‘Of employment?’ I said.
‘Of life,’ said Trudi. She let the threat hang in the air for a moment. ‘The one reason we have survived so long is because we adhere to strict rules. Our gentlemen know they are safe coming to us. Before you leave this office, you will sign an agreement that you will never disclose who you see within these walls. And yes, we do keep tabs on our new girls.’
‘It is a lot to process,’ I said.
Trudi glanced through some papers. ‘Go down to the bar. Have a seat and chat to a few gentlemen. There is no-one of significance due in tonight, so you do not have to sign our contract immediately. See if you think this place will suit you. Our gentlemen are of a type.’
I only truly understood what she meant when I realised Bertram was at least ten years younger than any other gentleman in the bar. I began to explain the rules under my breath. Bertram cut me off.
‘I couldn’t send the wire. Nowhere was open.’
‘Do not try to distract me, Bertram! How do you know so much about this place?’
‘My father was a member. Tell me, you have not signed anything? I do not fancy having to pay for you for life to the mistress here.’
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Although it was touch and go.’
‘What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?’
‘What we spoke about earlier. I thought I could talk to the girls.’
‘Well, you are here,’ said Bertram sighing. ‘Let’s pray no one recognises you. Whoever would have thought Richenda’s dire taste could be useful. Do not even try and persuade me that is not one of her outfits doctored.’
Bertram, less than discreetly, slid me his business card across the bar and then walked off to talk to some of the male members. I finished my drink and, feeling slightly tipsy, I realised I could not remember when I had last eaten. I attempted to mingle with the girls who were out tonight. To my surprise they were friendly and helpful. The majority were also well-educated and intelligent. I surmised more than one story began with a cad of a lover and an angry father. It made me sad, though not that the girls were unhappy. As one explained to me - Amberley, a blonde as fake as her name - ‘We are here for the daddies. Older men looking to recapture their youth. If you do not mind an older gentleman, they are not particularly demanding in the physical way but demand a lot of praise and a sort of hero-worship. We are all looking for the right match for us. This is a long game. The right John, I mean gentleman, can set you up for life. Older men are richer, more generous and occasionally their older wives die in childbirth - you need to ensure they never get quite enough away from home if this is your plan - and then they marry you. There are no disapproving parents. No one to stop them. And even if they do not marry you, you are remembered in the will. Usually handsomely. And the family would rather keep the image of the wholesome father than challenge the will - afraid of the scandal, you see. But you do have to be handy with older men, if you get my meaning. It can be quite hard to get the gentleman to stand to attention. The things some of them need you to do! It is better to establish this first.’
‘Oh yes,’ said a divine brunette, ‘I thought I had found the right one until he asked how I felt about him wearing one of my dresses when we - you know. No thank you very much, I said. I’m not that kind of girl.’ I almost laughed, but she did not, so I kept a straight face and nodded.
‘I do not understand how the guests work,’ I said. ‘Members can sign other men in?’
‘That’s for a bit of a look around usually,’ said a petite red head with astonishing violet eyes. ‘Although some of them ask for contracts that let them lend you out to their friends. No different to working in a brothel if you sign one of those,’ she said with a sneer. ‘But some girls prefer the variety.’
‘I heard that a German delegation was brought in here recently,’ I said.
‘Oh gosh, yes,’ said Amberley. ‘What a fuss. Old Porter brought them in. Thinks he’s something special, he does. Got the same thing down his trousers as any of the others.’
I bit my cheek again to prevent myself from blushing. Although, I also mused, if I survived this encounter then I would probably never again blush at anything again I might hear in polite society.
‘Does he ever lend his mistress out?’ I said.
‘He’s the look but don’t touch type,’ said Amberley. ‘Likes to show off.’
‘Is she around? It would be helpful to speak to her. I do not think I want a contract like that, but I would like to enquire how she finds it before I rule it out.’
