She Shoots to Conquer (18 page)

“Payment wasn’t mentioned.”

“Good.” I squeezed his hand. “I would hate to be married to a man who can be bought by trifles. But what about the children? Will your parents mind staying on with them for another week?”

“They’ll be knocked silly with delight. I phoned them last night to explain the delay and will give them another call, if you’re sure about this.”

“It works for both of us.”

“You won’t be bored hovering on the sidelines in the midst of all the activity?”

“I’ll hole up here with a book from the local library. But first,” it was surprisingly hard to say, “I have to try to find Thumper’s owner and achieve a reunion.”

Sensing my mood, Ben again stroked the black satin head. “Georges did promise to list me among the credits for
Here Comes the Bride
.”

“Did you get that in writing?”

“There’ll be a typed contract complete with witnessed signatures.”

“Get it before you boil him an egg.”

“Ellie, I think the guy’s to be trusted.”

“Oh, ye of too much faith!” I tapped him on the knuckles. “What about the phony name and designating himself a Monsieur?”

“All right! He’s from Tottenham, a dozen or so streets away from where I grew up. So he reinvented himself!”

“Hmm!” Hadn’t I suspected as much?

“That doesn’t necessarily make him a complete fraud.”

“No,” I agreed, while thinking how awful it would be for Lord Belfrey and the contestants if
Here Comes the Bride
turned out to be a complete sham. My elastic mind painted the scenario: Georges taking the opportunity to hole up at Mucklesfeld because the law was after him for a train robbery, multiple murders, or selling secrets to the Russians in return for a land deal in Siberia. I smiled at Ben, telling him that he had lucked into a marvelous opportunity. “Such great exposure! Your name rolling down television screens all over the country. Think of the increase in book sales for you, and the numbers that will come flocking to eat at Abigail’s! How wonderfully providential that the fog brought us to
Mucklesfeld on the eve of
Here Comes the Bride
. Speaking of which, where is Mrs. Malloy?”

The door opened, Thumper raised a sleepy head, and in she stalked, resplendent in purple taffeta and clearly in a bit of a mood.

“Well, I must say, Mrs. H, it’s good of you to show up at last, although I’d have thought you’d have come along to my room as is two doors down and helped me pick my ensemble instead of sitting canoodling.”

Getting to his feet, Ben said he would go downstairs and see if the provisions had arrived from Smithers, Smithers & Smithers, smiled at me, patted Mrs. Malloy on the shoulder, and went out of the room.

“We were not canoodling,” I said mildly. “We were discussing our plans for staying on at Mucklesfeld. That’s right,” in response to elevated painted brows, “Ben is going to be Monsieur LeBois’s personal chef for the duration and I’ll be your shoulder to lean on if you run into trouble with any of the other contestants.”

“Well, I must say,” she did a good job of not looking overly relieved, “it won’t be bad having you around. Although, of course, I don’t suppose as we’ll see much of each other what with a busy filming schedule. And don’t go expecting me to share anything personal that goes on between me and his lordship.”

“Certainly not.” I got off the bed. “You can keep your canoodling moments to yourself. Now let me make sure you’re up to snuff.” I turned her around—a tottery business given her four-inch heels. “Good, no wrinkles.”

“I should think not! Smooth as a baby’s bottom, my face!”

“I was talking about the frock.”

“Oh! Well, of course. So you think I’ll do?” She crackled with nerves, something so unlike her that I had to fight down the urge to tell her to give up on this silly business. “Is me hair all right, Mrs. H? Not too much jewelry?”

The fake ruby necklace and three diamanté brooches
were
perhaps a bit much. “Perfect! You’re a credit to me and the members of the Chitterton Fells Charwomen’s Association.”

“That reminds me!” She stuck a hand in her skirt pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “I daresay you’ll like to go into the village when things start rolling and you get to feeling in the way of the cameras and whatnot. Meaning there’s no reason you can’t take this note down to Dr. Rowley’s house; he gave me the address and it’s written down. Right here,” tapping with a sparkly flamingo-pink nail. “And what I want you to do, Mrs. H, is . . .”

