by Sara Rosett
Gigi had promised our driver a cut of the winnings if we came in first as well as his normal fee for this evening’s job of driving us around London. He’d been delighted with the whole situation and had even helped us decipher one of the early clues.
The Victoria Memorial came into view, and Gigi said, “Drat! There’s already a motor here. Someone’s ahead of us.” Two figures moved along the railings, but they were too far away to make out who it was.
Our driver downshifted as he circled around the monument and braked. Gigi and I hopped out. The other hunters appeared to be searching without success, so Gigi and I moved away in the opposite direction along the gold-topped wrought iron to look for the next clue.
More motors arrived, their headlamps flashing across the black railings. I was aware of a shout from the area closer to the palace near the sentry boxes, but no one sprinted for the motors, so I continued to search. Then someone shrieked, and Gigi and I both turned toward the noise.
It was Essie. Her white turban and gold snake brooch were unmistakable as she hurried away from the railings. Gigi and I both zeroed in on the location she’d just left and found a piece of paper tied to one of the iron bars. The note read, “You will find your next clue where Napoleon met his naval Waterloo.”
Gigi and I both looked at each other and whispered, “Trafalgar Square.” Unlike Essie, we didn’t want to give away the location of the clue to anyone else. Fortunately, the other couples that had arrived weren’t near us and hadn’t heard Essie’s squeal of excitement.
Gigi said to the driver, “Trafalgar Square,” and we sped away from the palace, weaving in and out of the oncoming motors.
“That was Essie who found the clue first,” I said. “She’s ahead of us.”
“I know. She’s a good hunter, but we can catch her at Trafalgar.”
The tall column commemorating Nelson’s victory was only a short distance away. Moments later, we stepped out of the taxi. At first, the square seemed empty. Water sprayed up from two fountains and cascaded down into shallow pools. Nearer us, four statues of lions surrounded the column.
“Let’s check the monument first,” Gigi said, and we separated, each circling around the base of the column and the rectangular plinths the lions rested on. I hurried around a corner and cannoned into a man’s chest. Simultaneously, we gripped each other’s arms to steady ourselves.
“Olive!”
“Jasper!” I said, feeling a smile break out on my face. “I didn’t know you were back in town.” He wore a top hat and tails, so he must have been out on the town earlier. He might have been at one of the clubs, but they were all so crowded, it was hard to spot friends.
He removed his top hat. “Just arrived this evening and was pulled into the hunt. Essie insisted I participate.” He scanned the area as he leaned forward and spoke, his voice low, “She is intimidating when she sets her mind to something.”
“Oh, I know. Must be why she’s such a good reporter.”
“Yes, indeed. No time to talk, old bean. Essie will have my head if she finds me over here chatting with you.” He settled his top hat on his head.
“And Gigi mine. I’ll look for you later.”
Lisbet was holding a party with dancing and a breakfast at the conclusion of the treasure hunt. We went in opposite directions, and I circled around to the other side of the monument, where I found Gigi holding her lighter over a paper. “I don’t understand it. It says, ‘Present the symbol of England to the hostess to win.’”
Jasper and Essie ran up as she read the last line, and Essie reached for the paper. Gigi pointed to the lion statue as she handed the paper over. “I found it by the lion’s paw,” Gigi said, then drew me away. She whispered, “But what does it mean? What symbols are here that we could take away?”
Essie read the paper, then she and Jasper set off around to the other side of the column, their heads close together. “There’s nothing to take away in the direction they’re going,” I said. “We’ve already searched over there.” We turned toward the fountains. “Perhaps it means a coin?”
Gigi looked doubtful. “But how would we know which one? It has to be something more obvious, I think.”
A few more motors roared up as we continued to search, but I only found a discarded newspaper sheet and some dry leaves. Then I saw a bouquet made up of red and white roses resting on the pavement below the lip of one of the fountains. “Red and white like the English flag,” I said to Gigi. We dashed toward it, but Jasper and Essie had spotted it too. They were on the opposite side of the shallow pool from us, and we all sprinted, converging on the flowers. Jasper was taller and had longer legs—and wasn’t limited by heels or aching feet. He reached it first, snatched it up, and he and Essie raced away. He called over his shoulder, “Sorry, Olive, old bean, but all’s fair in love . . . and . . . treasure hunting.”
