Only the Cat Knows (25 page)

The walkway was about four feet wide — not much room to manoeuvre. The top of the tower rose another seven or eight feet above it, tapering to a blunt platform with just enough room for a brave piper or bugler to stand on while rallying the troops — and making a prime target of himself.

But it was all a fake, I reminded myself. Perpetrated by some mad Victorian industrialist and perpetuated by Oversall because it appealed to his warped sense of humour.

I turned away from the tower — to the sight I had been dreading: the outer wall with the long low openings that turned the parapet into a battlement. The openings where archers supposedly could stand to rain arrows down on invaders, from which boiling oil could be poured on insurgents trying to storm the tower.

I wondered from which opening Nessa had — not fallen, but been pushed. I closed my eyes momentarily against the vision of her spinning helplessly down, down, down into the moat.

There was a sudden rushing scrabbling noise behind me. I turned and opened my eyes.

The Monk hurtled through the tower door and out on to the roof. He moved quickly, positioning himself with his back against the tower and looked around. Now he
was
breathing heavily, I noticed.

He was also not so much in command as he had earlier appeared. He had obviously suspected that I might be waiting to ambush him, to rush at him when he reached the top and give him that fatal push that would send him tumbling down the stairs.

But I couldn’t have done that: it might have hurt the Duchess.

While he held the cat, he held the ace of trumps.

He seemed to remember this. He turned towards me, his head lowered, his shoulders hunched, the picture of menace.

‘So —’ he said, his voice low and guttural. ‘So now — you jump!’

‘Why?’ I clasped my hands at my throat in the classic gesture of distress — which masked the long slide of the zipper that would allow me to throw off the kaftan for more freedom of movement. ‘I don’t understand.’

An implacable wave of his hand directed me to an opening of the battlement. It was reinforced by another pained yowl from the cat.

Sorry, Duchess, but I’m not taking the high jump. Not even for you. Hang in there
.

She did better than that, she began to struggle again. Twisting, squirming, snarling, trying to bite, fighting to get a paw free. And keeping the Monk fully occupied trying to control her.

Go, girl, gol
I cheered silently, moving closer while the Monk was distracted. I just needed to get close enough to —

‘Halt!’ He caught me. He raised one hand in the
Stop!
position, the other hand now grasped the cat by the scruff of her neck. The swathing cloth fell away, but she was immobilized by her position. Her eyes rolled, her ears and mouth twitched, but there was nothing else she could do.

He marched to the parapet and held her out over space.

‘Now jump!’ he ordered. ‘Or I let go!’

Cats can fall from dizzying heights and survive. She had a better chance than I had. But I couldn’t risk it — not and ever face Nessa again.

‘But why?’ I played for time. ‘Why me? Why this? You owe me some explanation.’

‘I owe you nothing!’ he snarled.

‘But I don’t understand.’ I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Why? I … I don’t want to die … without even knowing why …’

‘Yes, yes,’ he sneered. ‘The famous amnesia, no?’

‘No — Yes —’ There was something off-key here — what? I cocked a professional ear: something wrong about the timbre of his voice. If I could keep him talking, I might be able to identify it.

‘It’s true. I remember nothing. Not even being up here before. Not you — not anything. Please —’ I gave a sniff as pathetic as I could make it. ‘I — I’ll beg — if you want.’

‘Yes — beg!’ It had been the right thing to say. There was an unpleasant relish in his voice — and … something else.

But he had moved back from the parapet and the Duchess was no longer dangling over it. Her eyes met mine and her muscles tensed. I got the feeling we were both waiting our chance.

‘Please —’ I said. ‘Just tell me why —’

‘You are in the way!’ The hooded head turned towards me, face hidden deep within the dark folds. I could feel the enmity surging out at me.

All that hatred. Shadow? Or someone else? The voice wasn’t quite right for Shadow. How many enemies had Nessa made?

The moon was lost behind an increasing cloud cover and the wind was rising. It blew chill against my face and I could feel the hem of my kaftan stirring. The hem of the Monk’s robe was moving, too; it was of a heavier material than the kaftan. It might not actually trip him, but it might impede his progress if the wind kept strengthening.

