by Joan Smith
“That can’t be right,” she said. “General Max wouldn’t dare invite her to his house, nor take her to a local inn. His mother is as bad as Lady Raleigh. As good, I mean,” she said hastily when Breslau’s thin lips lifted in a smile.
“Then we must assume he had his carriage waiting nearby and carried her a little further afield.”
“I doubt very much if she’d oblige him after the cool way he treated her tonight. She’s no doormat, Breslau, and she was furious.”
“I’m aware of that. Apparently he sent her a billet-doux sometime during the assembly to patch up the rift and arrange the, er—love tryst.”
Pamela considered this for feasibility, and was still unconvinced. “It is all exceedingly odd. Can they possibly be that eager to—to see each other,” she said primly, “that they couldn’t wait till she returns to London?”
A sardonic gleam lit his pale eyes. “You will find, as you succumb to some suitor’s charms, Miss Comstock, that ‘seeing each other’ can be inconveniently urgent.”
“Inconvenience must have reached its apogee tonight. Mrs. Maxwell was fully alert and on the warpath. She keeps the general on a two-inch leash when he’s home, you must know.”
“Which no doubt accounts for his spending so much time in London.”
“The inconvenience wasn’t all on his side. It was no easy matter for Fleur to get to him in this pelting rain.” She paused a moment, then emitted a squeak. “Breslau, that’s why she wanted the downstairs suite!” she exclaimed.
It was Fleur’s insistence on wanting that particular set of rooms that pretty well convinced Pamela. Nigel returned, frowning into his collar.
“You didn’t tell your father?” Pamela asked.
“Of course not! Do you take me for an idiot? Anyway, he’s sound asleep.” He turned to Breslau, who was regarding him oddly. “Did you tell her?”
“She knows,” Breslau answered noncommittally.
Lord Breslau pulled out his watch and glanced at it. “It’s one o’clock,” he said. “Time we all retire.”
Pamela chose that moment to take a seat. She sat with her chin resting on her hands. The puckering of her brow indicated deep thought. “It’s odd Fleur didn’t extinguish the lamps before she left.”
“We’ve already discussed the urgency of the tryst,” Breslau reminded her.
She gave him an angry look. “And she left the door open, too.”
“She has to get back in before dawn, numbskull,” Nigel retorted. “Did you leave the door on the latch, Breslau?”
“Certainly I did.”
“But she didn’t just leave it on the latch. She left it hanging open,” Pamela told them. “A great gust of wind hit me when I went into the drawing room. Now that is odd, don’t you think?”
“You’re trying to make bricks without straw here, Miss Comstock,” Breslau said dismissingly.
A frown pinched Nigel’s brow. “She did look very dead, Wes,” he said uncertainly. “She was cold as ice.”
“Two lumps of coal don’t give off much heat. The room was like an icehouse.”
“Yes, but she was colder than that,” Nigel insisted. “If she wasn’t dead, she was unconscious. She didn’t bat an eyelash when I jiggled her arm and tried to waken her. How did she wake up and sneak out so quickly?”
“You forget, Nigel, the lady’s an actress. She didn’t want to waste time talking to you, and pretended she was sleeping to be rid of you.”
“Why didn’t she lock her door to keep anyone from the house going in?” Pamela asked.
Nigel was only half-listening. He appeared very worried, but after a moment he said, “There isn’t any lock on that door.”
“Was she wearing her sable cape when you saw her, Nigel?” Pamela asked.
“No, she was just lying on top of the counterpane. Why do you ask?”
“Because I checked her room, and her cape’s missing. Since the room’s so cold, you’d think she would have thrown it over herself. And another thing, her night things are still on the bed.”
Pamela had very little idea what degree of formality existed during a love tryst, but thought the peignoir at least might have been required. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?” she asked, directing her question to Nigel.
“Don’t look at me! Ask Wes.”
“They aren’t required, though…” Breslau stopped in midspeech and turned to Pamela. “What else was left behind?”
