by Jack Murray
Mary demonstrated that she could easily pass of as a Londoner but without being too pearly queen.
‘Jolly good,’ complimented Betty, ‘You have a definite facility. The stage’s loss…’
‘Thanks,’ said Mary smiling. Then she frowned for a moment, ‘I’ll need a disguise. What happens if I meet someone I know, which is unlikely, but we should be prepared.’
It was Agatha’s turn to look triumphant. She went to the dresser at the side of the room and extracted from the drawer a blonde wig.
‘Try it on.’
Mary put the wig on. It was clearly new and styled fashionably.
‘I say,’ said Betty admiringly, ‘You really are quite a beautiful girl.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Mary and then glancing wryly at Agatha said, ‘Just as well my hair was quite short.’
Agatha pretended not to notice Mary’s remark and picked up a shopping bag and brought it over to Mary.
‘I had one of the maids go to Marks and Spencer. She’s as undernourished as you,’ said Agatha looking disapprovingly at Mary.
‘Don’t listen to her Mary, Kit’s a very lucky man,’ said Betty.
Mary laughed and took the bag from Agatha.
‘I’ll go upstairs and get changed.’
Mary left the two ladies. Betty turned to Agatha and said, ‘I hope we’re doing the right thing. Still, she seems full of enthusiasm.’
‘Of course we’re doing the right thing. This may help break the case wide open. The police are getting nowhere if the papers are anything to go by. Jellicoe is coming in for a bit of criticism this morning.’
‘Yes, I did see that. I wasn’t just referring to the general. Specifically, it seems that Mr Rosling considers himself a bit of a lady’s man.’
‘How old is he?’ asked Agatha.
‘Nearer sixty than fifty, I understand.’
‘Agatha harrumphed, ‘Well I hardly think Christopher has anything to worry about on that score.’
‘Of course, Agatha, I’m not suggesting for a minute that Mary would ever be interested, but I understand it’s more a case of wandering hands and liberties,’ replied Betty meaningfully.
Agatha thought for a moment and then said, ‘I haven’t known that young lady long, Betty, but I would not like to be in the man’s shoes who tried anything untoward her.’
‘Tried what?’ asked Mary re-entering the room replete with frumpy tweed suit and blonde wig.
Agatha and Betty looked at one another. However dowdily dressed she may have been, she was stunning.
‘Your new boss,’ said Agatha.
‘Ah,’ said Mary smiling. ‘I think I understand you. I’ll deal with him, don’t you worry.’
‘Good girl,’ said Betty.
At this moment Alfred knocked on the door and entered the dining room. Mary turned around to him and said, ‘Morning Alfred.’
Young Alfred reddened at the sight of the blue-eyed, blonde vision before him. His first attempt at speaking was a dismal failure, being dumbstruck became a choice not an outcome.
‘Close your mouth Alfred, there’s a good boy,’ said Agatha.
Chapter 14
Sheldon’s, in the heart of St James in London, was a private club in which elitism and snobbery didn’t so much walk hand in hand as get chauffeur driven to the front door. Kit had been a member of the club since before he was born. This was courtesy of the rule that allowed children of members to have automatic right of entry assuming they had the great good fortune to be born a chap rather than a lady.
Although Kit had never felt entirely comfortable in such a frivolous context, a feeling exacerbated following his return from the War, there was no denying the exceptional kitchen and a library that was well stocked with fine books and even finer brandy.
The wood panelling walls were an art lovers dream, if one’s taste ran to horses, hounds and fields. Occasionally the board of the club dealt with proposals, and even generous bequests, to upgrade the quality of the art. These requests were dealt with summarily. Sheldon’s would never stoop to the vulgarity of Renaissance art, not now, not ever. As a consequence Titian was less likely to adorn the walls of the club than a portrait of a recent Derby winner.
Such conservative tastes left Kit’s head shaking but also amused him greatly. He briefly considered the apoplexy that might accompany the installation of work by Picasso, or, his recently acquired friend, Duchamp.
