Bright Hair About the Bone (19 page)

“Yes,” said Letty, “I took it to be symbolic of Isis.
I
decorated the book myself. When I was sixteen. It's my diary of a fortnight spent in summer camp. The organisers of the camp encouraged us all to design our own personal emblems and even invent our own clan names. Our leader was called White Fox, I remember. My name being ‘Stella,' the star—well, it made it rather easy for me. I did a bit of research and discovered that Stella Maris—such a pretty phrase—meant ‘Star of the Sea' and was a reference to the bright star Sirius, worshipped by sailors when it rose out of the eastern Mediterranean. It was the symbol of the mother goddess Isis, whom they worshipped. They believed that her appearance over the horizon would lead them to good fortune. Rather glamorous, I thought; this is for me! I pursued my goddess through the pages of Frazer's book on mythology and added the moons and that border of ears of corn which are also attributes of hers. And I set it all out on this green background.”

“Green? Wouldn't dark blue have been more dramatic, more aesthetically pleasing?”

“Probably. But green is significant. Isis had many names: Mistress of Mysteries, Corn Goddess…but I especially liked Creator of Green Things, Green Goddess.”

“I see,” said Marie-Louise, clearly mystified. “I think I see. Decidedly pagan! You English! You were an
éclaireur
…a Boy Scout then?”

“Oh, no!” Letty grinned. “Certain things in common, I suppose, but this was a very special camp—open to both sexes and all ages. It was run by an organisation called the Kibbo Kift.” She pointed to the words on the cover. “It's not Red Indian—it's old English dialect and it means ‘a proof of strength.' It's an association of like-minded people: boys, girls, men, women, all pacifists, all intensely interested in the preservation of Englishness, fitness of mind and body, the learning of handcrafts, the appreciation of nature, the regeneration of urban man and woman through the open-air life. And it has wider ambitions—nothing less than to be the human instrument that will create a new world civilisation.”

Marie-Louise gasped. “A cult! It all sounds dangerous to me! And especially dangerous when it springs from the empire-building souls of the Anglo-Saxon race. There is a movement like this in Germany—the
Wandervogel
—intense young people set on developing physical perfection, discipline, and nationalistic fervour. Poor France! Is my country to be trapped between two ambitious, muscle-flexing races? You fought each other on French soil ten years ago. How long will it be before you re-discover your shared roots? There are those who have always maintained that the English have far more in common with—and more sympathy for—the Germans than they ever had with the French. Your royal family have German cousins, do they not?”

Letty was taken aback by the girl's passion and at a loss as to how to counter what some might consider her well-judged apprehension. She hurried to reassure her. “No, no. You misunderstand! It's all jolly sing-songs round the campfire, reef knots, and treasure hunts. I can't speak for the…Wandervogel did you say?…but I can tell you there's no political and certainly no religious aspect to the English movement at all. It has some very famous and admirable men and women on its advisory panel: H.G. Wells, Julian Huxley, D. H. Lawrence, Rabindranath Tagore. None of them would be associated with anything remotely suspect. It's grown in popularity and there are thousands of members scattered all over England.”

“And this is what you fell in love with? A movement of nationalistic woodland folk aiming for world domination?”

“Gracious, no! I loathe camping and cocoa and wood-whittling! I'd have done a bunk after the first day, but I fell with a bang for the leader of the movement! Complete, trembling, gasping passion! Just look inside the front cover at the photograph I stuck in there.”

Marie-Louise sighed and opened up the garish book. She looked and was silent for quite a long time.

“That handsome fellow is ‘White Fox.' He was twenty-six when he formed the Kindred and I was present at one of his first camps. He's a man of amazingly strong charisma, tall, athletic, inspiring, with the hypnotic powers of a Svengali! Do you wonder that my knees trembled?”

“But this man is a dark angel,” said Marie-Louise. “He is Lucifer before the fall.” She went on staring at the strong features, the bold eyes glittering and partially hidden by a black Saxon hood. “My poor Stella! Being exposed to the force of a man like this at sixteen! It could have ruined you for life!”

“I'm not so easily ruined! I think of it as a sort of immunisation,” said Letty practically. “After an injection of Lucifer Attraction, nothing much can touch me henceforth.”

