Another Small Kingdom (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

M
olly O'Hara was angry and disappointed that the hangman standing beside the noose was handling her roughly, gripping her arm and shaking her.She was angry and disappointed because, despite the heavy beard and tricorn hat, she recognised the eyes as those of Jasper Trent.

Then she was wide awake.

Kitty was standing beside the bed shaking her and speaking. Sleep completely gone, she listened as Kitty broke her news.

‘De Valois and St Clair are dead and our pretty bird has flown.' Molly pulled back the clothes and swung her feet to the floor. ‘Looks to me like our pretty bird might have croaked them both.'

Molly looked around for her robe.

‘Maybe, maybe not. When did it happen?'

‘Last night, throats cut horribly was what I was told but all I know for sure is that they're dead. The story's running all over town.'

Molly gave up on the robe.

‘Right, get me washed and dressed and let's get over there. Salcedo's Jacks will be stamping all over the place and I want you to get what you can from below stairs before the servants are scared so shitless they won't be able to see straight, never mind talk straight.'

Molly and Kitty went to work and soon that grand lady of fashion, Madame de Metz, accompanied by her faithful maid were under full sail and heading for the stricken house of de Valois.

There are times when even the most rigid barriers of convention must bend if not actually break and the crowd outside the front door of the de Valois house contained not only interested idlers and loafers but the better class of servants from neighbouring houses, all mixing for the moment as equals. The idlers and loafers claimed the moral high ground. They were there on their own account, the servants were there as servants, gathering what they could to take back to their masters and mistresses. All parted, however, to make way for Madame de Metz as she swept through them, mounted the few steps that led up to the front door and waited while her maid worked on the large brass knocker.

The door was opened by a man in uniform. Madame de Metz brushed him aside and entered, talking loudly to no one in particular.

‘Where is my dear, adored friend? Will someone not tell me where is that unhappy, grief-stricken child?'

The uniformed man caught up with her and reached for her arm.

‘Madame …'

He stopped speaking and quickly withdrew his hand. The look she turned and gave him was as effective as a musket ball.

‘Do you address me, my man?'

‘I, I …'

He gave up the unequal struggle and left, hurrying to find a superior.

Madame de Metz swept on through the hall.

‘Marie, darling Marie,' she called announcing her presence to all and sundry. Then quickly and in a low voice, ‘Hop to it, Kitty, wring their guts of all they've got and get back to the kip when you can.'

Kitty left and headed for the stairs beyond which she knew she would find the kitchen.

Madame de Metz went into the living room, sat down resting her hands on the handle of her parasol and waited. After a moment the uniformed man came in, stopped and side-stepped cleverly, putting the man who had been following him between himself and the formidable lady sitting looking at them from the chair.

‘And you are, sir?'

‘First I think I would like to establish who you are, Madame.'

‘Madame de Metz, intimate friend and confidante of Madame Marie Christine de Valois.'

‘And what is it you wish here, Madame?'

‘And you are, sir?'

‘I am the representative of His Excellency Governor Salcedo.'

‘And your business in this house?'

‘There has been an incident …'

Madame de Metz rose like a rocketing pheasant and let out a wail which almost caused the uniformed man to raise his arm in defence.

‘Ah, it's true. Oh pray tell me, sir, that it isn't true. I beg you by the blessed blood of our Saviour to tell me it isn't true.' She wailed again, dropped her parasol and threw her arm across her eyes while at the same time coming forward enough to fall on her knees at the feet of the representative of Governor Salcedo whose face was now a nice blend of horror and astonishment. She clasped her hands as if in prayer.

‘By God's pity, sir, tell me the awful thing I have heard isn't true, that Monsieur de Valois and his dear friend Monsieur St Clair have been brutally slain.' She unclasped her hands and wrapped her arms round his legs. She knew she was overplaying it but she needed a result and quickly. ‘Please, sir, by the tears of our Holy Mother, say that my beloved Marie is not harmed. Please, sir, I beg of you …'

The Governor's representative capitulated unconditionally in the face of such an unstoppable onslaught.

‘Madame, please, it is I who beg you.' Molly let him unwind her arms and raise her to her feet. ‘Madame, I regret that Messieurs de Valois and St Clair
are
dead, as you say, brutally murdered. As to where Madame de Valois is I cannot at this time say, except she is not in the house.'

Madame de Metz changed again and was no longer either the great lady nor the distraught wailer but now only a humble petitioner.