“All her toilet articles—brush, comb, powder, rouge—they were on the toilette table. She’d need them. Her hair would be all mussed after—after she got up,” she finished, with a rebukeful glance at Breslau, who was watching her with a smile.
“Was her reticule gone?” he asked.
“I didn’t notice.”
Without further conversation they all returned to Fleur’s suite. They lit the lamps and made a cursory search of the room. Fleur’s beaded evening bag was found on a chair, and the larger leather reticule she’d brought with her was on the shelf of the clothespress, along with her bonnet.
“That’s the bonnet she wore this afternoon,” Nigel exclaimed. “She didn’t bring any other hatbox with her. Dash it, Wes, she wouldn’t have gone jauntering off without her bonnet or reticule.”
“This suggests an incredible urgency,” Pamela agreed, and looked to Breslau for explanation.
He lifted the reticule and drew out the wallet. “Her money’s here.”
“See if General Max’s billet-doux is there,” Pamela suggested.
“What billet-doux?” Nigel demanded. “Did that old goat write to her?”
“We shouldn’t be rooting through her things,” Breslau said.
“Damme, she could be murdered for all we know,” Nigel exclaimed. “Take a look, Wes. I want to see that letter.”
Breslau dumped the contents of the reticule and beaded evening bag on the counterpane. The usual feminine miscellany was there, but no letter from General Max, and nothing to give a reason for Fleur’s abrupt departure.
Pamela glanced at the contents, then looked around the room. “I notice her favorite shawl is missing.”
Nigel stood, biting his underlip as though he wanted to say something. At last he could control himself no longer and blurted out, “That ain’t all that’s missing.”
“What do you mean?” Pamela asked.
“Nothing. Fleur’s missing, too. And I don’t believe for one minute she went to see Maxwell. She didn’t walk out of here on her own feet, not when she was lying stiff as a board and stone-cold two minutes before. Somebody killed her, and took the body away to hide.”
“That strikes me as extremely unlikely,” Breslau said. “Before we sound any alarm, we must review the matter. Fleur’s chamber wasn’t that far from the saloon. We didn’t hear any disturbance. There’d have been a racket if someone tried to jump her. She would have screamed when she was attacked. You didn’t see any blood?”
“Lord, no,” Nigel said. “She looked very peaceful.”
“There’s no sign of an intruder—nothing in the room is disarranged,” Breslau pointed out, looking around. “It was an orderly departure. Fleur won’t thank us for calling the police in.”
“I don’t like it,” Nigel insisted.
“No more do I,” Breslau agreed. “But we shall wait till morning and see if she isn’t back in her room.”
“He’s right, Nigel,” Pamela said. “I believe Fleur’s lover—General Max, or the handsome stranger who was not necessarily a stranger to her—came tapping at her door. She didn’t want anyone to hear, so she picked up her pelisse and went out to speak to him. He convinced her to go off somewhere, and she went. She’ll probably be back any moment.”
“You don’t fool me, Pam. You’re just trying to show me Fleur ain’t the sort of lady I should marry,” Nigel charged.
“Surely you can see that for yourself.”
“Pamela’s right,” Breslau said firmly. “The thing to do is for us to go to bed, before your mother co
mes down to see what’s keeping us. If Fleur isn’t back by morning, then we’ll begin making serious enquiries.”
“I, for one, am going to bed,” Pamela said, and made her good nights before leaving.
Breslau went into the hall and watched her mount the stairs. When she was gone, he returned to Nigel. “I’d like to hear a little more about what else is missing,” he said, “and why you felt it necessary to dash up and make sure your father was in his room. Was he, by the by?”
“Of course he was! I couldn’t say anything in front of Pam. The worst thing, Wes. Fleur stole Mama’s diamond bracelet.
Breslau looked blank. “Good God, man, she’s not a thief! Where did you get that idea?”
“She had it on her wrist. I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s an antiquated old thing, with a diamond link chain and an ugly old flower in the middle. Quite distinctive. All Fleur’s jewelry is of the latest cut.”
