Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  If the hospital had a mental ward, she might as well check herself in now—she was right here.

  “I know. It’s most unsettling for you, me showing up again out of the blue. But think of me! Just when I was acclimating so nicely. After our last successful adventure, I was in kind of a halfway establishment, which was rather better than I expected. But then I was rudely torn away again, without even a chance to discover my mission or shave—I know how you dislike my moustache. Never mind. Sacrifices must be made. Cee was in danger, and I know how fond you are of her. It was my duty.”

  What a speech. Addie’s head spun. Did facial hair grow after one was dead? She’d heard ghastly things about fingernails. “How did you know it was poison?”

  Rupert shrugged. “How do I know anything? It’s a mystery. Or a miracle. You can thank me now.”

  Addie would have thrown a bedpan—empty or full—at him if one had been handy. But Rupert’s words at the Savoy had made her act quickly. She supposed Cee owed her life to him, which was rather an extraordinary thought. Something she could never tell her, or anybody.

  “There you go! You’re coming around to the idea. There’s no point in fighting it.”

  “Stop reading my mind. I don’t like it, and you know that,” Addie said crossly.

  “I explained about that. It’s not actually mind-reading. But I do catch a sentence or two on occasion.”

  “Well, drop them. It’s very disconcerting.” Addie rubbed her temples to chase away the headache Rupert always brought with him.

  “I’ll try. I don’t want to upset you more than necessary. You really are mentally sound. Except for the misplaced affection for that idiot dog of yours. He’s managing without you, fat and sassy, useless as a watchdog. He’d go off with anyone who had a biscuit in his pocket. Disloyal cur.”

  Addie knew Rupert’s description of Fitz was accurate, but she was annoyed nonetheless. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Of a mangy dog? Don’t be absurd! Why—”

  “Shh ! Someone’s coming! Go back in your cupboard, please.”

  “It’s not my cupboard,” Rupert grumbled, but he did as she asked.

  Cee was wheeled into the private room by the same stern-looking nurse who had given Addie progress reports all night. Her sister’s face had long lost any color derived from artificial and natural causes, and she was as white as the sheets that Rupert had mussed. Addie leaped up to hug her.

  “Stay where you are,” Cee croaked. “I smell like a sewer. I’ve purged from every conceivable orifice. Even my ears hurt.”

  “A sponge bath will take care of that. I’ll give you two minutes with your sister, and then it’s off you go, Lady Adelaide. I’ll be in the hall if you need anything.”

  Once they were alone, Addie swallowed back tears of relief. “Oh, Cee, you poor thing.”

  “I could be dead, and then I’d be a lot poorer. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I suppose now I have to do everything you say since you’ve saved my life.” She gave Addie a wobbly smile.

  That would be refreshing, but Addie wouldn’t count on it lasting. “Don’t be silly, love. How do you feel?”

  “Lucky. Have the police come round?”

  Addie felt the beginnings of a blush. “Yes. And you’ll never guess who.”

  “That dishy Indian fellow, the fabulous Inspector Hunter, am I right?”

  Half-Indian, but who was doing fractions at this hour? “Yes. He’s been investigating some unusual occurrences in the young smart set. I’ve asked to help him.”

  “What? And perhaps get in trouble yourself? No, Addie! Let’s go to Compton Chase. I’ve had enough of London. I promise I won’t bother David and Eloise.”

  “Maybe you should go. Mrs. Drum will take perfect care of you.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Cee yawned. “Get the nurse in here, please. I’m ready for more torture. If I don’t get cleaned up soon, I’ll need a nose plug.”

  “A bath sounds delightful.” Addie planned on taking one herself when she went back to Mount Street to wash away the odd hospital odors.

  Would Rupert come with her? How did he get from place to place? She would be taking a taxi.

  Addie walked down the dim hallway, hoping Beckett was not up and worrying. It was dreadfully late. Even after the few wild nights in New York, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to staying up until all hours, but if she was going to assist the police—

  Duty, as Rupert said. She could always nap in the afternoon.

