Nine Coaches Waiting (12 page)

"Of course. Of course. And you, too, Miss Martin. You have had a shock-"

"Yes, but I'm angry too, and I find it helps. I'll go and see Monsieur de Valmy as soon as I've taken Philippe in."

She was nodding in a shocked, half-comprehending way. "Yes. Yes, of course. Monsieur de Valmy will be terribly- annoyed. Terribly annoyed."

"I hope," I said grimly, "that that's an understatement Come on, Philippe, let's go and find Berthe. Madame…

As we left her I glanced back to see her hurrying away, towards the corner of the terrace. To tell Léon de Valmy herself, no doubt. Well, the sooner the better, I thought, and swept Philippe into the house and upstairs to the haven of the schoolroom.

Berthe was in the pantry, busy with some cleaning. After a swift explanation that shocked her as much as it had Héloïse, I would have left Philippe with her, but he clung to me, and looked so suspiciously like crying again that I stayed with him. Madame de Valmy had certainly taken the tale straight to her husband, who would, no doubt, put the necessary machinery in motion to discover the culprit. For me, Philippe was the first concern.

So I stayed with him and talked determinedly light-hearted nonsense to distract him till at length, fresh from a hot bath, he was safely ensconced with a book on the rug by the schoolroom fire. He made no objection when Berthe brought in her mending and prepared to keep him company while I went down to see his uncle.

Léon de Valmy was alone in the library. I had not been in the room before. It was a high room, lit with two long windows, but warmed and made darker by the oak bookshelves lining it from floor to ceiling. Above the fireplace a huge portrait glowed against the panelling; my first glance told me that it was a young portrait of Raoul de Valmy, looking very handsome in riding-clothes, one hand holding a whip, the other the bridle of a grey Arab pony with large soft eyes and a dark muzzle. I wondered why his father kept it there. Below the portrait a log-fire burned in the open hearth, which was flanked by a single armchair. The room contained, apart from its thousands of books and a big desk beside one window, very little furniture. I realised the reason for this as Léon de Valmy's wheel-chair turned from a side-table where he had been leafing through a pile of papers, and glided towards the fire, there to stop in the vacant place opposite the single armchair.

"Come and sit down, Miss Martin."

I obeyed him. The first rush of my anger had long since ebbed, but nervousness tightened my throat and made me wonder a little desperately how to start.

Not that there was anything even slightly intimidating about him today. His voice and face were grave and friendly as he turned towards me. It came to me then, with a sense of almost physical shock, that the portrait above the mantel was not of his son, but of Léon himself.

He must have caught my involuntary glance upwards, for his own followed it. He sat in silence for a moment, regarding the picture sombrely, then he turned to me and smiled. "It seems we are an ill-starred race, we Valmys."

There was the same wryness in voice and smile that I remembered from our first encounter. The slightly dramatic phrasing, no less than the repeated and deliberate reference to a state he ostensibly wanted ignored, jarred on me sharply. Did he see everything then, purely in relation to his own misfortune? I said nothing, but looked away from him to the fire.

He said: "I am told we have barely escaped another tragedy this afternoon."

I looked up. (
Another tragedy
.) I said stolidly: "Has Madame de Valmy seen you?"

"She came straight to me. She was very much shocked and upset. It has made her ill. Her heart, I am afraid, is not robust."

He paused and the dark eyes scanned my face. There was nothing now in his own but gentleness and concern. "You, too, Miss Martin. I think you had better have a drink. Sherry? Now supposing you tell me what happened." He reached a hand to the tantalus at his elbow.

"Thank you." I took the glass gratefully. My nervousness had gone. I was left with an empty feeling of reaction and fatigue. In a voice drained of any emotion I told him briefly of the afternoon's events. "Do you know who was out with a gun today?" I asked in conclusion.

He lifted his sherry-glass. "Off-hand, no. Armand Lestocq told me-no, that won't do. He went to Soubirous this afternoon to the sawmill. In any case Armand is never careless with a gun."

"But you’ll be able to find out, won't you? He shouldn't be allowed-
ⁿ

"I am doing my best." A glance. "My active work is mainly done by telephone. And when I do find out he'll be dismissed."

