by ILIL ARBEL
Maisie’s heart seemed to fall down a staircase and land somewhere on the floor, but she held on to her dignity. “Yes, it may be a good idea,” she said. She did not think Mr. Goldwasser noticed that she spoke in a voice that was not her own, but she was wrong. Mr. Goldwasser noticed everything, every time, everywhere. Mr. Goldwasser never, ever, missed a clue, which is why he was such a success in his cut-throat business. However, he had a few ideas of his own which he could not share with Maisie at the moment, and since we do not know what they were, at least not yet, we cannot share them with our readers, which is much to our chagrin since we love being open and above board with our readers at all times. We suspect that Mr. Goldwasser thought that Aubrey Clover, who had rescued Edmond from dancing and exposed Nestor Alcott’s star magnetism by the simple method of spiking his orange juice with alcohol and making him drunk, could save him from his infatuation with the silly little Miss Moonshadow and help him find his true love. By doing that, Aubrey Clover would also be assisting Mr. Goldwasser with his new mission – the quest for a new star to replace Glamora Tudor – and he would do it better if he saw Miss Moonshadow with his own eyes and studied her behaviour. So there were many reasons to bring Miss Moonshadow to England.
Miss Merriman, back at Norton Hall, was having tea with Mr. Goldwasser, and listening to his plans and difficulties, particularly regarding the children which he needed right away.
“Why, I could arrange for any number of children for you, Mr. Goldwasser,” said Miss Merriman. “The first group that comes to mind are the Pollett children. Ed and Millie, their parents, are sweet-tempered individuals, though definitely wanting, and so are the children. Ed and Millie seem to welcome a new addition to the family every year, so there are plenty of children, though I forget their exact number. These children are extremely handsome, though always quite dirty, but I suppose they can be thoroughly scrubbed before each filming session. And there are many other children among the cottagers, since so many girls there have illegitimate children. Lady Pomfret has quite a few on her hands. How many children would you like to have?”
Mr. Goldwasser, his head spinning with these wild revelations of life as experienced in the supposedly quiet countryside, resisted the temptation to ask where the children’s fathers came from, and said he needed about twenty or twenty-five, since a group of this size would be enough to give the impression of a full orphanage.
“They cannot be permitted to run all over the place, though,” said Miss Merriman firmly. “They are likely to damage the flowers. I expect they will pick them for their mothers, who don’t want them in the least.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “ I will have to assign guards during the filming, since I can’t let the children destroy Lady Norton’s property. Do you expect them to be very wild and undisciplined?”
“Keep them well-supplied with sweets, give their mothers plenty of tea, and all shall be well,” promised Miss Merriman philosophically. Mr. Goldwasser laughed. “Excellent,” he said. “Would you speak to the Polletts? I would like to start as soon as possible. I want to finish the film not long after Christmas, if at all possible. And we must select the little golden-haired killer of Lord Arthur.”
“I’ll have them here tomorrow afternoon,” said Miss Merriman. “I am sure one of them must have golden hair, once it’s properly shampooed.” And since she had never failed him before, Mr. Goldwasser was certain that Miss Merriman could produce a herd of elephants in record time, should they be required, let alone a few pretty children.
***
Lady Fitz-Gardner strolled around the wintry garden, looking utterly forlorn, pale, tired, and sad. Her mood would be made clear to any viewer by her very soft, mauve-tinted lipstick, extremely light makeup and powder, and most importantly, the fact that she wore no rouge at all. But all this only made her look as if she were made of the finest porcelain. The delicate look was emphasized by her wearing deep mourning, consisting of a black dress, black shoes, and a small black hat that was perched on her bright red hair, which was combed back severely into a tight knot worn low on her neck. In short, Lady Aurora Fitz-Gardner was as beautiful as she ever was in Send Me No Lilies, perhaps even more so, and the audience’s hearts would go out to her, the poor suffering woman, treated so cruelly by Life Itself. She stopped and leaned on a grey stone statue, touched with dried moss and depicting an angel who was covering his face with his wings for an unexplained reason. She looked significantly at a bare, wintry rose bush, which clearly symbolized her dashed hopes, and sighed deeply and eloquently.
