The Sugared Game

by KJ Charles

  His voice was steady, serious, so intensely sincere that Will almost forgot he hadn’t told Kim anything of the sort. Beaumont’s eyes flicked between them, uncertain, and Will suddenly remembered the boy from 1916 trying to hide his fear behind his lieutenant’s uniform.

  “The kettle’s boiling,” he said. “How about a brew-up while we talk about it?”

  Beaumont straightened his back. “All right.”

  In the back room, Will put the tea on while Kim unfolded the old camp bed to serve as a divan since there was only one chair. They’d fucked on that their first night together, a fact Will put firmly to one side. Kim perched on it while Beaumont took the chair.

  “Brabazon, was it?” Beaumont asked. “Darling said you wanted me to help you out. I’m not sure what you think I can do.”

  “I’d better give you the story. The fact is, I’m being blackmailed,” Kim said, with charming ruefulness.

  Beaumont’s jaw dropped, as well it might. Kim shrugged. “I did a damn fool thing and I’m not greatly proud of myself, but I don’t think I deserve to be bled white by some grasping swine.”

  “No. Er. I’m sorry to hear it. You can’t go to the police?”

  “Not easily. It would cause a great deal of difficulty and painful embarrassment, which I might deserve, but others don’t. I’m damned if I’m going to pay up, though, and I see no reason to be civilised about this. I’d rather take the fight to the blighters.”

  “And face the consequences?” Beaumont said, a little sceptically.

  “Let’s say, spread the consequences around. My intention is that the blackmailers will regret this a great deal more than I will.”

  “He’s not joking,” Will said. “They picked the wrong target. Sugar?”

  “No. Thanks.” Beaumont took the mug. “You’re planning to go off the rails? Are you in this, Darling?”

  “I didn’t get mentioned in Dispatches for sitting on my hands.”

  “No. No, you were one of the hard nuts, weren’t you?”

  “This is of course between us,” Kim added. “I’ll happily swear you were never part of this conversation if need be. But I felt you should know where we stand.”

  “Why? Why are you telling me this?” Beaumont demanded.

  “Because the blackmail is coming from the High-Low Club,” Kim said. “And I don’t think you’re surprised to hear that, are you?”

  Beaumont’s lips parted. “What—how—” He darted a look at Will. “What did you tell him?”

  Will hadn’t told him anything, which raised all sorts of questions. Kim came in smoothly. “Merely that you were in a sticky situation, which makes two of us. And the High-Low Club is in the middle of the web. Am I wrong?”

  Beaumont passed a hand over his face. “Let me think a moment.”

  Will sat on the bed with his tea. He didn’t look at Kim, though he was very aware of him there, a foot away, in his element.

  “Look,” Beaumont said at last. “I do know something. But if I tell you and you act on it, it might come back on—well, me, but on someone else too.”

  “That’s the risk,” Kim said. “I give you my word as a gentleman that if you help us we’ll help you. We’ll do our best to deal with your problem, and the police won’t be involved if I have anything to say to it. I operate better under cover of darkness.”

  Beaumont’s eyes widened. “But this is someone else’s secret. I can’t just go around telling people willy-nilly.”

  “But you need to tell someone. If you could deal with this alone, you would have done so already. You need allies. We’re here.”

  Beaumont looked from one to the other again, then his eyes narrowed. “I know what Darling did in the war. What did you do?”

  Kim grinned. It was a wicked, conspiratorial grin that bore no resemblance to any real expression Will had seen him wear while discussing his past. “An excellent question, to which I can give no answer. If you’re asking, do I know what I’m doing and do I know the right people to get away with it—yes, to both.”

  “You’re one of the hush-hush people, aren’t you?”

  “Certainly not. I’m a gentleman of leisure these days, nothing more.”

  Will could almost see Beaumont’s mind working. He knew Will was a dab hand with a blade, Kim was clearly some sort of dark-arts merchant, but he was being blackmailed so this couldn’t be official...

