“I sincerely hope that I’m not seated anywhere near them at dinner Bunny. They may well hold themselves up as fine examples of the Anglo-Saxon race but I hold them – and their racist views – in contempt.” At dinner I overheard Sydney Webb exclaim that ‘the country is gradually falling to the Irish and Jews.’ I was tempted to reply that there would be then little left for the trade unions and socialists to ruin, but I desisted.
The dishes were as varied as the quality of company at dinner. The highlights of the meal were the gravlax salmon, roasted grouse and cuts of Highland beef. Fortunately Raffles and I were seated away from the Webbs and other political undesirables. Yet we were sat some spaces apart from each other still. He was close to the head of the table, near our host, whilst I sat next to Lucy a few places down. Out of the corner of my eye I could not help but notice how Raffles, as well as Rosebery, held court. He batted back some witty answers in regards to questions about cricket and a small audience marvelled at how quickly he could spin an apple off his finger and catch it (even with his eyes closed) each time it fell. He also found time to be considerate – or one might judge flirtatious – with a serving maid who a gruff guest had been rude to. I thought that Lucy might think him honourable for such behaviour – as Emma did Mr Knightley for dancing with Harriet Smith when she had been slighted. Or I conversely wondered if she might suffer pangs of jealousy as a result of Raffles’ conduct. But she genuinely – and happily – took little notice of my friend at dinner. Chiefly Lucy spent her time keeping me entertained – and enchanted – during our meal. And I like to think I entertained and maybe even enchanted her in return.
“We are sharing the same table Bunny as some of the most powerful politicians in the land,” she uttered in genuine awe, albeit I hope I also traced a satirical note to her tone. We were only in the company of the Liberal Party after all.
“As long as they don’t share their opinions with us as well,” I drily replied.
“Have you never thought about being a politician yourself – and campaigning for a seat?”
“No, the only seat I desire at the moment Lucy is this one, next to you.”
And she here smiled that smile that made me smile. I feared that I was falling and spinning too, although it was unlikely that anyone, let alone Raffles, could catch me.
As much as it might have been a pleasure to do so, I could not devote myself entirely to Lucy and ignore the other dinner guests around me. Shortly after the above exchange I found myself chatting to a lean, dark-eyed fellow opposite me who I vaguely recognised, but couldn’t quite place. I fancied I had seen his picture in a newspaper. He had ferret like features and an energetic manner – albeit this was also coupled with nervousness, as though he were overly conscious of the society he was keeping. He was doubtless dressed in his best attire, although it was still the most poorly fashioned around the table.
“Someone tells me that you’re a friend of that Mr Raffles, the cricketer over there. I once saw him play at Lords. Not even the good Doctor had a remedy to combat his spin bowling that day. And your name is?”
“Harry Manders, but people call me Bunny. And yours?”
“Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.”
Chapter 14
For a moment it felt like the grouse I had eaten had come to life again and wanted to fly from my stomach, up through my throat and exit back out of my mouth. I gulped, as though wishing to swallow the bird back down.
“Oh, are you the Inspector Lestrade?” I asked, innocently.
“Yes, the one who has assisted Mr Sherlock Holmes with some of his cases. Or rather I could argue that he has assisted me.”
I thought it prudent not to mention that I had had my own dealings with Mr Holmes, which can be found in the episode of Raffles: The Gentleman Thief.
“What brings you to The Durdans then, Inspector? You are not here on business I hope.”
I tried to act casually, but I refrained from lighting a Sullivan in fear that my hand would tremble whilst smoking it.
“Well Lord Rosebery kindly invited me. I used to be a point of contact for him when he headed the London County Council. But between you and me Mr Manders, Holmes tipped me the wink that a notorious burglar might be paying the house a visit this weekend. He said that a little bird had told him. Doubtless it was one of his Baker Street Irregulars.”
“Oh, is that so? Your secret will be safe with me Inspector.”
