The Midnight Peacock (The Sinclair’s Mysteries)

by Katherine Woodfine

  Sophie had never been anywhere like this before. Even Lord Beaucastle’s riverside mansion had been nothing to compare with these immense dark-panelled rooms, long passageways, vast fireplaces and magnificent staircases. Then there was the army of servants: the uniformed chauffeur who met them at the station; the footmen who whisked away their suitcases; the butler who bowed gravely; the maids who unpacked for them before they had even reached their rooms.

  Sophie found herself watching the maids with an especially strange feeling. Less than a year ago, she had thought she might have to take a job in service herself. Now, it seemed only the smallest twist of fate that had brought her here to Winter Hall as a guest for the grand Christmas house party.

  Leo told them about the history of the house as she showed them around. ‘The oldest parts date back to the 1500s. It’s been partly rebuilt and extended since then, of course – but originally it was built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. She gave the land as a gift to one of her advisers, Sir Frances Walsingham. Walsingham was her spymaster, you know – and they say that’s why the older parts of the house have so many hidden rooms, and secret passages.’

  ‘Secret passages!’ exclaimed Lil. ‘How frightfully exciting!’

  Leo laughed. ‘I’ll show you one if you like,’ she said, pausing in the hallway and pushing back a heavy tapestry, worked with designs of lions and unicorns. Behind it was a small door built into the panelled wall.

  ‘This is one of my secret places,’ she explained, leading them through into a dusty corridor, and beckoning them up a narrow flight of stairs. Leo led the way onwards to a little room, furnished with a few bits of old furniture, with some of her own drawings pinned up around the walls. ‘No one ever comes here except me. I don’t have any idea what the room was originally for – I suppose it must have been a kind of hiding place.’

  ‘How mysterious!’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘Oh, there are plenty of mysterious things at Winter Hall,’ said Leo, looking pleased at their enthusiasm. ‘I’ll give you a tour of the grounds tomorrow – there’s an old folly there that you’ll like to see. Then there’s the East Wing – that’s the very oldest part of the house. I’ve got a nice little mystery there, all ready and waiting for you to solve.’

  ‘A mystery for us – here at Winter Hall?’ Sophie repeated, surprised.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Leo. ‘Tilly – one of the maids, who is a particular friend of mine – told me that the servants are quite convinced that the East Wing is haunted. Just recently they’ve begun to see peculiar lights moving around at night – and to hear queer noises – and Tilly even caught a glimpse of the ghost herself.’

  ‘A ghost?’ asked Lil, most intrigued.

  ‘Well, Tilly doesn’t think it is a ghost at all,’ Leo explained. ‘She thinks it might be someone playing a trick – trying to scare her and the other servants. We thought you might help us work out who’s really behind the “haunting”.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Lil. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever investigated a ghost before! Can you ask Tilly to come and talk to us about it?’

  Leo grinned. ‘Of course I will.’ They heard the distant clash of a gong, and she went on: ‘But for now we mustn’t be late for afternoon tea – and you can meet the rest of the house party.’

  It was half past six on the day before Christmas Eve, and Billy was the last person left in the Sinclair’s offices. There had been a festive mood in the air all day, and as soon as five o’clock had struck, the clerks had begun departing, calling cheery Christmas greetings over their shoulders.

  The three clerks whose desks were nearest to his own – Davies, O’Donnell and Crawley – were amongst the last to leave, bundling themselves up into overcoats, and Crawley even ornamenting his hat with a sprig of holly. One after another, they shook his hand, and earnestly wished him a very merry Christmas, before departing for the nearest public house to raise a glass to the season.

  ‘Sorry you’ll be stuck here tomorrow, Parker,’ said O’Donnell, as he followed the other two out of the door. As the most junior clerk – and Miss Atwood’s assistant – Billy had drawn the short straw of having to work on Christmas Eve.

