Midnight Masquerade (8 page)

“Don’t frown, luv,” she said, setting the cup aside. “It makes me think I have grown a wrinkle, or got a dirty face.”

“I was pondering the riddle of the age. How does it come Belfoi ever lets you out of his sight? If I had the good fortune to be your husband, I’d have you manacled to me.”

“Extraordinarily uncomfortable, I should think. But perhaps if you were my husband, I shouldn’t mind. Belfoi and I go on very well together. We don’t meet often, but when we do, it is always on the best of terms. We were at Badminton together only last autumn. I thought we might meet at Christmas, but we got our plans mixed up somehow. We both hold the belief that variety is the spice of life. We have that in common with you, I believe.”

“I too am Latin in my taste. I like life highly spiced.”

“How do you find the dash of bitters this house party has added to the dish?” she asked archly.

“I never flinch to try a new flavor. It must have been quite a show, the rape of the duchess’s diamond. I wish I had been there.”

“Weren’t you?” she asked blandly.

“No, I wasn’t, Lennie. There’s no truth to the rumor I did the deed. I didn’t happen to think of it,” he added lightly. “They say the fellow was my size, more or less. You are a good judge of a man’s physique. What’s your opinion?”

“Don’t play games with me, luv. We’re not children. I’m sure the cats have been telling you I wasn’t there. I was judging a different man’s physique at the time, right here in bed.”

“Chamfreys or Bidwell?”

“Bidwell agreed to play guard for us. I was afraid Belfoi, dear Harvey, might take into his head to join the party after all, since I missed him at Christmas. I sent him word I would be here, and if memory serves, he’s not far away. At Boltons’, just ten miles west of here.”

It popped into Belami’s head that Belfoi was more or less the same size as himself and the thief. “It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t travel on ten miles to meet you.”

“If I’d had any idea he was so close, I wouldn’t have told him. I only got his note telling me he would be at Boltons’ after I wrote him of my plans. Well, I shouldn’t think he’s quite alone at Boltons’. There’s that pretty Bolton niece who has been known to throw her cap at semi-available gentlemen like Harvey.”

“You chose an unlikely hour for your romp—midnight. Couldn’t you have waited half an hour, for convention’s sake?”

“Dinner, darling! Your sweet Bertie serves such wonderful dinners, we wanted to be done in time to partake. It was marvelous, too. We had some good intention of being downstairs at the stroke of twelve, but we got . . . carried away. Bidwell was supposed to let us know by a discreet tap on the door when it was five to twelve. But he got carried away too, with the champagne he had for company. The first we realized the new year was upon us was the crash of Bidwell’s glass against the hearth. He had welcomed it in with a drink, and decided to break the glass, as people will often do when it is not their own glass they hold. By the time we all got downstairs, the fun was over. I’d have given a monkey to see the duchess’s face when it happened.”

“Why did you choose Bidwell as sentry? He’s no particular friend of yours or Chamfreys’, is he?”

“Not at all. He’d been drinking a bit and mentioned he was going to have a lie down before the midnight jollity. I’d been dancing with him just before I left. I told him to go upstairs with Chamfreys to dilute suspicion in case anyone was watching us. People do gossip at these country do’s. I wouldn’t want anyone telling Harvey I had just gone upstairs with Chamfreys, if he happened to pop in unexpectedly. So Chamfreys and Bidwell had a drink, then followed me up.

“It was a last-minute thing?”

She nodded.

“But Harvey wouldn’t be likely to make a scene, would he? Or do I misunderstand the nature of your marriage?”

“We allow each other freedom. There is no denying, however, that he resents to have to see it. Rather flattering, really,” she added with a self-indulgent smile. “He speaks of making a fortune and keeping me all to himself. Thus far he has been careful not to notice when I appear in a new fur or diamond that my allowance would obviously not cover.”

“How does he propose to make this fortune?”

“The same way he lost it, darling. Upon ‘Change. He was well to grass when we married. We had a conventional marriage for nearly a year, he playing Darby to my Joan, then his investments went sour, and we had to scrimp and save, and in the end, we became utterly bored. That’s when we began going our separate ways. I can impose on gentlemen, and he on ladies, without having to repay hospitality tit for tat. Much cheaper. If I had married a really wealthy man, I might have made him a good wife. In any case, Harvey does get a bit jealous if he actually sees me in another man’s arms, and that is why it seemed a good idea to have Bidwell stand guard for us.”

