PART 76
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies . . .
George Gordon, Lord Byron – English romantic poet
"There's no need to be rude," said Nikita, annoyance creeping into her voice. Michel said nothing, but slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Closer, in fact, than was considered decent. But Nikita knew that he did not care for the conventions of polite society; he made his own rules. Maybe it was one of the things that attracted her to the handsome Frenchman.
"A gentleman does not behave in such a manner," Nikita pointed out.
A little smirk came across Michel's face and there was a twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps I am not a gentleman after all. Perhaps I am a rogue!"
Nikita frowned. Michel was clearly baiting her and she knew that she could not win this argument. Better then to drop the subject of gentlemen versus rogues.
It doesn't matter what you are because I love you all the same. She longed to verbalize her thought, but something – fear or uncertainty - held her back.
All evening Nikita had dreaded, and yearned for, this moment – floating across the dance floor in Michel's arms. She had not put her white opera-length gloves back on after returning from the powder room with Carla. Now she was acutely aware of the way his hand gripped hers – firmly, possessively, as if he would never let go of it. The pressure of his right hand on her back seemed to burn through the fabric of her gown.
The dance floor was crowded and the air shimmered with frivolous laughter and conversation. Nikita, however, was oblivious to the many couples twirling around her. She saw only the mysterious and infuriating man before her. This was the man who had crept into her soul and then awakened her body and claimed it for his own.
Tonight, Michel was clean-shaven, but his hair was a bit tousled. Probably from being out on the terrace earlier with Inspector Vartan. Nikita had a sudden recollection of him writing on the blackboard in class with his right hand while tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear with the left.
For a few moments, neither one said anything as Michel expertly maneuvered them in time to the music. "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked.
It was a dangerous question. "Do you mean in general, or at this particular moment?" Nikita replied coolly. Her blue eyes held and challenged him.
"Do you think I could cut in?" Sammy asked Walter hopefully. They were eating some finger sandwiches on the far side of the room and Walter followed his nephew's gaze toward Nikita and Michel.
"Maybe later, Sammy." Walter had seen Michel stalking toward Nikita a few minutes ago and realized that he had probably kept the two of them from dancing at the beginning of the evening.
"But I . . ." Sammy started to protest, but Walter cut him off.
"Not now," Walter hissed as he regarded his nephew. "You know, I have not told your mum about your extracurricular activities, but I might have to reconsider that," he threatened.
Sammy's eyes widened. "Extra, uh, you know about that?" he asked in a low voice.
"I know a lot of things, Sammy," said Walter. He paused to help himself to another sandwich. "Some I almost wish I did not," he mumbled.
The poor boy looked so crestfallen that Walter quickly added, "Say, isn't that Ruthie over there in that pretty pink dress?" He gestured to a petite girl with bouncy red curls. "She's been looking this way. I think she wants to dance with you!"
Sammy immediately perked up. "Really? Ruthie?"
"Sure thing! Why don't you go on over there and find out? I'm sure Nikita will save you a dance later," Walter said confidently.
Headmaster Wolfe nodded approvingly as he studied the crowd. "Excellent turnout, eh Walter? Even better than last year!"
"Not bad," agreed Walter, now reaching for some more petits fours.
Wolfe stared at something for a moment, then said, "Hmmm . . . do you recognize that woman over there?"
Walter saw that he was referring to Quinn, who was standing in front of the French doors. He knew that she was one of Michel's fellow spies, but did not let on that he knew anything.
"Can't say that I do," replied Walter, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But she's quite attractive."
Wolfe had not taken his eyes from her. "Indeed, she is. I think I should go and introduce myself. Excuse me, Walter."
Wolfe was feeling rather lonely since he had not seen or heard from Madeline in some time. His invitation for her to join him at the Founder's Day Ball had gone unanswered.
After pausing to greet some latecomers, he headed toward her. She was chatting with some other ladies when he interrupted. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," he said smoothly. "I am Paul Wolfe, the headmaster."
Quinn flashed him a brilliant smile. "Kate Quinn. How nice to meet you, Headmaster."
"Please, call me Paul. I don't remember seeing you here before."
"No, this is my first time attending this wonderful Ball. You see, I am the niece of the late Geraldine Proctor," replied Quinn. Inspector Vartan, with help from Miss Glanzman, had supplied Quinn with a suitable background story, should anyone question her.
"Ah yes, Mrs. Proctor," said Wolfe as he remembered the very generous woman who had died several months ago. "My deepest sympathies. She was one of our most active patrons."
Quinn accepted the condolences with downcast eyes. "Thank you. Aunt Geraldine's passing was a heavy blow to our family. However, I'm sure she would be pleased to know that she's represented here tonight."
"Oh, most definitely," agreed Wolfe. "Miss Quinn, would you care to dance? One must not be unhappy tonight. After all, this is a time for celebrating our school's achievements!"
"I would be honoured," said Quinn, as she took the Headmaster's hand. She was playing her part as well as any West End actress.
Jurgen left his aunt and mother gossiping happily with their old classmates. He tried to act casual as he looked for Nikita, but was not amused when he saw her gliding over the polished floor in the arms of Michel Samuelle.
He stood there a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. There was something about Samuelle that rubbed him the wrong way. The man was too confident, too sure of himself. Not to mention the fact that he had the beautiful Nikita in his arms at this very moment.
Time to put a stop to that nonsense right now, thought Jurgen decisively.
