Newt's Emerald (21 page)

“Part-fay,” gasped Harnett, struggling to his feet. “Stone nymph, I suppose.”

“I didn’t know,” said Truthful slowly. She stared down at her former maid’s body. Agatha’s skin was already darkening to a stony grey. For some reason her eyes found it hard to focus. “I never really knew anything about her . . .”

Harnett picked up the empty pistol and looked about them. The crowd was silent now, everyone stopped, all business halted. All eyes were upon Harnett and Truthful and the body on the ground, still leaking the hideous, tarry substance. Harnett bent down, picked up the hatbox Agatha had been carrying and thrust it into Truthful’s hands.

“You must go! Take this with you. Fast as you can. I will wait for the constables, and will follow when I may. Please this once, do as I ask!”

He pushed her in the middle of her back. With a start, Truthful set off down the street. A great murmur rose up behind her, and she heard someone cry, “Murder!” and then Harnett calling out in clear, commanding tones.

“I am a government officer! Someone send for the constable, and be about your business!”

Truthful kept walking. The street zig-zagged so that when she glanced over her shoulder she could no longer see Harnett, but could only hear the roar of the crowd, and gauge its feeling from that sound. She felt desperately frightened, but not for herself. If the mob took it upon itself to have a lynching, there was Harnett alone . . .

Help must be dispatched, Truthful thought. At once! Still clutching the hatbox, she began to run as she had never run before, not even stopping when her hat blew off as she rounded the corner to the seafront and emerged into the south-westerly breeze.

A scant six minutes later, one of Harnett’s men on guard outside the Otterbrook’s right-hand front door saw a young gentleman carrying a hatbox come charging towards him, his driving coat flying open and no hat on his head.

“Halt or I shoot!” he shouted, drawing his pistol.

Chapter Nineteen

Surprising Revelations from Curious Quarters

Truthful slowed, fell to one knee and dropped the hatbox. The lid came off and rolled against the lower step.

“Call Sergeant Ruggins!” she gasped. “At once!”

“You stay where you are,” ordered the nervous guard, looking down at the red hair of this strange, but also strangely familiar young gentleman. He backed up the steps and knocked upon the door. The porter inside, already alert to some peculiar circumstance, opened it a crack.

“Thank . . . you,” said Truthful, just managing to get the words out between great gulps of air. “I am . . . Chevalier de Vienne . . . Lady Truthful’s cousin. Please tell . . . Lady Badgery I am here.”

The guard and the porter exchanged a swift look.

“Better call Sergeant Ruggins from the stables,” said the guard. “And tell Mr Dworkin.”

The porter frowned, but disappeared back inside.

The guard kept his eye on Truthful, and the pistol was still in his hand. That hand twitched as she dragged the hatbox closer and looked inside.

There was a hat in it, which she didn’t expect. Or not exactly a hat, but a kind of helmet designed to completely enclose the head, a papier-mâché thing of sea-green with silver scales and fishy appendages at the side in place of ears.

“Chevalier?”

Truthful looked up. Sergeant Ruggins was at the door. He too had his pistol by his side.

“Sergeant Ruggins! Major Harnett may be in danger from a mob,” exclaimed Truthful, only at the last second remembering to pitch her voice low, so her first words came out as a squeak. “He is where a lane comes out on Ship Street, near a butcher’s. Please, you must send help!”

“Stay where you are,” ordered Sergeant Ruggins. His tone was not at all like it was when he usually spoke to Truthful.

“You must send help!” demanded Truthful.

“We’ll look into it,” said Ruggins. He moved down a step to let someone else look out the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “Ah, milady. Is that who I think it is?”

“Yes, it is my cousin, Henri de Vienne,” said Lady Badgery calmly. “You should have told us you were planning to visit, my boy. Come inside.”

“Major Harnett,” gasped Truthful once again. She picked up the hatbox and staggered to her feet.

“I’ll send men,” said Ruggins. “Before I do, was that you who . . . ah . . . caused the commotion in the stables some half an hour ago . . . sir?”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Truthful. “Only hurry. Major Harnett . . . the crowd, a lynch mob!”

“In Brighton?” asked Lady Badgery. “I doubt it, Chevalier. You live too out of the world to understand an
English
crowd. Come with me.”