  But actually, he didn’t mind being the last person left in the office. In fact, he felt rather proud that Miss Atwood had entrusted him to hold down the fort. Now, with no one else around, he settled back to wait for Uncle Sid to finish work and lock up the store. He drew out the bumper festive edition of Boys of Empire – his Christmas gift to himself – and turned to the latest instalment of his favourite Montgomery Baxter serial, entitled ‘Montgomery Baxter’s Casebook’. This new story was only just beginning, but Billy felt sure it would be an exciting one, pitting the brave boy detective once more against his most dangerous adversary – a mysterious criminal known only as Number One.

  Before he began to read, he leaned back in his chair and glanced out of the window beside his desk. From where he sat, he could see straight across the street, directly into the windows of the big building that stood opposite. At this time of the evening, the lights were all blazing, but the blinds were not yet closed – allowing him to look into what appeared to be half a dozen different stage sets, each brilliantly lit.

  Billy had always been curious. Nosy Parker, one girl at school had called him. But it wasn’t nosiness, he thought indignantly now. He was just someone who noticed things, that was all. As a matter of fact, his ability to notice things had helped them several times during their cases. Most recently, of course, it had helped them to discover who was really behind the theft of the painting from Sinclair’s, when he had observed how oddly Mr Randolph Lyle had been behaving on the telephone. Billy had always loved stories, and he liked to find out the stories behind things. The building opposite was no exception.

  The ground and first floors were entirely given over to a restaurant. Billy could not see very much that went on down there, but he enjoyed watching the comings and goings of the building’s upper storeys. The tall windows of the second and third floors were swathed in tasselled curtains, and printed with the words ‘Miss Henrietta Beauville’s Ladies’ Dress Agency’. Miss Beauville was one of the most fashionable dressmakers in London, and there was always a great deal going on in this part of the building: ladies rushing in for their dress fittings; delivery men unloading bolts of cloth; groups of models arriving; and sketch artists, busily illustrating the latest styles for the fashion papers. The highlight of it all was catching a glimpse of Miss Beauville herself, who was almost as much of a celebrity as Mr Sinclair. She cut a glamorous figure as she strode up and down, barking out orders to her staff. From where he sat, Billy could even see into her own private workroom, where she would sometimes shut herself up for hours with yards of silk and tulle, working on extraordinary new creations.

  One floor above Miss Beauville’s was a bustling office. Billy had never quite been able to work out exactly what business they did there, but it seemed to involve a great many books and important-looking documents. It was a very lively place, with lots of smart young gentlemen answering telephones, and busy young ladies tapping away on typewriters. Billy thought they looked a jolly set, and had sometimes reflected that if he wasn’t at Sinclair’s, he wouldn’t mind working there himself. He had even identified some favourites amongst them, including the red-haired office boy, who Billy had noticed liked to take a moment now and then to catch up on the latest Boys of Empire.

  At the very top of the building, he could see into another office. Here, four or five serious young men spent their days squinting over drawing boards, wielding pencils and technical instruments. The atmosphere was usually quite solemn, but on that particular day, even the top floor seemed to have been infused with festive jollity. In fact, all through the building, Christmas celebrations of one kind or another were under way. Miss Beauville was giving a sherry party for her seamstresses: dressed in crimson velvet, she was holding up a glass, making a toast. Meanwhile, the floor above was decked with paper cha
ins, someone had set up a gramophone and a few people were dancing. Above them, the serious young men of the top floor had laid down their pencils and instruments to enjoy mugs of tea and a big plate of mince pies.

  Only the fifth-floor office stood empty, just as it always did, the windows darkened. Large notices, printed with OFFICE TO LET in big black capitals that might be glimpsed from the top of an omnibus, had been stuck up in the windows for as long as Billy could remember. Now, he saw that the notices had gone. Had someone taken the vacant office at last? Leaning forward, he tried to see if he could glimpse anything behind the windows, but there were no lights on, and everything looked quite dark.

  He turned back to the Boys of Empire lying on his desk – but just as he opened it, a little movement caught his eye. Glancing up, he saw that he had been wrong. There was someone moving around in the dark, empty office. He could see a shadowy figure, moving furtively to and fro. Just then, a small lamp was lit somewhere in the room, illuminating the silhouette of a man, stacking up a number of large wooden crates. Billy strained his eyes, trying to see what was printed on the side of the boxes. Perhaps the contents would be a clue to the new occupant’s business? Whatever it was they did, they must be keen to get started. He couldn’t imagine many people would be bothering with work at half past six on the day before Christmas Eve.

