Bright Hair About the Bone (44 page)

CHAPTER 44

A
ll eyes had been looking in the countess's direction—Letty had been aware of this—concerned, she had supposed, for the old lady's health. But with the peremptory gesture she understood at last that, at the centre of the web around her, there had always been the countess. The Lady. Who else? The cornerstone of their matrilineal tribe. The one they looked to for command.

And this command was translated into furious action as Constantine, released at last, leaped forward, cosh in hand, and laid Gunning low with a single vicious blow behind the ear.

With everyone's attention on the slumped figure of Gunning lying motionless at the foot of the lectern, no one saw Letty's hand reach out and snatch the Luger from under the concealing sprays of ivy and roses at her elbow.

Anselme dashed forward and fell upon the body of Gunning, covering him protectively with the folds of his white robes. Constantine and François advanced on him menacingly, shouting at the priest to move away. Gabrielle shrieked and the countess watched, impassive.

Letty was confused; she despaired of getting the attention of this circus. She could have shot any one of them dead where they stood but they milled about, oblivious of the menace in her hand.

She took a deep breath, found her target, raised the Luger, and aimed for the left eye.

The crash of the shot in the enclosed space was deafening. All movement ceased and all sound save for a small whimper from Gabrielle.

“Bad shot!” said Letty. “I hadn't meant to destroy the whole face.”

What remained of the gilded plaster cherub's head at the apex of the roof stared down blindly at the group below. They coughed and swatted at the dust and shards that rained down from the ceiling.

“Jules' Luger,” she said concisely. “I'm sure you're familiar with it. Nine millimetre, butt-loaded, well maintained. Seven bullets, two now used up, which leaves me five. And I have six targets. Oh, dear! I shall be one short.”

They saw the firmness with which she held the angled grip of the gun; they eyed the menace of the steel grey barrel trained unwaveringly on the countess's heart; they flinched before the purpose in the steel grey eyes directing her aim, and they stayed very still.

Constantine tore his gaze from Letty and raised his head to examine the eyeless cherub, assessing the shot. He looked back at her and spread his hands in a placatory gesture.

“Anselme! Get Gunning out of here. Send for a doctor,” said Letty.

The countess looked at her thoughtfully. Letty had not asked for the police to be called and she calculated that the wise woman was guessing the significance of the omission: They had already been summoned. Letty managed by a superhuman effort to keep her attention on the group and ignore the limp body of Gunning as the priest tugged it by the armpits through the door and out into the corridor.

D'Aubec took a step towards her, arms outstretched, alarmed and loving. “Laetitia, my darling! Your loyalty does you credit, but this man has battened on you, used you, filled your head with silliness. He's obviously unhinged. You heard him ranting just now…Neurasthenia, perhaps? He has suffered. Poor chap! But dangerous…We ought never to have asked him here.” He threw an apologetic glance at his mother. “He's not dead. Constantine has merely silenced him for the moment. We'll look after him.”

“I'm sure you will. Look after him by throwing him from a height to cover the blow to the head? From the battlements? Perhaps if you can revive him, the countess would like to dance a last tango with him? Every bit as fatal, I think. Go and stand behind the altar table, all of you.”

The gun remained steady while they moved with varying degrees of co-operation. Auguste gave the countess his arm and they made their way to the far side of the altar with the insouciance of a couple setting out for a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne. Constantine took up a position on the edge of the group, tense as a tiger, ready to spring the moment her attention wavered. D'Aubec stood on the other side looking at her with affectionate amusement. In their different ways, each was a danger.

“Darling, that gun's far too dangerous a toy for you to be playing with. Why don't you just hand it to me, and I'll make it safe and give it to Huleux, who must be searching everywhere for it…”

“Shut up!”

“Children! Children!” scolded the countess. “Do you think we could all do with a cup of tea?” she suggested brightly. “Or a tisane, perhaps? All this dust is making me thirsty.”

“What about a game of
belote
while we're waiting?” said Letty. “We've got enough players. You need four, I understand. Just as on the night Daniel died. You were there, madame, with Daniel. And, hurrying from Lyon to deal with the emergency my godfather was creating—your lieutenants. Your brother-in-law Auguste and Constantine. The Top Brass. All three of you alarmed to discover finally the depth of Daniel's disgust with your plans. He must have made you aware, in his honourable way, of his intention, if you did not at once abandon them, of shouting the truth from the rooftops.”

