Joe peered over the edge, taking a measure of the distances involved. He glanced up at the pennant flying from the watchtower. Bending, he picked up a cigarette end, rubbed it between his fingers and sniffed. ‘Untipped, heavy-duty stuff! French tobacco, if I’m not mistaken? Estelle-tell me-what sort of cigarettes are these?’
‘Well, you’re right. They’re Gauloises. I like the strong taste. I started to smoke them because only men seemed to-defiance, you know. I like breaking down barriers. Shocking the prudes. And then I got to like them. Anything else seems insipid now.’
‘And were you actually smoking a cigarette at the time? At the time of the sighting, I mean.’
Estelle had frowned in concentration. ‘No. I’d just put one out. He couldn’t have glimpsed a light. But I see why you’re asking. Strong scent, too.’ She gulped and turned large eyes on Joe. ‘He’s sniffed me out, our effigy smasher, hasn’t he? He knows who I am. He knows I was watching him.’
All Joe could do was apologize for the obvious nature of his advice. She’d listened, amused, as he’d earnestly advised her not to be alone … to seek out the company of those she could trust.
‘Exactly what I have in mind,’ she’d said mysteriously. ‘No! Thank you, Joe-you’re a sweetheart! — but I really don’t need an escort to cross the corridor!’ She’d waved a hand towards the ladies’ dormitory, whispered goodnight, kissed him on the cheek and left him at his own door, his head still reeling from the enticement of her perfume. A lure which had not been thrown on the water to catch him, he acknowledged.
He stood just inside his doorway listening to her scurrying feet which took her straight past the dormitory and on to the end of the corridor. From the click-clack of her heels, he guessed that she didn’t much care if he heard, so eager was she to move on to her next assignation. He couldn’t make out whether she’d gone up or down the staircase-nor decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.
In the end he had to admit that he was concerned. Not fearful. But definitely concerned. And his concern centred on the women and children. In a few quiet moments with Dorcas, he’d made clear his preference that she sleep in the small dorm with the little ones, just a door away from the single women’s quarters. And across the corridor from his own cell. She’d listened quietly and told him that she understood. He thought it very likely that she understood quite as much as he did himself.
At least Dorcas seemed content and busy. Since her status had been publicly acknowledged on the first day, she’d thrown herself into doing exactly what she had made a play of despising and the children followed her everywhere, delighted to have a gang-leader. She’d tapped on his door last evening just after eight as he was dressing for dinner and reported all well with the junior squad. They’d had early supper and Estelle had been informed that all were present, correct, clean and in pyjamas. The cook’s children were spending the night here in the château instead of going back home to the village. When their mother stayed on, they generally stayed too, so including herself, the total was seven. And could she borrow his copy of Kim? There didn’t seem to be much in the way of reading material about the place. Joe had reminded her that Orlando would be bound to know where the books were kept.
Orlando. Finishing his morning tea, Joe decided it was his duty to confide his fears and suspicions to him and let him make what he might of them. He realized he didn’t know the man well enough to judge with any confidence how he would react. ‘All his geese are swans,’ Joe had agreed with Dorcas. And Joe was one of his geese. It wouldn’t surprise him to hear Orlando proudly announcing to the crowd that in the space of a few hours his Scotland Yard friend had uncovered under their roof a tormentor of small animals, a drugs ring, a deflowerer of virgins, and the man who once shot at Queen Victoria.
There was no way around it. Joe would have to count on Orlando’s common sense, though so far in their relationship it hadn’t made much of an appearance.
Joe sat on after breakfast as the rest wandered off to their work, sharing the dregs of the third pot of coffee with his target. ‘Come and help me find some children’s books,’ said Joe. ‘I’m sure on the way in I passed a store room full of broken rocking horses, rickety dolls’ houses and that sort of thing.’
Orlando looked a little surprised. ‘I know the one you mean. Follow me.’
When they entered the room Joe shut the door and invited Orlando to take a seat on a gaudily painted pirate’s chest. He pulled up a decaying nursery chair and tested it for strength and height before lowering himself on to it opposite and slightly higher than a puzzled Orlando. So far, so good. It never failed. Joe’s over-close proximity, knee to knee with his interviewees, the stiff breeze of moral rectitude at his back and, for choice, the sun in their eyes, was too unnerving for any but the most innocent of victims.
Predictably, Orlando began to squirm with discomfort. ‘Oh, goody!’ he said, nervously. ‘We’re going to play Snakes and Ladders! No? Knucklebones then?’
‘Shut up and listen to me, you clot!’ Joe snapped. ‘I need to put you on your honour and I’m a bit perplexed as to how to do that. Is there anything sacred you can be made to swear by? You don’t believe in God and you’d cheerfully sell your mother to the devil. If I were to confide something disturbing-could I trust you to handle the information with discretion? How far can I trust you, Orlando?’
The ingratiating grin faded and Orlando looked back at Joe with a face suddenly unprotected by its usual mask of mocking self-awareness. ‘You can trust me with your life. And any other burden you care to set on me. I thought you knew that?’
And, apparently regretting lowering his defences even for a moment, he reverted to his usual insouciance: ‘Didn’t realize I’d be made to swear a blood oath. I say, I hope you’re not contemplating a little knife-work to seal this brotherhood … Can’t stand the sight of the old claret oozing from the veins, don’t you know.’ Then, into Joe’s intimidating silence: ‘So it’s to be a round of Truth or Consequences, then? You tell the truth and I suffer the consequences?’
‘Something very like that,’ Joe agreed. ‘A warning, Orlando. And here’s the truth-this is not a safe place for the children. You must take them away from here.’
He waited for the automatic protests, the huffing and puffing to roll away. ‘Yes, yes, I can see that. Oh, to be ten years old and free to roam in a pack about the Château de Silmont in summertime! With a dozen indulgent adults to take an interest. Twenty years ago I’d have thought I’d died and gone to heaven to be among them … But listen-it’s gathering … I’m not sure what, but something dark. If there’s anything more important to me than flushing out a villain who’s committed a crime it’s preventing that crime from ever happening in the first place. There’s no glory in that for a policeman! No front page acclamations in the daily papers. And to hell with all that! Will you help me to take the necessary steps, Orlando?’
Joe waited for and got an understanding nod before he went on. ‘There are one or two things you ought to be made aware of. Listen-I went to take a look at the mess in the chapel yesterday. All as described and disturbing enough, but there was an additional element … a small furry one …’
Orlando listened and, to Joe’s relief, didn’t make the all-too-easy Englishman’s scoffing objections. ‘Not much of a reader, I’m afraid, Joe, and I can’t say I’ve ever opened a book by any of those psychologist chaps you go on about. From what I hear, it all sounds a bit like common sense and I can’t see what the fuss is all about. Perhaps it sounds more impressive being expressed in German? But I can quite see why you-or anybody-would be on the alert. It rang a bell with me-what you had to say at luncheon yesterday-that stuff about progression.