“I wonder if it's occurred to you, Stella, that the count—d'Aubec—is cast in much the same mould?” Marie-Louise suggested hesitantly.

“Yes. Of course, I had seen the resemblance. Physically, at any rate they are, as you've noticed, strikingly similar. But the presence, the personality…” She sighed. “No two men could be more
un
like. No, Reverend Gunning is more like the White Fox in character…unyielding, demanding, self-sacrificing, on the side of the angels…if he believes in angels. And I understand him to have been a Boy Scout in his youth.”

“I'm not sure
that
would recommend him to a French girl!” Marie-Louise smiled. “It's clear to me that you have little time for the man but—can you not think of
anything
it would please a woman to hear about Mr. Gunning?”

“As I said, I think he'd make a wonderful travelling companion for you. He's full of information on a range of interesting topics and he drives well.”

“But…Stella…” She hesitated and bit her lip, searching for words, unaccustomed to exchanging confidences of this kind.

“But you can't be certain that he's interested in
you
?” supplied Letty.

“Yes, that. But more than that…” She coloured and looked away and suddenly Letty understood.

“Oh, you mean, you can't be sure that he takes an interest—an amatory interest—in females at all? Do you know, I really have no idea. I can usually tell but I have to say, in his case, I just don't know for certain. Only one thing to do, isn't there? Now, had you thought you might…?”

They laughed together in eager conspiracy and Letty wondered what would be the reaction of the austere Gunning, lying asleep in the room above their heads, if he could have heard some of the scurrilous schemes they were devising in an effort to test out his sexuality.

Poor Marie-Louise, though, she decided as she made her way back to her own room, was in for a disappointment. Letty had told an easy lie. It was perfectly obvious to someone of her experience. Neutered tom. That was what, in her innocence, Marie-Louise had to deal with.

CHAPTER 19

L
etty was not aware that Paradee had been standing a few feet away from her, watching her work. He approached and inspected the length of foundation she had neatly revealed with trowel and stiff brush, then moved on to check the contents of her finds tray. A smile broke through at the sight of her anxious face and he hurried to reassure her. “Relax, Stella. That's just fine! You've done a lot this morning. Glad to see that yesterday's nastiness hasn't put you off your game. Keep this up for a few more hours and I'll think you've deserved some time off. Report to my office at four o'clock, will you? Oh—go home and change first. Into something comfortable.” He called after her, “And put your boots on!”

At four, in clean shirt and trousers, she banged on the knocker and entered on hearing his shout. “Come in!” he invited, and proceeded to sweep charts and pens to one side, clearing a space on his desk. “You look as though you could do with a drink.” He shot ice cubes into two glasses and filled them with a swish of water from a dark green bottle, added a slice of lemon, and handed her one.

“Well, now,” he went on, sipping his drink, “how would you like to come for a ride? It's high time you got a look at the surrounding country—so far you've only seen it on a plaster model.”

Letty looked at his humorous, inviting face and thought there was nothing she would enjoy more after her hot day bent double in the confines of a trench. “But what will I do for a horse?”

“You ask that in Fontigny?” He was laughing at her. “The cream of the country's horses are just around the corner, the director of the Haras is my good friend, and I have a key to the stables,” he said, flourishing it. “What are we waiting for?”

Minutes later they were letting themselves in to the stables by a side door. As it swung to behind them, shutting out the noises of the town square, Stella's eyes adjusted to the gloom, her ears to the soft familiar sounds of the stable and her nose to the well-remembered smells. In delight she wandered along the beaten earth track between the stalls, reading the name of each stallion on the board above his head. She paused occasionally to run her hand over a silky rump or fondle an inquisitive nose turned in her direction. She quivered with anticipation when she realised just what was being offered by this confident American—a ride on one of these horses, lined up in their stalls; horses of different sizes and breeds and colours but all with one thing in common: an impeccable pedigree.

“Careful now! Keep your distance from that animal!” warned Paradee as Letty approached a large Arab, gleaming from nose to lashing tail.

“Carnaval,” she murmured, reading his name. “Lovely creature! Well-bred but rather evil-tempered, I should guess,” she added keeping well away from the waltzing hooves, the thrashing head, and the angry white eye.