  It was fascinating to have a clear view of Kim manipulating someone else: the half-truths, the implications left trailing to be picked up. He was somehow managing to lie his arse off without technically telling a falsehood. Will was reluctantly impressed, and not at all surprised when Beaumont gave a decisive nod and took a fortifying swig of tea.

  “All right,” he said. “But I want—the other person—to be free and clear of this. No police. It can’t come out, any of it. I need you to promise me that.”

  “Absolutely,” Will said, before Kim could speak. “You’ve my word on it.”

  Beaumont’s face relaxed, which was nice because Kim’s had tightened a fraction. “Thanks, Darling. Christ, I hope this is a good idea. Well. The thing is, there’s a lady.” He went through the story again for Kim’s benefit, and this time Will listened.

  Her name was Flora Appleby, and her husband, Peter Appleby, was a Foreign Office functionary. He’d first been unfaithful less than three months after the wedding, and their marriage had long outlasted any affection. He had his career to think of, and their relationship was distant rather than hostile, so Mrs. Appleby had continued to accompany him on various diplomatic trips for the look of the thing. And then she met Mr. Michael Beaumont.

  “We met in the park.” He had gone rather red and wasn’t making eye contact. “We started speaking casually, but soon—I make no excuses, of course, but she is the most wonderful woman, and that swine Appleby—”

  “No need to explain yourself,” Kim said. “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.”

  “He doesn’t deserve to kiss the ground she walks on,” Beaumont said hotly. “We saw each other as often as we could. I’ve never felt this way. I’d do anything for her. And then that blessed Act passed in summer, and we had our chance.”

  “What Act?” Will asked.

  “Matrimonial Causes, I assume,” Kim said. “Permitting women to seek divorce on the grounds of adultery alone, without the additional requirement to prove cruelty, sodomy, or incest.”

  “Exactly,” Beaumont said. “She had no way of doing it before, and he didn’t want a scandal because of his precious career. But now she can seek a divorce herself: goodness knows she has plenty of evidence. I told her I’d marry her like a shot, of course.”

  Kim frowned. “Forgive my question, but is there not a possible obstacle here, if the lady has been indiscreet?”

  “What happens then?” Will asked. He wasn’t up on divorce law.

  “The law holds that if one party is unfaithful, the marriage may be considered broken. But if both parties have strayed, a divorce cannot be granted and they must stay yoked together forever.”

  “How does that make sense?”

  “The point isn’t consistency, it’s punishment. Respect the holy and sacred institution of matrimony, or have it enforced as an instrument of torture.”

  “It’s farcical,” Beaumont muttered. “Cruel. But we didn’t think it would arise. Appleby wants to avoid scandal, and it will be far less noteworthy if he accepts the divorce than if he contests it.”

  “Oh, everyone’s divorcing these days,” Kim assured him. “It’s positively fashionable. The papers scarcely have room for all the announcements.”

  “He was resigned to the idea. She was speaking to a lawyer. And then—”

  He seemed to stick there. Kim said, “I will help you if you give me the information I need. And I will do my best to protect Mrs. Appleby against consequences. I know what it’s like to be in a hole. You can’t get out alone.”

  Beaumont looked at Will, silently plea
ding. Will wanted to say something reassuring, and found that You can trust him stuck in his throat. “He knows what he’s about,” he said instead. “And you’ve got my word we’ll do our best for you. What happened?”

  Beaumont took a deep breath. “Mrs. Skyrme. She threatened to tell the court about us, to ruin Flora’s chance of getting a divorce. She’s holding our future over our heads.”

  “How distressing. Why?”

  “She wants to force Flora into doing something for her.”

  “Really?” Kim said. “What would that be?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to Mrs. Skyrme, clearly.”

  Beaumont nodded. “I suppose so. Well—”

  Flora Appleby had first met Mrs. Skyrme a few years ago, at her bridge club. The play was high and she ran up debts she couldn’t pay. Appleby was to be sent off on a trip to Hungary, his wife with him, and she found herself pressed to settle up before she went.

