Delgatto closed the door behind him, berating himself for the close call. He hadn’t had time to rid himself of the entire highwayman’s costume and had hidden it under the bed instead, waiting for the opportune time. After all, he didn’t want anyone to make a connection between a crippled count and the very mobile highwayman.
How the hell was he supposed to know the maid would be there?
At least she’d fallen for his charming stranger routine. His stomach suddenly twisted with an unfamiliar emotion. It took him a moment to identify it: honest guilt.
If truth be known, he wasn’t being charming merely to distract her from his real mission. He’d been attracted to her, pure and simple. He remembered her with all too much clarity from the train.
At first, he’d thought she was an angel. Considering his rather devilish nature, it seemed like a good offset, good to balance evil.
But now, as in the rest of his career, he didn’t have time to pursue any sort of natural pairing, no personal relationships with a maid, a madam or a matron.
Come to think of it . . .
The key—pardon the pun—attraction of a maid was access to her passkey, something he’d found infinitely useful in the future. Then again, that was . . . or at least would be . . . the days of electronic card locks one couldn’t easily pick without a slew of electronic gadgets. He glanced at the polished wooden door and its simple and ineffective lock.
Who needs a passkey ?
Something else twisted in his gut, this time a pang rather than a pain.
Me, if it means getting a chance to be close to her.
Delgatto shook his head as if able to shake away such counterproductive thoughts.
Bad boy. Let’s get our mind out of the gutter, okay, Delgatto ?
What he needed to do was concentrate on exactly how he was going to rid himself of the costume without anyone knowing.
His decision?
Do it one piece at a time, and in different places. If he played his cards right, no one would be able to trace any of the highwayman’s costume back to the recovering count out for a stroll. He reached under the bed and retrieved the bundle, separating out the brocade vest and securing the rest back in its hiding place. Folding the vest into the smallest possible bundle, he slipped it into the pocket of his heavy coat where it barely made a bulge.
It was high time for the count to venture outside for a bracing blast of winter air. For a moment, he had a mental image of himself as another count—in this case, Dracula—swooping down on the unsuspecting Emily Drewett, paying particular attention to her very lovely neck.
Get a grip, man.
There was a time for everything, and this was the right time to start ridding himself of the costume.
His belabored trip to the front foyer was filled with Christmas greetings and congratulations for his newfound abilities. Only one person seemed less than enthused about his miraculous recovery.
The Major.
Perhaps it was the man’s usual nature to be suspicious of everybody and about everything. But when he approached Delgatto, he wore something beyond his usual aloof look. His words bordered on mockery. “I see congratulations are indeed in order, Monsieur Galludat. I’d heard word of your Christmas miracle, and I see the gossip was true. You’re walking.”
“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” Delgatto exclaimed with just the right tinge of excitement. “And I owe it all to The Chesterfield.”
The Major cracked the smallest and coldest of smiles. “That’s not what I heard. Someone said you were crediting your . . . miracle to one of our guests.” His expression said, And if you do, you’re either the biggest fool in these parts or have a scam going.
Delgatto shrugged, nearly losing his balance on the crutches. “What can I say? I’m French, and we’re notorious for being hopeless romantics. I will admit that a beautiful young woman may have helped me gird my strength, but in reality, it was the restorative powers of the hot springs and those magnifique mud baths that caused me to regain that strength in the first place. As to the beautiful young woman dressed in white with angel wings and wearing a feathered mask, she’s merely the one who inspired me to reach this new plateau.”
He paused for a moment. “You wouldn’t happen to know who she was, would you? I’d like to thank her for providing me such sterling motivation.”
“I know who you’re talking about”—the Major blushed slightly—“but I never saw her unmasked. I’m afraid I don’t know who she was, either.”
Aha! So the Major had noticed her, too. Probably every man in the place had. But Delgatto found it oddly disconcerting to learn the Major had a heart buried deep within his stiff personality and even worse, that they might have the same taste in women.
Delgatto pressed on. “If you do learn who she is, would you let me know? I’d like a chance to express my thanks in person.”
“Certainly.” The blush faded quickly and the Major turned back into his usual self, a stiff, efficient manager. But his sense of distrust melted away as well. “Then let me wish you a Happy Christmas as well as give you my congratulations for your first steps on a road of recovery.”
“Thank you, Major Payne.”
“Should I call a carriage for you?” The Major nodded at Delgatto’s coat.
“No, thank you. I’m merely stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.” And to get rid of some of the evidence.
“Then I’ll let you be on your way. Good evening, sir.” The military man pivoted sharply and headed off in the opposite direction, most probably to accost some other poor, innocent schmuck.
The doorman wore a smile as wide as the door he opened. By the time Delgatto reached the first chair on the covered porch, a dozen people had greeted him and half of them made highly encouraging remarks about his newfound abilities. It almost made him sad to be fooling them. Then again, no one would be hurt by his actions. All he intended to do was track down his family’s possession and restore it to their ownership.