PART 77
Some time later, Fanning awoke with a crick in his neck. He stumbled up the stairs and along the hall toward his room. His only thought at the moment was to get Madeline and her "magic fingers," as he termed them, to work this cramp out of his neck.
She can work on some other parts while she's at it! he thought with wicked glee. But reality quickly descended on him as he stood in the doorway and surveyed the empty room.
No Madeline. No jewels.
Fanning patted his pockets and realized that he only had a few quid left after his evening in the pub. A string of expletives came out of his mouth as he picked up a rickety chair and smashed it against one wall. He pulled out the dresser drawers one by one, but they were empty, too.
Damn you, Madeline.
He sat down heavily on the bed and ran his hands through his hair impatiently. He had been a complete fool to let Madeline be in charge of the money! She had skipped out on him and now he had nothing.
After a few moments, he remembered his pistol. He stood up and flipped the thin mattress over, but the firearm was also missing. Naturally, Madeline had insisted that he leave it there for safekeeping.
By now he reasoned that she was on that ship headed for Boston. What was it? Pier nine, or was it 19? He had to admit that he had not paid much attention earlier when she was babbling on and on about going to America.
He shook his head wearily and rubbed his neck. If he could meet up with Jurgen, perhaps he could shake some cash out of the sleazy businessman. Then there was that little matter to settle with Michel Samuelle. The bile rose in his throat every time he thought of the aloof Frenchman. He looked forward to bashing in that face that the students idolized.
Suddenly, the gruff voice of the landlady was heard in the hall. No doubt she was coming to investigate the cause of the disturbance on this floor. Fanning shoved the window up and climbed through, dropping silently on top of a rubbish heap a few feet below. He cursed again as he peeled stinking cabbage leaves and other refuse from his clothes.
He decided he would go down to the rail yards and catch a ride on one of the slow-moving, southbound freight trains. He moved quickly through the fog-drenched alleys and side streets with one thought driving him:
Be afraid, Samuelle. Be very afraid.
"Are you enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked.
It was a dangerous question. "Do you mean in general, or at this particular moment?" Nikita replied coolly. Her blue eyes held and challenged him.
Michel did not answer immediately, but took a few seconds to study Nikita's features: the porcelain skin, neatly arched eyebrows, soft pink lips. He remembered how those lips felt under his own and how her warm mouth tasted. Right now, he wanted to pull her into some dark, secluded corner, or the gazebo out back, and have his way with her! He wanted to feel her perfect body respond again as he intimately joined them.
"Is that a rhetorical question?" he said at last. He knew that Nikita hated it when he answered her question with another question, even though she had just done the same thing to him.
Nikita pursed her lips and bit back the retort she was about to utter.
"A young lady should always enjoy herself at a Ball," continued Michel. "Even if some of her partners are inadequate."
Out of his peripheral vision, Michel saw Jurgen advancing toward them, an angry look on his face. There was going to be trouble, but Michel did not care. It would just make it easier to dispose of Jurgen.
"I don't understand your problem with Jurgen. You barely know the man," said Nikita, a flush stealing up her neck.
"Neither do you," said Michel, his eyes boring into hers.
She was irritated by the whole situation. Michel seemed bound and determined to argue with her tonight. In her opinion, he should have been using this time to explain his behaviour in recent weeks and to apologize.
"Cutting in, old chap," Jurgen said with a sense of bravado. Of course, one gentleman would always defer to another gentleman in this case, but Michel regarded Jurgen with his blank stare and uttered only one word. "No."
Jurgen was taken aback at this breech of etiquette. "I beg your pardon?" Several nearby couples also heard and looked askance at Michel.
Michel ignored him and promptly whisked Nikita through the French doors and onto the moonlit terrace. She, too, was appalled by his actions. "Have you no common courtesy this evening? I cannot think what has come over you!"
Michel grabbed Nikita by the upper arms and shook her. "Listen to me, Ni-ki-ta. Jurgen is not what he pretends to be. He has connections to the Mayfair Mob. You read the papers, don't you? This is what I've been investigating."
"I don't believe you! He is a respected businessman. You're just jealous because he pays attention to me!" she accused.
At that remark, Michel was again aware of the corsage on her wrist. "Did he give you this?"
"Does it matter? It's only flowers," she said defiantly.
He grabbed her hand, ripped off the corsage and flung it into the shrubbery. Nikita gasped. "How dare you?!"
Michel pulled her hard against his body. "I'm not arguing with you, I'm telling you – stay away from him." (Season 2 – Third Person)
Before Nikita could object further, Michel's mouth covered hers, kissing her with a fierceness she could not have imagined. She could not breathe and all rational thought vanished.
He released her as abruptly as he had claimed her and stepped back. Jurgen had now followed them outside. Pointing at Michel he shouted, "You, sir, have offended me! I challenge you to a duel at sunrise! Then we will determine who is more worthy of this woman!"
"NO, NO!" shrieked Nikita. The evening was going from bad to worse in a hurry.
Michel turned to face Nikita again. "Everything will be fine," he said quietly. She recognized the expression on his face. It was the look of annoyance he got in class when students were talking or giggling and not listening to him.
Nikita gasped loudly. Michel swung around just as Jurgen lunged for him. Michel's right fist connected with Jurgen's nose and sent him sprawling backwards and knocking over a couple of flowerpots.
Walter ran out to find Jurgen unconscious on the flagstones. Sammy was right behind him and exclaimed, "Is he dead?"
"No, just embarrassed," chuckled Walter.
