shook out their dustmops and cloths there, though its true function was more likely a fire escape, as it had a staircase descending to the garden below.
I tiptoed silently to the door at the hall’s end, opened it, and slipped out into the chilly night air, where the black sky arced above, with the moon and an occasional star giving a minimum of light. The wind caught my hair and skirts, whipping them about. I was sufficiently familiar with the geography of the house to know I must make a half-circle from the staircase around to milady’s room. The grass was damp underfoot, wetting my slippers.
And after all the bother, there was nothing to be seen when I got there but the pencils of light that crept out from the edges of the drawn curtains. I knew someone was in the room, but could neither see nor hear a thing, unless I went inside and resumed my prowling there.
It was mere chance that dictated my continuing around the house, instead of returning to the fire stairs by the way I had come. The distance was equal either way. That random choice proved the most fruitful move I had made thus far. The curtains were drawn in some rooms. In Beaudel’s study they were not, and through the blackness, for the room was unlit, I perceived the surreptitious movement of a lantern. It was not the purposeful movement of a man going to a known, preordained spot. No, it was a hesitant, exploratory kind of jiggling about. The flame swung in half-circles, this way and that, as though looking for something. I stood watching, with a nervous churning in my stomach.
I knew I must creep closer to see who held the lamp. It certainly was not Beaudel, behaving so stealthily in his own study. In my mind, I had a fair idea who the intruder was. It was Wiggins, either with or without his mistress, snooping about the room for something. They had had time to nip around from her writing room. The “something” was soon pinpointed, in my mind, to be the safe.
You may imagine my amazement when the first face I saw reflected in the glow from the lamp was Lucien’s. A mere child, and one besides who was supposed to have been asleep long ago. I soon realized it was not he who held the lamp. The level of it was too high, and besides he was too far from the lights—more than an arm’s length away. He was pointing here and there, to cabinets and shelves, directing the holder of the light to various spots. The lamp swung suddenly to the left, and showed me a harsh-featured face, the bottom half of which was covered in a beard. The major’s efforts to ingratiate himself with the child were clearer now. It must surely be the first time a thief had sought the aid of his victim to locate the property to be stolen.
I took an involuntary step closer to the window, then realized the more sensible approach was from indoors. Of course I must call Mr. Beaudel. I was too upset to wonder how I would account for what I had seen. Some excuse would doubtless have occurred to me if necessary. I could have told Mrs. Beaudel instead; she was closer, but the proper behavior could not be counted on from her.
I ran back to the fire stairs, up them two at a time, giving my shin a nasty bark along the way, and on a metal stair edge too, so painful. I went directly to Mr. Beaudel’s room and banged on the door. To my astonishment, there was no reply. I rapped long and hard enough to waken the dead, and still there was no answer. Very well then, I’d stop the major myself. A gun, I needed a gun, or a weapon of some kind.
I possessed none, nor had I the least notion where in the house a firearm might be available. As I darted down the hallway, I remembered Lucien had a toy pistol, fashioned to look very real. I would take it. With this harmless weapon to frighten the major into submission, I ran down the stairway to the office, expecting every moment I would encounter Beaudel, hopefully brave enough to help me. He could rouse up a couple of footmen at least. I encountered no
I tiptoed silently to the door at the hall’s end, opened it, and slipped out into the chilly night air, where the black sky arced above, with the moon and an occasional star giving a minimum of light. The wind caught my hair and skirts, whipping them about. I was sufficiently familiar with the geography of the house to know I must make a half-circle from the staircase around to milady’s room. The grass was damp underfoot, wetting my slippers.
And after all the bother, there was nothing to be seen when I got there but the pencils of light that crept out from the edges of the drawn curtains. I knew someone was in the room, but could neither see nor hear a thing, unless I went inside and resumed my prowling there.
It was mere chance that dictated my continuing around the house, instead of returning to the fire stairs by the way I had come. The distance was equal either way. That random choice proved the most fruitful move I had made thus far. The curtains were drawn in some rooms. In Beaudel’s study they were not, and through the blackness, for the room was unlit, I perceived the surreptitious movement of a lantern. It was not the purposeful movement of a man going to a known, preordained spot. No, it was a hesitant, exploratory kind of jiggling about. The flame swung in half-circles, this way and that, as though looking for something. I stood watching, with a nervous churning in my stomach.
I knew I must creep closer to see who held the lamp. It certainly was not Beaudel, behaving so stealthily in his own study. In my mind, I had a fair idea who the intruder was. It was Wiggins, either with or without his mistress, snooping about the room for something. They had had time to nip around from her writing room. The “something” was soon pinpointed, in my mind, to be the safe.
You may imagine my amazement when the first face I saw reflected in the glow from the lamp was Lucien’s. A mere child, and one besides who was supposed to have been asleep long ago. I soon realized it was not he who held the lamp. The level of it was too high, and besides he was too far from the lights—more than an arm’s length away. He was pointing here and there, to cabinets and shelves, directing the holder of the light to various spots. The lamp swung suddenly to the left, and showed me a harsh-featured face, the bottom half of which was covered in a beard. The major’s efforts to ingratiate himself with the child were clearer now. It must surely be the first time a thief had sought the aid of his victim to locate the property to be stolen.
I took an involuntary step closer to the window, then realized the more sensible approach was from indoors. Of course I must call Mr. Beaudel. I was too upset to wonder how I would account for what I had seen. Some excuse would doubtless have occurred to me if necessary. I could have told Mrs. Beaudel instead; she was closer, but the proper behavior could not be counted on from her.
I ran back to the fire stairs, up them two at a time, giving my shin a nasty bark along the way, and on a metal stair edge too, so painful. I went directly to Mr. Beaudel’s room and banged on the door. To my astonishment, there was no reply. I rapped long and hard enough to waken the dead, and still there was no answer. Very well then, I’d stop the major myself. A gun, I needed a gun, or a weapon of some kind.
I possessed none, nor had I the least notion where in the house a firearm might be available. As I darted down the hallway, I remembered Lucien had a toy pistol, fashioned to look very real. I would take it. With this harmless weapon to frighten the major into submission, I ran down the stairway to the office, expecting every moment I would encounter Beaudel, hopefully brave enough to help me. He could rouse up a couple of footmen at least. I encountered no
Similar Books
