Enter Pale Death (25 page)

“That’s a nice dress, though. Well cut, unpretentious …”

“Victor Stiebel, dear. Clinging but flared at the hem—that’s flattering. Shows off her neat waist and ankles. Navy silk with a flash of peacock blue. A nice touch. Not expensive but it looks the part. Like the girl in it. She’s no debutante. Never was. There’s something about that unnatural walk they train those girls to do. As though the top of their head is attached to the ceiling by a string. Now, my mannequins—the moment they knock off, they relax and slouch about like anything, but being a deb does permanent damage to your spine. That girl swings when she walks and she’s not wearing stays. No whalebone and not much elastic either under there … French knickers and that’s about all, I’d say. I can’t imagine her dropping a curtsey. Not a tennis player by any chance, do you suppose? They’re beginning to arrive for Wimbledon and there’s a contingent of women this year. She’s got short hair and good shoulders. I can imagine her whacking a ball.”

“She may need a stinging back-hand by the end of her evening. I’d say he was head over heels and on mischief bent, wouldn’t you?” Lily noted the glance that sent the sommelier away, leaving the ice bucket by Fitzwilliam’s elbow, and she tried to lip-read the toast he whispered as they raised their glasses.

The two women took it in turns to observe their man and reported back to each other anything that caught their interest. They’d done this before. Two females chattering together was an arrangement that never aroused suspicion.

By the time the Dover sole was served, Phyl had made up her mind. “You can come off watch, Lil. The girl’s not unwilling. I thought at first she didn’t want to be here—nervous, looking about her, checking her exits—but she soon settled down and they’re
having a really good talk. Funny pair though. This whole set-up shrieks seduction but no one’s
flirting
. No eyelash batted, no moustache twirled. They’re just chatting. Give and take. He’s really listening to what she’s saying—and that’s plenty—and he’s making her laugh. You know, Lil, I think they’ve known each other for years. She just passed him the salt a split second before he asked for it. You don’t do that with a stranger. It’s sort of … intimate.” Phyl watched and came to a conclusion. “They’re in love. Now, why’s it taken us so long to come out with that? You can see it from here, even with your pa’s glasses on.” She sighed. “Lucky girl, I’d say. He’s a cracker.”

“Brides-in-the-Bath Smith was charming and personable,” Lily said. “I’m staying alert.”

“Here comes the moment critique,” Phyl whispered. “They’ve both refused dessert and cheese and asked for coffee. He’s lighting a cigar. If he calls for a brandy, assume the worst. Always beware of a bloke who finishes his evening with brandy—it perks him up where he wants to be perked and you can bet he knows that from experience. Ah, he’s signalling the waiter.”

A prepared tray was instantly brought to their table bearing a bottle and two glasses. A small package done up in silver paper, tied up in white ribbons and topped with a fresh white rose accompanied the Napoleon brandy. Fitzwilliam poured out the drinks then handed the package with mischievous ceremony to the girl. A birthday present? Lily tried to put an innocent explanation on the appearance of such a sumptuously decked-out offering but there was a discordant note in the girl’s reaction. Her surprise appeared genuine and she shied away with a distancing flutter of her hands. Lily could only read from her lips: “But why? You shouldn’t have! No need … really …” as she tucked the rose into her neckline and set about untying the ribbons.

Annoyingly, Lily couldn’t make out the contents when the wrapper was discarded. It appeared to be a pair of items … 
earrings, perhaps? She caught a flash of gold. The girl was holding the objects, one in each hand, looking with astonishment from one to the other. Fitzwilliam drew his chair closer to hers until their heads were touching, slipped an arm around her waist and leaned into her shoulder talking quietly in her ear. What he had to say stunned and moved the girl. Lily could have sworn there were tears in her eyes as she looked down at the gift, looked back at him with some tenderness, then shook her head and spoke slowly in reply.

“Whatever he’s suggesting, she’s turning him down,” Phyl murmured. “Silly cow!”

His response to the show of emotion was to take the girl’s hands in his and speak even more urgently.

She seemed suddenly to crumble under the pressure and got to her feet, picked up her bag, made hasty excuses and set off across the room heading towards the ladies’ cloakroom.

Lily leaned towards Phyl. “Do you still carry a sewing kit around with you? Good. May I?”

