When she exited her room, Joe stood from his chair, and Thom let out a low, impressed whistle.
“Oh, Madame!” he exclaimed, stepping toward Irene. “She is a work of art!”
Thom circled Irene like she were a shiny new appliance he wanted to purchase. When he spent a little too long staring at her backside, she pivoted and glared at him.
“Enough,” she snapped. “Dress or not, I can still flip you over this couch with ease.”
“Oof,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I think I’d rather enjoy being flipped by you.”
She struck out with her fist, jabbing him hard in the shoulder. He winced and retreated, letting out a hurt whimper. Irene wound her fist back, ready to strike again should he say something more, but Jeannie gently grabbed her wrist.
“No, no, Irene,” the Madame scolded. “Ladies do not punch or fling people over couches. They simply gasp at the offending comment and give a good solid slap to the cheek.”
Thom shook his head and raised his hands in surrender. “That is my cue to leave. Good afternoon, ladies. Oh, and Joe over there looks just as good, if I do say so myself.”
He gave one final look to Irene before taking his leave.
Jeannie eyed Joe, and he stood a bit straighter.
“You do look marvellous as well, Doctor,” Jeannie said, and Joe mumbled a thank you, cheeks flushing. Irene finally turned to her friend, and a pleasant smile fell across her face.
He wore a green suit to match her dress, and it fit as if tailor-made to him. His shoes shined and his hair, though not slicked back, was parted with product that smoothed the frizz and flyaways.
Perhaps there was something in Sarah the Librarian’s words that Irene finally believed when Joe grinned at her in his usual lopsided boyish way. Maybe Joe was oddly handsome and charming.
“I shall let you both get to the party,” Jeannie announced before pointing to Irene. “Do not fight anyone. Remember, smile and laugh.” She rounded on Joe. “Keep an eye on her and intervene if those men start to fawn, you understand? Because she will not stand for older men and their handsy ways, and I don’t want this to end in a disaster.”
Joe nodded hastily. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Excellent.” She walked to the door. “Enjoy the day, you two.”
She shut the door behind her, and Irene sighed and turned to Joe, ready to see the same exasperated expression on his face. She was instead met with a curious look that made her ears warm. Joe wore a crooked smile and blinked slowly at her, eyes roving over her curled hair and red lips, down to her waist and her delicate shoes.
“Is it too much?” she asked, now worried she looked like a clown with a mask of make-up and a funny outfit.
He shook his head and stumbled over his words. “No, not at all. You look absolutely remarkable. It feels almost a waste to be going to afternoon tea with people who aren’t going to appreciate the effort you’ve made.”
Irene laughed, deflecting any emotion before it settled in her stomach. “If you think I’m going to do this all again to go out somewhere else another day...”
She trailed off as she stared at Joe in his suit and combed hair and that feeling she tried to ignore fluttered in her belly.
She scowled in an attempt to chase away the stirring inside her. “Perhaps one night we can go dancing, and we can get all dolled up again. But it won’t be any time soon.”
Joe’s crooked grin turned into a laugh. “Deal.”
“This Society meeting may be a disaster,” she said, turning the subject matter back to the case.
Joe shook his head. “It won’t. If we handled repairing a stove a few weeks ago, then we can handle this.”
“We didn’t repair anything,” Irene argued, scooping her purse from the small table by the door. “We left that kitchen in shambles.”
Joe shrugged. “Then let’s hope this goes better.”
Chapter IV
Afternoon Tea
Joe stared up at the grand building, with heavy brick and old windows, and sighed.
“I thought when they said tea,” he began. “It meant cosy with a garden, not a ballroom by the palace.”
“The cakes better be the best in London, then,” Irene grumbled, as another group of automobiles rolled passed them. They’d parked the Vauxhall down the street and now waited to cross the road to a building that stood like a miniature castle in the middle of London. Joe knew the building by sight only and knew that events were held here, but he never thought that he’d ever attend such an event.
They finally got their opportunity to cross and reached the other side of the road just as the traffic light changed, and the street filled up again.
As they weaved in and out of all the people walking home from work, Irene somehow ended up ahead of Joe and reached the small steps to the building. As she paused to wait for him, an eruption of giggles came from down the pavement that caused them both to turn. Joe looked to the source and immediately blushed.
Sarah James, the librarian, gazed at him from a group of three other girls. They gave her a small shove of encouragement, and she came up to him.
“Hello Joe,” she said, smiling up at him from under long eyelashes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. You look dashing!”
The girls behind her erupted again, and from the steps to the building, Irene raised a brow at them.
“We are here for tea,” Joe told her, acutely aware of how done up he was for an afternoon out.
Sarah must’ve noticed Joe peering up at Irene because she followed his gaze. “Oh, goodness! I didn’t even recognize you, Miss Holmes. You look fabulous as well.”
Irene answered with a curt nod and a tight smile. Joe knew she was anxious to get into the building and on with this case, but between her flat expression, and Sarah’s big blue eyes smiling up at him, he had no idea how to excuse one for the other.
He needed to think of something fast, though, because Irene was likely to comment with something rude and make an unnecessary enemy out of someone who was perfectly pleasant.
