The Yellow Room Conspiracy (15 page)

We found Miss Twill on the point of leaving, outraged by Edward's ten-minute absence. Edward seemed unperturbed, switching on charm and pouring her a large Scotch. Lucy and Janet embarked on a discussion, full of Vereker references, thus impenetrable to outsiders, about the care of their old Nanny, who after a lifetime of adapting herself to the whims and extravagances of her employers was now making up for lost chances by being a disruptive influence in the old people's home where they had placed her. This left David and me together, so I took the chance to ask him whether he knew anything about the collapse of the Felder fortune. Rare metal futures were not his area of expertise, but apparently Felder's wallowings had created upheavals elsewhere, so David knew enough about it to explain that in his efforts to drive the price of molybdenum up Felder had illegally raided a number of trusts (Nancy's presumably included) where he had sufficient clout with the trustees to make them do as he wanted. I then shamelessly pumped him for his views on the various currencies whose movements might affect my business until a BBC car arrived which Edward had arranged to take Miss Twill home. She was staying at Brown's, and as David had rooms in Albany he took the chance of a lift. I formally offered to drive Lucy back to Eaton Square, and she kept up the charade and gratefully accepted.

As soon as we were alone she said, “Gerry's going to marry Nan.”

“So I hear.”

“On the same day as Ben and Michael. Same filthy cricket match! And I'd been looking forward to it!”

(A fortnight or so earlier I'd received a note from Nancy saying that Ben was to be married from Blatchards early in September, in the morning, so that they could hold a celebratory cricket match in the afternoon and have a party in the evening. I was to come and score.)

“You are not enthusiastic?” I said.

“I could spit! Let's talk about something else.”

Next morning I telephoned Mrs Mudge.

Ten years later, it will be remembered, she was briefly a popular media figure following a police raid and a prosecution for living on immoral earnings. She must by then have been well into her seventies. She had always born a mild resemblance to Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, and for her court appearances deliberately dressed to enhance the likeness, spoke in much the same voice, and tended to use the royal “we” when referring to herself. Most people assumed she was doing this for laughs, as part of the sexual/satirical revolution which was then in full swing, but I guessed she had begun the act not as a tease but in an attempt to emphasise her own respectability and social worth, though she was then quite bright enough to recognise the effect she was having and to broaden her pastiche into caricature. She was always deeply interested in the doings of the Royal Family, and was known to long to number one of them among her clients. I believe she used to hint that Edward VIII, when Prince of Wales, had been at least friendly, which is possible, since in those days she used to run a little smart-sleazy hotel and was a pet, rather in the manner of Rosa Lewis, among some of the raffish rich.

Be that as it may, at the time of which I am writing she had what she called an “agency”. I had come across her because in the latter part of the war my own organisation had been transmogrified and I had spent an unpleasant six months in London with a section, set up with unwonted prescience by some maverick in the security world, which was attempting to subvert members of legations in what was to become the Eastern Bloc. We had a few successes, all of whom were executed as soon as the communists took power. Mrs Mudge had supplied us with some of what my colleagues insisted on calling “live bait”. She was devotedly patriotic, and regarded these activities as her war-work, even claiming to be giving us a reduced rate for her services, though no doubt charging as much for them as she thought the market would bear. When I had got in touch with her for help with my Dutchman she had seemed delighted to be reminded of “the old days”, but now her reception of my call was icy. She recognised my voice.

“Mr Charles!”

We had all used pseudonyms, and mine, I'm sorry to say, had been Charlie. Mrs Mudge was not one for that level of informality.

“Got it in one,” I said. “I hope you're well, Mrs Mudge.”

“We have nothing to say to you.”

“I'm sorry. I don't understand.”

“You have let me down very badly. Very badly indeed.” “You'll have to explain.”

“You know quite well what I'm talking about, Mr Charles. You gave a certain person my name. He proved utterly untrustworthy.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know. He's a very old acquaintance of mine, and he's never let me down. Is there anything I can do to make amends? Are you in a position to tell me what happened?”

“Well … for old times” sake then. There is a very talented child I befriended when she was alone in London, and not yet twenty. How some parents allow that I cannot imagine, and I don't know what mightn't have happened to her if she hadn't come under my wing. When your friend called and explained his problem she came immediately to mind.”

“Can you tell me roughly what it was he wanted, Mrs Mudge? I'm not asking you to break confidences, of course.”

“Oh, I certainly wouldn't normally, but after what he's done! I don't know if you are aware of it, Mr Charles, but there are some gentlemen who seem to feel that they have not been sufficiently corrected in their youth …

“I've heard about that. Did he want her to be able to dress as a man?”

She sounded surprised, and immediately suspicious again.

“What made you think that?” she said.

“If it's the same girl, that's how she was dressed when I met her.”

“You didn't tell me that you had met her.”

“If it's the same girl … please, Mrs Mudge, this really is above board. It involves a very dear friend of mine and I don't want her hurt. That's all.”

“I see. In that case … yes, the girl likes to pass herself off as a young man, but I don't believe your friend made it a requirement.”

“What happened next?”

“We arranged an interview, which proved satisfactory, but believe it or not within days the misguided girl had been persuaded to leave our protection, which was bad enough. But on top of that your friend allowed her to become involved with some very undesirable people.”

The shock of what she appeared to be telling me took me off balance and I overdid my response, but she appeared not to notice.

“That's awful. I'm really appalled, Mrs Mudge. Do you mean to say this happened without any acknowledgment to you?”

“Not even a severance fee, Mr Charles.”

“That's too bad. Would you like me to see what I can do about that? What do you suggest? Fifty pounds?”

“Guineas, please, Mr Charles.”

“I'll see what can be arranged.”

“You are most kind.”

