A Burglary In Belgravia (The Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 2)

by Lynda Wilcox

  She had been that desperate to keep her name out of the newspapers that she had forgotten to make use of the handsome young reporter in the same manner he had tried to use her.

  Shaking her head at her own shortcomings, and telling herself that she would remedy her oversight the next day, she alighted from the cab and walked through the open door of Montescue House.

  She left her wrap with a footman and walked down the black and white tiled hall to the curved double staircase at the end.

  “Eleanor! About time you got here. The fruit punch is excellent and running out fast.”

  Eleanor looked up to see Lady Ann Carstairs leaning over the first floor balustrade and waving a glass at her.

  “Be careful you don’t fall,” she called back.

  “Since when did you turn into my mother?”

  Eleanor mounted the last few stairs and slipped her arm through her friend’s. “Hello, darling. I see you didn’t wait for me.” She tapped Ann’s glass.

  “Sorry, old girl. Come and greet the birthday girl and then we can mingle. Totters and Sophie Westlake are already here and there’s lots of others you’ll know.”

  “Have you arranged this? Is it one of your parties?”

  “Yes, and I managed to get hold of the best jazz band in London and hire them for the evening. Their trumpet player is marvellous, and as hot as his jazz.”

  Eleanor threw a keen glance at Ann. “Slept with him yet?”

  “No, but I’m working on it.”

  The party was taking place in the house’s Long Gallery which ran the entire width of the building and looked out over the square below. Luckily for Eleanor who wasn’t overfond of jazz, the band were at the far end, while the bar lay not far from the double doors at the top of the staircase.

  Clarice Montescue sat on a high stool, one elbow propped on the bar counter, as Eleanor arrived and wished her a happy birthday.

  “Thank you, it’s actually tomorrow and I intend to spend it in bed with a hangover.”

  “Good luck with that,” Eleanor replied, as Ann passed her an overfilled glass.

  She took a long pull on it to reduce the level, her mouth assailed by the flavour of strawberries and raw spirit. Her eyes watered.

  “Didn’t I tell you it was excellent?”

  “You did, but one will be sufficient, I think.”

  She turned and rested her back against the counter and, with a quick, practised glance surveyed the room. For the most part she saw a familiar crowd — rich, titled, famous and infamous — though there were a few new faces.

  “Who’s the tall gent leaning against the chimney breast over there? To the right of the fireplace. Not sure I know him.”

  “That’s Gerry Hope-Weedon, a government minister and the up-and-coming man, I hear. He’s not been in London long.”

  Recalling the name from Barbara Lancashire’s list, Eleanor nodded. He was also one of the three men of interest to Major Armitage, but she ignored that fact. She had to focus on her own job, not his.

  “Then I’d like an introduction, please.”

  Ann gave her friend a sharp glance. “He takes your fancy, does he?”

  Eleanor laughed. “In a manner of speaking.”

  They navigated their way across the vast space of the Gallery, weaving between gaily clad girls in colourful dresses dripping with jewels. So many of them sported feather-waving headbands that Eleanor was reminded of a visit to the bird house at London Zoo.

  At one point Ann told Eleanor to stay close and not get lost.

  “Don’t worry. I know where I’m going. I was in the Girl Guides,” she joked.

  When they eventually reached their quarry he was talking to Tommy Totteridge and Sophie Westlake, which made the introductions easier.

  “Eleanor, old girl!” exclaimed Tommy. “You’re looking good. How the deuce are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.” She touched cheeks with first Tommy, then Sophie, and stood back turning her gaze on the new man.

  At Tommy’s introduction, Gerald Hope-Weedon bowed low over her hand.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Eleanor.”

  He had a shock of blond hair over the palest blue eyes that Eleanor had ever seen. Undoubtedly attractive, with an athletic figure and a strong jaw and high cheek bones, she thought he could have stepped straight down from a plinth in some ancient Greek temple.

  “Likewise,” she replied.

  His eyes locked onto hers and held her gaze. She only broke away when she realised that Tommy was talking animatedly beside her.