“I am so sorry,” he said to Sarah. “But we really must get on with this case.”
Her big eyes widened even more. “A case that brings you here? Oh, how exciting. Maybe I’ll have to try solving a mystery or two.”
She grabbed Joe’s hand, and his cheeks flushed, which surprised him. Not because he didn’t understand biology, but because holding Irene’s hand had never made his ears warm.
Sarah called over her shoulder to her friends. “Oh girls, they were researching a lovely piece of jewellery at the library.”
One of the girls stepped forward, seemingly star-struck with them. “Was it missing, and you recovered it?”
Irene stepped down to the pavement. “It was eaten by a dog, then later recovered in its stool.”
The women wrinkled their noses and muttered amongst themselves.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to that case, then,” Sarah laughed, soft and pleasant, and Joe smiled, wholly taken by her easy-going charm.
Big Ben chimed three o’clock in the distance and Joe heard Irene cuss under her breath.
“Oh dear,” Joe said, in a quick attempt to save the situation before Irene grabbed his sleeve and dragged him inside. “We’d best be off. I shall see you on Tuesday.”
“Take care, Joe.” She gave him one final, flirty smile before her group of friends whisked her off, giggling and sneaking glances back at Joe.
Irene was up the stairs and halfway to the door by the time Joe caught up to her. The doorman opened the doors, and they entered the building.
“What happens on Tuesday?” Irene asked as they stopped in the large foyer.
“Sarah has the night off from work, so we are going to dinner,” Joe replied, trying to spot some sign telling them where to go, as several halls jutted off from this main room.
“Dinner on Tuesday,” Irene said, frowning. “And then dinner again with Michael. Suddenly, you are a busy man.”
&nbs
p; “I figured I had to get out there sooner or later.”
“Of course,” she said, though he wasn’t wholly convinced she heard him. They found a small sign notifying them that the Red Rover Society met down a particular hall, and Irene led the way. As Joe followed her, he thought about suggesting that he, Irene, and Lestrade all go for dinner one night, or to the cinema.
A small coat room sat outside the door to the meeting room, and he and Irene stepped inside. He shrugged off his coat, pulled it over a hanger, and hung it up on the metal rod as Irene unbuttoned her jacket.
Joe had forgotten entirely that she was wearing such a lovely dress until he gently took her coat collar from behind her. He slid the fabric off her shoulders and goosebumps popped up on her skin.
“To speak honestly and away from everyone,” Joe began softly, hanging her coat. “You do look exceptional. I know you are always so confident, and the way you look this afternoon shouldn’t dash your confidence in any way. To look as elegant as this with the intelligence to back up any sentence you speak is quite a feat, and you do both very well.”
For a moment, she looked both surprised and a bit nervous as she chewed the inside of her lip and tilted her chin up toward him. She wrapped her fingers around his tie and straightened it, instantly falling back into her stubborn inquisitive self.
“I just hope I do not upset this case,” she muttered, and Joe realized that her breath quickened and she swallowed hard.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“No,” she snapped, then softened her tone. “I am sorry, but today I am a bit grumpy, and I want this party to go smoothly.”
He held his arm out and she wrapped her hand around his bicep as he led her out of the coatroom. “I think that you will do marvellously. Also, if the party turns disastrous, then we shall take our leave. The Red Rover Society appears to be up and running again, so they hardly need us.”
“We are finishing this case whether I make a fool of myself or not.”
They walked through the door and into the party. Light chatter filled the room, and at least ten couples were spaced out. Some of them stood, sipping at champagne-filled flutes, and some sat at tables full of cakes and pastries.
Beyond the group, was a wall of windows, fresh glass put in between the wooden frames.
“Some buildings elsewhere still have tape on their windows,” Irene whispered to Joe. “And this building gets brand new glass.”
“The things money will buy,” Joe muttered back.
“There’s our red rovers.” Irene nodded to the group playing outside.
In the large garden behind the building was a beautiful lawn that, despite the lousy weather, was still fresh and green. Eight large Setters ran around in circles, barking and yipping excitedly with each other as they tumbled and played. Four people intermingled with them and Joe recognized Molly, the Beauchamps’ maid.
“Miss Holmes!” Mrs. Beauchamp called from a table. She rose in a gown that made the tea party seem like an evening ball, and she floated over to them, heels barely making a sound, in a very practised motion.
Irene’s grip tightened on Joe’s arm, and he gave her hand a small comforting pat.
Mrs. Beauchamp gestured to the room, delighted. “Isn’t this gathering all I said it would be? And those dogs are beside themselves playing with one another again. You look astounding. Not many people could pull off a pre-war dress, but you, my dear, do it with your own certain flare.”
“This is a sturdy garment,” Irene said, a fake smile plastered on her face. “For if I have to chase a culprit, I can’t have the latest Vogue ripping should I have to leap over the garden wall.”
Mrs. Beauchamp gave a high-pitched well-practised chuckle, then addressed the room. She cleared her throat and waited a moment for everyone to silence and turn their attention to her.
