The Clairvoyant Curse (31 page)

“Yes, but I would have limited
it either to the English or French style, not mixed the two in a
room of this size.”

“Indeed, now please to observe
the poison allows.”

“Poison aloes?”

“Allows.”

“Oh, the poison arrows.”

“This is the chair where Madame
Moghla is sitting when she die, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Chair is placed dilectly below
beam – this is bad energy on her head. She is having big wolly on
some subject that is plessing down on her.”

“Oh, I see, yes she was worried
about something that was pressing on her mind.”

“Bad place for chair. Please to
observe square pillar.”

“The one at the end of the
glass partition?”

“Yes, please to observe how
chair is facing corners of pillar.”

“Oh, yes, poison arrows
again.”

He nodded. “Squares send
killing energy to Madame Moghla. Sha-qui energy. Now, please to
observe bookshelves.”

“Bookshelves must be good
energy, they are positive things, full of wisdom and all that.”

He shook his head sadly. “More
sha-qui. Poison flows flom the killing shelves like long daggers.
They must be closed in with doors like cupboard. Chair of Madame
Moghla is facing killing energy. More badness for her.”

“Oh, dear, no wonder she died,”
the Countess murmured indulgently.

“Please to observe glass scleen
behind chair of Madame Moghla.”

“More badness, is it?”

He nodded philosophically. “On
glass scleen is image of water. Water is auspicious but one must
face water. Water on back is missed chance, good chi energy flow
away flom you. Should be big mountain in back for stlength and
support.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice the
etching on the glass partition, yes, it is a waterfall scene. It
should be mountains to symbolize strength. And glass is fragile
too. I suppose that doesn’t help?”

“Yes, glass is weak, good in
flont, not behind; mountains never in flont, only behind, or you
must face mountains in your life and path is hard.”

“I’m starting to understand how
this chi energy thing goes, please go on, Dr Hu.”

“Please to observe lound
table.”

“It is round so it has no
killing arrows.”

He seemed pleased that she was
finally gaining understanding. “It aids chi energy to flow. It
makes harmony in loom.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I
suppose round pillars are good for the same reason?”

“Yes, chi energy flows alound
the pillars. Please to observe the millor.”

“The mirror is round – that’s
auspicious – the same as the porthole window.”

“Yes, but millor is facing
other millor outside entlance of libaly. This makes badness, like
door facing door. Chi energy not flow in curves but come in and go
out too quickly.”

“A mirror is like a door. How
interesting - so often in literature a mirror is used as a metaphor
- a doorway to another world. I see how this feng shui thing works
now. It is the metaphorical and pictorial taken literally. Thank
you Dr Hu.”

“Madame Moghla not stand a
chance.”

“Yes, I see that now, poor old
dear. Once she sat down in that chair she was done for. The
inauspicious elements of the room conspired against her. Oh, please
excuse me, there’s my personal maid signalling to me.”

Dr Hu bowed his head and gushed
away like a waterfall as Xenia rushed in to take his place. She
looked flushed in the face as if she’d been running. Her voice was
jerky.

“I am looking for you in all
places, Countess. Monsieur like spider, he say you go to room for
playing cards. American lady, she say you go to the room for
billiards. Bolshevik spy with long hair, he say you go to room for
smoking. Girl like angel say you go to liberry.”

“Yes, well, here I am, what is
it?”

“Fedir look for blue darts,
like you say. He find them in cabin of Dr Watson. They are in
pocket of brown coat. One dart is not there. Only two darts. Not
three.”

“So where is the third
dart?”

Xenia shrugged her stocky
shoulders and shook her head at the same time. “Fedir look and
look.”

“Did he ask Dr Watson?”

“Yes, Dr Watson say he not know
how darts get in pocket. He not know what happen to dart that is
not there. He is looking unhappy more and more. He say you make bad
luck for him.”

The Countess turned away and
paced to the bureau plat, feeling guilty. Dr Watson blamed her!
What’s more, she blamed herself! He must have realised straight
away how bad that missing dart would look for him. Plus the fact
the other darts were found in the pocket of his herringbone coat,
the one he wore when he played darts with Fedir on the aft deck the
day of the murder. It would not be difficult to mount a case that
he had put the darts into his own pocket after the game, thus
proving he had planned the murder of Madame Moghra well in advance
of any sleepwalking episode. The fact one dart was missing was even
worse. It would not be difficult for a police surgeon to establish
it was used to stab Madame Moghra in the head, possibly laced with
some sort of paralyzing poison, poisons being the specialty of
doctors. If the third dart was not found the police would claim he
threw it overboard after the stabbing. The case against him was
building despite all her efforts to flush out an alternative
killer. And there were so many to choose from. Perhaps that was the
point. There were too many.