I slowed down, but Gigi said, “They’ve left something behind.” She snatched up a piece of paper and read aloud, “If you have found this clue, it means the hunt is over, but the party has just begun.” She replaced it. “Then it lists Lisbet’s townhouse in Mayfair. Come on. Perhaps we can catch them and get the bouquet away from Essie before they present it to Lisbet.”
Several hours later I sat on the side of the ballroom, resting my feet. When we’d dashed away from Trafalgar Square, I’d had visions of Gigi trying to wrestle the flower bouquet away from Essie on the steps of the elegant Mayfair mansion where the treasure hunt concluded, but that hadn’t happened.
Essie and Jasper were the clear winners, arriving several minutes before we did. Once Gigi saw we had truly lost and the hunt was over, she congratulated Essie, and they had a good laugh about the sprint to the finish. At that point other treasure hunters began to pour into the townhouse, some of them with dusty hems and scuffed trousers from scrambling around searching for clues. A dance band was playing in the ballroom, and soon everyone was circling the floor.
Now that the thrill of the treasure hunt was over, I fully appreciated how achy my feet were. I was happy to sit out a few dances. Inglebrook and Clara were circulating around the dance floor, and I noticed that Gigi, who was also dancing, kept an eye on them. Had her ploy to make herself elusive backfired?
A white rose appeared in front of my nose. I leaned back to get some perspective and saw the tuxedoed arm holding it belonged to Jasper. “Truce?” he asked.
I took the rose from him. “A peace offering?”
“It’s the best I could do. I would’ve brought you breakfast, but they’re not serving yet.”
I inhaled the rose’s fragrance as Jasper pulled a chair over and sat down.
“Quite an entertaining event.”
“The highlight of it for me was seeing you sprint away, trying to catch Essie. I haven’t seen you move that quickly since you and Peter played cricket when you were boys.”
Jasper crossed one leg over the other. “I’m sure I’ll feel it tomorrow. I’m too old and decrepit to play nursery games.”
“That was far from a nursery game, and you’re not decrepit.” I rolled the stem of the rose in my fingers, setting the blossom spinning, which released more of its scent.
We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, then Jasper said, “I’d ask you to dance, but you seem to be rather settled here.”
“Honestly, my feet hurt like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been on them all day.”
“Let me guess, looking for a new flat.”
“Yes. No luck so far.”
“And what is the state of affairs with Mr. Quigley?”
“Everything is all right so far. I’ll let you know if the situation deteriorates.”
“Excellent. I stand ready to receive you or the parrot, if need be.”
“How was your visit to Haverhill?” I asked, referring to Jasper’s family estate.
“Father was called away at the last moment.”
“And you didn’t want to stay on for a few days?”
“No.” J
asper adjusted his cuff. “I believe they’ve opened the buffet. May I escort you to breakfast?”
“Yes, let’s.” I didn’t pursue the subject of Jasper’s family over breakfast. The tight look on his face indicated the topic was closed.
He’d never been forthcoming about his parents. They had been out of the country for much of his life. Jasper had been sent back from India, where his father was employed in the civil service. As far as I’d been able to work out, his parents had never returned to England during his school years, and he’d never visited them in India. He’d spent practically every holiday with my cousin Peter at Parkview Hall. When we were children, I’d simply accepted the situation, but now I wondered about it.
We had a nice breakfast of eggs, bacon, kippers, and chipolata sausages, then Gigi, Clara, and I departed. Gigi was still pursuing her policy of “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and turned down Inglebrook’s offer to see us home, telling him she’d already hired a taxi. A trace of disappointment flitted across Clara’s face, but she didn’t counter the suggestion.