That last command was said very sternly. Truthful bowed her head and followed, aware that she had put herself in the position of earning a terrible scold from her great-aunt. But Truthful hardly cared, she was so relieved that Lady Badgery thought Harnett was in no danger.

This feeling lasted only until she got inside and found Lady Otterbrook coming down the grand stairs to see what the commotion was at her front door. All of a sudden the likelihood of being found out struck her, and she would have turned and fled if her great-aunt had not such a strong hold on her elbow.

“Lucy. This is my cousin the Chevalier Henri de Vienne, the young man I told you about.”

Truthful looked sharply at Lady Badgery, who ignored her.

“Make your bow to Lady Otterbrook, Chevalier,” she said.

Truthful obeyed automatically, almost emptying the contents of the hatbox by accident as she did so.

“We are going to have take a dish of tea in the parlour you so kindly allowed me,” said Lady Badgery. “And catch up on family gossip. Then I fear the Chevalier has an engagement in . . . in Portsmouth and must ride on.”

“Alas,” said Lady Otterbrook. “Can you not stay to dine, Chevalier?”

“I fear not, my lady,” said Truthful gruffly. “I am spoken for . . . ah . . . elsewhere.”

“Never mind,” declared the Marchioness. “Oh, Ermintrude, if you should see Lady Truthful, I would be glad to drink a glass of ratifia with her before dinner, in my own parlour.”

“I will tell her,” said Lady Badgery. “She will be delighted!”

Truthful sent her a horrified glance, but again Lady Badgery ignored her, pushing her along and up the great staircase. As they passed Lady Otterbrook, the two old ladies bowed and Truthful, clumsily bowing a moment too late, thought she detected the slight quirk of a smile in the corner of the Marchioness’s mouth.

Inside the saloon, Lady Badgery settled herself comfortably on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her invitingly. Truthful sat woodenly, the hatbox in her lap.

“What have you been doing now?” asked Lady Badgery. She did not sound angry, only curious.

“I killed Agatha!” said Truthful and burst into tears. “I touched her with my bracelet and she died! Major Harnett said she was part-fay!”

“Oh,” said Lady Badgery, considerably taken aback. “Did you become the chevalier in order to kill Agatha?”

“No, no,” sobbed Truthful. “I didn’t know she was here. I just wanted to do something, to help find the Emerald, and no-one would let me! And now I am a murderess!”

“You are not a murderess!” snapped Lady Badgery. “I do not suppose you meant Agatha to die?”

“I shot her with a pistol first, only the ball bounced off her,” said Truthful. “But she would have killed Major Harnett!”

“Ah,” said Lady Badgery. “Major Harnett is involved.”

“Yes,” said Truthful. “He was trying to arrest her, but she hid in a wall and then came out with a knife, and then such talons—”

“Clearly it was very necessary to kill her,” said Lady Badgery.

“I suppose so,” said Truthful, her sobs slowing. “But it is a most awful feeling, Aunt, you cannot imagine.”

“On the contrary,” said Lady Badgery comfortably. “I have killed dozens of people.”

“Dozens!”

“I am not sure of the exact number,” mused Lady Badgery. She hesitated, then said crossly, “I suppose I must tell you all my secrets. But they are not to be shared, understand, not with anyone. Not even with your Major Harnett.”

“He is not my Major Harnett,” said Truthful, new tears welling up despite her best efforts to dash them away. “He is Miss Gough’s, and I am only crying because of the shock of killing Agatha.”

“I know, dear,” said Lady Badgery. “As to the impressive score of deaths that may be laid at my door, they all occurred in the six years I lived as a man, in the Army, as a lieutenant to my beloved Badgery. All were in battle, you understand. Oh, there was one duel, but that was an accident. I barely nicked him but he later died of an infection.”

Truthful had stopped crying at the phrase “six years I lived as a man” and was staring at her great-aunt, her green eyes very wide indeed.

“You lived as a man?” she asked, incredulous.

Lady Badgery smiled.

“We were just married, and Badgery was sent to America, to fight the French and then the rebels,” she said. “He did not want to leave me behind, and I did not want to be left. I could not accompany him as his wife, so I went as his lieutenant. It was a most instructive time. Remember I told you that there were many reasons people may adopt a masquerade?”

“No one ever guessed?” asked Truthful.