Lunch was, as ever, a marvel and had allowed him to catch up with one or two compatriots from the War. Although the club had more than its fair share of silly asses, this was more than compensated by the presence of some men who had fought alongside him in Flanders. If they knew of his secondment to Russia, they never alluded to it, nor his injury. No one came back from the War uninjured. Everyone in the club had experienced loss of someone they knew.
As Kit sat in the library, he heard raucous laughter emanating from the dining room. It was a group of young men he’d seen earlier. Perhaps three Englishmen and, what sounded like, an American. On a neighbouring table and looking a little displeased, Kit spotted Lord Wolf chatting with a small group of men. At around the same moment, Wolf also noticed Kit and excused himself from the meeting. He stood up and walked over to join him.
‘Hello Kit, I think I recognise that post meal glow,’ laughed Wolf, patting his own stomach.
‘It is rather special here, Anatoly is a marvel,’ agreed Kit shaking Wolf’s hand. ‘Any news on the necklace?’
Wolf’s face darkened, ‘You’ve seen the papers?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kit, ‘They seem to be giving Jellicoe a hard time. No mention of the Phantom yet. I suppose it’s only a matter of time.’
‘I know you have a high regard for him Kit, but I have to say, I’m not impressed. They have no leads, no clues, nothing. It seems to be drifting like they’re waiting for something to happen.’
Kit felt his sympathy lay with Jellicoe. He liked the Chief Inspector and certainly did have a high regard for his capability. It seemed to Kit both the papers and Wolf were being unfair. The police could only follow certain lines of inquiry such as speaking to known felons and fences. If the diamonds had not appeared on the market or had found their way into an individual’s hands directly from the robber, there was little Jellicoe could do. This was a crime, unlike other crimes, where the imprint was clear but the trail completely obscure.
‘Kit, I know this is probably unfair to ask of you, but would you be able to speak to this chap Jellicoe? He doesn’t seem to want to keep me informed. Yesterday I spoke to his sergeant. I had the distinct impression Jellicoe was avoiding me.’
‘I can’t imagine he would do that, Peter,’ responded Kit.
‘Well he may have been angry. I must admit I spoke to the Commissioner regarding this matter,’ admitted Wolf. There was something in his tone which suggested to Kit he had regretted his actions.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you, Kit, I shall leave you and return to the music hall in there,’ replied Wolf indicating the party of young men. Kit smiled sympathetically and returned to reading the newspaper. Half an hour later, Kit went down the steps of Sheldon’s and was met by Harry Miller in the Rolls.
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Scotland Yard, I think, Harry.’
-
Mary spent most of the journey to Sloane Square staring out the window, quietly amused by Alfred’s fascination with her. It took her mind off the slight nervousness she was feeling. What she was about to embark upon was uncommon. She would go undercover, rather as Kit had done in Russia, only this time to catch a criminal. She wondered what Kit would make of it all. He would just have to get used to it, she concluded. She hoped he would.
Her thoughts then turned to Caroline Hadleigh. If it were true that she was the new Phantom, Mary found herself torn. On the one hand it would be quite a coup to catch a criminal, a kleptomaniac even, who had evaded the law for six months. On the other hand, she was a young woma
n, like herself. Her father was in prison and her mother was dead. If she was the Phantom, Mary wondered what could possibly be driving her to take such risks. Was she trying to clear her father? Or was it nature taking hold? Mary was less sure of this. But the prospect of finding out was intriguing and exciting in equal measure.
She glanced up at Alfred just in time to see his eyes dart away. The impact on Alfred was clear, she wondered if this would create problems either in the interview with the housekeeper, Miss Carlisle.
Alfred drove up into the square and found a spot, at Mary’s instruction, to set her down. It was far enough away from any shops or cafes to avoid being seen, but close enough to the house so that she did not get soaked by the never-ending drizzle.
Exiting the car, Mary walked around the corner to the house. It was nearly nine in the morning, just in time for her appointment. The house was five stories high, with a red brick and exuberantly tasteless Palladian-style pillars adorning the front door at the top of half a dozen steps. To the right of these steps was another set of steps leading to the basement floor. This was for the tradesmen and staff.
