Walking Into Murder (17 page)

Angelina scrambled up like a monkey; so did Catherine, which didn’t surprise Laura. Hesitantly, she put her foot on the first rung, tested her weight, tried the next rung and the next, all the while concentrating on not looking down, or up for that matter.

“We’ll keep going. There’s not enough room for all of us on this ledge,” Catherine whispered from above. “I’ll shine the light down for you, though. Isn’t this exciting? Imagine, a real secret passage!”

“Exciting is one way of describing the experience,” Laura agreed caustically, but Catherine had already disappeared into the darkness above.

The ledge to which Catherine referred was indeed small, but what came after it was worse. Steep and very narrow circular stone stairs wound up and up and up some more, so that even when Laura craned her neck backward, she couldn’t see where they ended.

A spell of dizziness assaulted her, and she focused intently on the steps in front of her. They were very old, hollowed and pitted in the center, making them so shallow her boots wouldn’t fit. What had once been a handrail had rotted away. Laura wedged the tip of one boot against the first step, raised herself carefully, and tried the next step, pressing against the cold stone wall of the turret for balance.

Faint noises above reminded her that the occupants of the house could be nearby. “Wait until I get there before you do anything,” she called softly. An image of Angelina and Catherine bursting into Lord Torrington’s bedroom flashed into her mind.

There was no answer. The light Catherine had been shining down to show her the way suddenly disappeared, and Laura almost screamed.

“I can’t see,” she muttered irritably instead, struggling to keep her nerve in the darkness. This wasn’t just horrible. This was a nightmare!

Catherine’s whisper finally came. “Sorry. Someone was in the room. We come out in a closet, so it’s okay to come on up now.” She shone the light toward Laura.

Laura scrambled up as fast as she dared. When she reached the last step, she saw a small hole above her. It was barely big enough for her head, never mind her body. She managed to squeeze one shoulder through, then the next, and Catherine hauled her out the rest of the way. The sharp edges of the hole tore her shirt, making an audible ripping sound, and she stumbled ungracefully over a box when she tried to stand. If there was anyone in the room beyond, the person must realize that something unusual was happening in the closet.

Angelina made that particular fear irrelevant. Twisting impatiently from Catherine’s restraining grasp, she opened the closet door and walked out.

“I don’t like the closet,” she explained. “It’s dark in there.”

Laura sighed. So much for secrecy. She should have known it wasn’t possible with Angelina in tow.

She might as well go out herself. The closet was extremely dusty, and she would soon give them away by sneezing, anyway. Dusting themselves off, she and Catherine followed Angelina into the room.

At exactly that moment, a door on the other side of the room opened and the Baroness walked in.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Laura repressed an impulse to laugh hysterically. This was like a replay of her first entrance into the manor.

“Hi Gram,” Angelina said. “We came through Nigel’s secret passage and I escaped from the cottage with Laura and Catherine, but it was pretty boring in the woods, so then we took a train ride and that was fun. They made me get off again, though, and we had to walk some more.”

The Baroness took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. “Hello, Angelina, my dear.” Her voice shook despite her effort to control it, and for once the emotions in her eyes were clear and unguarded. The grande dame was immeasurably grateful, and almost unbearably relieved.

She must have aged a few years from worry and fear while Angelina was missing, Laura thought. Despite the child’s obstreperous ways, Angelina was obviously precious to the Baroness.

Except she hadn’t aged. Instead, the grande dame looked younger, more like the woman in the painting. Laura frowned, trying to identify the change.

“Excuse me for a moment,” the Baroness said, and disappeared into an adjoining room. The sound of running water suggested that it was a bathroom. No doubt she was composing herself, Laura realized. Seeing the missing Angelina suddenly pop out of her closet must have been quite a shock.

When the Baroness returned, she looked just as she always had, not really old, but not young either. Perhaps, Laura thought, the unexpected look of youthfulness had been a trick of light. Anyway, there were more important issues to think about right now, and time was short.

“Now, child,” the Baroness told Angelina calmly, “come with me and wash your face and hands. Once they are clean, you may play with the face paints while I talk to Mrs. Morland and her companion.” She led an astonishingly unresisting Angelina into the bathroom.

“That’s Catherine. Her baby name was Cat, but she doesn’t like people to use it now,” Angelina explained with dignity as the Baroness handed her the soap. “She’s nice and plays games with me.”

“Good afternoon, Catherine.” The Baroness inclined her head in welcome, as if seeing a strange young woman emerge from her closet was an everyday occurrence.

“How do you do,” Catherine replied with equal composure.

Laura looked around the room curiously while they waited for the Baroness to finish with Angelina. A few sculpted heads were set on a table; under it were large bins that held plasticene or clay. Two half- finished wax figures stood near a window, and masks in all stages of completion hung on hooks or lay flat on other tables. In one corner, wigs and hairpieces spilled from a box, and racks of costumes lined the walls.

