Read Murder in The Smokehouse: (Auguste Didier Mystery 7) for Free Online Page B

wine and the effects of smoke, assaulted by Mrs Janes’ high-pitched giggle that inevitably followed one of her conversational sallies, he yielded her gratefully to the arms of her portly husband, only to find himself accosted by the Dowager Lady Tabor, resplendent in black lace over silk. ‘Do take pity on me, Monsieur Didier. I have not danced with a Frenchman since the fall of the Third Republic.’ Whether a Strauss waltz was the best choice to make her reacquaintance with this experience was doubtful, but her energy seemed greater than his.
    ‘You’re still with us, I’m glad to see, Mr Didier.’
    Uncertain he had heard aright, he gave a noncommittal answer.
    ‘I thought you might be dead by now.’
    He could
not
have heard aright. He had definitely had one brandy too many. ‘What did you say?’ he asked faintly.
    Miriam Tabor smiled at him. ‘I said I thought you might be in bed by now. You mustn’t mind an old lady like me. But I’m going to bed anyway.’
    ‘But the King, my lady, he has not yet retired,’ Auguste blurted out, mindful of protocol.
    ‘Phooey. He won’t be wanting to take me with him, will he?’ Miriam enquired, unanswerably, but quashing all Auguste’s doubts as to her sanity.
    In the event the King retired shortly afterwards, either in pursuit of an early night or after having reached an understanding with Mrs Janes. Black skirts swept the floor in deep curtseys. He was hardly out of earshot before Priscilla Tabor called for the carriages of those guests not staying in the house.
    ‘Withdrawing time, gentlemen, is eleven-thirty.’
    Oliver groaned. ‘Amazing how George lets her get away with it. I think he’s frightened of her. Like Wellington.’
    ‘
Boeuf Wellington
?’ Auguste asked, still befuddled.
    Oliver laughed. ‘The Iron Duke himself. Remember what he said when the troops arrived to fight in the Peninsula? “I don’t know what effect they may have upon the enemy, but, by God they terrify me!”’ He contemplated Priscilla for a moment. ‘The curfew isn’t for billiards. It’s intended for the smokehouse. She locks the doors of the Hall at eleven-thirty, so that the smokehouse has to be vacated by eleven-fifteen at the latest. At eleven twenty-five the path lights are extinguished. Her excuse is the need to prepare for the Sabbath.’
    ‘Does everyone obey?’ Auguste asked amazed.
    Oliver regarded him kindly. ‘Take a close look ather, Auguste. Would you gainsay Priscilla? She counts every damn man of them, kings, dukes or maharajahs, and locks the front and garden doors herself. Promptly. Fortunately, she doesn’t realise that the staff exist and have their own means of exit. Richey has to lock the smokehouse and put out the lights, after all. One can always get in and out of the kitchens.’
    Auguste looked round blearily for his wife but she was nowhere to be seen. She must already have retired. Just one quick game would do no harm, surely, now he was a gentleman. He joined Oliver in the billiard room, and only the chiming of the loud stable clock reminded him of the lateness of the hour. Even so, it was twelve-thirty before he staggered somewhat drunkenly to his room.
    He was rather more drunk than he realised for he noticed nothing odd; he vigorously cleaned his teeth several times, and only as he approached the bed did he realise that Tatiana was not in it. He contemplated various courses of action, and decided there was only one, dressed as he now was. He would sit up in bed and wait for her. He was just a little hurt, even in his bemused state. This was the first time, such was her enthusiasm for her newly married status, that he had sat in bed alone. He read a page of Zola upside down, his eyes closed . . .
    ‘Wake up! Wake up!’
    He felt sick, he was being swung from side to side. Was he in a boat? If so, it was on some unknown nightmarish sea. A sea that would not be calm. ‘Auguste,
chéri
, wake up!’
    His eyes opened, the room swam round him.