“But Belfoi didn’t come after all?”

“No, he didn’t. The storm.”

The storm had not kept Belami away, however. There was the sound of a man’s voice in the drawing room. “Does Chamfreys get jealous too?” Belami asked with a quizzing smile.

“I told that idiot servant to stall him. Shall we find out if he gets jealous?” she asked, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. A miasma of musky, heady scent emanated from her white arms and the bedsheets, almost overpowering in its strength.

That was the trouble with Lennie. She was too much of a good thing. Halfway through a leisurely embrace, he felt a surprising wish to withdraw. It would be too rude to push her away, but really he felt suffocated by her clinging arms. It was purely emotional. Sense told him this embrace meant no more to her than to him. If there was a woman who was not a clinger, it was Lennie Belfoi, but still he wasn’t enjoying this little flirtation. He felt—damme, he felt guilty! It was the image of Deirdre Gower, pokering up and saying a good woman couldn’t stand him, that was causing this unlikely aversion to the most gorgeous woman in the county.

After a few minutes, she withdrew and smiled at him. That little mole at the corner of her lips—adorable, but all he wanted to do was get out of the room. “Where do you go from here, Belami?” she asked, her eyes suggesting she would not be loath to accompany him anywhere.

He willed down the urge to read her a lecture, to warn her against being a cat that anyone might pick up and stroke. Coming from him, it would be ridiculous. And besides, he would have further questions for her. “I haven’t been to Paris in an age,” he said leadingly.

“Oh, goodie! Neither have I!”

“We’ll speak about it later,” he said, kissing her ear, then he left by the nearest door, to avoid meeting Chamfreys in the drawing room.

He went back to his own room and took from his jewelry box a small watch fob found in Lennie’s bed the night of his quick search of the rooms. Her bed had been still unmade when he searched it. Her scent was on the sheets, and the small golden acorn fallen off amidst the tangled welter of bedclothes. There was no reason to think Lennie had been doing anything but what she intimated. It was in character for her, and therefore unsuspect, but whether Chamfreys had been her partner was still to be determined.

At the luncheon table some hours later, Belami produced the golden trifle. “One of the servants found this in the ballroom,” he said, showing it to the group assembled at the table. “Did any of you drop it?”

The innocent location of its discovery caused Chamfreys to claim it with no hesitation. “By gadrey, I’m glad to get it back. It’s a bit of good-luck piece,” he said as the acorn was passed along to him. This confirmed that Chamfreys had been in her bed, though the exact minutes could not be known. Had he worn his waistcoat and watch? Or had the fob come loose as he undressed? Belami envisaged a hasty ripping off of garments, which would have been necessary if they planned to be back in the ballroom by midnight. All this envisaged evidence supported their tale.

Of more interest to him was the state of the room where Bidwell had stood guard against Belfoi. He had not been surprised to see a hand of solitaire laid out on the table. The broken glass had been found on the hearth too, to bolster the story of smashing it at midnight.

When lunch was over, Belami gave a meaningful look to Pronto, which Deirdre observed. When the two men strolled nonchalantly towards Snippe’s room, she was not far behind them. Snippe had something to say about being kicked out of his room, but Belami was ready for him.

“Get some servants out shoveling a path to the road,” he ordered, to be rid of him.

“A mile and a half?” Snippe asked, blinking in disbelief at such slavish labor.

“Speak to my groom. He’s rigging up some contraption to make it easier. Some sort of plow, drawn by the horses.”

 “I do not go to the stables, milord,” Snippe answered, on his high ropes.

“Then request the stables to come to you, Snippe. Use your wits, man. What am I paying you for? Send for Réal.”

“I’ll have him come here, to my room,” Snippe answered.

“No, Snippe, you will meet him in the kitchen. Go!” As this command was accompanied by a shove, Snippe went, but with a glare over his shoulder that would freeze fire. He also left the door standing open.

Deirdre closed it and slid onto the hard sofa. “The sheet used last night was yours. Greta recognized it,” she said, to divert him from suggesting she leave. “Did you learn anything from Lenore?”

“She confirmed that Bidwell was with her and Chamfreys—in the next room, I mean.”

“He said the same thing to me—that is, he said he had gone abovestairs, but did not give the reason,” Deirdre corroborated.

