Only the Cat Knows

by Marian Babson

  I paused outside the door. The temptation to burst in on them in a dramatic entrance, appearing suddenly in their midst like the Demon King — or Queen — was strong, but I resisted it.

  Low key was best. As if nothing at all had happened. Just another quiet dinner on another quiet day. Everything normal and routine.

  Quiet — that was it. It was far too quiet in there. Profoundly, sadly quiet.

  Who were they in mourning for?

  I took a deep breath and slipped into the room silently, looking around to find out.

  Think again.

  The table was set as usual, but half of the usual diners were missing. Wide spaces yawned between the few who were seated there.

  Which one was missing? Hell! Half of the females were missing. Any one of them might be the victim I had stumbled over.

  ‘Nessa!’ Monica looked up as I slid into the chair beside her and was not pleased. ‘I told you —’ She broke off as the curious faces turned towards her and forced a smile. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘Much.’ I smiled back. ‘When I woke from my nap, I was feeling so much stronger, I decided to join you after all.’

  ‘We’re so glad you did.’ Beloved spoke up. ‘As you can see, our ranks are considerably reduced. Everett had another sudden descent of VIPs and sent for reinforcements.’

  Richie was sitting on my other side, in Madame’s usual place. He looked up and nodded hello.

  I nodded back. Not for a moment had I thought the body might be Madame’s. It was younger — and straighter — than hers.

  ‘He sent for Yvonne and Amanda and Candy.’ Grievance throbbed in Nina’s voice. ‘Even Kiki!’

  ‘Not Candy,’ Monica corrected. ‘She’s come down with one of her migraines. We may not see her for a couple of days now.’

  Oh, really? I carefully kept my face blank.

  ‘Rather odd, don’t you think, the way Candy develops these convenient migraine attacks whenever Everett has certain visi —’

  ‘That’s quite enough, Ivor!’ Monica called him to order.

  But he had made his point. There were certain times when Candy chose not to get involved. Obviously, this was one of them.

  ‘And you really did sleep well?’ Monica turned back to me, oozing sympathy and, incidentally, changing the subject. ‘No more … bad dreams?’

  More? The word was insidious, implying a constant, ongoing and deplorable condition. Right up there with: Have you stopped beating your wife yet?

  ‘If there were, I don’t remember them.’ I played along with a sweet smile, adding for good measure, ‘This whole day seems to have gone all fuzzy and dreamlike.’

  ‘You don’t understand how ill you’ve been — and this gloomy weather doesn’t help.’ It had been the right thing to say, suggesting disorientating side-effects from that injection. Monica gave a small approving nod. Whatever Anderson had given me had done a good job.

  ‘Winter gets so dreary here,’ Nina complained. ‘Now that it’s set in, all the days seem to blend into each other. There are times when you don’t know whether you’re really awake or sleepwalking.’ That earned her a nod of approval, too.

  A young girl I hadn’t seen before appeared and set a bowl of fragrant leek-and-potato soup in front of me.

  And that brought another question to mind: how many servants were there around this place? Silent, swift and beautifully trained, they moved around so unobtrusively it was too easy to overlook them.

  Was it one of them I had seen sprawled in the anchorite’s cell?

  ‘Eat your nice Welsh soup,’ Ivor said. ‘There’s lamb hotpot to follow. Chef has gone back to his ethnic roots tonight.’

  ‘Just the job for a night like this,’ Richie observed. A gust of wind slammed against the building and a chill draught eddied through the dining room, underlining the truth of this.

  The soup was delicious and the prospect of lamb hotpot sounded even better. Let Ivor sneer. Richie was right. Weather like this was just what Welsh country cooking had been created to combat and protect against.

  The empty soup bowls were whisked away and replaced by the lamb dish. Only the clink of cutlery against china broke the silence. I glanced around at the others.

