Fare Thee Well Miss Alice

Chapter 6:

"The General said to come as soon as possible," Kathleen told Davie, walking down the hall back to the study.

"Yes, right. Um, can I talk to you for a minute before I go to the General?" Davie asked, walking into the study with her.

"Sure. What about?"

Davie didn't talk for a minute, constantly glancing from the letter to Kathleen. Then he nodded.

"Is something wrong?" The Countess asked.

"Who are you really?"

Kathleen seemed very taken aback, but Davie was convinced she was not the Countess.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please! Irish Royals don't say 'fire away' or 'vittles'. I know you're not the Countess, now who are you really?"

Kathleen still seemed insulted and she walked toward the fire place, turning swiftly around once more.

"I told you before, I wasn't always royal."

"Fine. What about this description in this letter from the Count. There's a big difference between green and grey Kathleen!"

The Countess grabbed the letter and read through it quickly. She stared at it for a very long time and then didn't hesitate before throwing it in the fire where the flames slowly destroyed it.

"Are you still going to deny it?" Davie asked.

Her last action was recognition that she was, in fact, not the Countess Kathleen McPherson.

She stared for a minute into the flames and watched as the letter turned to ash, then she turned a sharp gaze on Davie.

"My name is Ang Carter," she said, dropping the Irish accent.

"I'm an 18 year old American who was hired by Colonel Thatcher to find out who was selling information to the French."

Davie didn't say anything for a minute and suddenly felt like a complete idiot.

"W-why? I was suppose to figure that out," he said, trying to process the information.

"Well they'd most likely suspect a 19 year old Lieutenant before they suspected a Countess. Such a young soldier would probably be very eager to please, but why would a Countess need to please anyone?"

Davie was still a bit bewildered. She was just so young...Younger than him!

"Why are you in England?" He asked.

"I have a very specific set of skills and they weren't much use in America. Plus, I didn't have any family or friends back there, so I thought I might as well work where I was needed."

"What are your skills?"

"I'm an impersonator. As you've already witnessed. I speak French, Italian, Galic, Spanish, and Russian, with the accents. I spent years studying the little quirks of each accent, so now I use it to my advantage. I also do a bit of scrounging here and there."

"I guess your story checks out..." Davie said slowly.

Then a pang of realization came to him.

"The Count! He's coming here tomorrow!"

"Who?"

"The Count! You're supposedly married to him!"

Suddenly Ang realized it as well, her eyes growing wide. She quickly poured herself some beer and swallowed it in a split second.

"Dang nab it!...Ugh, this is NOT good!" She muttered.

Davie wasn't quite use to her talking like a usual American and it sounded a bit funny to him at the moment.

"He'll know who I am immediately!"

"Does the General know who you are?"

"Nope. Only Colonel Thatcher, Colonel Tell, and you."

"Maybe if we told him he'd understand why," Davie suggested.

"We won't be able to get to him before the General. He's liable to be a blabbermouth as well...I haven't actually met him before."

Both Davie and Ang slumped down on chairs, letting out giant groans.

"Maybe we can just fake it till we make it," Ang suggested, looking up at the painting.

"I guess that's your only option."

"Mine? Excuse me but you're in this now to!"

"What? No I'm not?"

"Yes you are! You were the one who pulled the curtain on me. You're in knee deep."

Davie sighed and ran one hand through his hair.

"I guess you're right."

"Yes I am," Ang answered nonchalantly.

"You'd better go to the General now. He's waiting."

"Oh! Right. Bye."

"Bye!"

Davie ran quickly down the hall to the General only to be encountered by Lady Edith.

"Have they found out who did it yet?" She asked, doing a terrible job at pretending to be sad.

"No my Lady, they haven't. But there are new developments, if you'd just wait within the mansion grounds we'll be sure to inform you as soon as something comes up," Davie lied.

He just wanted her to leave him alone.

"Now if you'd excuse me my Lady, I have to go see the General." And Davie quickly ran off before she could stop him.

       "Did you want me General?" Davie asked.

"Ah yes, Davie. The Count Liam McPherson has just sent me a reply to my last letter. I invited him to come and stay for a  few days while we cleared up this murder mess and I'd like it if you could inform the Countess for me. Oh, and when the Count arrives I'd like you to show him around and tell him all the details the incident."

"Yes sir. The Count also sent me a letter," Davie answered.

"Sir, are there any new developments?"

"No, unfortunately. We can't seem to find anything. We have too many people with no alibi. They were all alone at the time of the murder and have no one to vouch for them."

Davie sighed and left the room, walking back to the study where Ang was studying the painting.

"Looking at that painting again?" He asked, pouring himself a drink.

"Huh, yeah. I'm pretty darn sure that there's something we haven't noticed."

"I agree. There is something different about it."

"What did the General want?" Ang asked, lifting the painting off the wall and looking behind it.

"Oh he was just confirming that the Count will be coming tomorrow."

Ang didn't answer but continued scanning the picture.

"Davie, you're a genius!" She suddenly exclaimed.

Davie shrugged.

"Well I always thought I was, but other people never really agreed with me," he joked.

"No, seriously. You know how you said that you didn't wear an arm guard the first time you shot a bow, and now you have a scar?"

"Yes."

"Well that gave me an idea. And it turned out I was right. There is something different with the painting. Look on the archer's right forearm."

Davie did as instructed and caught his breath as he saw a small black smug on the archer's arm.

"It's ash," he said.

"Yup. And Alice had ash on her finger."