  It had been a shock to find Inspector Hunter standing in the doorway. A pleasant one. The man was as good-looking as she remembered, steady and solid, too. He’d firmly dismissed her offer of help, but if he thought she could be dissuaded so easily, he was mistaken. She couldn’t sit on her derriere while her sister and her friends were targets of some fiend.

  Addie needed to know more about the victims. Society was in flux—the war had accomplished what decades of union members and suffragettes marching had been unable to. There was still plenty of economic disparity, but one could advance if one used one’s wits and grit. “Knowing one’s place” was nearly a thing of the past. Actresses married aristocrats and no one batted an eye. And if one had peculiar sexual proclivities that lasted beyond boarding school, well, that was becoming more acceptable, too.

  Addie had learned a lot last summer. She’d never been a prude, just uninformed.

  The twentieth century waited for no one.

  Stepping out to the street, she wrapped herself against the cold foggy air. Her embroidered satin evening coat was more for looks than substance, though it did have a silver fox collar. She turned it up to her ears, muffling the sound of her own footsteps. There were no handy taxis anxiously awaiting her, which was a bother. She’d just have to walk to a cross street and try her luck. London nightlife was no doubt still in full swing somewhere, even though Addie was as knackered as she’d ever been.

  A shadow fell across the pavement and she squeaked in what was, she acknowledged, fear. She hadn’t much money with her, but her wedding and engagement rings would keep some thief in tea and toast for decades, possibly till the Afterlife. She really, really should lock them away at her bank.

  But she’d miss their familiar sparkle, maybe more than she missed Rupert, which made her totally shallow.

  “Bon soir, Lady Adelaide! I didn’t mean to do the scaring.” The man’s head was bare, his hair gleaming platinum under the fog-shrouded streetlight. He dropped a cigarette and ground it out with a patent leather-shod foot.

  Oh, good. Not a thief. Or worse. “Prince Andrei? What are you doing here?”

  “I ask police where your poor sister is took and I wait.”

  Maybe there was more to Cee’s crush than Addie thought. “Out in the street all this time?”

  “Alas, no. I go to the what-you-say cantonment—”

  “Canteen,” Addie supplied helpfully.

  “Yes, that. The coffee, it disgusts, so I sit in lobby. They did not permit me to go upstairs as I am relation to nobody, but I persisted. I only came outside for the smoking. Is luck I caught you in time. Allow me to escort you home.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but unnecessary.” Addie was so exhausted she didn’t think she could make small talk in proper or fractured English. French was out of the question.

  “I insist.” The prince gripped her elbow and steered her down the sidewalk. “I have car. Well, is my cousin’s. Her father’s to be exact. He is important man in diplomatic circles. I, as you know, am nobody now. I have nothing to call my own.”

  He thumped his chest as he spoke. So dramatic, so definitely un-English.

  “A car?” To be frank, her dancing shoes were pinching her toes. It would be heaven to slide onto a soft leather seat. And she’d be home in just a few minutes.

  “I sent driver to sleep. I am per
fectly qualified.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “Is nothing. How is Lady Cecilia?”

  “Much better. She’ll be released tomorrow. Well, I guess tomorrow is today already.”

  “I shall visit if you allow. With the flowers. What does she like?”

  Oh, dear. Addie felt she needed to nip this situation in the flower bud. Her mother would thank her even if Cee didn’t. “I’m not sure she’ll be up to company.”

  “Then I come next day. Here we are.” The shiny sedan was obviously a diplomatic vehicle, flying its little Union Jacks. Addie was quite sure if the king knew its current purpose, he would disapprove most heartily.

  A perfect gentleman, Prince Andrei held the door open for her and she sank into comfort. “If you will direct me, Lady Adelaide?”

  Addie struggled to keep her eyes open, yawning and pointing out the turns. Traffic was light at this late hour, and Prince Andrei was as qualified as he promised, handling the vehicle capably.

