The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9)

by Clara Benson

  ‘Does she? I’m not surprised. I don’t think it’s possible to reform someone. I think they have to reform themselves.’

  ‘That’s what she said, and I dare say she’s right. Still, she is acting as my temporary conscience at present—just until mine grows strong enough to shift for itself.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Do you think it will?’ she said.

  ‘Who knows?’ he said.

  They smiled, then she said quietly:

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Thank you. I hoped you would be. Of course, that doesn’t alter the fact that I have done some rather dubious things in the past. It’s not as though I can just come out into the open and settle down in the country with a wife and children. I’m willing to experiment with honesty but I draw the line at giving myself up.’

  ‘Then what shall you do?’ said Angela. Now she noticed for the first time that he seemed on edge too. He did not glance about as frequently as she did, but there was a nervousness about him that she had never seen before.

  ‘I must leave,’ he said. ‘One unfortunate effect of this sort of life is that one mixes with people who have a tendency to resolve any little difficulty that may arise with violence. You saw it yourself in Italy. I’m afraid there’s a good chance that I may have—er—offended someone, so I think the best thing will be for me to make myself scarce.’

  ‘You’re in danger?’

  ‘It’s entirely possible,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then where will you go?’

  ‘I shall lie low for a month or two in France until the commotion dies down, then I shall go somewhere far away—perhaps South America. I believe they breed horses there. That’s what I always meant to do, before—other things intervened.’

  ‘South America? That’s a long way,’ said Angela.

  ‘It is, but I expect it’s pleasant enough. Naturally, I shall miss the old country, but it’s not as though I spend much time here these days anyway.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Angela. The remark brought Davie back into her mind and she glanced around again.

  ‘You’re still nervous,’ he said.

  She shook herself.

  ‘I oughtn’t to be,’ she said. ‘Davie mentioned hiring a private detective, but of course they’re very expensive and he hasn’t that sort of money.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Valencourt. ‘I’ve had plenty of experience of avoiding people, as you may imagine. There’s no-one here you need concern yourself about.’

  ‘I hate all this,’ said Angela suddenly. ‘I mean, all this skulking about in parks as though I had something to feel guilty about.’

  ‘You have nothing to feel guilty about,’ he said. ‘We’re having a perfectly innocent conversation.’

  ‘That’s debatable,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t like anybody to overhear us.’

  ‘There’s nobody to overhear,’ he said. ‘Please don’t worry. I must say, though, this husband of yours sounds like rather an ass.’

  ‘He’s a tremendous ass,’ said Angela with some energy.

  ‘It’s a pity that being an ass isn’t grounds for divorce.’

  She gave a small smile.

  ‘I believe it is, in the States,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t think the law puts it in quite those terms.’

  They fell silent for a few moments, watching people as they passed to and fro through the Park.

  ‘I’m leaving in the morning,’ he said at last. ‘Will you come out with me tonight, Angela?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Angela contritely. ‘I have to go to a charity ball. It’s been organized by some friends of mine and I agreed to go ages ago. They’ll never forgive me if I don’t turn up.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ he said.

  ‘But you could come. They’ll be selling tickets at the door. You’ll have no trouble getting in, I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Should you like me to?’

  ‘Yes, very much,’ she said.

  ‘Will your husband be there? I don’t want to get you into trouble,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know any of my friends and there’s no reason he should be there. It’s not his sort of thing, anyway.’

  ‘Isn’t he staying at the flat with you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Angela. ‘He said something about staying at some club or other—Burkett’s, I think—with an old friend of his.’

  ‘Can I ask you to dance without anyone getting suspicious, do you suppose?’

  ‘I dare say. It’s easy enough to be inconspicuous in a crowd. One frequently ends up dancing with people one doesn’t know.’

  ‘Then I’ll come, and we can say goodbye tonight,’ he said.

  She looked at her watch.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said, and made to rise from the seat, but he had spotted something.

  ‘What’s that on your arm?’ he said.

  She rearranged her sleeve hurriedly.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  Before she could stop him he took hold of her hand and pushed back her coat sleeve to reveal a row of ugly bruises, black and purple, on her forearm. He looked questioningly at her but she would not meet his eye.

  ‘Did he do this to you?’ he said.

  She pushed the sleeve down again and set her jaw, but said nothing.

  ‘He did, didn’t he?’

  ‘He doesn’t know his own strength,’ she said carelessly. ‘And I’ve always bruised easily.’

  They both knew she was lying. His face darkened and a look of anger passed across it.

  ‘Oh, Angela, I’m so terribly sorry,’ was all he said.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘He won’t be here long. He’ll get tired of plaguing me and go back to America, and then I’ll divorce him and be rid of him at last.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll have to think of some other way of getting rid of him,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Listen, we’ve agreed he’s an ass so let’s leave it at that. I don’t want to talk about him any more—as a matter of fact we’ve wasted far too much time in talking about him already. Now, I really must go as I have a lot to do. You will come this evening, won’t you?’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  ‘Splendid,’ she said, and smiled suddenly. ‘Then I’ll see you tonight.’