They listened to her with polite attention, in silence, becoming more relaxed as the seconds ticked away. Letty was conscious that she was following exactly the same lethal path as her godfather and was filled with exaltation. No possibility of a retreat now and her present position was untenable. Her finger was growing rigid on the trigger. She was not sure how much longer she could hold the heavy gun convincingly at the ready.

She knew the peril she was in. This group was thinking as one entity, and they had realised that time was on their side. They simply had to wait. Avoid attracting her attention. The gun or her spirit would inevitably droop. And one moment's loss of concentration and she would be disarmed. Seconds later, Gunning would die. How much longer?

Gabrielle began to examine her fingernails. Auguste studied the stained glass. The countess coughed pathetically into a lace handkerchief. Waiting. Waiting.

“Keep going, Letty! Don't look back!”
Daniel's voice.

Forward then. There was only one course open to her. Break the deadlock. She had to provoke an attack to which she could legitimately respond. One last attempt at retribution for Daniel. She would have to shoot one of them. She looked along the group and made her choice.

“It was of no importance that Edmond was not present that evening.” Her voice was calm. “No loss. Decisions can be taken without him. Edmond—the dud of the family…the howitzer shell fitted with a useless one-hundred fuse…all thunderous delivery and no explosion.”

Letty's shot rang out the instant d'Aubec leaped towards her, screaming his fury, catching him in the right shoulder, hurling him backwards, and spinning him round. He crashed to the floor, blood spurting between the fingers of the hand he held over the wound. Letty watched his expression turn from incredulity to agony. He turned away from her and through clenched teeth, he muttered, barely audible, one word: “Maman!”

The countess, oblivious of the gun, dashed forward and threw her arms around him, murmuring.

“
Mater dolorosa,
” Letty whispered, her gun now pointing at Constantine. “Then, more firmly: “Madame, your son's bleeding. Use the altar cloth.”

         

Three agonising minutes later, the door burst open and Huleux, accompanied by two armed officers, came in, openmouthed with horror but training revolvers steadily on the group behind the altar. Huleux rapped out a few commands and warnings, and it was some time before Letty realised that most of these were addressed to her. Sensing her paralysis, he approached and gently touched the hand holding the gun in a frozen grip.

“It's over, mademoiselle. Let me have the gun. We were just entering the building when we heard the first shot. Go to the vicar. He is conscious and calling for you.”

CHAPTER 45

I
'll drive, William. I think you would do it very badly,” said Letty as she put the last suitcase into the car. “Two hours out of hospital—you can't be feeling very sharp.”

“
Au contraire!
I'm feeling very chipper! Really, four days chained to a hospital bed was excessive.”

“It's funny—I was in such a lather to get to Fontigny and now I can't wait to be back in England. I'm never sure where I want to be.”

“You'll find your place one day, Letty. For the moment I'm just thankful you're apparently undamaged and free to be taken back to your father in Cambridge.”

“In one piece and having done what I came to do. I found her, William. Daniel's killer.” She fell silent. Not quite ready to move off, she paused before starting up the engine. “But I'd thought no further than that. What happens now? They still use the guillotine for capital crimes, don't they? You don't suppose, do you, that I'll have sent someone to the guillotine? I couldn't bear it! I wouldn't like to think that old Dutronc and his infernal machine were to have the last word! And I think even Daniel would say I'd over-steered. He was quick-tempered but not the least bit vindictive. He would have wanted to see their guns spiked, but not blowing up in their faces.”

“It won't come to that. Families of this consequence no longer end up on the scaffold or even in a court of law these days. They have friends in high places. I wouldn't put it past them to be pulling a few strings we know nothing about.”

“I think they've started already. Whipping up local and national sympathy. Were you aware that the old girl's dying? They've all gone off to Lyon to be by her bedside at the clinic. She's known for some time, apparently. And, of course, the whole world rushes to forgive an ailing, grieving mother. Not sure I believe a word of it. That's what they're good at, after all—propaganda, they call it. Lying, in other words.”

“I wouldn't dismiss the idea. It does go some way to explaining why she was so eager to see that son of hers settled. She saw herself as the guardian of the faith…
they
saw her as the guardian. They had manufactured a belief in the Mother Goddess, after all. Not surprising, then, to find at the centre of the system a woman. A priestess? Almost an object of veneration herself. But not immortal! And the time was coming to hand on the torch. A choice had to be made.”

“Gabrielle would have been their first choice, but she ruled herself out, I think! Deliberately? I wonder.”

