Hunter's Moon (10 page)

I looked into the veiled eyes of that featureless mask and a strange feeling stirred in me that was nothing to do with the oddness of our situation. Through a lump in my throat, I said, ‘Thank you. But I think I must decide that for myself.'

‘As you wish,' he said, and though his voice was without inflection, I had the impression that I'd upset him.

‘They wanted me to wait till I'd spoken to you,' I said, in a rush, ‘before I made my plans. I am glad I have. I will look carefully at the information you have found for me and again, I thank you for your trouble. But please understand that I must make my own way.'

‘Of course,' he replied, quietly. ‘It is always so.'

His veiled eyes met mine. I felt a strange tingle rippling over me from head to foot. Those eyes – they held me. That voice – so familiar. And the way he had reacted to me – the tension, the tenderness in his voice … Could it be … Could it be that I knew this man, this man from the mountains?
Could the man before me be Lucian Montresor?

It was a startling, shocking thought and I knew instinctively that I could not voice it out loud but must do my best to conceal it. For if my suspicions were correct and he was who I thought he was, then he would have known who I was as soon as they told him I'd been found. But he had chosen to stay quiet. He must have his reasons for that, and they must be good reasons. Besides, if he thought I did not recognise him, then I might have a chance of finding out why he lived a double life. And as to what might happen afterwards … I did not dare to think of that now. There would be time enough later, once I knew more.

‘We had better go in,' I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to stop myself from reaching out to him.

‘Yes,' he replied equably and, turning away from me to uncover the plate, he signalled us into the haven.

The others were, of course, more than delighted that the Prince had arrived early. As they fussed around, bringing out glasses of mint cordial and plates of freshly made biscuits, they talked nineteen to the dozen, while I watched him closely. He had not breathed a word to them about our conversation, only saying that we'd just met; he had not uttered a sound about the packet he'd given me. He spoke calmly – on haven matters, not on my situation – and in fact seemed to take no further notice of me. That suited me just fine, for I did not want him to read in my eyes what I was thinking.

After a suitable while, I rose from the table, saying I was tired and needed to rest. The others were a little dismayed that I would want to leave the presence of their beloved Prince so quickly, but also a little relieved, I think, for I could sense they wanted to talk to him about me, but were constrained by the fact that I was there. Lisbet offered me the use of her room, for clearly I could not rest in my
usual place for this was where they had gathered, and I left the room in a slightly awkward silence, feeling several pairs of eyes on my back and a tingle in my body which told me that the Prince, far from taking no notice, was tensely aware of me.

Reaching Lisbet's room, I closed and bolted the door and, sitting on the bed, took out from my skirt pocket the packet the Prince had given me. In it were several documents – two typed, the other two handwritten – as well as three newspaper clippings. As I began to read, the hair rose on the back of my neck and I forgot all about my suspicions regarding the true identity of the Prince, for what I held in my hands quite eclipsed any thoughts other than those concerning my father and Belladonna.

The first document was a telegram from my father to the manager of the Ladies' Fair store in Aurisola. It was addressed to Guillermo Ghent and dated the very day Father had left for that city. It read ‘Need to be certain DS reliable witness. Speak to no-one. Wait for me.'

The next document, also typewritten, was dated the same day, and though it was in Aurisolan, I could read it easily because when Belladonna had first come into our lives, I had applied myself to learning her native tongue to please her. So I soon understood that this was a police report on a body fished out of the canals, noting that the cause of death was strangulation. The victim was recorded as being a certain Dominic Santeria, vagrant, once employed in Signora Gandelfiri's household, no next of kin recorded. ‘Gandelfiri' was Belladonna's maiden name! Was Signora Gandelfiri Belladonna's long-dead grandmother? Was Dominic Santeria the ‘DS' of Father's
telegram? Was he killed to prevent him talking to Father? And if he was, what was the information he had that was so dangerous he'd had to be silenced?

The first handwritten note, which was very short, was in a hand I did not recognise and bore a faint seal that I peered and peered at before deciding it was a smudgy picture of a snake on a pole. This was the standard sign for apothecaries, the more shady kind of chemist. The document itself appeared to be a delivery list for an order which had been placed, but was so cryptic that I could not work out what the words might exactly represent, though it was clear they referred to some kind of chemicals: ‘g. cran – 1 g, n. sal – 2 g, v. conc – 1 mL.' Other than this list, there was also a scrawled date, which was about eleven years ago, that is, around seven years before my father had met Belladonna.