Mary hesitated for a moment moved to the right and descended the wet metal steps slowly, fearful of falling. She knocked on the door and waited. Finally it opened, and she was greeted by a woman Mary guessed to be anywhere between fifty and ninety. Her hair, and probably half her face, was tied back tightly into bun with a small net enclosing it. She was never going to be mistaken for a ballerina though. Her pinched expression registered immediate disapproval of Mary. An auspicious start, she thought with amusement.
‘Mary Tanner,’ announced Mary.
‘Miss Tanner,’ said Miss Carlisle, who sounded as if she did, in fact, come from the city just south of the Scottish border, ‘I’m glad to see you are prompt.’
You certainly don’t look it, thought Mary, following the housekeeper inside to a large kitchen. Looking around, she felt a pang. It reminded her of Cavendish Hall. The cook turned around and smiled at Mary, who returned her smile. The cook, at least, seemed friendly and reminded her of Elsie. It must be all the lovely food they get to make and eat every day. Why wouldn’t you be happy, she reflected.
They sat down at the dining table. The cook came over and introduced herself, ‘Hello, my name is Rose.’
Mary shook hands and smiled, ‘Hello, I’m Mary.’
‘You sound as if you’re a Londoner.’
‘Yes,’ said Mary, before deftly moving away from any conversation about where, exactly by saying, ‘And you’re from Yorkshire, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Born and bred,’ confirmed Rose. ‘Would you both like a tea?’
Mary looked at Miss Carlisle who nodded curtly to Rose. The cook turned away and said sardonically, ‘That’ll be a yes then.’
Miss Carlisle looked with ill-disguised irritation at Rose who walked to the large Aga stove that dominated and warmed the kitchen. Then she returned her interrogative gaze to Mary.
‘References?’
Mary handed over a letter written by Betty without saying anything. Already she felt the best strategy for winning the job would be to say as little as possible. With people like this, being seen and not heard wasn’t just a distinct advantage, it was part of the job description.
The housekeeper read through the letter and then returned it to Mary. Betty’s reference had clearly done the trick. There was an imperceptible softening in the unimpressed exterior of Miss Carlisle, although she didn’t seem altogether impressed either, mused Mary.
‘Well, how long have you been in service?’
‘Three years Miss Carlisle.’
‘What have you done?’ pressed the housekeeper.
Mary listed a number of lady’s maid and house maid activities that she had been personally responsible for. They matched, for the most part, what she had done in France at the hospitals.
‘Do you know the requirements of the role here?’
‘No,’ admitted Mary.
‘You will conduct all of the housemaid duties you mentioned in before and assist Rose, when needed, in the kitchen. Do you understand?’
Mary smiled and nodded.
‘When can you start?’
‘Any time but I shall need to collect my belongings from Miss Simpson’s house.’
‘That can be arranged. For the moment, you’ll need to change, there is livery in the cupboard. Pick something in your size. It’s all clean. I’ll introduce you to Mr Grantham, the butler later and Miss Hannah, who is Mrs Rosling’s maid, for the moment, until Verna returns from honeymoon.’ The last comment was made as if she was chewing a troublesome wasp.
‘Very good, Miss Carlisle,’ replied Mary rising.
‘One other thing, Mr Rosling’s nephew is staying with us. He’s a young man and his manner is decidedly American,’ said Miss Carlisle with something approaching a shudder, ’which is to say highly familiar. Such familiarity should not be misinterpreted nor encouraged. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, Miss Carlisle,’ responded Mary. This was new news. She wondered what the young man would be like. Mary suspected that this was potentially a complication. She hoped she would not have to deal with any droit de seigneur ambitions the young man might have when it came to female members of the staff.
‘I should also add that Mr Rosling, although no longer a young man is, shall we say, of a robust manner.’
