She thought of the attaché case she had seen hidden beneath the governess’s bed. Surely that would be where she’d find the evidence she needed? That was where Miss Carter kept her pocket-watch camera, and no doubt other secret things too; after all, there must be a reason why she kept the key so carefully, hanging around her neck. If only Anna could think of a way to get hold of that key! Then she could sneak into Miss Carter’s room and unlock the box, and once she had the evidence, she would take it straight to the Count and Countess and prove that Miss Carter was plotting against them.
Anna stood shielding her eyes with her hand, feeling the wind blow her skirt against her legs and flutter in her hair. She felt tall and strong, and full of a blazing determination. She knew she was much more than a useless princess, no matter how they treated her. She would show them. She would find out the truth about Miss Carter – whatever it took.
CHAPTER TEN
Wilderstein Castle, Arnovia
The next few days were strange ones. The castle seemed unlike its usual self. Sentries were stationed in the grounds each night: Anna knew they were there to help keep them safe, but it gave her an odd, shivery feeling to watch their shadowy figures marching up and down the paths, with their long rifles over their shoulders. The Countess did not make Anna sit at the back-board, nor correct her deportment, and the Count did not pore over plans of aeroplanes, nor did he take Alex on his morning ‘drills’. Instead, they spent all their time shut up in their private sitting room, and the castle felt odd and lonely without them. From behind the sitting-room door, Anna could sometimes hear the sound of their raised voices.
Alex seemed unlike his usual self too. Although he appeared to have forgiven Anna for telling Grandfather her suspicions about Miss Carter, he was obviously uneasy: quieter than usual and distracted in the schoolroom. He didn’t even seem very enthusiastic about their performance of The Tempest, which they gave in the ballroom as planned, although the Count and Countess were now too busy to come and see it. Instead they performed for an audience of three – Miss Carter, Karl and Würstchen. But however enthusiastically Karl clapped and Miss Carter cheered, their applause was hollow, echoing around the empty ballroom, where the portrait of their parents seemed to look on silently from the wall.
All the while, Anna was watching Miss Carter. She watched her in the ballroom, as she carefully arranged Alex’s Prospero cloak; and in the schoolroom as she read aloud or gave them a spelling test. She watched her at breakfast, and while she played cricket with Alex in the garden. More and more, she suspected that Miss Carter was watching her too. Sometimes when she glanced up from her books, she’d see the governess’s eyes glittering at her in a way she found disconcerting. The day that Grandfather had visited, she’d come into Anna’s bedroom. ‘I know you left the grounds this afternoon,’ she’d said, giving Anna a piercing look. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell the Countess. But really, you must be careful. Please don’t go wandering off like that again. It isn’t safe.’
Anna had stared after her as she left the room. How on earth could she have possibly known about Anna leaving the grounds? She’d been right on the other side of the castle when Anna had returned, and surely she couldn’t possibly know about the hidden door? She’d only been at the castle for a few weeks. Had she been snooping around again? And what did she mean it isn’t safe? Could she have been making some kind of threat?
All the time she was wondering how she could possibly get hold of the key to Miss Carter’s attaché case. But even though she’d peeped inside the governess’s room more than once, she’d never seen so much as a glimpse of it anywhere. She probably wore it around her neck at all times. She was certainly far too clever to leave it lying around. Miss Carter might seem jolly and cheerful, but more and more, Anna saw a different side of her – sharp, fox-like, secret. She thought again about how different she had looked without her spectacles, and with her long hair flowing loose – like someone else altogether. That peculiar sense that she’d once seen her somewhere before kept niggling away, as she watched Miss Carter bending over Alex’s shoulder to look at something he was showing her in one of his magazines.