Turning from this to the other note, I saw it was in the same hand but undated and a very different kind of note, a few words written in a hectic scrawl: ‘It was I who killed her and now I can no longer bear the knowledge I have.'

It ended abruptly, and on the last letter, the ‘e' of ‘have', was a brown stain that, I thought, my palms prickling, looked for all the world like a bloodstain. With my heart thudding, I turned to reading the newspaper clippings.

The first, dated also around eleven years ago, was about the suicide of an imprisoned man named Adolfus Carlini, underworld apothecary, who had been arrested for the murder by poison of Signora Theobalda Gandelfiri, some weeks before. The report noted that though Carlini had left a handwritten confession note,
he had not revealed a motive for the killing. However, the signora's nineteen-year-old adoptive granddaughter Belladonna had testified that he had been a nuisance and that her grandmother had once had to chase him off her property. Belladonna's testimony had been supported by three servants, Drago Lukan, Dominic Santeria and Gabriel Pindari. The Gandelfiri estate would now pass to the Signora's adoptive granddaughter, as she was the only surviving next of kin. However, the article mentioned that the Gandelfiri fortune was nowhere near as considerable as it had once been: after Signora Gandelfiri's death, it had been discovered that she had run into large debt and much of the estate would need to be sold to clear that.

Belladonna. She's done it before, I thought, the chill of it striking deep within me. She's done it before – and in exactly the same way! Only, that time it hadn't resulted in quite what she'd hoped. She must not have known her adoptive grandmother was in such debt; she must have thought she would inherit a considerable fortune.

And then I noticed something else. The article said that Belladonna was the Signora's
adoptive
granddaughter. Belladonna had never told us that. In a way, it made it even more sickening, that a naive, kindly old woman had taken in an unrelated orphan child out of the goodness of her heart – and been rewarded by death.

I picked up the next clipping. This was dated just over four years ago – that is, close to the time Father had met Belladonna. It was from a Faustinian newspaper. It was a very brief account of the tragic death by drowning of a Miss Arabella Talavin:

That was all the newspaper article said, but it was enough for me. I could see a clear pattern – the coincidental deaths of those who had got in Belladonna's way. Poor Arabella Talavin's ‘best friend' had almost certainly caused her death, and my guess would be that it was because she was a serious rival for the Fairest Lady crown, and just ‘one of several beautiful aspirants'. With her out of the way, Belladonna's path was clear. Fame, fortune – for the Fairest Lady crown came with a very handsome sum of prize money – and eventually the biggest reward of all, my father's hand in marriage and his fortune, as well.

The last newspaper clipping was very short, and was dated just a day ago, noting the sudden death of Guillermo Ghent from a heart attack, at his home in Aurisola. The article mentioned that he had been the manager of Ladies' Fair in Aurisola and that he had been under a lot of stress since the untimely death of his boss and the disappearance of his boss's daughter.

Another death to add to Belladonna's tally, I thought. Now I understood why the Prince had said I need not go to Aurisola: all the people who may have been of use to me had been killed. All I needed was here, in this slim packet. And yet it would not be enough, for though to me it was glaringly obvious that Belladonna was as guilty as sin, a judge might say that this evidence was all circumstantial. Death had certainly followed along with her, everywhere she went, but as a sentimental
Mirror
reporter might say, she could just be seen as a tragic figure, a sorrowful figure, who had so sadly lost all the people she loved. She certainly wasn't seen as a cold-blooded, ruthless, merciless killer who had arranged for people to be murdered for the sake of her own ambition.

Had she always intended to kill my father and take everything? Perhaps. But at a time of her own choosing. Her hand had been forced by the discovery that my father was investigating her. I will never know when she had planned to kill me, too, but my time was up as soon I had taken the prized title of Fairest Lady away from her.

For now, I knew why my father had gone to Aurisola: Santeria's conscience must have got the better of him, after all those years of silence. He must have contacted Ghent, and Ghent must have contacted my father. Somehow Belladonna – with her network of spies – had found out. And she'd moved, then, with a sure rapidity that showed that this contingency must always have been at the back of her mind. Whoever's had been the actual hand that poisoned my father, she must have had them ready for just such an eventuality.