  “I’d just collared Gerry here, because he’s an MP newly arrived in London, and with a ministerial position to boot. Now that I’m a journalist, I thought we could do a feature on him.”

  “I thought you were the Arts correspondent, Totters.”

  Tommy’s round face lit up. “Yes, so I am, but I’m willing to have a go at anything to improve my all round skills. Besides, Gerry and I go way back.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Don’t tell me you were at school together.”

  “Totters went to school with everybody, didn’t you, my sweet?” Sophie gave a playful punch to his arm.

  “Actually, no. We belong to the same club.”

  Eleanor’s glance lingered on Hope-Weedon’s physique for a fraction longer than was seemly. “A sports club? I didn’t know you played sport, Totters. You would have made an excellent rugby player.”

  Totteridge blushed. “I meant White’s Club.”

  Eleanor nodded. White’s was the oldest gentleman’s club in London. Situated in St James’s Street, many considered it the most exclusive private club in the capital.

  “Oh, I see. Not a sports club, then.”

  The three women laughed at Tommy’s obvious discomfiture, until Eleanor put out a hand and apologised. He was a very old and dear friend.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you.” She turned to Hope-Weedon. “How long have you been a member there? Is it as expensive as they claim?”

  “Membership certainly isn’t cheap, my lady, but if you were thinking of applying —”

  “No no, of course not. I’m well aware that it is for gentlemen only.”

  But if Hope-Weedon was a member of the Labour Party, a party that represented the working classes, how did he square his political views with being a member of an expensive place like White’s? It would be rude to ask, but the question gnawed away at her.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts that it took her a moment to realise that Tommy had asked that very question.

  “So, how come you joined the Labour Party then, Hoppers? I should have thought the Conservatives would have been a better fit for you?”

  Eleanor hid a smile at Tommy’s way of shortening everyone’s name — a relic from his days at a public school where it happened to all the pupils and he himself had been dubbed with the name ‘Totters’. Gerald Hope-Weedon didn’t appear to be too pleased by it, though. He wrinkled his nose as if a bad smell had wafted beneath it. Eleanor thought he’d got off lightly — he might have ended up with the epithet ‘Weeders’ or ‘Weedy’.

  “I had my reasons,” he said, with a condescending air. “A man’s politics are his own affair, don’t you know.”

  Eleanor hated pomposity of any kind. She wished she had a special pin with which to puncture it. Ridicule would usually do the trick, but now was not the time to use it. She could not afford to alienate the man when she still had things to learn.

  “Now that you're in government, you must have come across Sir Robert Lancashire,” she said. “Did you enjoy his wife’s soirée the other evening?”

  Hope-Weedon blinked at her a few times, fluttering sandy lashes so pale as to be almost invisible. “I didn’t see your ladyship there. I’m sure I would have remembered if I did.”

  “No, I wasn’t there, but Barbara, Sir Robert’s wife, told me all about it.”

  “Did she tell you how ghastly it was? I was never so bored in all my life. I wish you had
have been there, you know. You would have livened it up immensely.

  Eleanor noted the twinkle in his eye, while beside her Ann coughed. “I need another drink,” she said. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes, I’ll come with you.” Sophie detached herself from Tommy’s side. “I need to talk to you anyway.”

  “Umm...perhaps I should go and get another drink as well,” said Tommy.

  “No you don’t.” Eleanor baulked at the idea of being alone with Hope-Weedon — his last comment had been rather too forward for her taste — and grabbed Tommy’s arm. “I need a chaperone. Besides, Sophie will get you a drink while she’s at the bar, and I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Do you know Danny Danvers of the Daily Banner?”

  “Ah.” Tommy grimaced and looked down at his feet, but Eleanor also sensed that Hope-Weedon had tensed at the name.

  “Good grief, Totters, old man,” he said, “don’t say you know that little oik?”

  “Little oik, Mr Hope-Weedon? That seems a trifle unkind for saying that the Daily Banner appears to be your Party’s mouthpiece of late.” Eleanor stared up into the pale blue eyes. “And Danny Danvers is, after all, a working man.”

