A Crime of Fashion (11 page)

She had a point. Besides, my just-started career would also be over if I was caught here, and finding Belle by Friday would become an impossibility. Furthermore, it would only add to my aunt's woes if her niece was found sneaking around the crime site.

“You're right – let's go.”

But just as we stepped into the corridor, a maid and Thomas, Inspector Witt's assistant, were coming out of a doorway at the opposite end. I'd thought they'd all gone back downstairs! Panic seized me – they were probably on their way into Darius's or Belle's bedroom. We bent low and quickly moved down the corridor to the next door along from Belle's. Hoping desperately that the room was empty and dark, I held my breath as I slowly turned the doorknob and slid inside, Ellie and Sebastian just behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I leaned my back against the door and heard Thomas pass by. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, I saw we were in a library.

With the exception of the light made by small reading lamps mounted on the bookshelves, the room was dark. But it was smoky and warm and the embers in the fireplace were still glowing. The room was decorated in green, and shelves of books, all on fashion and art, lined the walls.

“The cushions are made from vintage La Lune silk scarves,” Ellie whispered excitedly.

It was an interesting room, a muted contrast to the gilded extravagance elsewhere. We were just about to leave when we heard voices.

“Get down! Someone's coming!” I said as I ducked behind the nearest sofa.

Male voices, female voices – even my aunt's voice – echoed lightly around the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Even the way they sounded was strange – as if they were far away, yet nearby.

“I can't make out where they're coming from,” Ellie said as she peered out of the keyhole. “The corridor is empty.”

“Then let's leave now,” I said, moving towards the door, “before our luck runs out.”

“No. Wait!” Sebastian whispered. “The voices are coming from the chimney. Listen! They're travelling up the flue. We must be directly over the large room downstairs. If you get close, you can hear quite well,” he said, crouching low and tipping his head towards the hearth.

I was torn between leaving now – I really did feel we'd pushed our luck – and staying. But, at this point I couldn't risk missing anything that could help me find Belle.
Maybe
just two more minutes, I thought, as I leaned down next to Sebastian. Carefully, I listened to the voices float up…

“Obviously, someone wants to make a fortune on the back of the Juno bag.” It was my Aunt Venetia. “Counterfeiters are such a problem nowadays.”

“You're right, Venetia,” Fiona said, “counterfeiters are a horrible, bloodthirsty lot.” Even after so many years in France she spoke French with a heavy English accent. “And to think they've taken Belle and now Darius – and how are they to know he has asthma and needs medication?” A short sob escaped her before she gathered herself and continued. “Listen, everyone. With your father being so ill, plus the launch of the bag this week, we must contain the potential scandal. We must find Belle and Darius. We must help the police in their search for the counterfeiters behind the theft. Everything else must wait…we can sort things out later…between ourselves.”

What was she talking about? What must wait? And what did she want sorted out?

“You know,” my aunt continued, as if Fiona had never spoken, “the Bulgarian mafia is very much into counterfeit handbags, and let's not even get started with the Japanese mafia.”

“What about Darius's disappearance?” Rose asked – at least I surmised it was her: she was the only other woman in the group. “He didn't even know what the Juno bag looked like.”

“Maybe he stumbled upon something he shouldn't have,” Claude suggested.

“Darius and his silly books, which nobody except the occasional fashion nerd reads, are totally harmless,” Dom answered.

“It could have been kidnap for money alone, you know,” Claude continued. “It doesn't necessarily have to have anything to do with the Juno bag.”

“Genius, Claude,” Rose said. “If that's the case, then where's the ransom note?”

“For goodness' sake, can you stop taking photos for one second! All that clicking is getting on my nerves,” Claude hissed. Presumably this was directed at Dom.

“Belle has always said that the only way to get away from fashion is to disappear altogether. Maybe that's what she's done. Maybe she's gone on holiday somewhere and didn't feel like telling us,” said a deep voice. And that, I supposed, was the mysterious Philippe de Vandrille. “Although that still doesn't explain Darius.”

