She Shoots to Conquer

could get in the kitchen from Ben, which would be preferable to a solitary ponder. I was within a foot of the door when a scream even louder than the one hurled from Molly Duggan rent the air. Turning, I beheld all the contestants on their feet, but it was Wanda who appeared to be doing some sort of tribal dance while still emitting that dreadful sound to a grim chorus of the word Rat!

“No need to carry on so!” Mrs. Foot’s voice conveyed both contempt and annoyance. “You’re all frightening the little precious! Isn’t that right, Mr. Plunket and Boris?”

“They are at that, Mrs. Foot.” Mr. Plunket nodded.

“I’ll get him for you, Mrs. Foot.” Boris made a move toward Wanda, who was now clutching at the bust of which she was so justifiably proud.

“It came down my neck. I’ll never get past the feel of its vile fur and horrible raw tail.” Gone-perhaps never to return-was the bubbly woman flush with her own charms. Clearly she had missed landing on Lady Annabel or she would have fled.

Despite Judy Nunn’s efforts to calm her down, she was out the door, to be heard racing up the stairs, alternately sobbing and swearing. Alas, the library was not to be left in relative peace. Molly began weeping, and Mrs. Malloy overrode all other voices to state that her George had once asked if he could have a pet rat and she’d told him over his dead body! Meanwhile, Mrs. Foot, Mr. Plunket, and Boris had all dropped to their knees and were crawling around the floor making crooning noises. A pink nose twitched a whiskered peek out from under a chair, and before anyone else started screaming, Mrs. Foot was staggering to her feet with the little darling in her hands. Her cooing voice with accompaniment by Mr. Plunket and Boris followed me out of the library.

Let Georges restore order in there, not that Wanda didn’t have my utmost sympathy. I made for the kitchen, plate in hand, and to my delighted relief Ben was there in his temporary kingdom. His face lit up at seeing me. My heart sang, but rushing into his arms might have caused the loss of my spoils, so I just stood smiling at him as I said: “Alone at last!”

“Sweetheart!” He removed the plate, set it on the table, and gathered me to him, kissing me with tender passion, before asking my forgiveness for earlier. “I was completely out of line; don’t know what got into me going off on you like that.”

“It’s this house, darling! For the past thirty years or so it has been steeped in misery, haunted by whatever emotions-venomous anger or grief-that Sir Giles Belfrey felt, coupled with the spite of his daughter, Celia, toward his wife.” I reached for a cucumber sandwich. “Do you have time now to talk about all that? I’d like to get your thoughts…”

Life at Mucklesfeld was a series of interruptions. Lord Belfrey came through the kitchen door, his presence as it must always do transforming the most mundane of surroundings into something grand.

“Am I intruding?” His smile extended to both of us, but his dark eyes appeared intent only upon my face. Fortunately, if Ben noticed, he gave no sign.

“Not at all,” we both said together.

“I wanted to thank you, Mr. Has… Ben… for the wonderful meals you are providing, and,” a hesitation, “no offense intended, to stress the necessity of making sure any alcohol is put where Mr. Plunket is unlikely to find it. He’s done so well over recent months and for his sake I’d like to prevent a relapse.”

“Of course,” Ben responded with equal seriousness. “I found a couple of old metal bread boxes that from the dust on them hadn’t been touched in years way to the back of the top pantry shelf. They’re back up there, considerably heavier.”

“I appreciate it.” His lordship nodded. “Better safe than sorry. Mr. Plunket admitted to me that he was a violent drunk. Terrible thing, alcoholism-an illness, no doubt about that. Could be the fate of any of us. Sorry to put you to the trouble climbing stepladders.”

“There was a bonus.” Ben smiled. “When getting down the bread boxes, I found a torch I needed to look into the cooker.”

“If it’s not strong enough, there’s one in my desk with a really powerful beam.”

