Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror Page 13

  But before she could answer her own question, a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair, a thick waist, and an enormous bust flitted over and said, “Frick, what seems to be the trouble?”

  “These people aren’t on the guest list, madam,” said the butler. The woman eyed them. As her glance fell on Nick she started and began to breathe heavily.

  “Let them in,” she said, fanning herself.

  “But madam,” said the butler.

  “We’re having problems getting people to come tonight,” she said. “They’re afraid of the shadow monsters. We need more guests.” She leaned over to him and stage whispered. “The gossip will ruin us. Let them in.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Parrot,” said the butler.

  The woman inflicted a horrible smile on Nick, draped herself around him, and began to walk him into the house.

  “Now what did you say your name was, darling?” she said.

  “Muffet,” said Nick. “I’m Nick Muffet and this is my intended, Amanda Lester.”

  “Well, Nick,” said the awful woman, ignoring Amanda completely. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”

  “As your pet monkey,” Amanda thought.

  The situation struck her as rather humorous and couldn’t have been more perfect. They’d got in easily without having to impersonate anyone, and Parrot’s focus on Nick left her free to nose around.

  As Amanda and Nick were announced all heads turned in their direction. Amanda could swear the noise level rose for a couple of seconds as the other guests checked out the new arrivals. She wasn’t sure why she and Nick were so notable. She hoped they hadn’t erred on the clothes or committed some gaffe. It couldn’t be food in her teeth or her hair falling down. The former wouldn’t have been visible, and she could feel that the latter hadn’t occurred. The stockings? They shouldn’t have been visible either, so probably not that. Oh well. Perhaps each new arrival met with the same response.

  As they entered the room Mrs. Parrot spirited Nick away and Amanda was left standing there. Knowing that Nick could take care of himself she peeled off to explore. The first thing she did was survey the scene so she could get the lay of the land. The house was enormous and very fancy. Everything was wood: the walls, the bannisters, the fixtures, the supporting pillars, all polished to a fine gloss. The hard floors were inlaid with tile, marquetry, and marble. Carpets were Eastern and luxurious. Many of the windows featured leaded or stained glass, some depicting people and others exhibiting beautiful graphic designs. The light was as soft as a winter’s day and as golden as Tutankhamun’s headdress. The architect of all this grandeur had had a dazzling but restrained sense of beauty that easily distinguished between showy and exquisite. She made a mental catalogue of the decor, not to help her with Moriarty but out of habit, both cinematic and investigative.

  The hosts, guests, and staff were her main concern, however. As she fastened her attention first on one, then another, she flashed on the hall scene in “My Fair Lady,” and observed that this night very much resembled that one. Like Eliza Doolittle she was an impostor. Unlike Eliza, however, she had a criminal to catch.

  She wasn’t sure why Eustachia Parrot had felt that the event wasn’t well attended because the place was packed. Everywhere she looked grandly dressed people were jabbering, drinks in hand, in the attempt to impress other grandly dressed people. Among them circulated a bevy of waiters, maids, and other servants seeing to the guests’ needs—except that half of them were police, and Amanda could tell exactly which ones. She hoped it wasn’t as obvious to everyone else.

  As she circulated among the crowd she heard numerous conversations about the shadows.

  “I’ve brought my pistol with me just in case,” said a tall, stuffy-looking man with muttonchops.

  “It’s positively terrifying,” said a young blonde woman with a huge nose. “I told Terry I didn’t want to come tonight but he made me.”

  “Evil spirits,” said an old lady with startling blue eyes. “I wonder if one of them is my Tommy come back to haunt. Did I ever tell you about the naughty things he used to do?”

  So the crowd was on edge, and potentially more protective of themselves and their valuables than usual. But if this Moriarty was anything like the Moriarty she knew, he’d find a way to turn even that situation to his advantage.

  As she looked around a dark-haired young man with large teeth and a long nose approached her and stood just a tad too close. He held out his arm and said, “Dance?”

  Cornered, Amanda looked into his awkward face and said,” Uh, sure.” The young man looked delighted. He guided her out onto the floor, circled his right arm around her waist, and took her right hand in his left. Then, as the orchestra played a waltz, he vigorously led her around the floor until she was almost out of breath.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said above the music. “I am Lionel Everything. What is your name?”

  “Amanda,” she panted. “Amanda Lester.”

  “I say, Miss Lester,” he breathed. “You’re quite a dancer.”

  That she was. She had been dancing as long as she’d been walking. Not only did she love doing it, but it was a good skill to have if you wanted to act. You never knew when a scene might require it.

  Nick was a great dancer too. He’d learned as part of his acting training. When the two of them danced together she felt as if she were in heaven. She loved the feel of his strong arms around her, his gentle pressure leading her, his long hair brushing against her shoulder. Sometimes they would put on a playlist and dance for hours.

  She craned her neck and caught sight of him waltzing an unwieldy Mrs. Parrot around the room. Their eyes met for a moment and he grinned. He looked so handsome she wanted to run across the room and kiss him until her lips were sore.

