The Houseparty (24 page)

"I do hope you pay more attention to my wishes when we're married, my love," he said sweetly, and there was a light of devil-may-care happiness in the dark blue eyes.

He's enjoying this, she thought furiously. Thriving on the danger, and I'm terrified. "You stay right there while I get help, Lizzie, and someone will be back in no time at all."

She let out a muffled squeak of fury, but he merely patted her on the top of her tousled head and ran from the room.

Elizabeth's rage gave her new strength. The knots had already been loosened from her steady struggles, and with renewed determination she wrestled with them, ignoring the pain in her wrists. Her assailant, whoever he might have been, certainly lacked experience, because within five minutes she was able to free her hands, and she was flying down the hall without even a passing glance for the recumbent Holmes. Only one of the battlements was accessible, the east
one,
and she had no doubt that General Wingert was now well on his way, secure in the knowledge that no one could catch him. Not a sensitive man, the general. He hadn't felt the net closing in around him. Well, she would do her part to prove him wrong. While
Fraser
went romping around looking for reinforcements, she would witness his foul treason and be ready to testify to it.

She could hear Wingert up ahead of her on the winding steps. Despite his lengthy head start he fortunately had been in no hurry, convinced that all interested parties were safely accounted for. Not that he'd think a mere female to be of any moment. She could see him dimly up ahead, his short, squat form illuminated by the lamp he was carrying, shedding just enough light for Elizabeth to see her way up the winding turret behind him. The Morocco slippers had heavy soles, and she gave a precious minute to taking them off, leaving them neatly in a corner as she continued on in stocking feet, noiselessly, her attention on the evil figure up ahead as it neared the parapet door.

The lamp up ahead flickered in the wind, and then Elizabeth was plunged into total darkness as the general vanished onto the parapet. Abandoning all thought of caution, she flew up the stairs behind him, her mind dwelling fretfully on bats. The stairs came to an abrupt halt, and she banged into a solid object that could only be the door, winding herself. Before she could hide, that door was flung open, and Sir Maurice Wingert stood there in all his fury, staring up at her tall, disheveled figure with acute loathing.

"I should have known it would be you," he said fiercely, grabbing her arm in a surprisingly strong grip and dragging her out onto the windblown parapet. The moon was silvery bright overhead, now and then obscured by scudding clouds, and the tower glistened in the eerie light. They were alone out
there,
the two of them in the windswept night air, and Elizabeth knew she could expect no mercy from the furious traitor in front of her. Despite his lack of height, he more than made up for it in strength and rage. Elizabeth knew she would stand no chance against him. "How did you know I would be here?" he demanded hoarsely. "Who else knows where I've gone?"

"I was tied up in your closet," she shot back, her voice coming in an irritatingly frightened croak. "And Captain
Fraser
was there with me. He's gone for help right now. You might as well give up, you know. You'll never get away with it."

"If you expect me to believe that wild tale,
young lady," the general snarled, "then you're
a greater fool than I took you for. You're helping
Hatchett
out, aren't you? You aren't that idiot parson's sister at all but an agent just like Leonora. That's it, isn't it? Well, you knew what risks you were taking. Move over to the edge."

"Michael!" she screamed desperately, hopelessly, as she read the murder in his eyes. "Help me." The wind took her cries and carried them out into the night. She knew it would be no use, and therefore it was with great disbelief that she saw him appear in the doorway, the wind whipping his dark hair, the moon shadowing the distant planes of his handsome face. He stood there for a moment, taking in the general's menacing form, Elizabeth cowering by the edge.

"What's going on, sir?" he questioned in a low, evil voice, and Elizabeth stared at him in gaping amazement.

"You know perfectly well what's going on,
Fraser!"
the general snapped. "Are you with me?"

"Of course, sir.
You know I always have been."

"Then kill that stupid wench. Throttle her," the old man screamed in
a frenzy
. Without hesitation Michael started toward her.

"No, Michael," she whimpered as his beautiful hands reached around her throat, the throat that a few short minutes ago had burned with his kisses, and the broad thumbs began to press against her windpipe. "No," she begged, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Hurry up," the general ordered, fumbling with a section of the wall. Michael's hands tightened.

T
brough
the panic that filled her
came
an insistent whisper.
"Swoon, damn you," Michael hissed between clenched teeth. In relief, Elizabeth let every muscle in her body go slack, tumbling to the stone floor in a graceless sprawl, hitting
both knees
, her cheek, and an elbow with agonizing force. She kept her eyes shut out of self-
preser
-
vation
, content to lie there unmoving with the wind whistling above her and the two desperate men beside her.

The grating of stone upon stone was unpleasantly close to her ear, and the cry of satisfaction from Sir Maurice's high-pitched voice was equally jarring. "Here's the damned thing. See to the girl,
Fraser,
and then we'll retire to my rooms to celebrate."

"I think not," Sir Henry
Hatchett's
cool voice broke through, and Elizabeth opened one eye in a tentative squint to see the surprisingly capable looking figure illuminated in the doorway, with a shadowy, achingly familiar form directly behind him. "I arrest you, Sir Maurice Wingert, on the charge of treason."

"Don't be absurd,
Hatchett
!" The general turned around slowly, an innocent expression on his face. "What maggot have you got in your brain?
Treason?
I never heard anything more absurd."

"And what is that you have in your hand, Sir Maurice?"
Fraser
inquired in silken tones.
"Billets-doux?"

As Elizabeth pulled her aching body into a sitting position, a joyous cry broke from her lips. "Jeremy!"

Jeremy's dear, familiar face had an unaccustomedly grim expression as his eyes flickered toward his battered sister. "Be quiet, Elizabeth," he ordered sternly.
"Sounds as if you've caused more than your share of trouble these last few days.
It's a wonder Michael didn't really throttle you."