As we climbed into the cab, sunrise was turning the sky pale lemon and peach. It was only a short distance back to Alton House, but I was glad to have the luxury of riding in a cab instead of walking. We turned the corner, and Gigi sat up straighter. “Goodness! Whatever could be happening?”
Alton House was lit up as brightly as the townhouse we’d just left. Every window glowed, and the front door stood open. Several motors were bunched in the street, parked at odd angles.
Clara leaned forward to get a better look. “Is that a police motor?”
“It is,” Gigi said and was out of the taxi before it came to a complete stop. I had a little money in my handbag, so I paid the driver and followed Gigi and Clara through the open door. The cavernous marble entry was filled with people moving back and forth, including several uniformed police.
“What’s happened?” Gigi demanded in her most aristocratic voice.
The young constable who turned to face her was rendered speechless. Even with her dress crumpled and her hair windblown, she looked incredibly glamorous.
It was a gruff voice from above that spoke to us. “Lady Gina Alton?”
We swiveled around to face the white marble staircase, where a man wearing a rumpled trench coat stood. He surveyed us for a moment, a scowl on his wrinkled face, then he came down. The coat flapped around him as he moved, revealing that he wasn’t as bulky as the coat made him appear. Under the layer of fabric, he was a compact, lean man. He held a stubby cigarette, and smoke trailed from it in his wake.
I murmured, “Inspector Thorn.”
Gigi looked at me sharply, then turned back to Thorn. “Yes, I’m Lady Gina. What’s happened?” Her voice was staccato, a contrast to her usual languid tones.
Thorn swept a look over the three of us in our evening gowns and glanced at the hall clock, which had begun to strike seven o’clock. He couldn’t keep the dislike out of his voice as he said, “Quite a late—or rather early—hour to return from a night on the town.”
“What has happened?” Gigi sounded exactly like the dowager duchess.
Thorn said, “I’m afraid I have bad news.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry to inform you that your grandmother has died.”
Gigi stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound. “Oh, this is priceless. It’s too sick-making. Doesn’t Granny know you can’t pull the same joke twice?”
I stepped forward. “Gigi, I met Inspector Thorn when I was staying with Lady Agnes.” He hadn’t impressed me as a tip-top investigator, but I knew that he was employed by Scotland Yard.
Thorn had been unflappable and completely sure of himself when I’d met him before, but Gigi’s response puzzled him. “I’m sorry?”
“This is another rag—I know it. The first one wasn’t enough, so Granny’s done it again. And as she always does, she’s gotten carried away.” Gigi motioned to all the uniformed constables. I glanced at Clara, but she’d gone as white as the marble staircase. I put a hand on Gigi’s arm. “Inspector Thorn is a real inspector, not an actor.”
Thorn looked even more mystified. Gigi shook off my arm. “No. It can’t be true.” She darted around Thorn and ran up the stairs.
“Hey!” Thorn turned on his heel and pointed with his hand that held the cigarette. “You can’t go up there. We’re investigating.”
I dodged around Thorn and sprinted up the stairs after Gigi, ignoring the pain of my shoes pinching my toes.
Thorn yelled, “What’s wrong with you, Constable? Get moving. Bring them back down here.”
But we were too fast for him. I rounded the newel post and hurried to catch up with Gigi. She was already opening the door to the dowager’s room. She halted on the threshold, and I stopped beside her. The room smelled of sickness.
Chapter Nine
Gigi hesitated, then seemed to brace herself before she crossed the lavish room that was decorated in shades of ice blue and ivory. A constable burst into the room, dashed around me, and stopped in Gigi’s path. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed in here,” he said, his words breathy from his run up the stairs. “If you’ll come with me . . .” He lifted a hand, indicating we should leave.
Gigi said, “My grandmother has died.” Her voice was even, but her tone was at its haughtiest. “I require a few moments alone. Kindly step aside.” The constable immediately looked shamefaced and stepped back, murmuring an apology.