“Changed track have you, Philippe?” spat Claude.

“That's enough, Claude,” Fiona said. “Let's all try to remain civil with one another, please. I hardly think that Belle would have chosen to leave during the week of the shows and the launch of a handbag she's been working on for two years.”

“Certainly not,” my aunt said.

“Nor would Darius have gone on some mysterious holiday this week – at least not without telling us,” Fiona continued. “He's been hard at work on his book and has hardly left his room these last few weeks.”

There was a moment of silence before Rose spoke. “To be honest, I don't know why we're all trying to sound so concerned about these different theories, when really all we're thinking about is
It…
”

It?
What was she talking about? The disappearances? But then she should have said
Them
.

There was another silence, this one swiftly punctuated by my aunt. With her usual lack of tact, she said loudly, “Rose, darling, what
are
you wearing? It's the same hue as your face. You seem a bit worked up, actually.”

“Venetia has a point, Rose,” Fiona said. “Perhaps you should go upstairs and change before dinner.”

“Anything to change the subject, right,
maman
?” asked Rose. “If only everyone knew. Well, ignore it if you like, but a serious threat to our family is coming. Poor Belle and Darius are only the beginning! Can't you feel it? Haven't you heard it moving through the house like a ghost? It's closing in on us! The curse is closing in on us!” hissed Rose.

The curse? I looked at Ellie and Sebastian. Both shrugged their shoulders. This must be the old rumour – the “dark matter” – Victor had been referring to earlier!

Sebastian and I leaned further into the fireplace, concentrating as Rose continued in an eerie semi-whisper. “We all know what it says:
The day shall come when greed and deceit shall rip apart your family and destroy the success you stole from me. One by one, you and your family shall disappear as I have…
” With a sob, she continued. “It's happening, there's no use fighting! It's happening! The curse is coming alive! We're all greedy – and our greed is waking the curse!” Everything seemed to slow down as Rose's words cast a pall of fear over the room. A heavy silence hung in the air.

“Listen, everyone, please – let's stop all of this theorizing,” Philippe finally said, his deep, firm voice cutting through the fog of fear. “It serves absolutely no purpose.” We listened as a drink was poured – for Rose, no doubt.

“But Rose isn't fantasizing,” Dom said. “There is a curse – and we've all seen it…”

“Yes, you're correct, Dom – there is something – we've all seen it. But it's nothing more than a harmless old letter, a childish threat written long ago.”

“So you think there's nothing behind it?” Fiona asked Philippe.

“Absolutely nothing,” he answered after a pause. “However,” Philippe said, drawing breath before continuing, “whatever we may guess or believe or think…the fact remains that we were all present on the evening Belle disappeared – just as we were all present today.”

“Are you saying it's more than mere coincidence?” Dom asked.

“I am.”

“Which means…?” Claude asked cautiously.

“Which means that unless there really is a curse or a counterfeit gang
…then suspicion will fall on every one of us.”

A long pause ensued as the room was again plunged into total silence. Suddenly my aunt said, “Honestly, Philippe, I know we're in fashion but do you have to sound so dramatic?”

And then a knock at the door was heard. “Inspector Witt is finished for tonight, Madame,” the butler announced. “He'd just like a word with Monsieur de Vandrille in the hall, please.”

“Thank you, Gerard,” Fiona answered. And then, after another pause: “I suggest we all have a drink before going in for dinner.”

At that moment I rose to leave from my crouched position – or, rather, I tried to. But my legs had fallen asleep. I lost my balance and fell backwards. Instinctively I reached out, my arms flailing at the chimney mantelpiece, and my left hand found a handle that I clutched desperately. Pulling on it, I straightened myself back up.

“Coast is clear,” Ellie said from her position at the keyhole.