A further interruption when Mr. Plunket, Mrs. Foot, and Boris forged into the kitchen at once, all of them guiding the tea trolley, which typical of its kind wanted to go its own way. Conversation with my husband being effectively nixed, I again took up my plate, waved a hand at him in particular and the rest in general, and headed out into the hall and up the main staircase. By now I no longer felt in need of a map to reach the former servants’ quarters, and I arrived at my corridor after no false turns to hear raised voices coming from a room two or three doors from mine. The one sounding most clearly to my ear was Mrs. Malloy’s, and she was speaking kindly. Nanny would have to hand out gold stars.

“No one’s saying you’re making a giant fuss, Wanda. If anyone sympathizes it’s me, seeing as how at least three of me husbands was rats. But what Livonia here and me is saying is the thing will be put back in its cage.”

“And escape again! No, thank you! I’m packing up and getting out of here this minute.”

“It’s not Houdini!”

“No.” Livonia sounded doubtful.

“Stuff the reassurances.” A thump suggested Wanda had tossed a suitcase on the bed. “That Boris the zombie was in the circus, wasn’t he? Teaching the… thing to open the cage door would be child’s play to him. Ghosts, even the real kind, don’t scare me, but rats! Let me tell you, we had chickens when I was a kid and they attract them by the dozen. One day my brother picked up a dead one and threw it so it landed on my shoulder. That’s something you don’t get over. Ever! Where’s my flaming nightdress?”

“Here,” Livonia said.

“Ladies, I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.” Wanda sounded conciliatory. “But I’m leaving.”

“I do understand. I do really. I was ready to bolt this morning, but life can change in an instant for the… the wonderful.”

“Or go the other way,” Mrs. Malloy the eternal pessimist, “but think of what you’ll be giving up-the chance to marry a lord. Now, that opportunity don’t come along with a bag of crisps, and when all’s said and done, you’re not a bad-looking woman. Perhaps too quick to think you’re a laugh a minute, but in my book that’s a lot better than yapping on about what kind of dirt is best for growing roses.”

“When it comes to looks and the title, he’s a catch, all right, but this place-rat-infested dump-you can keep! Sure, I know what was laid out on the application form about the emphasis on the practical, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Anyway, I’m telling you the chance of this lord falling for any of us is zip. He might as well be married and about to celebrate his bloomin’ golden anniversary from the shuttered look in his eyes. And I wasn’t born with this figure to let it go to waste. If you’ll take advice from someone who’s been around the dance floor, don’t either of you be fools and get stuck here for life!”

Another thump suggesting the suitcase hit the floor had me flitting into my room. Shameless to have eavesdropped. Worse that remorse did not set in as I applied myself to another cucumber sandwich, followed by another of egg and cress, a strawberry tart, and a mini coffee eclair. Having strategically left my door ajar, I heard the exodus down the hall-Mrs. Malloy and Livonia presumably returning to the library, hopefully not having kept Lord Belfrey waiting; Wanda to exit Mucklesfeld.

The number of contestants would again be reduced to five, but perhaps that was the intent now that Here Comes the Bride was under way. A process of attrition until only the strongest of the six remained and Lord Belfrey’s choice was made for him. Georges and his scare tactics, although presumably he was not responsible for Whitey’s intrusion on the scene. It was obvious why Lady Annabel’s appearance had not taken place under the glaring gaze of the cameras. The less light the better in fooling the susceptible eye; but that the momentous event had not been recorded for the entertainment of future viewers was unthinkable, which meant hidden cameras. Devious Georges! Keeping the contestants continually off balance as to when or where they were being filmed.

Meanwhile, I pictured the reaction to Wanda’s departure, Lord Belfrey sizing up the remaining contestants. My guess was that he would be drawn to Judy Nunn, a woman both energized and restful. Her passion might never extend beyond the grounds to the house, but she would have the organizational skills to put others successfully to work in areas not of her expertise. At this juncture the timid Molly Duggan would not have emotion to spare on jealousy of a particular rival, but would Alice Jones, like Mrs. Malloy, have already sized up Judy as the woman to beat to the altar?

The evening passed quickly despite my feeling confined like Bertha Mason Rochester to the attic. I’d unearthed