‘Oh, love, did Trudi not explain? Once you find your gentleman, you don’t come back here,’ said the redhead. ‘I mean, why would you? All the action takes place elsewhere.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Do you think she would meet me?’
‘Her kind will do anything for money,’ said Amberley, ‘but she was before our time. We couldn’t tell you even if we wanted to. No, love, you stick with the single contract. The gentleman at the bar, I would go exclusive for him for half the normal price. Young and handsome. Can’t think why he is here. Let me know if you don’t want him and I’ll wander over and have a chat.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Now I understand better. I will have another talk with him and see what I think. I was looking for an older gentleman really. I am not sure I want it to be a life commitment on my side, if you see what I mean.’
The girls all laughed in a soft, well-trained way and the men in the room all turned their eyes towards us.
‘Showtime,’ said the little redhead. ‘I see one well marked by Father Time. Now to check out his bank roll.’ The girls dispersed, and I headed back to my seat at the bar. It was not long before Bertram joined me.
‘I will need to bathe a dozen times or more to get the stench of this place off me,’ he said.
I smiled. ‘I understand,’ I said quietly. ‘But Porter does have a mistress from here that he likes to show off to his friends. I cannot see how this would cause jealousy as it is his choice.’
‘Are you thinking Von Ritter could have made her a better offer?’
‘The penalty clauses they invoke here are rather final,’ I said.
‘Not if you were in Germany,’ said Bertram.
‘A rich older man, whose older wife is pregnant and may die in childbirth, was described to me as one of the best situations to obtain,’ I said.
Bertram shuddered.
‘Do not do that. You are meant to like me.’
‘Who is she?’ asked Bertram.
‘The others don’t know. Although they do not like Porter.’
‘I do not see how this helps us,’ said Bertram. ‘I will agree it is a damn good motive, but with no proof it is unsubstantiated fiction. It is less than we have on Gottlieb. The arguments between him and Von Klaus may have been the baron refusing to recognise him as a son.’
I nodded. ‘I had been struggling to think of why you might kill your benefactor, who was also, unbeknownst to the world, your father, but I suppose if he was not acknowledged he might have become vengeful.’
‘Both stories are possible,’ said Bertram, ‘But we have no proof of either.’
‘We could ask Porter’s mistress,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘The girls said she was on contract, so I bet Trudi - the madam here - holds copies in her office.’
‘And you know where that is?’
‘We could make it look as if we were going to talk to her about my contract but wait until she leaves her office and look through her papers.’
‘That sounds simple,’ said Bertram with obvious sarcasm.
‘I agree,’ I said, rising from my seat and taking his arm. ‘Let us do it.’
As Bertram could hardly pull away from me, I towed him down towards the basement. As soon as we were out of earshot from the main bar he began to protest, but I pointed out that we never knew who might be listening around a corner and he quietened. In fact, he adopted a mulish look, which I did not take for refusal, but as a
note that he would bring this situation up again and again for the rest of our lives if it happened to go wrong.
For once luck favoured us. We arrived to catch sight of Trudi leaving her office. ‘She will have locked it,’ whispered Bertram in my ear. His sideburns tickled me, and I barely held back a giggle. Perhaps I had imbibed more champagne than I realised. The taste had been sweetly apple-like and the bubbles had popped on my tongue in the most delightful manner that I have given no real though to the fact that it was alcohol, something I rarely indulged in.
‘Go try it,’ I asked as Trudi disappeared. ‘We might be in luck. I’ll watch in the corridor.’
‘Make a sound like an owl if anyone is coming,’ said Bertram.
‘Why would there be an owl…’ I began, but he had already gone.
It took him perhaps a few minutes to find, open and remove the contract we required, but standing in the corridor alone time passed with painful slowness. My stomach churned like a whirlpool with anxiety. The lack of food and addition of alcohol began to make me nauseous. The feeling intensified to the degree that I began to look around for a plant pot or bucket. My upbringing would not allow me to vomit on a carpet. In fact, I doubt whether my mother ever vomited in her life. I, it appeared, was not made of such stern stuff. I could not move for more than a few feet from my post and there appeared to be no available receptacle. My need had increased to an intolerable level. I could only pray that no one would find Bertram. I retreated out of sight to a window we had passed earlier.