‘Why?’ I had to keep his attention on me. ‘What ever happened? What drove you to this? I have no idea what I might have done, what I might have said.’ I repeated the
argument that had incensed him earlier. ‘You owe me an explanation! ‘

‘I owe you nothing!’ It worked. The murderous rage returned, he shook with it. ‘You walked in here and took everything!
You
owe
me!
And now you will pay!’

‘Tell me!’ I demanded. As he moved towards me, I moved back, aware that he was edging me towards one of the openings.

‘I tell you nothing! You will die as ignorant as you have lived.’ He tensed to spring. ‘You stupid, stupid woman!’

‘Stupid — perhaps. Woman — no!’ I yanked off my turban and hurled it at him.

There was a muffled shriek. The cat dropped to the stone floor as he instinctively raised both hands to fend off the unexpected missile.

I tore off the kaftan, swirling it like a bullfighter’s cape at his ankles as he lunged forward.

Shriek?
My mind registered it belatedly. I caught at the outstretched arms and was not now surprised to find my hands closing around slender wrists.

‘Who
are
you?’ the creature gasped, writhing in my grip.

‘Who are
you?
’ I countered, forcing the creature back against the tower wall. Without the reinforcement of terror and the unknown, it was weaker than I had imagined.

Then it gathered itself and made a desperate lunge against me, sending both of us stumbling towards the edge of the battlement.

But I was stronger. I forced it — her — back against the tower again. Something fell from the folds of her robe and clattered as it hit the stones.

She had begun gasping out little cries of distress. ‘You are hurting me,’ she sobbed.

‘You were going to kill me! You tried to kill Nessa!’ Fury swept over me, I pulled her away from the wall and shook her violently.

The cat hadn’t run away. I was dimly aware of a white shape crouching by the door to the stairs, watching me with approval: that was the way to treat a rat!

I kept on shaking her, too furious to stop. The folds of the cowl flapped back and forth across her face until, finally, it fell back completely. A sudden burst of weak moonlight illuminated a pale face and hair that shone gilt.

‘Yvonne!’ Once I’d discovered that the Monk was female, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Who else among them had the background to know about costumes, optical illusions, sound effects? I remembered the sound of her piano as I passed her quarters, leading me to assume she was inside — then finding her with Oversall. ‘Yvonne!’

At our feet, the object that had dropped from her concealing robes gave a little preliminary cough and then the monks’ choir rang out, chanting their rejection of the world and the glory of the spiritual life.

‘You!’ Her face contorted. ‘You’re not Vanessa! Who are you?’

‘I’m Vance. Her twin. Her fraternal twin.’

‘Twin? Not Vanessa! Then she
is
dead!’ She gave a brief exultant laugh. ‘I won!’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Nessa won. She’s still alive, she’s getting better. And she’s got me to look after her. And Oversall. But you’re on your own — alone — and you’re caught!’ For a fleeting instant, I felt almost sorry for her.

‘Oversall! Everett Oversall!’ She spat the name out like a curse, beginning to struggle again. ‘It’s all
his
fault! I gave up everything for him! If it wasn’t for him, I’d be famous now! Films, hit records, awards — he took it all away from me!’

Oh, yes
. I’d heard it all before. From every tuppenny-ha’penny little no-hoper who’d ever managed to get a foot on the lowest rung of the ladder, but had abandoned all the effort of the long climb with relief the minute a wealthy meal ticket had come along. Of course, they then spent the rest of their lives berating the poor sucker for their lost careers.

Except that Oversall had never married Yvonne. He had married Nessa.

Jealousy!
The place reeks of it
, Madame had said.
Writhes with it

Yvonnee was writhing now, trying to twist free of my grasp.

‘Let me go!’ she ordered. ‘Vanessa is alive — you said so yourself. You have nothing to blame me for!’

‘No?’ I tightened my grip. ‘What about Kiki? What about Francesca?’

‘What about them? They were fools! They were in the way!’

‘Only in your way.’ But that was enough. She recognized no other.

‘
Only!
’ she shrieked. ‘
Only
me! You sound like Everett Oversall! He ignores me! Neglects me! He chases the newer ones now, the younger ones — I am just part of the wallpaper!’