Mary nodded at Miss Carlisle’s flailing attempt at euphemistically describing a man with an overly libidinous proclivities but said nothing. This was becoming more complicated by the minute. Although not vain in any sense, Mary was not unaware of her own appeal. Working in the field hospital had been a daily exercise in fending off the advances of doctors, soldiers and, on occasion, some nurses. Luckily her manner, whilst not prurient, nor stand-offish, was sufficiently forceful to avert any serious misconduct or embarrassment. She briefly considered if Kit ever had to deal with unwarranted attention from women in the course of his work as a spy. She concluded, unhappily, it was probably different for men.
Miss Carlisle led Mary to get changed and soon she was clad in a manner similar to Polly back at Cavendish Hall with a long black cotton dress and a white pinafore. She looked at herself in the mirror and pondered what Kit’s reaction would be, to seeing her dressed thus. This made her smile. Perhaps something to store away for the future. Miss Carlisle met her outside the changing room.
‘Come this way. You’ll start with the bedrooms. Make the beds and tidy the rooms. That should take you up to lunch time when I can introduce you to the others. The Rosling family are all out this morning and won’t be back until late afternoon. Follow me.’
Making beds, thought Mary, this detective lark isn’t all beer and skittles. She wondered what Kit was doing at that moment. Playing schoolboy games in his club no doubt.
Chapter 15
Although Kit felt certain that the recent shared experience with the Chief Inspector had meant they had developed an acquaintance of sorts, he still felt distinctly uncomfortable about seeing him again. Unquestionably, without Mary he felt at loose end and wanted to fill his time. However, this particular mission was one part imposition and two parts messenger-boy from Lord Wolf. The latter was a means to an end and might help achieve the first object, that of getting involved in the case, although it ran the risk of doing exactly the opposite.
At the reception desk Kit asked to see the Chief Inspector. He sat in the reception area and waited for a few minutes. Then he saw Detective Sergeant Ryan. The young detective made his way straight towards him. Kit rose to meet Ryan and they shook hands.
‘Lord Aston,’ said Ryan, ‘I’m afraid the Chief Inspector is with the Commissioner at the moment, can I help?’
‘I quite understand, I only came on the off chance he might have a spare few moments. I was hoping to get an update on the case. In fact, if I’m being honest, I met Lord Wolf earlier and he was somewhat disappointed with progress. I’m here at his behest, although, I must admit also
, to a curiosity on the latest news.’
Ryan nodded gravely, ‘Yes sir, we’re aware that Lord Wolf is displeased.’
‘Yes, I had a feeling you might. I tried to reassure him that you were the best men to be investigating this but, well I’m sure you can imagine.’
In fact Ryan could not begin to imagine what the loss of a diamond necklace worth tens of thousands of pounds might feel like. Unwittingly, the look on his face may have betrayed this for he saw Kit grinning back at him.
‘Perhaps not everyone has lost a diamond necklace,’ said Kit. ‘Are you able to tell me the latest status. I promise I will be circumspect in what I tell Wolf.’
Ryan nodded, and the two men walked outside into the afternoon air. The rain had eased off, but the cold lashed their faces.
‘We have no new leads, which is the problem. Anything we’ve had has turned out to be a dead end. The diamonds haven’t surfaced in any of the usual places. Nobody seems to know anything or, at least, is saying anything. It all feels like it is news to everyone.’
‘Have you mentioned the Phantom?’
‘No, the Chief Inspector is still adamant that we shouldn’t. As far as he’s concerned, the Phantom is in prison. Any mention of him is a distraction or, more likely, misdirection by the real criminal.’
Kit nodded in agreement. He thought so too but it still troubled him as to why the robber would go to the trouble of printing and leaving the calling card and, more pertinently, how he obtained a card that was, in every respect, identical to Hadleigh’s.
‘Have you any theories on how the new Phantom came by an identical card? This might be the key.’
‘Well it’s certainly been troubling the Chief Inspector also. We investigated the printer, but he went out of business years ago. I think he’s dead now, anyway.’
‘And there’s no other potential source for these cards?’
‘I understand all of Hadleigh’s cards were either seized and destroyed from both his house as well as the printer’s. That includes the printing plates. This was before my time, obviously.’
