Her Royal Spyness (32 page)

“It’s just an excuse to be alone with the prince; you know that,” Marisa added.

“The only person whose whereabouts are certain is your dear Prince Fishface,” Belinda announced with a grin. “He fell off his horse trying to make it jump a gate. He jumped the gate, but the horse didn’t. I gather he won’t be joining us for dancing tonight.”

In spite of everything, I had to laugh.

“So you’ll be stuck getting your toes trodden on by Tristram after all”—Imogen slipped her arm through mine—“unless some of the neighbors come. It’s always so much easier when my brothers are here.”

We started walking toward the house, past the last of the long line of statues.

“I gather one of our statues nearly toppled down on you today,” Imogen said. “What awful bad luck you’re having, Georgie.”

Suddenly I realized what had been worrying me. I realized that Tristram had given himself away. He had compared those statues to the vengeful angel at Rannoch House. But he could only have seen that statue if he had been upstairs on the second-floor landing, where the bathroom was.

Now at least I was sure of my adversary. I was lost in thought all the way back to the house, where Lady Mountjoy appeared to tell us that tea was being served and to eat heartily, as supper wouldn’t be before ten. We followed her into the gallery and found my mother already tucking in. For a small, slim person she certainly had an appetite. Mrs. Bantry-Bynge was trying to chat with her, with little success. For someone who had been born a commoner, my mother was rather good at cutting dead anyone she considered common.

“If anyone needs a costume ironed, just let me know,” Lady Mountjoy said. “You have all brought costumes, I hope. Those young men are always so helpless. Never bring anything with them. I had to throw together costumes this morning and then young Roderick complained that he didn’t want to be an ancient Briton. Too bad, I told him. I had managed to put together a highwayman and an executioner for Tristram and Mr. O’Mara, but that was it, apart from the animal skins and the spear. I sent him up to hunt through the attic. You never know what you’ll find up there.”

So at least that much of Whiffy’s story rang true. And I now knew that Darcy was going to be an executioner. He should be easy to pick out in that costume. I lingered over tea as long as I dared but neither Darcy nor Tristram appeared. When it was time to change, I suggested that the other girls might like to get ready in my room, since it was so spacious and had good mirrors. They agreed and that way I was guarded until it was time to go down to the ball.

They chatted excitedly, but I was a bundle of nerves. If I wanted to prove beyond doubt that Tristram was the murderer, I’d have to offer myself as bait. Only I’d need someone to keep an eye on me, who could later act as a witness.

“Listen, girls,” I said, “whatever you say, I believe that someone in this house is trying to kill me. If you see me leaving the ballroom with any man, please come after us and keep an eye on me.”

“And if we find you locked in passionate embrace with him? Do we stay and watch?” Belinda asked. She was still taking this as a joke, I could tell. I decided my only hope was Darcy. He was strong enough to tackle Tristram. But after the way I had treated him, had I any right to expect his help? I’d just have to throw myself on his mercy as soon as I got a chance to be alone with him.

I was still nervous as we made our way down the grand staircase, Belinda, Marisa, and I. A band was playing a lively two-step and more guests were arriving through the front doors. A footman stood at the bottom of the stairs with a tray, handing out masks to arriving guests who weren’t wearing them. Marisa took some and handed them to us.

“Not that one,” Belinda said. “It comes down to the mouth. I won’t be able to eat any supper. The slim highwayman type will be better.”

“There is a highwayman over there,” Marisa whispered. “It must be Tristram. I didn’t realize he had such good legs.”

“I’m looking out for an executioner,” I said. “Let me know when you see him.”

“I hope you don’t have a desire to follow your ancestors to the chopping block,” Marisa said.

“It’s Darcy O’Mara, you dope,” Belinda said, giving me a knowing look.

I smiled and put my finger to my lips. The ballroom was filling up rapidly. We found a table and sat at it. Belinda was whisked away to dance almost instantly. Dressed as a harem dancer, she waggled her bottom seductively as she stepped onto the floor. Whiffy Featherstonehaugh approached us, looking very uncomfortable as an ancient Briton with animal skins draped around his shoulders. “Care to hop around the floor, old thing?” he said to me.