He was turning the glass round and round in his long fingers, watching the gleam and shift of the firelight in the amber liquid. Behind him the mellow brown-and-gold of the books glinted in the firelight. Outside the dusk fell rapidly; the windows were oblongs of murky grey. Soon Seddon would come to draw the curtains and turn on the lights. Now in the flickering glow of the logs the room looked rich and pleasant, even-in this book-lined bay where the fire burned-cosy.

I said: "Someone's been out already to look around?"

He glanced up. "Of course. But the chances are that the culprit would make straight back when he saw what he had done -or nearly done. He wouldn't want to be caught out with the gun." He gave a little smile. "You do realise that whoever it is is going to take quite a bit of trouble to cover his tracks, don't you? Good jobs aren't as easy to get as all that round here."

"If he'd been going to come forward he'd no doubt have come running when he heard me shout," I said. "But I quite see why he's scared to. It might even be a question of police proceedings.”

The dark brows rose. "Police? If there had actually been an accident-yes. But as it is-"

"I don't think it was an accident."

He looked considerably startled. "What in the world arc yon suggesting, then?" Then, as I made no immediate reply, he said in a voice where anger flickered through derision and disbelief: "What else, Miss Martin, what else? Deliberate murder?"

Mockery-but through it I felt anger meeting me, palpable as the beat of a hot wind. The words bit through the air between us. I merely gaped at him, surprised.

Then it drew off. He said, his voice smooth and cold: "You're being a little hysterical, aren't you? Who would want to kill a child? Philippe has no enemies."

No, I thought, and no friends either. Except me. I sat up and met Léon de Valmy's hard stare. I said coolly: "You take me up too quickly, Monsieur de Valmy. I wasn't suggesting anything quite as silly as that. And I am not hysterical."

His mouth relaxed a little. "I apologise. But you gave me a shock. Go on. Explain yourself."

I drank sherry, regarding him straightly. "It's only that I can't quite see how it could have been pure accident. The place was so open and he
must
have been able to hear us fairly easily. I think it was some silly prank-some youth, perhaps, showing off or trying to startle us. And he got nearer than he meant to, and then was so scared of what he'd done that he made off."

"I see." He was silent for a moment. "You had better fill in the details for me. Exactly where were you?"

"We went down the path that short-cuts the zigzag towards the Valmy bridge. We left it about half-way down, where you cross a deep ravine and turn right down the valley."

"I know it. There's a cascade and a trout-pool."

Some fleeting surprise must have shown in my face, for he said quietly: "I have lived at Valmy all my life, Miss Martin."

It was an almost physical effort to keep from looking at the picture above our heads. I said quickly: "Of course. Well, you know how the path runs along the hillside down the valley? After about half a mile it's quite wide, and flat, and there are thick trees on the left going down towards the river, but on the right, above you, they thin out."

I know. An open ride, with grass and beech rising to a ridge of rock. Above the rock is the planted forest."

I nodded. "The pines are about twenty feet high now, and very thick. We were going along the path; Philippe was singing and hopping about ahead of me, not looking where he was going."

"Fortunately, it seems," said Léon de Valmy dryly. "Yes. Well, just as he tripped and fell flat, a bullet went slap into the tree that had tripped him, and I heard the report from above us, to the right."

"From the ridge?"

"I suppose so. It was the best cover, and where it happened there was nothing between us and the ridge except brambles and a few stumps covered with honeysuckle."

"You saw nothing?"

"Nothing. I shouted, and then, of course, I had to attend to Philippe. I suppose I assumed that whoever it was would have had a bad fright, and would come pelting down to see if we were hurt. But he didn't. I'd have gone up to investigate, only I thought I ought to get Philippe straight home."

He was watching me curiously. "You would have done that?"

"Of course. Why not?"

He said slowly: "You are a courageous young woman, are you not?"

"Where's the courage? We both know it couldn't have been deliberate. Why should I be afraid of a fool? "

A pause, then all at once his face lighted with that extraordinarily charming smile. "A young woman might well be afraid to approach a fool armed with a rifle. Don't be angry with me, mademoiselle. It was meant as a compliment."

