*
The promenade with Griffe was interminable. Griffe practically wallowed in the pleasure of pointing out to Miss Flax (whom he of course addressed as Miss Stonewall) the beauties of the formal gardens behind Chateau de Roche. The great lout made even tall Miss Flax seem as dainty as a Dresden doll. Gabriel was doomed to slouch behind them at a cousinly distance, hands in trouser pockets and irritation lapping over him in waves.
Gabriel watched as Miss Flax and Griffe bent their heads over a dormant rosebush. Miss Flax said something, and Griffe chortled.
Gabriel realized he must do something about this, once and for all.
Tonight.
*
“Why so grumpy?” Ophelia edged close to the professor. Griffe had been waylaid by two ladies and a gentleman of his acquaintance, who were also enjoying the sunset light in the formal gardens.
“Grumpy?” Penrose straightened his spectacles. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I figured you were getting peckish for dinner.”
“Oh. No. Well, perhaps.”
“I’ve been perishing to speak with you and I haven’t had a chance.” Ophelia glanced at Griffe. Still talking. She lowered her voice. “Did you happen to see Monsieur Malbert’s traveling trunk in the drive?”
“No.”
“Well, it had breathing holes in it.”
“Breathing holes? Whatever do you—”
“And it was big enough for, well, for a person.”
“Good God—but that is preposterous!”
“Henrietta’s still missing. Malbert is mad. I’ve got to check it. I hope I’ve made a mistake, but I can’t rest easy till I see with my own eyes.” Ophelia paused. “So. Will you help me?”
“You mean, help you sneak into Malbert’s chamber?”
“Yes.”
“All right. But you’ve got to disentangle yourself from Griffe. Tell him you’re having one of those fits you ladies have, why don’t you?”
“I’ll leave the fits to the grand ladies of the world. I don’t have the time.”
*
Ten minutes later, Ophelia hid behind a huge, blue-and-white vase in the corridor outside Malbert’s chamber. They had learned the location of Malbert’s chamber easily enough; Penrose had simply greased a footman’s palm.
Penrose rapped on the door. It opened. Penrose and Malbert held a brief exchange in French, and then the door hit home.
Penrose came to Ophelia. “No luck.”
“He didn’t buy your line about wishing to borrow a cufflink?”
“I’m afraid not, and he was rather suspicious that I had asked. We’ve never met, you realize.”
“Did you see the trunk?”
“He blocked my view.”
“Then we must wait till he leaves, and then go in.”
“You’re determined to do this?”
“The last time I saw him he was waving a meat cleaver at me!”
“Fair enough.”
They hid behind the vase for more than twenty minutes. At last, Malbert’s door opened. They looked around the vase. Malbert waddled down the corridor in the opposite direction, pulling his traveling trunk behind him. Wheels were affixed to the bottom and Malbert held it by a hand strap. The wheels squeaked softly.
“What in Godfrey’s green earth?” Ophelia whispered. “I knew he was up to something. I knew it!”
They crept along after Malbert, through a puzzle of richly decorated corridors and into a bare, spiraling stairwell. Malbert took great care to gently bump the trunk down each step. On the ground floor, a door led outside. Malbert had left it ajar.
He was setting off across a twilit side garden when Ophelia and Penrose dared to look out the door.
“Where is he going?” Penrose murmured.
“Hopefully not to bury anything.” Ophelia swallowed. “Or anyone.” She sure as sheep-dip didn’t want to see that.