PART 78
Michel made Nikita sit down on a nearby bench. "Let me handle this," he instructed. She was too stunned to agree or disagree. Her head was beginning to hurt from trying to sort out everything – Michel's accusations about Jurgen; the brawl that was over almost before it began; the searing kiss that made her knees weak.
That kiss! Nikita touched her lips lightly. There was no mistaking the passion conveyed by it! Or the jealousy. She had been amazed when Michel tore off Jurgen's corsage and pitched it away. Some people thought Michel was too reserved, too distant, but Nikita knew how emotional and deep he really was.
Inspector Vartan and the village doctor were now bent over Jurgen's unconscious body. The doctor was waving some smelling salts under his nose and attempting to staunch the flow of blood at the same time.
"He had too much to drink, lost his balance, and stumbled over this flowerpot," said the Inspector firmly. The doctor looked up with a perplexed look. He had already seen Michel standing nearby with split knuckles.
"That is your diagnosis," continued Vartan as he brought out his official identification and shoved it in the doctor's face. "And I was never here."
The doctor nodded once and went back to working on his patient. After all, who was he to argue with a Scotland Yard Inspector?
Quinn, having extricated herself from Headmaster Wolfe's attentions, now joined the group. She consulted in a low voice with Vartan and Michel and seemed very professional. She was not at all the frivolous creature Nikita had imagined.
Nikita could hear only snatches of their conversation, but it sounded as if Michel had been telling the truth. She heard something about "the net tightening" and "The Big Man." How could I have misjudged him so badly? She twisted her hands nervously. I wish someone would explain what's going on.
Presently, Jurgen began to come around. "Let's move him to the room behind the pantry. We can question him there," said Vartan.
Nikita jumped up as Michel came over to her. "Your hand!" she exclaimed. He glanced at it briefly then took out his handkerchief and wound it around the bleeding knuckles. "Do not repeat anything you heard here tonight. Do you understand?"
"Of course," she nodded meekly. "I'm sorry, Michel."
"It's nothing," he said looking at his hand.
"No, I mean I'm sorry for doubting your story, for all the hateful things I said the other day. It . . . it all seemed too fantastic to be true," she stammered. Suddenly, she felt drained of all her energy. Ever since that night in the inn, she had not quite been herself. One minute she loved Michel, the next she loathed him.
Michel caressed her with his eyes and pulled her gently into his arms. "There's nothing to apologize for," he whispered. His hands stroked up and down her back, willing her to calm down.
"Even I don't know all the details of this mission. I'm just a cog in the machine," he explained. "One day, when this is all over we will . . ." Will what? he wondered, not for the first time. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, we will marry and go to France to lead a quiet, ordinary life. I will teach and you will raise our children, which my mother will undoubtedly try to spoil.
A discreet clearing of the throat behind him kept Michel from finishing the sentence. He released Nikita and turned to find Sammy standing there, looking slightly embarrassed. "Sir, the Inspector is asking that you come inside."
"Of course." Thinking for a moment, Michel said, "Sammy, I believe Ni-ki-ta is in need of some refreshment. Would you be so kind as to escort her back inside?"
Sammy gave a little bow and answered enthusiastically, "I can do that!" He offered Nikita his arm.
Nikita was reluctant to leave Michel, but he gently pushed her toward Sammy. "Go."
It was the afternoon following the Ball. Nikita was at George and Adrian's house for the Christmas break and her father was expected to arrive the next day.
She had not seen Michel again after Sammy lead her back to the Ball. Somehow the festive atmosphere had continued and only a few people knew what really happened on the terrace. Nikita was still in the dark about a lot of things, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She wondered if Michel would contact her during the break or would he be busy investigating the Mayfair Mob?
All these questions and more kept her from getting a good night's sleep. She had tossed and turned and heard the grandfather clock on the landing outside her bedroom strike each hour of the long night.
Now as she sat before the fire and tried to work on some needlepoint, she became aware of an intense cramping in her abdomen. I should know better than to drink champagne and eat too many of those éclairs, she thought irritably. Added to the rich food and drink was the emotional upheaval of the last few weeks.
She stuck the needlepoint into a basket by the chair and laid down on her bed. I'll feel better by tea time, she decided as she pulled a light quilt over her.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But after a few minutes it became apparent that this was not an ordinary upset stomach. She attempted to get up, but another intense cramp wracked her body. Then she realized that there was a wetness between her legs.
It can't be that time again, she thought sullenly. The cramps were much worse and the bleeding much heavier than anything she had ever experienced.
No, it can't be. But even as she tried to convince herself, she knew that it was. Once, she had overheard two of the housemaids whispering about a neighbor woman who was going to have a baby, then something happened and she did not have a baby after all. The woman and her husband were both depressed that there would be no baby in their house. "Then she went on to have six kids in six years!" chortled one of the maids.
But this was no laughing matter. Nikita wondered what, if anything, she would tell Michel. Would she tell him that their one night of passion had resulted in a baby growing in her womb, but that now that baby was lost forever? Or would she deal with this situation on her own, keeping the secret of her tragedy in her heart?
Nikita fell back on the bed and curled into a ball. Hot, silent tears spilled down her cheeks onto the lace of the pillowcase.
PART 79
Maggie, one of the maids, tapped lightly on the door and poked her head in. "Will you be coming down to tea, Miss Nikita?"
Sighing, Nikita said, "Uh, no . . . I'm not feeling my best right now."
A look of alarm crossed Maggie's face. "Oh dear! Shall I bring up a tray or fetch your aunt?"
