Read Online Why Shoot a Butler by Georgette Heyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Georgette Heyer
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do."
Amberley turned away from the portrait and remarked that the ball was a great success.
Fountain looked pleased. "I think it's going quite well, don't you? Awfully silly, really, but I find I'm not too old to enjoy this sort of thing. Once I can get a lot of cheery people round me in a jolly party with a good band and dancing and all the rest of it, I forget all my worries. Daresay you'll laugh, but this is the kind of thing I like. Always did."
Have you many worries?" said Amberley lightly. "It doesn't look like it."
A cloud descended on Fountain's brow. "I suppose we all have our private troubles," he answered. "There's a good deal of worry attached to a place like this, you know."
"I suppose so. You don't like the house, I gather?"
"No," Fountain said with odd vehemence. "I hate it. I used to think I liked it. Always rather looked forward to living here eventually. But sometimes I wish to God I was back in my town flat, without all the - worries of an estate to bother me."
"Yes, I can quite understand that. But I expect there are compensations."
A grim little smile twisted Fountain's mouth. "Oh yes. There are substantial compensations," he said. "Fact is, I wasn't cut out to be a country squire. Look here, quite sure you don't want me to introduce you to some charmer? No? Well, I must get back to the ballroom. Hope you find your truant." He went on down the passage and Amberley proceeded in a leisurely way to the picture gallery, where he succeeded in retrieving Felicity.
The unmasking was to take place in the ballroom at midnight, immediately before supper. Quite twenty minutes before twelve people had begun to congregate in the hall and ballroom, deserting the inglenooks upstairs for the fun of the unmasking. The noise of laughter and of chatter, mingled with strains of the latest quickstep, floated upstairs, contrasting queerly with the brooding stillness there.
There was a movement in the long passage; a door was opened softly and a girl came out and stood for a moment looking down into the shadows at the far end of the corridor. There was no one in sight, no sound of voices in the picture gallery where the lights still burned; even the medley of sound coming from below was hushed at this end of the house.
The Italian contadina stole along the passage slowly, looking for something. The painted eyes above her looked down as though watching what she would do. She reached the archway and glanced through it into the hall. It was empty. She seemed to hesitate, and still with that feeling that unknown eyes watched her, glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there. She went on, but paused by a court-cupboard and put out her hand as though to touch it. Then she drew it back; it was not a court-cupboard that she was looking for.
Almost at the end of the corridor a slim shaft of light coming from an open door was cast on the opposite wall and caught the corner of a walnut tallboy. The girl saw and went forward.
The open door disclosed the well of the back stairs. She peeped through, but the place seemed deserted. One more look she sent over her shoulder, then glided towards the tallboy and softly pulled out the bottom drawer of its upper half. The drawer ran easily and made no sound, but the brass handles clinked as she released them and the tiny noise made her start guiltily.
The drawer was empty; the girl put one hand in, feeling with trembling fingers along the back.
Something impelled her to look up; the breath caught in her throat, and her groping hand was checked. A shadow had appeared in the panel of light on the wall, the shadow of a man's head.
The girl's eyes remained riveted on it while seconds passed. No sound had betrayed his approach, but someone was behind her, watching.
She slid the drawer home inch by inch; her throat felt parched, her knees shook.
A smooth voice that yet held a note of menace spoke: "Were you looking for something, miss?"
She turned; under the mask she was
Amberley turned away from the portrait and remarked that the ball was a great success.
Fountain looked pleased. "I think it's going quite well, don't you? Awfully silly, really, but I find I'm not too old to enjoy this sort of thing. Once I can get a lot of cheery people round me in a jolly party with a good band and dancing and all the rest of it, I forget all my worries. Daresay you'll laugh, but this is the kind of thing I like. Always did."
Have you many worries?" said Amberley lightly. "It doesn't look like it."
A cloud descended on Fountain's brow. "I suppose we all have our private troubles," he answered. "There's a good deal of worry attached to a place like this, you know."
"I suppose so. You don't like the house, I gather?"
"No," Fountain said with odd vehemence. "I hate it. I used to think I liked it. Always rather looked forward to living here eventually. But sometimes I wish to God I was back in my town flat, without all the - worries of an estate to bother me."
"Yes, I can quite understand that. But I expect there are compensations."
A grim little smile twisted Fountain's mouth. "Oh yes. There are substantial compensations," he said. "Fact is, I wasn't cut out to be a country squire. Look here, quite sure you don't want me to introduce you to some charmer? No? Well, I must get back to the ballroom. Hope you find your truant." He went on down the passage and Amberley proceeded in a leisurely way to the picture gallery, where he succeeded in retrieving Felicity.
The unmasking was to take place in the ballroom at midnight, immediately before supper. Quite twenty minutes before twelve people had begun to congregate in the hall and ballroom, deserting the inglenooks upstairs for the fun of the unmasking. The noise of laughter and of chatter, mingled with strains of the latest quickstep, floated upstairs, contrasting queerly with the brooding stillness there.
There was a movement in the long passage; a door was opened softly and a girl came out and stood for a moment looking down into the shadows at the far end of the corridor. There was no one in sight, no sound of voices in the picture gallery where the lights still burned; even the medley of sound coming from below was hushed at this end of the house.
The Italian contadina stole along the passage slowly, looking for something. The painted eyes above her looked down as though watching what she would do. She reached the archway and glanced through it into the hall. It was empty. She seemed to hesitate, and still with that feeling that unknown eyes watched her, glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there. She went on, but paused by a court-cupboard and put out her hand as though to touch it. Then she drew it back; it was not a court-cupboard that she was looking for.
Almost at the end of the corridor a slim shaft of light coming from an open door was cast on the opposite wall and caught the corner of a walnut tallboy. The girl saw and went forward.
The open door disclosed the well of the back stairs. She peeped through, but the place seemed deserted. One more look she sent over her shoulder, then glided towards the tallboy and softly pulled out the bottom drawer of its upper half. The drawer ran easily and made no sound, but the brass handles clinked as she released them and the tiny noise made her start guiltily.
The drawer was empty; the girl put one hand in, feeling with trembling fingers along the back.
Something impelled her to look up; the breath caught in her throat, and her groping hand was checked. A shadow had appeared in the panel of light on the wall, the shadow of a man's head.
The girl's eyes remained riveted on it while seconds passed. No sound had betrayed his approach, but someone was behind her, watching.
She slid the drawer home inch by inch; her throat felt parched, her knees shook.
A smooth voice that yet held a note of menace spoke: "Were you looking for something, miss?"
She turned; under the mask she was
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