“Tell me, Mrs Mudge, have you tried to do anything about this yourself? Persuade the girl to come back, for instance?”

“I asked some friends of mine to reason with her, but they were forcibly prevented from doing so.”

(Would she have told me if the men who'd tried to abduct the girl had recognised Gerry? I think so.)

“How unpleasant,” I said. “Tell me, these people she is now connected with—are they by any chance involved in the licensed trade? In Wapping, perhaps?”

She hesitated again, but I reckoned she would know that she had not yet given me anything like enough for my fifty guineas.

“Are you sure you are not working for anyone else these days, Mr Charles? Not you-know-who?”

“Not any more. I work for myself, and it's not the sort of work we used to do ten years ago. I sell business machines for a living, but as I told you, I'm trying to help a friend. I happened to hear something at a dinner party about these people in Wapping, and put two and two together.”

“Well, I have to believe you. Let me tell you that there are certain folk, not a hundred miles from Wapping, and if they were to learn that I'd been passing on tittle-tattle about them to someone who might be working for you-know-who—then, well, I don't know what.”

“I quite understand. But you're not going to tell me I'm wrong in my guess?”

“No, I'm not going to tell you that.”

“Well, thank you. I won't press you any further. What about the girl, though? What's she like, can you tell me? Apart from being ungrateful and disloyal, of course?”

“Oh, we are most disappointed in her. Such a waste. Such real possibilities. If only she'd played her cards right and followed my advice, she might have done really well for herself, made a good marriage, even. It has happened … you say you've met her.”

“Not to talk to. I sat opposite her at a dinner party, when she was dressed as a man—for a bet, apparently …”

“The things they get up to!”

“… otherwise I've seen her once in the distance, in a long dress with a wig. I thought she looked decidedly attractive like that.”

“Oh, yes, quite a picture she can be, Mr Charles. Apart from the lower limbs, poor dear. Too much muscle is not becoming, I always think.”

“Perhaps that's why she prefers to wear trousers. Is she intelligent?”

“Far from stupid, and a nice educated voice she can do, too. Her big problem is the way she's got it in for men. Quite a few of them have, deep down, in my experience, and of course there's gentlemen that find that interesting in various ways … only this girl's got it stronger than most.”

“Any idea why?”

“You'd need Professor Freud to tell you that, but it's something that happened a long time ago, when she was a little girl, I should think. It usually is.”

“All right. I'll call again in a few days” time, and if you happen to have heard any more I'd be very glad to know. And I'll see what I can manage about your fee. How would you like it paid?”

“In cash, if you please. Leave it in an envelope for me with the cashier at Culley's in Jermyn Street when you're next passing, please.”

“That's the saddler's, isn't it? It will be there by tomorrow evening.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Not at all.”

We rang off. I was of course considerably perturbed and distressed by what I seemed to have learnt, but I had no time to think about it for a while, as a Spanish client of mine with whom I was hoping to do a lot of business was already waiting for me. By the time I was able to call Lucy she had gone out, so I sent a note round asking her to get in touch at once. She sounded cross when she rang, and reluctant, but I insisted on a meeting. We had found a strange little tea-room a few minutes” walk from my office, and the same from Heal's and the British Museum and other places where Lucy might reasonably get the chauffeur to drop her. It was one of about a dozen small shops around a quiet crossroads—a tobacconist, an ironmonger, a fishmonger selling only three basic sorts of fish, and so on—all having an air of being left over from before the war. The sweet-shop looked as if it might still be selling sherbet in halfpenny twists. The tea-room had this aura too. The middle-aged waitress wore a lace cap and apron, called one “dearie” and brought excellent fresh tea and home-made sponge cake. It was a quietly cheerful place, with a regular clientele, though we never needed to wait for a table. Some of these were in screened booths, so we had a sense of secrecy, congenial to such an affair. That afternoon Lucy stood out in the open, looking round while she removed her gloves.

“Father would have liked this place,” she said as she sat down.

“I expect so. How have things been?”

“Just living from day to day. Sometimes I feel I want to go back to when I was seventeen and start all over again.”

“You're sure about the seventeen?”

“It'll do. Why?”

“It doesn't cut me out of your life. We'd already met.”

Her smile was not convincing. I sensed her unhappiness, but when the waitress came for our order, treating us already as old customers, she made the necessary small-talk with apparent pleasure and interest.

“You've got something to tell me,” she said as soon as we were alone.

“You're not going to like it. I don't.”

“Let's get it over.”

I started with what Edward Voss-Thompson had told me at the dinner party. She listened impassively, asking no questions but breaking again into factitious liveliness while our tea was brought. Her only comment on that episode was “Michael is a bastard. Go on.” So I told her about Gerry's original request and my conversation with Mrs Mudge.

When I'd finished she drank her tea in silence for several minutes. Then she said, “Sorry. I was getting over being furious with you. I wanted to scream at you that it was all none of your business, and you should never have rung that woman and you should never have told me, but I suppose you had to. Now you'd better tell me what you think I ought to do.”

“It is still none of my business.”

“Go on.”

“If you tell Nancy, she'll tell Gerry?”

“Of course, but I don't have to tell her about the programme. I can just say it's something I found out, but I can't tell her how.”

“Will she accept that?”

“She'll bloody have to. Let's have another pot of tea. And a lot more cake. The only thing to do when you're really miserable is to eat or drink, and drinking's worse. Then you can tell me what to do about Tommy.”

She sat brooding while I caught the waitress's eye and re-ordered.

“You are not yet prepared to ask him for a divorce?” I said.

“No. Definitely not. He won't divorce me because he's a Catholic. Besides, he's got an idea that what's happening is like some sort of disease he's going to get better from, and then we can go back to rubbing along like we were.”