  Monica was frowning at her plate. Richie was shovelling in the lamb, enjoying it and unconcerned about anything else. Both Nina and Ivor were pouting, although that wasn’t slowing down Ivor’s intake. Nina was pushing her food around the plate as though wishing it was something else, perhaps the more exotic sort of meal she imagined our missing colleagues were enjoying with the boss and his important visitors.

  But were they really? If Everett Oversall had visitors tonight, they were evidently on the lower side of the danger scale. The rest of us were not being subjected to a lock-in.

  Did that mean that it was unimportant if we happened to see and recognize any of them? Or did it mean that ‘visitors’ was an excuse — a code — to cover for something else?

  Like a domestic Council of War?

  That would explain why Nina and Ivor weren’t wanted. I wouldn’t trust them with any sensitive information, either. And I didn’t blame Candy for not wanting to be involved.

  They were probably trying to decide what to do about me. Not to mention the body I had discovered.

  ‘Are you sure you’re quite all right, Nessa? You look — oh!’ Monica broke off with a little gasp, staring at me wide-eyed, one hand flying to her throat in response to the primeval instinct to protect the jugular vein when threatened.

  Ooops! I realized I had inadvertently skewered her with the look I normally reserve for drunken hecklers. That would teach her to disturb my concentration! But she had no idea what she had done.

  ‘I… I don’t know …’ Quickly, I fell back into character — Nessa’s character — widening my own eyes. ‘I just felt so odd … for a moment there …’ I patted my forehead with my napkin. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I …’

  ‘You’re trying to do too much, too soon.’ Monica was back in control, accepting my explanation, welcoming it. The more weakness I betrayed, the more anything I might have seen or thought could be discounted.

  I smiled apologetically and managed three more mouthfuls of the succulent lamb before she spoke again.

  ‘We’ll excuse you from coffee, the last thing you want right now is any caffeine, a good night’s sleep is more like it.’ And the sooner, the better, her tone implied. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ I agreed. There wasn’t much left on my plate and I’d learned not to expect dessert. I pushed back my chair, I might as well leave.

  ‘I’ll see you to your room,’ Beloved said eagerly, too eagerly.

  ‘Don’t bother.’ To my relief, Richie also pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll see to that.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said gratefully.

  He winked and some of my gratefulness evaporated.

  ‘Just a minute —’ Monica caught up a saucer and scraped the remaining gravy and bits of lamb from my plate, adding a generous chunk from her own plate. ‘You don’t even remember how fond Gloriana is of lamb,’ she said, handing it to me with a forgiving smile.

  ‘Oh, dear! I’m afraid I don’t.’ I took it from her, grateful again. I had forgotten all about the bloody cat. I was going to have to watch that.

  Richie stepped back, allowing me to precede him. A swift backward glance revealed Nina watching us jealously and Ivor pouting again. Monica had returned to staring at her plate with an abstracted expression, obviously thinking of more important matters. Undoubtedly, I figured largely in them.

  Richie remained a step or two behind me all the way to the cloister, although I’d slowed my steps to let him catch up. Was this to underline the fact that he was more of a hired hand than I was? Or was he guarding my back?

  Perhaps he was just shy. No, the wink he had given me blew that theory out of the water. It had been almost conspiratorial. What did we have to conspire about?


  I wasn’t going to find out that night.

  I’ll wait here —’ he stepped back at my door — ‘while you take a quick look around to make sure everything’s all right, then I’ll go back and report that you’re home safe.’

  ‘Thank you.’ How interesting to learn that Richie seemed to be aware that there might be a reason to make sure my quarters were safe before he abandoned me to them. What did he know that I didn’t know — or suspect? And how could I pry it out of him?

  ‘Hurry up.’ He stepped gingerly over the threshold, leaving the door open behind him.

  I started forward cautiously when a sudden streak of white lightning flashed past my ankles. Gloriana — sighting the open door and heading impulsively for freedom.

  Freedom — with Bud and Brutus and all the other guard dogs out there patrolling the grounds.

  ‘Don’t let her out!’ I made a dive to intercept her and missed. ‘Shut that bloody door!’