She took the offered box and slipped it inside her own bag and, after half a minute, set off in the wake of the fleeing girl.

Entering the magnolia-scented washroom tucked away down a short flight of stairs, Lily first greeted the attendant in charge. A whispered, “I’d like a few minutes in private with my daughter if you wouldn’t mind, Miss …” and a half crown slipped into the ready hand removed the audience.

The girl was standing, holding onto a washbasin, staring at her image in the mirror above and not much liking what she saw, Lily guessed. Sadness? Despair? Disgust? She took the rose from her dress and carefully inserted it into the small bouquet decorating the counter.

“Ah! Caught you!” Lily sang out. “I couldn’t help noticing as you swept past that you’ve put a heel through the hem of your dress.” She sank to her knees and lifted up the hem, sliding a
determined thumb nail along the stitching until there was indeed a four inch tear in the fabric. “There it is! It’s your lucky day! I’m an expert seamstress if I do say it myself. I always carry the necessary about with me. Black and white thread always at the ready.” She produced the sewing kit with a flourish and selected the black-threaded needle. “Just as well you’re not wearing yellow. This will do very well on navy.”

The girl was irritated and anxious and clearly this intervention was the last thing she wanted at that moment but her good manners took over. She murmured her thanks and seemed prepared to suffer in silence until the old nuisance had finished.

Lily took off the distorting spectacles and began to stitch swiftly and neatly. “There, that’s done. You’ll be wanting to get back to your young man. My dear! What an elegant and handsome fellow! My friend and I were just saying what a wonderful pair you make.”

A sudden rush of tears and a stifled howl of pain greeted this comment. Lily was taken aback by the grief she appeared to have caused and instinctively flung an arm around the shaking shoulders, offering a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and clucking sympathy. “Oh, no! I’m always putting my foot in it! Have I got it completely wrong? Look here, my dear, if the fellow’s making demands you feel uncomfortable with, I can help you out of here, call you a taxi home. No girl has to suffer unwanted advances. I know a way out that doesn’t take you back through the dining room. Do you live in London?”

She stifled her sobs and sniffled into the handkerchief. She managed a smile and stared at Lily as though seeing her for the first time. With the strangest of expressions she asked, “Who are you? Did Joe send you?”

Lily didn’t need to simulate her surprise. “Joe? Joe?… No indeed. No one’s sent me here. I’m having dinner with my publisher. I’m a romantic novelist and I have to confess we were
beginning to weave quite a story in which you and that handsome rogue upstairs were featuring. Never guessed it would end in tears. I shall have to rewrite my ending now,” she finished with a teasing rebuke. She took a chance and added, “Who’s Joe?”

“My guardian angel. I’m sorry. I thought when you took off your specs to do the sewing that was a very strange thing to do. I can’t help noticing inconsistent pieces of behaviour. It’s what I’m trained to do,” she said apologetically. “And women don’t usually offer to do up my hems … they’d rather tread on them,” she added unguardedly. “I say, are you in disguise? Has someone sent you here to keep an eye on me? To keep me out of trouble? It’s just the sort of kind-hearted but sneaky thing Joe would arrange. He’s a powerful man and he has a lot of people to do his bidding in London.”

“Well I’m not one of them. I’m from Yorkshire,” Lily lied cheerfully. “We don’t hold with Machiavellian manipulation north of the Trent. Look, Miss, your friend Joe sounds more gangster than angel to me. You want to watch
him
!” She put her spectacles back on and pulled a face. “There! Do you see the change? Lady novelists make a better impression on their publishers if they look intellectual.”

This raised another smile. “I do see! Perhaps I should try a pair.”

“They certainly keep the gentlemen at arm’s length, I’ve always found.” She gave a stagy sigh.

The answering smile became a chuckle.

“If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do …? Summon up your ‘angel,’ perhaps?”

“Lord no! I’ve spent the week dodging his attentions by one device or another. He’d tear my ears off if he knew where I was. But, look, if you really wouldn’t mind, could you come with me to the lobby? Wait with me for a taxi? They don’t much like picking up single women at this hour. You’re very kind!” She put her
arm through Lily’s and they moved towards the door. “Now—this is bad of me—but could I impose on you further? I need some time. Could you bear to have a quick word with my companion?”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes. Will you tell him I’m upset and I’ve gone back to spend the night with Kate? All perfectly true.”

