Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (34 page)

Lady Guthrie made a moue with her mouth and shifted in her seat. “I think, Monique, it is time to deal with our Miss Beauregard here.”

“What shall I do with her body, cousin?”

Surely the note had said daybreak?
He didn’t have much time.

“I think we will leave her with Charles in the front hall.”

“Ooh, make it seem like a lover’s quarrel?”

“Yes, after all, despite my stepdaughter throwing him over, I think there is still enough coal I can stoke on the old rumor mill to persuade the ton that they were still seeing each other. Lady of easy virtue and all that.”

“What about Henry?”

With a curse, Henry drew back the pistol from the curtain and froze.

“Aah yes. Lord Anglethorpe, you can step out from the curtain now.”

Damn.      

His hand shook on the trigger of the pistol. Carefully he removed his forefinger and wrapped it around the hilt of the gun. He couldn’t risk a rerun of Wales, with Agatha in the room there was a risk that she would be shot too.

Pushing back the curtain with a free hand, Henry stepped through into the orchestral area and stopped.

Agatha gasped. “Henry!”

Lady Guthrie laughed. “I was counting on your love for Miss Beauregard to keep you here. I’ve been watching you standing behind the curtain for some time.”

Of course she’d known he was there. She’d remarked on the touching scene in the hall, they would have been waiting for him to appear.

“Do you know, Monique.” Lady Guthrie scratched her chin. “I think we can expand this scenario a little further. Anglethorpe discovers Charles and Agatha together, kills both and then kills himself. At the same time he realizes that his lover was
Monsieur Herr
working in concert with Charles Fashington all along.”

“That makes an extremely neat story, Lady Guthrie.” Henry stepped down from the stage, the glinting candlelight reflecting off his pistol. He hoped they wouldn’t see that he hadn’t got his finger on the trigger. “But I’m afraid that I really can’t let you kill Agatha.”

Lady Guthrie looked affronted. “And who is going to stop me?” She smiled soberly. “Come on, Monique. We won’t be able to carry their bodies to the entrance.”

“Why didn’t you kill us at Berale House? I saw the footsteps in the garden. You must have been there?” Henry stalled for time.

“Berale House?” Lady Guthrie looked blank. “Where is that? Brambridge? I’ve never been there. I didn’t want to get too close in case you discovered me.” She sniggered lightly. “It turns out you weren’t even close in suspecting me.”

“What about you, Monique? Perhaps you kept an eye on us?” Henry pushed his gun further forward in his hand.

“Pah. Why would I want to get caught a second time? The first I was only lucky because of that Lassiter man being drunk. I prefer being free, thank you very much.”

Lady Guthrie waved her hands impatiently. “I don’t have time for this. Move, Miss Beauregard. Now.”

Monique slid forward, the pistol ever outstretched in her arm. Agatha looked imploringly at him, but he shook his head. There was nothing he could do to help her whilst Monique still held her gun on her. Agatha stumbled forward, down the side aisle, keeping five paces away from Monique. She shivered visibly.

There was no chance to for Agatha to escape in the carpeted hall. Monique sped up in order to keep up with her, the pistol grazing her thigh as they left the recital room. Lady Guthrie had already gone ahead, evidently to stay out of the way of Henry’s gun.

Henry followed slowly, keeping his pistol on Monique. Why didn’t they just shoot Agatha now? Of course. They were using her as a chip to stop Henry shooting them. The sound of Agatha’s footsteps slowed as she crossed the carpet and into the vestibule.

The entrance hall was chilly; the residual heat of the day had left the building. Charles’ body still lay across the front doors as Agatha had described. Lady Guthrie merely gave it a dispassionate glance and grunted, pointing at Agatha.

“Get over there by Charles and kneel down. Monique, check that there is no one outside. Come in, Anglethorpe, and stand in the corner.”

Agatha crossed to where Charles lay and kneeled down beside him.

“Was Charles a spy too?” she asked quietly. Henry stopped as she spoke, but walked to the corner as Monique gave a jerk of her head.

Lady Guthrie pouted whilst keeping her eyes on Henry. “Of course not. He was just extremely indiscreet. He provided me with much information that I put to good use over the years. After I had
satisfied
him, he was always rather garrulous and hungry.”

Henry winced. “Bloody hell. The Belgian buns.”