Magazines! It flashed into her head like a burst of bright light. Could that be where she had seen Miss Carter? It seemed a wild idea, but as soon as she had the chance, Anna slipped quietly along the passageway towards Alex’s bedroom. Inside, she found his big stack of theatre magazines, and she sat down on the floor beside them, rapidly turning over the pages. She scanned photographs of West End leading ladies, Parisian dancers, Broadway actors, moving-picture stars – yet not one of them looked in the least bit familiar. She must have been mistaken. She had almost given up on the idea when in the middle of one of the magazines, she saw that a page had been ripped out.
She felt the rough, torn edge with her fingertips. Of course, it was perfectly possible that Alex had taken the page out himself, but Anna knew that the magazines were precious to him, so surely he would have cut it out carefully with scissors, not torn it out roughly like that? She remembered that she’d seen Miss Carter leafing through the magazines: what if she had found the page and ripped it out, in order to hide a photograph from Alex? After all, thought Anna, who could be better to play the part of a governess than a real-life actress?
The thought of it made her throat feel very dry, and her skin prickle. She took the magazine and slipped out of Alex’s room again. A footman was standing outside the door, like a sentry on duty – she recognised him with a sudden start as the one who had caught her out of bed, the night she’d spied on Miss Carter. Now, he bowed to her and said: ‘Good afternoon, Your Highness’, but there was something about the way he said it that made her feel horrible. He held her gaze and smirked, as though he knew that once more he’d caught her somewhere she shouldn’t be.
Anna turned her back on him and went into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She hid the magazine carefully, sliding it inside the covers of one of the books on her shelf. She thought she might need it later, but as evidence went, a magazine with a missing page certainly wasn’t enough. She had to think of a way to get into Miss Carter’s attaché case, and she could not afford to wait a single minute longer.
What if she were to steal the whole case, she thought suddenly? It was not very big, and the lock did not look especially strong. Surely there must be some way she could break the suitcase open – cut the leather or smash the lock – and see what was inside? It would be a bold thing to do, but Anna was beginning to feel desperate.
She went back out of her bedroom, ignoring the footman, and down the passageway in the direction of the governess’s room once more. On the way, she saw two of the new maids, coming out of the bathroom, each carrying a large empty bucket. ‘Danke schön,’ she heard Miss Carter’s voice say from inside, as the door closed behind them.
Anna realised at once what was happening. Wilderstein Castle had old-fashioned plumbing; there was no hot running water; so when anyone had a bath, the servants had to bring up hot water from the kitchen. Her heart quickened. If Miss Carter was taking a bath, then this would be the perfect moment to take the attaché case!
Looking quickly around her to make sure there were no maids or footmen in sight, she slid inside the governess’s bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her so she would not be seen.
Peeping inside the room was one thing, but actually sneaking in was quite another. Her skin felt damp, and her hands were trembling. Even though she knew Miss Carter was safely in the bathroom, she found herself tiptoeing across the room towards the bed, hardly daring to breathe.
It was not very tidy. A gown and a couple of petticoats were tossed every which way over a chair, there was a muddle of books and papers on the table, and even a pair of stockings tangled on the floor. She crept over to the bed to find the attaché case, but then something stopped her. Lying on the messy dressing table beside a brush, a comb and a powder puff, Anna glimpsed a little key, hanging from a fine silver chain.
/> She almost clapped her hands in satisfaction. Of course – Miss Carter had finally taken the key off, while she had a bath! But there was no time to lose: Anna snatched it up at once, and reached beneath the bed as she’d seen Miss Carter do. Her hand closed over the shiny leather of the attaché case, which rattled intriguingly as she slid it towards her. Her hands fumbling in her haste, she fitted the little key into the lock, and then eagerly lifted the lid. Inside, she saw … nothing.
Nothing but some embroidered handkerchiefs and a few pairs of gloves. Was that really all that the mysterious case contained? She sat back on her heels, disappointed.
