by Jack Murray
‘Your memory does not betray you, sir,’ smiled Mary, ‘Formidable is one way of putting it. Terrifying would have worked also. Thankfully I, too, have an aunt who provided rigorous training in dealing with aunts: Lady Emily Cavendish. Their meeting a week ago was really quite something.’
-
Two weeks earlier, the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery had bid farewell to a victim of poisoning. Thankfully the victim, Mary Cavendish, left the hospital mostly under her own steam but with some assistance from her sister Esther and her fiancé.
As Mary climbed from the hospital bed, Esther Cavendish found her emotions threatening to overcome her. Mary noticed the change in Esther and smiled.
‘I’m fine now, Essie. Don’t worry.’
Esther hugged her sister. It had been close. The thought of life without Mary had, at times, been too much to contemplate and had threatened to cast a shadow over her romance with Doctor Richard Bright.
Kit looked at the two sisters. So different in temperament yet so alike in their beauty. The bond between them was palpable. He realised much of his relief at Mary’s recovery was for Esther’s sake as much as his own. The very difference in their nature, the electrical vibrancy of Mary and the serene, inner harmony of Esther, it seemed to Kit, strengthened their attachment at an atomic level.
Harry Miller, Kit’s manservant, joined them at the hospital door. Mary refused the use of a wheelchair, choosing to lean on the arms of Kit and Esther in order to walk down to the Rolls.
‘Hello, Harry,’ said Mary somewhat shyly. She had not seen him since Kit had unmasked Eric Strangerson as a murderer and, in doing so, saved Miller who had been the chief suspect thanks to Mary and Esther’s early attempts at detective work.
Miller smiled at Mary and said, ‘Great to have you back on your feet milady.’
‘Thank you, Harry,’ said Mary, fighting to control her tears. Seeing Harry had caused a wave of guilt to engulf her as she remembered the period when he’d been taken away by the police. She looked at Harry and said, ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. I hope you’ll forgive me.’
‘Nothing to forgive. I’m just glad we’re on the same side now,’ said Harry with a wink. Mary laughed and then nodded in gratitude to the small Londoner.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered. They moved towards the car and soon were on their way back to Kit’s apartment in Belgravia.
Much to Mary’s delight, or so she made it seem, there to greet her was her aunt, Emily, and her cousin, Henry, who had become the new Lord Cavendish, following the death of her grandfather Arthur over Christmas.
‘Well, you’re certainly looking much improved since the last time I saw you,’ announced Lady Emily.
Mary looked surprised. The last time she had seen Emily was at Cavendish House, moments before Eric Strangerson’s poisoned dart, intended for Kit, had pierced her neck causing her to fall into a coma. Then she realised Emily must have visited during this period.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t much company,’ laughed Mary.
‘Don’t worry, we hardly noticed,’ said Emily, causing barely disguised mirth in the two sisters.
Henry, however, picked up on what his mother had said.
‘Are you sure you meant it that way, mama?’ Henry asked with some irritation.
‘Oh, yes, well, quite. You know what I mean,’ responded Emily breezily. ‘Anyway, I don’t understand why you’re not returning to Cavendish Hall to recuperate.’
‘We’ve been through this, Aunt Emily,’ replied Esther sternly. ‘I want to be close to Richard and Mary.’
‘Well,’ replied Emily stiffly, ‘I find the situation distinctly odd. Your hasty engagement to a man you’ve just met. Then high tailing it down to London to stay near him. You read about this sort of thing, of course, in the News of the World. I never thought for a moment my own niece would indulge in such behaviour.’
‘It certainly conjures up an interesting image of you reading the News of the World, mama,’ said Henry, giving voice to everyone’s thought at that moment
Emily turned to Henry who was smiling. All at once a few thoughts went through her mind: horror at being mocked by her son, shock at the public nature of the jest and, even more surprisingly, pride. More and more these last few weeks, she was beginning to see the things in Henry’s character that she had longed to see for many years. That this would necessitate occasional opposition to her wishes, she was growing to accept.
Slowly.
Humour had become a new weapon his armoury. In this, he was becoming more like jis father, like Robert. His comment had produced smiles in the group around her which confirmed where their sympathies lay. A natural military tactician, Emily withdrew from what was a weak position to one where she felt she could regain the high ground.
