Authors: Barbara Cleverly
‘Half past one o’clock and London’s still open for business, lit up and roistering. This is an early night for HRH. Poor chap – he was looking quite done in, I thought, towards the end. Still – he played his part with some skill, don’t you agree? Not easy being the mealy worm on the hook at the end of the line.’
‘I thought him skilful, brave and – yes – charming, sir.’
A mist was rising from the river and its deliciously chill breath made her shiver. She pulled her cashmere wrap more closely about her shoulders and watched as his car made a daring U-turn and set off in the opposite direction. She turned her head abruptly away from the road, annoyed but amused at what she saw, then looked up surreptitiously to see if he’d noticed the car tailing them.
‘I won’t offer an arm,’ he said easily. ‘I’ve noticed you like to stride out. Tell you what I will offer though … we’ve plenty of time before the team starts to assemble. In a hundred yards or so there’ll be another comfort available. Tell me when any food last passed your lips, Wentworth.’
She had to think hard before she remembered. ‘I had a ham sandwich in the Strand, sir. At midday.’
‘Not good enough. I’m sorry for that. You must allow me to make amends.’
She didn’t show any pleasure at his suggestion but pattered resentfully after him. He was about to rethink his offer of a supporting arm but decided against it. She wouldn’t welcome the gesture and wouldn’t quite know how to refuse it.
They marched on in silence, the traffic becoming thicker as they neared Scotland Yard. Joe stopped suddenly when he reached the head of a taxi rank where a long, low building resembling a railway carriage had been constructed. Weatherboarded and painted park-bench green, it had a small black projecting iron stovepipe giving out a blast of coal, smoke and cooking food. A notice over the door declared it to be
Licensed Cabman Shelter No. 402
.
He put his head round the door and shouted a question. Satisfied with the rumbling response from the interior, he opened the door wider. ‘It’s for cabbies,’ he explained. ‘A sort of revictualling station. These things are everywhere in London but people hardly notice them. They’re not supposed to let just anybody in – they’d lose their licence – but if they get to know you they’ll allow you eat here. Let’s go on board and see what we can find.’
Joe took off his top hat and ducked through the low doorway. Lily followed, stepping from the chilly street into a welcoming fug.
‘Evening, Frank,’ Joe said to the whiskered man behind the counter. ‘I’d like something for this young lady to eat. She’s ravenous. In fact we both are.’
‘Evening, Captain!’ Frank looked pleased to see Joe and if he was taken aback by his white tie and tails he showed no sign of it. ‘Hungry, are you?’
‘I’ll say. We’ve just spent several hours in the restaurant at Claridges, toying with larks’ tongues and picking at plovers’ eggs.’
Frank’s moustache bristled with distaste. ‘Ah. Well, you’ll be needing a Zeppelin in the clouds with onion gravy, then. That’ll stick your ribs together.’
‘That’s sausage and mash, Wentworth.’
Suddenly the idea of sausage and mash made Lily’s eyes gleam. ‘Oh, yes please! That would go down a treat.’
‘Righto. That’ll be two Zeppelins, Frank, and what have you got on for pudding tonight?’
‘Figgy duff to follow, sir, with a dollop of custard?’
Lily’s eyes lit on a cabby spooning up a richly scented pudding and she nodded.
There were two other solid figures in the shelter, steadily eating their way through a substantial serving of something brown and glutinous. They both greeted Sandilands. ‘Evenin’, Captain!’
‘You’re up late,’ said one of them through the steam from a white china cup.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ said Joe, returning the expected reply and enjoying the expected guffaw it produced. And to Lily, ‘Shall we sit over there in the corner?’
As soon as they settled, a large freckled hand descended between them and plates of sausage and mash appeared on the table.
‘Mustard with that, miss? Ketchup? Cup o’ tea?
‘Mustard and a cupper would be grand, Frank,’ said Lily. ‘Milk, one lump, please.’
‘Ah, supper!’ Joe exclaimed in anticipation, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Supper is one of man’s chief pleasures. The other three slip my mind when faced with a banger.’
Lily grinned. She sliced off the crusty end of her sausage first and chewed it with satisfaction, then leaned over to ask, ‘You’re sure this is all right?’