A snarl deformed the general's florid countenance. "I should have known,
Fraser,"
he said mildly enough, holding his pudgy fist up into the wind, the papers clutched in pale white fingers. Before anyone could move, the fingers released their grip, and the papers sailed off into the wind, over the parapet and down toward the courtyard.

Fraser
swore long and brilliantly before racing off the platform and down the stairs, with Jeremy directly behind him. Sir Henry had a very serviceable pistol trained on the center of the general's ample middle, and the milky blue eyes no longer looked quite so mild.

"Are you all right, Miss Traherne?" Sir Henry questioned, not taking his eyes off his quarry's truculent figure.

"A trifle bruised, but nothing to signify," she said, brushing the dirt off her pale green dress as she got to her feet.

"You won't be able to make any charges stick, you know," the general said in a conversational tone. "Those papers will never be seen again, and who would be likely to take Fraser's word against that of a Wingert?"

"There's also my word and that of my brother," Elizabeth said sturdily, glaring at him.

"A country nobody and a mere lieutenant," he said, dismissing them. "Admit it, Henry. You're beaten."

Indeed, Sir Henry was looking a trifle discomfited. "If anyone can find
thé
evidence,
Fraser
can," he said simply. "He's one of my best men. What with Traherne and St. Ives down there helping, I'd back the three of them to find it."

"You haven't a chance," the general said amiably, leaning back against the parapet and looking perfectly at home. "How long do you intend to keep me here, Henry? It's a trifle chilly."

"Until
Fraser
sends a detail of my men up," he replied. "And I believe I hear them now."

Indeed, a great deal of noise was coming rapidly closer up the stairs. It was with surprise not unmixed with amusement that Elizabeth recognized
Adolphus's
portly, red-faced figure stagger onto the parapet, huffing and puffing more loudly than an entire regiment.

"That's the . . . most . . . ghastly . . . climb," he wheezed, his eyes watering. "Must have . . . something . . . done about . . . those . . . steps. Haven't been . . . up here . . . in . . . years." He blinked at the odd tableau, took two long, shuddering gasps, and forced himself to breathe with a semblance of normality. "I say, Sir Henry, what's going on here? Why have you got a gun pointed at
m'uncle
? And did I pass my cousin Jeremy on the way up here? I thought he was in France."

"Yes, that was Jeremy Traherne," Sir Henry explained patiently. "He's been in the country for several weeks now on a special assignment for me, an assignment that has concerned General Wingert. I am afraid your uncle stands accused of a very serious crime, Sir Adolphus. He's been caught red-handed in treasonous activities."

"My
uncle?"
he echoed fretfully, yet Elizabeth had the distinct impression that it came as no surprise at all to him. "This won't do at all, Sir Henry. If I had known it was my uncle you had your eye on, I would never have invited you to Winfields. Dash it, it's just not done. You don't accept a fellow's hospitality and then up and arrest his uncle. What will my mother say?" Apparently this last thought was the most devastating, for his red face turned purple in dismay.

"We'll do our utmost to spare Lady Elfreda any undue unpleasantness," Sir Henry said in a soothing voice.

"No way you can do that," Adolphus pointed out with great reasonableness. "Best thing is to let the old fellow go. I'm certain he'll promise never to do it again, won't you, Uncle?"

"Adolphus, sometimes your foolishness astounds even me," said the general in pained tones.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Sir Adolphus. The general will have to stand trial."

"And I will most certainly be acquitted."

"Possibly," Sir Henry allowed. "But not if I have anything to say about it."

Adolphus's
florid moon face took on a contemplative expression. "I wonder, Sir Henry, if I might be allowed a few words with my uncle in private? After all, it is the honor of the entire Wingert family that's involved here. I may be able to persuade the old gentleman to be more reasonable."

"You'd be wasting your breath," the general told him flatly. "I intend to deny everything."

Sir Henry looked up from the short, squat figure of the general to his nephew's larger one, clad in puce satin and adorned with ruby fobs and rings. "I suppose there'd be no harm in it," he said slowly. "There's no way he can escape except past me, and
I
don't intend to allow that. Come with me, Miss Traherne. I'm certain you'd like some respite from this company."

To Elizabeth's surprise, she found that her hand was trembling as she placed it on Sir Henry's comforting arm. With an uncomfortable backward glance at the short, evil form of the traitorous general, she accompanied Sir Henry through the door and down the first flight of winding stairs.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Sir Henry said frankly.
"Though no doubt you brought it on yourself.
We've all warned you to keep out of it. Young Jeremy has been livid. First you interfere with young Fraser's rendezvous with him, you entice
Simpkin
into revealing classified information,
you
snoop and pry and nearly get yourself murdered." Sir Henry shook his head reprovingly.

"But why didn't you tell me?" Elizabeth demanded. "Why didn't Jeremy let us know he was home and safe?"

"Women can't keep secrets," Sir Henry said flatly, never knowing how close to death he had come at that moment. Elizabeth controlled the strong urge to push him down the stairs with great effort.

"Did you tell Sumner?" She managed to keep her voice level.

"Jeremy said he'd be even more indiscreet than you," Sir Henry said tactlessly. "You should understand, Miss Traherne, that your brother Jeremy is one of my three best agents, St. Ives and
Fraser
being the other two. He's been in charge of the French end of this whole nasty affair, and he finally smuggled himself back into the country two weeks ago to oversee the conclusion. He could hardly spare the time for family visits. I could only hope it would be a more satisfactory ending. I'm afraid Wingert is correct in his supposition. The charges won't stick if we don't find the papers. This may all have been for nothing."