  The man lifted one of the crates, and carried it over towards the window. As he did so, Billy caught sight of his face – and instinctively, he shrank back. The man had a shock of black hair streaked with white, and an extraordinary expression – fierce and threatening. With a sudden flash, like a spark of electricity, Billy realised that he had seen his face somewhere before.

  What was more, now that one of the crates had been set down before the window, Billy could see it clearly. He gasped. Printed on the side of it was a symbol that was very familiar to him: in fact, it was documented several times in the folder in the Taylor & Rose office labelled ‘The Baron’ in Sophie’s neat handwriting. They had first seen it drawn on a coded message, looking rather like an ink blot. They had come upon it stamped on the cover of a leather folder on the Baron’s desk in his secret office. They had observed it again on a gold lapel pin, worn by members of the Fraternitas Draconum. Now, he stared and stared at the shape stamped in black on the surface of the wooden crate. It was the twisting form of a dragon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lady Lucy Fitzgerald, Leo’s mother, looked around the Winter Hall Drawing Room after dinner, feeling rather vexed.

  She ought to have been perfectly contented. Here she was, hosting her famous Christmas house party, wearing one of the exquisite new dresses Miss Beauville had made for her – a cerise evening gown shot with glacé silk in which she knew she looked at least ten years younger than she really was. She was surrounded by an array of impressive guests: the Countess of Alconborough, who attended only the best society gatherings; her dear friend Lady Viola Tremayne, very elegant in a new Maison Chevalier ensemble; Mr Pendleton – Eliza Pendleton’s youngest boy, such a nice young man about town, and a far better companion for Vincent than those rakish fellows he persisted on racketing about with. Then there were the Whiteleys, and especially young Miss Veronica Whiteley. What a suitable wife she would make for Vincent! Though she might be only the daughter of a businessman, she had the manners of a lady – and with a great fortune like hers, there need never be any concern for Winter Hall’s future, even given Vincent’s unfortunate tendency to extravagance.

  Best of all, of course, there was Mr Edward Sinclair himself. Now he truly was a feather in her cap! She glanced over at him now as he sat back easily in his chair, sipping coffee and being divinely charming to everyone – even tiresome old Great-Aunt Selina. Lady Fitzgerald bestowed upon him her most engaging and grateful smile.

  But the smile faded quickly as she glanced over to where the younger members of the party were playing cards. When she had told Leonora she might invite a few friends for Christmas, she had imagined one or two young ladies of good families. She had even dared to hope for someone as well connected as the Duke of Roehampton’s sister, who she knew had attended the Spencer. But instead, she had turned up with these two girls who did not really seem like ladies at all and had turned out to be in some sort of job at Mr Sinclair’s store!

  The young man did not matter so much: he had nice manners, and was at least a student at the Spencer. Indeed, it sounded as though he was doing rather well: she had heard him telling Viola that he was soon to start an apprenticeship with the painter Max Kamensky. That made him interesting and perhaps one day important – and there was nothing Lady Fitzgerald liked better than interesting, important people.

  But those girls – well! They were not at all the type of people that she would ever choose to invite to such a select gathering at Winter Hall. Really, it was a good thing that Mr Sinclair had not objected to the presence of two of his employees amongst the party: the whole thing could have been terribly embarrassing. Fortunately he’d taken it in good part, laughing over it in a good-natured manner.

  Leonora did not understand how things were done, Lady Fitzgerald thought now. She was clearly getting into unsuitable habits living all alone in Town. Perhaps Viola would spend more time with her to keep her in line – she had always been so good and patient with Leo. Or perhaps they ought to send a maid back with her – for goodness knows how she lived in London. She stared in disapproval at her youngest daughter, with her obstinately straight hair, and pale cheeks – and that silly cane beside her. As if it wasn’t enough that Leonora had an infirmity, she insisted on drawing attention to it with that ridiculous thing with the lion’s head. And wherever had she got that frightful plain frock she was wearing?

