“Then we must confront them there,” said Justine. “Mary, you must lead the way, since Catherine and I do not know where it is. Should we tell Beatrice what has happened and where we are going? But she is at the top of the tower, on the battlements. I do not think she would hear us from below.”
“There’s no time for one of us to climb up there,” said Mary. “And it would not change what she and Diana have to do—either way, they have to warn off the Queen’s yacht. I think we need to confront Queen Tera and her—what, henchwomen? Whatever we want to call them, we need to find and confront them now.”
“And I suggest we change into their uniforms,” said Catherine. “We would immediately be conspicuous in the castle dressed as we are. But if we’re dressed as maids, there’s at least a chance no one will look at our faces. No one looks at maids, not really. If we go into the castle, we should look as though we belong there.”
As quickly as they could, they took the uniforms off the two maids, leaving them in their shifts. And then, while Mary felt a horrible sense of guilt—imagine if someone had done such a thing to Mrs. Poole!—they took off Mrs. Russell’s black dress. Mary and Catherine attired themselves as the two maids, and Justine put on the housekeeper’s dress, which was the longest. On her, it was both too large and not long enough. Again, Mrs. Russell, if there’s any way we can recompense you, as well as Phyllis and Nora, for this indignity, we shall endeavor to do so.
MRS. POOLE: I should hope so! While I know what you did was necessary under the circumstances, I cannot approve treating a woman like Mrs. Russell in such a fashion.
“Well,” said Mary to Justine, “hopefully no one will look at your ankles!”
Using the silver mirror they had brought to fight Queen Tera, Mary and Catherine put on the parlor maids’ caps, which took some tucking-up of hair. Luckily their aprons had functional rather than purely ornamental pockets. Mary put her .22 in one and the silver mirror in the other, with its handle sticking out. She saw Catherine putting her .32 in one of her apron pockets as well.
Justine pulled down her bodice, which was, like the rest of the dress, both too large and too short. When she raised her arms, there was a gap between her bodice and skirt. “I shall take the bottles of pepper spray,” she said. “Mrs. Russell’s dress has pockets hidden in the lining. How practical.” She put a bottle of pepper spray in each.
Mary looked at all of them critically. “I think we’ll do. Justine, your collar is sticking up. Here, let me smooth it down. Now you look perfectly respectable, except for your short hair. But there’s nothing we can do about that.”
“Why do maids’ uniforms have to look so ridiculous?” asked Catherine. “Look at all these starched ruffles. Why can’t maids wear whatever they want to?”
“You sound like Beatrice,” said Mary. She looked at her wristwatch again. “Whatever you think of maids’ uniforms, we don’t have time to overthrow the social order today. The Queen’s yacht will be drawing into the harbor in a quarter of an hour. Of course, the timing won’t be exact, particularly if there’s a storm. Beatrice should be lighting the beacon right about now. Come on! We need to get to the blue drawing room.”
She led the way out of the chapel, through the door that Miss Trelawny, Mrs. Raymond, and Queen Tera had used. To their right across the terrace was the entrance to the vestibule that led to the blue drawing room. It was a good thing they had dressed in servants’ clothing, because the servants were already starting to assemble on the terrace. The Queen would likely be brought up the way they had come that morning, through the front doors of the castle and directly to the north terrace, then into the blue drawing room—the St. Michael’s Mount staff would try to make it as easy for her as possible. That was good—it meant the blue drawing room was the only place Queen Tera could abduct her now. Well, Mary was going to prevent that from happening!
A man who looked like a butler was bustling around the terrace, directing a small army of footmen. But as Catherine predicted, no one paid attention to them as they passed. The convenient thing about a uniform was that if you were wearing one, no one noticed the woman inside.
As Mary walked through the vestibule, she pulled her pistol out of her apron pocket. She saw Catherine do the same. Thank goodness all the servants seemed to be gathering outside on the terrace! Someone would surely have remarked on two maids carrying pistols.
She stepped through the arched doorway into the blue drawing room, pistol drawn, ready for whatever might happen—for a lightning bolt, even. The room was empty. Well, not empty—there were the Chippendale sofa on which the Queen would be sitting, the rest of the furnishings, the paintings and bibelots. But no one was there.
Where were Queen Tera, Mrs. Raymond, and Miss Trelawny? Had they made themselves invisible? But why? Surely the whole point was for them to look like the housekeeper and two housemaids so they could fool the household—and Her Majesty.
“What about that other room?” asked Catherine in a low voice, pointing at the door to the right of the fireplace.
Through that doorway was another small room, but Mrs. Russell had indicated that it was used primarily to store extra chairs for larger receptions. As quietly as she could, Mary crossed the blue drawing room, waving for Catherine and Justine to follow her. The door to the storage room was closed. Carefully, she turned the handle and opened it, entering the room pistol-first. It, too, was unoccupied, and filled only with chairs and a few small tables. It was painted the same delicate shade of Wedgwood blue as the drawing room.
“I have no idea,” she said to Catherine and Justine. “I assumed they would be here. Why else would they have taken the housekeeper’s and maids’ uniforms? Could I have misunderstood their plans?” If only Sherlock were with them! He would be able to figure out this mystery, as he had figured out so many others. But he was not, so she would need to figure it out for herself. Somewhere in her chain of deduction, she must have made a mistake.…
Catherine put a hand on Mary’s arm. Startled, she looked at the Puma Woman. Catherine did not often touch anyone. Now, she had a finger to her lips. Be quiet, she seemed to be saying. Then she put that finger to her ear, and then her nose. Finally, she pointed back toward the blue drawing room. Justine was listening intently. Could she hear something that Mary could not? No, now she heard it too—someone was in the blue drawing room.
Catherine walked quietly back to the doorway into the drawing room and stood listening. Mary waited for a moment, but the only sound was of footsteps. If Queen Tera was in there, she wanted to act, and quickly. She stepped past Catherine and stood in the doorway with her pistol in front of her, finger on the trigger.
There, in the middle of the blue drawing room, stood Mrs. Russell, supervising two parlor maids. They must have entered while Mary and the others were in the storage room. One of the parlor maids was dusting the ornaments on the mantel in a way that no competent parlor maid had ever dusted, without picking them up, simply moving the feather duster over them. In a moment, Mary was sure, one of the marble busts would crash to the floor. The other was plumping a pillow on the blue sofa, although it was not the sort of pillow that needed plumping, being filled, most likely, with horsehair. They looked like actresses playing at being parlor maids in a theatrical performance. But of course it was not Mrs. Russell, because she was lying unconscious in the hall, and they were not parlor maids. Which of them was Queen Tera? Which were Mrs. Raymond and Margaret Trelawny? And who was producing this illusion? Mary had no idea. Which of them should she shoot? She had to choose one, but she hesitated. At that moment, Mrs. Russell noticed her standing in the doorway. She snarled and raised her left hand. It had seven fingers. Mary pulled the trigger and shot the housekeeper in the shoulder.