Their rightful ownership.
He managed to clump down the portico stairs just awkwardly enough to look inexperienced with the crutches as well as with his new sense of mobility, but possessing enough control that no one tried to help him. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a large barrel filled with ash.
The bellboy named Rupert was trudging up the driveway, evidently returning from one of the outlying buildings. He greeted Delgatto with a hearty hello.
“I heard you were back on your feet, Mr. Galludat. Congratulations. A Christmas miracle, indeed.”
“Thanks, Rupert. Do you have a minute?”
The young man snapped a salute. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?” He looked poised, as if ready to dash off on whatever mission Count Galludat might require of him.
“Relax. I have only a few questions. It’s more a matter of satisfying idle curiosity.” He pointed to the ash-filled barrel. “What is the purpose of this barrel?”
Rupert rubbed his hands together briskly and blew on them. “Normally, during winter, the grooms and the doorman keep a fire in here so they can warm their hands while they attend to the carriages. And see this little trap door?” The young man used the toe of his boot to indicate an opening at the bottom of the barrel.
“You can open that and get out the ashes. We use them to spread on the driveway when it gets icy. It helps the wheels get more traction.” He paused, then smiled. “I thought of that myself.”
“Ingenious.”
“Thank you, sir. Anything else pique your curiosity? I’m your man with all the answers. If I don’t know it, I’ll make it up.” He laughed. “Sorry, sir. I get a little slaphappy at Christmas.”
Delgatto shrugged. “No more questions that I know of, but I’ll make sure to ask you, should any occur to me. You do seem to have your finger on the pulse of whatever goes on around here.”
The young man beamed. “Indeed I do, sir. You never know when you’ll learn something new from a guest or figure out a better, more profitable way to do something. I do try to keep my ears open and my mouth shut.”
“Smart lad.”
Someone called Rupert’s name and he made a face. “It’s Mrs. Biddle again.” He leaned closer in obvious conspiracy. “That woman frightens me. I’d better go see what she wants.”
“Sure. Oh . . . by the way, last night at the Christmas ball, there was a woman, a young one, dressed like an angel or a fairy—something with wings. Would you happened to know who that was?”
Rupert shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry. I don’t.”
Mrs. Biddle repeated his name, this time with more insistence.
He grimaced. “Sorry, sir. I’d better go see what she wants. Bye, Mon-shur G.” He dashed up the stairs.
Delgatto remained at the barrel, pretending to admire the scenery, but actually scoping out the people in the general vicinity. To his relief, Mrs. Biddle raised her voice, garnering the attention of everyone within listening range. While everyone was distracted, he slipped the vest into the barrel, making sure it was hidden beneath charred sticks and not visible to the casual observer. He patted his jacket for a match but found none.
What he’d give for a butane lighter.
Lacking that, he prayed that one of the staff would find a need to start a fire very soon. Until then, the vest was at least in a better hiding place, one that couldn’t be tracked to him.
He brushed off his hands and started the long, theatrical mounting of the stairs.
Can you say “genius”?
Later that day, he began his stair-exercise routine after submitting himself to a long soak in the mud bath. In all honesty, the baths did seem to have some beneficial effects. After his long soak, he felt unusually limber, and it was hard not to reflect that with a renewed spring in his step. It wouldn’t do for him to recuperate too quickly.
He stood at the foot of the grand staircase and began to climb it. He had proceeded up six steps when he heard a familiar voice call his name. “Monsieur Galludat?”
He turned. “Yes, Major Payne?”
The Major caught him in a steel-trap glare. “I need to talk to you.” His face darkened. “Now.”
Delgatto had no option but to follow the man. To refuse would have caused more of a spectacle, more attention than Delgatto wanted at the moment. As he hobbled behind the man on the long trek to the office, he felt like a recalcitrant schoolboy being hauled by a teacher to face corporal punishment at the hands of the Headmaster de Sade.
Had Emily the maid complained about him? Told about how the two of them had fallen onto his bed? The memory of her almost made him smile. Then he remembered where he was going. If he only knew why.
Once they reached the office, the Major closed the door for privacy and stalked around his desk. He sat, folded his hands on the desk blotter, and leaned forward.
“Who are you?”
Delgatto decided cool indignation would be the appropriate response. “What do you mean, ‘Who are you?’ I’m Robert Georges Galludat from France.”
The man shook his head. “Try again.” He reached down and pulled out the brocade vest Delgatto had fashioned from a purloined cushion. He arranged it on the desk, smoothing the wrinkles from the fabric. “One of the attendants saw you throwing this away. He didn’t understand the ramifications of it, but I certainly do. I’m a very observant man. I recognize the material from a costume I saw at the Christmas ball.” His eyes glazed over with a frigid look. “When you were wearing this vest, you needed no wheelchair, no crutches. So I ask again. Who are you?”