“Not now, thanks,” I said. “Why don’t you dance with Marisa?”

“Right-o. I’ll try not to tread on toes,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away. I sat and sipped at a glass of Pimm’s. Everyone was having fun, dancing and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I was conscious of the highwayman, standing at the far side of the ballroom, watching me. At least I was safe among so many people, surely. If only I could find Darcy.

At last I saw the executioner’s black hood and ax moving among the crowd on the far side of the room. I got up and made my way toward him.

“Darcy?” I grabbed his sleeve. “I have to talk to you. I want to apologize and I really need your help. It’s very important.”

The band struck up the “Post Horn Gallop” and couples started charging around the room whooping loudly and shouting out “Tallyho!”

I took Darcy’s arm. “Let’s go outside. Please.”

“All right,” he muttered at last.

He allowed me to lead us out of the ballroom and onto the terrace at the back of the house.

“Well?” he asked.

“Darcy, I’m so sorry that I accused you,” I said. “I thought—well, I thought that I couldn’t trust you. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, you did come into Whiffy’s house that day and I couldn’t believe it was just to see me. . . . And all those strange things going on. I didn’t feel safe. And now I know who was behind them, only I need your help. We’ve got to catch him. We’ve got to get proof.”

“Catch who?” Darcy whispered, even though we were alone.

I leaned closer. “Tristram. He was the one who killed de Mauxville and now he’s trying to kill me.”

“Really?” He was standing close beside me and before I knew what was happening, a black-gloved hand came over my mouth and I was being dragged backward into the shadows at the edge of the terrace.

I squirmed to glance up at that black-hooded face. The smile was not Darcy’s. And too late I realized that he had said the word “really” with a
w
, not an
r
.

“That beggar O’Mara grabbed the highwayman outfit,” he said as I flailed out at him. “But this worked out rather well, as it happens. I bagged his scarf.”

I struggled to bite at his fingers, as the scarf came around my throat. I tried to thrash out at him, kick him, scratch his hands, but he had the advantage of being behind me. And he was much stronger than I had expected. Slowly and surely he was dragging me backward, away from the lights and safety, one hand still clamped over my mouth.

“When you’re found floating in the lake, O’Mara’s scarf will give him away,” he whispered into my ear. “And nobody will ever suspect me.” He gave the scarf a savage twist. I fought to breathe as he yanked me backward.

Blood was singing in my ears and spots were dancing in front of my eyes. If I didn’t do something soon, it would be too late. What would be the last thing he’d expect of me? He’d expect me to try to pull away to break free of him. Instead, I mustered all of my failing strength and rammed my head backward into his face. It must have hurt him a lot because it certainly hurt me. He let out a yell of pain. He might have been stronger than I had expected, but he still didn’t weigh much. He went down hard, with me on top of him.

“Damn you,” he gasped and tightened his grip on the scarf again.

As I tried to get to my feet he yanked me down, growling like an animal as he twisted the scarf. With the last of my strength I raised myself up then rammed myself down onto him. My aim must have been good. He let out a yowl and for a second the scarf went limp. This time I scrambled off him and tried to get to my feet. He grabbed at me. I opened my mouth to yell for help but no sound would come out of my throat.

“And you pretended to play the innocent virgin,” said a voice above us. “This is the wildest sex I’ve witnessed in years. You must teach me some of those moves next time we’re together.” And the masked highwayman stood there, holding out a hand to me. I staggered to my feet and stood gasping and coughing as he supported me.

“Tristram,” I whispered. “Tried to kill me. Don’t let him get away.”

Tristram was also struggling to his feet. He started to run. Darcy brought him down in a flying rugby tackle. “You never were any good at rugger, were you, Hautbois?” he said, kneeling on Tristram’s back and bringing his arm up behind him. “I always thought you were rotten. Lying, cheating, stealing, getting other fellows into trouble at school—that was you, wasn’t it, Hautbois?”

Tristram cried out as Darcy rammed his face into the gravel with a good deal of satisfaction. “But killing? Why was he trying to kill you?”

“To get my part of an inheritance. He killed de Mauxville for the same reason,” I managed to say, although my throat was still burning.