"I'm sorry." I swallowed, and said as an afterthought: "Thank you."

He smiled again. "Tell me, just how much do you know about guns?"

"Nothing whatever."

"I thought as much. You seem, when you talk of an ‘accident', to be picturing a singularly unlikely one. You think, in fact, that this fool with the gun fired more or less at random through the trees at a barely-seen target, or even at a sound?'

"Yes. And I can't quite see how he didn't know-“

"Exactly. The place was open and you said Philippe was shouting or singing."

"Yes. That's why I thought it must have been meant as a joke."

"Some unauthorised youth with a talent for excitement? Hardly. No, the explanation's far simpler than that. An 'accident' with a gun usually only means one thing-a carelessly- held gun, a stumble (as Philippe stumbled) over a stone or a root… and the gun goes off. I think, myself, that he must have seen Philippe fall, and have thought he had hit him. So… he panicked, and ran away."

"Yes, of course. That does seem to be the answer."

"Well, you can be sure it'll be looked into. The culprit may even come forward when he hears that no damage was done- but personally I don't think he will." The long fingers toyed with the glass. He said, kindly (it could surely not be amusement that so faintly warmed his voice?): "My poor child, you've had a strenuous couple of days, haven't you? We're very grateful to you, my wife and I, for your care of Philippe. I'm sorry it's been such a frightening burden today."

"It's not a burden. And I'm very happy here."

"Are you? I'm glad. And don't worry any more about this business. After all, whether we find the man or not, it's not likely to happen again. Has Philippe got over his fright?"

"I think so."

"There's no need to call a doctor, or take any measures of that kind?"

"Oh no. He's perfectly all right now. I doubt if he really knows how-how near it was. He seemed quite happy when I left him, but I did have to promise to go back and play a game before bed-time."

"Then I won't keep you. But finish your sherry first, won't you?"

I obeyed him, then set the glass down and said carefully: "Monsieur de Valmy, before I go, I have a confession to make."

An eyebrow lifted. I was right. It was amusement.

I said: "No, I'm serious. I-I've been deceiving you and Madame de Valmy, and I can't do it any longer. I’ve got to tell you."

The glint was still there. He said gravely: "I’m listening. How have you deceived us?"

I said, in French: "This is how I’ve deceived you, monsieur-ever since I came into the house, and I think it’s high time I came clean."

There was a short silence.

"I see," he said. "Not just good French, either; the French of France, Miss Martin. Well, let's have it. Come clean."

The murder was out. It was over. My useless deception was confessed, and nothing had happened except that Léon de Valmy had laughed rather a lot-not only at the shifts I had been put to, but at the idea that my job should be contingent on an ignorance of French. Shamefacedly, I laughed with him, only too ready, in my relief, to admit my own folly. But…

Somewhere, deep inside me, something was protesting faintly. But…

But now the Demon King laughed good-temperedly, and, thankfully, I laughed with him.

It was into this scene of hilarity that Raoul de Valmy came a few moments later. I didn't hear him come in until he said from the door: "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were engaged."

"It's all right," said his father. "Come in." With a click, the lights sprang to life. Raoul came round the bookcase into the bay where we sat. "I've just got in-" he began, then saw me sitting there, and paused.

"Good evening, mademoiselle." He glanced from me to his father. "I believe you wanted to see me, sir?" I got quickly to my feet.

"I was just going," I said. I spoke in French, and I saw Raoul's brows lift, but he made no comment. Then I paused, glancing back diffidently at my employer. "Perhaps Monsieur Raoul has found something about the shooting? Has he been out to look for this man?"

"No," said Monsieur de Valmy. He nodded a pleasant dismissal. "Well, Miss Martin, thank you for coming. Goodnight."

"Shooting?" said Raoul sharply.

He was speaking to me. I hesitated and looked uncertainly at Monsieur de Valmy. Raoul said again: "What's this about shooting? Who should I have been looking for?"

"Oh," I said awkwardly-I had, after all, been already dismissed the library-“I thought perhaps… then you don't know what happened this afternoon?"

Raoul had moved between his father's chair and the fireplace and was reaching for the sherry decanter.