Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  “It sounds ridiculous. How would she have gotten hold of cyanide?”

  It seemed unlikely that Lady Lucy had made a deal with the Dollies, but again, he was jumping to conclusions. Who was to say that Lucy and Mary Frances had not forged a fast friendship in the Thieves’ Den’s powder room and were busy swapping poisons and pearls? The mill theft had yielded more than bolts of cloth, and the Dollies were nothing if not entrepreneurial.

  He pulled out his notebook and made some quick additions. “No clue. Yet. So by my count, Nadia Sanborn and Bernard Dunford have yet to be grilled by you.”

  “I’m not grilling! Really, any knowledge I have is almost accidental. I know Bunny—that is Bernard—is very fond of Lucy, so maybe things will turn out all right for her in the end. And you should add Roy Dean to your count. We danced together, but I had no opportunity to have a heart-to-heart with him.”

  “Don’t be modest. You’ve been enormously helpful.” She’d been right—she was able to get into places and conversations he and his men could never hope to.

  “I have thought of a tidy solution, probably silly. What if poor Tommy killed Penelope because she wouldn’t return his affections, then killed himself?”

  Dev laughed. “Very tidy. Except for what happened to your sister.”

  “Maybe it was a prank.”

  “You all need better friends.”

  Lady Adelaide twitched. “Believe me, I wouldn’t pick any of these young people as friends. Not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just so…young.”

  “And you, a veritable pensioner. I’m a few years older than you are, and not ready for my pipe and slippers. Judging from my father, Hunter men want to be in the thick of things until the end.”

  “He sounds like mine. Papa was riding with the Beaufort Hunt when he had a heart attack. It was very unexpected. It’s been almost five years, and we’re still not used to the idea. ”

  Dev had no difficulty remembering her mother, the formidable Dowager Marchioness of Broughton, still in her blacks. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. It was a great blow to Cee to move out of Broughton Park. She and Mama are just across the meadow in the dower house, but all ‘her’ horses are now our cousin Ian’s. He gives her free rein of the stables, but it’s the principle of the thing that’s irritates her so. I wish she’d settle down. She goes from one mad idea to another.”

  “Do you think a husband would solve her problems?”

  Lady Adelaide’s lip curved upwards. “Not in my experience.”

  No, by all accounts, Rupert Compton had been a handful. “What does your mother have to say?”

  “She’s smart enough to not order Cee about, so instead she just complains to me. They both do. Oh, I’m boring to fuss! I know how lucky I am.”

  Dev had noticed her shadowed eyes. She might be lucky, but she was tired.

  He rose. “I’ll let you get on with your day. I hope you have something more entertaining planned than talking to potential murderers.”

  “Not really. The prince is setting up some sort of meeting between me and Nadia. He says she’s been acting odd lately. But I don’t know if that’s today.”

  “Odd in what way?”

  “He thinks she’s frightened of someone she met at the Thieves’ Den. A Mary Somebody.”

  Dev felt a chill. “Mary Frances, perhaps?”

  “Gracious! I don’t know, but I suppose it could be. She certainly was giving her own cousin an earful. And she’s so pretty, too. One doesn’t expect—well, that’s a stupid generalization, isn’t it? Not every villain twirls a mustache.”

  “Too right.” He’d warned her that the Dollies were dangerous. Could they be behind the deaths? If so, they’d branched out into a territory that boded ill for all Londoners and beyond.

  Maybe Dev had been looking at this all wrong. Mary Frances Harmon’s name had not appeared on his list of suspects, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prince Andrei had telephoned Addie just after one o’clock. She was having her fourth cup of coffee in a fruitless attempt to remain alert, along with a cheese sandwich. Somehow with all her morning visitors, she had forgotten to eat breakfast, and a cheese sandwich—no pickles—was about the limit of her culinary skill at the moment.