Fortunately, it was not barred as many basement windows are, but it had been painted shut more than once. However, with the use of my shoe I managed to batter the latch until it opened. Then with a supreme effort of strength that only blind panic could procure I hauled up the sash and stuck my head out. The window opened onto a back alley and not the busy street. The window was higher than I might have imagined, being around six to seven feet above the ground. A large striped tom eyed me curiously. I thanked God for the discreetness of the location and vomited copiously onto the ground. I immediately felt better, but the sensation did not last. Wave after wave of stomach pain and nausea resulted in my repeating such an unladylike action, and a heartfelt promise never to drink champagne again.8
Eventually I was wrung dry. I leant over the ledge, feeling the fresh air against my face. The cat had disappeared, and I feared it might have been the victim of my inaccurate aim. At that moment I felt King and Country could quite frankly go hang - as well as many a German and diplomat who had got themselves mixed up in this ruckus. All I wanted was to go and lie in a darkened room with a cool, damp cloth on my forehead. I was in the midst of imaging such a state of joy when Bertram erupted from around the corner. I knew it was him without looking as he yelled, ‘Emergency! She’s coming!’
I stepped back from the window and saw him approaching, jacket tails flapping in the wind and a piece of paper clutched in one hand.
‘The window!’ he cried. ‘How inspired!’ And before I could object he leapt through it more nimbly than I ever imagined he could and was gone. ‘I’ll catch you,’ he cried a moment before I heard the shriek and thump that accompanied him discovering why I had actually opened the window.
However, I could not stop and explain, for behind me in the corridor I heard the clip-clop of a lady’s shoes approaching. This was also accompanied by a lung bursting shout of ‘George! George! Don’t let the buggers get away.’ I barely had time to wonder if half the men in London were called George.
I pulled myself up onto the window ledge. Gentlemen may be able to leap through windows like fawns, but skirts are no lady’s friend in such an endeavour. Below me I saw that Bertram had skidded through that which should never be mentioned by a lady, and he had fallen on his posterior. This had inevitably smeared the unnameable matter even further along the ground outside. I looked around. The cat now sat on the ledge of a window opposite. It groomed its paw and smirked, as much as a cat can smirk, at my predicament.
I bundled up my skirts and jumped. Bertram gallantly made his way towards me. He would have to throw those shoes out. However, instead of my coming nicely to rest in his arms, I hovered in mid-air for a moment. I saw his eyes roll up in astonishment. Then there came a ripping noise as my skirts, which had momentarily got caught on the latch, came free and I landed heavily on Bertram, who landed heavily on the floor. It was by far and away the most unpleasant embrace of our careers.
We scrambled to our feet, became even dirtier in the process, and we ran. I found it surprisingly easy to run, and surprisingly cold. Then I looked down and realised that no one in London would recognise me from this escapade. They would not be looking at my face. I had, indeed, left most of my skirts dangling off the latch.
Bertram caught sight of me askance and his mouth gaped in shock.
‘A cab,’ I panted as I ran alongside him. ‘Give me your jacket and hail us a cab.’
For once Bertram did not argue with me and so it was that we found ourselves in the most expensive cab journey I can to this day recall; Bertram in shirt sleeves unable to speak at the dreadfulness of it all, I with his jacket wrapped around my bare legs, and both us stinking more than any fish head the alleyway cat might devour that night.
8A resolution I have kept to this day.
Chapter Fourteen
Matters Move on Apace
Having been a servant myself leaves one with a sixth sense of where a servant’s entrance can usually be located. By the time we had climbed the stairs to our hotel suite we were both exhausted. Bertram’s face had acquired a greenish tinge, which I hoped had nothing to do with the exertion. Both of us paid no heed to who else was in the suite but bolted for bathrooms. Unfortunately, Bertram first tried the one where Rory had been keeping the bellboy, who cried out in dismay, doubtless thinking this was some new and unusual form of torture.