“Dr. Rowley is here—or he was when I came upstairs.”

Mrs. Malloy sighed impatiently. “This isn’t for him; it’s for Mrs. Spuds, as comes in to clean for him of a morning, and a very nice woman too from the way he went on about her last night. I’m hoping she can give me the names of a couple of likely ladies to come up here and help me give some of the rooms a cleaning. Although why you couldn’t have offered to pitch in and help, Mrs. H, is beyond me.”

“I haven’t seen you since last night when I was flat out with a headache!”

“Well, there is that,” she gave her skirts a yank, “although like I’ve often said, your timing isn’t the best. But we’ll let that go; what do you think of my showing Lord Belfrey I’m the wife for him by rolling up me sleeves and . . .”

“Getting some women to come in and clean? Couldn’t he have come up with that one himself?”

“Not if he’s down to his last bean. I’m going to pay out of me own pocket. Besides, most like he hasn’t wanted to put the noses of them three scary faces out of joint. Never heard of elbow grease, any of them, from the look of the place.”

“Somehow I can’t see Lord Belfrey succumbing to pressure from whomever he marries to sack them. It turns out they were all homeless for a while.” I eyed her now lopsided skirts.

“So you have talked to him?”

“Not since last night.”

Mrs. Malloy heaved an annoyed sigh. “Well, that’s nice! After me telling you as how he wanted a word with you about me being one of the contestants! Sometimes, Mrs. H, I can’t make you out.
Anyone would think you was trying to put spokes in the wheels of him marrying me.”

“Don’t take your jitters out on me.” I grabbed at her elbow as she swayed dangerously on those silly high heels. “I’m sure Ben will have given him his blessing, there’s no reason it had to come from my mouth. What you need to do,” a glance at my watch, “is get downstairs and join the remaining contestants, who should be arriving in ten minutes.”

“What do you mean,
remaining
?” She was always good at picking up nuances.

“Two, besides yourself, are already here.” I steered her toward the door. “Judy Nunn and a rather pretty woman in her early forties named Livonia Mayberry. I want you to be particularly kind to Livonia, Mrs. Malloy.”

“And why’s that?”

“She’s the sort who’ll always need someone on her side.”

“Well, let that be you, Mrs. H!” Outrage shot sparks out the back of her head. “I’ve got to think of meself for a change.”

Talk about a nose out of joint! The door banged behind her and I turned to return Thumper’s speaking look. “
Here Comes the Bride
could turn ugly,” I told him sadly. “I think you should leave Mucklesfeld before a murder takes place.”

7

S 
ome five minutes later, with Mrs. Malloy’s note to Mrs. Spuds in my jacket pocket and Thumper at my heels, I descended to the hall by way of the front stairs because that was the way Thumper took me and I didn’t want to argue. Especially when we must soon part. I hoped the timing would prevent my being caught up in a mob of activity with Georges LeBois and his crew milling feverishly around in readiness for Lord Belfrey’s formal greeting of the contestants. As it was, the hall was empty save for Judy Nunn, still wearing the same brown twill slacks and the hiking jacket with its numerous buttoned-down outer pockets. She stood, dwarfed by most of the furnishings, writing in a notebook. Looking up at my approach, she closed it after tucking the pencil inside.

“Hello, there!” she said in her brisk, friendly way. “Five minutes to go before I have to be outside for the opening scene—‘The Contestants Arrive.’ As per instructions from a young
woman named Lucy, your friend Mrs. Malloy, Livonia, and I are to join the other three in coming up the drive as if we too are just getting here.”

“Have you met Mrs. Malloy?”

“We introduced ourselves. She and Livonia went with Lucy to do a practice walk. I was just jotting down some suggestions I have for Lord Belfrey in regard to the gardens and outlying grounds. I haven’t yet managed to see him.” A smile flitted across her face. “It took longer than needed to find his study because Livonia and I didn’t open the door with the posted order to keep out, by authority of Georges LeBois.”

“Oh?”

“When I finally realized that he might have sent us on a wild goose chase and decided to risk penalty of whatever the fiendish fellow had in mind, Lord Belfrey wasn’t in the study. That was after I had lost Livonia down that passageway,” pointing with the notebook—a sensibly sized brown leather one.