  “Didn’t we meet at Elsie Crackle’s garden party?” said Lionel, who was not at all everything, even when you didn’t compare him to Nick.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Amanda. “I—”

  Suddenly another young man tapped Lionel on the shoulder, wanting to cut in. He was a tall, gangly rather red-faced blonde. A look of disappointment spread over Lionel’s countenance and he grudgingly gave way. The new young man looked as if he’d died and gone to heaven. He grabbed Amanda roughly, practically shoving Lionel away. Then he grinned, showing extraordinarily poor teeth, and began to waltz.

  “You’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said. His accent was as posh as the queen’s and sounded odd coming out of that red face.

  “Thank you,” Amanda said. “But I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

  The man looked perfectly offended.

  “Heavens no, I would never do such a thing. You are a vision. I’ve never seen hair like that before.” He reached up and touched her hair, which for once wasn’t a bird’s nest. “Nor eyes, nor your exquisite mouth.” The way he was staring at said mouth was making her uncomfortable. “I am Bigley Little, Lord Blender. May I court you?”

  “I, uh—”

  Another young man wanted to cut in. Amanda nodded to Bigley Little, Lord Blender, and felt a new hand around her waist. This man was nearly as short as she, and so young he might actually end up taller someday.

  “Wesley Parrot,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Amanda. “You’re our hostess’s son.”

  “Righto,” he said, looking straight at her chest. “And you’re that Amanda Lester everyone is talking about.” He leaned close in a conspiratorial manner. “Meet me in the garden in five minutes. I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget.”

  “I most certainly will—”

  Another young man was cutting in, except this time he was extraordinarily tall, well built, and good looking. It was Nick.

  “God I love you,” he said when he’d shooed Wesley away and got her out on the floor.

  “Tough night?” she said.

  “The worst. That woman is relentless. She wanted me to meet her upstairs.”

  “Her son is the sam
e way,” she said. “He suggested a rendezvous in the garden.”

  “What a family,” he said.

  “No sign of her husband, I take it,” she said.

  “Over there,” said Nick. He head motioned to an older gentleman who was hanging onto a pretty blonde girl a third his age. “She doesn’t seem to care though.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That.”

  “But she’s been useful,” said Nick. “Told me the guests didn’t want to come because of the monsters. She had to bribe them.”

  “How did she do that?”

  “With extremely expensive party favors. Jewelry mostly.”

  “For the monsters to get when they leave. Say, you don’t think she’s in on it, do you?”

  Nick laughed. “A blueblood like that nabbing her own guests after they leave her party? She doesn’t look to me as if she needs the money.”

  Amanda laughed. “Guess not. It was just a thought.”

  “You never know,” he said. “But—”

  Another young man wanted to cut in. For a moment Nick looked as if he was going to refuse, then seemed to think better of the idea and relented. Amanda was sorry to see him go but knew they had work to do.

  At last the waltz ended and she excused herself. Still dogged by eager young men, she attempted to conduct a more thorough search for Moriarty. She studied every face, attempting to discern whether it was disguised. Some of the staff gave her pause, but none of the guests appeared to be wearing appliances beyond a bit of extra hair on some of the women.

  As she was studying the orchestra, her glance fell on the oboist. At the same time he saw her and their eyes met. He removed the reed from his mouth and mouthed, “Amanda?”

  She knew she knew him from somewhere but couldn’t place him. And yet whom could she know in this time? She studied his face. Perhaps she was just experiencing deja vu. But then why did he seem to know her?

  “What are you doing here?” said the man—a boy, really—when she got close. Dark brown hair, granny glasses, Roman nose, green eyes, and a heavy beard. Who could he be?

  “Do I know you?” she said.

  “Of course you do,” he said. “It’s Carl—Carl Javor. You know, Jill’s brother.”

  Jill’s brother as in Jill her former best friend, the one she’d fallen out with right before leaving the U.S. for Legatum? He did have an American accent, but he was more than a hundred years out of time. What could he possibly be doing here?

  “Carl?” she gawped. “Carl Javor?”

  “It is me,” he said. Then, receiving odd looks from the other musicians, he began to play his oboe again.

  Amanda eyed him. He did look like Carl. The last time she’d seen him he’d been about fifteen, but despite a certain increased hirsuteness he didn’t look much different. He’d be seventeen or eighteen now. Was it possible he’d traveled through time too? If so, how and why? She hoped Simon was watching. Perhaps it would help him figure out how to get her and Nick back.

  She turned away from Carl and spoke quietly.

  “Simon, if you’re watching that’s Carl Javor, the brother of an American friend of mine. See if you can find Jill Javor in Calabasas, California. That’s my friend. Well, ex-friend. She hates me but don’t let that stop you. Please bring us back.”

  Suddenly she realized that what she’d just done was ridiculous. She could do something right here and now. When the orchestra stopped playing she could speak to Carl herself. Boy, this time travel had really scrambled her mind. Normally she’d have seen an opportunity like that right away.

