Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  Addie snapped her little beaded bag shut and followed Pip out the door and down the corridor, until she heard raised voices behind the storage room door. “You go on ahead upstairs, Pip. Gyppy tummy,” Addie whispered, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “Entertain Lucas for me, will you?” The girl’s eyes lit up.

  Poor deluded thing.

  Addie opened her bag again, pretending to search for something. Two women were arguing, one of them sounding very much like the hostess Trix. Addie leaned against the wall, wishing she had a drinking glass to help her eavesdrop.

  “You need to go!”

  “Why should I? …member too. Every right to…can’t stop me.”

  “Freddy doesn’t want…”

  A harsh laugh. “As if Freddy matters….better watch out if he knows what’s what or he’ll get more of the same. You’d better warn your black boyfriend in case he sticks his nose in too.”

  “Please…”

  “Don’t bother. You had your chance. Go on upstairs…be charming. See if there’s any dosh in that.”

  “Just leave us alone! You have enough!”

  “I’ll never have enough. If you weren’t such a goody-goody, you’d understand.”

  Addie heard the door handle turn and she sprinted back inside the ladies’ loo, nearly twisting her ankle in her mad dash. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open an inch in time to see Trix and a young woman who could have been her double exit the storage room. They were too busy still arguing to check behind them, thank heavens. She let the door swing shut, shaking too much to leave just yet.

  “So, this is where you all go to gossip. I must say, it’s rather a bilious pink, isn’t it? Kind of like being stuck inside someone’s alimentary canal.”

  Rupert. “Shh!”

  “It’s not as if someone is going to hear me. Why don’t you sit down? You look a bit dodgy. You don’t really have an upset stomach, do you?”

  “No. Don’t tell me you’ve been hanging out in the ladies’ loo all evening.” Addie patted her upper lip with her handkerchief. Detecting made her a trifle nervous.

  “What kind of a man do you take me for? Of course not—that would be disgusting. I’m dead, not depraved. I followed Trix and her cousin downstairs when it looked like things might turn interesting. I’m making myself useful in my invisible state, you know.”

  “Her cousin?”

  “Mary Frances. Not sure what surname she’s using. The girl has several aliases.”

  “Is she a criminal?” Addie asked, remembering Mr. Hunter’s warnings.

  Rupert nodded.

  “Is Trix?”

  “Not yet. The Forty Dollies have been recruiting her, however. So far, she’s holding out. But she knows things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things that could get her in trouble. You’d better get upstairs before Waring sends out a search party. I sense he is not a fan of the Dean children.”

  Addie hoped he wasn’t being too rude. Lucas had a somewhat exaggerated idea of his own consequence.

  Which was why—well, it was one of the reasons she wasn’t sure she should marry him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday

  “I have come to throw self at your mercury.”

  “Mercy,” Addie snapped. “Do you know what time it is?”

  The prince looked down at his wrist where a watch should be. “Pawned in St. Petersburg long ago. Is too early for visit? I have not at all slept.” He was still wearing evening clothes, a white silk scarf around his neck, his fair hair glistening with pomade.

  It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning, and Addie had a headache. Not from overindulgence—she would never drink too much in Lucas’ company—but from the scrambled bits of information gleaned at the Thieves’ Den, which she had tried to make sense of before she fell asleep. She had intended to call Detective Inspector Hunter first thing this morning, but it was too early even for that.

  “May I come in? You said you would help.” He actually batted his platinum-tipped eyelashes.

  “I am in my dressing gown with my hair loose. Is that how ladies entertain gentlemen in Russia?”

  “If gentlemen very, very lucky. I shall sit quiet as mole while you sort self.”

  “Mouse,” she corrected, still exasperated. “Do you know how to make coffee?” She couldn’t depend upon Rupert to perform his magic this morning, although he was probably lurking about somewhere.

  “But of course. Our life incognito was education. Can skin rabbit and boil cabbages too. Where is kitchen?”

  Addie’s flat was not so big that he couldn’t have figured that out for himself, but she led him to the room, opened up the necessary cupboards, revealing no rabbits or cabbages, then headed off to her bathroom. Covering up her hair in a rubber shower cap, she stood under the water for two minutes to fully wake up.

  Addie had a new pair of blue wide-legged trousers—well, her only pair—that Cee had talked her into in New York, and this seemed like a day for them. She topped them with a white sweater set, pinned up her hair, fastened her pearls, and swiped on coral lip rouge. Shockingly, she left her feet, still sore from dancing, bare.

  After much badgering, she had persuaded Lucas to dance with her last night, and Pip, too. Once he had thawed, he’d proved to be an overly enthusiastic partner, chatting with the band on their break and making requests. Contrary to Rupert’s opinion, Lucas did have some surprises left in him. He was an excellent dancer, and hapless Pip had fallen ever deeper into her crush.

  The coffee smelled divine. Prince Andrei was still in the kitchen at the table, reading one of Beckett’s movie magazines, and looked up as she entered.

  “As fresh as daisy. You give cinema stars run for money.”

