“When the man, the poacher, whoever he was, when he fired that rifle. We all turned toward the shot, and when I turned back and looked at you, you were reaching into your pocket.”
“Yeah?” The little Colt automatic was still there. I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Looking for some chewing gum, maybe.”
She smiled again, but briefly this time, and patiently. In a polite way, she was letting me know that she didn’t believe me. “You let it go, whatever it was, when you ran to help Jane.”
“You can’t worry about chewing gum when it’s time to be resourceful.”
She laughed. She took another drag from the cigarette, exhaled another streamer of smoke. “It’s just that you’ve never really impressed me as looking very much like a personal secretary.” “No? What does a personal secretary look like?”
“Well,” she said, “I confess that I’ve met only a few of them. But most of them were little men, rather prissy and self-important. And physically cautious, I should’ve thought.” She smiled. ‘I can't imagine any of them running off into the forest after someone, as you did. Particularly someone in possession of a rifle.”
“No big deal. Just trying to help out. Would you mind if I asked you a question?”
“Are you any better at asking them than you are at answering them?”
“Maybe we’ll find out.”
She nodded. “Go ahead, then.”
“Is this something you usually do? Attend seances?”
“Heavens, no.” She inhaled some smoke, exhaled. “It’s my first time, and probably my last. Sitting around a table in the dark, holding the damp hand of some stranger, isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”
“But not all these people are strangers. Sir David, for example. I got the feeling you knew him pretty well.”
“David? For ages. He was a friend of my husband’s.” She paused. “By the way. Have you said anything to David to upset him? Or done anything?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“I could be wrong, of course, but he seems to be harboring some sort of resentment toward you.”
“It’s news to me,” I told her. “You said he was a friend of your husband’s. Past tense. They’re not friends these days?”
“My husband died in the War.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The phrase sounded thin and frail, the way it always sounds when it comes up against endings.
“There’s no need to be,” she said.
“No?”
She looked at me. “Were you in the War, Mr. Beaumont?”
“For a while.”
She smiled briefly. “Then perhaps you know that not everyone who died in the course of it was a hero.”
I nodded. I said nothing. There was a bitterness simmering beneath her words, and I was curious about it. But to learn more, I would have to open her up-and to do that, I would have to open up myself.
She took a final drag of the cigarette, long and deep. Exhaling, she said, “My husband and I separated from each other a very long time ago.” She dropped the cigarette to the ground. Elegantly, she uncrossed her legs and bent forward, her hands against the bench. She watched as the sole of her white pump carefully crushed the cigarette into the grass and buried it there. She sat back, knees together, hands atop the purse on her lap, and she looked over at me. “At the time he died, we hadn’t seen each other for nearly ten years.”
I nodded. “Getting back to the seance. Why’d you come?”
She smiled. “You are rather better at asking questions.”
I smiled back.
“Well,” she said, “in the end it’s difficult to say no to Alice. Impossible, really. She’s been a friend for years, and a good one. She’s quite enraptured with this woman, this Madame Sosostris, and she wanted me to meet her. And when she mentioned that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be coming, she knew she had me.”
“When did she ask you?”
“On Tuesday. We lunched together.”
“Did Lady Purleigh say anything about Houdini being here?”
“No. I didn’t know about that until I arrived yesterday.” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly once again. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Curious.”
She nodded, but I think she had scratched another mental chalk mark against my honesty. “Have you been working with Mr. Houdini for a long time?”
“Not long, no.”
“He’s quite a legend in his own right, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. Quite.”
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Beaumont!” It was Doyle, striding tall and hardy down the walkway between the flowers.
Chapter Fourteen
He plucked off his hat as he approached us. He was smiling that big boyish smile of his, the boxy teeth gleaming like old polished ivory beneath his bristling white mustache.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” he said, bobbing his big pink head at Mrs. Corneille.
I stood up. “Mrs. Corneille, this is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” As though she hadn’t figured that out already. “Sir Arthur, Mrs. Corneille.”
Still sitting, she smiled as she held out her hand. Doyle took it gently between his bulky fingers and he bobbed his head again.
“Delighted,” he said.
“What a great pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed your writings for many, many years.”
Doyle beamed and released her. “Not that many, surely?” His hands clasped behind him, he hovered over her like a schoolteacher over a prize pupil. “I know that I’m been writing them for many, many years. But surely it’s impossible that you’ve been reading them for so very long.”
“You are most gallant,” she said, smiling up at him from the shade he cast.
“Ah, well,” he said, standing upright and shaking his head sadly. “I’m afraid you may have cause to revise your kind opinion. As it happens, I’ve come to disconvenience you, and most ungallantly. Would you mind terribly if I absconded with Mr. Beaumont for a few moments? It’s a rather pressing matter or I shouldn’t think to disturb you. I promise you that I shall return him to you in perfect health.”
“You disturb me not at all,” she said. “Actually, I was just about to return to the house. The sunshine is wonderful, but I believe I’m beginning to burn.” She stood up. “Mr. Beaumont, thank you so much for entertaining me.” I couldn’t tell whether she was playing around with the word entertaining. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion at some other time.”
“I’d like that,” I told her.
His face concerned, Doyle asked her, “Are you certain that I’m not intruding?”
“Entirely,” she told him. “It’s been lovely to meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing you again.”
“That you shall,” said Doyle, giving her another bob of his head, “if I have anything to say about it.”
With a final glance at me, she lightly turned and lightly walked away, her dress as white as a wisp of cloud against the brightly colored rows of flowers.
Gallantly, Doyle edged his big body to the side, so he couldn’t watch her leave. He put on his hat and he lowered his head toward me and lowered his voice and he said, “What a handsome woman.”
“And then some,” I said.
“And clever into the bargain, I’ll wager.”
“That’s not a wager I’d take.”