“Very sensible move, my dear. I understand.”

“No, no! It’s not like that … not what you’re thinking …”

Lily seemed to have triggered an emotional reaction and waited to hear more, an expression of kind concern on her face.

“My companion is … a … lovely man. An honourable man. He wishes me no harm.”

“Leave it to me. I’ll speak to him. I’m sure I can find the right words. That’s what
I
’
m
trained to do.” They smiled at each other with mutual regard. “I’m Vanessa Richmond. How do you do?”

“Dorcas Joliffe. Thank you so much, Miss Richmond, for sticking me back together. Consider yourself my stand-in angel.”

“A
LL WELL
, L
IL
?
What have you done with her?” Phyl asked when she returned.

“Nothing’s well, I’d say. She’s done a bunk and left me to present her excuses. When I get hold of you-know-who, I’m going to fillet him!”

“You got involved with the target!” Phyl pursed her lips. “Isn’t that against all the rules of undercover work? You’ll catch it, gel, when the boss finds out.”

“You know, Phyl, there are no rules in the kind of work I do. He employs me to think for myself. We have the same wriggly ways of getting through. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I’d done exactly what my lord and spymaster intended—put a ruddy great spoke in the wheels of a budding romance!”

Phyl nodded. “Not sure about ‘budding.’ Look at him!”

Lily flicked a glance at the troubled Fitzwilliam, whose eyes
were still watching the door, and prepared herself for the coming encounter. “The things I do for England! Funny, Phyl—I lost no sleep over breaking the arm of a chap who was asking for it, but I really jib at the thought of breaking a heart.”

CHAPTER 16

Joe was slowly sipping a green and summery cocktail made up of gin, Rose’s lime cordial and large quantities of ice when the butler stalked to his side in the Great Hall.

In his over-stimulated state Joe had decided to inject a bit of life into this dull company when he came down, bathed and fresh and evening-suited. Playing heavily on his Indian experiences, he’d taken the footman aside, relieved him of his silver shaker and, with the exaggerated gestures of a Savoy cocktail waiter, given him an energetic demonstration of how to make a “gimlet,” that favourite summer tipple of the Raj. Cries of excited acclaim and an outpouring of memories from the old India hands had greeted his unorthodox behaviour and two bottles of gin had glugged their way through the silver shaker as the crowd whiled away the time waiting for the appearance of young Alex. “Well done!” Cecily had whispered. “That’s not such a bad idea. The drunker the guests are, the less conspicuous my son will appear. Shall we have another round of these delicious things?”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s a person on the telephone requiring to speak with you as a matter of urgency. A female person. She did not give her name,” Styles said quietly.

“Dorcas?” Joe said eagerly as he picked up the receiver.

“Sorry, Joe. It’s me, Lily.”

“Thank God! We’re just about to go in to dinner. Any news?”

“Dinner’s over here. In sophisticated London, they’ve all dined and gone on somewhere else. Aunty Phyl came and helped me watch.”

“And?”

“Straight to the QED bit, Joe?”

“Please.”

“Fitzwilliam was entertaining a female guest. She was happily entertained—in fact, Aunty Phyl, who hadn’t a clue who the pair were, rather thought they were in love. But it all turned sour when he gave her an unexpected present. It consisted of two items I couldn’t make out. Small. Gold. They had significance for her, though. She burst into tears and fled the table.” She hurried to add, “They’re not spending the night together.”

“Identification, Lil?”

“Pursued by me to the ladies washroom, she told me her name was Dorcas Joliffe.”

Lily absorbed the heavy silence and then took up again, slowly: “Upshot was, Miss Joliffe took off in a taxi, leaving me to make her excuses to Fitzwillie. She said she was going to stay with a friend … Kate. I heard her direct the cabby to Highgate.”

Joe’s voice was a growl of distress. “You said it, Lil. Romantic place, silver words—I’m sure there were plenty of those—and a meaningful gift. Yes, I know what that would have been. The Swine actually tricked me into acquiring it on his behalf the day before. He set me up to bid for it at Christie’s. It cost him fifty quid; it’s cost me …”

“What on earth was it, Joe?”