  Addie let herself be flattered and was grateful he didn’t lecture her about the pants as Rupert might have. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added too much sugar and cream for energy. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Is Nadia.”

  She expected as much. “And?”

  “I worry. She not …Nadia.”

  Addie thought for a moment. “She’s not behaving like herself.”

  “Exactly so. She worried.”

  “About what?”

  The prince sighed. “This I do not know. Will not tell me. She has left job.”

  Addie had been surprised the girl had a job to begin with. “Perhaps that will make her consider matrimony more favorably.”

  “Pah! She speaks of going to Paris.”

  “I understand Paris in the springtime is lovely.” Maybe Addie should go there once this was all over.

  “She has friend. No, friend is not right word. There is no…warmth. I think Nadia afraid of her.”

  “What’s her name? I know many people in society.”

  “Mary Something.”

  That wasn’t helpful. “Are they acquaintances of long standing?”

  From his squint, Prince Andrei appeared stumped at her question. She translated, “Have they known each other a long time?”

  “I do not think so. She met this Mary at Thieves’ Den when we first go. Nadia saw her there last night and ran like scolded dog. Scalded? Is hard to tell. We had just arrived! She was, how you say, caved in stone to go.”

  “Carved. Did she say why she needed to leave?”

  His face flushed. “Woman troubles. We live in same house. Everyone knows when Nadia is ill—she is complete female dog. Was only last week she spent two days in bed yelling at everyone and asking for chocolate.”

  Which might account for her quitting her job—some women suffered more seriously than others during their monthlies and couldn’t even stand up. Still, this was a very awkward conversation to have with a young man, no matter what language it was conducted in.

  “So
you left the Thieves’ Den.”

  “Yes. I took her home, then went to gentlemen’s club of my uncle. I played the billiards and won some pounds.” Prince Andrei did not look quite as fresh as a daisy, but at least he’d not drunk himself into a stupor complaining about his difficult cousin all night. His skill with a cue stick might explain Addie’s flowers.

  “What would you like me to do?” Addie asked, anticipating the answer.

  “Talk to Nadia. Find out about Mary. See if I have hope.”

  “You won’t have hope if you go around kissing other women,” Addie reminded him.

  “Could not help myself. There you were in arms.”

  “Where I didn’t want to be, if you recall.”

  “I sorry now. Will never happen again.” The Russian gave her a dazzling smile, but Addie didn’t return it.

  “I’d like to get to know Nadia better, but how am I to accomplish that? She’ll think it’s awfully strange if I ring her up out of the blue.” Addie had hardly exchanged any words with the girl the night they’d sat together at the Savoy.

  “Leave to me. Be ready when I call.”

  As if Addie was going to sit around twiddling her thumbs waiting for Andrei’s summons. She finished her coffee and eventually nudged the prince out of the flat so her day could start properly.

  “That was cozy.” Her dead husband was washing up the coffee cups when she reentered the kitchen.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rupert! Stop popping up when you’re not wanted.” Although she’d just as soon he get dishpan hands instead of her.

  “You aren’t upset because he prefers his cousin to you, are you?”

  “Of course not! We have nothing in common, and he’s too young for me.”

  “Yes, you are an ancient crone. Positively haggard.” He gave her a little leer. “Those trousers suit you.”

  Addie had worn jodhpurs before, and had pleated sports culottes for tennis. Dressing in pajamas in public was all the rage now, too, but trousers for women were still decidedly de trop.

  “Thank you. I’m surprised you approve after your little lecture the other day. I believe my mother would set them on fire.”

  “Don’t be so hard on the old girl. She still likes me.”

  “Her one lapse in judgment.”

  “Everyone has their blind spots, even me. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you more when I should have.”

  This was apparently the morning for apologies. What, really, was the point? It was all too late for Rupert to be sorry now.

  “Never mind.” Addie pulled out a pad and pen and listed the topics to discuss with Detective Inspector Hunter when she rang him up. But before she had a chance to pick up the receiver, the doorbell rang, and Mr. Hunter was on her doorstep.

  “Early bird, meet worm,” Rupert whispered in her ear.

  Addie shoved him away with a shoulder. “Good morning! I was just about to call you.”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No, as you can see, I’m dressed. Except for shoes,” she added, suddenly nervous. She glanced around, but Rupert had disappeared.

  “Um. Yes.”

  She smoothed the hem of her cardigan down. “Are you shocked?”

  “Not at all. Many Indian women wear trousers under their saris. You look…very nice, but I haven’t come here to discuss women’s fashions.”

  “Of course you haven’t! Please come through! May I get you coffee or tea? Have you had breakfast?”

  “I know it’s awfully early. But I was at the scene of a robbery just a few doors down from you, and I took a chance. Coffee would be wonderful.”

  Addie led him to the kitchen, which was tidy thanks to Rupert. “Anyone I know?” She set the sugar bowl and cream jug back on the table.

  “I can’t discuss it, but probably. Don’t go hiring a new maid while Beckett is in the country. Your neighbor did and is living to regret it.”

  “The maid was a thief?”