  “Yes, Gerry. What’s your beef with Danvers? Has he been after you for your story, too? He’s not a bad bloke, but you really would be better off giving me the interview, you know.”

  Annoyed that Tommy had wriggled out of things and changed the subject, Eleanor gritted her teeth. He had at least answered the question by his shamefaced reaction to it. Danvers had told the truth about the two of them discussing her and she shivered at the thought of being talked about behind her back — and by Tommy of all people. Still, at least he’d said something nice about her.

  “There is no story, Totters. I’m just an average chap with no secrets for journalists to uncover. I support the rights of the working man, yes even Danvers, I suppose, though I don’t care for the fellow. Your readers wouldn’t want to read about me. They’d be bored silly within a sentence or two. Wait until I’ve made my mark in government, and come and talk to me then.”

  He looked remarkably smug for one who had only so recently been elected

  “Are you so sure that you will make a mark, Mr Hope-Weedon?”

  He nodded, lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “Oh, I think so, Lady Eleanor. I think it’s written in my stars, and believe me, I aim to follow that star. You’ll see.”

  “Good luck, then. It will mean getting your name and presence known more widely than it is now.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “It will also mean listening to the people, talking to them, even if it means throwing your pearls before swine.” She saw him blench at the phrase. “I shall follow your career with interest.”

  She nodded to both the men, then turned on her heel and went to join Ann who was still at the bar. Sophie, she was told, had gone to find the amenities.

  “You’ll never guess,” Ann said, as Eleanor asked for another glass of punch.

  Eleanor looked at her friend who appeared to be jiggling with suppressed excitement. “Guess what?”

  “Totters and Sophie are getting engaged and they’ve asked me to organise the party.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news, and on both counts.” Eleanor beamed at her friend. “I always knew she’d get her man and Sophie will be very good for him and make him an excellent wife.”

  “Yes, she’s just told me, and although it won’t be for another couple of weeks, when the families have been told and the official announcement made, they are having a small get-together for friends at Tommy’s place the day after tomorrow. We are both invited and Sophie asked me to pass it on and let you know, but remember it’s hush-hush at the moment.”

  Eleanor checked her mental diary. “Oh, I shall definitely be there,” she said, “and I look forward to it, though I won’t say the same if Gerald Hope-Weedon is also invited.”

  “No,” agreed Ann, casting a glance across the room. “That man is dangerous. I’d stay well away, if I were you.”

  Chapter 10

  “Is that you, Lady Eleanor? It’s Barbara Lancashire, here. I wonder if you would come and see me, immediately if that is possible, but otherwise at your earliest convenience.”

  It was still early and Eleanor, surprised by the peremptory voice, almost said no. However, she had nothing else on her agenda that morning, and if it meant an opportunity to drive the Lagonda, she might as well accept the summons.

  Barely twenty minutes later she stood in front of Lady Lancashire, feeling rather as a naughty schoolboy might feel in front of a teacher with a cane, and wondered what had got her client so het up.

  She had to wait, though, while Barbara spoke first to the butler who had shown Eleanor in.

  “Have you seen to his lordship’s evening suit, Harvey? I can’t have him going around with holes in his jacket, like some common beggar. Please tell the valet to get rid of it and phone the tailor to come and measure him up for a new one.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  He bowed himself out and gave Eleanor an apologetic look which she acknowledged with a brief nod. He was not to blame for his mistress’s rudeness.

  Barbara at last turned her attention to her visitor.

  “Thank you for coming so promptly, your ladyship. I thought it best to tell you this in person rather than over the telephone, but I’m happy to say that I no longer require your services. Tell me how much I owe you and I’ll settle up.”

  She moved to the walnut bureau under the window, leaving Eleanor staring after her, open mouthed upon the carpet.

  “Have you found your necklace, then?” she asked, when she trusted herself to speak.

