Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (20 page)

      Ernie nudged me with his elbow. When I glanced up at him, he leaned over and whispered, “Look over there. It’s John Barrymore. I understand he’s starring in
Don Juan
for the Warner brothers, and it’s going to have sound.”

      I stared at him, hugging Rosie the while. “You mean, a picture will actually
talk?
”

      “So they say. It’ll be interesting to see if we can understand what they’re saying.”

      “I always thought the cameras were too loud to permit talking.”

      “Guess not. Say, there’s one of the Warner brothers right there.” He indicated a gentleman talking to John Barrymore, whose eyes were half closed and whom, I regret to say, looked rather the worse for drink.

      “Do you know him?”

      “Naw. I’ve only met a few of the bright lights in the flickers.”

      I spotted someone else. “Oh, my goodness, is that Rudolph Valentino?” I almost dropped Rosie, I was so amazed.

      “Looks like it from here. But say, I’ve got to talk to our genial host. Want to meet him?”

      I thought about it as I petted Rosie. “I don’t believe so, thank you. I think I’ll mingle a bit.” I was good at mingling. Having money might not be all it’s cracked up to be, but it does give one confidence. For the most part. I suppose there are some wealthy people in the world who wouldn’t feel comfortable at a party where they didn’t know anyone, but I didn’t suffer from that problem.

      Although I had formulated what I considered a brilliant scheme and was eager to put it to the test, I waited until I saw Ernie approach a heavy-set man with a pencil-thin black moustache and perfectly elegant evening clothes. Aha. Mr. Fortescue, who had made his fortune by blackmailing people. I wondered how many people in that stellar mob were there because they were afraid not to be.

      After pinpointing where Mr. Fortescue and Ernie were in the room, I meandered over to a table laden with all sorts of edible treats. Hoisting Rosie to a position against my hip, I held her firm with my elbow. Then, arming myself with a plate and filling it with liver pâté, a few tiny sausages, some cheese, and two little meatballs, I put her down on the floor and gave her a snitch of liver pâté. She was my friend for life after that.

      That being the case, and with an air of perfect innocence, I wandered over to the door to the foyer, where stood the butler, poised to answer the door should some exalted personage—or even another couple like Ernie and me—ring the bell. I stumbled a trifle, and pasted an expression of great pain on my face, dropping as I did so one of the meatballs for Rosie’s delectation. She obliged.

      “Excuse me.”

      The butler turned and lifted an eyebrow at me. Probably Lulu would have been intimidated. I’d grown up with butlers stuffier than this one lording it over the house in which I lived, so I wasn’t. “Madam?” said he in a snooty voice.

      “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I’m feeling ill. Could you please direct me to the ladies’ parlor?” The look on my face was one I’d practiced when much younger. Chloe and I used to see which of us could appear more pitiable in an attempt to weasel candy money from our grandparents. I almost always got more money than she did, although I’m not sure if it’s because I looked pathetic or because I was younger and had long brown braids and big blue eyes.

      He thawed. I’d figured he would. “Of course, Madam.” He gestured at a uniformed footman. “Henry, please show this lady to the ladies’ retiring room.”

      
The ladies’ retiring room?
Merciful heavens.

      Henry was a young man with an air of awed interest about him. This was probably his first big party, and it was crammed with famous people. He bowed to me, even though I wasn’t famous. “Right this way.”

      “Thank you so much, Henry.” Deciding I might as well pretend to be a starlet, I gave him a glorious smile and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. I, still carrying my plate of doggie delectables, followed Henry, and Rosie, bless her greedy little heart, followed me.

      Her toenails made a clackety noise on the tiles. I hoped Henry wouldn’t try to shoo her away or put two and two together. When we got to the ladies’ parlor, he made as if to get rid of Rosie, but I forestalled him. “Oh, please, let her come in with me. She’s such a sweetheart.”

      “Very well, Madam.” He was so bedazzled, I doubt that he even rolled his eyes as he turned to go back to his post beside the butler. “Oh, Henry,” I said as he started off. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave the party because I feel so unwell. Would you please fetch my cape. It’s a black crepe one with embroidery down the front.” I’d already anticipated this sly move with two dollar bills which I thrust at Henry. “And if you could please tell Mr. Templeton that I’m unwell? He’ll have to take me home.”

