Lady in the Stray by Maggie MacKeever Page A

comment, Minette handed Delphine the battered hat. Although at some other time Minette might have been very interested to hear of the startling goings-on in the library, her thoughts were currently all for the memorandum that her kinsman was so eager to claim. Lord Stirling was also interested in that memorandum, Edouard had informed her—but what had Vashti to do with this affair? Could she know the memorandum’s whereabouts?
    “ Au contraire,” Minette murmured aloud. “Did she know, she would not search, I think.”
    Delphine deposited her hat at a rakish angle atop her head. “I’ll tell you something you don’t know, since you were so good as to rescue me from that accursed beast—though I’ll warrant it went against the grain! Marmaduke’s heiress does know about his treasure, because she mentioned it to Stirling.”
    Orphanstrange ceased to clutch his injured shin long enough to comment. “An uncommon number of people know about Master Marmaduke’s treasure, it seems to me!”
    Delphine snatched up the claret and drank. “Ecod! 'Tis my opinion the twit ain’t what she seems!” she remarked when the bottle was quite dry. The effect of this comment upon her companions was all she might have wished. Cackling, feathers swaying, Delphine withdrew into the shadows, slipped back into the cupboard and through the trapdoor hidden there.
    Minette and Orphanstrange exchanged a very speaking glance. “I don’t like this above half, miss,” said the valet.
    “Nor do I!” sighed Minette as once more she retrieved the claret bottle and placed it on the tray. Missing memorandums and unspecified treasures— at this rate, soon half of London would be surreptitiously tapping the walls of Mountjoy House. And precious little time there was for searching, owing to the exigencies of operating a gaming house.
    Again, that memory of Edouard’s fingers clasped painfully around her neck. Minette picked up the tray and thrust it at Orphanstrange. Not only must they discover whatever the deuce it was that everyone else wished to discover, but they must do it first. “There will be precious little rest for us this night, mon ami .”
     
     

CHAPTER TEN
     
    The late Marmaduke’s solicitor paused within the entrance vestibule of Mountjoy House, frowned at his companion. “Why, no,” he allowed. “I have no doubt of Mademoiselle Beaufils’ credentials—quite the opposite, in fact! If you have some question, Stirling, you must tell me so.”
    Lord Stirling merely grunted. His lordship was feeling excessively annoyed, with his godpapa for plunging him into a wretched imbroglio, with the deceased Marmaduke Mountjoy for playing some deep game—and especially with Vashti Beaufils, for being either a damsel with a sadly dilatory memory or a clever adventuress who would sell out her own country for personal gain. Discreet interrogation of the solicitor had left Yves no nearer to a solution of the puzzle. He gazed in a forbidding manner around the vestibule.
    Lionel, meanwhile, addressed the footman who had admitted them, and elicited the information that Mademoiselle Beaufils was in the dining room. He waved aside the servant. “We’ll find our own way.” The gentlemen proceeded through the entrance vestibule and hall, past the carved apes and dogs and monkeys on the stairway. A profound hush lay over Mountjoy House, the majority of its occupants still recuperating from the revels of the previous night.
    The dining room was a tall, lofty, fan-vaulted chamber. Drawn up to the table were a number of pseudo-Gothic chairs. One of the chairs was missing from its place, drawn up instead before the hearth. Upon that chair stood Mademoiselle Beaufils, intent upon the chimneypiece, patting and prodding at the stones.
    Gesturing the astonished solicitor to silence, Yves strode forward. “Dusting again, Vashti?” he genially inquired. She started violently, spun around, lost her balance, grabbed for chimneypiece and chair back.