Nikita shook her head. The last thing she needed was Adrian fussing over her and alarming the whole family. Besides, the worst seemed to be over now.
"I'll be down later. Right now, I just want to rest," she said as she sunk back against the pillows, pale and exhausted.
"Very well, Miss." Maggie closed the door quietly and went downstairs.
Fanning bid farewell to his hobo acquaintances and prepared to make his exit. As the train slowed down to round a curve, he jumped out. He landed with a thud in the wet grass and rolled away from the tracks.
He picked himself up and scanned the area to get his bearings. In the dim light, he could just make out the steeple of St. Anne's Church in the distance. He turned and headed in the opposite direction. It was about a mile, he figured, to the old Graham place. Farmer Graham had died a couple of months ago and the farmhouse was abandoned. Fanning decided he would hold up there until the Christmas break at Sanibelle was over. Anyway, how could he exact his revenge on Samuelle when he didn't know where Nikita was?
He trudged on, thinking his evil thoughts, until he reached the farmhouse. There was still an old bedstead there along with some chipped pieces of crockery. Though long cold, the fireplace still held a large iron cooking pot.
Fanning knew how to live off the land and take care of himself. Do a little fishing, maybe catch a rabbit or two and I'm good to go, he thought as he looked around. Hopefully, he would be able to slip back to his room at Sanibelle one night. He had hidden some money under one of the floorboards and eventually he would need that cold, hard cash.
A scratching sound in the corner distracted him temporarily. A large brown rat suddenly appeared and made a run for the open door. Fanning chuckled. It's just as well that Madeline's not here. I don't think she would approve of that guy!
The Christmas break was filled with guests, dinner parties, caroling, and finally, a midnight service in the parish church on Christmas Eve. Nikita's father had been delayed a couple of days by some "blasted complications," which he did not elaborate upon in his telegram. She was so glad to see him when he did arrive that she did not press him for details. He would only have brushed it aside as "Nothing a young lady should concern herself with." At any rate, the delay gave her more time to recover from her own "complication."
Nikita was curled up in the library trying to read a book, but her mind kept wandering. Out in the hall now she heard the boisterous voices of Seymour and Jason's school friends. They had come to visit for a few days and there was much slamming of doors and running up and down the stairs. Even though he didn't say much, one of them kept eyeing her shyly at dinner and when they passed in the hall. She fervently hoped this boy wouldn't come looking for her now.
The library door opened slowly and Nikita caught a whiff of a familiar pipe tobacco. She leaned around the corner of the wing chair and smiled.
"Papa!"
"I thought I might find you in here, my dear!" said Reginald Jones-Wirth as he sat down opposite his daughter.
"Papa, you know Aunt Adrian doesn't like smoking in the house," chided Nikita.
Reginald smiled conspiratorially. "Yes, but at the present time your aunt has gone to visit one of the neighbors."
Nikita shook her head and grinned. "You are really too much, Papa!" Oh, how she had missed these little exchanges with her beloved father!
Reginald studied his daughter for a moment. She seemed to have gained a new maturity in these last few months. When he spoke again, his tone was more serious. "I've been meaning to ask you how things are going at Sanibelle. I realize you were opposed to going there originally."
Nikita wasn't quite sure how to answer. So many things, good and bad, had happened to her in the short time she had been at Sanibelle. "I've made some wonderful friends and learned a lot of new things," she said quietly. And fallen in love with a mysterious Frenchman and miscarried his child, she thought sadly. Of course, she could not voice that confession.
"Yes, yes, that's good to hear," nodded Reginald. He had a hunch that there was more to be said, but Maggie had slipped in with a telegram on a silver tray.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but the messenger said it was urgent and is waiting for your reply," she said breathlessly.
"Damnation!" Reginald muttered as he opened the telegram and quickly read it. There is no rest for the weary, he thought with a heavy sigh.
Well, well, would you look at that? Lionel thought as he returned from the market at Covent Garden one morning. Going into a small café up ahead, he spied Leona and two young women, presumably her daughters.
I think it's about time for another cup of coffee, he decided on the spur of the moment. He marched into the café and over to where Leona and the young women were sitting.
"I thought that was you, Leona! Long time, no see," he said cheerfully. "I hope your Christmas was pleasant."
"Yes, thank you, Lionel. I had a lovely visit with my daughters," she said gesturing to the two young women. "This is Bernice, my eldest, and this is Clara."
Lionel quickly pulled off his cap and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you!"
"So, you're Lionel!" said Clara with an impish grin. "Mummy has mentioned you. And a little about the cases you work on together."
Leona seemed a bit embarrassed, but Bernice quickly spoke up. "Won't you join us, Lionel? Clara and I would love to hear more about your work at Scotland Yard. That is, as much as you're allowed to talk about." She exchanged a furtive look with her sister.
"Don't mind if I do!" answered Lionel, pulling up a chair. He nonchalantly plopped his sack of potatoes on the next table with a thud. "You know, I have one girl, myself. Evelyn's her name and she lives up in Birmingham. Husband's a copper so I guess it runs in the family!"
Later, when the meal was over and Lionel was gone, Clara said, "He seems very nice, Mummy."
"Yes, I like him, too," agreed Bernice. "He's an entertaining character!"
Leona grunted. "Certainly 'character' is the right word to describe him."
"Come on, Mummy. You know deep down you like him," giggled Bernice.