  She was nearly asleep when he parked right in front of her Mount Street flat. Addie noted lights were still on, and have would speak to Beckett tomorrow about turning them off at a reasonable time and turning in. Addie could flip all the switches necessary to see herself to bed.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, truly meaning it. If she could climb the front steps, it would be a miracle, and she said so.

  “I come in with you.”

  “No, honestly—another time. I’d love to offer you a nightcap, but it’s been a very long and frightening night.”

  “I insist.”

  “But—” He slammed his door and raced nimbly to her side. In one smooth swoop, he gathered her up in his arms.

  “Put me down at once!” she cried.

  “No, Lady Adelaide. You are tired and I am Russian gentleman.”

  “An English gentleman just doesn’t go around picking up ladies against their will.”

  “You are sleepy. I am man, no matter where I come from. Strong.”

  “Don’t be such a—such a man!” Addie whacked Prince Andrei’s shoulder, which was pretty much as hard as marble. His trim frame was most deceiving.

  “I can hardly be anything else. This my nature as God made me. And I carry you up these bloody steps.” With that, he grimly soldiered on, shifting Addie very much like a bag of unruly potatoes.

  “You shouldn’t say bloody in good company.”

  Prince Andrei only grunted in reply. She knew she was no lightweight.

  “This isn’t Russia, where as a nobleman you could do just as you please,” Addie reminded him. She’d heard about the horrific treatment of peasants. No wonder there had been a revolution.

  “No, sadly is not. Do you have house key?”

  Addie fumbled in her evening bag, but before she could fish out the key amidst her lip rouge and hankie, Beckett threw the front door open.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, sounding very much like Addie’s mother. Addie had never been so glad to see her.

  “Put me down now,” Addie ordered.

  “Not until good-night kiss.” And with that, the prince leaned down with a wolfish smile, and Addie could do nothing to stop him.

  Chapter Seven

  “Huh. I leave you alone for one night and you take up with wicked foreigners.”

  As Beckett and her old granny were proudly Irish, and republican at that, she really was in no position to lecture about wicked foreigners. But Addie knew better than to argue. Beckett had her opinions, and was not shy about expressing them.

  “I’m sorry I was so late. There was…an incident.”

  Beckett raised a neatly-plucked eyebrow. She followed Hollywood fashion assiduously, from her shingled dark hair to her crimson-stained lips. Lady Broughton was forever after Addie to get a “proper” maid, but Beckett had wormed her way into Addie’s heart. “What sort of incident? Too much champagne? A duel over who you’d dance with next?”

  “Don’t be so saucy. Cee was poisoned at the Savoy.” Addie was gratified to see her maid’s pert scarlet mouth snap shut. “I—I more or less saved her life, and then we went to hospital.”

  “Blimey! Poisoned! But you were at the Savoy! You don’t get poisoned at the Savoy!”

  “It wasn’t their fault. Someone put something into a drink, and Cee had the misfortune of swallowing it. She’ll be all right, but they’re keeping her overnight just to be safe. I’m totally exhausted.”

  Beckett gave her a knowing look. “I bet. It’s a real hardship being kissed by a Russian prince.”

  “How did you know he’s a prince?”

  “His picture is in the society papers all the time. Him and his cousin Nadine.”

  “Nadia, I believe.” Addie shrugged out of her coat. She wouldn’t describe the kiss as a hardship, just very unexpected.

  And expert. Andrei Andropov might be penniless, but his kiss was worth something. She hadn’t been kissed like that—well, ever.

  “I resent that.”

  Addie dropped her evening bag to the floor. Damn Rupert for startling her again. Had he been in the back seat of the car the whole way home, or did he fly here on not-quite-angel’s wings?

