Midnight Masquerade Read Online Free PDF Page B

not to appear tonight. If we don’t get them blasted off soon, they’ll be battened on us for days. The snow is still falling. By morning, they won’t be able to move their carriages.”
    This alarming news was enough to get her up off her bed. She struggled manfully to her little feet, had her woman in to tidy her hair, and, with a pathetic effort at a smile, went downstairs. A few guests were loath to tackle the snow, already two inches and higher where the wind had drifted it, but she assured them blithely it was only a sprinkle. If they hastened, they’d make it home with no trouble. No trouble at all.
    It took another half hour before the city guests had straggled upstairs to their rooms. Bertie claimed she was ready for the grave by the time the last of them finally went up. “And I look it,” she said with an accusing stare at her son, who was back hiding in Snippe’s room with Pronto and Deirdre.
    “You’d best hit the tick too, Dick, and let poor Miss Gower get to her bed,” she advised.
    Deirdre had not the least wish to miss out on the excitement. Life was dull with Aunt Charney. Such venturesome goings-on as she was enjoying at Beaulac were a rare event in her life, but she worded her objection in a different light. “Who could possibly sleep with so much worry and confusion surrounding us?” she asked.
    “There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Belami told her. “Mother is right. Why don’t you go on up to bed?”
    Her jaw squared, and a mutinous light entered her gray eyes. “There are a few points I’d like to discuss with you this evening, Belami, while they’re fresh in my mind.”
    “Such as?”
    “I had just returned to the ballroom. I can tell you who was present.”
    “She’s right,” Pronto agreed, “Women have sharper eyes than us. Besides, she’ll only come down and listen at the keyhole. You might as well let her stay.”
    “Oh, very well,” Dick agreed.
    With this warm welcome, she sat on a very hard horsehair sofa and prepared to add her mite to the investigation.
    “Your aunt will blame me in the morning if you have black circles under your eyes,” Bertie said, but sleep was overtaking her. She was too tired to fight with youngsters. Where did they get such stores of energy? They looked as fresh as squirrels in spring, every one of them.
    “I have Mama’s guest list here. Can you help me check off anyone who didn’t come?” Belami said after Bertie had left.
    Between Deirdre and Pronto, the list was soon shortened to possible suspects. After considerable discussion, the possibles were further reduced to what Belami termed “likelies.” “Let us see what cream—or scum— has risen to the top,” he said, thinking aloud.
    “There is old Bessler, the duchess’s boyfriend,” he began.
    “My aunt’s doctor,” Deirdre corrected quickly, but already there was an asterisk by Bessler’s name.
    “An Austrian who came to London five years ago,” Dick continued. “He once had a shingle hung on Harley Street and called himself Doctor, till the College of Surgeons paid him a visit and took away his gold-knobbed cane. He calls himself Herr Bessler now, as he likes to wear something that sounds like a title. You’d be surprised how many folks think it is one.”
    “It means ‘gentleman’ at least,” Deirdre pointed out.
    “And is he one?” Belami asked her archly. “It’s not uncommon for immigrants to hop their social standing up a notch or two when they take up residence in a foreign land. I’m surprised he hasn’t stuck a von in front of his name.”
    “My aunt considers Herr Bessler a gentleman,” she insisted. “A professional man, but genteel. He lives very much in Aunt Charney’s pocket. Ac-tually, he came in the carriage with us. He still treats my aunt, even if his license has been revoked. She had a session with him after she arrived. She had a megrim from the trip,” she added.
    “I expect it set in as soon as she learned I wasn’t