“There were cards on the table by the grate in the drawing room that adjoins Lennie’s room, and the broken glass on the hearth,” Belami mentioned. “Lennie confirmed hearing him smash the glass at midnight, or thereabouts. I shouldn’t think she looked at her watch to confirm the precise moment.”

“I’ll bet a pony he don’t smash glasses at his own house,” Pronto mentioned. “Though I must say, it is enjoyable. Makes me feel like an unruly boy.”

“He not only broke it; he ground it to bits,” Belami added.

“A bit unusual, ain’t it?” Pronto asked suspiciously. “Mean to say, anything unusual, however small . . .”

“I found it unusual enough that I collected the ground glass and particles of the glass into envelopes for checking in my laboratory,” Belami told him.

“Why?” Deirdre asked, frowning. “What do you hope to learn from examining glass splinters?”

“Whether one glass was smashed, or two. The quantity of debris suggests two, and that suggests Bidwell was not alone.”

There was a stir of interest at this notion. Belami went for the blue envelopes holding the remains of the glasses, Pronto got two footed glasses from the sideboard, and the three met in Belami’s bedchamber, which had been chosen as a private site for their experiment.

Deirdre looked around his chamber with keen interest. She was not surprised that it should be elegant, with massive furnishings in the old style of Kent, and silk brocade draperies. What did surprise her was the tumble of books at his bedside table, and the brace of candles arranged for comfortable reading. The desk too was littered with books, some of them open, some closed with a paper marking his spot. A quick perusal of the titles showed her Belami’s tastes ranged from poetry to science, history, philosophy, novels, and gardening. Others bore titles in foreign languages, indicating the catholicity of his education. She was also happily surprised to see nothing that could shock a lady—no lewd writings, at least not in English. Her host noticed what she was about, and cocked a questioning brow at her.

“You approve?” he asked.

“You have catholic tastes,” she commented.

Pronto scowled at her. “Ain’t Popish, if that’s what you mean.”

“Deirdre means broad tastes, catholic in the nonreligious sense.”

“Oh, aye. Very catholic tastes, for a Protestant,” he agreed.

Meanwhile Belami paced toward the fireplace, with the glasses in his hands. “The card table was about here,” he said, stepping back. “He might have stood up. So he drinks”—he took an imaginary sip from the glass— “and then he throws the empty goblet.” He threw the glass against the hearth. It shattered in a dozen pieces, bits of glass flying for a few feet. Deirdre and Pronto watched, the former lamenting the waste of a fine crystal goblet, and the latter scratching his ear.

The procedure was repeated from a seated position, with much the same result. Thrown with less force, only one piece was broken from the glass. Both pieces remained on the hearth. Belami arose and ground them into the stone apron with his heel. “That’s demmed odd,” he said, frowning at the powdered glass.

“Don’t see why. What did you think was going to happen, heaving good glasses at a stone fireplace?” Pronto asked in a huff. “Bound to break. Even I know that.”

Deirdre, suspecting some deeper meaning, went to stare at the mess. “What is it? What are you thinking?” she asked him.

“The quantity isn’t right. He didn’t break two glasses and grind up one.”

“Demmed unnecessary to break even one,” Pronto told him.

“Maybe he ground a part of the one broken glass into powder,” Deirdre suggested. “The stem, perhaps.”

“Could be he broke a smaller glass than that you just smashed,” Pronto contributed.

“That’s a possibility. I must get to my laboratory now and do some weighing and testing—see what residue, if any, remains with the powdered glass. There were wine dregs on the other; some pieces were large enough to hold droplets,” Belami said. He stood gazing at the two separate piles of glass remains, rubbing his chin.

“I’ll sweep it up, shall I?” Deirdre offered, reaching for the broom on the hearth.

“No! No, it must be done carefully. I want to keep the two glasses entirely separate, as I did in Lenore’s room.”

“If there were two people in that room at midnight, then who do you think the other was?” Deirdre asked. There was no doubt in her own mind. She wanted so much for Lady Lenore to be guilty that she easily convinced herself it was so.

“Whoever was on the roof when I arrived,” Belami said. “I believe Bidwell was upstairs, as he claims, and he let his henchman down via the attic stairs, to execute the robbery, while he stood guard above, opening and closing windows and so on. That window in the upper hall—it would have remained open had Bidwell himself gone out it and returned through the downstairs parlor. No one, none of the servants, has mentioned finding it open. Bidwell arranged to gather up the necessary disguise and gun, and left them in the parlor for his friend.”