      The next part might be tricky. However, under the policy of “nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I decided to go ahead and try. Leaving both the plate of goodies and Rosie in the ladies’ parlor (I set the plate on a counter where Rosie couldn’t get at it), I left the room and stood near the ladies’ parlor door, trying very hard to look as if I were in the process of dying, and waited for my cape and Ernie. My cape arrived first, carried by yet a third uniformed lackey. I handed him another dollar bill and another brilliant, but pitiable, smile. “Thank you so much. Is Henry fetching Mr. Templeton? I do feel terribly ill.” To prove it, I put a hand to my brow as if checking for fever.

      “I’m awful sorry, ma’am,” this latest fellow said, goggling at me. The black crepe frock was truly quite lovely, and my newly bobbed hair made me look the picture of fashion. At least, I believe it did. I couldn’t think of any other reason for him to stare so, unless he was memorizing my features in case I later got famous.

      Making my smile a trifle more pathetic, I said, “Thank you so much,” and prayed he’d go away.

      “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

      “No, but I do thank you. You’re very kind.”

      My nerves were jumping like boys on several pogo sticks as I stood there, and I wanted to yell at him to go away and leave me alone.

      He didn’t get the hint. “Are you sure? Would you like something to drink or anything?”

      I couldn’t stand much more of his attention. “No, thank you. In fact, I feel quite ill.” And, lifting my hand to my mouth, I ducked into the ladies’ parlor once more. Rosie jumped on me as if we’d been parted for a year or three. I knelt to fend her off—I was wearing new black silk stockings, and didn’t want to get a ladder—and listened for all I was worth, praying I’d hear the sound of that pestilential boy’s retreat. I did, and I nearly fainted from relief.

      “Wait here another little minute, Rosie,” I said, and exited the room, giving her a sliver of cheese to keep her company.

      And there, thank God! was Ernie Templeton, walking down the hallway toward me, his face like a thundercloud. I didn’t care about that.

        “What the devil is going on? That guy back there—” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder “—said you’re sick. Damn it, Mercy—”

      “Stay there,” I commanded crisply, and ducked back into the ladies’ parlor. There I scooped up Rosie, threw my cape over both her and my arm, wrapped the remaining sausages, cheese and meatballs in my handkerchief, and stuffed them into my pocket, praying they wouldn’t stain my gorgeous new frock beyond redemption. From that pocket, I could fetch tidbits and feed them to Rosie under the cover of my cape. Then I left the parlor, jerked my head in Ernie’s direction—I didn’t dare take his arm for fear I’d drop something—and said, “Let’s go.”

      “Damn it, Mercy—”

      Through gritted teeth, I said, “Let’s
go!
” I gave him as significant a look as I could under the circumstances, and stepped out smartly toward the front door, still attempting to appear as if I were about to faint from whatever mysterious illness I’d suddenly developed. The two behaviors weren’t necessarily compatible, but I do believe I carried them off rather well.

      He didn’t understand, of course, but he did as I requested. The butler opened the door, and we departed from Mr. Fortescue’s party approximately twenty minutes after arriving at it. Ernie grumbled all the way to the Studebaker. I didn’t say a word until the uniformed car caddies had opened my door for me, and Ernie started the engine. Actually, I didn’t speak then, either, because I was too busy rescuing food from my pockets and praying my dress wasn’t stained.

      As I did the above, Rosie crawled to freedom, and Ernie uttered a startled, “Shit!” But by that time we were almost to Mr. Fortescue’s huge gate. I threw my cape over the pup as we passed the guardhouse. If the guard happened to glance into the car, and providing he could see anything at all in the dark, he might have wondered why my cape wiggled so much, but he didn’t say anything, opened the gate, and we were off.

      Ernie drove approximately three blocks on Sunset Boulevard before he pulled the Studebaker to the curb and parked, turned, and stared at me as if he’d never seen me before. “I can’t believe you did that!”

      I gave him one of my innocent smiles. “Did what? You wanted Mrs. Von Schilling’s property back, didn’t you? This is her property, isn’t it?” I was cuddling Rosie at the time. “I hope to heaven you didn’t give that horrid man any money.”