PART 80
Early the next morning, Reginald was preparing to leave. Nikita stood in the foyer, helping her father into his topcoat. She raised up on her tiptoes to brush some imaginary lint from his shoulders. Of course, there was no lint; it was only an excuse to detain him a few minutes longer.
"Must you leave so soon, Papa? It seems like you just arrived," said Nikita in a plaintive voice.
"Duty calls, my girl," answered Reginald as he turned to face her. There was a melancholy look in Nikita's eyes, something Reginald had never seen before. She had endured many separations in her young life because of his business obligations, but somehow this was different. Reginald could not pinpoint it exactly, so he simply gathered her into his large, loving embrace.
"Remember this, Nikita: It is not always easy, but each person has his duty to perform. Whatever is troubling you now will soon pass."
Nikita pulled back and frowned slightly at her father. What was all this talk about "duty"? Did he mean her duty to study hard and excel in school?
The rest of the family now swarmed into the foyer to say goodbye to Reginald. There were handshakes and hugs and Jason called out, "Hey, Uncle Reggie! Don't stay away so long the next time!"
The coach was waiting to convey Reginald to the train station and Nikita followed her father outside. After one final hug, he said quietly, but with conviction, "Always trust your father." * (Season 5 – "A Time for Every Purpose")
Tonight will be as good a night as any, thought Fanning as he ate his rabbit stew in the abandoned farmhouse. When darkness fell, he would make his way to Sanibelle and retrieve his money. Maybe he would even break into the pantry and steal some bread and dried fruit, or whatever caught his fancy.
After eating, he doused the fire in the fireplace and slipped out into the darkness. The moon came out and conveniently illuminated his way. For the last few days, Fanning had spent a great deal of time exploring the surrounding countryside. He knew which farms had large dogs that might bark in the night, so he steered clear of them.
In no time at all, he reached the school and gained access to his room. Everything seemed to be just as he had left it some weeks ago when he had gone up to London to Wellman's party.
He quickly and quietly loosened the floorboard in the corner and found the roll of pound notes. And a spare pistol and bullets. As he was about to leave, he heard someone whistling underneath his window. He peered out and saw Walter swinging a lantern and making his nightly rounds.
"Come on, Blackie. It's about time for our supper," said Walter and there was an answering "meow, meow."
Fanning waited a few minutes until he saw the lantern bobbing and weaving its way back to the greenhouse. That would have been most unfortunate, for both of them, if the old man had discovered him. Fanning actually had a grudging respect for the old codger, but tonight he would not have hesitated to kill him.
By slinking alongside the buildings, Fanning avoided detection and soon found himself in the pantry. He stuffed a loaf of bread and a couple of small jars of preserves in his knapsack. No doubt the cook would wonder about the incorrect inventory.
There remained just one thing for Fanning to do: determine where Nikita's room was. He knew which dormitory she lived in, but not the exact room. Now there was a problem. He had to break out a small pane of glass in order to unlock a window on the ground floor of the building. He hoped that Walter would not be making another circuit tonight.
He found the housemother's desk and rummaged around until he found what felt like a leather-bound register. Carefully lighting a small candle, he scanned the pages until he found his answer: Jones-Wirth, Nikita - Room 412.
Now we'll see what kind of man Samuelle is.
Since the night of the Founder's Day Ball, both regular and plainclothes Scotland Yard people had been aggressively searching for David Fanning. But the trail had gone cold.
Unfortunately, very little new information was obtained from Jurgen, who obstinately insisted that he was a legitimate investment banker. It seemed that he was more worried about his badly broken nose than the threat of being charged with aiding and abetting known criminals.
Michel had been there in the thick of it, working long hours and getting very little sleep. Naturally, he had not seen Nikita since that interesting night on the terrace. But she was always in the back of his mind.
"We're at a standstill," concluded Inspector Vartan one morning. "Unless someone gives him up, I don't know how we're going to find him." Noting Michel's wrinkled and unshaven state, Vartan said, "Why don't you get out of here for a while? You look like you need a breather."
"You'll get no argument there," replied Michel. With that, he went and shaved and hurriedly changed his clothes. With luck, he could make the twelve-thirty train. There was someone he needed to see.
Nikita was alone in the house. Jason and Seymour were either out in the stables or riding; Uncle George had gone up to London on business and Aunt Adrian was meeting with the Ladies' League about the upcoming parish bazaar.
Nikita picked up her novel and went up to her bedroom, vowing to finish reading the thing. After a few minutes, Maggie came in and announced, "Oh, Miss Nikita, there is a gentleman downstairs to see you!"
"A gentleman?" Surely it's not Mick, thought Nikita in a panic.
Maggie saw the confused look on Nikita's face. "It's not who you think it is, Miss. This is a real gentleman!" said Maggie excitedly. "If it's not out of line for me to say, he's quite handsome!"
Nikita gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "Very well, Maggie. Tell this gentleman that I will be down shortly."
Maggie was trying hard not to giggle as she backed out of the room. "Yes, Miss!"
Oh, my word! Michel has come here. Nikita looked at her plain day dress and, in a split second, she flung it off and put on a pale green dress, quite suitable for afternoon tea. She pulled her hair from its ponytail and ran the brush through it. Finally, she dabbed some perfume behind her ears.
She opened the bedroom door slowly and started down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she paused. Michel turned and looked up, his eyes meeting hers.
She descended slowly and tried to still the butterflies in her stomach. Michel's gaze followed her all the way down. Who will speak first? she wondered, then unexpectedly blurted out, "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to make sure you were well after the unpleasantness the other night," he said.
