She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. But the whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood.
Melusine tapped on it. At once there came an answering knock. She had found him! Excitement welled.
‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this.’
It took several frustrating moments, working at the protrusions of the carving down the side of the bookshelves, tugging at leaves, pushing at flowers. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall.
An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture. Melusine started back, blinking.
‘Parbleu, but I find that this is excessively clever, this passage.’
Jack stepped out, and pushed the door to. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. They stood back together and stared at it.
‘You could not tell it,’ said Melusine, ‘unless you were as close as we.’
A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. Jack looked towards the door. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. She was too late. The door to the library burst open.
‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. ‘Got you!’
‘You!’ Stunned, Melusine moved quickly away from the tell-tale bookshelf. ‘But how do you come here?’
‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out.’
‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern.’
‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
‘It does not matter, Jacques.’ She glared at Hilary. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’
‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. ‘All right, Trodger. I’ll take over here. Get the men back to their posts.’
‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door.
‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply.’
‘Then it is good that you do not ask me,’ Melusine snapped, and flouncing away from him, went to sit in the large chair behind the desk at the far end of the room. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.
The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’
Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight.
‘Jacques!’
She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. ‘It were that there major, miss. I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. And―and he wanted to help you.’
‘So this is the way you serve me,’ exclaimed Melusine, her quick temper flaring as she jumped up, slammed her hands on the desk and leaned towards him over it. ‘What is it that you told him?’
‘Nothing, miss, I swear. At least—’
‘Don’t be more of a lunatic than you can help,’ broke in the captain, addressing himself to Melusine. ‘If the boy had sense enough to send word to Gerald as he was told to do, then God be praised!’
‘Parbleu,’ broke from Melusine, as she turned on him instead. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’
‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald.’
Melusine looked resentfully at the pistol. ‘I see well that I am dealing with you. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard.’
‘Do you tell me you think you can outwit Gerald? I wish I may see it.’
Melusine did not reply. Her anger died and she eyed him. She could manage the major. Let her see if she could manage this one, perhaps turn all to suit herself?
‘What do you think to do with me now?’
The captain lowered the pistol. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. The thing is, Miss Charvill—’
‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised.
‘He told me everything, if you mean Gerald.’
Impatience overtook Melusine’s resolve momentarily. ‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’
‘That you need help.’
Melusine sat slowly down again, looking him over thoughtfully. This became very interesting. Let her see what she could make here. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. Very good. He became a little less en garde.
‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly.
