The Midnight Peacock

by Katherine Woodfine

  Sophie nodded. It had been her own desire to be prepared that had begun all this. Ever since she had come face to face with the Baron, she had felt frustrated and worried by her own weakness. She knew that if she ever encountered him again, she did not want to feel so vulnerable. She felt certain that if she were prepared, she would be able to sleep more soundly at night.

  It was to Song that she had finally confided this. Over the past few months, he had become a particular friend. Sophie enjoyed his company, and admired his ambition of becoming a chef in a big London restaurant one day. She knew she could rely on him for a common-sense perspective. Song was always sensible and practical, and this had been a case in point: he had understood how she had felt, and had come up with a solution. ‘You ought to talk to Dad,’ he had said. ‘Kung fu is exactly what you need. It’s not about being big and strong, but using your opponent’s strength against them. You know Dad learned a bit from the monks, when he was a boy – and he’s been teaching me some, since the summer when we had that run-in with the Baron’s Boys. Maybe he could teach you too?’

  As soon as she had heard of Sophie’s plan, Lil had at once said that she wanted to join in too. ‘That sort of thing is tremendously useful for actors. Awfully good for flexibility and posture. Besides, we’ve got ourselves into some tricky situations in the past. In our line of work, I can’t help thinking that it would be a jolly good idea for us to know a bit about how to defend ourselves.’

  Of course, Mei wasn’t going to be left out, and next had come Connie Clifton, a friend of Leo’s from art school and a committed suffragette. ‘This is exactly what we need!’ she had exclaimed. ‘We heard that some of the other suffragette groups had been learning ju-jitsu – suffrajitsu, they’re calling it. We’re dying to learn something like that too. Could some of us join your class? We’ll pay, of course. Mrs St James will be thrilled!’

  Now their practice sessions had become a weekly event. Mrs St James, the leader of Connie’s group of suffragettes, had arranged for them to have access to the basement of an East End Mission Hall, where Mr Lim, with Song acting as his assistant, could teach a dozen young ladies at a time. She even provided tea and buns for them all afterwards. Each girl paid a little for her lesson, and Mr Lim had been heard to say that at this rate, teaching would soon earn him as much as his grocer’s shop.

  Sophie still wasn’t sure that what she had learned would help her if she was to come face to face with the Baron in another dark alleyway – but the sessions certainly made her feel better. She liked the challenge of learning something new, and for once, being small wasn’t necessarily a disadvantage – she might not be as tall or strong as Lil, but in spite of the encumbrance of skirts and petticoats, she was quick and light on her feet. The lessons were fun too: she felt quite certain that the sombre East End Mission Hall had never heard anything like so much giggling and shrieking. Best of all, afterwards, she and Lil would come back to the Lims’, where Song would make them all supper. Now, as Lil told the others about their planned visit to Winter Hall, she sat back and listened, letting their words wash over her and enjoying the familiar sound of their voices.

  After supper she went through into the little scullery to help Song clear away the dishes.

  ‘You’ll be away for Christmas, then?’ he said. ‘We were going to ask whether you’d like to come here.’

  ‘I’d have loved that,’ said Sophie, as she stacked up the plates beside the sink. ‘But I couldn’t pass up the chance to go to Winter Hall.’ She quickly explained about the letter from Miss Pennyfeather, and Song listened with interest.

  ‘No wonder you want to go and find out. Well – I suppose we’ll see you after New Year.’

  ‘You might see me sooner than that,’ said Sophie, with a sudden smile. ‘I’ve got a kind of Christmas present for you. Well, I suppose it’s not exactly a present – it’s really more of an opportunity.’

  Song looked at her quizzically as she explained: ‘They’re bringing in lots of extra staff to help with the Sinclair’s New Year’s Eve Ball. Waiters, mainly – but there will be people needed in the kitchens too. I spoke to Mr Betteredge and – well, there’s a place open for you, if you’d like it.’

  Song stared at her. ‘Do you mean the kitchens of the Marble Court Restaurant?’ he breathed in awe. It was considered to be one of the best restaurants in London, with its famous head chef, Monsieur Bernard.