“Yes. The old girl had no illusions about her son. He needed a steady hand and a quick mind to guide him, and if they came accompanied by various other agreeable attributes, the countess was well pleased. Perhaps she would have hung on long enough to see the family line was assured? That there was a new countess in place to guard the flame? Someone to train on.”

“A frightening notion! They'd have had me tied up, tricked out, and stuck on a spike as a Corn Dolly to be thrown away when her time was up! Evil creatures! Oh, William!” Letty seized his hand. “Thank God you were there! Several steps ahead of me all the way. Showing me where to put my feet. Putting up with my nonsense. I was rash…and it was my carelessness that nearly got you killed. I'm so sorry.”

Too late she realised that, though he could deal with any amount of thoughtlessness—rudeness even—contrition and a show of emotion were still unwelcome.

“No need to apologise. Nothing personal, I'm sure. I look on you as a Force of Nature, Letty. Next time I hear a warning rumble, I'll put on my tin hat and hop into the nearest trench.”

“But I think we've left them in some disarray, at least, don't you? D'Aubec's shoulder was smashed, apparently, and he's going to take some months to recover. He's taken sanctuary with his uncle Auguste and a battalion of lawyers. And when I've told Sir Richard about their political activities and he's made a few phone calls to Whitehall, enquiries will follow. The family will find a few more spokes have been stuck in their chariot wheels. It will take them some time to recover their momentum.”

“Yes, but don't go off watch yet! Organisations of that age and strength are not easily killed off. Their roots go deep, and we have done no more than lop off a couple of branches.” He was struck by an uncomfortable thought. “Good Lord! We know what the effect of that can be! I do hope, Letty, that our efforts amount to more than a little judicious pruning!”

She looked across at him, suddenly doubtful. “There was a moment, William, when I wondered whether I ought to…whether it was my Christian duty to attack this monstrous growth from the inside. I could have got inside, you know. I could have fought from that favoured position to neutralise, to disarm…I could have done
something.
”

“It had occurred to me that you were planning a self-sacrifice of that kind. Though the ‘favoured position'—by which I suppose you mean marriage to d'Aubec—might not have been exactly what most people understand by ‘martyrdom'! I think you'd become fond of him?”

She looked away, hiding her face, unable to answer.

As they neared the turnoff to the castle road, Gunning persisted, determined to extract an admission, though the pain of the extraction was etched on his own face: “Your last chance to come clean, Letty. Are you going to regret leaving him behind?”

“I should never have risked starting a relationship, I know.” She smiled and glanced up at the imposing silhouette of Brancy. “Too deeply rooted. Too Burgundian. He might well not transplant easily. Still, in the circumstances, I thought I had to give it a go. William, I want you to wait here for a moment.”

She braked outside the lodge cottage at the end of the carriage drive. Hearing the car, an elderly lady called a greeting from the doorway. “He's ready and waiting for you, mademoiselle. I'll just fetch him!”

“Marcel's mother,” Letty explained to Gunning. “She's done me a huge favour. I didn't come away empty-handed from all this.” She jumped from the car and walked down the path to talk to the groom's mother and take from her hands a travelling box.

“Can we find room for another passenger in the back?” she asked him. “Or would you like to have him on your knee?”

“Good Lord! I was hoping you'd forgotten about
that,
” said Gunning. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“No. Not sure of much anymore. Marcel seemed keen for me to take him away and offered his mother's services. He's a good dog. Well worth having. And I did earn him! He can join the pack back home. We've got cows he can herd.”

“What's his name?”

“Oh, something grand and Burgundian…‘Dagobert,' I'm afraid.”

“Crikey! Imagine calling that across a soggy Cambridge meadow!”

Gunning opened the box and took out the small form wriggling with excitement. Letty noted that he allowed his thumb to be chewed.

“He's going to be brown. Why don't you call him ‘Bruno'?…Bruno! There, you see—the tail wagged. That's decided, then.” He held up the dog and spoke into his face: “Now, mate, if you'll take my advice you'll go back to sleep again in your box. We've a long journey ahead and I won't have you tearing holes in these trousers—or worse.”

As they drew off, he changed the subject, conceding that it pained her to bring up her feelings for d'Aubec. “Let's not forget that the Lady's still up there, asleep in the hillside…charged with the same patriotic duty as King Arthur but, unlike him, we know she exists. And will we ever know what the urn contains? Charred horse bones? Mouse droppings? A trace of spikenard? Or the ashes of a very important woman? It's all still in place, Letty. Waiting.”