This must be Nigel and the grande dame’s workroom, Laura realized. It was very professional, as Thomas had said. She had hoped to find a few theatrical supplies and some clothes here, but she hadn’t expected all this. Now she wouldn’t have to use all that cash to buy what she needed to put her plan into effect.

A much cleaner Angelina erupted from the bathroom and ran eagerly to a dressing table covered with an enormous variety of jars and pots, all presumably containing makeup. Laura was amazed. She hadn’t known so many kinds of makeup existed.

The Baroness’s voice recalled her. “Now,” she said, settling herself on a chair and indicating two others. “Sit down and tell me what has happened.”

Laura took a deep breath. “First,” she began, “I will say that I am glad you are the one who found us. I had hoped that either you or Nigel would be the ones to do so. I would like to tell you what has happened in the last few days, what I am worried about, and what I hope to do about it, which will necessitate your help if you are willing.”

“And I want to know where my father is,” Catherine put in. “We haven’t heard from him and I’m worried.”

“That would be Thomas Smith?”

“Yes. Do you know where he is?” Catherine’s eyes lit up with hope.

The Baroness considered before she answered. “I am not sure where he is at this moment,” she said finally, “but I can tell you that when I saw him this morning he was all right despite a knock on the head.”

“Another one?” Catherine was appalled.

“I believe there have been two, maybe three so far,” the Baroness replied with a straight face. “He seems to have a very tough skull.” Interesting, Laura thought, that she knew so much. Did that mean Thomas had confided in her? Either that or she had eyes everywhere, which for the Baroness wouldn’t be surprising.

Some of the tension left Catherine’s face. “If he was all right this morning, I guess he’s okay,” she conceded. “But he should have called.”

“When last I saw him he did look a little the worse for wear, as if he’d been rolling about in the dirt,” the Baroness added, surveying Catherine and Laura with mischief in her eyes.

Laura flushed, suddenly aware of her disreputable state. Her pants were once again covered in mud, her shirt was torn and filthy, her face and arms streaked with cobwebs and dirt, and she suspected that her hair was fast reaching the dreadlock phase.

“I’m sorry we’re so grubby,” she apologized. “We climbed through a window and walked through a lot of mud, and we have no other clothes.”

“Nor does Angelina, I can see,” the Baroness answered with a more pronounced twinkle. “Still, she is safe and that is all that matters. Thank you for bringing her back.” Once again, emotion suffused her face. She controlled it quickly.

“It was all a bit accidental,” Laura demurred. Feeling like a schoolgirl reciting her lessons, she launched into her explanations, trying to include everything that might have significance. It was quite a long story, and by the time she had finished, the Baroness looked dazed. She was silent for a time, thinking hard. Then her face cleared and to Laura’s astonishment she began to laugh. It was a warm, rich laugh that seemed to Laura to have retained the exuberance of youth.

“Most ingenious,” the Baroness said, still chuckling. “Most ingenious indeed. And yes, I will be happy to help. I have some experience in these matters and will do my best to make the plan a success.”

Amazing, Laura thought. No questions or comments, just a quick assessment and an offer of help.

“We will get to work as soon as you have cleaned up,” the Baroness continued in a businesslike tone. “To save time, I want to visualize the effects I wish to achieve and do the preliminary work tonight. I will do most of the actual restructuring in the morning.”

She stopped, considering them. “First, however, you need sustenance. Nigel will be back soon and can get food for you. Tonight, you will stay in a room we do not usually use for guests. It will not be quite as comfortable as some of our other rooms, but no one will go there. I would prefer that you do not leave it. I will keep Angelina with me; tomorrow I will send her to a trusted friend for a few days. She will be quite safe there. Do these arrangements sound satisfying?”

Laura nodded, too overwhelmed by the older woman’s efficiency to think of an appropriate answer.

“Good. There is a washbasin and a shower in the bathroom, with all the supplies you will require to clean up. When you have finished, please put this on.” She opened a drawer and handed each of them a garment that looked like an over-sized hospital gown. “In the meantime, I will excuse myself to make arrangements.”

Catherine and Laura took turns in the bathroom, and by the time they had finished, the Baroness had returned, with Nigel behind her, carrying a tray bearing a pot of tea, some orange drink and four portions of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. Laura wondered where they had come from and hoped the new cook, if she had been installed, hadn’t produced a meal like this. They were horrendously greasy and not very hot, but she consumed her portion with relish anyway.

Between bites, Catherine told Nigel what had happened to them, with Angelina’s noisy help. Nigel was enormously pleased to see the child again, and kept staring at her as if to confirm the fact that she really was there. Laura was touched at his devotion, but Angelina, alternating happily between stuffing fish and chips into her mouth, interrupting Catherine, taking large gulps of orange drink and applying still more make-up to her now very greasy face, was oblivious.

As soon as they had finished, the Baroness stood up. “We had better do the preliminaries before the food, if one can call it that, puts both of you to sleep. Who would like to go first?”

