The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [147]
Good gracious, I thought to myself. I did not speak aloud, however, because I heard voices. The statuary group had been placed conveniently – for my purposes, at any rate – in front of the opening. I ventured a little farther out, into what proved to be a passageway running the whole length of the wing. To my right, only a few feet away, was the door leading into the front part of the house – the long base of the E. To my left the corridor stretched away till it ended in a heavy black curtain of what appeared to be velvet or plush. Boarded-up windows lined one wall; between them were paintings, statues, and other works of art (to use that term loosely) which carried out the same theme as that of the original statuary group I had seen. They had come from all parts of the world and from various centuries; the painting directly opposite the entrance to the cellar was an extraordinary composition, originating most probably in sixteenth-century India, which depicted a number of individuals in positions which are best not described, but which Ramses would undoubtedly have considered ‘uncomfortable, not to say impossible.’
The function of this closed-off portion of the house was now quite apparent to me. It seemed unlikely, however, that it had been designed by the present Earl; no doubt a number of his ancestors had contributed to the décor and enjoyed the amenities, and he had remodelled it – in ways I had yet to ascertain, but which I rather thought I could anticipate – to suit his own purpose.
The voices I had heard came from an open doorway immediately to my left, and were accompanied by the gurgling of liquid and the chiming of crystal. The light-bearer I had seen must have been returning from the wine cellar.
Resting my hand on the polished shoulder of one of the individuals in the statuary group, I edged closer to the open door.
‘There’s plenty of time,’ said a voice that sounded familiar. ‘Have another glass.’
‘Or another bottle.’ The high-pitched giggle indentified this speaker. ‘Dutch courage, eh, Frank?’
‘I’m here, ain’t I?’ was the sullen response. ‘And the only one, too. Where are the others?’
‘They declined the invitation,’ said Lord Liverpool, with another of his inane giggles. ‘Cold feet, cold hearts, cold all over, the bloody damned cowards!’
‘Maybe they show good sense,’ muttered the other man – whom I had now identified as Mr Barnes. ‘Call it off, Ned. There aren’t enough of us –’
‘Oh yes, there are.’ I was so close to the door I could hear him swallow. ‘I hired a few of the lads – you know the ones – to fill out the ranks.’
Barnes let out a yelp of protest. ‘Damn it, Ned, why’d you do that? A group of louts like that – they’ll spill their guts at the first sign of a truncheon – or blackmail you . . . This was supposed to be our own private entertainment –’
‘Entertainment!’ Lord Liverpool must have thrown his glass down; I heard the ringing shatter of fine crystal. ‘This is no game, Frank, not to me. It’s life or death.’
‘But Ned – I know, old chap, I know what it means to you, but . . .’
‘But he can’t deliver what he promised – is that what you think? You don’t believe in his powers, do you?’
‘Do you?’
There was a moment of silence. Then the young Earl muttered, ‘I have to, Frank. I have to. I’ll try anything, do anything . . .’
‘All right, then. I’m with you, old fellow.’
‘Damn right you are,’ said the Earl with an ugly laugh. ‘Through thick and thin and every penny I own, eh? Don’t think I don’t know why you stick by me, Frank. I only had one friend; and he . . . Ah, don’t look so sick. They’ll never find us out. And what if they did? Do you suppose the old lady would let a vulgar policeman arrest her great-grandnephew, or her second cousin once removed? Buck up, Frank; finish the bottle and let’s get to it.’
The only reply from Barnes was a series of gurgles as he