  ‘It would be temporary, of course – just for a few days before the party, and on the evening itself. You’d only be working as a kitchen porter, but it would give you the chance to meet Monsieur Bernard – and for him to see what you can do.’

  Song wasn’t the sort of person who got over-excited, but now he looked like he could hardly speak. ‘But . . . but . . . that’s incredible!’ he burst out incoherently. ‘Sophie – thank you – this means so much to me! It’s terrific!’ He took a step towards her, as if he was going to grab her hands, but just then, Lil came bouncing through the door.

  ‘What are you two gabbling about in here? Sophie, we ought to make tracks. The snow’s coming down awfully fast now. We should get a cab.’

  Soon the two girls were sitting cosily in the back of a hansom cab, the horses picking their way carefully along the snowy streets towards home. They were both tired, and even Lil was quiet now, gazing out of the window at the ghostly blur of the snow, illuminated here and there by the glow of the street lamps.

  Sophie was thinking how pleased Song had been by the chance of a job at the Marble Court Restaurant. Not so very long ago, it had been a struggle to find decent paid work for herself: now, it was very pleasant to be able to help others. As the cab made its way slowly past the shimmering lights and advertisements of Piccadilly Circus and on to Piccadilly, the brightly lit facade of Sinclair’s glittered out of the dark. She remembered how last winter she had stood in the snow looking up at it, feeling certain that this building held promise for her. Now, the Christmas trees sparkled in the windows, and high above, the lights of Mr Sinclair’s private apartments gleamed, and she was surprised to feel a sudden prickle of festive excitement. Perhaps she was looking forward to Christmas, after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘We need more linen for the Blue Room. Quick, girls! Don’t dawdle.’

  ‘Mr Stokes, the cases of claret have arrived – where would you like them?’

  ‘Hurry and ring the gong. We mustn’t be a minute late with luncheon. You know how particular Her Ladyship is about punctuality when there are guests in the house.’

  Below stairs at Winter Hall was all a-fluster with activity. The stone-flagged passageways rang with the sound of footsteps. With so many extra people in the house, guest bedrooms to be arranged, and meals to be prepared, there was a great deal to do – and yet Mrs Dawes was not too busy to notice the sound of the motor pulling up on the drive.

  Tilly left the bed linen to the other housemaids and followed her outside into the cold, shivering in her thin frock and apron. A small, familiar figure in a plain woollen coat was being helped out of the motor by Alf.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Dawes! Hello, Tilly! How nice to see you!’ she called out.

  Tilly stared in surprise. Miss Leo’s quiet voice was the same, but there seemed to be something different about her. It wasn’t that she had grown any taller or that she was dressed differently – in spite of all the frilly frocks Nanny always wanted her to wear, Miss Leo had never given a pin for how she looked. But she seemed older somehow, and what was more, Tilly noticed that her bulky crutch was gone, replaced by a handsome walking stick.

  She wanted to leap forward and ask a dozen questions, but she knew that this was one of the occasions when she was supposed to ‘know her place’ and so she hung back, whilst Mrs Dawes stepped forward. ‘Welcome home, Miss Leonora,’ she said warmly. ‘We’re glad to see you. Now, hurry inside and get warm. Charlie will bring up your trunks and Tilly can unpack for you. You’ve missed luncheon but Nanny will have something ready for you in the Nurser
y.’

  ‘Oh, but I don’t need any help,’ said Miss Leo eagerly. ‘I’m quite used to looking after myself now, and being independent.’ But catching Tilly’s expression, she added swiftly: ‘Though actually, it would be nice to have Tilly help me. I’m rather tired after the journey.’

  As she came up the steps and through the doors, Tilly saw that Miss Leo was staring all around her, quite as if she was seeing Winter Hall for the first time. She couldn’t imagine why, for it wasn’t as if anything had changed. The big hallway looked exactly as it always did, with the grandfather clock and the portraits on the panelled walls. The door to the Ballroom was open: Tilly noticed Miss Leo peep through at the big Christmas tree that the maids had decorated the day before, with all the usual ornaments, and little red candles. They ought to have waited until Miss Leo came home to do that, Tilly thought. Miss Leo had always loved helping to dress the Christmas tree, and it had always been her job to place the fairy doll in the very top branches. When she had been very little, Tilly had once cried because she wanted to be the one to do that: Ma had scolded and threatened a spanking, but Miss Leo had looked astonished and then put the fairy doll straight into Tilly’s small hands.

