Banquet of Lies (28 page)

“Monsieur Bisset is very fond of me. He is an old family friend and can easily confirm the jewelry in my trunk belonged to my mother. No doubt he was a little forceful in conveying this information, but he is like a second father to me and is clearly distressed that I have been imprisoned on nothing more than the word of a disaffected employee.”

There was another silence, and Gigi realized she had spoken the King’s English in that little speech. There had been no trace of a French accent at all.

For the first time, Gilbert looked uncertain of himself. “Who are you?”

Gigi crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned against the bars. “Will telling you get me out any quicker? Or will you still insist on seeing Lord Aldridge first?”

Georges jerked his arm from Smith’s meaty paw. “Bah. They are truly
gendarmes
! They are not interested in truth, in justice. They know Aldridge hasn’t known you more than a week, yet
he
must release you. Not the man who has known you since you were a child.”

Gilbert went quite white. It was the remark about the
gendarmes
, Gigi was sure. There could surely be no greater insult than to be compared with the police of France.

“Throw him out of the station.” He turned to his men and
Georges. “You are lucky I don’t charge you with assault and disturbance of the peace.”

“I do not go. If you hold Gigi here, I will stay with her. Georges Bisset does not abandon his friends.” Georges planted his feet in a way that made it clear it would take considerable force to shift him.

“Unless you arrest him, we can’t throw him in the men’s cells.” Peterson took a firmer hold on Georges’s arm. He leaned closer to Gilbert, and Gigi was sure she caught the Duke of Wittaker’s name in the hurried whisper.

“He wants to be with his friend, put him with his friend, then. No one can fault us for that. We’re just following the man’s request.” Gilbert smiled a small, tight smile.

Peterson looked uncertain, but Georges gave a curt nod and moved forward toward her. “
Merci
. This is exactly what I wish.”

“Georges. What good will both of us being here do?” Gigi stuck a hand out between the bars and touched the side of his face. “Then we both have to wait for Aldridge.”

Georges gave a little shake of his head. “Trust me,
ma petite
. Georges has his ways.” There was a diabolical gleam in his eye.

She moved back as Peterson opened the door, and Georges stepped inside. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, dominating the cell with his size and personality. “Why don’t we ’ave a story while we wait, eh?” He looked at Gertrude, Violet and Bess and gave a low bow. “
Enchanté, mesdames
. Did you know our Gigi has stories from all around the world? I have missed your stories,
ma petite
.”

She saw Gilbert’s face as he turned away, and hoped Georges did have a plan. Because Gilbert’s dislike of Georges seemed to have climbed into the rarefied air of hate.

She lowered herself onto the floor again and leaned her head back. “I can tell you the story of the
stallu
. The shadow man.”

J
onathan had given Durnham’s address to the cab driver, but as the hansom shuddered and swayed through the streets of Mayfair, he regretted the impulse to report in straightaway.

He wanted to get home.

He was exhausted, hungry and in need of a bath. Like the old days in the army, when he’d have given anything for a quiet, warm bedroom, hot water and a decent meal.

He closed his eyes, unable to summon the energy to call to the driver and change the destination to Aldridge House.

When the coach rocked to a stop, he dragged himself out onto the street and, from the look on the driver’s face, paid him far too much.

He didn’t ask for change. He couldn’t remember how much he’d handed over.

He knocked and then leaned against the wall until the door was opened.

Durnham’s butler took a moment to recognize him. Given how sharp-eyed he seemed to be, and how recently Jonathan had been there, Jonathan decided he must truly look as bad as he felt.

He was escorted in and shown to the library, and stood, swaying a little, while he worked out who was in the room.

It was Lady Durnham and Lady Holliday again, sitting in the same place as before, sipping tea.

Next to Lady Durnham on the sofa was a pile of what looked like ledgers and books of account, and when she saw him, she closed those that were open and set them all on the floor beside her chair.

“Lord Aldridge. You look done in. Come and have some tea and cake.” Lady Durnham’s face lifted to his in concern.

Jonathan was afraid if he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to get up again, but he risked it anyway. The tray had cake, sandwiches and tiny petits fours that looked like they would be worth disgracing himself for.

“You haven’t slept.” Lady Holliday leaned forward and poured him some tea.

“No, I haven’t. Is Durnham around?” He relished the sweet, strong tea and realized he’d finished his cup in three gulps. Lady Holliday poured him some more.

“My husband’s out.” Lady Durnham handed him a plate piled with food. “But there is something my watchers came to tell me this morning that may be of interest to you.”

“The ones keeping an eye on Dervish’s place?”

She shook her head. “We switched their focus to Goldfern. Hal Boots stopped watching Dervish’s house when he found out Dervish was away, and since he seemed so interested in Goldfern, I had the lads take up position there instead.”

Jonathan’s mouth was full of bun, so he nodded for her to continue.

“Firstly, it seems your butler dismissed one of your maids last night, and someone gave her a new job at Goldfern.”

“What?” Jonathan swallowed the last of his bun down the wrong way and thumped himself on the chest to get his breath back. “Who did he dismiss?”

“Someone called Mavis. The question is, who gave her the job at Goldfern?” Lady Durnham tapped her foot. “I thought you might have arranged it with Goldfern’s caretaker?” She gave him a quick look, and he shook his head.

“Oh. Well, the girl isn’t saying—not that she’d have cause to tell my boys. They were lucky to get what they did out of her, pretending to collect the ash bins. I wonder who it was, then?” She took a sip of tea, then looked across at him again and leaned forward. “But that isn’t the exciting bit.”

“It isn’t?” What on earth had been happening at Aldridge House? He’d only been gone a day.