A dozen explanations exploded in Delgatto’s head. A scam artist always had one or two pet tricks up his proverbial sleeve, but most of Delgatto’s hinged on technology that wouldn’t exist for another hundred years. So he winged it, dropping the count’s nondescript European accent and speaking in a decidedly American one. “Sir, I’ll have to ask for your confidence in this matter.”
The Major looked unimpressed. “That depends on what sort of confidence trick you’re trying to pull.” He reached below the level of the desk and returned, depositing a pistol on the desk. He wasted no time making threats. Delgatto had no qualms that the man would shoot.
He had to think and think fast. Inspiration hit.
Delgatto cleared his throat. “My name is East, sir. James East.” He stood up straighter, abandoning his prop crutches. If he was going to make the Major believe this “Wild, Wild East” scenario, he had to play every angle. “And I work for a special detail of the Secret Service under the direct supervision of the president.”
“President Harrison?”
Thanks, I couldn’t remember who was President. “Yes, sir. I was sent here undercover to conduct an inspection of The Chesterfield and its staff.”
“Why?”
Why, indeed. A presidential vacation? A let’s-play-hide-the-cigar assignation? It had to be good, and it couldn’t be anything close to the truth. If the Major knew he was looking for a priceless jewel, greed might get the better of the man. It had to be something the Major couldn’t directly profit from.
Inspiration hit again.
“The president is going to be entering some delicate negotiations with a country I’m not at liberty to name. The . . . foreign negotiators are willing to meet on American soil, but not in Washington. They don’t want us to have a home-field advantage, so to speak. So I’ve been sent to determine what level of protection and comfort we could find should The Chesterfield be chosen as the location for this very important meeting.”
Mayor Payne looked like he was warming to the scam. He hadn’t tumbled completely, but to Delgatto’s relief, he returned the gun to the drawer. “But why pose as an invalid?”
“I can’t really tell you much.” The stalling technique bought a second or two. “However, one of the participants would benefit as much personally from The Chesterfield’s hot springs as his country would from a successful negotiation with the U.S.” He held out his two open palms. “Two birds, one stone . . .”
“When is this supposed to occur?”
The smart scam artist knew when to have all the answers and when to play dumb. Delgatto played his hand. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”
“What about our guests who already have reservations?”
He shrugged. “Decisions like that are made on a level far above me. I’m here merely at the president’s request to determine if the building and its grounds could be made secure enough for such an important and pivotal visit.” He leaned forward in obvious conspiracy. “Certainly, many of your guests are—shall we say—high profile and would be amenable to postponing their vacations as a personal favor to the president. Those who might not be so inclined out of sheer patriotism would be handsomely recompensed for the interruption in their plans.”
“At the government’s cost,” the Major prompted.
“Absolutely.” Delgatto stood at attention. “We can count on your cooperation and silence concerning this matter, can’t we?”
For one long moment, Delgatto wondered if the hook had been set deep enough to haul the Major in. The man scratched his chin in contemplation for several seconds. Then, to Delgatto’s relief, the Major stood, stuck out his hand, and said, “Absolutely. I’ll do anything I can for my commander-in-chief.”
They shook hands, and Delgatto heaved an artful sigh. “I’ll have to inform my immediate superior that I had to break confidence to brief you. However, he’s going to be very impressed that you penetrated my disguise. It speaks well of your security measures.”
The man puffed up like a preening peacock. “I take pride in doing my job well.” He paused. “Is there any other assistance, information, anything else you need?”
Delgatto pretended to contemplate the request. “All I can ask is that you deflect or defuse any attention or concerns that might be given me by the staff or guests.”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you. Your country appreciates your cooperation.”
The Major stood and saluted smartly. Delgatto acknowledged the gesture with a casual imitation. He reclaimed his crutches, made a grand show of adopting his former identity, and moved awkwardly toward the door. He stopped and turned around. While he was spinning the world’s biggest yarn, he might add a little embroidery for his own sake. “One last thing . . .”
“Yes?”
“You may see me in close proximity to one of the hotel’s female guests or staff member. If it is an employee, I’d appreciate it if you don’t reprimand her and will allow me to conduct that part of the investigation unhampered.”
“One of our employees? I don’t understand.”
“I can’t go into much detail, but I’m looking for a woman who may have family connections that could possible aid the negotiations.” Ah yes, the Master Manipulator strikes again.
The Major looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone with ties to the old country.”
“Oh . . . I see. Well, I’ll turn a blind eye to any seeming improprieties as long as you can assure me nothing of an actual improper nature is occurring.”
“Absolutely. Thank you, sir.”
After the door closed behind him, he tried not to smile.
This is much too easy.