  She couldn’t imagine that the thief had returned it — thieves seldom had an attack of conscience sufficient to repent and return what they had taken. Had it never been stolen in the first place? Or merely misplaced? That seemed unlikely given Barbara’s detailed account of the discovery of her loss, but how else to account for her own summary dismissal.

  For that was what it felt like — and on her very first professional assignment, too.

  Eleanor’s mouth filled with the bitter taste of defeat.

  “What?” Barbara turned back from the bureau with her cheque book in her hand.

  “I asked if you’d found your necklace.”

  “Oh, yes. Ha ha!” She gave a loud brittle laugh that sounded totally false. As false as the smile on her red-painted lips. “So stupid of me. It had completely slipped my mind until first thing this morning that I had sent them for cleaning.” She gave a tight-lipped smile. “So, in what amount should I make out my cheque?”

  Eleanor was in two minds whether to name some outrageous sum or not, but if she did, would not put it past Lady Lancashire to tell her friends that she had been overcharged and the task not even accomplished. For the sake of any future business, she must be generous now.

  “No, that’s all right, Lady Lancashire. Although I did make some enquiries, I did not find your pearls and accepting a fee now would feel as if I was taking money from you under false pretences. I’m just delighted that you have found them.”

  Beaming at this outcome, Barbara snapped shut her cheque book. “Yes, it’s not as if you did anything to earn a fee, I suppose, but your attitude is to be commended.”

  Eleanor clamped her jaws closed until struck by a sudden thought. “If they are back from the jewellers, do you think I might see the pearls? They sounded so beautiful when you described them to me, and I have a particular fondness for pearls myself.”

  In an instant, Lady Lancashire’s air of bonhomie vanished. Eleanor felt the temperature of the air between them drop by several degrees.

  “I’m afraid not, my lady. Some other time perhaps. I’m in a hurry to go out.”

  She wasn’t dressed for going out. Her woollen day dress had seen better days and her hair needed attention; wisps of it hung down from the bun
on the back of her head. She rang the bell at the side of the fire, and said a brief goodbye when the butler arrived to show Eleanor out.

  In no time at all she was standing back on the pavement.

  “Well,” Eleanor murmured, as she started the Lagonda. “It’s a wonder she didn’t chase me off the premises.”

  She didn’t pull away from Eaton Square immediately, but sat thinking over the interview. If Barbara Lancashire was once again in possession of her pearls, then Eleanor was a Dutchman. Sent them for cleaning and only just remembered? Bah!

  “Barbara must think me a fool, if she believes I swallowed that ridiculous story.”

  Why the woman would lie, she had no idea, yet Eleanor was certain that she had. Barbara still didn’t have her pearls, a fact proved by her refusal to show them, so what had happened to make her revoke the commission she had given only two days previously?

  Unable to fathom Lady Lancashire’s odd behaviour, Eleanor gave up trying.

  With no other plans for the morning, she decided to call in at Bakewell House on the way home. She would return with Tilly in a day or so, but might as well go over the house now, and make sure that all was well first.

  The Lagonda purred along as it carried her through Mayfair and into a stately old square with its central garden filled with neat beds and plane trees. Their bare branches cast a tracery of shadows on the ground beneath and a small child ran along between them, playing hide and seek with its mother.

  The London home of the Duke of Bakewell occupied a near central position on the south side of Berkeley Square. Eleanor drew up against the kerb and looked at the door, its black paint grimy and dusty, the steps up to it littered with russet leaves. To either side the boarded-up windows gazed sightlessly back at her.

  Such a shame, she thought. So many of the houses in the square had been sold, the families no longer able to afford them, or having no one to bequeath them to after the war. In the circumstances, leaving Bakewell House to fall into rack and ruin seemed almost a criminal act.

  It was a huge property, rising to four floors, and attics above that. Unfortunately, it needed a huge family, employing an army of staff, both to fill it and to ensure its smooth running. Even so, she hoped her father had no plans to sell it. Eleanor might even be prepared to give up her snug little roost at Bellevue Mansions if it meant being able to keep the house, with all its history and its memories, occupied.