Armed with this evidence, I now had a much clearer idea of the kind of enemy I was dealing with. I knew now that my friends at the haven had been right and that I must be very careful indeed. Belladonna would be a fearsome enemy, always one step or more ahead of everyone else. To go rashly into my revenge would be to sign my own death warrant. But what the Prince – what Lucian – had brought me was immeasurably precious, for the papers gave me a true understanding of just what kind of enemy I was facing. How had the Prince found these extraordinary documents? How had he known who to ask, who to trust? He is astonishing, I thought, my heart beating a little faster.

At that moment, there came a knock on the door.

‘Are you awake, Bianca?' It was Lisbet.

‘Yes,' I answered, shoving the documents back into my pocket. I didn't want to show them to my friends here; if they read anything inside the package the Prince had given me, it would put them in danger for I was sure, now, that Belladonna would be ruthless in tracking down and killing anyone who was a threat to herself and the image she has so carefully constructed.

I got up and opened the door.

Lisbet was pale, her face as tense as a bowstring. ‘The Prince is about to leave. I thought you might like to say goodbye.'

My heart gave a leap. ‘Leaving? Already? Why?' I said, as we hurried back up the passageway.

‘Mattias found a dead man by a stream to the north, on the path that leads to the Mormest road. There was a puncture wound on his throat,' she said, and the horror was plain in her voice.

‘Like the beggar killings in Lepmest!' I exclaimed. ‘Is the Prince afraid the murderer might go after the outcasts now? Was the dead man from the havens?'

‘No,' she whispered, ‘but there might be people who think
we
killed him.'

I stared at her. ‘What? Why?'

‘People don't like people like us,' she said, sadly. ‘Because we are a little different to them, they think we are capable of anything. Anyway, the Prince will find out who it was. He says that it is part of a larger pattern. He doesn't know who or what is behind it, but he says he's going to find out …' She trailed off, then said abruptly, ‘The Prince has asked me to guide you to the western edge of the forest tomorrow.'

‘Tomorrow?' I echoed.

‘Yes. He thinks it is safer for you to go from here now there is this trouble, and he seems to think you are fit to travel and no longer need the crutches.' She looked at me. ‘Is that really so?'

‘Yes,' I said, a little uncomfortably.

‘Oh,' she said, but made no further comment on that, adding instead, ‘Verakina wasn't altogether happy with the plan but she had to agree. It is hard to refuse the Prince.'

‘I can see that,' I answered, as we reached the living room and its hubbub of raised, agitated voices.

He was at the centre of the crowd, yet somehow still appeared a little apart, and as I came in with Lisbet, I saw his veiled glance shoot rapidly in my direction.

But it was Verakina who said, ‘Oh, Bianca, there you are and just in time. Come, come here,' and she motioned me across to his side, and then discreetly went out of the
room, with the others following her – some, like Grim, clearly reluctant – so that in a moment the Prince and I were left alone.

‘You have read them then,' he said, before I could speak.

I looked at the expressionless white mask, trying to stop my feelings from showing on my face. It was not easy to pretend I had not recognised him, that I was sure I knew who he really was.

‘Yes. And I wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart. What you have brought me – it is extraordinary. However did you find it?'

‘I know how to find things,' he said, without missing a beat.

‘Things … and people?' I asked, not taking my eyes from the white mask.

I could see he was tense and it filled me with a strange gladness. I knew that he, too, was trying to stop himself from reaching out to me. I could feel his longing and it made my heart sing.

After a short silence, he answered. ‘As you say.' A pause, then he went on. ‘There's something else you need to know. I also had enquiries made in Mormest. The innkeeper and the clerk in the ticket-office both swore you'd been there. And the ship's purser swore, as well.'

‘Then they were lying! They were in my stepmother's pay!'

He shook his head. ‘My informant told me they were saying the honest truth – or what they thought was the honest truth. They really believed you were there – because they saw someone who pretended to be you, who went under your name. All this person then had to do was to board the steamer dressed as you, go into your
cabin, then sneak off the boat before it left for Aurisola. The purser said that you had never left the cabin during the trip and they only noticed your absence when the ship docked in Aurisola. A simple, effective plan.'

My scalp prickled. What he said made a horrible kind of sense. How much simpler it would be to employ someone posing as me than to try to pay off that many people and run the risk of loose tongues! In fact, Belladonna herself might well have pretended to be me. I was sure disguise would be like child's play to her. None of those people in Mormest knew me, and even if they'd seen my photo in the paper, everyone knows that photos don't do their subjects justice, so why should they not believe the impostor was Bianca Dalmatin?