Authors: Barbara Cleverly
The Blood Royal (17 page)
‘Not at all. I’m going to sell hats, sir.’
‘What? Hats? Sell them? Did I hear you correctly?’
‘You did. My aunt Phyllis has a millinery business in Bruton Street. I’m going to work for her. When women try on a hat, they smile at themselves in the mirror. I like to see that. I’m going to take up a position that lets me put a smile on women’s faces instead of a grimace of pain.’
‘Anyone can say “Modom looks wonderful in that”. It takes a special kind of girl to tell a mother her son’s a murderer and he’s about to hang for his crime,’ Joe said quietly.
Lily tilted her chin in defiance and handed over the envelope.
Joe took it, stern faced, refusing to open it in her presence. He watched her turn away. She must be aware that no one could treat a senior officer with such lack of respect and get away with it. Not even his equals or superiors would descend to such rudeness. In a building patrolled by his minions, she could expect to find a heavy hand descending on her shoulder before she could make it out into the courtyard.
With a show of unconcern, he didn’t rise and come to open the door for her. While she struggled with the knob, he called after her, casual and cheery: ‘Off now, are you? Look – don’t think of going far, will you?’
As she closed the door behind her, his hand reached out to the electric buzzer on his desk.
Miss Jameson emerged from her room opposite just as Lily prepared to set off down the corridor. ‘Constable! A moment!’ She ducked back into her room.
Lily started off and then turned to see Miss Jameson stalking after her, carrying an extravagant bouquet of white flowers. They looked each other over in mutual puzzlement.
‘I’ve been keeping these fresh in my room since this morning,’ Miss Jameson said accusingly. ‘I think they’ve survived. Glad to be rid of them – they were making my room smell like a funeral parlour. The commander brought them in. He’d like you to have them.’
‘Me? Are you sure? But why?’ Lily said unguardedly.
Miss Jameson shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘Who can say? If you don’t know, I’m sure no one else does. He’s a law unto himself. He’s known to indulge, on occasion, in … whimsicality.’ The distaste in her voice suggested whimsicality might well be accounted the eighth deadly sin. ‘There’s a note in there, you’ll find.’ She turned on her heel.
Alone in the corridor, Lily fished out a small florist’s envelope, opened it and took out a note written in black ink.
Present yourself here at 6 p.m. Saturday week in Mata Hari mode. Something sparkling at the wrist and throat? I have another little problem you can help me with. JS.
Joe waited until he heard Miss Jameson’s door close again and Lily’s footsteps retreat down the corridor before he picked up the telephone and requested the internal number he had rung before.
‘She’s just left.’
A murmured question at the other end of the line prompted the response: ‘Oh, yes, I think so. In any case she’ll have to do … no time to look further. She’s the right age – which is to say a year or two younger than our friend. How old is he these days? Twenty-eight?
‘No, she’s not out of the top drawer, I’m afraid. The lowest grade for intake recommended by Sir Nevil – what was it? Upper shop-assistant level? Yes, pitch it there. Is that where you’d find millinery? Hats? But her behaviour’s acceptable. She’ll pass.’
He listened impatiently to a further query and answered briskly: ‘Well of course we have. But none of them has the other qualities we require. My cousin Margery might oblige, if I asked her … though she runs Girl Guides shindigs on Saturday nights, I believe. And I very much doubt she can do the tango.’
He eased the receiver a little way from his ear. ‘Well, there you are then. You’ll have to take what’s on offer. It’s a question of settling for the best balance. I’ve passed them all in review and you’ll have to take my word for it, this is the best we can do. Look – I took the precaution of trailing her before a friend … Lady Dedham … Cassandra. Knowing nothing to the contrary, she took her for one of our upper-class young ladies. In fact, the girl made a very favourable impression. No awkwardness at all, sympathetic and chatty, was the verdict. Cassandra’s asked to see her again – quite unprompted by me. “Someone I can really talk to,” she says. And Cassandra Dedham’s no one’s fool.
