber until we ascertain what is going on.”
She tried not to laugh. “Should I lock my door?”
Moriarty smiled wryly. “Sarazan will be in for a surprise should he get past all of us. I suggest you leave it wide open, Countess, as if you are expecting him. The surprise will be all the sweeter.”
“That is an outrageous thing to say!” spluttered Dr Watson. “I find it highly offensive! Apologise at once to the lady!”
“It was said in jest, Dr Watson. I think the lady knows that. Besides, a bit of humour helps to settle nerves before a dangerous sortie.”
“Did you learn that from the Fenians?”
As soon as Dr Watson said it he could have cut out his tongue.
Moriarty’s self-control was masterful. “I shall overlook that remark. I shall put it down to the tension of the moment. I suggest we return to our rooms to gather our firearms, gentlemen, and meet back here in ten minutes. Does anyone have a spare weapon for Velazquez?”
“I do,” said von Gunn, shifting uneasily in his seat.
The Countess waited for the great hall to clear before following Dr Watson to his room.
“What on earth possessed you to accuse Moriarty of being a Fenian?”
He rubbed his face with both hands to get the blood flowing back into his face. He was still white around the gills. “It just came out,” he moaned. “I was incensed at his crude remark. He had no right to say -”
She cut him off. “Thank you for standing up for my honour, but I took his remark with a pinch of salt. I was not at all offended. You should hear how Australians speak about their womenfolk.”
He got his back up and squared his shoulders. “This is not the Antipodes!”
“I think you should apologise.”
“Me! He’s the one who -”
“Grovel if you h
ave to.”
“Never!”
“Listen to me,” she said bluntly. “You have made an enemy of a man we may need on our side when the time comes.”
“What time? When?”
“If I knew that I would tell you. Watch your back.”
“Oh, so now I need eyes in the back of my head as well as the front!”
“Stay close to Fedir.”
“I can handle myself,” he grumbled. “I don’t need protecting.”
“I am not saying you need protecting.”
“What then? That I don’t measure up to the four military heroes in our midst? Is that it?”
“Of course not!”
“Perhaps you take me for a coward?”
Good grief! He really was wound up. Perhaps she should just whack him on the head with that wooden candlestick and knock him out cold before he started accusing her of siding with the enemy. Hang on! Enemy? Where did that spring from? Why should she think that? Why should she imagine the other men, Moriarty in particular, as the enemy? The men had given her no reason to suspect them of being anything other than brave. What’s in a name! Yes! Yes! But what? “I know you served bravely in Afghanistan.”
“As a medic - not as an officer and a gentleman or the colonel of a regiment!”
Oh, so that was it! He was jealous! It was male rivalry talking! There was only one way to handle this discussion. She pulled out her lacy handkerchief and tucked it into the pocket of his tweed jacket.
“There you go.” She gave it a gentle pat.
“What are you doing?”
“You are my champion,” she said, tongue-in-cheek, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m giving you my colours before you go into battle.”
He yanked the lacy thing out of his pocket, tossed it on the floor and stomped out.
While the men made a sortie beyond the impregnable walls of Chanteloup, the Countess made her way to the private apartments in the south tower. It was time to wake the Singing Wolf. Unlike the Baron, the Countess felt their hostess should be informed her servants had failed to turn up. In the event of an attack by Sarazan it was better for her to be prepared. Inez would normally have helped her mistress with her morning toilette but she was busy in the kitchen, covering for the missing servants, as was Xenia.
The door to the main bedchamber at the top of the stairs was unbolted so the Countess simply knocked and walked in. The bed was empty. It had been neatly turned down by the femme de chambre, the top sheet tucked back in a perfect V and the pillows perfectly plumped. It appeared it had not been slept in. She tried the adjoining dressing rooms which ran enfilade in a radiating circle that ended with the bathroom. There was no one in any of them.
The travel trunks and hat boxes had been unpacked. The clothes had been neatly laid out in storage chests and tidily hung in the armoires. The dressing table had the scent bottles and hair brushes laid out. The basin and ewer of water stood ready with a linen cloth for wiping. The copper hip-bath from the night before was still full of scented water. One of the maids should have used the water to flush the latrine in the garderobe but no maid had arrived.
The Countess quickly came to the conclusion the Singing Wolf had spent the night in someone else’s bed and would soon return to her own bedchamber to perform her ablutions and dress. She made herself comfortable on the daybed, passing the time by studying the medieval tapestries depicting Le Roman de la Rose.
When the chilliness of the chamber started to bite she decided to visit the west wing instead. The bedrooms of the male guests were all similarly decorated with four poster beds and sumptuous hangings. There was no sign of their hostess and there did not appear to be any feminine garments or accoutrements trailing the floor.
Perhaps the Singing Wolf had slept in the great hall where the coals from the huge fire would have warmed the room well into the morning, although that didn’t explain where she was at present. Something wasn’t right.
It was time to meet the caretaker couple. What were their names? Oh, yes, Almaric and Hortense. Perhaps they could shed light on the whereabouts of their mysterious mistress.