      “I never even got to meet him. That guy in livery came and told me you were sick.”

      “Good.” I believe I should be forgiven if I felt a sense of pride over a job well done.

      Ernie shook his head for about ten seconds before he started driving again. I noticed his shoulders shaking, though, and I was pretty sure he was laughing. My assumption was confirmed when we pulled up in front of Chloe’s house, and he had to wipe his eyes.

      Turning to me, he held out his hand. “Mercy Allcutt, allow me to shake your hand.”

      “What for?”

      “For pulling off one of the greatest feats of skullduggery in Los Angeles history. You got the better of  Horatio Fortescue. I don’t think anyone else has ever done that—well, and lived to talk about it.”

      I felt my eyes open wide in alarm. “Good heavens, is he truly dangerous?”

      “Well, yeah. Why do you think people are so afraid of him?”

      I swallowed, much as Henry’s companion had done when I’d smiled at him. “But … but I thought he was only a blackmailer. I thought that’s why people were afraid of him.”

      “I suppose that’s his main business.”

      “Then you don’t think I’m in any physical danger?”

      “How could you be? He never even met you. Hell, he never even met
me
. He doesn’t know you took the dog. If he asks, the butler will say the pooch followed some lady into the bathroom, but nobody knows your name and nobody saw you leave with the dog.” He chuckled again. “God, that’s priceless.”

      “So can I be your assistant now?” I didn’t expect a positive response, but as long as I was on the one-can-but-try theme, I figured the question was worth the asking.

      “You’re turning out to be a pretty good secretary, but let’s not rush things.”

      I sniffed and thrust the dog at him. “Very well, then,
you
get to take care of Rosie until Mrs. Von Schilling comes to fetch her.”

      “Hey!”

      “Thank you for an interesting evening, Ernie,” I said as I opened my own door and exited the Studebaker. “I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

      I heard him holler, “Mercy!” as I tripped up the walkway to Chloe’s house.

      When I told Chloe what had happened (naturally, she’d waited up for me, although she hadn’t had to wait long. I walked through the door of her house at around nine-thirty that night), she laughed so hard she claimed I gave her a stomachache.

Eleven

When I arrived at work slightly before eight o’clock on Monday morning, after having greeted the emery board–wielding Lulu LaBelle in a friendly manner, I saw that a note lay on the office floor, shoved there at some point during the weekend, I guess. I picked it up, and was surprised to find it was addressed to me.

      My nose wrinkled when I opened it and discovered it to be an epistle of love signed “Your Adorer.” I threw it in the waste-paper basket and muttered, “Ew.”

      However, I didn’t let Mr. Godfrey’s insanity bother me for very long. I’d done an admirable piece of work on Saturday, and I was proud of myself. Even Ernie had appreciated my ingenuity and daring. True, he hadn’t actually said so, but he had shaken my hand and told me I’d done a good job. Although I’m sure it bespeaks a weakness in my character, I was hoping for a little more praise that morning. I spent my first few minutes in the office throwing wilted flowers away and washing out vases.

      And then, after taking a careful measure of the office and determining where I should hang my newly acquired purchase, I stood on one of my office chairs, hammered a nail into the wall as if I’d been doing such things all my life, and hung up the fall-foliage picture. It looked quite well there when I climbed down from the chair and scrutinized it. Placing the rug, an oval in muted green and brown with yellow flowers, on the floor, I concluded that the place looked ever so much more inviting than it had. And the picture and rug hadn’t cost all that much, either.

      My state of elation lasted until Ernie got to work about three-quarters of an hour after I did. After redecorating, I’d dusted the office, straightened the papers on my desk, and fended off Ned, who seemed inclined to want to use my office as his reading closet, and was still feeling smug. I’d half expected Ernie to be carrying Rosie when he arrived at the office. His arms were empty of poodles, however.

      “Good morning,” I said brightly as Ernie slouched into the room.

      “Yeah,” he said, and, after stopping dead in his tracks for approximately five seconds as he surveyed my improvements to my room, he went into his office. I heard his hat land on the floor, heard him say, “Damn,” and assumed he was picking it up.