‘Accent? Do you know, I hadn’t noticed one,’ Joe lied cheerily. ‘They can always talk to each other in cockney, I suppose … he’s an adept. I’ve heard him at it. And she
is
a London lass. Though Margery, who seems to have got somewhat fond of the girl, assures me she can, in fact, produce a Mayfair drawl that’s indistinguishable from the real thing. Ghastly, but it might be useful.’
The voice at the other end guffawed and exclaimed: ‘So that
was
her! Thought it must have been. Did you realize, sir? She rang us up from your office, pretending to be the operator. She got Howard – who’s not the sharpest – and pulled the wool over his eyes. It was a beat or two before he caught on. He thinks he got away with it – played the silly ass and burbled a bit. Told her he was the War Office! That must have shaken her.’
‘Mmm … not so’s you’d notice,’ Joe murmured. ‘I wondered if she’d have the initiative to follow that through. Well, well! I chalk one up to Wentworth. Another one. She seems to be scoring all round the wicket.’
He listened to a further question and replied testily: ‘Educated? Gracious, man – does it matter? She’s hardly likely to be taking part in a Platonic symposium in the company
we
have in mind. But if you need to know – according to her notes, she matriculated from a boys’ grammar school. Odd, that …’ He consulted his file. ‘Is that possible? Should have been followed up at interview … Not to be dismissed, those establishments … my best super is a product of one such. We’ll probably find they’ve taught her to conjugate a deponent verb and debunk the Phlogiston Theory in a hundred words. Let’s pray she’s not minded to do either on Saturday week. It would fall a bit flat.
‘Appearance? Again, acceptable. No, I’d go so far as to say attractive.’ He cleared his throat and admitted: ‘In fact, damned attractive. Hard to tell what’s under all that serge, of course. I had to use my imagination. Physical type is right – pony rather than the usual shire horse we have on our books. Well coupled up. Moves nicely. A grace that’s natural, you’d say, rather than imposed by deportment classes. Fair hair, fashionably cut. I have to say they’ll make a lovely pair.’
A further muttered question raised a blustering response. ‘Good Lord, man, I didn’t ask. I say – there
is
a limit!
‘Oh, yes, she has physical courage. Saw her damn nearly get herself knifed at Paddington. Excellent report in her file from her ju-jitsu instructor. And she’s resourceful. I’ll bear witness to both qualities. And, in Margery’s words, she’s “forthcoming”. By that my cousin meant the girl’s ready to speak up for herself.’ Joe grinned. ‘Some might say impertinent and undisciplined. No idea when to hold her tongue. Still, I keep reminding myself – and I remind you, James – it’s not a doormat we’re looking for. And perhaps we shall just have to accommodate and learn to
manage
a little female free-thinking. I’m ahead of you there – brought up by a suffragist mother and sister, I’ve been doing it all my life. But we have one problem, James, old man. When I said a moment ago that she’d left, I meant exactly that.’ He gave a shout of laughter. ‘So freely does the constable think, she’s just buggered off, leaving me with her resignation letter on my desk.
‘Yes! Yes! Flounced out! I didn’t know whether to have her arrested or give her a round of applause …
‘No, no need for the heavy hand. Not yet. I had the forethought to set a reserve bait. I think I’ve worked out what makes Miss Wentworth tick. She’ll be back in the net before you can say knife. No need for concern. I have our girl in hand. I think we can say with some confidence that it’s all on for Saturday week.’
He looked at his watch. ‘Now, James, I want you and whoever you’ve put in charge of next Saturday’s jollification … Rupert? Ah, yes – good man … to come up here to the ops room for a briefing and exchange of information and to meet your opposite number in the CID, Superintendent Hopkirk. Six suit you? Time we all shook the cards from our sleeves and laid them out on the table. Officers possibly in the line of fire – always a concern whether they’re male, doubly so when they’re female. And “Carnage at Claridges” is not a headline I want to see splashed across the
Daily Mirror
the next day.’