"Yes, I'm fine." Why does this feel so awkward?
Michel cut his eyes to the side. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately?" Nikita got his meaning. She, too, was certain that Maggie and the other maid were eavesdropping nearby. "The library."
Michel followed her into the well-stocked library and locked the door. He knew that maids and butlers had an uncanny way of appearing at the most inappropriate times.
Nikita stood with her back to the fireplace and stared at Michel. She thought of all the different roles he had played: first, a handsome stranger chatting her up in the British Museum, then her teacher, and finally, her lover.
Michel was talking about the aftermath of the Ball and the search for Fanning, but Nikita heard none of it.
"Is something the matter?" Michel asked suddenly.
"No, I . . ." Nikita looked down at the small china figurine in her hand. She didn't even realize she had picked it up from the end table. Finally, she slumped down on the divan. "There's something I must tell you," she said.
Michel sat down beside her and waited. She kept turning the figurine over and over in her hands until, at last, Michel took it from her.
"I was going to have a baby, your baby, but not anymore," she said flatly. "It happened two days ago."
Michel stared blankly as he tried to fathom her words. Your baby! He took both her hands in his and uttered the only words of comfort he could summon. "I'm sorry, Ni-ki-ta."
Then he had to close his eyes as he thought about her going through this heartbreaking experience all alone.
PART 81
"Is your father in the country?" asked Michel as he stood in front of the large window that overlooked the front lawn. He knew that Nikita's father ran a thriving import-export business and traveled a great deal. A light rain was now falling and it seemed to suit the mood that had invaded the room.
Nikita shook her head. "He was off to Portugal . . . or maybe it was Morocco. I really don't know. He was going on a buying trip." She frowned and wished that Michel would look at her. "Why do you ask?"
"What about your uncle?" Michel had thought to wait until the school term was over in the spring before taking the next step – betrothal. However, if he couldn't pin down her elusive father, he would broach the subject with her uncle. The revelation of the miscarriage had shaken him to his core, but he had to keep his emotions in check or he would not be able to finish the mission successfully.
"He went up to London this morning." She stared at Michel's back. "Why all this concern about my family's whereabouts?" she asked with a hint of annoyance. In the pocket of her dress she found a handkerchief which she nervously twisted in her hands.
"Would you please do me the courtesy of looking at me when we're talking?" she asked impatiently. Michel seemed lost in his own thoughts, but slowly he turned to face her.
"So, what are we going to do – you and I? Something happened between us, Michel. We cannot keep pretending that it didn't." * (Season 2 – "Spec Ops")
Michel caressed her the only way he dared – with his eyes. In his heart, he vowed he would not touch her again until they were safely wed – with or without her family's permission!
"I have to go. I'll see you back at school," he said softly and prepared to leave.
Nikita didn't know what to make of this whole conversation. "Is that all you have to say?" she asked, her face a mask of confusion.
With his hand on the doorknob, Michel said, "Be patient." * (Season 2 – "Hard Landing")
Michel left as quickly as he had come, leaving Nikita alone in the library. She went over and slammed the door forcefully and stamped her foot. What a perfectly awful day this has been, she thought irritably. The two most important men in her life had once more abandoned her, but not before throwing out cryptic, and unsolicited, pieces of advice about "duty" and "patience."
One would almost think they were cut from the same cloth, she thought as she watched the rain come down.
Fanning ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully as he walked into the small village near the old Graham farm. He had not shaved for several days and his hair was looking rather shaggy, but those things did not matter out here in the middle of nowhere. In fact, they would be an advantage. He would pass himself off as a day laborer while he enjoyed a pint in the local pub and listened to the latest gossip.
He entered the small establishment and soon was swallowed up in the convivial atmosphere. He nursed his drink in a dark corner and fell into conversation with a fellow who complained of a lack of work.
Fanning listened, without interrupting, while the man recounted his financial woes. When the man paused to take a swig of his ale, Fanning said, "I think we might be able to help each other. Are you interested?"
"I'm all ears, my man!" replied the fellow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Fanning grinned. "Good, very good! But first, how about another drink? You look kinda thirsty."
It was late Sunday afternoon and Nikita had just arrived back at Sanibelle, accompanied by Seymour and Jason. They tarried a while as Seymour hoped to see Carla. Unfortunately, she was not there yet.
"Come on, old boy. We'd best be on our way," urged Jason.
Seymour sighed dramatically. "I suppose you're right." He grabbed a sheet of stationery from Nikita's desk and hurriedly scribbled a note to Carla. He folded it twice and handed it to Nikita. "Will you make sure she gets this?" he asked anxiously.
Nikita smiled indulgently. "Of course, Seymour." After a quick hug, the twins departed. Nikita sat on her bed and thought about everything that had happened since the night of the Ball.
After a few moments, she felt she could not bear the closeness of the room and her unsettling memories. She needed some fresh air and distraction.
Walter sat at his small kitchen table wearing his reading glasses and poring over the latest seed catalogs. Spring was still a couple of months away, but it never hurt to plan ahead.
"New and improved," he read aloud. He looked to the hearth where Blackie was contentedly nursing her five newborn kittens. "Well, I don't know what could be so "new and improved" about it. Sounds like the same old seeds I get every year," he said in exasperation.
The front door creaked open. "Walter, Walter!"
"In here, Sugar," he answered.
There was the usual polite small talk about the holidays while Nikita knelt down and stroked Blackie's head. The cat closed her eyes and purred happily.