Joe swallowed his sausage and regretfully put down his knife and fork. ‘Well, it is a bit like school dinners, I suppose. But I rather enjoyed school dinners. If you really don’t fancy it, I can think of something else.’
‘No, it’s heavenly. Can’t tell you how much I prefer it to caviar. I meant we don’t risk ruining Frank’s reputation, do we? Look at us. Two refugees from the chorus line of
Florodora
, still in costume. I wouldn’t want to scare the customers away. It wouldn’t be polite.’
Joe responded to the concern that underlay the light tone. ‘Don’t worry. They’re used to me and my strange ways here, though turning up with a delightful young lady on my arm is not usually one of them. I shall have to put up with a bit of heavy jocularity on that score, I’m afraid. They mostly look on me as a protective presence since I leaned heavily on a street gang that was giving them a bad time. And old Frank’s known me for … oh, it must be going on eight years.’
‘The army?’
Joe nodded. ‘He was in my regiment.’
‘Ah, I understand. You saved his life and he repays you in figgy duffs?’
‘No. You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s to him I owe
my
life. He’s no more likely to forget it than I am and – I’ll tell you something – you can get rather solicitous and protective of someone whose life you’ve saved, Wentworth,’ he said and added: ‘You’ll find.’
‘
I’ll
find, sir?’
‘Oh, yes. You’ll be for ever involved – at a personal level now – in the continued well-being of HRH. You’ll scan the Society pages of the press each day to check up on his health. You’ll be concerned by reports that he has a head cold; you’ll offer up a prayer when you hear that he’s strained a fetlock. It’s thanks to you he’s on his way home to York House tonight, hale and hearty, instead of the Royal Hospital, toes turned up, under a shroud.’
She stared at him with sudden insight.
‘Yes. It wasn’t your waltzing feet or protective arms that saved his life – it was your quick thinking and your annoying habit of exceeding your orders that did it.’ Joe reached across the table and patted her arm with a sticky hand. ‘I’m almost certain I know what happened tonight. I’ll say it now because I shan’t be able to pick you out for special commendation when we get to our meeting – well done! I’m not sure how gratified you’ll be to hear me say it – and probably better not tell your father – but this evening it’s my belief you handed the prince his life … on a plate!’
Joe spooned up the last of his pudding and eased back his chair, eyeing Lily silently. She’d been the subject of that calculating stare before and responded by pulling her stole higher over her shoulders, a gesture he acknowledged with amusement. ‘No need for alarm. I was trying to assess the effect you’re going to have on the rest of the male company gathered in the ops room. Yes! I want you to be there!’ He answered her look of alarm. ‘Your evidence is pivotal – but dolled up as you are … well, I’m concerned that the officers present may unwittingly consign to you a somewhat inconsequential role. You look the part, Wentworth – royal girl-friend – flapperish, fox-trotting gadabout. I don’t want to see my men reacting to that image. Most unfair. I’d like you to change.’
‘You mean they won’t take me seriously if I present myself dressed as I was ordered to dress, sir?’
He ignored the rebuke. ‘I know these men. Effective and clever, but women haven’t played a significant part in their lives, I fear.’
‘Oh, I expect they all had a mother, sir,’ Lily said mildly.
‘One can never be certain about Bacchus … Oh, Lord! Bacchus! Give me your impressions when you’ve met him. He’s the handsome dark cove with the heavy moustache. Looks like a Sargent portrait of an Italian peasant, I always think – the hooded eyes follow you round the room saying, “I saw what you just did!”. You may wish to look away.’
She was trying not to laugh at him. ‘Well, I don’t know what effect he has on the enemy, but by God, Bacchus terrifies you, sir. Has he any redeeming human features, this man of mystery?’
‘What, you are about to ask, does he “do for pleasure”? Well, I’ll tell you. Er … he translates stories from the Russian … Pushkin, I think.’
‘Ah.’
‘Into Portuguese.’
After a satisfying moment of disbelief, her laughter burst through.
‘My other men you already know. I’ve called in Hopkirk and Chappel, who are still working on the admiral’s death, and Rupert Fanshawe whom you danced with this evening.’
‘I’d feel easier appearing in uniform.’
‘The meeting’s called for three a.m. I can send you back to your hostel to change. It’s in the Strand, isn’t it? Mrs Turnbull’s ghastly barracks? I’ll put you in a taxi. No – I’d better come with you and face the old dragon myself.’
