Once Upon a Crime (29 page)

Roland gasped. “Oh! Never have I seen such a thing!”

“They are rather beautiful. I was quite tempted to keep them myself—I've a fabulous ivory evening gown they would have accessorized to perfection.”

“But”—he glanced nervously about him—“they belong to the giant, do they not?”

“He would not begrudge securing happiness for Johanna, I think. Not now.” She nodded in the direction of the mammoth creature, who was happily engaged in coaxing a willing herd of cats back into his castle, chatting away to a bemused soldier about his plans for a roof terrace for his beloved pets.

Roland beamed at Gretel.

“I will give Herr General my promise, fraulein, gladly. Oh, I cannot wait to see Johanna again, and to tell her our good fortune. And it is all thanks to you.”

“Nonsense. If you hadn't fallen in that ditch . . .” She smiled at him. “I think you'd better return in the trap with us. Just to be on the safe side. And if I were you, I'd be thinking about having one of those set in an engagement ring,” she said, closing his fingers around the pearls.

She was on the point of gaining assurances from General von Ferdinand that all possible kidnapping charges against her would now be dropped, when the peace was broken by sudden ferocious cries and the clatter of galloping hooves.

“Charge!” screamed Hans as he thundered into view, standing in the cart, reins in one hand, whip held high in the other, hair wild and eyes wilder, like some portly Bavarian Boudicca, the bay mare's exceptional speed no doubt toffee-induced. He tore through the assembled company and the soldiers, their guard down, scattered. There were shouts and wails as the bizarre chariot and its frenzied driver raced past the entrance of the cave and came to a skidding halt beneath the gargoyle from which Gretel had recently been rescued. The mare stopped so abruptly that Hans was pitched forward, turning one complete somersault over her broad rump and coming to rest in a bruised and ungainly heap at General von Ferdinand's feet. Several soldiers sprang forward, swords drawn. Hans struggled to right himself, still hampered by the ill-fitting greatcoat. When at last he took
in the situation, the swords at his throat, the lack of battle, and his sister blithely watching him from the safety of terra firma, an expression of exasperation rearranged his features.

“Hell's teeth, Gretel. You might have waited for me,” he said before slumping backward, a mixture of exertion, exhilaration, and exhaustion all at once robbing him of consciousness.

General von Ferdinand stepped closer to Gretel. Unsettlingly close, she felt. Yet again she found herself next to the most appealing man to have crossed her path in a very long time. A man, importantly, who was interested in her.

“I had been wondering,” Ferdinand said, “how it was you came to embark upon a mission so filled with risk and danger. I now see that you were ably assisted . . .”

“Hans tries his best,” Gretel snapped. She was well aware of her brother's shortcomings, but that didn't mean she wanted other people pointing them out.

“Of course, of course,” Ferdinand agreed. “In any event, as we have established, fortune saw to it that I myself was able to be close at hand when your need was greatest.”

“I had everything under complete control.”

“Indeed. The ruse of giving your adversaries false hope of triumph by suspending yourself from a gargoyle, apparently helpless and hopeless, offering yourself, as it were, for target practice, was a stroke of unrivaled genius. I commend the originality of your tactics.”

“Had I not done so,
you
would not have found yourself in the position of claiming the day, Herr General. While one of the most wanted criminals in Bavaria made off with the fabled treasure of Herr Giant,
you
would have been happily engaged in, what was it you called them . . .
maneuvers
?”

Ferdinand studied Gretel's expression. Whether he was convinced by her argument or by the look of mounting fury he saw there she could not tell. All at once, though, he seemed to
sense he was pushing her too far. He smiled, not laughing at her this time, but a genuine, warm smile.

“Forgive me, fraulein. Too many hours spent in the company of rough men have eroded my manners. I am, of course, grateful for your considerable efforts.”

“I take it, then, that with all matters so successfully resolved—not least the fact that Roland is set to marry his true sweetheart, Johanna—”

“Indeed?”

“Had I not mentioned it? Yes, due to a sudden change in his fortunes, for which I lay claim to playing some small part,” she explained, thinking briefly but wistfully of the pearls, “he will be happily ensconced matrimonially and has no further interest in, shall we say, anyone else?”

“I am delighted to hear it and will offer him my congratulations.”

“And so there will be no further mention made of any kidnapping?”

“Not one word.”

“And that all charges against myself and my brother in regards to the Muller and Bechstein murders will be dropped?”

“I will personally contact the kingsmen in Bad am Zee and Gesternstadt. We have Inge Peterson, caught in the act of robbery and attempted murder. And we have her men, who, I'll wager, will easily be persuaded to tell us everything we need to know.”

“I dare say Herr Schmerz will be happy to help.”

“I dare say.”

They fell to silence. Around them soldiers bustled about their business, shifting bodies and debris, securing suspects, and assisting in the repair of the giant's front door. Hans could be heard snoring. In that curious scene, amid such uninspiring activity, a small but highly charged moment existed between
Gretel and Ferdinand. He reached forward and pushed a stray lock of hair from her brow. Gretel's eyes sparkled. Sadly, the effect was entirely lost on Ferdinand as her bushy hat slipped slowly down once more to its preferred position.

“Allow me to escort you back to Gesternstadt,” he said. “And then, when you are rested, perhaps we might dine together somewhere?”