  The prince had arranged for Nadia to take tea with him at the Lyons Corner House at the Strand and Craven Street location at three o’clock. The white and gold-fronted restaurants were ubiquitous, so Addie made a point of writing down the exact address, just in case her mind became cloudier than it already was and she wound up in Piccadilly instead. If she didn’t fall asleep over her tea, she might pop into the National Gallery afterward.

  She had never been to a Lyons Corner House, as they were not on the Dowager Marchioness of Broughton’s list of proper ladies’ luncheon establishments. Addie knew they were extremely popular and perfectly unexceptional, no matter what her mother thought. An orchestra played on each floor of the Strand restaurant, which seated over one thousand customers.

  Addie wondered if she would be able to find Nadia and Andrei in the scrum without getting lost.

  The company’s waitresses, known as Nippies (Addie thought the name was profoundly unfortunate, but it had been voted on by the public), were renowned for their attractive appearances and speed, as they nipped around with their trays. Working at a Lyons Corner House practically guaranteed one would receive several proposals of marriage a week. Such jobs were highly sought after, and considered quite a step up from domestic service. Addie hoped Beckett wouldn’t get any ideas.

  She changed into a smart black and white checked suit and a black felt fedora, accessorizing with the inevitable pearls and black suede gloves. Addie had avoided anything black since the one-year anniversary of Rupert’s death, but she wanted to appear serious this afternoon. If Nadia was frightened by someone or something, Addie wished to be a solid and sympathetic friend.

  Prince Andrei’s scheme was not the cleverest, but it was what she had to work with. She was to “bump into” them, quite by chance. A short time after her arrival, he would recall a previous engagement and hotfoot it out of the restaurant, leaving Addie and Nadia alone. They were counting on Nadia’s good breeding to make the best of an awkward situation.

  The porter for the mansion flats secured a taxi for Addie, only after hailing it down around the corner, so consequently she was running a little late. The day was milder, with a true promise of spring, and no fur wrap or coat was needed. Standing at the curb, Addie took a gulp of fresh air, or as fresh as it could get in Mayfair. Even in the best neighborhoods, smoke and accompanying yellow fog blighted the skies, and the buildings were streaked with soot.

  She missed the country.

  Though if she were at Compton Chase, there would be no reporting to Detective Inspector Devenand Hunter. She couldn’t see a way to steer him into her sphere of influence in the Cotswolds without some sort of debacle occurring. Certainly anything more than the two deaths last summer should never be repeated in Compton-under-Wood. Addie had too much respect for her neighbors to want someone killed off for her convenience.

  She smiled. A good juicy robbery might lure him to the countryside, though. He seemed preoccupied with that female gang that was raising hell and blood pressures throughout Britain. Addie might misplace the diamond earrings Rupert gave her one year for Christmas—maybe her diamond bracelets too—and beg Scotland Yard for help. Request a very particular member of the force to search everywhere.

  Oh, how foolish she was being. Addie would just have to take things as they were and make do.

  She tipped the porter and settled herself in the dusty cab. Between motor and stubbornly horse-drawn vehicles, traffic was heavy, and it was well past three o’clock when the cabbie pulled up in front of Lyons. She hoped Prince Andrei had been able to find a table on t
he ground floor to save her from wandering up and down the stairs peering through the crowds.

  She was in luck, catching his overly-enthusiastic wave as soon as she crossed the threshold. Addie hoped he wasn’t being too obvious.

  “I see some friends,” Addie said to the hostess. “I think I’ll sit with them.”

  She was led to their table and Andrei stood in his princely magnificence, attracting the attention of every red-blooded woman in the place, and a few of their male escorts as well. “But Lady Adelaide! How serenity! Of all people in London to run over you!”

  “I think you mean serendipitous,” Addie replied. “And run into. I’m not flattened yet, though the streets are so crowded at this time of day. I’m so glad to see you both! You’ve saved me from being all alone. I was just passing, and I’m simply so parched I couldn’t wait until I got home for a nice cup of tea. May I join you?”

  Another chair was procured and a very pretty Nippy in her black uniform with its rows of pearl buttons took Addie’s order. The cheese sandwich was still somewhat leaden in her stomach, so she asked for a dish of ice cream as well as a pot of tea. Nadia and the prince already had cups and plates in front of them and had made headway into the tiers of the tea stand.