But the sad moment did not last long. The camera moved into a close-up, and showed the large violet eyes suddenly lighting up with innocent happiness. The camera moved on to a group of children of various ages, accompanied by a few nurses or teachers wearing very plain navy blue dresses. The children walked toward Lady Fitz-Gardner, chattering and laughing. The camera zoomed on the face of a small, golden-haired child. “Cut!” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Miss Merriman, where are the guards?” he asked. “I am rather afraid of these children. They are bound to do damage unless they are watched. The Polletts, and some of the mothers, were very honest about their children’s destructive tendencies. They are excellent actors, though. We have rehearsed very successfully.”
“The guards are here, hiding behind the walls, the trees, and anything else that they could find,” said Miss Merriman. “I warned them that they must not be seen, but must pounce on the children as soon as they see them do anything dangerous. You can resume, Mr. Goldwasser.”
The children saw Lady Fitz-Gardner, and stopped chattering. They stood gaping at the beautiful lady as the head teacher came to speak to her. All except the little golden-haired little boy that Mr. Goldwasser referred to as “Lord Arther’s Killer.” The brave little boy seemed to be drawn to Lady Fitz-Gardner. He came to her and held out his arms, and she picked him up lovingly. The little boy put his head on her shoulder in the most trusting and touching manner. “Cut!” said Mr. Goldwasser. “This boy is a born actor,” said Miss Merriman appreciatively as he jumped off Glamora’s arms and headed back to his group, unconcerned. “Indeed,” said Mr. Goldwasser.
“Thank Heaven he is bathed,” said Glamora. “You should have seen his original condition, Jake.”
“I’d rather not,” said Mr. Goldwasser uncharitably, looking at the children greedily accepting sweets from Miss Merriman, who seemed to know exactly how to handle them.
“I would trust this woman in a lions’ den,” said Mr. Goldwasser with deep appreciation. “Tea time, everyone.” And the group headed toward the commissary, which was beautifully resurrected for the filming.
Lady Norton, though, was having tea alone with the professor, who had just come back from his lectures. They were discussing their scheme and what happened during the professor’s meeting with Professor Hilliard-Sabre.
“I simply can’t understand it, Lady Norton,” said the professor. “I am at a loss. During my visit, Professor Hilliard-Sabre was so invariably pleasant, so helpful, so accommodating. She has not shown her claws even once!”
“I firmly believe she was trying to hide her crime,” declared Lady Norton, feeling like a female Sherlock Holmes, a rather pleasant and thrilling sensation. At that point in time, she was entirely converted to the professor’s point of view, namely, that a crime was perpetrated when the seeds were disposed of, rather than a simple accident. Her better sense tried to tell her that Carla could not possibly be an accomplice for such a crime, but she energetically repressed these thoughts and clung to the much more exciting idea of a nefarious plot. An added incentive was the thought that such a plot could bring so much interest to the book she could write about raising the cactus, particularly if Professor Hilliard-Sabre were arrested.
“You must be right, after all these years of animosity, she must have an ulterior motive,” said the professor. “But still… she introduced me to the students as Her Distinguished Colleague from America, she invited me to tea, an
d altogether she treated me as a respected friend… I don’t understand at all. She is my sworn enemy!”
“But you discovered nothing about the cactus seeds?”
“Nothing at all. There was no opportunity to talk about the subject. I could not find a way to bring it up, and she never mentioned it at all. She pretended to know nothing about it, I assume, as a ruse.”
“Did she ever ask what you were doing at Norton Hall?”
“No, never. I suppose she took it for granted that I am an old friend. Perhaps I could have told her about your plan to raise the cactus, but every time I thought of doing so, I was afraid I would not sound natural and would raise her suspicion. I did mention to her how beautiful are your conservatories, and also the books you have written. She showed a keen interest, and said she would love to see both.”