  “Look, Beckett, I was going to take a bath, but we both need our beauty sleep.” The last thing she needed was Rupert jumping out of the bathroom hamper to ogle at her, or offering to wash her back. “Thank you for waiting up, but you shouldn’t have. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”

  “Who’s going to undo all those hooks and eyes on that dress?”

  “I don’t mind,” Rupert said with a bright smile. The hound.

  “I do! I mean, I will. I think I can take it off over my head.” It was loose enough, meant for dancing, all the metallic threads catching the light as one spun and dipped. “Sleep in tomorrow, won’t you? And don’t disturb me unless someone from Charing Cross Hospital calls. Or the police.”

  “The police!”

  “Yes, I ran into Detective Inspector Hunter again. He’s in charge of Cee’s case.” Addie tried to sound disinterested, but felt a typical blush rising.

  Beckett looked contemplative. “Is he now? What a small world.”

  “Yes, it is,” Addie said hurriedly before Beckett quizzed her any further. “Good night now.”

  Addie went to her room and closed the door firmly behind her, only to find Rupert loosening his maroon foulard tie on her bed. He was always one step ahead of her.

  “How do you do this?” she muttered, pulling her dress up. There was no point to modesty; Rupert had seen it all, though not in quite a while.

  “I believe it’s called teleportation. Though sometimes disorienting, it’s very useful, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. You can’t sleep in here, you know.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “Dream of it. Get it?”

  “Ha ha,” Addie said, rolling down her stockings. She kicked her shoes off into a corner, only just stopping herself from flinging one at her dead husband. She was now in her slip and knickers, and there she would stay until Rupert faded into the silver-striped wallpaper.

  He stretched across the coverlet, on his usual side of the bed. “I thought we might discuss our strategy.”

  “Rupert, I am practically unconscious. I’ve only just got my land legs after the crossing. Do you know I’ve been out late two nights in a row? Even in my debutante days, I needed a nap.” Addie recalled house parties, broad lawns, tennis. Flirtation over the tea table. Young men in cricket whites out to show their prowess, virginal young misses in broad-brimmed hats applauding with gloved hands even if the game was incomprehensible.

  Before the war, everything was white and green and innocent in her mind. But now some of those great houses she’d visited as a girl had been torn down, their heirs burie
d beneath fields of poppies. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  “I think you’re onto something,” Rupert said, jumping up from the bed as if he were on springs. Well, he hadn’t been dancing all night, or at least she hadn’t noticed him in the Savoy crowd.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “These kids being killed off. Someone yearns for the good old days. Is jealous of their youth.”

  Addie sat at her dressing table and removed the bobby pins from her hair. “I’m sorry. You aren’t making any sense.” She was nearly too tired to run the brush through her hair but managed to free the worst of the tangles. The cold cream came next, wiping away the last of the green sparkle.

  “Think about it. First came Penelope Hardinge.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s right, I forgot. You don’t know. Penelope dropped dead in front of the Thieves’ Den a few weeks ago. She was, by all accounts, a very naughty young lady. Drugs, drink, debauchery—all those popular “d” words the Bright Young People embrace so cavalierly. She had her eye on young Ollie Johnson, the band leader, and made quite an enemy of Miss Harmon. That’s Trix, the hostess there—you remember her.”

  Addie did—the pretty blonde who’d given her membership papers. “But you weren’t there!”

  “No, that’s true. I was happily elsewhere.” He examined his fingernails, and Addie was pleased to see they weren’t growing like that horrible children’s tale Struwwelpeter.

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  Rupert shook his head. “I don’t know everything, just bits here and there. It’s rather like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces eaten by the family dog, and let me tell you, I’m not pawing through the poo even if I’m supposed to be solving crime to get to heaven eventually. One has one’s dignity.”

  One certainly did, even if one was deranged. Addie really shouldn’t even attempt any conversation with him, but Rupert was as compelling in death as he had been in life. “Go on.”

  “Penelope’s pa made a fortune fleecing the government during the war. They couldn’t prove corruption, but some ministers’ heads should have rolled.”