“Some people may have guessed, but they held their tongues,” said Lady Badgery. She had a far-away look in her eyes, and a pensive smile. “In our day Badgery and I were sorcerers
of the first order, and together our glamours were all but impenetrable, extending even to . . . well, they were extremely durable, shall we say?”

A thought suddenly crossed Truthful’s mind, a most terrifying thought, even more so than picturing Lady Badgery as a young lieutenant.

“Hasn’t Parkins been with you since you were married?” she asked.

Lady Badgery smiled again.

“Sergeant
Harkins
she was in those days,” she said. “She had the most remarkable beard. I wonder if she still has it? We must ask her one day. But enough of these maudlin recollections of time long past. Tell me exactly what has happened, and then you must return to being Lady Truthful and go to Lady Otterbrook. She has something of importance to tell you, I believe.”

“I don’t understand,” said Truthful. “I hardly know . . . surely it is not about the time Lord Otterbrook forced my coach from the road? He did offer to take me up in his curricle, but he quickly apologised when he realised it would not do . . .”

“No, it is not that,” said Lady Badgery. “But tell me what has occurred! And why do you have a mermaid’s head in that hatbox? Your Diana costume is far more becoming.”

“Oh it is not mine,” said Truthful. “Agatha had it. It can’t imagine it was her own, either. Look, there are real emeralds among the scales . . .”

She faltered in mid-speech, her mind racing.

“Lady Plathenden! She must plan to go to the Masquerade Ball, disguised as a mermaid!”

“Possible,” mused Lady Badgery. “It is true that she always loved a masked ball, and other opportunities for costume. But why would she wish to attend this particular masquerade?”

“The Prince Regent,” suggested Truthful doubtfully. “Perhaps she wishes to assassinate him? After all, her husband was executed by the Crown.”

“Which really means the government, so she would sooner assassinate the Prime Minister, I expect,” said Lady Badgery. “Like poor Mister Perceval. But I cannot think Lady
Plathenden would have any particular hatred for Lord Liverpool. I doubt he will be at the Masquerade, in any case.”

“Can you scry her purpose?” asked Truthful.

Lady Badgery shook her head.

“You forget she has the Emerald. It clouds all such divination. But I suspect you may be right. We must apprise Major . . . we must inform the appropriate authorities that the Prince Regent may be in danger, and to beware a mermaid at the ball. Though I daresay Amelia will change her costume now she is lacking the head. But once again we have strayed from the point. Tell me what happened, Truthful!”

++++

By the time Truthful had finished answering Lady Badgery’s questions she only just had time to become herself again before the dreaded engagement with Lady Otterbrook. However, she did manage to dash downstairs and ask the guard at the front door for news of Harnett, and was relieved when he professed no knowledge of any danger to his superior and his opinion that all was as expected it should be.

This relief did not last long as she ascended the stairs and knocked on the door of Lady Otterbrook’s parlour. Rack her brains as she might, she could not think of any reason why the august Marchioness would want to speak to her.

Nor did Lady Otterbrook immediately inform her, the tension thus building. She offered Truthful ratifia, which she accepted, and spoke some commonplaces about Brighton, which Truthful returned.

Only after some ten minutes of excruciating anticipation did Lady Otterbrook broach the main subject she wished to disclose to Truthful.

“You may wonder why I wished to speak to you, child,” she said. “I do not wonder at it, for it is not anything in the usual way.”

Truthful nodded, not daring to speak. She was mortally afraid that Lady Otterbrook was going to denounce her for her masquerade, and become instrumental in having her cast out of
society. Not that she cared about that, as she intended to retreat to Newington House in any case, and care for her father in his declining years. But it would be very embarrassing.

“My nephew,” said Lady Otterbrook, “appears to have made a complete mull of the matter, and your great-aunt Ermintrude and I have agreed that enough is enough and so I must step in.”

“Your nephew?” asked Truthful, in a puzzled tone.

“My nephew,” said Lady Otterbrook with a sigh. “I should explain that when he was eighteen he fell most passionately in love with Arabella Thornton. This would be just before the truce of ’03, you understand. I expect you have read or heard about Arabella Thornton?”

“No,” said Truthful, now completely at a loss.

“They were to be married in September,” said Lady Otterbrook, sighing again. “My nephew and Miss Thornton. But then, three days before the wedding, she ran off.”