  Now, in the hallway, they could hear the sounds of the family at luncheon in the Dining Room. Miss Leo hesitated for a moment, as though wondering if someone might come out to greet her. But the voices and the clink of china went on without interruption, and Miss Leo blew out a faint little sigh, and began to trudge up the stairs. Her shoulders hunched, and all at once, she looked smaller and younger again.

  Tilly ran up the stairs after her. ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ she whispered.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t,’ said Miss Leo in a flat voice. ‘But I am awfully glad to see you, Tilly. Let’s go upstairs – I’ve got heaps to tell you.’

  The railway station was noisy and smoky, and damp with melting snow. Porters with trunks swung by, whilst gentlemen in bowler hats hurried for their trains and messenger boys pushed their way through the throng, with brown-paper parcels tucked under their arms. Everyone seemed to be in a terrific hurry, and for a moment, Sophie was buffeted amongst the crowd. Then she caught sight of Lil, waving to her excitedly from beside the station book stall, and a moment later, Jack emerged from the ticket office and strolled over to join them.

  Sophie couldn’t help smiling at how effortlessly he seemed to swing through the crowd. Like his younger sister, Jack was tall and good-looking. He had dark hair, which had a habit of flopping over his eyes, and a remarkable ability to charm everyone he met. Today, he was wearing a thick overcoat and carrying a small suitcase, as well as a little leather case that Sophie supposed must contain his painting things – for like Leo, Jack was studying at the Spencer Institute of Fine Art.

  He grinned at her in welcome. ‘I say, this is a lark, isn’t it? Splendid that you could come!’

  Sophie found herself blushing. Jack had made no secret of the fact that he thought her a fine girl, and when he smiled at her, she was conscious of feeling excited and embarrassed and flustered in a way that was not in the least like her usual self. She was rather glad that Lil was chattering away, insisting that they make a stop in the Refreshment Rooms to buy some chocolate for the journey.

  Together, they made their way to the platform, and clambered on to the train, where they found themselves an empty compartment and settled down.

  ‘I do like train journeys,’ said Lil, peering out at the steamy station platform as though she were willing the guard to blow his whistle, so the train could be on its way. ‘And I’m glad we’ve got our own compartment. It’s so much nicer being able to talk properly without having to worry about being quiet and minding our manners for strangers.’

  But the words were scarcely out of her mouth when the door to their compartment opened, and someone else came in – a small, elderly lady, with white hair, a pince-nez on a long, glittering chain, and a velvet hat with a bunch of very purple violets in it. She smiled around at them all benevolently, as the guard blew his whistle, and the train began its slow chug out of the station.

  ‘Excuse me, young man, would you put my suitcase up into the luggage rack please?’ she asked in a high, quavering voice. Jack smiled charmingly, and did as she asked, whilst Lil made a face at Sophie. So much for their own private compartment!

  ‘And might I trouble you for that corner seat, my dear?’ the old lady asked Sophie, clutching a white lacy handkerchief in a thin, lace-gloved hand. ‘I mustn’t travel with my back to the engine. Oh, thank you. How kind.’

  Sophie politely moved seats, allowing the old lady to position herself into the corner. She carefully set down an enormous carpet bag, before removing a succession of articles from inside it. First was a novel in a yellow paper cover, then a small tin of lozenges, marked ‘for coughs’, then some complicated-looking knitting, a little brown medicine bottle, a lacy shawl, an illustrated magazine, and finally, a packet of hairpins. She then systematically returned all the items back into the bag, with the exception of the magazine and the tin of lozenges, which she opened, releasing a sickly medicinal aroma into the compartment.

  ‘H-hem,’ she coughed, before popping a lozenge into her mouth.

  Lil was staring in obvious fascination. Sophie guessed that she was already picturing this old lady as a character in a play. ‘Where are you travelling to, ma’am?’ she asked in a polite tone.