  And with that, she stood up and walked off briskly, leaving him sitting on the bench, gazing after her.

  FOUR

  The White Rabbit Ball was a charity event that had been running for three or four years now, and was rapidly becoming a fixture on the social calendar of a certain section of London society. It had begun as a joke, after a promising young artist had spent six months producing an experimental sculpture of a gigantic white rabbit in papier mâché, which had proceeded to collapse under the weight of its own over-sized ears on the opening night of its first exhibition to the public. Fortunately, the artist in question had seen the funny side, and some bright soul had had the idea of turning it into a regular thing with music and dancing and a light supper. Each year at this time, therefore, the Duke of Wymington gave up his house and his ball-room at the behest of his wife, who was a great patron of the arts, and sat in his library, shuddering quietly, as hundreds of people flocked through his front door, shrieking, laughing, chipping the paint and ruining the carpets. Meanwhile, a white papier mâché rabbit, produced on the model of the original but filled with balloons, was placed as the grand decoration of honour at one end of the ball-room. At midnight a bell would sound, giving the signal for all the revellers (by now usually very drunk) to attack the rabbit with anything that came to hand—forks, knives, shoes and many other things besides—until it lay in smithereens and all the balloons were set free.

  This year’s ball looked like being every bit as riotous as its predecessors, and when Angela arrived in company with the Pilkington-Soameses and some other friends she found the pl
ace already hot, crowded and deafening. On the one hand this boded well, for it meant that nobody was likely to notice if she spent part of the evening in company with Edgar Valencourt, but on the other there was some doubt as to whether they would be able to find one another at all in the throng.

  ‘Come and dance,’ said Freddy once they had found their table and sat down. ‘It’s bad enough now, but it’ll be unbearable after supper once people have started being sick on the floor.’

  Ignoring Angela’s pained expression, he took her hand and pulled her into the middle of the heaving crowd.

  ‘So, then, what have you been getting up to lately?’ he said. ‘You hurried me out of the house so quickly the other day that we didn’t have time to chat. What have you been doing with yourself?’

  ‘Not much,’ she replied. ‘Very little, in fact. It’s been a very quiet week. Marthe has left me and all my friends keep falling ill or dropping dead when I want to go and see them.’

  ‘Inconsiderate of them.’

  ‘Well, quite. I think this is the first time I’ve been out in about a fortnight.’

  ‘You ought to have called me,’ said Freddy. ‘We might have gone out together. As a matter of fact there was rather a good night at the Express Club about ten days ago. All the old crowd were there—all the fun people: Bill Arnott, Mags Bagley—Gertie, of course. You ought to have come.’

  ‘I think they’re all a little young for me,’ said Angela. ‘I’m not twenty-one any more, much as I weep to admit it.’

  ‘I refuse to believe it,’ said Freddy stoutly. ‘You are as young and lively as you ever were.’

  ‘Thank you, Freddy,’ said Angela. ‘You’re terribly kind and I choose to believe you. But what about you? How is business at the Clarion? Have they promoted you to editor yet?’

  ‘Incredible as it may seem, they have not,’ said Freddy. ‘Anyway, I don’t know that I want to be editor any more. I rather enjoy getting out and about.’

  ‘Are you pursuing any exciting stories at the moment?’

  ‘Well, of course the big one at the moment is this jewel robbery in Kent,’ he said.

  A frown flickered across Angela’s forehead.

  ‘It’s a gang, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, the Boehler gang. They’re a bunch of ruffians and the sooner they’re caught the better.’

  Angela could not help asking half-fearfully:

  ‘Are the police quite sure it’s them? They don’t suspect anyone else?’

  ‘Oh, no, it was certainly them,’ said Freddy. ‘They’re quite brazen and don’t bother to wear gloves, so the police have their finger-prints.’

  ‘Are they foreigners? That doesn’t sound like an English name.’

  ‘Yes, they’re German, I think,’ said Freddy. ‘Or possibly Austrian. They’ve been marauding about the capital cities of Europe for some time now, leaving a trail of violence and broken glass in their wake. It’s all terribly vulgar.’

  Angela’s brow cleared.

  ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘They sound quite dreadful. Still, at least you ought to have plenty to write about for a while.’

  The dance finished and they returned to their table to find the waiter just arriving with drinks. Angela was becoming increasingly nervous at the prospect of seeing Edgar Valencourt and found herself drinking a little more than she had intended, but quickly realized what she was doing and stopped. It would not do to be muddle-headed when they met—if indeed he turned up, for she had seen no sign of him so far. Perhaps he had changed his mind or been unable to get in. The thought dismayed her more than she cared to admit, and she spent the first part of the evening in a state of some preoccupation.

  It was not until after supper that she spotted him, standing by the edge of the dance floor, not looking at her. She was passing with a little group of ladies, and deliberately allowed the others to get ahead of her. Valencourt watched until they had disappeared out of sight, then turned to her.

  ‘Awful crowd here,’ he said.