  “How delightful,” Addie said, smiling warmly at Nadia. “This will give us a chance to get to know one another a little better. Your cousin has done nothing but sing your praises.”

  Nadia raised a skeptical plucked eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, her voice flat.

  “He was so helpful after my sister’s accident. If he’s so thoughtful with strangers, how lucky you are to have him as family.”

  “No more, please. I get swallowed head.” Suddenly, Prince Andrei slapped himself on his handsome brow. “I say! Is Friday, no?”

  “Is Friday, yes,” Nadia said, rolling her eyes. They were icy pale green, like her cousin’s, and a little too acute for Addie’s liking.

  “Oh, I am idiot. A thousand pardons, Nadia, Lady Adelaide. I must see man about something I am completely forgot and is so important. Business, you know. I must leave tout de suite. My treat,” he said, peeling off bills from his pocket. Billiards must be extremely profitable. “Please to stay and enjoy each other’s company. You may talk now about me all you like.” He gave Nadia a wink which she did not return.

  In the midst of the effusive continental goodbye kisses, the waitress came with the tea and Addie’s scoop of strawberry ice cream. For a moment Addie wondered if the prince was going to kiss the girl too, but he stopped himself in time and hustled out of the restaurant.

  “Honestly,” Nadia said, lighting up a Turkish cigarette, “how stupid does he think I am?”

  Addie nearly spit out her tea. “Excuse me?”

  “This meeting he claims—there is no man, is there? Business, indeed. As if Andrei has ever worked a day in his life.”

  “Perhaps the meeting is about a job.” Addie knew Andrei had done quite a few peculiar things to keep his mother and himself alive after the revolution, but she said nothing about that.

  “Nonsense. I can see you’re taken in by him. I was too, in the beginning. He’s very handsome. Charming. Of course, I was just a child when I first met him. If I may say so, Lady Adelaide, you are old enough to know better.”

  Spiteful little cat. Addie kept a smile on her face with some difficulty. “I assure you, your cousin is nothing but a friend. My affections lie…elsewhere.” She paused, then decided Nadia was too sharp to be bamboozled into confidentiality. “I think he is worried about you and thought you needed a female friend.”

  Nadia took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled. “Worried about me! Why?”

  “He thinks you’ve changed lately. You quit your job. You seem nervous. Fearful.”

  Nadia stubbed her cigarette into the clotted cream of her scone, which seemed an awful shame to Addie. Even if it wasn’t good for her figure, she was very partial to clotted cream, which had been so hard to come by during the war. “This is ridiculous! I’m leaving.”

  Addie covered the girl’s hand. “What about Mary Frances?”

  All the color left Nadia’s face. “What do you know about Mary Frances?”

  “Both too much and not enough. She’s a dangerous young woman.”

  Nadia slid her hand out from under Addie’s. “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t. I’m trying to help you.”

  “I don’t see how you—or anybody—can.”

  “You won’t know unless you talk to me.”

  “What are you, some kind of do-gooding social worker? Sorry, but I don’t want to wind up in jail. Or dead.”

  Addie went very still. “Why would that happen?” Surely Nadia wasn’t confessing to the poisonings.

  “Look, I know you mean well. But you’re not my friend. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Can you talk to Andrei?”

  Nadia laughed without any mirth. “I don’t trust him. Why don’t you ask him about Mary Frances?” Nadia picked up her gloves and purse and dodged around the Nippies racing around the room.

  That hadn’t gone well. Instead of answers, Addie only had more questions. At least she wasn’t stuck with the bill.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday night, or more accurately Saturday morning, the world was out drinking its paycheck, or trust fund, as the case may be. The young man lying in front of Dev had had one too many, the last of which had proven to be fatal.

  Dev could only be grateful that Lady Adelaide had not been present to witness it, or, God forbid, be its victim. It didn’t look like cyanide this time, but something else; the lab boys would figure it out.

