Dorothy Cannell - She Shoots to Conquer

“Those two cretins may seal themselves up and join the skeletons already stuffed behind the walls.” The leer that accompanied this inappropriate remark was shocking to behold and I could only be grateful that Thumper did not crack open an eye to witness it. “Let it be hoped,” Georges’s eyes narrowed gleamingly above his Roman nose, “that their vile pet joins his fellows in gnawing at their bones. Meanwhile, I look forward to the epicurean delights your husband will provide for me during the coming week.”

I stared at him blankly.

“I knew him to be a man after my own heart-were I to possess one-when he ignored the Foot woman’s screams for mercy and banished the albino rat, after insisting it be first returned to its cage. My enthusiasm increased when he set about bringing this kitchen out of the Stone Age into something approaching the nineteen fifties by a great deal of scrubbing surfaces and throwing out of disgusting pots, pans, cutlery, and crockery. He agreed with me as I reclined in my chariot proffering the occasional word of advice as to which supplier would most speedily dispatch the caviar exquisite… the pistachio mushroom pâté delectable… the swordfish sublime… the loganberries lip-smacking that my stomach was announcing in impeccable French that it desired.” Georges’s oratory swelled into the operatic and I awaited the sound of wineglasses cracking. After studying my reaction, he abandoned his impersonation of Enrico Caruso and shook his head, puffing out the bloodhound cheeks as he did so. “The point I am making, Mrs. Wife of the Chef, is that before I retired for the night it was agreed between us that my gourmand interests were his.”

“Yours and Ben’s?” A woman who has been awake since the middle of the night and has not yet had a cup of coffee, let alone breakfast, should not be expected to be quick on the uptake.

“Who else?” He blew out a breath, deflating the cheeks, and grabbed the arms of his chair. “Very well, in words that sleeping dog could comprehend! Your husband has agreed to stay on as my personal chef at Mucklesfeld for the duration of the filming, which should take six days should there be no further complications-such as other contestants getting themselves killed.”

“The person who is going to get killed,” I fumed, “is your insufferable self. Of all the insensitive things to say! Poor Suzanne Varney! I hope her ghost appears to you in the middle of the night and wheels you out onto the roof and tips you over the edge. As for my husband promising to stay on and cook for you…” I choked on my fury.

“I would be willing to let others partake… Lord Belfrey and his doctor cousin, should he be called in to medicate a patient who is reduced to hysteria by one of the surprises in store. You yourself may join us at table if you care to do so. My good woman,” he completed a circle in the wheelchair, “I do not see why you are making difficulties. Your husband said he suspected you already wished to stay on for the sake of your friend Mrs. Malloy, who is to take Suzanne Varney’s place as a contestant, and because of your interest in old houses. He mentioned that you are an interior designer. As such,” Georges tried but failed to look cajoling, “I would have thought you could happily wander around Mucklesfeld for a week, mentally redoing the place. It is even possible that when Here Comes the Bride achieves the success I anticipate and the money starts rolling in, his lordship might hire you to put your ideas into action.”

“The opportunity to take down the cobwebs and possibly re-hand them elsewhere is certainly hard to resist,” I said nastily, “but I think I can hold out. Coming, Thumper?” I looked down, flicked my fingers gently, and with my furry-possibly only loyal-friend at my heels, stormed out of the kitchen.

“Given the choice,” Georges bellowed after me, “I prefer rats to dogs.”

“Ignore him,” I told Thumper. My attempt to slam the door behind us failed because it creaked and groaned, making clear that it was old and hated to be hurried. The hall appeared even more crowded than on the previous evening, with oversized furniture from bygone eras that had reverenced excess, especially when it came to the hideous. Elbowing past a dresser with a bloated front that reminded me of a certain stomach, I continued to seethe! That I had been thinking it might be interesting to stay and watch how things turned out-not only for Mrs. Malloy but also for Livonia, who so desperately needed moral support, and for Judy, whom I had instantly liked-did not come into things. That Ben had made a commitment to Georges LeBois without consulting me wasn’t how our marriage worked.

I was about to storm back to the bedroom when I realized that I didn’t remember how to get there. I cast an irritable glance at the staircase, with its massively carved, age-blackened banisters and its look of having seen more than its fair share of coffins going up empty and coming down filled. Mounting those broad steps wouldn’t get me anywhere fast because Lord Belfrey had taken me up by the back way last night. I made a rude gesture at the Metal Knight (who was definitely smirking), while balking at the idea of returning to the kitchen, stalking past Georges, opening the door through which Mr. Plunket and Mrs. Foot had disappeared, and asking one or both of them to guide me back to the attics.

I was stalled in making even a tentative move when the hall was invaded by two youngish men burgeoning with cameras, tripods, and assorted equipment suggestive of filming. My knowledge of such items was nil, but I admit to a small thrill coursing through my being. Who would have thought I would find myself this close to the production of a television show, whether or not it ever showed up on screen? Both men looked their part-wearing ragged jeans and sweatshirts and having longish, purposefully untidy hair, pierced ears, and artistic expressions. I took them to be the two who had preceded us into Mucklesfeld the previous evening. Both gave me a casual glance and one of them grinned at Thumper, who had moved in for a closer inspection but neither barked nor leaped up at them, for which I was relieved. That stuff they were carrying had to be expensive and Georges would undoubtedly make someone pay if it were dropped. That someone mustn’t be Thumper.

They said something to each other, but whether or not they would have spoken to me remains open to question because the hall grew by two more people lugging technologically advanced-looking… things. One was a young woman with dingy blond hair and dragon tattoos on both bare arms, and the other an older man with gray in his hair but the same air of grungy glamour. The four converged without accident, conversing with an amicable intensity that made evident Thumper and I had faded off their mental screens. It was glaringly obvious that Georges’s crew was on the move while he sat in the kitchen waiting presumably for Ben to come and feed him. Which might be a long time coming if provisions were yet to arrive. I knew nothing of the work ethics of directors, but it struck me that his did not set a particularly fine example.

The hall emptied itself save for Thumper and me. I was considering following the four in the hope that they would lead me to a back staircase that I would recognize, when Livonia came out into what passed for light at Mucklesfeld.

“Oh, how glad I am to see you!” Her face was flushed, her dark hair rumpled, and her voice trembled on the verge of hysteria. “I lost Judy within a couple of moments of going down that little corridor.” Pointing into the morass. “She said it would speed things up if I went left looking for the study and she turned right, but when I had no luck and went after her, I couldn’t find her, let alone any room that looked right. Just a couple with nothing in them. You don’t think, Ellie, that she lost me on purpose?”