  Mr. Hunter shook his head. “The maid wasn’t really a maid. You should have seen the ring around the tub. But definitely a thief. One of the Forty Dollies, we think. Although there are more than forty of them—I don’t know why the gang cleaves to the name.”

  “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” Addie ventured.

  “I expect you’re right.”

  “Did you catch her?”

  “No. We’ll be checking out London’s finest fences, though. Maybe we’ll get lucky and retrieve some of the missing valuables.”

  She thought of what Rupert had said about Trix and her cousin. “These women—you say they’re members of the Thieves’ Den, too?”

  “Some of them, yes. They clean up quite nicely in their stolen furs and jewels.”

  “What about Trix, the hostess?”

  Mr. Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “Something, um, someone said. I can’t remember the exact details.”

  “We suspect the Dollies are getting information from her or Rinaldi about who’s at the club. Or it’s a remarkable coincidence that their houses are robbed while they’re out dancing.”

  “Oh, dear.” Addie hoped Trix wasn’t cooperating voluntarily. It could explain the argument she’d overheard between the cousins. She picked up her notes from the dresser. “I’m moving down the list with your Great Eight. I was at the Thieves’ Den last night, and things were suspicious.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, first I had a conversation with Philippa Dean. She doesn’t know the Hardinge girl is dead. Thinks she’s in a nursing home getting weaned off drink and drugs—apparently that’s the on dit amongst the BYP to explain her absence from the social scene. But Pip’s doubtful about Tommy Bickley’s death. Wonders now if he was poisoned like Cee was. She told me he was in love with Penelope. Unrequited, though. The girl wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

  “A connection! That’s the first we’ve heard of it! Well done, Lady Adelaide!”

  Addie enjoyed the warmth of his smile. “Then as I was leaving the loo, I heard a fight between two women. Girls, really. I couldn’t catch the gist of it, but one was Trix and the other her cousin, Mary Frances.”

  The coffee pot percolated, and Mr. Hunter rose. “I’ll get the cups. Unless you’ve moved them from the last time I was in your kitchen.”

  Last August, when it was hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement. When Mr. Hunter had put her to bed, only removing her shoes. Had he chastely kissed her on the forehead? Addie wished she knew.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dev felt far too comfortable in Lady Adelaide’s little kitchen. Wouldn’t this be a fine way to start every morning? A lovely woman, the scent of fresh coffee, congenial conversation.

  Only in his dreams.

  He ruthlessly quashed the fantasy. “How do you know about Mary Frances?”

  “Someone mentioned something.” She was vague again, and Dev wondered why. “It sounded as if she was threatening Trix. They could be twins, you know, they look so much alike.”

  Cousins instead of sisters. That made more sense. Trix hadn’t exactly lied to him then.

  “Do you know what the argument was about?”

  “Not really. Mr. Rinaldi was mentioned. And I think Ollie Johnson, too. The musician. That they needed to ‘watch out.’”

  “You are a positive gold mine of information. Have you ruled out any of the suspects yet?” Dev trusted her instincts, even if he didn’t want to subject her to any danger.

  “Not really. But quite frankly, I don’t think any of them that I’ve spoken to have the motive—or the nerve—to kill anyone. I’ve seen more than I’ve wanted to of the prince. And I did talk with Kit Wheeler and Gregory Trenton-Douglass, the night before last. They—” She paused, coloring.

  “They?”

  “I d
on’t know how it could have any bearing on the case.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide?” Dev asked.

  Lady Adelaide fidgeted with her coffee cup. “I think they’re relying on my discretion.”

  “This is a murder case, Lady Adelaide,” he reminded her. “Any bit of gossip, no matter how trivial, might help.”

  “I know, I know.” She looked pained. “They are together. In a relationship.”

  Ah. He didn’t see how that could be pertinent either, unless Penelope Hardinge and Tom Bickley had vowed to expose them. There were still serious consequences for men like them, even as young members of society relaxed the rules and tested boundaries. He personally wouldn’t want to throw them in prison, but someone might.

  “They seemed to think tampering with Kit’s drink was a prank,” Lady Adelaide continued.

  “A prank! Good lord, what kind of friends do they have?”

  “That’s the same question I asked them. And they’ve figured out about Penelope Hardinge. That she’s dead, I mean.”

  Damn. “I hope they keep it to themselves. As you know, it’s not common knowledge. So who’s left?”

  “Oh! I almost forgot. I had lunch with Lady Lucy Archibald on Wednesday, too.”

  “You certainly have been busy! And?”

  Lady Adelaide bit her lip. “I don’t know how to describe it. She was…on edge.”

  “She’s the only one you knew before all this started, right?”

  “Yes. Things have been very difficult for her family since the war.”

  Things had been very difficult for lots of families. “Her father is an earl. How bad could it be?”

  Lady Adelaide’s hazel eyes sparked behind her glasses. “Don’t sound so dismissive. He’s lost all his money. His family seat burned to the ground. And his two sons are dead.”

  “I beg your pardon. That does seem excessive.” Dev reminded himself not to jump to conclusions—he invariably stumbled upon landing.

  “It’s made Lucy turn strange.”

  “Strange enough to murder two people and try to make a third dreadfully ill?”