‘Well, you’re young and it’s your life, Esther, it’s not for me to undermine your wishes by dint of such minor considerations as wisdom and experience.’
This signalled an end to the initial conflict. However, as Kit was acutely aware, the second was imminent. Kit felt it best to prepare the ground for the looming encounter.
‘So, Lady Emily, my aunt is coming to visit this afternoon. She may have a solution to our problem.’
‘Your aunt?’ said Esther, Mary, and Emily in unison.
Kit smiled, grimly and said, ‘Yes.’
‘And remind me of your aunt’s name, Lord Aston,’ asked Emily.
‘Lady Agatha Frost,’ offered Kit.
This prompted an unexpected reaction from Emily. She burst out into uncontrollable laughter. Esther looked mystified. Then Kit looked at Mary. He tried to smile. A mistake, he realised afterwards. Her eyes narrowed. This wasn’t good. In fact, this was the opposite of good.
Emily sat down as she sought to regain control of herself. In fact, it took longer than expected as one glance at Esther and Mary caused a further relapse.
‘Is this as bad as it seems, Kit?’ asked Mary in a dangerously slow and even tone.
A further burst of laughter from Emily made any answer from Kit academic.
‘You can always say ‘no’, Mary,’ offered Kit. Rather feebly, it must be said.
‘Do you know, Lord Aston, you’ve just made my day,’ said Emily finally recovering composure. This prompted another look from Mary that had Kit squirming inside. Thankfully Esther, the angelic, beautiful Esther, offered an olive branch of hope.
‘I look forward to meeting your aunt, Kit. She has a residence in London?’
‘Yes, Grosvenor Square.’
-
Lord Wolf looked at Kit and Mary with a smile, the undercurrent regarding Lady Agatha was plainly visible although he sensed something else which he couldn’t quite divine. If pressed he would have described it, unfathomably, as amusement on Mary’s part.
A footman appeared in the room to announce the arrival of Chief Inspector Jellicoe. Moments later James Jellicoe entered Wolf’s library accompanied by a young detective. The arrival of Jellicoe caused Wolf to do a double take such was the policeman’s resemblance to the reigning monarch, George V. His beard and moustache were a case study in different evolutionary periods. His beard flecked, as it was, with large patches of grey seemed positively pre-Cambrian compared to the more Cenozoic moustache that, so far, seemed to be a relatively recent development. The overall effect was to give Jellicoe a mournful appearance which his naturally sober personality did little to mitigate. He was a serious man doing a serious job.
If Wolf had done a double take at the royal resemblance, it was matched by Jellicoe’s surprise at seeing Kit again.
‘Lord Aston,’ he exclaimed, unable to add much to this initial thought.
‘Chief Inspector. I hadn’t anticipated meeting you again so soon after, shall we say, our last case. May I present Lord Wolf.’
Lord Wolf walked forward and shook the hands with Jellicoe and the young officer. ‘I’m sorry we should meet in these circumstances, Chief Inspector. My young friend here speaks very
highly of your capabilities.’
Jellicoe looked at Kit. ‘I have a very high regard for his ability also, Lord Wolf. If I may, this is Detective Sergeant Ryan,’ said Jellicoe turning to the young officer beside him. Kit looked up at Ryan, for he was at least as tall, if not taller than Kit. Ryan was, in Kit’s estimation, in his mid-twenties, well made and quite handsome.
Once the introductions had been made, Jellicoe became aware of Mary’s presence. She had remained sitting down as the police had arrived. Kit saw the direction of Jellicoe’s gaze and smiled, ‘And, this Chief Inspector, is my fiancée, Lady Mary Cavendish.’
Jellicoe glanced at Kit, who nodded.
‘Lady Mary, I’m happy to see you recovered. When I met Lord Aston, you were still,’ Jellicoe paused for a moment to find the right word.
‘Out for the count, Chief Inspector?’ suggested Mary with a grin.
Jellicoe’s face broke into what, for him, constituted a grin.
‘Indeed, Ma’am.’ He turned to Ryan, who was clearly entranced by the vision of Mary, ‘Wake up sunshine. Work to do.’