  ‘Well, well, well.’ He blocked her way with his foot and scooped her up. ‘Feeling a bit stronger, are we?’

  ‘Galvanized by terror!’ I snapped. ‘If she got out — if those dogs got hold of her —’ I didn’t have to fake it, I felt genuinely faint and queasy at the thought.

  ‘Sit down.’ He was still holding Gloriana, who seemed to have given up all idea of leaving and was investigating his T-shirt with interest. I wondered if he had spilled any dinner on it.

  ‘The door —’ I said.

  ‘If you insist.’ He swung it shut with his foot, continuing to stroke and soothe Gloriana. ‘I thought she was an indoor cat.’

  ‘So did I. Unless that’s something else I can’t remember.’

  ‘Females,’ he shrugged. ‘You’re all fickle opportunists. You don’t need to want anything. You just want to prove to yourselves that you can get it — whether you want it or not.’

  Was he speaking generally, or had this conversation just taken a sudden personal turn?

  ‘Typical male chauvinist,’ I sniffed. That seemed a safe enough comment. ‘I’m surprised Madame hasn’t trained you better.’

  ‘Are you?’ His face closed down, he even stopped smiling at the cat. Certainly there were going to be no more smiles for me. ‘Then I’d better get back to her, hadn’t I, so that she can have another go at me.’ He let the cat drop to the floor abruptly, where she looked as shaken as I felt at his sudden change of mood.

  ‘Wait! I’m sorry. Don’t go. I wanted to ask you if Madame —’

  ‘Madame speaks for herself!’ He was on the other side of the door now and seemed more comfortable there. ‘If you don’t remember that, then you’d better relearn it. And the quicker, the better!’

  The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at it in bemusement.

  ‘Who’d have thought the young man had so much fire in him?’ I misquoted to the cat.

  Who cared? She didn’t. She had caught the scent of lamb from the saucer I still held. She rose up on her hind legs and spoke sharply.

  ‘All right, all right.’ I set it down in front of her. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot all about it.’

  She gave me one supercilious glance, then dived into the saucer with a dismissive flick of her tail.

  Richie was obviously not the only one around here who thought I could do with a refresher course in the way I ought to behave.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I slept through most of the morning — or what passed for it in this gloom — and had barely finished my brunch when Nina arrived. Unannounced, uninvited and bearing a large portfolio which she dumped on the sofa table, beaming at me as she unzipped it.

  ‘What’s that?’ I eyed it suspiciously.

  ‘Sketches, swatches, proposals, plans.’ She was proud of herself and whatever devilry she had packed into the large leather case.

  ‘Nina, I’m sorry. I’m not really up to this yet.’

  ‘All you have to do is look.’ She swept any objections aside. ‘You needn’t make any decisions right away. This is just to give you something to think about.’

  Just what I needed. Something to think about. At least she was assuming I could still think. I wasn’t so sure some of the others would give me the benefit of that doubt, although they were ready enough to tell me what I should be thinking — and what I shouldn’t.

  ‘You’ll love it, I know. After all, we had agreed —’ She broke off and squinted at me assessingly. ‘You still don’t remember even one teensy-weensy thing?’

  ‘Sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘Believe me, I wish I could.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you. But it must be so awkward for you … and …’ She hesitated delicately. ‘And for the rest of us, too.’

  ‘It’s very difficult,’ I sighed. She was angling towards something. I wondered if Beloved had enlisted her in his cause. Was I about to be supplied with spurious memories of the Great Romance? I might as well give her the opening she wanted; she was going to tell me anyway. I’m afraid there are all sorts of things I ought to be seeing to that I don’t know about. Things that I ought to be doing …?’

  ‘Well …’ She waited for further urging.

  ‘Is there something in particular you know about?’

  ‘Well, actually …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mention it, but I’d hoped you might remember before this … you promised so faithfully’

  ‘Promised what?’ It was too fast, too sharp. She shrank back.