  “Flora didn’t have the money, so Mrs. Skyrme made her an offer,” Beaumont said. “She was to bring some furs back from Hungary—very valuable ones, matching cream mink, but she’d be given papers that certified them as cheap rabbit. All she had to do was add the chest to their luggage. She didn’t realise she was doing anything wrong.”

  “By smuggling?” Will said involuntarily.

  “Evading import duty,” Beaumont said. “And yes, but women never understand this sort of thing, do they?”

  Kim met Will’s eyes briefly. “Regardless of what she understood, this was doubtless a welcome way out of her predicament. Go on.”

  Flora Appleby brought back the chest of furs. She was given to understand that she would be required to carry out this favour on future trips as well, and duly did so, making two trips in 1922, two more the following year.

  “Then this January Appleby had another trip to Hungary booked. With the divorce coming up, Flora didn’t want to go. She went to see Mrs. Skyrme and told her she wouldn’t be doing any more trips. Mrs. Skyrme asked her to go one last time, said it was all arranged. Flora refused, Mrs. Skyrme said she still owed her money, and they had an awful row. And finally Mrs. Skyrme told her that if she didn’t do it, she would lay a complaint, letting the divorce court know that there was fault on both sides. Flora and Appleby would be stuck for life.”

  Will whistled. “Nasty.”

  “Flora couldn’t believe it. She thought Mrs. Skyrme had spoken in anger, but she went back the next day, when tempers had cooled, and apparently she was quite serious. Flora said it was like speaking to a different woman. She felt afraid of her. So if you want to know who at the High-Low is capable of blackmail, there you are.”

  “How did she know about the affair?” Kim asked.

  “Flora told her,” Beaumont said wearily. “That’s how I got this job in the first place. She asked Mrs. Skyrme if she had anything going for me—we weren’t awfully discreet before the Act passed; there didn’t seem any point. And if you’re wondering why I haven’t told the woman what to do with her damned job, it’s because I don’t dare. I hadn’t had work in over a year before this. I suppose that’s contemptible. I can feel her looking at me as I go about the place, with a saccharin smile and a sneer in her eyes.”

  “It’s not contemptible,” Will said. “Starving wouldn’t help.”

  “The truth is, I don’t know if I’d have the guts to confront her anyway,” Beaumont blurted. “She’s a snake, and Fuller is a brute, and he does as she tells him. While she holds this information over our heads, we’re stuck. And it’s got even worse.”

  “How?”

  “There was some man sniffing around Flora last month. He asked her some damned impertinent questions about her trips and her friendship with Mrs. Skyrme and the things she brought back. She thought he might have been police or Customs or some such.”

  “Was there really?” Kim said. “What did she do?”

  “Sent him off with a flea in his ear, the dirty little snoop. But she told Mrs. Skyrme she thought she was being investigated, begged her again not to make her take the trip, and the damned cat of a woman wouldn’t listen. She took the fellow’s card and told Flora she’d deal with it, and I dare say she did—everyone knows she pays the Old Bill to turn a blind eye to the after-hours drinking—but the fact is, she wouldn’t care if Flora got into trouble with the law. She doesn’t give a damn for anything but her blasted furs. But what if he comes back? What are we to do?”

  “Let Uncle Arthur sort it out,” Kim said, with reassuring firmness. “Has the fellow returned?”

  “Not to my knowledge, but of course Flora’s been away.”

  “Of course. Tell me more about the smuggling.”

  “What do you want to know? Flora goes with Appleby. A man delivers the chest of furs along with a bill of sale pricing them cheap and showing all the expected duty has been paid at that end. She adds it to her luggage and brings it back.”

  “Has she ever checked what’s inside the chest?”

  “Of course. She isn’t a fool,” Beaumont said indignantly. “It’s just the furs, and Mrs. Skyrme’s treats.”

  “What treats are these?”

  “A carton of Hungarian gaspers and two boxes of chocolates. She has Flora bring them to her as a present when she returns, and that’s when she arranges for the furs to be collected.”

  “I see. Does she share her little treats with Mrs. Appleby?”