“Welcome everyone,” she announced, and Joe and Irene shuffled sideways a few steps to avoid the spotlight. “Welcome to another meeting of the Red Rover Society. We are all glad was organized again, as the past few weeks have been very dull without some type of gathering to attend. With winter coming, and Britain recovering slower than we’d hoped, these meeting may wane, but come spring we shall hopefully be back in full swing. Enjoy the tea!”
Everyone toasted their champagne glasses and went back to chattering. Cigarettes were lit, and the smell of a few cigars came to Joe’s nose from the group of men at the back corner.
Mrs. Beauchamp took a sip of her champagne, then spoke to Joe and Irene.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she told them. “And enjoy the dogs. All the neighbours know of your involvement and know that you may ask them questions.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beauchamp,” Joe said with a polite smile. “Before you go, where is Mr. Wilton?”
“Right over there.” She pointed to a large man smoking cigars before walking away, back to a table of ladies.
Irene started over to them, but Joe gently stopped her. “Perhaps I should go.”
“Why?” Irene demanded, at once becoming defensive.
“Because I guarantee those men are going to say something that you will not like and I’m trying to help you, remember?”
She huffed but nodded her head. “You are right. I shall inquire if any of the ladies are missing jewellery or a statue. Then we are going out to the yard to speak with Mr. Grady.”
Irene broke away from him and aimed straight for the group of women. Joe watched her go for a moment, wishing her the best of luck before he started to second guess himself. Perhaps Irene would have been better speaking to the men. She was a lot more abrasive and forward than Joe, and sometimes men appreciated that sort of candour. Or did the higher classes expect a more traditional role of their women and Irene would only offend and shock them?
Either way, Irene was fully engaged in her task, and he had yet to take a step.
He wandered over to the group of men, four of them in total, two in uniform, and all of them smoking.
Mr. Beauchamp nodded at Joe.
“Doctor Watson,” he greeted, extending a cigarette package.
Joe shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Doctor, eh?” One of the older men, Mr. Wilton, according to Mrs. Beauchamp, who clearly had too much champagne, leaned forward. “You serve as a doctor?”
“Yes,” Joe nodded. “Spent some time as a POW too.”
“Terrible war...” he said before fishing in his pocket and producing two cigars. He offered them both to Joe as if that would make up for the time Joe spent in the war.
“Oh my,” Joe said, inwardly cringing. While he didn’t mind the smell of cigars, smoking them was something he could not stand. He accepted them anyway and tucked them in his pocket to give to Lestrade.
“Coming home to her must’ve been the only thing that kept you going, eh?” Mr. Wilton said, gazing at Irene, eyes running up and down her body from afar.
Joe began to inform them that he and Irene weren’t together in that sense, but when he looked over at her, talking and smiling with the other ladies, her hair done, and the dress fitting just right, his words stopped in his throat. Their story was way too complicated for these men to understand, so he simply nodded.
“Yes, sir,” he said. He needed to get back on track and ask the questions required for the case. “You recently returned from Paris?”
Mr. Wilton nodded. “I did indeed.”
“You bring back souvenirs, don’t you?”
He laughed. “I suppose I do.”
“Did you ever bring back a sapphire necklace with a silver chain?” Joe said, moving to grab for his notebook before realizing that he’d left it in his jacket pocket.
“Of course,” Mr. Wilton retorted. “It’s a Cartier, and a rare one at that.”
A thinning man in a dark brown suit stroked his beard. “Hm, my wife prefers a Boucheron.”
Mr. Wilton elbowed Joe and let out a loud laugh. “His wife prefers the post-man!”
All four of
them burst out in boisterous guffaws at the cheap joke, and Joe laughed along with them, wondering how he would keep the conversation on the case without these men simply laughing him out of their group.
“May I ask when it went missing?” Joe finally asked.
“Missing?” Mr. Wilton puffed out a cloud of cigar smoke. “What are you talking about, lad? It’s not missing. It’s safe in one of my wife’s jewellery boxes.”
“Are you certain?” Joe said, palms clamming up.
“Very much so,” Mr. Wilton insisted, shooting him a wry look. “No one gets into my flat without my knowledge, boy. No one.”
“That’s odd, Sir,” Joe nodded, treading lightly. “We’ve recovered a necklace like the one you described, from that exact designer.”
“Must be a different one,” Mr. Wilton waved him off, puffing away on his cigar again. “Or a cheap copy.”
“Of course, sir,” Joe said, forgoing the rest of the questions. Mr. Wilton had already made up his mind that the necklace was not his, and perhaps it truly wasn’t, but it was too much of a coincidence. He switched tactics. “May I ask which maid works for you?”
Mr. Wilton looked beyond Joe and pointed to a young woman running with the dogs.
“That one,” Mr. Wilton said. “Sasha. Lets the dog jump up and lick her. That dog’s not trained, despite all the money we paid to that Barry fellow. He barks every time someone walks through the door.”
Joe shrugged. “He is a dog, sir. They are supposed to bark and guard the house.”
“Drives me mental, so it does,” the man grumbled. “But anyway, that one works for us. Nice girl, but a bit of a chatterbox if you ask me. Wants to know all my travel plans before I even make them and is fascinated with where I’m going. I suppose she’s never left London, but still a nosy wee thing.”
The Red Rover Society Page 6