‘I apologise most humbly, sir. Despite what I had heard I had hoped that it might not be true. But now you have told me, I must go and pray beside the bodies of my two dear friends.' The Governor's representative was about to speak but she drove her humility roughshod over whatever it was he was going to say. ‘Although I am sure they are both already in heaven I will add my poor prayers to all the many others which will be offered up for them this day. Please hand me my parasol.'

And she stood with downcast eyes and her hand out.

The Governor's representative made an impatient gesture to the uniformed man who darted forward, recovered the parasol and placed it in her hand.

‘You may take me to them.'

Her voice sounded so much like a benediction that for a fleeting second he almost crossed himself. Instead he turned and led the cortège of two past the Governor's representative and on up the stairs to a bedroom where he opened a door guarded by two more uniformed men and led the way in. On the bed, covered by a sheet which had once been white but was now mostly blood stains, the two bodies lay in the positions the murderer had left them.

Madame de Metz crossed the room, knelt by the bed, joined her hands and spoke to the uniformed man as she bent her head.

‘Thank you, you may leave me now to my prayers.'

The uniformed man paused awkwardly.

‘I think, Madame …'

Madame de Metz began a slow and elaborate crossing of herself slowly intoning.

‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.'

The uniformed man mumbled, ‘Amen', turned and left the room closing the door quietly behind him.

Chapter Twenty-eight

A
n hour later Molly and Kitty were back in Madame de Metz's rooms sharing notes.

‘Once the Jack had gone I had a good look at them and one thing is certain, it wasn't any pull that turned sour. It was a clean enough job, one shot each to the body then reload and one ball in de Valois's head. St Clair took it to the heart and died right off but the first shot didn't kill de Valois. It was low down and he would probably have screamed like a stuck pig. But that didn't bother our man. He reloaded and finished the job. A cool piece of work, bloody cool.'

‘Ah, cool indeed, and he was lucky or he was wise. The servants were sensible. They stayed under their bedclothes when they heard the noise and kept out of it until they were sure all the fun was well and truly over before they raised the alarm.'

‘Who did you talk to?'

‘The cook. We used to talk when you visited. She's a gossipy old bag and makes up twice as much as she ever hears, but she puts herself about, I'll give her that. She reckons the wife did it, but she didn't give any reason except de Valois's bedroom antics.'

‘No, Marie didn't do any shooting, first because her husband's bedroom antics couldn't be anything new to her and second because she isn't the killing type.'

‘How do you reckon she got clear?'

‘I don't think our man cared about her. His mark was in that bed.'

‘Which one, St Clair or de Valois?'

‘De Valois couldn't be important, he was a fop and a fool, but St Clair's always interested me. He was clever and, except for de Valois, he kept himself pretty much at a distance. And he wasn't a vain clothes-horse like de Valois, but that didn't stop him visiting one particular tailor more frequently than his wardrobe would account for.'

‘Anything in it?'

Molly shrugged.

‘Maybe. I went in to the shop and got him talking about Paris where he'd been in business before he came over here. I couldn't pump him too much without him smelling a rat, but all you have to do is use your eyes to know that somehow he's keeping up with the latest cut of Paris threads. That means someone is bringing in the fashion plates he needs.'

‘And not just fashion plates maybe?'

‘It begins to look that the way. And if St Clair was mixed up in something, then he would have made sure his own home was secure. No chance to croak him there, but the home of de Valois, that was a different matter. That could be a weak point. Did the cook say anything about someone nosing about among the servants, asking questions, friendlying up to any of them?'

‘Last time we visited she told me that she was sure that the wife's maid had a gentleman caller on the sly.'

‘Did she, by God?'

‘Very cagey about him the maid was apparently. Wouldn't say who it was but couldn't resist letting it drop that she reckoned she was going to become a lady and mix with the toffs. When she told me, I thought it was the same old story and all the maid would get was knocked up and left to whistle, but now it looks different.'

‘A secret gentleman caller. Well, well. Someone's been planning this for a while.'

‘Looks like it. Cook reckoned the maid sometimes let him in after the house had gone to bed.'

‘A night-time caller who liked to stay invisible. Did the cook have any ideas?'

‘Not what you could call anything solid but she was curious. She's been in houses where there's been quiet callers, but this one, well she didn't like it. This one was too careful for her peace of mind, so she watched out and one night caught a glimpse of him leaving. All she could see was that he walked with a limp.'

‘A limp? Who do we know that walks with a limp?'

‘No one, but if we're right then he could be our killer.'

‘Did you speak to this maid?'

‘No, the cook said no one had seen her since the previous night and her bed hadn't been slept in.'