I stripped off my rags and plunged into the bath before the fancy taps had barely made an impression on the water level. I expected Richenda to enter at any moment shouting and demanding to know what had happened, but she did not do so. A soft knock came on the door as I began to scrub at my skin, and Rory’s voice called, ‘Are you alright, Euphemia?’
‘I need to bathe,’ I called back. ‘But I am unhurt.’ Having fallen on Bertram I did not even appear to have a single bruise.
‘Hurry yourself,’ said Rory. ‘Things are moving apace out here. There will be time for ablutions later.’
I realised that to call through the bathroom door he must have entered my bedroom. This is not something a man who has trained as a butler does lightly. I finished as soon as I could and bundled myself into towels. Then I opened my closet and scanned my clothes for something I could dress in without a maid and which would take less than an hour of effort. Glanville! Surely she was back by now! I called for her to attend to me as I pulled fresh under linen from a drawer. Not a stitch of what I had worn earlier would ever touch my skin again.
The door opened, and I almost fainted on the spot.
‘Merry!’ I cried, dropping my things and my towel as I flung myself into her arms. ‘You are back. All is well.’
Merry returned my embrace firmly. ‘I am afraid not,’ she said. I could tell at once from her voice that she had been crying.
‘What has happened,’ I said stepping back. ‘Tell me that it is not…’
‘No, not that,’ said Merry. ‘Let us get you into some clothes before you take a chill and we can discuss matters with the gentlemen.’ She gave a small sob as she rescued a stocking from the ground and held it out to me.
Merry helped me dress in silence. A lady’s clothes require attention and skill to put on, and the act is not helped when the lady in question is damp, distressed and her hair has come down. However, in a most reasonable space of time I was presentable enough to join the rest of the company. I entered with Merry on my arm, paler and frailer than I had ever seen her.
Bertram was slumped in a chair. His hair was wet and had begun t
o curl. He had not bothered with his customary pomade. I had no idea that his hair was naturally wavy, and this distracted me for a moment. Rory paced past me. ‘You took your time,’ he said.
I blinked and sat down in a chair myself. All the physical activity of the day suddenly caught up with me. I must have paled significantly as Rory modified his tone. ‘Bertram has caught me up with your activities.’
‘There is a name?’ I asked Bertram.
‘And an address,’ he replied. ‘We shall go there shortly, but…’ he looked at Merry. ‘Richenda has gone to pay the ransom. Merry was sent back as a sign of good faith, but Glanville is still not yet returned. Richenda, despite Rory’s protests, has taken this all upon herself.’ He swallowed. ‘She can draw the money herself. She has shares in the Stapleford bank.’
‘But the amount was impossible,’ I said.
‘Rory got them to see sense. It appears they are most keen to be rid of their charges and accepted a reduced payment on the condition Richenda went alone.’
‘I would have followed her,’ said Rory, ‘but Merry was in no state to be left alone with Amy. I did not feel… and you were… and I did not know if you might…’ He sat down and put his head in his hands. ‘I should have gone.’
Bertram went over and awkwardly patted his back. ‘Nothing you could do, old man. If these chaps are as nasty as Merry says…’ he looked over at me. ‘They made Merry hold a cat while they killed it, that’s how they got blood on her dress. She was blindfolded, and the cat was swaddled.’
‘I thought it was one of the babies,’ said Merry faintly. ‘They took off the blindfold because I would not stop screaming. When I saw it was a cat they laughed in my face.’ I swallowed, for the first time grateful that I had no bile left to spill.
‘If you had gone with Richenda,’ continued Bertram, ‘I would not put it past them to have killed the babies on the spot.’
‘Aye, mebbe,’ said Rory, but he raised his head out of his hands. ‘But what’s to do?’
A Death at Crystal Palace Page 16