Jellicoe asked some questions to understand what had taken place in the evening, occasionally allowing Ryan to speak. It was clear to Kit that Ryan was a highflyer. He was relatively young to be in the position of supporting a man such as Jellicoe. His few questions were probing, spoken in a London accent that suggested he had not arrived at his position through contacts or preferential treatment based on class.
Kit glanced at Jellicoe. He seemed amused at Kit’s assessing of his young protégé. This made Kit smile and he nodded an acknowledgement to Jellicoe to congratulate him on his choice of assistant.
After the initial scene-setting questions from the two policemen and sensing that Kit would have a better idea of how to communicate with Jellicoe, Wolf requested that he provide a summary of the events of the evening.
Wolf was impressed by the Kit’s lucidity he recounted concisely every aspect of the evening that might be of interest to the Chief Inspector. Perhaps more impressive than his memory for detail was his observation of anomaly, picking up on several occasions when the behaviour of the servants, some of whom, related Wolf, were agency staff, brought in for the evening.
When Kit had finished, Jellicoe congratulated him on the comprehensiveness of his report. Ryan had taken several pages of notes. Then Mary interjected.
‘I think Lord Aston also meant to mention one other thing.’
Kit turned to Mary barely able to disguise his surprise, ‘Of course, silly me, perhaps, Mary, you should mention it.’ It was clear Kit had no idea what was coming much to Jellicoe’s amusement and Ryan’s bemusement.
‘The red blemish on the fake diamonds,’ said Mary.
Kit reached over and scrutinised the necklace closely until he found the mark. He showed it to Wolf and Jellicoe.
‘Good spot, Mary,’ murmured Kit.
‘Any thoughts on what the mark might be, milady?’ asked Jellicoe.
‘I can’t be sure, of course,’ acknowledged Mary, ‘but my guess would be a women’s nail lacquer.’
Chapter 3
Kit and Mary walked across Grosvenor Square. It was after three in the morning. Both were tired and keen to return to the warmth of Agatha’s house. However, there was a brightness in Mary’s eye that Kit suspected owed as much to the events of the evening as the strength of her ardour. There was also the possibility it spelled trouble.
‘Whenever we have a spare minute, or lifetime for that matter, Lord Aston, I think you need to fill in one or two of the several hundred gaps in your past.’
‘Do you know, Mary?’ replied Kit, ‘when you call me Lord Aston, I feel as if I’m about to visit the head of form to be punished.’
‘Good analogy and highly accurate,’ responded Mary with a grin.
‘I fear you may soon be feeling the same when my Aunt Agatha realises what time you’ve stayed out until,’ pointed out Kit.
‘Even more apposite,’ said Mary, as it dawned on her that dawn would soon be dawning. She thought for a moment before asking, ‘Do you think climbing in through the window might help me avoid capture by the armed patrols outside my bedroom?’
‘What floor are you on, again?’ inquired Kit.
‘Third.’
‘Hard lines.’
Mary looked up at Kit wryly, ‘Speaking of lines, I think you’ll be in the firing line as much as myself. I mean, leading a poor, innocent girl, all alone in the world astray, in this manner. It’s a bit ungentlemanly.’
This caused Kit to laugh, ‘You’re certainly not poor and as to how innocent you are, that remains to be seen.’
‘Sadly, that bit may be true. Perhaps you should whisk me off to a hotel. We may as well commit the crime for which we are about to be condemned.’
Kit glanced down at the grinning Mary and just for a moment the thought caressed his mind. Mary had no difficulty reading his mind and shrugged, ‘Last chance, Lord Aston. We’re nearly there.’
They arrived at the door of Aunt Agatha’s townhouse. With a heavy heart Kit fished out the front door key and inserted it in the lock. Mary made a glum face.
‘I’ll come in with you,’ said Kit, ‘You shouldn’t have to face this alone.’
‘Do you really think she’ll be up at this hour?’
One look from Kit confirmed her question was both unnecessary and naïve. Mary smiled. As she made ready to go through the front door, her fate to be determined by the woman who took over where the gorgon had left off, Mary cast her mind back, once again, to the first meeting between herself, Lady Agatha Frost and Lady Emily. A meeting so seismic, it made the movement of tectonic plates under the earth seem like a kitten’s paw stroking its mother’s nose.
