Mademoiselle At Arms (16 page)

‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention
on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left
them. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Martha
had not been pleased to find her spare one borrowed for that expedition when
the major had found her outside the ballroom. Besides, it did not fit her well,
which was why the loose wimple had slipped. She would take this one back with
her. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise.

‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the
habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the
lantern. I do not know if I will have to escape quickly once more.’

‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will
I find you?’

‘I do not know. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. Not up
here, I think. I shall start at the bottom. Oh, wait!’ She seized Jack’s arm as
he was about to go out of the room. ‘Go you through the passage and find the
other door. Martha said to me that it must come to the
bibliothéque
.’

‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning.

‘I do not know the word in English. The place for reading.’

‘You mean the bookroom, miss. Will I meet you there?’

‘Yes, yes, I shall await you. Now go.’ She thrust him out of
the room and made for the stairs.

The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from
the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with
bookshelves of leather-bound volumes. But she was not sure just how to reach it.
It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high
unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.

Melusine glanced at the walls as she sped down the four
flights of stairs, and noted with relief that some paintings remained. Here and
there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been
removed. Well, one must hope, that was all.

In the flagged entrance hallway at the bottom, where extra
light came in from a window above the double doors, it was easy enough to
distinguish a family group, and a landscape which clearly included Remenham
House in the distance. But, moving through into the first of the large main
rooms that led one into another around the house, with here and there an
antechamber between, it was obvious that the task was not going to be easy.

If only one might open the shutters and let in the light. This
gloom was impossible.

Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy
drapes back. Yes, this was a little better.
Parbleu
, but must she do
this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not
properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in
imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture.

She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she
suddenly heard a faint knocking.

Her heart thudded.
Dieu du ciel
, what was it? She
turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. It came again. It
seemed to emanate from the back of the house. She looked about and discovered a
door partially hidden by shadow.

Melusine crossed to open it, and immediately the knocking
intensified in volume. The room behind was another small antechamber,
presumably linking the back rooms. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she
crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in
the bookroom. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. Had
he found the secret door?

Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came
from. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the
centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at
the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. Over
the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end,
was a portrait of a man on horseback. Every other wall comprised bookcases,
except where the doors appeared. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden
carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout.

Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the
secret door could be. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was
opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Here, it might be
anything at all. And nothing to tell her where to begin.

‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence.

‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand.

‘Can you not open it?’ she cried.

‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. ‘Can’t
see a thing.’

‘Oh,
peste
,’ exclaimed Melusine, and louder, ‘Where
are you? Call, that I may find you.’

She moved quickly to the nearest bookcase, and listened
intently to the sound of Jack’s voice. She could not judge its direction, and
began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across
the spines of the calf-bound volumes.

She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across
the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to
reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her
fingers had felt wrong. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back
over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.

Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood,
with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed
leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. But the
whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood.

Melusine tapped on it. At once there came an answering knock.
She had found him! Excitement welled.

‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this.’

It took several frustrating moments, working at the
protrusions of the carving down the side of the bookshelves, tugging at leaves,
pushing at flowers. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the
panel of painted books swung outward from the wall.

An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture. Melusine
started back, blinking.

‘
Parbleu
, but I find that this is excessively clever,
this passage.’

Jack stepped out, and pushed the door to. It clicked and the
bookshelf was once more intact. They stood back together and stared at it.

‘You could not tell it,’ said Melusine, ‘unless you were as
close as we.’

A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. Jack
looked towards the door. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in
the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. Swiftly she ran her hands
over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. She was
too late. The door to the library burst open.

‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. ‘Got you!’

‘You!’ Stunned, Melusine moved quickly away from the
tell-tale bookshelf. ‘But how do you come here?’

‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered
grimly. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out.’

‘Oh,
peste
,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. ‘It is all
the fault of that lantern.’

‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.

‘It does not matter, Jacques.’ She glared at Hilary. ‘If it
is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’

‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly. But he
looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen
behind him. ‘All right, Trodger. I’ll take over here. Get the men back to their
posts.’

‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off
and out of the front door.

‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask
you what you’re doing here. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply.’

‘Then it is good that you do not ask me,’ Melusine snapped,
and flouncing away from him, went to sit in the large chair behind the desk at
the far end of the room. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the
newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.

The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. ‘You the fellow
Gerald spoke to?’

Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight.

‘Jacques!’

She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking
fast and low. ‘It were that there major, miss. I didn’t betray you, I swear I
didn’t. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. And―and he wanted
to help you.’

‘So this is the way you serve me,’ exclaimed Melusine, her
quick temper flaring as she jumped up, slammed her hands on the desk and leaned
towards him over it. ‘What is it that you told him?’

‘Nothing, miss, I swear. At least—’

‘Don’t be more of a lunatic than you can help,’ broke in the
captain, addressing himself to Melusine. ‘If the boy had sense enough to send
word to Gerald as he was told to do, then God be praised!’

‘
Parbleu
,’ broke from Melusine, as she turned on him
instead. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’

‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to
the desk. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little
neck to try and save it. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’
he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and
levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap
female. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald.’

Melusine looked resentfully at the pistol. ‘I see well that I
am dealing with you. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this
Gérard.’

‘Do you tell me you think you can outwit Gerald? I wish I may
see it.’

Melusine did not reply. Her anger died and she eyed him. She
could manage the major. Let her see if she could manage this one, perhaps turn
all to suit herself?

‘What do you think to do with me now?’

The captain lowered the pistol. His tone changed, becoming a
little more moderate. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. The thing is,
Miss Charvill—’

‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised.

‘He told me everything, if you mean Gerald.’

Impatience overtook Melusine’s resolve momentarily. ‘Do you
think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told
you?’

‘That you need help.’

Melusine sat slowly down again, looking him over thoughtfully.
This became very interesting. Let her see what she could make here. She watched
the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the
big desk. Very good. He became a little less
en garde
.

‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said
slowly.

‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s
sake, I’ll do anything I can.’

Mischief overtook Melusine. She ran her gaze over him, and
allowed her eyelashes to flutter down.

To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. ‘No need
to upset yourself. Happy to do anything in my power.’

Melusine sighed deeply. ‘You see, it is that I have a plan to
marry an Englishman.’

His brows rose. ‘So that’s true, is it?’

‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide.
‘And I am thinking now that you may be very suitable.’

‘Eh?’

Almost Melusine betrayed herself at his startled look. But
she must not laugh.

‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued. ‘That will be
very helpful to me.’

‘Marry you!’

He shot off the desk, such horror in his face that Melusine
felt a little irritated. Was she so bad a prospect?

‘No good, Melusine,’ said a new voice from the doorway.

Melusine jumped up, turning swiftly. ‘Gérard!’

Before she could react to this new menace, the captain spun
round. ‘She wants me to marry her.’

‘So I heard.’ Gerald came into the room as he spoke, his eyes
on the stormclouds rapidly gathering in Melusine’s face. ‘He’s already spoken
for, Melusine. You’ll have to find someone else.’

‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from
behind the desk.

He uttered a short laugh. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for
my skin, I thank you.’

‘
Parbleu
, but I find you excessively rude,’ she
snapped, marching to meet him.

‘You usually do,’ he said lightly.

‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’
Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you.’

‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’

‘
Imbecile
. Do you think I would marry you? Rather
would I marry the pig in the convent.’

‘You mean the one that you refused to feed?’ demanded Gerald,
seizing this promising cue and adopting a mournful note. ‘But that is
excessively unkind of you, Melusine. To compare me to a starving pig.’