  ‘I need to know.’ I softened my voice and put a pleading look on my face. ‘You must understand — it’s so awful not knowing… especially if there were promises. I don’t want to let anyone down — even though I can’t help it, the way I am now.’

  ‘Oh, I do understand!’ She relaxed and forgave me. ‘It … it’s nothing, really. Well … not very much …’

  ‘Yes? Tell me … please.’

  She hesitated so long I wondered if I should try pretty please, but decided that would be going too far. I’d just outwait her.

  ‘Well …’ It wasn’t such a long wait after all; she was dying to tell me. ‘Actually … I don’t want to rush you, or anything, but you did borrow some money from me and you were going to pay it back in a few days. Oh, I’m not blaming you. No one could have imagined what was going to happen, but… I do need to get more art supplies … and … and it was all my spare cash.’

  ‘How much?’ I kept my voice steady, my face concerned. Did I believe her or not?

  ‘Well, t —’ she flinched — ‘three hundred pounds.’

  ‘Three hundred pounds.’ Why did I have the feeling that she had started to say ‘two’ and then upped the ante? Was she telling the truth at all? If Nessa had needed money, why hadn’t she asked me?

  I’m so sorry.’ I slipped into apologetic mode quickly. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ She forgave me, perhaps with a touch of relief that I hadn’t questioned it. ‘How could you, the way you were … are?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said rashly. I’ll see to it. Right away.’

  But how? This was a complication I hadn’t bargained on. Impersonating Nessa was one thing, forging her signature to dip into her bank account was something quite different. And if I took the money from the emergency funds I had hidden in my make-up box, it would leave me dangerously low.

  ‘Only —’ I looked at Nina’s anxious face. ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember my bank — I know! I’ll ask Monica.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she said quickly. ‘No! Don’t tell Monica! This was just between us. We don’t want her to know!’

  That was the first statement from her that I believed.

  Of course, if she was telling the truth, there wouldn’t be enough money in Nessa’s account, anyway. But I didn’t believe Nina for a moment. She was trying it on — and I had to act unsuspecting and let her get away with it.

  ‘I mean,’ she went on swiftly, ‘we’re supposed to be able to manage on our salaries — small as they are. Everett gets very uptight about that.
He even thinks we should be able to save, since he takes care of all our living expenses. Now, I don’t know what you wanted the money for —’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘And I didn’t ask,’ she continued firmly. ‘I was glad to help, especially as you told me it wouldn’t be for long. Neither of us could have foreseen what was going to happen to you. For all I know, you never even had time to spend the money. It might still be hidden away here somewhere.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any.’ Was that why she and her chum had been prowling around in here when they thought the place was empty? Not looking for any money she had loaned Nessa, but because she thought Nessa had a secret hoard and she wanted to get her sticky little fingers on it.

  Since that hadn’t worked, she was now going to try to con it out of me. She had so much nerve that it was almost awe-inspiring.

  ‘Speaking of salaries —’ abstracted, I lapsed into theatrical slang — ‘when does the ghost walk?’

  ‘You —’ Her eyes widened, her face lost all colour and she dropped the swatch of pale blue silk she had been toying with. ‘You do remember!’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Her reaction startled me. ‘Remember what? I remember nothing.’

  ‘Then you’ve seen it! Since you’ve been back!’

  ‘Seen what?’

  ‘The ghost — you just said so! You wanted to know when you’d see it again. As though I could tell you!’

  ‘What ghost?’ That was not something I was going to admit. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You asked when it would walk!’ Her voice shook, she looked at me accusingly. ‘You know!’

  ‘Know what?’ I widened my own eyes. ‘I just used a bit of theatrical slang. It translates to: when do we get paid? It doesn’t mean anything more than that. Not to me. What does it mean to you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said defensively. ‘Not really. That is … you’re sure you haven’t seen it? Some of the maids claim they have — just before they give notice and leave.’

  ‘Are you telling me this place is haunted? Not that I’d be surprised if there were a ghost or two here. It’s that sort of place, isn’t it?’