‘No need for all that, sir. I changed at my aunt’s apartment.’
‘The hat shop lady?’
‘Yes. She lives over the shop in Bruton Street. And don’t worry about a taxi. I’m quite sure I have my own conveyance close by.’
Sandilands raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah! The Pumpkin Express! It’s well after midnight. Are you sure it’ll still be there – the rather eye-catching Buick that’s been following you about all evening? Is that what you have in mind? It was at the Yard. It followed us
to
the hotel. It followed us
from
the hotel. It’s been at our heels all along the Embankment.’ He enjoyed her surprise for a moment. ‘I’m expecting it to be cheekily parked in the taxi rank when we leave. Now, tell me, Wentworth – who do you know who drives a cream-coloured American sedan?’
‘My aunt sent me out with her chauffeur, sir. She was concerned for my safety.’
‘Prescient lady! Sandilands? Not to be trusted with nieces. Everyone says so.’ Joe grinned and looked at his wristwatch. ‘You’ve got just over an hour. Long enough?’
‘Ample, sir.’
‘Then I’ll hand you over to … what’s his name?’
‘Albert, sir. Albert Moore. He was a sergeant in the London Regiment.’
The Buick was loitering conspicuously in the middle of a line of shiny black cabs, an exotically striped chameleon poised to lick up a row of beetles.
With a swirl of his cape, Joe approached the driver. ‘Albert Moore? Joe Sandilands … how d’ye do? Glad to see you’re on hand, sarge! Your Miss Lily’s had quite an evening. And so, it would seem, have you
.
’ He leaned forward, elbows on the lowered window, and said confidentially: ‘But it’s not over yet, I’m afraid. Look – could you take her back to Bruton Street and then on to the Yard? And see our girl doesn’t fall asleep on the back seat. We need her fresh, alert and firing on all cylinders. National emergency on our hands tonight!’
Fresh and alert? Lily paused at the door of the ops room at five minutes to three. Was that how she was feeling? Unexpectedly – yes. She’d got her second wind. A strong cup of coffee from the hands of Aunt Phyl, who’d waited up, had sharpened her wits.
She’d been glad of the older woman’s understanding comments. And her brevity. ‘Back there again? Must be urgent. No – don’t tell me yet. Save it for breakfast. It’ll be a late one – it’s a Sunday. Glad to see the dress has survived the evening intact. I’m assuming the same condition for you, love. I’ve ironed your skirt and put out a fresh blouse and bloomers. Bacon sandwich? No? A bath, then? You’ve just got time. Use the Yardley’s lavender. That’ll spruce you up a treat.’
Smelling sweetly, freshly uniformed, shiny faced, Lily knocked and entered, to find that the men were already in place. All rose politely to their feet. Five pairs of eyes watched her as she came in, some inquisitive, some hostile. Sandilands and Fanshawe were still in evening dress, the outer layers removed, collars discreetly loosened, waistcoats unbuttoned. The other three were in their smart city suits ready for the day.
‘Right on time, constable. We’ve saved you a place over there.’ Sandilands greeted her with an expansive gesture. He indicated a seat opposite him at the end of the table.
‘Settle down, everyone. Now – Miss Wentworth, I don’t believe you’ve met our James Bacchus, have you?’
Sensing that there was no time for a formal presentation, the Branch man and the constable nodded cordially at each other across the table. Lily registered quiet dark eyes above a large nose and a top lip so exuberantly moustached she had the impression that a small but hairy rodent had climbed aboard his upper lip and gone to sleep there. She found she was smiling at him and receiving a raised eyebrow in return.
‘Now then – we all know who we are, I believe? You’ll remember Miss Wentworth? And you know why she’s here. First I’ll update you on the Prince of Wales. He is safely back in his London home, unscathed, and will tomorrow be whisked away to the country – to an as yet undisclosed location – to stay with friends. The press will publish the usual false information concerning his whereabouts.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Bacchus, who nodded confirmation. ‘And, to go on – it’s likely we are contemplating a case of murder. We await the post-mortem report, of course, but according to the medical authority who was present at the scene, the victim died of poisoning. Potassium cyanide.’