  “What does that matter?”

  Kim shrugged. “It gives me a picture of the woman. If someone smuggled a chest of furs across Europe for me, I’d offer them a chocolate, or a cigarette.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? As it happens, she doesn’t. Flora was quite offended by that. She said Mrs. Skyrme has never so much as opened the boxes in front of her. Typical of her. I dare say she’s stuffing her face with violet creams while we’re all sweating away downstairs.”

  “I dare say,” Kim said sympathetically. “So Mrs. Appleby is abroad now. When does she return?”

  “They’re expected back on Sunday week. Why do you care about a bit of playing the fool with import duty? You said this was about blackmail.”

  “It is,” Kim said. “And isn’t it interesting that Mrs. Skyrme chose Mrs. Appleby’s personal indiscretion to blackmail her with, rather than this serious legal offence?”

  “Oh. You mean...” He frowned. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for trusting us with this, Beaumont. You won’t regret it. I will give you my card. Call one of us if there are any developments at all, and don’t confront Skyrme or otherwise act without our instructions. Got it?”

  “Yes, but what are you going to do?” Beaumont demanded.

  “From what you’ve said, it seems clear your problem and mine are linked, so Darling and I are going to stick in a crowbar, lever the top off this thing, and drag Mrs. Skyrme out kicking and screaming. When I’ve finished with her, she’ll have other things to think about than your lady’s marital affairs. Take my word for it.”

  “Gosh. But what about Fuller? He’s dangerous.”

  “That’s what Darling’s for,” Kim said. “Can we count on you?”

  “Well... Oh, curse it. Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Kim grinned at him. “So tell us. What’s my best way to get into the High-Low Club and raid her office?”

  They spent a good twenty minutes with Beaumont detailing the security arrangements of the High-Low through night and day. It sounded more like a fortress than a night-club to Will. He added his own observations, helped Beaumont sketch a plan of the interior, and seethed inwardly with the questions he had a pressing urge to ask Kim.

  He had to escort Beaumont to the front door to let him out and lock up behind him. That involved a few words of reassurance and a farewell, and when he walked into the back room with hard conversation on his mind, Kim had gone.

  Chapter Six

  Two days later, Will sauntered ro
und to the tradesman’s entrance of Gerrard Mansions in Holborn, where Kim lived. He had on a flat cap and his oldest coat, carried a brown paper parcel, and felt ridiculous.

  Kim had sent a brief note instructing him to stay away till then, not ’phone, and take these precautions when coming round. Will didn’t know if that was fear of Zodiac or just dodging questions. Probably both, and he intended to have serious words about the latter, but he turned up as per orders all the same, and was admitted at the mews door by an inexpressive bald man in a severe black coat.

  “Mr. Peacock?”

  “Mr. Darling.” Peacock the manservant let him in. “I shall take you up the back stairs and advise Lord Arthur of your arrival.”

  He led the way up a set of plain stairs that brought them into Kim’s little kitchen. Will had breakfasted here, once, after they’d spent the second of their two nights together. He wondered if Peacock had cooked their food then.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Peacock inclined his head, rapped on the kitchen door, and opened it, proceeding into the lounge in a stately manner. “Lord Arthur, the delivery you mentioned has arrived.”

  “Will?” Kim called. “Come through.”

  Will did, passing Peacock, who gave him a very correct bow on his way out. Will glanced after him.

  “Don’t mind him,” Kim said. “He loves the cloak and dagger stuff, it’s why he tolerates me.”

  “But at least he does tolerate you,” Phoebe said from the sofa. “He regards me as an incapable one step from Colney Hatch, and doesn’t he let me know it. Hello, darling.”

  Will bit back What the blazes are you doing here? “Hello Phoebe. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Do you have the jacket?” Kim asked. Will tossed him the parcel. Kim unfastened the string, and produced a white jacket panelled with green and pink stripes: the livery of the High-Low Club. Beaumont had brought it to the shop early this morning in a very furtive manner before sloping off home to bed.