“I believe Angelina has already appropriated that honor,” Laura replied, regarding the child with amusement. Her lips were deep red, her skin olive, at least in the patches where grease hadn’t turned it still darker, and a black wig hung lopsidedly on her head. She was at that moment penciling her eyebrows to match her new hair color.

Catherine grinned. “So that’s why she didn’t object to washing up.”

“Makeup does not adhere well to dirt, as Angelina knows,” the Baroness explained. “Grease, of course, is quite different,” she added gravely.

Her face sobered as she turned her full attention first to Catherine, and then to Laura. Presumably, Laura thought, she was doing her visualization. The critical gaze seemed to peel layers from her face and even her mind, and she shifted uneasily. It was liked being examined under a microscope.

Finally the Baroness nodded. “I believe I have it,” she said, and her lips curved in an almost diabolical smile. “You may not like the results, but I assure you, the transformation will be complete.”

***********

Laura stared at the woman in the mirror. An expensively dressed but harassed-looking woman she didn’t recognize stared back. She looked French, perhaps German, but she was definitely not American. Perhaps it was the cut of her clothes or the way she wore her hair, twisted expertly into a severe bun at the back of her neck. She wore a lot of discreetly applied makeup and elegant tinted glasses, and held a fashionable purse. She had a slight frown that seemed permanently fixed to her face. She was not a very pleasant woman, Laura decided, nor was she a happy one.

Her gaze shifted to the girl standing beside her. She was about fourteen, and her pale face had a scrubbed look, as if she had just been ordered to wash it thoroughly. Dark pigtails hung down her back, and she wore a schoolgirl skirt and blouse, white socks and lace-up shoes. Her hazel eyes were sulky, and her mouth had a petulant look – or it did until she started to laugh.

“You look like the ultimate conservative worried Maman,” she chortled to the mirror. “Ghastly! I bet you’ve never unbent an inch in your life!”

“And you look like the ultimate spoiled and bratty schoolgirl,” Laura shot back.

“I look
horrible
,” Catherine agreed, giving the word a French accent. “I’m going to act
horrible
too. I shall make your life a misery.”

“
Moi aussi,”
Angelina agreed, getting into the spirit of the game.
“Je
suis un enfant terrible!”
Suiting action to words, she flung herself onto the floor and began to scream and pound her fists.

“
Mon dieu!”
Laura exclaimed in mock horror, turning to the Baroness.
“Qu'est-que vous avez fait, Madame? Deux enfants terribles?”

Her French came out easily, she was glad to note. She’d read Levi-Strauss in French in graduate school, so it ought to. She hadn’t agreed with him in French any more than she had in English. Anthropologists at that time were invariably men, Victorian ones at that, and they saw what they expected to see in other cultures, like dominant men and subservient women, and prostitutes instead of priestesses. Thank heaven all that nonsense was finally discredited.

The Baroness raised her eyebrows expressively, a gesture Laura was coming to know well. “You will pass as Madame Merlin. Your French is quite good,” she approved.

“When people fail to recognize themselves, I know I have succeeded,” she went on with a ghost of a smile, “but you must keep looking at yourselves so you know who you are now. Then it is easier to act the part.”

Obediently, Laura and Catherine stared at themselves again. The Baroness hadn’t let them watch while she worked on them, and the results were still a shock. Laura was astonished at what makeup could accomplish, at least in expert hands. The slight tilt at the end of her nose had been eliminated by putty so that the nose now looked long and pointed; her cheeks were flatter, her mouth thinner and framed by deep lines. As a result, her whole expression had changed, or she hoped it had changed. She wouldn’t want to look like this all the time. There was plenty of self-absorption but little humor in the woman in the mirror, nor much generosity, if she was any judge.

“If I wish to do a total transformation,” the Baroness had said, “I take what is least characteristic of the individual and make it obvious. When I succeed, the person is almost unrecognizable, even to themselves.”

That was certainly true of Catherine. All her lightness and fluidity were gone, her bravery and her rebelliousness. She looked stolid, uninteresting, and not very bright. In part, that was because her distinctive green eyes were concealed behind brownish lenses, but changes in the shape of her eyes and face had an even greater effect. There was nothing cat-like about Catherine now, and Laura wished she could have the old one back. She was much more fun than Patrice would be.

Angelina had insisted on being transformed, too, before she went to visit what Laura gathered was a favorite playmate, and her grandmother had complied. She had elaborated on Angelina’s earlier efforts, though removing the worst excesses, and the child was now a small boy with olive skin and long dark bangs that fell into his eyes, conveniently concealing their blueness. He wore a navy sailor suit with short pants.

The Baroness rummaged through a cardboard box and came up with a hat to match. It had an elastic band that went under the chin. “There,” she said, placing it on Angelina’s head and affixing the band. “Now the wig will stay on better, too.”

Angelina snapped the band experimentally. “That hurts!” she wailed.

“Then don’t do it again,” her grandmother replied calmly. “You can look in the toy bin now. A boy in a sailor suit should have some toys.”