Despite my worry that my legs might give way if I stood up I smiled politely and excused myself.
Raffles and I had a signal, that of bending down to tie one’s shoelace, whenever one of us wanted to urgently speak with the other. I duly pretended to tie my shoe within Raffles’ view and he promptly joined me in the hallway.
“Really?” Raffles calmly replied upon hearing my news, appearing mildly intrigued rather than concerned. I dare say I looked concerned for the both of us however. A film of sweat glazed over my entire countenance and I probably needed the help of Raffles’ jemmy to un-knit my brow.
“We must not do anything rash. It’s rain stop play. We must act naturally.”
“I intend to Bunny. I will indeed do what comes naturally to me,” Raffles replied, his teeth gleaming in a smile behind a plume of cigarette smoke.
“No, I must put my foot down!” I exclaimed in an excitable whisper. To my shame I even stamped my foot down like a child in a tantrum. “We cannot risk capture.” I was going to add that I could not risk losing Lucy, but I justly realised that she was not mine to lose. If anything, she was Raffles’.
But I might as well have asked him to give up smoking, or drinking his customary whisky and soda before bed. He was as constant as the northern star in his addiction to larceny.
“Look upon Lestrade as a challenge to be overcome, rather than as an insurmountable obstacle, Bunny. Where’s the sport in scoring a goal into an open net? And if I cannot outwit Inspector Lestrade, then I deserve to be apprehended.”
“But Holmes –”
“Is at home, thinking about his supper rather than dwelling upon us. We are small enough fish to slip through his net. Remember, he had a bigger fish to fry – that Moriarty chap. There must be some misunderstanding on Lestrade’s part. It would not be the first time, from what I’ve read.
“A.J, please,” I unashamedly begged, again akin to a small child.
Such was my piteous expression that for a moment I believed that Raffles might indeed relent. But Raffles was Raffles.
“I’m sorry old chap, but as you yourself have stated – when all else is written, I am a villain.”
Chapter 15
Dessert was served. There was not a sweet pastry or crème brulee in the whole of Surrey, or Heaven even, which could have removed the bitter taste from my mouth however. I had merely walked off in sullen silence after my exchange with Raffles. We all retreated into the house’s largest drawing room for drinks after dinner. I attempted to stay in the vicinity of Raffles whilst also keeping an eye on Inspector Lestrade, whilst trying to still devote myself to Lucy. I have never been so exhausted whilst just standing still at a party before, working my way through half a bottle of vintage port. Rosebery held court again, rightly deflecting any questions about politics. When asked what his political motto was our host replied, “My political motto is, I don’t give a damn.” But Rosebery happily discussed any and everything else – including football.
“You were a wolf in sheep’s clothing today Raffles. You said that you did not care for football, but you were arguably the best player on the field. You set up two goals and scored another.”
“I can assure you that I still care little for football. To run about constantly for forty-five minutes – twice - chasing a ball, without being able to stop and have a cigarette, seems barbarous. C.B. Fry however often roped me into playing whilst he trained at Southampton. I picked up the odd trick, although the sum of my skills pale in comparison to the number of bruises I collected on my shins.”
Ro
sebery broke out into a deep, rich laugh.
“I keep meaning to invite Fry to one of my parties,” he finally replied.
“You should. I recommend you pick him for your team should you arrange another football match too. Also, you may wish to invite him up without his wife. She is his other, rather than better, half,” Raffles wryly remarked. The reference to Rosebery’s comment the night before seemed to provoke a remembrance of other confessions and the two men shared a brief, private moment.
“You are a superior inside, Raffles, despite your indifference to the game. You are also a good friend,” Rosebery remarked whilst warmly clasping him by the arm. Raffles similarly gazed at his host with genuine affection and admiration. Despite his son having played for Surrey, Rosebery it turned out was indifferent to the game of cricket. Raffles duly offered to try and fix this error by giving a display of batting and bowling for the following day.