The Countess turned and gazed
through the glass screen etched with the waterfall scene. Dr Hu had
taken the feng shui book with him and was sitting in the grand
saloon. He had chosen a chair not under a beam, not facing toward
any square pillars; at its back a trompe l’oeil mural featuring a
parterre in perspective to a mythical chateau on a hill. He looked
in total harmony with his surrounds.

She was about to spoil his Eden
with a killing arrow and confront him about the photo of Madame
Moghra when she thought better of it and turned to address
Xenia.

“Find Fedir. I want him to
search the cabin of Dr Hu. You will mount guard. Stay on the deck
as a lookout. If Dr Hu returns to his cabin you must pretend to
faint into his arms and beg him to help you back to your cabin,
giving Fedir a chance to escape.” The Countess extracted a long
hairpin from her luxuriantly up-pinned brunette mane. “Here, use
this to force the lock. Tell Fedir I want him to find a photo of
Madame Moghra when she was younger. In the photo is a man, possibly
a Catholic priest.”

Fedir and Xenia never
questioned the strange ways of their mistress, which had become
ever stranger since she had come to the land of the English in
search of the father who gave her life and met up with the Scottish
doctor instead. In her short life she’d had too many fathers. It
was not good for a beautiful young woman to have so many fathers in
her life and so few lovers. First, the Count of Odessa – such a
good man – taken in his prime. Then that Australian bandit who
acted more like another father than a husband – another life taken
too soon. And now this Scottish doctor – was he marked for death
too?

Was the Countess cursed? Or was
she, herself, the curse?

Xenia bit her tongue and
crossed herself three times in the Orthodox fashion as she hurried
away to find her brother. Heaven forbid she should think such
things. The Devil was always listening to secret thoughts and just
thinking something bad in secret could make it happen. God forgive
her! God have mercy on them all!

Preceded by her jangly
jewellery, Madame Sosostras could be heard long before she could be
seen. The Countess chose her chair with great care, heeding her
recent lesson in feng shui, and had time to arrange herself with
casual elegance facing the entrance, no beam overhead, no poison
arrows shooting killing energy her way. This next encounter was
important and she wanted to harness all the chi at her
disposal.

“Good afternoon,” she said
pleasantly, catching the gypsy by surprise.

The gypsy stiffened visibly. “I
will come back later.”

“Oh, no, don’t go. You won’t
even know I’m here. I’m just meditating. I won’t get in your way. I
suppose you have come to retrieve those two books you marked for
borrowing yesterday morning?”

“Yes,” said the other, glancing
anxiously at the bookshelf where the two books were still poking
out a little.

“You won’t have much time to
read them,” sighed the Countess. “We will be docking tomorrow
morning.”

“I’m a fast reader,” said the
gypsy, smiling stiffly.

The Countess had memorised the
titles. “
Mountaineering for Beginners
by Werner Von Herzgog
and
Travelling Down the Zambesi in a Canoe
by Major Dicky
Arbuthnot. They sound fascinating. Here, let me get them down for
you from that high shelf. I’m much taller.”

The gypsy launched herself at
the bookshelf. “No, no, please don’t put yourself out, Countess
Volodymyrovna!”

With lithe grace, the Countess
stepped around her. “Oh, it’s no bother.”

“No, no! You are right! I will
not have time to read them! I will not borrow them after all! You
may leave them on the shelf!”

“In that case, I might get some
afternoon tea. I see they are bringing out some dainty patisseries.
Will you join me?”

“I will be along in a moment. I
want to, er, check a word, yes, in the dictionary.”

“What word? I might be able to
save you the effort. I’m quite good with words.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Gesamtkunstwerk.”

“Oh, you’ve stumped there. I’ll
leave you to it. I might go and see if Miss Morningstar is still in
the card room. I’ll let her know afternoon tea is being served. We
can’t let Mrs Merle have all those delicious pastries to herself
now, can we?”