  ‘Terrible, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s like this every year. I don’t know why I agreed to come.’

  ‘You look quite beautiful,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, glancing down at her dress, which was not the one she had originally intended to wear, for she had had to substitute her first preference for a frock that went with long gloves.

  ‘Will you dance with me?’ he said.

  She gave him her widest smile. She could not help it.

  ‘I should be delighted,’ she said.

  He led her on to the floor and very soon they were pressed as close together as public decency would allow.

  ‘What shall you say if your friends ask who I am?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I shall just say that I know you slightly from some committee or other, and that you’re very worthy and polite but rather dull,’ she said. ‘Just to allay suspicion, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  She adopted the most convincing bored look she could muster.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Do I look as though I’m finding your company too terribly tedious?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’

  ‘Then nobody will ever suspect a thing,’ she said.

  ‘You have the advantage of me, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I could never even pretend to find you dull.’

  ‘You say the nicest things,’ said Angela. ‘It’s a pity you have to leave. I could keep you in a box and bring you out to cheer me up whenever I was feeling particularly cross or out of sorts.’

  ‘I’d do that and welcome,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather you didn’t keep me in a box.’

  ‘No. I expect you’d get rather creased after a while. Very well, I shall let you go wherever you choose, and find another way of cheering myself up whenever I need it.’

  ‘I see one of your friends has spotted us,’ he said, and she glanced back and saw Freddy standing not far off, looking at them.

  ‘Freddy. I might have known,’ she said, assuming her bored expression again.

  ‘So that’s Freddy, is it? The inquisitive reporter.’

  ‘Yes. He hasn’t been doing it long, but I think he’ll get on very well, since he has morals of indiarubber.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Valencourt, regarding the young man with interest.

  Freddy was no longer looking at them, and shortly afterwards moved away. Angela and Valencourt turned their attention back to one another and resumed their conversation—which could hardly be called a conversation in the usual sense of the word, being rather an exchange of agreeable nonsense between two people who were far more pleased with each other than they had any right to be. Angela’s head was spinning slightly, but whether that were because of the cocktails or the company she could not say; perhaps it was a little of both. She was thankful that this would be the last time she saw him, and perhaps for that reason was slightly less reserved than she might otherwise have been, for until then she had always attempted to maintain a certain degree of coolness in her manner towards him. She was aware that they might be under observation, however, and did her best not to give herself away too much, flattering herself that any outsider glancing casually at them for a second would never suppose them to be anything more than friends.

  She had reckoned without Freddy, however. That young man had seen Angela Marchmont dancing with a man he did not know, and at first had thought nothing of it, for although the man was rather good-looking Angela appeared more bored than anything. Freddy sympathized silently with the suffering which a dull dancing partner could bring, wondered for half a second who the man was and then turned his attention elsewhere. A minute or so later, however, he happened to glance in their direction again and this time saw an entirely different picture, for now the man was murmuring something into Angela’s ear in a most familiar way. She did not draw back but listened, then her face broke into a wide smile and she said something, shaking her head at him. The man said something else and Ang
ela glanced around, caught sight of Freddy and turned suddenly serious again. Freddy raised his eyebrows and wandered deliberately out of their sight, but did not take his eyes off them. This time there was no mistaking what was going on, because just then, for the merest few seconds, a look and a smile passed between the two of them which immediately answered any questions in Freddy’s mind as to their true connection with one another. They looked away again quickly, but for those few seconds nobody could have doubted the affinity between them.

  Freddy pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

  ‘Well, well,’ he thought, and wondered again, this time with much more interest, who the man was. Angela was not a woman who liked to talk about her private concerns—indeed, until that moment Freddy had always imagined, without thinking too deeply about it, that she had none, for she had always seemed to prefer to mix with a wide circle of close acquaintances rather than any one person in particular. Where Mr. Marchmont was Freddy did not know, but he had always assumed somehow that there had been a divorce in America and that that was why Angela had returned to England. She was rarely seen out in company with any male companion; nor did this seem to bother her, and so Freddy had fallen into the idle assumption that she was happiest on her own—although he now remembered having been briefly suspicious last summer that there had been some entanglement. She had admitted nothing, however, and so he had believed he must have been mistaken. But of course, now he came to think about it, it was highly unlikely that there should be no-one on the scene, and it was rapidly dawning on him as he stood there that in fact Angela was not so much fiercely independent of any man as merely very discreet.

  A malicious grin spread across Freddy’s face as he resolved to make the very most of this new knowledge. Of course, he was very fond of Angela, but to miss such an opportunity to tease her unmercifully whenever the opportunity presented itself would be to betray all his most dearly-held principles. Besides, she was quite capable of giving as good as she got, and so there was no need at all for him to tread lightly. He would call on her tomorrow, he decided—not too early, of course—and begin his campaign of torment, although tonight he would content himself with merely dropping one or two hints. He wondered whether she would introduce the man to their party. It would be interesting to talk to him and find out what exactly it took to attract Angela, who did not normally appear to be easily impressed by the opposite sex.