She went to the side of the bed and looked down at the dowager. I stayed back a few paces to give her some privacy. Like the rest of the room, the bed was in the rococo style. Pale blue silk draped down from the crown canopy to frame the head of the bed, throwing it into shadow. I couldn’t see more than a dim outline of the dowager’s body under the counterpane, which was the same shade of icy blue. It had been smoothed up over the dowager’s chest, but her arms lay on each side of her body on top of the silk cover.
After a moment, Gigi reached out and pressed her fingers to the back of her grandmother’s hand, then turned away, blinking. The constable made a move as if to step toward Gigi, but I cut in front of him and put my arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Gigi.”
She nodded, her hand pressed to her mouth. I rubbed her arm as we moved across the pale gold parquet floor. “What you need is a cup of tea—one with lots of sugar in it.”
Inspector Thorn strode into the room, the stub of the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He shot an angry look at the constable, who tilted his head toward the bed. “The lady insisted on a moment with her grandmother, sir.”
Thorn waved the constable aside, then took the cigarette out of his mouth as he addressed Gigi. “I must make inquiries—question the household—and I’d like to begin with you, Lady Gina.”
She sagged as if a weight had landed on her shoulders.
I said, “Inspector, Lady Gina has just learned her grandmother has died, and she’s been up all night. Perhaps you could return this afternoon.”
“Lady Gina’s choice of entertainment shouldn’t delay an investigation, Miss Belgrave.”
“It’s fine, Olive.” Gigi rolled her shoulder so my arm fell away. “I’ll speak to the inspector. I suggest we use my grandmother’s sitting room.” Before Thorn could reply, she moved, her heels tapping across the Aremberg pattern of the parquet.
Gigi opened a set of double doors and went into a sitting room. It was the same opulent style as the bedroom with everything done in blue and white with touches of gold. The small personal items around the room—a stack of books on a side table near an armchair and a silver-framed photograph of the dowager on her wedding day—made me think the suite of rooms were reserved for the dowager. They’d probably been hers when she was the duchess and were now set aside for her use when she was in London.
Gigi went to a settee and motioned for me to sit beside her, which only left a diminutive chair with curly gilt edges and a tiny seat covered in ice-blue silk for Insp
ector Thorn.
He sat down gingerly, and the chair creaked under his weight. He paused, probably to make sure the chair would hold him, then said to me, “Miss Belgrave, we don’t need your presence here.”
Gigi cut in before I could answer. “Oh, but I do. I don’t think I could speak to you, Inspector, unless my friend is here. For the moral support, you know.” She said the last bit with a smile, but there was a firmness in her words that indicated she’d have her way.
Thorn scowled at me. “Very well.” He nodded to the constable, who was hesitating on the threshold of the sitting room. “Get my sergeant.”
The police sergeant must have been nearby because a moment later, a young man with sandy hair and an attentive gaze stepped into the room. Thorn jerked his head at a writing desk in the corner. The sergeant took out a notebook and pencil from his pocket and took a seat at the desk.
Thorn removed his own notepad from a pocket and drew a breath, but Gigi spoke first. “I’d like to know exactly what happened this evening.”
“We’ll get to that in good time.”
“I must insist. I need to know what’s happened.” Her freezing aristocratic tones were back, and if I hadn’t just seen that the dowager was dead, I would have thought that it was the dowager who’d spoken. “Surely that’s the least you can do for me, Inspector. Once you answer my questions, I’ll be happy to answer yours.”
The inspector’s lips flattened, but he said, “Very well.” I had to admire the way Gigi had neatly turned the tables and become the questioner. Thorn said, “The police were summoned to the house by the dowager’s doctor at four this morning.”
“Dr. Benhurst?”
“That’s right. The butler rang the doctor during the night”—he checked his notebook—“at the request of the dowager’s maid, a Mrs. Dowd. The doctor says he did what he could, but the dowager died at half past three this morning. Dr. Benhurst informed us that initially he thought his patient had a severe case of gastritis.” I felt a plunging sensation at the inspector’s words as I thought of Gigi’s description of the dowager’s case of the flu.