By this time another guest had whisked Lucy away from me. Perhaps she had rightly grown tired of my distracted mood. My rival was as handsome as he was titled. His manner was as oily as his hair and the only thing he loved more than his appearance was the sound of his own voice. Suffice to say the Tory Party were expecting great things from him. Partly stressed, partly disconsolate, partly drunk, I decided to take some air.
To cap off my miseries I discovered that I was out of cigarettes. Instead of a row of Sullivans my own melancholy face stared up at me from the silver cigarette case. Loneliness gripped around pea-sized heart like a vice. Raffles had put his villainy before our friendship. I was dreaming to think that I could have a serious chance to court – and win – Lucy. I had merely mistaken politeness for attraction. I was perhaps as low as when I had turned up at Raffles’ apartment all those months ago and threatened to end it all.
“You look like you could use some company, or at least a Sullivan,” her sweet voice intoned. Lucy passed me a cigarette. “It’s a beautiful night.”
As ever, she was right. A velvety black sky, sequined with stars, shone glossily above us. I immediately took my coat off and placed it around her shivering – and shimmering – shoulders. We sat upon a bench on the veranda.
“If you need to get back to the party, I’ll be fine. This is a golden opportunity for you to lobby the men who matter in regards to women’s suffrage.”
“No. I’m afraid that you are going to have to suffer my company some more Mr Harry Manders. Women may need the vote, but what I want right now is to spend time with you.”
Lucy looked up at me and smiled, the light in her eyes eclipsing that of the stars above. She laced her fingers into mine – and we kissed.
Chapter 16
I could not rightly say how much time elapsed before Lucy and I returned to the party but most of the guests had still yet to retire to bed. Raffles smiled and pulled a face upon seeing Lucy’s arm curled around mine. I blushed, but was glowing more so from happiness. Lucy went to bed not long after we re-entered the drawing room however.
“Thank you for a lovely evening Miss Rosebery”, I remarked whilst we were in the company of others. But we were in a world of our own still.
“And thank you Mr Manders, just for being you. I very much enjoyed our conversation on the veranda. I look forward to having a similar chat tomorrow.”
After watching Lucy gracefully work her way through a throng of guests and leave I turned around to witness Raffles talking to Lestrade. I sometimes thought my friend as mischievous as Puck, or as arrogant as a Caesar. As fretful as a Polinius I hurriedly walked over to the pair.
“Yes, I spoke to Miss Rosebery at dinner. She was sitting near me. She was charming, although I understand that she is one of these suffragettes,” Lestrade exclaimed, wrinkling his nose up in either disdain or incomprehension. “I was at a briefing the other day at the Yard. Some fellow warned that these women might one day become militant in order to have their demands met and set off bombs and chain themselves to buildings or railings. My fear is not that one of these mad women would chain themselves to railings, but rather my worry is that once shackled there someone would then try and free her,” the Inspector then posited, either in jest or in earnest.
“If only the fellow you are after would conveniently chain himself to a railing to await his arrest Inspector. What can you tell us about him?” Raffles asked, seemingly more concerned with scratching a tiny gravy stain off of his lapel than being interested in Lestrade’s task.
“Not much, I’m afraid gentlemen. I have been informed that he may be wearing a disguise – and that he usually works with an accomplice. And he is as intelligent as he is daring, Holmes remarked. But myself, Constable Dickinson and the rest of my men will not just be his equal, but superior.”
“Perhaps Mr Holmes could be mistaken in his judgement.”
“I have never known Mr Holmes to be wrong. As sure as day follows night his judgement has been sound over the years, although his methods have sometimes proved unorthodox.”
“Well, Inspector Lestrade, day will soon follow night again. But I should get some sleep before morning. Please do call upon me though should you and Constable Dickinson need any assistance in apprehending your felon. As Mr Holmes will doubtless tell you, it takes a thief to catch a thief. And I have stolen the odd heart and taken the odd wicket over the years,” Raffles remarked with a wink.