“You've got it!” said Paradee. “Like horse, like master! That brute belongs to Edmond d'Aubec. With any luck they'll kill each other one day. But don't worry—I'm not about to offer you anything to freeze the blood! No! I'm on good terms with the director, but not so good I'm allowed to make free with the flower of his flock. Come on!”

He strode ahead, leading her out into the sunshine of the courtyard. Gardeners were sweeping gravel and watering flower beds, and grooms were fetching and carrying for the horses, but there in the middle stood a groom patiently holding by the heads, ready saddled, two impressive animals.

“The bay is mine and the other is yours. His name's Goliathe.”

Letty lost her heart at once to Goliathe. He was rich brown, with an unusual gunmetal sheen. Four white socks gave him a jaunty air and he stamped about, impatient to be off. Moments later they were clattering down the street, past her own window and, very abruptly it seemed, out into open countryside. They rode uphill for some time, until, reaching the crest of the hill above Fontigny, they eased off and looked back at the town, now shrinking to the proportions of the scale model she had inspected on her first day. They dismounted, hitched the horses to the branch of an oak tree, and stood, grateful for its shade, enjoying the loneliness of the landscape.

Paradee was an easy companion who showed none of the English compulsion to keep up a steady polite chatter. As on their first meeting, she felt herself moving at his speed, sharing his enthusiasms, his equal. And this man had been her godfather's friend. She felt a stab of guilt when she remembered she was deceiving him. Why not confide in him? Ask his help?

“What in blazes?”

He stiffened abruptly and, raising his head, looked over her shoulder and down the hill. A rider mounted on a great black horse was cantering easily up the slope towards them.

“Well, Edmond d'Aubec can certainly ride,” Letty muttered. “He and that murderous horse of his were made for each other.” And, though angered by the unwished-for intrusion, the horse-lover in her wondered at the change she saw in the stallion now moving gracefully and obediently. On and up they came, and passed by the oak tree with never a word. D'Aubec suddenly reined Carnaval back to a walk and appeared to loiter about fifty yards away from them.

“Well, I'll be darned! What
is
he up to? Is he waiting for me to challenge him? I think, Stella, I'd better stroll over and tell him we've admired his profile and now what we'd really appreciate is a view of his rear elevation.”

Oh Lord! The lions were shaking their manes! Concerned to sabotage any such confrontation, Letty spoke sharply. “No, Charles. You're to do no such thing! He's just trying to provoke you. Ignore him.” She was uneasy at the quiet anger her boss was showing. “I've no idea why he would be shadowing us like this. I resent it, but I advise against meeting him head-on here out in the wilds—precisely because that seems to be exactly what he's after.”

Paradee was prepared, even relieved perhaps, to listen to her. “I've found out for myself that—as you warned me—he's a dangerous and unpredictable man. Perhaps even a killer,” she finished.

He was not alarmed by her thought, but considered it and agreed. “It's possible. We're still waiting to hear about that boy in the trench. And there is more, Stella. I ought to have warned you about this earlier…before you took the job…but it didn't seem at the time to have anything to do with us…the dig, I mean…”

She could only look at him in silent puzzlement at his hesitations, though she thought she knew what was coming.

“Seems Fontigny isn't the tranquil backwater we've all assumed it to be, and you ought to know it. There was a killing last year very close by, in the centre, again—at night. One of our team—a linguist, antiquarian, and all-round good egg, as you'd say—was stabbed to death and robbed. Daniel Thorndon. You'd have liked him. We all did. He was working with us—lent to us by the British Museum.”

Calmly she asked, “Did this man—Mr. Thorndon—have any connection with our shadow over there? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“Certainly is. I thought they were friendly. Thorndon—Daniel—had taken to visiting the château at weekends. He seemed to have the entrée whenever he chose. They had a lot in common, he said. Seemed like a pretty warm relationship from what I could gather, but he didn't discuss his personal life much with the team.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I didn't interfere, though now I wish I had. Perhaps I could have warned him off, raised his suspicions at least. And why?” Paradee shuffled uncomfortably. “Because, well, I thought—here's an opening, a crack in the defences.”

“You sent this Mr. Thorndon in as a spy? You used him as a cat's paw? Is that what you're saying?” Letty couldn't keep back the sharp comment full of distress and accusation.