“A tempting offer, Herr General,” said Gretel, pushing up the hat and squinting out from beneath it. “But first, I have to see a woman about a cat.”

By the time Gretel arrived at the house of Frau Hapsburg, the sun was shining and she had been able to abandon her hat and pinafore. Her dress was filthy, her hair in what was fast becoming its usual state of chaos. The journey back to Gesternstadt had been slow and uncomfortable, but she had found the time passed quickly enough as her thoughts wandered lightly between General von Ferdinand, the thought of the comforts of home—including some of Hans's cooking—and the prospect of at last getting fully and quite possibly lavishly paid.

The little garden was at its best under the cheery sun, flowers in full bloom, birds and butterflies flitting contentedly. Even Gretel, ordinarily immune to such sentimental delights, allowed herself to enjoy them, putting her altered sensibilities down to having spent the past few days in such cold and bleak environments. Not even the proliferation of cats among the plants could dent her ebullient mood. The front door of the house was open, but there was no sign of Frau Hapsburg.

“Hello?” Gretel called, peering inside. “Anybody home? Frau Hapsburg, are you there?” Receiving no reply, she crossed the threshold and walked down the hall. More cats appeared,
winding themselves around her skirts, regarding her with suspicious eyes. In her canvas bag, Mippin wriggled, as if sensing he was home. Gretel made her way into the sitting room she had been taken to on her first visit. She found Frau Hapsburg, dozing peacefully in her enormous winged armchair, her precious pets all around her, their purring chorus a perfect lullaby for her. Gretel leaned forward and tapped the old woman's arm.

“Frau Hapsburg, it is I, Gretel.”

“What? Oh!” She came to in an instant. “Fraulein Gretel, what news do you have? What have you come to tell me?” she asked, shaking her head, repositioning her glasses, and sitting upright, dislodging several cats in her eagerness to wake up.

Gretel looked at her and hesitated. When she had been given the task of retrieving the missing pets, she had done so despite her strong dislike of cats. While she still had no personal affection for the creatures, she did now see that they had some value, to some people. To the lost and the lonely they could indeed, as Herr Giant had so eloquently put it, provide tholathe.

She cleared her throat, annoyed at finding herself a little choked and teary.

“I do indeed have news. I must warn you, however, that some of it is sad.” She paused, giving Frau Hapsburg a moment to prepare herself. “It is with regret I must inform you that Lexxie and Floribunda will not be returning home.”

“Not?” she repeated in a tiny voice. “You are certain? You searched thoroughly?”

“I did.”

“You checked against the descriptions I gave you?”

“To the letter.”

“Tortoiseshell? Ginger with white paws?”

“No tortoiseshell cats to be found. None ginger with white paws.”

Frau Hapsburg struggled to retain control of her emotions. Gretel sensed sobs were seconds away.

“I do, however,” she went on quickly, “have some good news. Some very good news.” She reached inside the bag. “There is somebody here I believe will be extremely pleased to find himself home.” She lifted out Mippin. He was still sleepy, and clinging in a kittenish way to the fluffy patchwork cushion as though he would sooner die than give it up. Gretel handed him, still atop the cushion, to a now beaming Frau Hapsburg.

“Mippin! Oh my darling little Mippin!” she cried, setting the cushion on her lap and showering the slightly dazed cat in happy tears and kisses.

Gretel stepped back, admitting to herself that there was undoubtedly satisfaction to be had in a job well done. There was something inescapably heartwarming about seeing a kind old woman reunited with her beloved pet. And the two of them did indeed make an appealing picture, in the big armchair, the sunlight streaming through the window, lighting up Mippin's fine silver tabby coat, and making the colors of the furry patchwork cushion gleam. Gretel felt her heart miss a beat. The colors did most certainly gleam. Gorgeous, rich patches of color of the kind only to be found in nature. The coppers, bronzes, and deep browns of tortoiseshell. The burnished gold of ginger, set off to best advantage with tiny patches of white.

Two days later, Gretel lay on her daybed, drifting blissfully between sleep and consciousness. On her return she had spent several hours at Madame Renoir's having essential repair work done, followed by a strict regime of rest and feeding, which was likely to continue for some time to come. She had surprised herself by not accepting General von Ferdinand's offer of
dinner. A little too soon, she had felt. A little too close to the exhausting events of the preceding days. Better to delay, just a smidgen. Better to take time to fully recover from the draining exertions her work had placed upon her. And, after all, better not to appear too keen.

She stretched out with a contented sigh. From the kitchen there came sounds of Hans humming to himself, and the aroma of a hearty lunch being prepared. Gretel had played out the events at the giant's castle many times in her mind, and particularly enjoyed coming to the part where Frau Hapsburg willingly handed over a large bundle of notes in settlement of her account. Although, naturally, she had been bereft at the loss of two of her cats, she had been overwhelmed with delight at having Mippin returned to her, and this delight had been reflected in the size of the generous bonus she had given Gretel. For her part, Gretel did not feel it undeserved, even if she did have to squash a niggling worry that, one day, her client might discover the fact that Lexxie and Floribunda had indeed made it home, albeit in a somewhat reduced form. She was on the point of plumping her silk cushions, the better to enjoy a short pre-lunch nap, when there came a great hammering upon the door. It was so loud and violent Gretel all but fell off her daybed. She scarcely had time to recover from the shock of such a rude interruption to her slumbers when there came a bold shouting.