“Indeed.” Lady Durnham watched him now, and there was something in her face that made Jonathan sure this was about Madame Levéel. Not only that, he was sure Durnham had discussed Madame Levéel with his wife, discussed his unease at Jonathan’s relationship with his cook.

“Your butler has been a busy man. As well as dismissing the scullery maid, he called round the constables from the Queen Square station and accused your cook of theft.”

Jonathan thumped the plate back onto the table, petits fours forgotten. “What did he say she’d stolen?”

“He went through her trunks while she was out and found some rather good jewelry there. He was certain it couldn’t be hers, and called the officers. According to one of your other maids, who is spitting mad at the arrest, which is why my lads got so much out of her, the constable said nothing like it had been reported stolen, but he took your cook in anyway. He’ll only release her to you.”

Jonathan rubbed both hands over his cheeks, then shoved his fingers into his hair. From the way Lady Holliday looked at him when he finally dropped his arms, he guessed his hair was standing on end. “What the devil is Edgars up to?”

Lady Durnham leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and shrugged. “I suppose you’ll have to go home and find out.”

He stood. “I came to tell Durnham that Greenway took the same boat as Dervish. He and Barrington had put a warning system in place for Miss Barrington’s safety in case Barrington was ever arrested. It went into effect when Barrington was killed, and all it took was the news of the break-in at Goldfern to send Greenway haring off. He’s gone to find Miss Barrington and bring her home.”

“But he doesn’t know where she is, specifically?” Lady Holliday asked.

Jonathan shook his head. “All he’s got is the Barringtons’ last address, same as Dervish.”

“Daniel is usually the calmest, steadiest person I know.” Lady Holliday was looking into the distance, her hand fisted tight around a white handkerchief. “This case has him shaken up. If Miss Barrington is dead, he’ll feel he’s failed a good friend.”

Watching her, Jonathan had a quick flash of insight.

Lady Holliday and Dervish.

Well, well, well.

She tilted her head up to look at him, and there was quiet desperation in her eyes.

“There’s still the mystery of who at Goldfern hired Mavis.” Lady Durnham played her fingers over her lips.

“It could have been the caretaker at Goldfern House, Jones, or his wife. They probably know my staff—our houses are close enough to each other. They may have taken pity on Mavis.”

Lady Durnham sighed. “That makes sense. A very practical explanation.”

“Speaking of practical, it sounds as if I have some domestic issues to deal with.” Jonathan gave a bow of farewell. “Like getting my cook out of jail.”

“. . . A
nd the little girl, all alone in the deep, cold wood, knew that the
stallu
needed a shadow to jump to, or he could never get close enough to her to kill her. So she put the small carving of a mouse her grandfather had given her upon the snow-covered ground. She shone her lantern so that the carving’s shadow was the only one touching the shadow of the tall old tree where the
stallu
was hiding.

“And thinking she was a silly little girl, and forgetting that she had outwitted him so far, tricking him into leaving the village and following her out into the wood, the
stallu
slipped from the tree shadow to the mouse shadow. And just as he did, the little girl moved the lantern again so that the mouse shadow was by itself in the small clearing, surrounded by light.

“The
stallu
was trapped. He couldn’t jump to anything else. Now the little girl had to move quickly—faster than she’d ever moved before—to give the
stallu
no time to attack. She
shot out her hand and grabbed the mouse, snatching it up and holding it close to her chest. Its shadow disappeared, leaving the
stallu
with no shadow to cling to, surrounded by lamplight. With a shriek of rage and disappointment, the
stallu
vanished into nothing. And the little girl, lamp in one hand, small mouse carving in the other, began her long walk home.” Gigi’s voice was husky by the end of the tale.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Is that an old fireside tale from Lapland?” Gertrude asked at last.

Gigi shook her head, finding it hard to speak again. “There are tales of
stallu
in Lapland—that’s where I learned of them—but no. This story is one I made up.”

“So a
stallu
is someone evil who can use the shadows, become the shadows, and attack you?” Violet tightened her hold on her knees.

“Yes, he can use the shadows, slip between them and take on another shape.” Gigi could bear the cold floor no longer and stood up, rubbing at her arms. She realized the men must have been listening in their cell, too, because only now that the tale was over could she hear them moving and murmuring to each other again.

She gripped the bars of the door with her hands and accepted that she might have to spend the night here. At least she had good company.

“When do you get out?” She released the bars and turned to Gertrude. “Or are you here for the night, too?”

Gertrude shook her head. “We been in nearly a full day—since
yesterday evening. They’ll let us out at shift change, round six o’clock.”

“  ’Cause keeping us off the street for a day is a blow against crime.” Violet’s sarcasm was so bitter, Gigi could almost taste it. “We lose a day’s earnings, and a starving whore’s so much better for society than one who’s made enough for a crust of bread. Our kids are alone while we’re in here, and we have less money to feed ’em with. It’s a fine day’s work all round.”

“How do they catch you?”

She shrugged. “Hailing to clients or when we’re negotiating terms. Once caught me busy up against an alley wall. Gent’s John Thomas was already docked, right and proper. Does he get nicked? No. Only me. Didn’t get paid that time, neither.”

“They do it once a day, at dusk, when we first come out. When people are still around to see ’em. Makes it look like they’re cleaning up the streets.” Bess spoke quietly. “But it’s just for form. We were the unlucky ones yesterday. Tonight it’ll be someone else.”

Unlike Violet’s, her voice contained no bitterness—only resignation.

From behind the door at the end of the passage Gigi heard the sound of voices, and Georges stood up, anticipation in every line of him.

She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “What was your plan? I was so busy telling the story, I didn’t ask you.”