A piglet was roasting on a spit, game birds were being plucked, vegetables were being chopped and loaves of warm bread were cooling on a rack on the table. Inez spotted the Countess and assumed breakfast had finished. She went to clear the table. Xenia followed her out. Desi was in the secondary scullery scrubbing the pots and pans. Milo was fetching wood from the yard. The old woman was doing the chopping of the vegetables and the old man was doing the plucking. They were both seated at a large kitchen table. The Countess pulled up a stool. She addressed them in their native tongue, starting with a friendly greeting and a few general observations about the history of Chanteloup before discovering they also spoke English and launching into the mystery at hand.
“I am looking for your mistress Have you seen her this morning?”
They both shook their heads.
“Your mistress did not appear to sleep in her bed last night. Do you know where she slept?”
They both shook their heads.
“Is she in the habit of going out early – perhaps for a walk on the ramparts?”
They both shook their heads.
This line of questioning was leading nowhere. The Countess decided to seek out Inez.
The sultry female servant had not seen her mistress since last night. She had unpacked the clothes and turned down the bed and was then told not to bother returning until she was summoned in the morning. That summons had not come. She presumed her mistress was still sleeping and was surprised the bed had not been slept in.
“Is your mistress the lover of one of the male guests?”
Inez did not look shocked. She said she could not possibly answer such a question, except to say that her mistress always slept alone in her own bed. Always.
The Countess understood that to mean the Singing Wolf may well have had a lover but she did not spend the night in his bed. In fact, it was not inconceivable that each of the men had been a lover at some stage, or even that one, two, three or all four men were still her lovers now.
She questioned Milo, Desi, Fedir and Xenia but none had seen the Singing Wolf since the previous evening. Perhaps the men could solve the mystery of their missing hostess when they returned. She settled herself comfortably in the great hall and did not have long to wait.
The men returned looking grave. A rockslide now blocked the zigzag path. There was no way of gaining entry into the chateau unless one grew wings and learned to fly. The top half of the mountain was vertiginous and only the most skilled rock-climbers would even contemplate the near-impossible feat of scaling the sides. The men reported hearing loud voices echoing from below and assumed the servants had started clearing the rocks from their side. It was impossible to say how long it might take for the path to be cleared. They tried shifting a few rocks themselves but fear of setting off an avalanche and burying the servants put paid to that idea. They had no choice but to return to the chateau. They made sure to lower the portcullis, shut the gate and put the bar in place just to be on the safe side. Fortunately, they had brought plenty of provisions with them and would be able to sit it out for a few days, possibly a week.
“Let’s have a drink,” suggested the Baron, marching to the sideboard that served as a bar. “We might as well get used to serving ourselves. Who’s for a bracing brandy, gentlemen?”
“Make mine a double,” said the Prince.
“Make mine a cognac,” said von Gunn.
“Nothing for me,” said Dr Watson. “Where’s our hostess. She should be told about the rockslide.”
Moriarty checked the time on the grandfather clock. “Don’t tell me she’s still in bed! It’s almost midday! Pour me a malt whiskey, Reichenbach.” He turned to the Countess. “Do you know where our hostess is at present?”
“I was thinking she might be with you.”
He looked amused. “Why would you think that?”
“She’
s not in her bedchamber. Her bed has not been slept in. And none of the servants have seen her since last night.”
“Are you sure?” quizzed Dr Watson.
“Quite sure.”
“On second thoughts,” he said, reading the worried look in his companion’s eyes. “I’ll have a large whiskey.”
He gazed at the four men wondering which of them was going to own up to hosting their beautiful hostess in their bed for the night.
“Does anyone know where our hostess might have spent the night,” he said to get the ball rolling. His money was on the Fenian.
The men all shook their heads and looked mystified.
“At the risk of upsetting anyone,” confessed the Countess, “I took the liberty of checking the bedrooms in the west wing. I didn’t go in. I just poked my head in while looking for our hostess. There was no sign of her.”
A series of awkward surreptitious glances followed. Herr von Gunn was the first to react.
“Of course there was no sign of her! We all bid our hostess goodnight at the same time and retreated to our rooms.”
The other three men all nodded, backing him up.
“She said she was going to finish her cigar and then retire,” reminded the Baron as he helped himself to a cigarette from an exquisite Faberge cigarette box encrusted with cabochons before passing it on.
“I recall Velazquez was clearing the glasses,” added Prince Orczy, taking a cigarette before passing it along. “He must have been the last one to see her.”
Moriarty took a cigarette and passed the box to the next person. “Let’s speak to him now.” He looked around for a bell-pull but the chateau pre-dated such modern trappings.
“I’ll go down to the kitchens,” volunteered the Countess. “Since we are short-staffed that is where I think he will probably be found. I’ll summon Inez as well.”
10
The Lady Vanishes
Velazquez and Inez resembled carved stone caryatids poised either side of the fireplace as the men took turns interrogating them.
“When did you last see your mistress?” asked the Baron, looking steadfastly at Inez.