“So this gave you the needed opportunity to invite her to come for Christmas?”
“Yes, exactly, and she accepted most enthusiastically. She said that she would much prefer to meet you and see your conservatories and your books to any other invitation that she had received for Christmas, and that she looked forward to interesting discussions with both you and me about horticulture… she is acting like a different woman. She must be trying to hide her crime, as you say, because why else would she do that?”
“Well, when she is here, Professor, we will be able to discover the truth. To begin with, we will have someone search her room for evidence. I had an idea of someone who can help us.”
“Who is that, Lady Norton? Remember, we must be very secretive about it.”
“He is the soul of discretion,” said Lady Norton, and rang the bell. Instead of Lady Norton’s butler, Shymmering entered the room.
“Professor, this is Shymmering, Mr. Nestor Alcott’s valet,” said Lady Norton. “He had come with him to film the sequel to Send Me No Lilies. Shymmering, this is Professor Buckholz-Schuller, who is staying with us. There is something I would like to ask you to do for us.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Shymmering respectfully. “I have heard much about your work, Professor, particularly about your astounding achievement with hybridizing rare orchids from Venezuela. Admirable work, if I may say so.”
“You have an interest in horticulture?” asked the professor, surprised.
“Yes sir. And botanical research as well. I have recently studied your paper on the effects of Northern butterflies on the flowering of cacti in the American Southwest,” said Shymmering. “A most advanced theory, I thought.”
“Speaking of cacti,” said Lady Norton, “Would you allow me to take Shymmering into our confidence, Professor?”
“Why, yes, Lady Norton,” said the professor, conquered by Shymmering’s knowledge and interest. “By all means, tell him.”
“I believe I know what you have in mind, sir,” said Shymmering modestly. “Would it be related to the issue of the Echinocactus horizonthalonius var. nicholii seeds that had disappeared mysteriously from Lady Norton’s room?” The professor gaped with disbelief. How did this man know about the deep secret? And what’s more, where did he learn how to pronounce the name so correctly?
“How do you know about it, Shymmering?” asked Lady Norton. She was just as surprised, but her dignity would never allow her to gape.
“Well, my lady, Carla was talking about the incident in the servants’ hall,” said Shymmering. “She seems to return to the subject quite often, since she feels that she is unjustly blamed for an honest mistake. She is trying hard to convince everyone that this is all it was, an honest mistake. But when someone tries so hard to do so, it always arouses my suspicion that there is more to it than that, particularly since no one in the servants’ hall seems to show the slightest interest in the affair. I believe that normally, she would have forgotten the incident by now, my lady. Her intellect is not the kind that would retain information for very long, unless it were an important matter to her. Therefore, I suspect someone put her up to it.”
“Exactly,” said the professor, highly gratified. “We have a suspect…”
“Would you mean Professor Elspeth Hilliard-Sabre, sir?” asked Shymmering.
“How would you know?” asked the professor, shocked again.
“Well, sir, I put two and two together. It is common knowledge that you have just gone to Kensington for joint lectures with Professor Hilliard-Sabre. I am aware of the rivalry between you and Professor Hilliard-Sabre, sir. I have acquainted myself with her unjustified letters and criticisms regarding your work. It would make sense that such a rival might be interested in stealing the glory of being the first person in England to raise the rare Echinocactus horizonthalonius var. nicholii. A simple deduction, Sir. I assure you no one else knows about the delicate situation, which if you entrust to my care, I will handle with utmost discretion.”
The professor looked at Lady Norton and nodded his assent. “Very well, Shymmering,” she said. “We are both highly gratified by your helpful suggestions and your deep interest. This is going to be a very difficult case, though, I am afraid.”
“Not at all, my lady,” said Shymmering. “If handled delicately, I expect success. I will take it upon myself to keep an eye on Professor Hilliard-Sabre, I will personally search her room, and I will also conduct an investigation in London even before she comes.”
“You seem to know how to handle such cases,” said the professor. “Have you done it before?”