“Of course. Such a silly bit of information. He thought he could make me laugh with a tit bit such as that without revealing what he was up to. The stupid man didn’t understand that
all
information is food for a spy. And it was so bloody
pertinent.
”

Agatha shook her head and looked up at Monique who was still checking the window. “Pertinent? Poor man.”

“Poor man? You try having an affair with a man with strange tastes for five years and still call him poor. He received everything he deserved.”

Henry looked at the still figure of Charles on the floor. He hadn’t been a traitor, just a man with exceptionally poor judgement.

“Why the Greek letters?” he said suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Guthrie turned her head towards him.

“Why did you sign yourself with Greek letters, iota eta pi?”

“Can’t you guess, dear Henry? You mean your mathematical lover here didn’t explain it to you? I thought I was famous for it. That’s why it’s so bloody pertinent.”

Henry shook his head, tightening his hands on the hilt of the gun. He had to move his hand to the trigger. There was little time left.

It seemed trivial now, the confusing Greek letters, but he damn well had to carry on the charade a little while longer—his finger was rigid on the hilt, refusing to move. “I never thought you were
Monsieur Herr,
Agatha. From the moment you came into my life, I couldn’t stop watching you. I was aware of your presence every hour of the day. You didn’t have time to write those letters, you were too busy thinking up ways to be scandalous.”

Agatha gave a huff. “Only somewhat scandalous, Henry.”

“Hmm.”

“I used to call you Horrible Henry. Only to myself though.”

“Ha!” Henry couldn’t help the bark of laughter. It helped free the tension in his hand. With a slow movement, he laid his finger on the trigger.

“Enough with this stupid talk.” Lady Guthrie stamped her foot. “Don’t you want to know why I used those letters?”

“No not really. But I’m sure you are going to tell us.” Agatha straightened her fingers and flexed a single forefinger.

Good grief. A hand signal, similar to the ones he used with his men when he passed them in the street. Henry narrowed his eyes. Agatha flexed her forefinger again, as if pulling the trigger of the gun. Oh hell.

“I left Iota Eta Pi on everything I wrote. It became my signature.”

He couldn’t shoot now, both Lady Guthrie and Monique were equally dangerous. “I know that already. I want to know why you used that as your signature.”

“Ca suffit!” Lady Guthrie opened her eyes wide. “I have never been so angry since Lord Foxtone stamped on Monique’s foot at that
putain de merde
shop opening.”

Shop Opening
. “Bloody hell Agatha, you were right.”

Agatha blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“It was a joke, but the joke was on me. Exactly as you said, the phrase
was
I ought to eat a pie.”

“Not as stupid as she looks then, your lover, Anglethorpe.” Lady Guthrie narrowed her eyes.

“When Lady Guthrie was married to Lord Foxtone, she caused the closure of one of his factories when she ate one of his blackberry pastries—”

“—pie actually. Foxtone was very precise I always had to call it a pie.
Dieu
I hated that man. And it was Monique’s foot.”

“
Blackberry pies,
then, and told the newspaper men that it was disgusting.” He glanced at Lady Guthrie. “Monique? I thought it was a strong reaction for being stamped on the foot.”

“I wanted money… to buy information. He wouldn’t give it to me. Tight fisted
bȃtard.
I had to report back to my…
organisation
in France so Monique covered for me with Lord Foxtone. Everyone said we could pass for twins and the old fool was short sighted anyway.”

“But the old goat demanded relations!” Monique pouted.

“It was the only thing she could think of to get him off her. But then the shops closed and there was no more money. The first people to cancel their order of cakes was the War Office. If only I’d managed to poison you all. In the end Lord Foxtone wasn’t even worth the effort it took to kill him.”

Agatha’s gasp was audible above Lady Guthrie’s angry breaths.

“You might think the joke was on you, Anglethorpe. But really the joke was on me. I believe you say in English… to eat humble pie. Well, I decided to remind ourselves of that episode every time I wrote to France to Monique, every time in my signature,
I ought to eat a pie.”

CHAPTER 41

Agatha couldn’t think of any more delaying tactics. It was going to be now or never. Whilst Lady Guthrie ranted, Agatha sat back on her heels as if waiting. She slid her hand into her skirts and withdrew the cheroot and the knife. Sliding a glance at Monique ahead of her, she quickly waved the cigar in the air.