  ‘I’m going to Alwick, dear,’ the old lady replied.

  ‘Oh – that’s where we’re going too,’ said Lil, trying to sound bright and cheerful, but her voice falling a little flat at the news that their new companion would be with them for the whole of their journey.

  Resigning themselves to the inevitable, they all settled down quietly. Lil pulled out her Theatrical News, and Jack took a small sketchbook and a handful of pencils out of his pocket. Meanwhile, Sophie opened a book – a collection of Montgomery Baxter tales, which Billy had loaned her – but the boy detective’s intrepid adventures did not really catch her attention. Instead, as the train gathered speed, rattling and bumping its way through the London suburbs, she stared out of the window as streets and the untidy backs of houses gave way to a landscape of bare trees and empty fields. It was a long time since she had been out of the city, and she found herself gazing at the black silhouettes of birds swooping against pebble-grey clouds and rough brown hedgerows, dusted with glittering frost like sugar on a cake.

  The light was already ebbing out of the day, the sky heavy with the promise of more snow to come. Their compartment was only dimly lit and it was quiet too, with no sounds but the rattle of the train, the scratch of Jack’s pencil and the occasional soft flicker of pages turning. After an hour or more had passed, Sophie heard a decorous little snore, and glanced over to see that the old lady had nodded off to sleep over her magazine, her pince-nez still perched on the end of her nose.

  They felt more able to talk in low voices after that, and Lil passed around the packet of chocolate, which had got rather warm and squashy from being in the pocket of her coat. Between them, the two girls quickly told Jack all about Miss Pennyfeather’s mysterious letter – and their plan to pay a visit to Colonel Fairley.

  Jack listened with great interest. ‘Do you suppose this fellow was someone your father knew in the Army?’ he asked.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Sophie. ‘I know he had a lot of Army friends – they used to come and visit us sometimes. But I don’t remember ever meeting a Colonel Fairley.’ She paused for a moment. ‘The thing I can’t help thinking is – if they really were such awfully good friends, if he was the person we were supposed to go to if we found ourselves in trouble – then, why didn’t he contact us when Papa died? Or come to his funeral? There were notices in all the newspapers, so he must have known about it.’

  ‘Maybe he was away – travelling perhaps?’ suggested Lil.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Sophie. ‘But then why wouldn’t he have tried to get in touch when he got back home? It all see
ms so odd.’

  Jack had a sudden thought: ‘Do you suppose – well, it couldn’t have anything to do with your father’s connection to the Baron, could it?’

  Sophie opened her mouth to reply – and then closed it abruptly. She had caught a sudden gleam from behind the old lady’s pince-nez. Her eyes were no longer quite closed, and she suddenly had the peculiar sense that the old lady was listening. Not idly eavesdropping on a conversation, but alert, actively paying attention to every word they said.

  Just then, the train hurtled into a tunnel, and the compartment was plunged into darkness. When the greyish light seeped back in, the old lady was simply drowsing once more, her eyes shut. Sophie frowned. With the other two watching her curiously, she tilted her head in the direction of the old lady and then put her finger to her lips. After a quick, surprised glance, Lil began to talk airily about the new play she would be rehearsing in January. For the rest of the journey they all kept their conversation carefully general, as the train rattled onwards towards Alwick, and Winter Hall.

  PART II

  The Case of the Hidden Passage

  Montgomery Baxter tapped the panelled wall sharply with his knuckles. The sound was hollow. ‘I thought as much. Gentlemen – this room conceals a secret passage!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sophie had realised that Winter Hall would be grand, but she did not realise just how grand until she first glimpsed it from the big motor car that had met them at the station. Built of fierce grey stone, its stern lines and tall Gothic windows were forbidding – even frightening. As they drove through great iron gates on to the estate, she glimpsed the flash of a frozen lake, a herd of deer, galloping across the snowy moors towards the shelter of a dark pine wood. Before them, the house sat, perfectly still but for the blue columns of smoke rising from its tall chimneys. A moment later, they were pulling up on a gravel driveway and the big doors were opening – and there was Leo, leaning on her cane and waving to them.