‘That pretty much settles it then.'

‘Dead you think?'

‘She has to be, she's the only one who could name the killer. He wouldn't have left her around to squeal to the Jacks once the job was done.'

‘So what do we do now?'

‘I'll do a round of the houses to see what I can pick up and you do the docks.'

‘And I'm looking for what?'

‘Let's say that when our bird heard the shots and the screaming she had the sense to run for it. The question would be, where would she run to? She hasn't gone to the authorities nor to any of her friends. If she had she'd have shown by now. So, let's assume pretty Marie knows something, or is involved in something, and she's bolted. She can't stay hid long in New Orleans, can she?

‘She'll try to ship out somewhere.'

‘She will. See what's due to leave and where bound. She has family somewhere, Baton Rouge I think, maybe she'll try to get back to them.'

Kitty gave a short laugh.

‘If that pretty bird goes anywhere near the docks, I'll do more than clip her bloody wings.'

‘Maybe, but first we have to find her, so it's off to the docks with you and off into society with me.'

And Madame de Metz and her faithful maid set out, each on their own mission.

Chapter Twenty-nine

A
s Marie de Valois sat in Macleod's rooms waiting for his return from the docks, Madame de Metz made her round of the best houses in New Orleans and was freshly shocked in each one by the terrible news her friends so gloatingly poured out to her about the murder. She listened, fascinated by their various interpretations as to what the mysterious disappearance of Marie might mean. That she lay somewhere horribly murdered, was slight favourite ahead of that, suffering from a fit of madness, she had cut St Clair's and her husband's throats before drowning herself and, coming a respectable third, that she had run off with a secret lover after he had murdered the faithless husband and his lover. All of which told Madame de Metz that no one had any idea why de Valois and St Clair were dead nor where Marie was.

She was tired and hungry and awash with coffee when she finally returned to her rooms. She pulled off her cloak and threw it on the bed.

‘Well, Kitty, I've drawn one blank after another and downed enough coffee to float a frigate. When I've relieved myself I hope you'll have news for me.'

She left the room and Kitty poured two glasses of brandy and water. When Molly returned she took up her glass and held it up.

‘Here's to a capacious bladder, girl. It's sometimes more use than money.' And having taken a drink to her toast she sat down. ‘Well, how did it go with you? Any news?'

‘I've news all right. I saw that Boston lawyer, Macleod. I nearly missed him. He was dressed down like a Quaker going to Meeting House, plain black, not a sign of the fancy threads we've been used to seeing him in.'

‘What was he doing?'

‘He booked passage on a ship headed for Charleston in two days, and here's the best part, his wife is to travel with him.'

‘A wife, eh? So that's who she ran to. The lawyer's got her, has he? Damn his eyes, he's the one we should have been looking at, and under our noses all along. God's teeth! He's a smooth bastard. I had him down as just one more moon-calfing after Marie de Valois. I'd have staked ready money that it wasn't an act, but it seems he's been too much for us. Still, he's shown his hand now.'

‘What do we do?'

‘We take the pretty bird from him.'

‘Do we want her?'

‘We do if she knows what St Clair was up to.'

‘If you think Macleod did the killing then what about our limping friend?'

‘All that means is Macleod isn't working on his own. He's been working the same ramp as us. He works above stairs and his limping friend works below. If he's taken the trouble to snuff out St Clair and snare the pretty bird it's because she has the information he's been after. Well, if he's got her we shall have to set about taking her from him.'

‘How do we do that?'

‘When did you say they're due to sail?'

‘Day after tomorrow at three in the afternoon. They'll board an hour before sailing.'

‘Then we wait until they go to the ship and we lift her.'

‘How?'

‘We know they'll be on the docks headed for that ship at around two. You follow him, get close enough to knife him and grab her. I'll be there to stop them for you and when he goes down I'll start enough of a rumpus for you to put the snatch on. Just show her the knife and you won't have any trouble. The surprise of me popping out from nowhere will hold her attention while you stick him. She probably won't even notice that you've put Macleod down. I'll get down beside him and when I see the blood I'll go into an act long enough for you to get clear.'

‘What if they're not together, if they go to the boat separately?'

‘All the better, we lift her as soon as we see her. Either way you keep a sharp lookout for me when you get near the boat. Once you spot me, off we go.'

Kitty lifted her glass.

‘Good. I like it plain and simple. Here's to blood and money.'

Molly returned the toast.

‘Blood and money, and plenty of both my girl, plenty of both.'