  She turned around to speak to Carl again, but as her gaze fell on the orchestra she saw that the oboist’s chair was empty. She looked right and left but saw nothing. She turned around and scanned the room but couldn’t see him. She approached a couple of other musicians and asked if they knew where he’d gone, but they just shook their heads. Frantic, she raced out of the ballroom.

  “Perhaps he’s just gone to the loo,” she thought, and ran toward a door that looked likely. But as she was heading for it she was suddenly beset by a bevy of young men, each one more avid than the next.

  “Please dance with me.”

  “I’d like to call on you.”

  “Would you like some champagne?”

  “My name is Untwell.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Amanda’s head was spinning. Each of these men, except for Wesley Parrot, could be of use to her, and yet the prospect of speaking to them was making her feel sick to her stomach. All she wanted was to find Carl and get back home.

  Then suddenly Nick was there, gathering her into his arms and holding her tight. She pressed her face into his chest and breathed in his scent.

  “On your way,” he said to the men. “Come on, love. I think it’s time for a break.”

  He led her out into the garden, where the cool night air began to clear her head.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That was getting intense.”

  Nick pulled her close and rested his head on hers. They remained that way for a minute and then he said, “I’ve had no luck. How about you?”

  She told him about Carl, and he marveled at the strangeness of her experience.

  “Did you see him?” she asked.

  “Didn’t have the chance,” he said. “Parrot was keeping me too busy. She really is tenacious—like athlete’s foot.”

  “I’m beginning to think I imagined it,” she said. “Another Moriarty trick.”

  “But that isn’t how it usually happens,” said Nick. “Normally it’s a dream or a mental image, not a hallucination.”

  “Maybe the spell contains a time bomb,” she said. “Like a slow-release drug.”

  “Let’s ask the other musicians again,” he said. “I’ll speak to them. That way we’ll know for sure.”

  Suddenly a voice broke into their tete-a-tete.

  “There you are,” said Mrs. Parrot stridently. “Nicky, be a lamb and dance with me.”

  Nick kissed Amanda on the forehead and made a face only she could see. “I won’t be long.”

  She gazed up at him and smiled weakly.

  Nick was true to his word and rejoined her in the garden in five minutes.

  “I think it’s time we looked in earnest,” he said, sitting her down next to a statue of Venus. “Why don’t you take the downstairs and I’ll take the upstairs.”

  “Won’t your girlfriend get ideas?” she said, grinning.

  He circled his thumb over her hand. “Very well then, you take the upstairs.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’m sure you can handle her.”

  “And are you sure you can manage all your suitors?” he smiled.

  “There do seem to be rather a lot of them.”

  “You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the most beautiful girl on the planet.” He kissed her gently. “Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes.”

  Thirty minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but they couldn’t afford to be missing longer than that or people—especially the hostess—would begin to wonder. But unless Carl had left the premises, they’d probably find him in that amount of time. Perhaps even Moriarty too, although he was likely to be much more slippery.

  Amanda made her way out of the ballroom and toward the kitchen. She knew it would be full of people and she’d hardly be unobtrusive, but she wanted to check out the staff, and that was where most of them would be. “Downstairs” was a warren of small rooms, closets, cupboards, and compartments but it was easy to find the kitchen as it was the hub of the floor. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The aroma of cooked meat hit her like a wave. She remembered that upper class people ate several meat courses and few vegetables in the old days so she wasn’t surprised, but even so the smell was a bit much. She stood there a moment, adjusting, and then walked slowly forward into the extremely crowded space.

  Before she could get very far a maid ran up to her. She was in her late teens and had very poor teeth. “Madam, you cannot be in
here.”

  But Amanda was expecting this. “I want to see the chef.”

  “Whatever for?” said the maid.

  “I want to ask him about a cook who’s given his name as a reference. Someone I may hire.”

  “I will send him out to you when he’s free,” said the maid.

  “But I’m already here,” said Amanda, glancing around. The place was full of people, none of them Carl. As for Moriarty, she didn’t think he was there but couldn’t be sure.

  “No no,” said the maid. “Mrs. Parrot will be most displeased. Please return to the festivities and I will send Mr. Plumptop out to you.”

  “But I see him over there,” said Amanda, hailing the big man she supposed was the chef.

  “Madam, I must insist,” said the maid.

  “What seems to be the trouble?”

  A thin-haired waiter had rushed over. A cop for sure. Amanda could smell law enforcement. She was never wrong.

  “I just want to speak to the chef,” she said. “It won’t take a moment.”

  The policeman looked flummoxed. He obviously didn’t know the correct protocol. He glanced at the maid helplessly. “I don’t see what harm it would do.”

  By then a tall, stern man in formal dress had approached the group. Amanda remembered him as the man who didn’t want to admit her and Nick to the party. “What seems to be the trouble?” he said in a tone that suggested he was used to being obeyed.

  “This lady wants the chef, Mr. Frick,” said the maid.

  The tall man, whom Amanda assumed was the butler, said, “I’m sorry. That is impossible.”

  “I just want to ask him about a reference,” said Amanda.

  “You will have to write a letter,” said Mr. Frick. “I will deliver it to Mr. Plumptop.”