“No! No! I didn't
send
! No chance of directing old Daniel to do anything he didn't want to do. He was about as open to influence as you are! Seems to be an English trait…smile agreeably, say ‘Yes, of course you're right, Director,' then go straight off and do the opposite. But it did occur to me that this was our best chance of finding out what the possibilities of the castle site were. I can't imagine a more experienced eye being cast over it short of getting in there myself.”

“And did he have much of value to tell you, your discreet informant?”

Paradee shook his head. “You'd need to have known the feller to understand why I couldn't even ask! It would have been ‘prying, don't you know,' and English gents don't talk about their friends behind their backs. Oh, he spoke of the layout of the building, the age, the architectural features…but told me nothing I didn't already know from the aerial photos.”

“Are you putting into my head the idea that perhaps the death of this Englishman may be connected with the boy in the trench? And that both deaths are linked to the count?”

“Yes,” he replied bluntly. “And I'm giving you the chance to hang up your trowel and retreat back to London. There's something evil swirling about in this oh-so-peaceful little burg. I don't like the feel of it. I wouldn't want you caught up in it. I have a duty towards a young and vulnerable girl in my employ. I hold myself
in loco parentis.
”

“Lord! I hope not!” said Letty. “Look, I have absorbed the information and the warning. But I think you're making a bit of a leap there. Shall we wait and see what the police come up with and have this conversation again?”

“Okay, but I'm more concerned that this little display,” he waved an arm in d'Aubec's direction, “is something to do with you. I know we ambled up here, but he arrived pretty soon after us. He must have had someone alert him, don't you think? Someone hanging around the stables? But he wouldn't have had
me
followed. It's you he's hunting. Now, look, Stella, does he have any hold over you? If I'm out of line here, you must tell me.”

“He has no hold over me. I don't know him. I don't want to know him. I have no idea why he should be shadowing us like this. I wish he'd go away!”

“Well, that's clear enough,” said Paradee, laughing. “Come on, let's mount up and ride. I have some more wonders to show you, and these I don't mind d'Aubec witnessing. Two archaeologists together—we shouldn't have too much trouble boring the pants off his lordship.”

They swung along together, easy companions, finding much to admire in the countryside until, abruptly, Letty reined in Goliathe and exclaimed, pointing at a rock formation in the distance.

“What's that over there? It looks like an enormous cliff. You'd expect to see the sea at the base of it instead of a valley rolling away.”

“That's the Rock of Solutré. Sinister place! At the foot of that overhang they found the skeletons of thousands of horses. It's thought that Stone Age hunters herded wild horses up the slope of the cliff, driving them to their death over the top. Horses smell fear. What a scene it must have been, but what a simple way of restocking the larder.”

Letty shivered at the thought of the wild despair—the shouts, the screams of the horses, the snap of bones, and the smell of blood in that primitive abattoir. “I think we've gone far enough,” she said. “We'd better turn for home now if I'm going to be in time for supper. The lodgings you found for me are wonderful, but the Huleux are very particular. Mealtimes are sacrosanct. Not even the vicar dares wander in late.”

The countryside in the slanting sun had taken on a menacing note, echoed by the dark figure which, as they moved off, left the shelter of a tree and continued to trail them, just out of earshot, until they regained the town. Back in the stable courtyard, Paradee dismounted and turned to give a gallant but unnecessary hand to Letty. Before she could accept it, he was tapped lightly on the shoulder. He turned around to confront a pleasantly smiling Edmond d'Aubec, lowering his riding crop and saying apologetically but firmly, “No need to put Goliathe to bed just yet. I think Miss St. Clair has further need of him.” Greeting Letty with the same charming smile, he said invitingly but formally, “My dear, there is, at my château, someone you have been longing to meet again. You remember your old friend Lady Uffington? She is staying with us now. My mother has asked me to bid you to supper. Good old Goliathe is well named—he is far from used up and won't object to a farther five kilometres. Good-bye, Paradee. We must not keep her ladyship waiting. Come, Miss St. Clair!”

He walked off and in seconds had swung into the saddle and clattered out of the yard.

Eager though she was to track down the mysterious lady mentioned on Daniel's final postcard, she'd been about to refuse this peremptory summons, and turned to Paradee for support. It came in a torrent. “What the hell!…Stella, get off that horse! No way will I allow you to ride off with that rogue!”

He put a firm hand on the bridle and prevented the horse from moving forward.