Mademoiselle At Arms by Elizabeth Bailey (ebook reader with android os .txt) 📕

done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck.

The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.

Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. The image did not move. Her pulses began to race.

‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’

It was a portrait. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image.

‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. Martha was quite right. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world.

Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there.

‘Maman?’

‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French.

Melusine whirled.

At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold—property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte.

‘You!’

‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. ‘I knew I should find you still here.’

‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language.

‘Valade, if you don’t mind.’

‘Pah! You can never be Valade. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away.’

‘That,’ said Gosse, ‘is a matter of opinion. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close.’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker.’

Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. ‘That is my mother.’

‘So I infer. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset.’

‘I had never the intention to tell you anything, pig!’

Gosse moved forward a little. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. You wanted to play a lone hand. Eh bien, you have now the opportunity. You really are extremely stupid, Melusine.’

‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped. ‘You have not the right.’

‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. ‘You have made a serious mistake, Melusine.’

She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You should have gone to Charvill.’

‘Nothing would make me do so, except to tell him how you have cheated me.’

He nodded. ‘As I said, a mistake. Too late now. Neither Charvill nor his heir know anything of your presence in England.’

‘But Gérard knows. He knows everything. That you are not Valade at all, and that I am Melusine Charvill, the granddaughter of monsieur le baron, the general.’

Gosse smiled and Melusine read triumph there. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. I saw him ride away with that other fellow.’

‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’

‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. Easy enough to look as if one rides away. I did so.’

‘Then Gérard may come back,’ Melusine cried involuntarily on a sudden rising hope.

‘Not if I heard him aright. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent.’

Melusine bit her lip. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here.

‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. How did you get into this house?’

He shrugged. ‘I broke in. Easy enough. It is a big house and there are many rooms in which to hide.’

Her flesh crept. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. Parbleu, but she was a fool. And now she had sent Jack away. She was alone with a deadly enemy.

As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I.’ He laughed. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning.’

‘I spit on your plan,’ Melusine told him furiously. ‘Rather would I die than fall in with such a plan.’

The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. ‘A convenient desire, Mademoiselle Charvill.’

Melusine looked from his coarse red features to the pistol, and froze inside as she recognised his intention. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. The challenge gave her courage. Eh bien, they would see about this.

She must weigh her situation. She was, she guessed, close to the library. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. None this end. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace.

There were three exit doors. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. A third that joined this to the chambers at the front of the house. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. Eh bien, she must use her tongue against him.

‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly.

‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. So confident, Emile?

‘You fire the gun and you make one big noise. Immediately the soldiers of the major will come from the gate. They will find me dead, yes. But they will also find you. And this is not France, you understand. You cannot do a murder and expect that you will not be punished. En tout cas, Gérard will very likely kill you before the hangman has the chance.’

‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse.

‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this.’

Gosse’s eyes went to the portrait, and evidently took in the uncanny resemblance, looking from it to Melusine and back again. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall.

Melusine seized her chance. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her.

‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’

Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. He might miss at this distance. He had not had time to aim the pistol. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. She dare not risk it.

Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. The decision had been sound. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall.

‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. He laughed lightly. ‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You must be got rid of, that is seen. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable.’

Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool. Now he would take her away from the house before killing her, and no one would find her body at all. But at least it gave her more time.

Gosse was backing towards the table. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. But in a moment, it was tucked under his arm and, raising the pistol again, he gestured towards the door opposite the one where Melusine stood.

‘That way. Move.’

Melusine hesitated. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room.

All of a sudden, there was movement behind him. Melusine’s eyes shifted. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. Her heartbeat quickened. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. Her steps slowed.

In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. She must not show anything. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word.

As Melusine approached the door, she saw Kimble speed up. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. She saw his finger pull back on the hammer of the gun and shrieked a warning just as Jack launched himself forward and Gosse turned and fired.

The deafening report froze time. As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. His hands came up, his face broke apart. He reeled, and crashed to the floor.