         

“And Paul Morel?” she said as they chugged past the entrance to the Allée du Parc. “I should have realised from the moment I saw d'Aubec beating that poor boy that he was a man of ungovernable temper. But—I'm too hard on myself, had you noticed? I rather think I did realise. A violent man. A man with two characters. Esmé would understand, I think. I can't imagine why they decided not to charge him with Morel's murder. As soon as d'Aubec was safely in custody, the lad's friends came forward to speak out. Why did no one listen to them?”

“Ah, I can tell you that. Old Huleux came to see me in hospital and cleared up a few things for me. He had to speak slowly in words of one syllable to penetrate my headache but I think I got it! They did listen to the boys who, themselves, had been very concerned at the trouble young Paul was getting into. You knew he'd been serving an apprenticeship with Jules? Yes, well, he was receiving a training in more than care of horses; he was learning the trade of the assassin into the bargain. It took two of them to murder Daniel. Paul was there. He saw it all, he told his mates. When he started to make life difficult for the boss, Jules was ordered to finish him off and bury him in your trench.”

“Make life difficult? How could he do that?”

“After the shaming public beating at the hands of d'Aubec it was understandable, perhaps, to brag to your friends that you intended to get even by speaking to the police—revealing the family's part in the killing. Understandable but not very sensible. Morel was a loose cannon. D'Aubec had to defuse him and chuck him overboard.”

“And why waste a good corpse?” said Letty bitterly. “He used the boy's body to divert suspicion. The watch and the wallet. D'Aubec was really psychopathically vindictive, wasn't he? He had to gild the lily. Wasn't content just to implicate Paul Morel in Daniel's murder, he had to plant that gold coin—from his own collection, no doubt—to bring Paradee into disrepute. Killing two birds with one stone.”

Letty stared straight ahead as they drove past the deserted dig, covered with tarpaulins. Deliberately, Gunning drew her attention to it.

“You'll miss all that, won't you? I've always been aware of the attraction the digging had for you…of your ambitions in that field. A pull rather stronger than anything young d'Aubec could conjure up, I had thought at one time.” And, probing further: “Anything more known of Paradee? You don't hear much gossip from a hospital bed!”

“Oh, he skipped off one step ahead of the authorities. Leaving debts behind him, according to Phil. His backer refused to honour any of the bills and it's left a very nasty atmosphere in the town. It will be a few years before anyone else is welcomed to do any excavating. Phil and Patrick are going off to the Levant. I think they're to join the Woolley dig. Paradee was as good as his word in that—he did make arrangements for his team…In fact, I really think he and I—we could have made a go of it…Oh, William! I had a narrow escape!”

“Oh, yes? About as narrow as the Atlantic! Don't be so silly! Your personal Mr. Plod wouldn't have let you get away.”

She smiled. “Mr. Plod turned out to be a bonny fighter!”

“But inadequately armed! Words! The only weapon I can call on. Not much use I'm afraid. It takes the blast of a Luger and a bullet through a cherub's eye, I hear, to get the attention of a man like d'Aubec.”

“Don't underestimate the power of words, William.”

         

“William, I'm just going to stop off at the church before we leave town. Do you mind? I'd like to have a last look at Mary. I'd like to seek her blessing…see whether she condemns me or whether she understands…”

She stayed for several minutes in front of the fresco, in silent conversation with the saint. Finally, she spoke to Gunning: “William. There's something I want to do in London, something I've been planning while you've been away in Lyon. Would you mind awfully taking me to our house in Fitzroy Square when we get back? I don't want to go straight home to Cambridge.”

Gunning looked with silent speculation at the blush spreading over her cheeks. Her face, vivid but secretive, strangely echoed the enigmatic features of the Magdalene. He turned from one fair head to the other in puzzlement, and then he raised his hand in an unpractised gesture. Clumsily, he made the sign of the cross, his eyes questioning Mary's.

         

They parked on a cliff top watching the ferryboat making its way into harbour, and Gunning made up his mind to speak. “I have to tell you something, Letty…”

For a moment she heard the old, grating hesitancy.

“You know you brought me back to life again? Perhaps you don't even now realise how far gone I was when you came upon me. I wouldn't have survived a week in the House of Correction with their medieval methods of punishment. Not another one. And I knew that. Lacking the moral strength to kill myself, I was prepared to allow others to shoulder the sin of doing it for me. A cowardly act but I was set on it. And then I came face-to-face with a bossy girl who bought my life for half a crown.”