She Shoots to Conquer by Dorothy Cannell Read Free Book Online Page B

this.”
    “You do have more color.” Ben sounded as relieved as if he’d just noticed I was coming out of a ninety-day coma. A few more minutes and surely we could politely leave. Mrs. Malloy accepted her cup and saucer while settling even deeper into her chair. We might need a forklift to move her, but we’d get her out of here, too.
    Mrs. Foot shifted her gaze from my face to fix it upon Mr. Plunket. “There is a strange resemblance, isn’t there? No wonder his nibs got his self in a tizz. Spooky, you could call it.”
    “Now then, I wouldn’t say that.” Mr. Plunket nudged his way cautiously around the words, as if one too many might trip him up. “It’s ever easy to imagine things in this house.”
    “What sort of resemblance?” Mrs. Malloy, who does not enjoy sitting on the sidelines, made a valiant effort to sound pleasantly interested.
    “To a lady in one of the family portraits.”
    “Really?” I completely forgot my woozy state and the desire to escape back into the fog. “I’d be interested in taking a look at the painting if it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
    “It’s no longer in the house.” Boris must have spent hours in a dank cellar perfecting his sepulcher intonation. He was now standing directly behind Mrs. Foot, hunching first one shoulder, then the next, in an automated fashion that brought to mind the terror that had assailed me in the hall.
    Turning on the sofa to face the assembled more fully, I said with determined lightness: “You said just now, Mr. Plunket, that it’s easy to imagine things in this house, but I don’t think it was imagination that caused me to faint.” I came to a halt, aware that it wouldn’t do to mention that I had mistaken Mrs. Foot for a ghoulish visitant. “I’m quite sure,” I plunged on, “that the suit of armor tried to attack me.”
    “Oh, sweetheart,” Ben bent over me, almost oversetting the teacup, “that has to have been a nightmare.”
    “It was, but not one produced by the faint,” I responded firmly. “I was scared stiff. Its hands would have closed around my throat if I hadn’t nipped back in time.”
    “That’s our Boris!” Mrs. Foot reached back a hand to pat his arm. “Always tinkering about for the fun of it. Last year he got the dining-room chandelier to spin. Oh, his nibs did have a good laugh! We all did. Couldn’t stop chortling for ages, could we, Mr. Plunket?”
    “Always good to see his nibs enjoying himself.”
    “My, what fun you all have at Mucklesfeld Manor.” Mrs. Malloy oozed rapt admiration, drawing Mrs. Foot’s attention not so much to her as to what lay at her feet.
    “Now how did that get in here? It’s the one from the gallery table lamp.”
    “It dropped from the banisters onto my friend’s head,” I said.
    “And if I’m not complaining who should,” fired back said friend, “a very handsome shade and no damage done to me hat, as isn’t my best by a long shot. I’ve a much smarter one at home that me friends,” her voice took on a most unbecoming simpering quality, “call me lady of the manor hat.”
    I was watching Mrs. Foot as closely as possible, given the weak lighting. She was shaking her head, batting the gray locks against her neck. Her look of amused wonderment was perfect, but I again felt the prickle down my spine that spread to a subzero chill. She was smiling her jovial gap-toothed smile, but I saw the face peering malevolently through the banisters. Did she believe I hadn’t seen her?
    “Well, isn’t that something!” She looked from Boris—who had shifted further to her side—to Mr. Plunket, and back again. “I was up there at the time crawling around the floor doing a lastminute bit of dusting, and when I got to my feet you’d,” turning those globs of eyes on me, “you’d gone down in a faint and I can’t say I noticed the lamp shade on the other lady’s head, let alone saw it go over the railing. Like I’ve said, odd things do happen at Mucklesfeld that