Velvet Shadows by Andre Norton Page A

in which my oddments had been left was changed. Someone had opened the box, made free with the contents. Anger flared in me. I could expect a thief to search for a jewel case, but mine was locked inside my trunk. Unless the thief thought this to be such, perhaps a natural assumption.
    Who? Hattie? No, I had no right to make such a quick, damning judgment. The reputation of this hotel was such that they surely hired no employees of whom they were not certain. And I had no proof; nothing had been taken. But I did not want it to happen again.
    As I continued to prepare for bed I realized that I could not entrap anyone unless I proposed to spend the day hiding in, say, the large wardrobe. And that made me smile in spite of my anger and uneasiness.
    If not Hattie, or some other servant, then who? Amélie? I found in spite of my effort to be fair I could believe this of her. In my opinion she was sly and untrustworthy. But why she wished to rummage among my things—that I could not understand.
    I held the box closer to the lamp to see if there was any sign it had been forced. When I did this, my face very close to its surface, I smelled a sickly sweet odor—a familiar one. Yes, that was similar to the scent from the contents of the tiny bag sewn into my shawl.

    That absolved any servant here, but it pointed the finger more firmly at Amélie.
    I must speak seriously to Victorine. The causes for my suspicions were thin, but taken together they should make her listen to me. Drawing on my wrapper I went back to the parlor.
    The room was dark, but there was a faint reflection of light from the street below. At my tap there was no answer from Victorine’s chamber. Surely she could not have fallen asleep so quickly? My second tap was delivered with more force and the door swung open as if inviting me to enter.
    Emerging from the shadows was a massive bed possessing a pretentious tester. A subdued night light on a side table showed Victorine lying quietly on the bed, not in it. She had indeed removed her dress, but still wore a whirl of petticoats, her fine chemise slipping wantonly from one shoulder to show more of her breast than was modest.
    Even her hair had not been unpinned, though some locks had shaken free. She seemed asleep, but so strange was this collapse (for so it seemed to me) that I caught up the night lamp and carried it to the bedside, holding it over her.
    That her deep slumber was normal I doubted. I touched her shoulder. Her flesh was chill, yet there were tiny beads of moisture on her upper lip. She uttered a low moan and turned her head.
    Now I hurried to light the larger lamp, then drew the covers up over her. I could not be sure, looking back, how much of the wine she had drunk. But where was Amélie and why had she left her mistress in such a strait?
    As I came around the end of the bed, heading for the bell pull, I collided with a small table. A glass rolled onto the floor, the spoonful of liquid still in it dribbling onto the thick carpet. But something else fell and I stooped to pick up a fan.
    The guard sticks were very thick, making it seem much heavier in consequence. And in one of these guard sticks a portion of the surface had slid to one side, to uncover a small compartment. There was a dust inside and I touched fingertip to that, raising it to my nose.

    Again that sickly odor!
    I shivered at what my imagination suggested. But surely Victorine had not been drugged against her will, or such evidence would not have been left in the open for the first comer to discover.
    I gave the bell pull a vigorous jerk. Since Amélie was not here I had no idea where to find her. But Hattie or some other servant answering my signal could locate the maid.
    As I paced nervously back and forth waiting, I twisted the fan in my hands. Then realizing what I did, I pushed the lid back over the compartment and laid it down just as a tap sounded at the door.
    At my call Hattie entered.
    “Do you know where Miss Sauvage’s