‘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.
Chapter Eight
For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. Then a surge of rage welled up.
‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed.
Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard.
There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp.
Satisfied he was immobilised for the moment, Melusine fell to her knees beside Jack, dragging at his suddenly heavy body to turn it on its back.
‘Oh, mon dieu. Jacques, Jacques!’
His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief.
‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’