“How could she steal it? Your mother didn’t wear it this evening. Where is it kept?”
“In the safe in Papa’s office. That’s why I went to see Papa, to ask if he’d given it to her, but he was asleep. I can’t imagine how Fleur got in and opened the safe. And why she only stole the bracelet and left the necklace,” he added, sinking deeper into confusion. “At least she wasn’t wearing Mama’s necklace.”
Breslau pinched his aching temples and sighed. “Oh, Lord. It was bad enough that Fleur was carrying on with Max at such a time and place. Now it seems the wretched woman has turned her hand to blackmail.”
“Papa didn’t even know I wanted to marry her. And Mama couldn’t have given her the bracelet, for she don’t know how to open the safe.”
“Nigel, you clothhead. You’re making an ass of yourself, dangling after Fleur.” But, of course, this was not the matter Fleur was using for her illicit ends.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. And I’ll see that Fleur returns the bracelet.”
“Who could sleep with all this weighing on him,” Nigel said, and went to fetch the wine bottle, for it was clear he and Wes had some heavy man-to-man talk coming up.
Chapter Six
It took considerable ingenuity on Breslau’s part to convince Nigel he had imagined seeing the bracelet and dissuade him from discussing it with his father. The delusion was blamed on the excitement of literary creation.
“Any dramatist worth his salt sees imaginary scenes of incredible clarity when he is creating,” Breslau explained.
“That’s true.” Incredibly lifelike scenes between himself and Fleur had been popping quite unbidden into his mind.
“You were in the throes of literary inspiration. Very fatiguing work, I should think. Let us retire now, so you’ll be fresh in the morning.”
Eventually Nigel was persuaded up to bed, but it was more than an hour before his cot in the next room fell silent and Breslau was free to return belowstairs. His mood boded ill for the wayward marquise. It stung his pride to skulk about like a character in a French farce, creeping downstairs in his stocking feet, peering all about to make sure no one was watching him. If Lady Raleigh should take into her head to patrol the hallway, for instance, she’d jump to the wrong conclusion. Or Miss Comstock, for that matter.
He reached the downstairs landing without incident and proceeded silently along the hallway toward Fleur’s apartment. As he crept along, he heard a squawk from the end of the hall and slid into the closest doorway. From the concealing shadows, he saw a taper moving down the dark hall. In the beam of its flickering light, Sir Aubrey’s angry face hovered, looking for all the world like a gargoyle. The squawk, and Sir Aubrey, had both issued from Fleur’s apartment door.
Breslau remained hidden till he had passed, then hastened along to the door. The apartment was in total darkness. He called once in a low voice, got no answer, and lit a taper. The rooms were unchanged from his last visit. He was in no mood for sleep, and went to the saloon to await Fleur’s return, passing the time with a cheroot, a glass of wine, and his thoughts. When he felt the lassitude of sleep falling on him two hours later, he went upstairs to bed.
* * * *
Lady Raleigh kept early hours at Belmont. She habitually rose at seven, but allowed her guests to breakfast anytime before nine. At eight, Pamela was at the table alone in a state of high fidgets. When Breslau joined her later, he knew by her staring eyes that more unpleasant surprises were in store.
With a dark look he said, “Don’t tell me till I’ve had a cup of coffee.”
“You look awful,” Pamela told him. “Did you not sleep?” Breslau’s eyes were bleary and smudged with fatigue, but it was the grim set of his lips that gave him that forbidding air.
“Perhaps twenty winks.”
As he sipped his coffee, he observed that the night’s activities left no trace on Miss Comstock. She looked even brighter and fresher than before, like a healthy animal. After Breslau had drunk half a cup of coffee, she could wait no longer.
“Fleur isn’t in her room,” she said.
The sounds Breslau uttered were very subdued, and very profane. He had warned Fleur a dozen times that this wasn’t the sort of house where she could play off her stunts. Propriety was the watchword here, and she had promised to toe the line.
“I hope you haven’t told anyone?”