Finally, Nikita stood up and said, "So, you knew about Michel working with Scotland Yard?" There was no point in calling him "Mr. Samuelle" anymore.
Walter removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, he confided in me, but it hasn't been that long ago. Believe me, Sugar, I was as shocked as you were."
Nikita paced in front of the hearth. "There have been a lot of shocking incidents lately," she said, more to herself than to Walter.
"Why don't you sit down and I'll make us some tea?" asked Walter. He thought Nikita was looking a little pale and shaky.
"Got anything stronger?" muttered Nikita as she sank into a chair.
"My dear, when you come home for Easter break, please don't bring every pair of shoes you own!" laughed Carla's mother.
"Yes, I must echo your mother's sentiments," said her father as he brought her bags inside the room.
"Yes, Mother," answered Carla. "Oh look! This must be from Nikita!" She spied the note on her pillow and eagerly snatched it up. Reading it quickly, she said, "It's from Seymour!" and clasped it to her breast.
"Ah yes, Seymour. When are we going to meet this young man of yours?" inquired her father.
"Soon, Father. Very soon! I know you'll simply adore him!" gushed Carla. "He's very intelligent."
"Is that right? Well, I'll certainly look forward to it," said her father in all seriousness. "Goodnight, my dear. Don't forget to write to us at least once a week."
"Yes, Father," promised Carla dutifully.
At the edge of the Sanibelle property, two men crouched in the dense undergrowth. They had been there for some time, watching as the students returned from the Christmas break.
Soon it would be dark and one of the men in particular was longing for a drink. He thought gleefully of the money he would earn from this simple job. He had already been paid half and would receive the rest when the deed was done. It was the easiest money he had ever earned.
"There's the building and there's the target," said Fanning.
The other man gave a low whistle. "Not a bad-looking little filly!"
Fanning frowned. "Don't be getting any ideas," he warned.
"So, her old man owes you money?"
"Yeah, and he's gonna pay up . . . or else," said Fanning with an evil sneer. He had concocted a plausible story about a debt not being paid by the student's father.
The other man laughed, too. "Yeah, or else! I can think of some other ways to settle a debt besides with money!"
Indeed. Wouldn't Samuelle be surprised if he wasn't the first? thought Fanning as he imagined various scenarios.
Fanning sat in the dark farmhouse awaiting the other man's return. He felt lucky to have found this simpleton to do the hard part for him. He leaned back in the rickety chair that had only three legs and laughed out loud at the brilliance of his plan.
The local constabulary would see it as a kidnapping for ransom since Nikita was from a wealthy and socially prominent family. By the time Samuelle heard about the crime, it would be too late!
As for his accomplice, well, Fanning had no intention of handing over the remainder of the money. The poor fellow's payment would be a bullet in the head.
PART 82
Fanning's partner was growing cold and restless. He pulled a small flask from his pocket and took a quick swig. It would be over soon and he would make his way to the pub for a celebratory drink. He patted his other pocket and felt the reassuring bulge of Fanning's down payment.
At the moment, there were still too many people coming and going on the school grounds. He cursed under his breath and rubbed his arms to ward off the cold. In frustration, he turned up the flask and drained it. Tossing the flask aside he thought, Soon I'll be able to buy a whole case of the stuff!
Finally, emboldened by the drink, he scrambled to his feet and pulled a crude mask over his head. He picked up his small sack and, despite Fanning's warning, started whistling as he headed toward the building.
Nikita was puzzled when she returned from Walter's and found a white silk scarf lying in the stairwell. She knew that Carla had a similar scarf and, sure enough, when she picked it up, she saw her monogram embroidered there.
But she really became alarmed when she discovered a shoe in the hall outside their room. When she pushed the door open, she gasped at the sight before her - an overturned chair, books and clothes strewn about, and a broken mirror. Looking more closely, she saw what appeared to be some drops of blood on the floor.
Nikita knew she should alert the housemother, but that crotchety old woman would already be tucked up in her bed. Instead, she ran back down the stairs and across the lawn to the Tower. A light was burning there so she knew that Michel had returned.
She burst into his room without knocking and breathlessly announced, "Come quickly, Michel! Something terrible has happened to Carla! Our room was vandalized and there's blood . . ."
He got up from his desk and grabbed Nikita by the shoulders. "Sit down and start at the beginning."
News of the incident raced through Sanibelle like wildfire. The local authorities soon came to have a look at the room and to question Nikita. Miss Glanzman ordered all students to return to their rooms and lock the doors. "Unless there is a fire or some natural disaster, you are not to leave your rooms tonight. Is that understood?" she said in no uncertain terms.
The girls nodded and silently filed back to their rooms. There was a palpable sense of fear and anxiety in the air, but the authorities promised that they would do everything in their power to resolve the situation in a timely manner. They drew Nikita into the room and began bombarding her with questions.
Walter, Sammy, and Father Elliot arrived and stood talking with Michel in hushed tones. After half an hour, Nikita emerged from the room and her eyes immediately looked to Michel. Her shoulders were slumped and her face was drained of all colour.
"I told them everything I know . . . but I really don't know anything," she said helplessly.
"Come, you need to rest," said Michel. As always, he was outwardly calm and controlled. He led Nikita back to his room in the Tower and placed a pistol in her hand. "Do you remember how to use this? You trained with it that day."
She looked down at the weapon and nodded. "It's Fanning, isn't it? He kidnapped Carla," she said flatly.