Chapter 17
“You are under arrest!”
I had been dreading, yet in some ways also expecting, hearing those words for some months now. Finally they rang in my ears. My heart sank, but yet also went out to my friend. Should Raffles have attempted to escape I dare say I would have tackled any pursuer to the ground. If Inspector Lestrade could have looked any more self-satisfied, then I warrant he may well have exploded. And damn Sherlock Holmes, I thought to myself in the heat of the moment. I glanced over at Raffles. He looked confused rather than guilty. I dare say I looked both confused and guilty. Were Constable Dickinson’s words meant for me too, I wondered, or just for Raffles? Was this the end for us both?
But I am getting a little ahead of myself. In regards to the night before Lestrade and I retired not long after Raffles, with the Inspector checking in one last time with his men.
I woke to have a late breakfast. A number of guests from the party had already departed. Raffles was nowhere to be seen. After breakfast I retreated into the library again, where Lucy was waiting for me. We happily spent a few hours just idly conversing and reading, like an old married couple almost. We read over a number of letters by John Stuart Mill and Harriet Taylor. She asked me that if I could be gifted just one book or letter from the library, which would I take? My first thought was, of course, for Shakespeare’s First Folio. I was also going to reply that I would choose a simple note, one which Lucy would write – containing her address. But in the end I decided upon the most valuable book being a first edition of Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. When I asked the same question of Lucy in return, she immediately picked the first edition copy of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” I felt vindicated in not commenting about the choice. I briefly here thought too about which book Raffles would select, and recalled the way he held up the inscribed volume of Byron’s poetry with awe and visible pleasure on Friday evening.
It was now mid afternoon. Nearly all the guests had departed, but Raffles duly kept his promise to give a display of spin bowling on the lawn outside the front of the house. By the end only Rosebery, Raffles, Lucy, Lestrade and myself remained. It was when we were all walking back that I heard Constable Dickinson’s scorching voice. As mentioned I first looked to Lestrade and Raffles, before noticing that they were both glaring at Constable Dickinson – who was hauling Jack Shanks across the grounds, flanked by two other constables.
Shanks had dyed his hair and was dressed as a stable boy but I still recognised him by his compact build, green eyes and roguish features. My joy at our apparent reprieve was short-lived, as I feared that Shanks might recognise us from our e
ncounter in Limehouse. As Lestrade revelled in his triumph Shanks merely just gazed at Raffles, in a similar askance way to when he had stood before him in the public house – sizing him up and trying to place him. But it seemed that the house-breaker could put two and two together about as well as our Chancellor of the Exchequer – and things didn’t quite add up for him.
“I found him with these,” Dickinson announced, retrieving a handful of jewellery from his pocket. “And he tried to take this,” he added, extracting Rosebery’s sapphire locket from his trousers. Our host gasped – and if he did not look upon Shanks with contempt before, he did now. Yet Rosebery’s look of disdain was quickly usurped by one of fear, as Shanks swiftly pulled out a revolver which had been strapped to his ankle. Either I instinctively moved in front of Lucy, or she retreated behind me.
“And I’ll be taking it back, if you don’t mind,” Shanks impudently remarked, pointing the gun between Lestrade and our host. Shanks also took Lestrade’s revolver. He then instructed me to tie the shoelaces of the policemen’s footwear together – and so as to both embarrass them and impede any pursuit I pulled their trousers down around their ankles. I noticed Raffles raised a corner of his mouth in a smirk at this.
“Now I hope you gents won’t try and be heroes. It’ll be difficult to get blood and gunpowder out of those togs,” Shanks warned, addressing Raffles, Rosebery and myself.
“I’ll not intervene, on condition that you give this gentleman his sapphire locket back. It possesses more than just a monetary value to my friend,” Raffles politely and calmly expressed, albeit there was steel as well as silk in his tone.
Raffles: A Perfect Wicket Page 4