“It is a shame that you are going to be caught.” Agatha shifted slightly to attract both Lady Guthrie and her cousin’s attention. “I alerted my maid and Henry’s valet to where I was going. Help will arrive shortly.” She cut the end of the cigar off with her knife.

“I don’t believe her.” Monique’s gun never wavered. “I’m getting bored, cousin. Let’s kill the cigar smoking goose now. The coast is clear. We don’t need either of them now. I’ve found out what we need to know. I sent a message back to France about Lord Anglethorpe.”

Agatha stilled; Monique had fallen for it. Pushing her hand into her pocket again, she flicked her eyes to Lady Guthrie. Four meters. Her hand closed around the matches and one of the twists of paper; she didn’t have time to work out which one would be most appropriate.

Lady Guthrie cocked her head on one side and smoothed down her skirts with her left hand. 

Henry’s gun remained steady. “A message about me?”

Agatha glanced back at Monique; both of them had their eyes on her. Bringing the cigar and the twist of paper in the palm of her hand to her face, she struck a match and inhaled. “
Now,
Henry.”

Dropping the unlit cigar to the floor, she drew back her hand and threw the burning twist of paper at Lady Guthrie.

The paper tumbled through the air, an imperceptible flame licking at the paper. Lady Guthrie frowned and then gasped.

The paper exploded with a crackle and shower of fire. Holding her ears, Agatha fell to the floor as two more loud bangs followed, a burning sensation piercing her shoulder.

Monique screamed and slid down the door, a blooming flower of red staining her dress across the chest. Agatha looked back up at Lady Guthrie, expecting her to also be incapacitated. But it wasn’t the case—as Agatha watched, Lady Guthrie moaned, the left arm of her dress a charred mess where Agatha’s firecracker had lit her clothes. Leaning to the side, she brought up her right hand which had been hidden in her skirts. Damn. The problem had never been Agatha’s calculations, merely that she just couldn’t throw straight.

Agatha screamed as metal glinted in Lady Guthrie’s hand. “Henry, she has a gun!”

Henry stepped forward in a burst of sound.

She was too late. He fell crumpling to the floor, his cheek thudding violently against the wood.

Agatha took several gasping breaths, sucking at the air. She was an idiot; she should have remembered that Lady Guthrie had killed Charles. She had mistakenly thought that they had used Monique’s gun.

Lady Guthrie was already stiffly reloading the pistol, inhaling great moaning breaths. Agatha could see the scatter of the fire cracker paper at Lady Guthrie’s feet, her carefully drawn diagrams from her notebook charred and wasted. She spared a glance for Henry. His eyes were closed and his body did not move.

The sound of a bullet dropping to the floor woke Agatha from her stupor of shock. She fumbled in her skirts, but the bulky jam jar was sat on top of the other fire cracker. She could not get to it. Lady Guthrie was still fumbling to reload, cursing in pain as she chased the bullet across the floor. Agatha looked out of the front doors. There was no time to leave and get help. The area was deserted and by that time Lady Guthrie would have managed to fire the gun again. She briefly considered leaping onto Lady Guthrie, but realized that she was already closing the butt of the gun ready to fire again.

Agatha rose swiftly in one motion, swiping the unlit cigar from the floor. Leaping past Lady Guthrie, she ran back into the carpeted hall and thudded to a stop. There was no point in continuing to run. The hall only led to more recital rooms and high walled gardens, more spaces where the pistol would be dangerous to her. The sound of the hall door opening galvanized her to action.

Gasping, she fumbled at the matches, pushing the cigar into her mouth. Hands shaking, she lit the cheroot and puffed in and out.

She couldn’t hear Lady Guthrie.

With a shuddering breath, she pulled out the jam jar and inserted the cigar in the hole in the lid and stuffed some more pages of her notebook around the snug fit. Taking a deep breath, she rolled it down the corridor towards the blue room and ran—in the opposite direction.

There was only one room on the corridor left that she could go to. She slipped inside the instrument store room and quietly shut the door, holding her hands to her head.

The roar of the jam jar bomb shook the doors in their casements.

Holding her breath, Agatha listened to the slow tread of Lady Guthrie lurching down the corridor towards the recital rooms. In the complete darkness of the room, Agatha gritted her teeth and planned her escape.