‘So you wanted revenge.’ This was not the moment to correct her idiom. Those slender fingers were still curling and writhing dangerously — itching to claw my face off. Those strong clever fingers dancing over a piano keyboard would be equally adept tapping out instructions to a computer. Embezzling funds and transferring them to some secret account of her own; siphoning off vital information she could purvey to interested parties she had met while entertaining at Oversall’s private little soirées. Not just for the money — for the revenge.

Yvonne — the enemy within. This was going to hit Oversall hard. Somehow, I didn’t think Madame would be so surprised. I didn’t think much of anything surprised Madame.

‘Revenge — yes! Of course! Even now — when he returns his attention and his money to the theatre again — he never thinks of me! He invests in a play — and brings Vanessa here! He backs a stupid Bollywood film! What next? What? Anything — anyone — but me!’

‘Easy —’ I tried to calm her. ‘Take it easy.’ She was thrashing about so much I was afraid she was going to collapse on me. At the same time, I could see that she had
a valid point. If nothing else, my newly discovered brother-in-law was guilty of monumental tactlessness.

‘I could have starred in that film! I have records that should be reissued. I can make new ones. My voice is still good —’

And loud. And getting louder by the minute. It was surprising that she hadn’t roused half the household. She might yet.

‘Damn Everett Oversall!’ she shrieked. ‘Damn him! He betrayed me! He betrayed you! He betrays everyone! Hell is too good for him!’

The cat gave a sudden corroborative yowl. I looked to see her moving away from the stairwell, her hackles rising, her tail bushed out. She met my eyes for a moment and flashed a warning.

She was right. I had been paying too much attention to what Yvonne was saying and not enough to what she was doing. Each fresh burst of abortive struggle had edged us closer to the parapet — and to one of the openings.

No wonder Dear Yvonne had been so forthcoming with her hatred and contempt. No matter that she had confessed. She had no intention of leaving me alive — male or female — to bear witness.

Male or female
. The irony struck me and I laughed aloud.

‘What is so amusing?’ Offended and furious, she stopped struggling briefly and glared at me.

‘You. Me. Us.’ I swung her back towards the tower wall. ‘Me, dressed as a woman. You, dressed as a man — and a monk, at that.’

‘You are sick!’ She renewed her struggle, but now I was conscious that she was deliberately trying to force us to the parapet again. ‘Mad!’

One of us was mad, but it wasn’t me.

Perhaps it would be better if I was. We’d be more evenly matched. She was fighting with the manic strength of the insane, whereas I was beginning to tire. It was taking all my energy just to hold her to a standstill. I didn’t rate my
chances of wrestling her down the narrow winding staircase and back to the main house.

The cat yowled again and I saw that she was now on the other side of us, perilously close to underfoot. Was she trying to help?
Trip her, Duchess, don’t trip me!

Yvonne suddenly realized the cat was there and began lashing out with her feet, trying to drop kick her over the parapet.

‘No, you don’t!’ Fury gave me a surge of energy and I shook her violently again. Perhaps too violently. Her head snapped back and she went limp.

‘Yvonne!’ Instant guilt swept over me. Had I snapped her neck? Killed her? I relaxed my hold, and let go of one of her arms to have a hand free to turn her face towards me to assess the damage.

It was the oldest trick in the world — and I had fallen for it!

She sprang back into spitting snarling life. The arm I had foolishly released swung out, hand splayed, fingernails clawing for my eyes.

I tried to recapture the arm — or at least fend it off. At the same time, I tried to swing her sideways to keep those lashing out feet away from the Duchess.

Down beside our scuffling feet, the monks’ chorus chanted on, their massed melodic voices rising and falling in the Latin devotions of centuries gone by.

The cat was backing away from the sound, looking from the recording to the tower door with equal distaste.

Get out of here!
I tried to beam a message to her — cats were supposed to be telepathic, weren’t they?

Maybe not this cat. She gave me a jaundiced look. I was being stupid again.

Yvonne was keeping me too busy to worry about it. I’d caught her arm, but she was kicking at me wildly, varied by an occasional knee thrust to the groin. I was beginning to tip off-balance.

Leave!
I tried to reach the cat.
Now!
I wished I could.