-
The rap at the door had been forceful to say the least. Harry Miller rushed down the stairs at the sound of the increasingly impatient knock. He opened the door to find a lady of around seventy, of imperious aspect, around five feet tall, stoutly made and wearing a hat that might once have been an aviary.
‘Lady Agatha,’ exclaimed Miller with a delight he surely did not feel.
‘Well don’t just stand there, young man, let me in,’ came the brusque reply.
‘This way, my lady,’ said Miller.
‘I know the way, young man. Out of my way,’ said Aunt Agatha, brushing Miller aside with her samurai umbrella before marching up the stairs like a Grenadier guard going to battle.
Miller watched the diminutive Medusa ascend the stairs with something approaching relish. This would be a fascinating contest between the two ladies. The relative youth of Lady Emily against the old war elephant herself. Lady Emily may have built up a winning record against lower ranked opponents in the country, but today she was testing her mettle against an undefeated legend.
Aunt Agatha burst through Kit’s doors like a storm gathering strength. She first came face to face with Lady Emily.
Silence.
A little bit more silence broken only by the sound of Sam, Kit’s Jack Russell, escaping out of the room. Mary glanced down at the little terrier’s exit stage left and then shifted her gaze to Kit, who merely raised one eyebrow and suppressed a smile.
Esther realised she was holding her breath. She glanced at Mary who, sensibly it seemed, had taken the precaution of inhaling deeply as the infamous aunt’s footsteps grew louder.
‘I presume I have the pleasure of addressing Lady Cavendish?’
Lady Emily nodded. Whatever her faults, and they were numerous, she was not easily cowed and replied, ‘Three Ladies Cavendish, in fact.’
Mary couldn’t bring herself to look at Esther otherwise the game would’ve been up. But she did feel a swell of pride for her aunt’s opening salvo. Before Aunt Agatha could respond, Emily pressed home her early advantage.
‘I am Lady Emily Cavendish. My late husband was Robert Cavendish. Esther and Mary are the daughters of the late John Cavendish. Perhaps you had the pleasure of meeting their grandfather, Viscou
nt Cavendish.
This early engagement was, as the girls and Kit acknowledged afterwards, brilliantly executed by Emily. It spiked Aunt Agatha’s guns right from the off, putting her firmly on the back foot. Kit’s aunt nodded to Emily recognising, perhaps with something approaching pleasure, a worthy opponent. True champions seek not to build a career on walkovers. Instead, their desire is to test themselves against the very best: to defy, to overcome and, ultimately, to triumph.
Henry walked into the room just as his mother had finished. All eyes turned to Henry, which he seemed to find amusing.
‘Have I missed anything?’ he asked lazily, completely unaware of the tension crackling in the room.
Aunt Agatha raised one eyebrow and turned to Emily for an explanation.
‘My son, Henry, Lord Cavendish.’
‘I see,’ replied Aunt Agatha. ‘I am pleased to meet you all. I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting your Grandfather. My late husband, Eustace, and he were acquainted I gather; he spoke highly of him, if my memory serves.’
Emily found herself fighting a groundswell of guilt. The wasted years. How she regretted that time. The regret made more painful by the sense that Arthur, too, shared that regret and had patently been making efforts to build bridges in the days leading up to his death. For Esther and Mary, also, the reminder of their loss was almost unbearable. The memory of Arthur Cavendish hung in the air, dispelling some of the tension brought on by the arrival of Kit’s aunt.
Finally, after a few moments, Agatha turned to the two girls, ‘And which of you is to marry my nephew?’
Mary wiped her eye and then said, ‘I will be marrying Kit.’
Aunt Agatha looked at Mary and then walked up to her, ignoring Kit who, like Henry, wore a smile of relaxed forbearance. The two women eyed one another like two gunfighters in a Hoot Gibson western.
‘You’re certainly a very pretty young lady, I’ll give you that,’ pronounced Aunt Agatha.
‘Thank you.’
The direction of Aunt Agatha’s gaze turned to Mary’s hair which was fashionably short. No comment was made but the silence and barely perceptible raising of one eyebrow spoke more eloquently to the elderly aunt’s views about short hair than any tirade would have achieved. She glanced up at Esther, whose serenity and beauty were almost tangible. Both girls seemed to meet her approval.