"More than likely," agreed Michel. "Ni-ki-ta, I want you to lock this door when I leave and keep the gun close by. Fanning should be considered armed and dangerous; he might even try to return. Father Elliot and I are going to take out two search parties tonight."
Nikita looked up with a startled expression. "Father Elliot?"
"Yes, he's involved in this, too. It may surprise you to learn that before he was a man of the cloth, he was a captain in the army."
"I suppose nothing should surprise me at this point," she sighed. "And he also answers to this "Big Man" you mentioned?"
"Yes." Then seeing how close to tears Nikita was he added, "Do not worry – we will find Carla and Fanning will be brought to justice."
Fanning's accomplice plopped the girl down in the chair. Her hands and feet were bound and a rough burlap sack covered her head. The man stepped back and grinned. "Special delivery for ya!" he proclaimed, obviously proud of his accomplishment.
"It took you long enough," snarled Fanning as he looked pointedly at the man.
"So, what if it did? There were too many folks around," retorted the man.
Fanning pulled the sack off and the expression on his face darkened. Carla was equally shocked and stared back with wide eyes. A gag in her mouth kept her from screaming.
"What the hell?" Fanning glared at the other man, stalked toward him, and lifted him up by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. The odor of drink was strong on his breath. "You pathetic moron! You grabbed the wrong girl!"
The other man took offense. "This girl, that girl . . .what's the difference? One bitch is as good as another," he slurred. "Look, I don't want no trouble. Gimme my money and I'm outta here. You can do whatever you like with her!"
Fanning cursed and threw the man to the floor. "The blonde! You were supposed to get the blonde! I paid you good money and you screwed up!"
The man struggled to sit up in the corner. He rubbed the back of his head and discovered that he was bleeding. "Hey man, I'm sure somebody will pay a ransom for this one."
Fanning whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the man. "I should just kill you right now."
PART 83
Carla cringed inwardly as Fanning screamed at her abductor. What in the world has happened to Mr. Fanning? she wondered. She had never liked the man, but now he appeared to have come completely unhinged. So, Nikita was the intended victim. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The other man put up his hands defensively. "Hey Fanning, we had a deal. I just want the rest of my money!"
Fanning threw back his head and laughed. It was an evil blood-curdling sound. He turned and came closer to Carla. With the barrel of the gun, he lifted her chin. "Well, well, well. I guess I'll have to make do with you!" He studied her for a moment, relishing the fear he saw in her eyes. "This will still draw Samuelle out and then . . BANG!"
Carla's heart skipped a couple of beats; she almost felt like she had been shot. The situation seemed absolutely hopeless. She realized that Fanning was just crazy enough that he might kill both her and the other man before it was all over.
If I could only get my hands free, she thought in an effort to focus on something positive. But what would I do then?
After Michel left, Nikita paced around his room at least a hundred times. The pistol in her hand seemed to grow heavier by the minute. Finally, she laid it aside and sat down at Michel's desk. He had been working on lesson plans for the new term when she'd interrupted him. She pushed them to one side and put her head down on her arms.
Some time later, there was a soft tapping on the door. Nikita's head jerked up immediately, her heart racing. She had been asleep, but she had no idea how much time had elapsed.
"Ni-ki-ta."
She exhaled sharply. It was the welcome voice of Michel. She leapt up and drew back the bolt. From his expression, she knew that Carla had not been found.
He entered and locked the door again. "The dogs picked up a scent, but lost it at the creek. There's nothing more we can do until daybreak," he said wearily.
"Oh, Michel!" gasped Nikita.
He took off his jacket and tossed it on the back of the chair. "I have to get a little sleep before we go out again." He crossed to the washstand and splashed some cold water on his face and neck.
"I should go back to the dormitory then," said Nikita. "I can stay in Isabelita's room." Nikita and Carla's room was cordoned off and still considered a crime scene.
Michel wiped his face and hung up the towel. "You are not going anywhere," he said with finality.
Staring at him, Nikita said, "But what if Miss Glanzman finds out?"
Michel was already sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots. "I'll handle Miss Glanzman if there's a problem." He turned the lamp down and stretched out, still wearing his clothes.
Nikita sighed. "Very well." She laid down beside him on the narrow bed. Within a few minutes she knew that Michel was sound asleep. She turned on her side with her back to him and closed her eyes.
At dawn the next day the search parties reassembled. Inspector Vartan was down from London, along with an older man and woman that Michel addressed as "Lionel" and "Leona." Apparently, they were connected with Scotland Yard in some capacity.
Father Elliot rode up on his old grey mare. It seemed strange to see him without his clerical collar. Nikita observed him discreetly slipping a gun into his back waistband. She remembered what Michel said about his former role as an army captain.
She was quickly learning that things are not always what they seem. How many other people around here lead dual lives, she wondered as she watched the groups disburse into the woods.
The accomplice had become belligerent and rushed forward with an angry bellow. Fanning turned and fired a shot which caught the man just above the right knee. The man howled in agony, but still managed to tackle Fanning. The gun flew out of his hand and slid across the floor toward the fireplace.
Carla tried to scream around the gag that was still in her mouth. The two men tumbled over and over each other with loud grunts and curses. Finally, Fanning got the upper hand and bashed the accomplice's head against the stone of the hearth. Whether unconscious or dead, there was no more trouble out of him.
Fanning got to his feet with an effort and staggered to the table. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a long, noisy gulp. Then he glared at Carla. "That's the last time I involve some flunky in my business! Dammit, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."