“Yes, sir,” said Shymmering. “I am not at liberty to divulge details, of course, but I have often been called upon, in my capacity of a gentleman’s gentleman, to perform acts of great discretion and delicacy. At one point in my career I even had to impersonate a police officer in order to achieve my employer’s aims.”
The professor and Lady Norton were deeply impressed and relieved. Obviously, this was the man to solve their problem.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” asked Shymmering.
“No, not at the moment, Shymmering,” said Lady Norton.
“Then I will clear the tea things, my lady, with your permission.”
Chapter Twelve
“Come in, sorry about the mess,” said a muffled voice behind the door. Maisie, who had come to find out why Mr. Alcott was extremely late to an important meeting, opened the door and looked around her with astonishment. Nes was usually neat in his personal habits, but at that moment, his room looked as if Scotland Yard had spent a few happy hours searching every drawer, wardrobe, and desk, and tossing everything on the floor as they did so. A couple of blood hounds, sniffing and worrying the piles on the floor, may have joined the fray, for all Maisie could tell. At that moment, Nes’ head was buried in a drawer as he was flipping articles of clothing about, hence the muffled voice.
“Where in the world did I put it? I can’t find it, I am going nuts!” said Mr. Alcott, straightening up and looking at Maisie with despair.
“Whatever possessed you to throw the whole room about like this?” said Maisie.
“It’s the hair oil! I can’t find the hair oil!” said Mr. Alcott in an aggrieved manner.
“Hair oil… do you mean the vile stuff you put on to look like Valentino? But you don’t need it here, Nes. Not for this film. Nestor Chardonay would not touch this stuff.”
“No, I don’t need it for the film,” said Mr. Alcott, visibly embarrassed. “It’s just that… ah, well, never mind. Maybe Wardrobe has some oil that I could borrow.”
“But what in the world do you need it for? The Hollywood photographers are not coming here.”
Mr. Alcott looked quite sheepish. He hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out, “I wanted to put it in my hair before Estella... I mean, Miss Moonshadow, arrives. She never saw me without it, you know.”
“Miss Moonshadow would not care if you put butter and jam on your hair. Have you really lost your head again? Nes, this is becoming a bad habit with you.”
“I have no idea what you mean by a bad habit,” said Mr. Alcott with utmost dignity. “Anyway, did
you want to tell me something?”
“Yes, everyone is waiting for you; we are supposed to attend a meeting, remember? We wanted to make a few decisions before Mrs. Rivers leaves to spend Christmas with her family.”
“Heavens, I completely forgot about this meeting… let’s go right away. Mr. Goldwasser will be furious.”
“He already is; he sent me to fetch you. Or rather, I volunteered, since I thought you would be less scared of me coming than if he came to get you himself.”
“Ouch…” said Mr. Alcott. “That’s bad. Let’s go. I’ll ask Shymmering to look for the oil.”
“Will you give up this disgusting oil already? Oh, here is Shymmering. Yes, Shymmering? We are about to go to a meeting.”
“It will not be necessary, miss. Mr. Goldwasser asked me to tell you and Mr. Alcott that the meeting is postponed until this afternoon.”
Maisie and Mr. Alcott looked at each other with alarm. Mr. Goldwasser might be the most charming individual on earth, but it was a very bad idea to make him angry. Few people did. Shymmering saw their concern and cleared his throat.
“The meeting was postponed because Mr. Goldwasser received a trunk call from his partner in America, miss, and they are having their own conference, which seems to be urgent. So your meeting would have been postponed even if you had been there.”
Both Mr. Alcott and Maisie heaved a sigh of relief. Shymmering allowed himself a slight twitch of a corner of his mouth, representing a smile, but at least it was a benevolent one. “Is there anything else, miss?” he asked. “I think I should attempt to restore Mr. Alcott’s room to some order.”
“Very well, we’ll get out of your way and go to the commissary,” said Maisie. “Nes, let’s go… Nes? Nes, where are you?”