‘Well, what do you think, Phyl? And please don’t tell me he’s only after—’
‘I wasn’t going to. Give me
some
credit. In fact, I was going to say – you seem to have caught the attention of the one man in London who’s
not
Only After One Thing!’ Auntie Phyl put on the spectacles that dangled on her slim bosom and peered again at the florist’s card. ‘Hard to say what he
is
after, but whatever it may be, it’s not a girl’s most precious possession.’
‘You sound very certain of that, Phyl. What makes you think so?’
‘Hold your horses. What is this – the third degree? I need a Passing Cloud to aid concentration. And a cup of cocoa. Put that pan on the gas ring, love, and I’ll tell you. Don’t skimp on the sugar.’
The office space and workshop at the back of Auntie Phyl’s hat shop was generous and equipped for staff comfort as well as running repairs and the creative flourishes the business demanded. Lily was very much at home here and busied herself with milk pan and mugs.
‘Gawd! My feet! I’ve been on them since six this morning.’ Phyllis Wentworth, Modiste to the Gentry, sank grumbling into one of the two armchairs, kicked off her shoes and began to massage her toes. ‘Oooh! That’s better. Antelope skin – soft as butter and all the go but the heel height’s a killer! I’m too young to have bunions! Oh, thanks, love.’ She accepted a cigarette from the silver tin Lily found beside the biscuit barrel, moistened her lips, placed the oval shape delicately between them and sighed. She narrowed her eyes while Lily struck a match and lit it. ‘Ah! First puff of the first cigarette of the day! Nothing like it. Have one? No? Suit yourself.’ She turned her attention back to the tiny card. ‘Give me a minute. And let me get
you
in focus … say hello. You haven’t been to see me for weeks. I was thinking of going to the police to declare you a missing person. And now you come tearing in here at the end of the day all sparkly eyed, clutching a florist’s card like your first love-letter and expect me to do an instant Sherlock on it? And – first things first …’ She looked about her in an exaggerated way. ‘Weren’t there supposed to be flowers with this, or have you latched on to the biggest cheapskate in London? A bloke who sends you a card with a picture of a flower on it and a three-line note cuts no ice with
me
.’
‘Were there ever flowers! You couldn’t see me for flowers as I staggered along the Embankment with them. I left them at the Charing Cross Hospital. What am I supposed to do with a sheaf of lilies in the middle of town? I was attracting comment! If I’d taken them back to the hostel – can you imagine what ideas that would have put into Mrs Turnbull’s head?’
‘The contents of Mrs Turnbull’s head are not something I choose to conjure with, thanks very much. Lilies? Those lovely long-stemmed ones? You should have brought them here. I could have put them in the window. Touch of class.’
‘You don’t need any more touches. The window looks wonderful.’ At last Lily remembered her manners. ‘Are you all right, Phyl? Business going well?’
‘I’ll say! Always the season for hats. And there’s no shortage of cash about in the West End. I sold over a dozen models today and took as many orders. The races … weddings … None under ten guineas.’
‘Mum says you’re branching out. She’s spreading the rumour that you’ve put in a bid for Harrods.’
‘What? Maids’ uniforms and off-the-peg celanese frocks? Give me some credit! Still, the old bat’s not entirely wrong – I have got something up my sleeve. I’ve had to take on two more girls this month in the sewing department. You know, Lily love, that there’s always a place for you here? And you’ll see why it’s urgent when I tell you my news. I could do with a manager. And I’d pay you better than the starvation wages you get for pounding the pavements.’
‘Perhaps they’d raise my pay if I did some special undercover work. Work where I can use my brain, Phyl.’
Phyllis looked at her niece with pity and understanding. ‘Those upper-class bosses of yours expect you to keep your brains in your boots, love. They don’t expect a common or garden girl like you to think or reason, whatever learning she’s done. They’d say you were getting above yourself if you started to use all that matriculation stuff you’ve got in your head. Your mother isn’t often right but when she warned your father that it was asking for trouble getting you educated she might, for once in her life, have hit the nail on the head.’
‘Well, I’m going to surprise you, Phyl. I’ve had an offer – a serious offer, I think – of some plain-clothes detective work! This JS was, in fact, quite pleased to discover I could think for myself. Let me tell you why he’s really interested in me, shall I?’