But why go to so much trouble to lock it and hide it away if all it contained were handkerchiefs, she wondered. Surely there must be more to it than that? She began feeling around inside the case, and realised to her excitement that the handkerchiefs and gloves were lying on a shallow tray, which could be lifted out. Carefully she removed it, and what she saw underneath made her gasp aloud. Underneath the layer of filmy lace and embroidery was concealed a dozen small compartments, each holding something different. A map. A fat roll of bank notes. The silver pocket-watch camera she had seen. Some folded identity papers. A little glass phial, barely bigger than her finger. A small set of field-glasses. A bundle of letters with foreign stamps.
Anna’s fingers trembled. For a moment, she didn’t know what to look at first. Then, she reached out, breathlessly, towards the identity papers.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
Anna looked up in horror. Miss Carter was standing above her. She was wearing her dressing gown; and her wet hair was hanging down her back in a long, dark waterfall. Anna pushed the case away, spilling its contents, but of course it was too late. Miss Carter had seen exactly what she was doing. She looked shocked, and for a moment an anxious expression flashed across her face. But then as quickly as it had come, the expression seemed to vanish and then her dark eyes sparked with fury.
‘How dare you come into my room and go through my things! What a rotten, low-down thing to do!’
Anna took a step back. She was afraid, but she felt suddenly furious too. Her cheeks blazed red: how could Miss Carter say that Anna was rotten and low-down when she was the one who was a spy? She opened her mouth to retort, but Miss Carter didn’t give her a chance. ‘I’m not in the least bit interested to hear what you have to say for yourself. I’m very disappointed in you.’
Seizing Anna firmly by the elbow, she marched her out of the room, slamming the door on the attaché case and its contents. Anna tried to struggle, but the governess held her firm. As she marshalled her down the passage, Anna felt tears of anger and frustration starting in her eyes. She was mortified to see the footman was still standing outside her bedroom door, staring at her with insolent curiosity. For a moment his eyes met the governess’s, and she gave him an imperious glance before bundling Anna inside her bedroom.
‘Now, I want you to stay in here and have a very good long think about what you’ve done,’ said Miss Carter, her voice so loud that Anna was sure half the castle would be able to hear. Her face crimson with anger and embarrassment, she made a dash for the door, but Miss Carter was too quick. Before Anna could do anything else, she had swept out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. The key turned with a clunk in the lock, and there was a grating sound as Miss Carter took it from the keyhole, before walking rapidly away down the passage.
Anna rattled the handle, but the door didn’t budge. Miss Carter had locked her in her room and taken away the key.
Anna collapsed on to the bed, a torrent of rage and indignation sweeping over her, and burst into furious tears. How dare Miss Carter lock her in her bedroom? How dare she speak to her in that rude way, as if she wasn’t a princess at all, but only a naughty child? It was only the thought of that awful footman outside the door listening that forced her to calm her sobs. She scrubbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to breathe, and as she did so she realised it all made a terrible kind of sense. Miss Carter was a spy, and Anna was the only one who knew it.
What would Miss Carter do now? Would she run away while she had the chance, or might she do something to try and prevent Anna telling anyone what she knew? That thought made her feel worse than ever, and she darted to the window wondering if she could try and climb out, but her bedroom was high up on the second floor, and there would be no way to get down. Then she ran to the door, thinking that she should bang and shout for help. But who would answer her? Everyone was far away: Alex would be in the schoolroom; the Count and Countess would be in their private sitting room; and she did not trust that footman in the passageway one bit. She remembered what he had said to her in the night; and she remembered too how Miss Carter had looked at him. What if he was working with her? For all she knew, he could be part of the plot too.
She sat in the middle of the bed, making herself small, tucking her knees under her chin. The courage she had felt on the mountainside just a few days ago had vanished and now she felt very small and alone.
She was still sitting there when it began to get dark. She had been sure that Alex would come and whisper to her through the door, or perhaps a maid would appear with a tray of supper, but no one came. After suppertime had come and gone, she went over to the door and cautiously called: ‘Hello? Is anyone out there?’ But no one answered her. Even the footman seemed to have gone away.