But then, just before turning to go out the door, my attention was caught by a small flame flickering to life in the fireplace. Funny – when we'd come in, the embers in the grate had been smouldering, barely glowing. Leaning forward, I saw a book-sized bundle on the grate, small flames licking at its sides. It was tied with a ribbon and had definitely not been there earlier. It must have fallen when I'd pulled the handle by the mantelpiece. As if reading my mind, Sebastian grabbed a nearby magazine and threw it to me. I slapped the flames down and used a pair of fire tongs to retrieve the blackened bundle. I left it to cool on the marble floor in front of the hearth for a few moments before I carefully lifted it and carried it to the desk where Sebastian had turned a lamp on. Gently I pulled the burned ribbon away.

It was a packet of letters. They must have been jammed up behind the chimney damper – the moveable metal plate every chimney flue has for regulating airflow. The “handle” I'd grabbed wasn't a handle at all – it was the lever controlling the damper.

Varying in size and weight, the letters looked old. Some of the envelopes had no return address or postmark – they must have been hand-delivered. And in between some of the letters were postcards, tickets and other slips of paper. I turned over a postcard with an old sepia-toned image of the Eiffel Tower on it. Addressed to
Chère Maman
, it was signed
Violette
. Who was Violette? And why was she writing to her mother from Paris? (My mother was the last person I'd write to.) Who'd kept this postcard and the letters? And why were they important? Obviously someone in this house thought they were – otherwise why had they been hidden in the chimney flue?

Sebastian and Ellie peered over my shoulder as I bundled the letters back together with a rubber band I found on the desk. Trying to make sense of the thoughts racing through my mind, I whispered, “The fire died out not long before we walked in here, right? But judging by the amount of ashes in the grate, it must have been burning for some time before that…”

Sebastian nodded. “And you pulled the chimney damper
open
…”

“Exactly. And as it would have been open while the fire was blazing, the flue must have been shut after the fire had begun to die down. In fact, it was probably shut just to hide these letters…”

“Just before we came in.”

I nodded. “So if the letters have anything to do with Belle's and Darius's disappearances, then Philippe de Vandrille has a point: the criminal must be one of the people we heard in the room downstairs.”

I carefully placed the bundle of letters into my bag, then turned to leave, but remembered at the last moment to return the damper to its closed position. I pushed the protruding handle – and listened as it slid into its socket with a heavy thud, followed by the scratch of metal. The bang echoed down the flue.

Not good.

I stood frozen in the ensuing silence.

“What was that?” I heard my aunt ask, her voice loud, wary.

Panic engulfed us. We were upstairs, in a room with one door. How could we get out? The thought of my aunt watching as I was walked down the staircase in handcuffs was not a nice one. Plus I'd dragged Ellie and Sebastian along – and, if caught, neither would get away scot-free. I felt sick.

Then Rose wailed, Fiona told her to shut up, and Philippe's voice boomed up at us: “I think the noise came through the flue. Dom, call Inspector Witt. We need an officer up there now! In the library! Go!”

We ran to the opposite end of the corridor, turning the lights off behind us as we went. After trying a few of the doors, we came upon one that led to a service stairwell. Again, we turned the lights off and, using our phones as torches, flew down as quickly as possible.

After going down a flight we arrived behind a small door tucked underneath the soaring stone staircase in the hall. We opened it a crack to see Inspector Witt and two officers charge past us on their way up the stairs. After they passed, we crossed the hall and ducked through the first door we reached – and just as quickly turned around: two maids were setting the table. Back in the hall, the door to the left opened onto a small sitting room – with access to the terrace! We crossed the length of the room and slipped out through the door. From there we crept past the garden furniture we'd hidden under earlier and dived behind the nearest large shrub. We sat quietly for a moment before Ellie said, “Let me go first. I'll distract the guards and meanwhile you sneak out and get as close to the gate as you can. When it opens, run!”

True to her word, Ellie proved an admirable distraction to the two guards. Sebastian and I shadowed her movements as she walked along a side path until she was within calling range of the two beefy men.