“I thought something strange was going on. Ever since you fell off that boat,” Darcy said.

“Let me up. You’re hurting me,” Tristram whined. “I never meant to harm her. She’s exaggerating. It was only fun.”

“I saw the whole thing and it wasn’t fun,” Darcy said. He looked up as there were footsteps on the gravel behind us.

“What’s going on here?” Lord Mountjoy demanded.

“Call the police,” Darcy shouted to him. “I caught this fellow trying to kill Georgie.”

“Tristram?” Whiffy exclaimed. “What the devil . . .”

“Get him off me, Whiffy. He’s got it all wrong,” Tristram yelled. “It was just a game. I didn’t mean anything.”

“Some game,” I said. “You’d have let my brother hang for you.”

“No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill de Mauxville. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Yes, you did, and I can prove it,” I said.

Tristram started to blubber as he was dragged to his feet.

Darcy put an arm around me as they led Tristram away. “Are you all right?”

“Much better now. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“It looked as if you were doing rather well without me,” he said. “I quite enjoyed watching.”

“You mean you were standing there watching and didn’t try to help?” I demanded indignantly.

“I had to make sure I could testify he was really trying to kill you,” he said. “Quite a good little fighter, I have to say.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t look at me like that. I’d have intervened earlier if I’d seen you sneak out of the room. Belinda was doing a harem dance and I got distracted for a second. No, wait, Georgie. Come back here. . . .” He ran after me as I shook myself free and stalked away.

I strode out into the darkness until I stood at the balustrade overlooking the lake.

“Georgie!” Darcy said again.

“It’s nothing to me what you and Belinda do,” I said.

“Strangely enough I’ve done nothing more with Belinda than sit next to her at a roulette wheel. Not my type. Too easy. I like a challenge in life, personally.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders.

“Darcy, if you’d come earlier you would have heard me apologizing. I thought you were dressed as the executioner, you see. I feel awful about the horrible things I said to you.”

“I suppose it was a natural supposition.”

I was very conscious of his arm, warm around my shoulder. “Why did you follow me into that house?”

“Mere curiosity and an opportunity to get you alone.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Georgie. I’ve got a confession to make. After that wedding thing I got a tad drunk. I made a bet that I could lay you within a week.”

“So when you took me back to your place, after the boat accident, you didn’t really care about me at all. You were trying to win a stupid bet?”

He squeezed my shoulder more tightly. “No, that didn’t cross my mind at all. When I pulled you out of that water, I realized that I really cared for you.”

“But you still tried to get me into bed.”

“Well, I’m only human and you were looking at me as if you fancied me. You do fancy me, don’t you?”

“I might,” I said, looking away. “If I felt sure that . . .”

“The bet’s off,” he said. He turned me toward him and kissed me full and hard on the mouth. His arms were crushing me. I felt as if I were melting into him and I didn’t want it to stop. The hubbub that was still going on on the terrace faded into oblivion until there were just the two of us in the whole universe.

Later, when we walked back to the house together, our arms around each other, I asked him, “So who was the bet with?”

“Your friend Belinda,” he said. “She said I’d be doing you a favor.”

Chapter 29

Rannoch House
Sunday, May 8, 1932

It was almost morning by the time I finally fell into bed. I had spent the rest of the evening giving my statements to police. Chief Inspector Burnall arrived from Scotland Yard sometime during the night and I had to repeat everything. Finally Tristram was led away screaming and weeping disgracefully. Sir Hubert would have been mortified at his behavior. According to Darcy he’d been a rotten egg even at school, cheating on exams and get Darcy blamed for something he had stolen.

I drove home with Whiffy, Belinda, and Marisa the next afternoon and arrived at Rannoch House just in time to witness Binky’s triumphant return. A crowd had gathered outside on hearing the latest news and when Binky appeared from a police car, everyone cheered. Binky went quite pink and looked pleased.

“I can’t thank you enough, old thing,” he said when we were safely inside and he had poured us both a Scotch. “You saved my life, literally. I’ll be in your debt forever.”

I didn’t like to suggest that he find a way to resume my allowance as a small thank-you gift.