  Beside her, the dark-haired girl in the pink evening dress laughed. Lady Fitzgerald had taken a particular dislike to that girl, who had been monopolising Vincent since the second she had stepped through the door. Just look at him staring at her! He was supposed to be entertaining Miss Whiteley – but clearly he was completely taken in by this newcomer – undoubtedly a fortune-hunter. Lady Fitzgerald was disconcerted to realise that the other girl – the little fair one – was watching her with a shrewd look in her eye, and she looked away, affronted. Why – in her day, a young unmarried girl would never have dared to look so boldly at her hostess. It was quite brazen!

  The door opened and the maid came in bearing a fresh coffee pot, and Lady Fitzgerald gathered herself. Despite Leonora’s unsuitable guests, the Christmas house party must be a success. Forcing herself to smile, she said in a bright voice: ‘Who would care for a little more coffee?’

  Tilly filled the cups carefully from the silver pot, taking in the scene as she did so. Housemaids were not supposed to look around them, but Tilly had long since learned how to take a sneaky look without being noticed. She was eager to see Miss Leo’s friends – especially the young lady detectives.

  She still found their existence rather astonishing. She had read about detectives, of course: on the whole Tilly preferred books to be about facts, but she did enjoy stories sometimes, and she knew about Sherlock Holmes, and Inspector Bucket in Bleak House and Montgomery Baxter in those Boys of Empire papers that the under-footmen were always reading. Montgomery Baxter got on her nerves though: he was a show-off and thought himself too clever by half. She preferred Sherlock Holmes: she liked the precise, scientific way he approached things. But never in any of those books had any of the detectives been a girl.

  Yet Miss Leo had told her that her friends had just opened a detective agency in London and that they were very good at solving mysteries. ‘They helped me out of a fearfully sticky situation at the beginning of term,’ she had explained, suggesting that they might be able to help solve the puzzle of the ghost in the East Wing. Miss Leo had been intrigued by Tilly’s story, though no more able to make sense of it than Tilly herself. ‘But I’m certain that Sophie and Lil will be able to work it out. They’re clever about this kind of thing.’

  Glan
cing at them now, Tilly had to admit that Miss Leo’s friends didn’t look particularly clever. In their evening dresses, they could have been any young ladies, sitting in the Drawing Room after dinner – although it was true she had never known young ladies of their age to arrive at Winter Hall by themselves, without a mama or a chaperone or even a maid to accompany them.

  Instead, there was a young man with them – a good-looking young man that Tilly knew all the housemaids were sure to be in a flutter about. He was Jack, the young gentleman studying with Miss Leo at art school. ‘Jack’s an awfully good sort,’ Miss Leo had told her. ‘He took me under his wing when I first arrived at the Spencer, and I didn’t have any idea how to make friends.’

  Now, Miss Leo flashed her a quick smile as Tilly refilled her cup. She was sitting at the card table with her three friends, as well as the debutante, Miss Veronica Whiteley, and a fair, ruddy-faced young gentleman called Mr Pendleton. They were all talking and laughing as though they were very good friends. As Tilly poured the coffee she caught a few snippets of their conversation:

  ‘Of course, Phyllis is very busy getting all her wedding clothes. Her wedding dress is going to be made by Miss Beauville herself.’

  ‘Mother was supposed to come too, but she didn’t fancy the journey from our country place in this fearful weather. But I was already in Town helping old Hugo with some preparations for the wedding so I thought I’d toddle along by myself. I say, Miss Rose, it is topping to see you again!’

  They certainly seemed to be having a better time than anyone else in the room, Tilly thought, as she continued her rounds with the coffee pot. His Lordship was talking politely to Mr Whiteley about his farms and the estate. They both took more coffee, but Miss Selina – His Lordship’s great-aunt, a large old lady with several chins, shook her head. ‘Of course I have to be very careful about what I eat and drink,’ she said in a loud, fretful voice to Mr Edward Sinclair – terribly smart in his stylish dinner jacket. ‘My doctor tells me I must take great care of my digestion. I can have only the best food – and the best medicinal wines. It costs a great deal – which is trying for a person in my circumstances – but it is simply essential for my health.’