  His usual suspects were clustered in a corner, silent and white-faced. The band had stopped playing some time ago, and Trix stood rocking in Ollie Johnson’s arms. Patrons of the Thieves’ Den were milling around in the larger front room, waiting to be dismissed. Bob and some of the men were taking their statements. All would swear their innocence, of that Dev was sure.

  Freddy Rinaldi wiped his brow with a none-too-clean handkerchief. His bruises hadn’t faded much over the course of the week. “You gotta stop this, Inspector. I don’t care what happens at the Savoy, but this is too much.”

  “I agree, Freddy. You didn’t see anything suspicious?”

  “I was in the office most of the night. Tryin’ not to scare the mugs with my face. You should ask Ted—he waited on that crowd. And Trix. She’s always out and around. They tell me those kids were almost the only ones sitting in the back room. It’s like their own private club lately.”

  “It’s where the Bickley boy died, too.”

  “I told you, I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  One would think with a thinner crowd, someone would have noticed something.

  “Freddy, I know you have information you’re not telling me.”

  “It has nothing to do with this!” Rinaldi waved a hand at Roy Dean’s body. The boy looked for all the world as if he was asleep, no bulging eyes or protruding tongue or grimace. Unfortunately he was not pointing to his murderer, nor did he write the name on a crumpled cocktail napkin before he breathed his last.

  “Where’s Mary Frances tonight?”

  Freddy paled beneath his mottled skin. “Who?”

  “Come now. I thought you knew all your members by name.”

  “We got a lotta Marys. Lady Mary this and Miss Mary that.”

  “Freddy, at some point you’ll tire of having it your way. I only hope it won’t be too late. I’d like to use your office for the interviews if I may.” He needed to get Roy’s sister and friends away from the body so the coroner’s office could do its unpleasant duty.

  “The place is a rat’s nest. I haven’t caught up from the other day.”

  Dev suspected the place was always a wreck. It would discourage people from snooping
. Freddy probably had everything he needed right at his fingertips and in his somewhat diabolical mind. “Set up six chairs in the hall, would you? And get someone to make some tea.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Not for me.” Dev angled his head to the seven young people who appeared to be in shock.

  All except Lady Lucy Archibald. She’d lit a gasper and was blowing smoke rings, cool as a cucumber. The victim’s sister, Pip Dean, cried softly in Bernard Dunford’s arms. He patted her ineffectually on the back with a hunted look, trying to catch Lady Lucy’s eye to rescue him from such naked emotion. Nadia Sanborn held fast to her cousin’s hand, both of them white as chalk. Trenton-Douglass and Wheeler kept a respectable distance from each other, but looked equally shaken.

  Dev walked up to them. “I’m so very sorry we are meeting again like this.”

  “Why haven’t you stopped this madman?” Lady Lucy asked.

  “Or madwoman,” Dev said evenly. He thought he saw her eyelid twitch for a fraction of a second. Poison, as he reminded himself again, was often a woman’s preference. “I’d like to speak to each of you individually in Mr. Rinaldi’s office.”

  “Now? Why can’t we do this tomorrow?” Lady Lucy asked. “We’re all dead on our feet. Oops, sorry, Pip.”

  “Now. I’ll keep it short tonight. We’ll have more time tomorrow. Please follow me.” He led the little group up half a flight of stairs to a narrow hallway. Rinaldi’s office was at the end. Several waiters carted up chairs from below, and Dev asked his unhappy guests to make themselves comfortable.

  “Miss Dean, I’d like to talk to you first. Have you spoken to your parents?”

  She nodded. “They’re on their way. The police are fetching them.” He doubted they’d provide any useful information, but at least their daughter would have support.

  Freddy’s office was indeed a tip. Dev had difficulty finding clean surfaces for them to sit. The rumpled camp bed in the corner was out of the question.

  He perched on a filing cabinet after setting some folders on the floor, while Miss Dean took the desk chair. She blew her nose and looked at him with watery eyes.