“No, but there’s more, Breslau. All her things are gone. I went to her apartment at seven. The room is stripped bare of all her belongings. Lady Raleigh thinks she’s still here. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think you’d lie in bed so late on a day like this,” she said accusingly.
Breslau stared into the black iridescence in his cup and wished he could be swallowed up in it. Here was a pretty kettle of fish!
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Wring her neck when she returns.”
“She surely won’t have the gall to show her face here again! The removal of her clothing suggests she’s returned to London, don’t you think? And not even a note of thanks. I call that rag-mannered.”
“Is Sir Aubrey up yet?”
“In his study.”
Without another word, Breslau went to confront Sir Aubrey. He got his ears singed for his impertinence.
“How dare you suggest I gave that hussy my wife’s diamonds!”
“Just the bracelet. At least that’s all that was seen.” Fortunately Sir Aubrey didn’t ask who had seen it. “She had it, Aubrey. You either gave it to her, or she stole it. If it was the latter, I assume you’ll be sending for the constable.”
“The bracelet is in London being cleaned,” Sir Aubrey said stiffly. The livid hue of his jowls might have been due to indignation, or lying.
Breslau wanted to gain his host’s trust and assumed a conciliating manner. “I’m not suggesting you’re having an affaire with the marquise. If you were, it’s nothing to do with me. Truth to tell, I feared she was holding you to ransom.”
The livid jowls retained their hue, but Sir Aubrey’s angry eyes assumed a new wariness. “What are you suggesting she could possibly have against me?”
“Ancient history. From the hints she was tossing your way yesterday, I’d say a liaison in Brighton twenty odd years ago. Am I correct?”
“Certainly not. If I ever knew the woman, I don’t recall it. It’s true my youth was not as spotless as Lady Raleigh would like, but I was not so abandoned that I forgot my partners.”
“Then why did you visit her room late last night?”
“Who says I did!” Sir Aubrey exclaimed, ready to deny it with his dying breath.
“I say so. I saw you leave.”
“Hmph. If you must know, I just wished to have a word with her in private.”
“I’m afraid you must tell me what that word was.”
Sir Aubrey froze. “You overstep the bounds of a guest, sir.”
“My leading lady is missing. Every journal in London will run banners two-inches high if we don’t find her before tomorrow
night’s performance. She disappeared while under your roof, and in theory, at least, your protection.”
“You were her escort!”
“Nigel saw her safely to her apartment.”
An impasse had been reached. Sir Aubrey was not ready to confess.
“Can you at least give me your assurance that you didn’t ask her to leave your house?”
“Good God, man! I’m not a savage. I was as surprised as you when I saw that empty room.”
“You’ve no idea where she is then?”
“London would be my guess, and good riddance.”
London, however, was a two-hour drive away. Breslau knew that if he went to London and didn’t find her, he’d have to turn around and come back to Belmont. Better to exhaust all possibilities here first.
“We’ll not disturb Lady Raleigh with any unfounded conjectures. I plan to tell her Lady Chamaude was called away suddenly,” Sir Aubrey said. His tone was more civil than before.
“What do you plan to tell the constable?”
“No need to call him till you check in London.” Sir Aubrey’s tone was more than civil, it was pleading, and his eyes wore a haunted look.
“I’m not going to London just yet,” Breslau said, and left the study. Let Raleigh stew a while. The sharp edge of fear might loosen his tongue.
Before calling on General Maxwell, Breslau wanted to check Fleur’s apartment for himself. He saw Pamela had left the breakfast table, and wasn’t surprised to find her already in Fleur’s bedroom.
“What did Sir Aubrey say?” she asked.
“Nothing of any account. We plan to tell Lady Raleigh Fleur was urgently summoned to London.”
Pamela pointed to the empty clothespress. “Everything’s gone, just as I said. Hat, suit, reticule, toilet things. She left the manuscript behind. That’s all.”
Breslau glanced around the room. “It looks like a hurried job. Drawers left hanging open, clothes hangers on the floor.”
“It wouldn’t take long. She only brought one evening gown with her, as well as the suit she wore, of course.”