The gypsy laughed at her joke
and the laugh followed the Countess out as she glided around the
corner and watched in the Venetian mirror while the gypsy scurried
to the shelf, grappled with the two books, extracted a small
glittery object and shoved it down the side of her red leather
boot.

“I just remembered: total work
of art.”

The gypsy spun round on her
heel with such dexterity she would have put the Cossacks to shame.
“I beg your pardon, Countess?”

“Gesamtkunstwerk means a
synthesis of the visual, poetic, musical, and dramatic – a total
work of art - as are you, Madame Sosostras. Please take a seat so
that we can talk.”

The Countess waved her to the
death chair.

The gypsy tossed up whether to
oblige the invitation to chat or flounce off to her cabin. The
arrival of Captain Lanfranc and Monsieur Bresant in the dining
saloon decided for her. She sank into the chair of doom and crossed
her arms defiantly, confident she could talk her way out of any
accusation. Besides, this boastful Ukrainian aristocrat had no
authority over her.

“It would be terrible to be
tried for murder when one is merely a thief.”

“I do not know what you are
talking about, Countess.”

“I’m talking about that brooch
you have in your boot.”

Swarthy complexions drained of
colour look horribly unattractive. The gypsy blanched and her shiny
brown face turned the colour of dirty clay. “Brooch?”

“The one you stole from Madame
Moghra the night she was killed.”

“How dare you accuse -”

“You were seen stealing the
brooch.”

“Who?” she howled like a
starving she-wolf in winter. “Who dares to accuse me? Give to me a
name and I will tell to you the name of a liar!”

The Countess applauded softly.
“Worthy of Verdi! Congratulations, but your dramatic performance is
wasted on me. I merely thought to make sure you are not charged
with murder.” She pulled an imaginary fleck of lint from her oyster
grey, moiré satin gown and stood up to go. “I will leave your fate
in the hands of the French inspector.
Bon chance
!”

“Wait!” Bristling fiercely, the
gypsy checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming into
the library. “You believe me when I say I did not kill Madame
Moghra?”

“Yes.”

“Please sit back down,
Countess, and tell me how you know I am innocent?”

“Logic.”

“Ah, you rationalists are all
the same!” Thunderous brows drew down darkly in agony of nerves
disguised as disdain.

“You were observed in the act,”
reminded the Countess. “And the observer believes you murdered
Madame Moghra but I know you did no such thing.”

“What observer? Not that sneaky
little Oriental,” she spat out hatefully. “He has the ways of a
smiling assassin, always lurking. I have met his type before.”

“Not Dr Hu, no, but I believe
he is the reason you put the brooch inside the wig.”

Cold hard incredulity caused
the magenta lips to part like the Red Sea but no sound issued forth
except for a strangled gurgle. “You are truly a witch with the gift
of second sight.”

“Hardly, but the testimony of
the eye-witness may yet save your neck from the gallows.”

“Please go on,” the sloe-eyed
gypsy said, swallowing dry, leaning forward and clutching her
multi-coloured skirts with bony talons.

“Let me outline what took place
last night applying logic: You came into the library to retrieve
your tarot cards. You spoke to Madame Moghra to check if she was
asleep. You leaned closer and then jumped back in fright. You
removed the brooch. You had it in your hand when Dr Hu approached.
You couldn’t be sure he would not accuse you of theft and murder.
You had to hide the brooch but there were so few hiding places in
the library and you could not risk the brooch being found in the
event of a search. You hid it in the only place close at hand - the
wig. The next day you returned to the library, but not too early,
you were careful not to be the first to find the body. You were
retrieving the brooch when I walked in and interrupted you. You
pretended the wig had fallen from the chair onto the floor but of
course it couldn’t have since it was on the book trolley under the
porthole window, not the chair. You now had the brooch but you knew
a search would soon be made. You went to the bookshelf and got down
two books from a high shelf, pretending to be interested in them.
It had to be high so that even if the books were removed no one
would see the brooch at the back of the shelf. And so the brooch
sat behind the books until now when you came to reclaim it, knowing
the cabins had already been searched. So, how do I know you did not
kill Madame Moghra? I know because logic tells me you jumped back
in fright when you realized she was dead. If you had killed her you
would not have jumped back. Nor would you have put the brooch
inside the wig. And finally, the eye-witness does not mention you
stabbing Madame Moghra in the top of the head. May I suggest you
drop the brooch on the patisserie tray in the dining saloon when
you help yourself to afternoon tea?”