Wilderstein Castle was silent. No one talking. No servants going by in the passageway. Not even so much as a bark from Würstchen. She went to the window and looked into the garden, but there was no one there. All she could see was the distant figures of the guards on duty far away from her, the shape of their rifles outlined in the fading light.
Bedtime arrived and still nobody came. It was a hot night and Anna lay flat on her bed, listening. After a while among the ordinary night-time sounds – leaves rustling in the garden, a bird calling in the dark – she began to hear other things, odd little noises. First the sound of a door opening and closing softly somewhere on the floor above, then a distant low murmur of voices. Somewhere outside the quiet rumble of a motor-engine, and then once, the rapid pattering of feet in the corridor, gone before she had the chance to call out.
After she had lain awake listening for a long time, she must have fallen into an uneasy sleep, because when she woke, it was very dark. Someone was leaning over her bed, and fear jolted her awake at once. It was Miss Carter, fully dressed and holding a candle.
‘Wake up, Anna,’ she said in a tense, low voice. ‘Get out of bed!’
‘W-what?’ Anna managed to stammer. ‘Why? What’s happening?’
The governess’s face was shadowy and strange. She whispered: ‘We’re going to play Murder in the Dark.’
PART III
‘Of all the cities that Papa and I have visited this year, it is Paris that still seems to me the most marvellous. Perhaps it is because it was there that we first began this great adventure.’
– From the diary of Alice Grayson
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paris, France
The offices of Monsieur Dupont, Notaire, were very dark: the blinds had been pulled closed against the glare of the summer sun. Little particles of dust floated and turned to gold in the light, as Sophie watched M. Dupont turning over papers, his gold signet ring flashing in a faint beam of sunlight.
‘Voilá, mademoiselle. If you please, sign here. And again here. ’
Sophie signed Celia Blaxland’s name carefully. She wasn’t sure whether her imitation of Miss Blaxland’s loopy writing would hold up to close scrutiny, but it seemed to satisfy the Professor’s solicitor.
Just the same, M. Dupont looked uneasy even as he smiled politely at her across the expanse of mahogany desk. The Chief had said that he’d be expecting Miss Blaxland, and yet he had seemed surprised by her arrival, courteously pressing her hand and expressing his great sorrow for her loss whilst at the same time, hinting delicately that she should not have come a
lone.
‘But I am not alone. My maid is with me,’ Sophie replied in a voice that sounded more haughty than her own would have done. She was beginning to feel more comfortable in the character of Miss Blaxland now. Lil had taught her something about how to play a role in the last few years, and she sat with her back very straight and her head held high as she felt sure a young lady like Miss Blaxland would do.
M. Dupont looked uncertainly over at Tilly, who was sitting on a chair by the door. He flashed her a quick, artificial smile, and Sophie knew that Tilly was fighting the desire to pull a face back.
‘Of course, of course. Quite comme-il-faut. But perhaps a gentleman of your family would be best placed to …?’
‘I’m afraid that there are no gentlemen of my family, now that my uncle is dead,’ said Sophie briskly. ‘But his affairs must be put in order, so here I am.’
‘How delightful to meet such an independent and business-like young lady,’ said M. Dupont, smiling in a way that suggested he did not find it in the least bit delightful. ‘Well, naturally I am quite at your service, mademoiselle. Here is a copy of your uncle’s will. The legal language may be difficult, so I will summarise. It is all most straightforward: his book collection has been left to the university library, but besides a few other small bequests, all his remaining property should come to you, to be held in trust until your twenty-first birthday. However …’ The solicitor’s voice trailed away and there was an awkward silence.
‘Yes?’ Sophie prompted him.
‘It is a matter of some delicacy, mademoiselle,’ muttered the solicitor, casting another uncertain glance at Tilly.
Peril in Paris (Taylor and Rose Secret Agents) Page 7