“I know,” I said, negotiating my way further toward her with Thumper as my shadow. “I’d just come from the kitchen when she came back out here.”

“Upset? Not inclined to think I’d ditched her on purpose, I hope?”

“For a moment perhaps, but she decided you were too nice to join Georges in pulling not so funny tricks.”

“Good!” Judy looked relieved. “Right after we divided up, I came to a door that instead of opening into a room took me outside.”

“The one we came in?”

“Don’t think so, although this place is such a warren. On the bright side, who should be coming my way from the wooded area with the broken wall but that sad-faced man Boris, so I waited to ask him about the study. And after he told me which room it was, I couldn’t bring myself to rush off, not when he kept standing there like he had a knife stuck in his back. I’m sorry to say,” she tucked the notebook into a chest pocket and her hands into the
capacious side ones, “I forgot about Livonia and had a little chat with him.”

“A chat?” My mind boggled.

“A rather confused one about begonias.” Again the smile. “He thought they were people from the land of Begonia. He told me he had mixed with a lot of foreigners when he worked in circuses. I wanted to ask why he had left that world, but I remembered Livonia—too late as it turned out, and now if I don’t want to goof up things some more, I suppose I’d better get outside. Nice getting to know you, Ellie.” Hands removed from the pockets, right arm raised in a sideways salute, she sped away—shoulders forward, short fly-away beige hair matching the jacket.

There went stiff competition for Mrs. Malloy. If ever a woman had energy to spare, it was Judy Nunn. And energy would certainly be a key virtue in bringing the house and grounds back to life. I also had the feeling that Judy was kind, something to which I sensed strongly Lord Belfrey would respond and Mr. Plunket, Mrs. Foot, and Boris would need from whoever was to become mistress of Mucklesfeld.

These thoughts were nudged aside by what she had said about Boris. A circus worker! It went together with Mrs. Foot saying he had enjoyed seeing Whitey swinging from the frying pan handle like a trapeze artist. A politely inquiring woof from Thumper brought me back into focus. He was eyeing the front door hopefully. The word
walk
floated in a balloon over his head. But of course we couldn’t exit that way. I could picture all too well Georges’s fury if we blundered into what would have been a successful take, if that was the right word. It also wouldn’t be fair to distract the contestants. I wondered if Mrs. Malloy had overcome her case of the jitters and how Livonia was holding up. Would it turn out that Georges LeBois had determined it would add an extra dollop of drama if the six contestants discovered on arrival that they were each a link in a chain of acquaintances, if not actual friends? It would be particularly interesting to learn
the identity of the woman coming after Livonia. Meanwhile, I looked down at Thumper.

“Come on, we’ll look for the exit Judy found down that passageway.” It seemed like one of Georges’s tricks to let him think we were off on a casual walk. Perhaps I flattered myself unduly in assuming Thumper would miss me terribly. Perhaps he showed no sign of being desperate to return to the bosom of his family because he was suffering from doggie amnesia. Perhaps he had an intense interest in home decorating and hoped I could teach him a thing or two on the subject. My gaze shifted away from his. Enough of this sentimental slosh! What must be had better be done fast or I’d have to go into mourning for a year and black is not my best color.

This decided, I strode in the impressive Judy Nunn manner for all of six steps, before stopping beside the huge jardinière displaying the dead plant. Next to it was the door that Georges had posted off-limits. The study. I made to move on, but stopped . . . seized by an impulse that had nothing to do with a desire to snoop or a wish to find a book. Mucklesfeld possessed a library. No, the shameful truth is I had that sudden, unbidden urge to defy authority. My late mother, lovely mercurial creature that she was, once told me with scarcely veiled pride that sometimes when she came up behind a policeman on duty she experienced an almost irresistible impulse to tip his helmet over his face. But in my case it was personal. Georges LeBois needed stamping on good and proper, to use a familiar phrase from Mrs. Malloy. Thinking of how I’d let her down that morning, in part because Georges had delayed me in the kitchen, I reached without a quiver of remorse for the door handle.