by Lynda Wilcox
She left him to his garden and went home where Tilly expressed herself delighted at the pair of gloves Eleanor had bought for her. She also approved that her mistress had thought to buy seeds for Joe, but was not so pleased to hear about the reappearance of Major Armitage.
“Huh. What does he want, now?”
Eleanor grinned, well used to her maid’s low opinion of the major.
“He’s invited me out on Thursday evening. We’re going to Watermen’s Hall for a meal, and so that he can pick their brains about spies along the river.”
“Spies along the river? That sounds like the title of a film.” Tilly was an avid reader of Picturegoer magazine and went to the cinema at least once a week on her afternoon or evening off. “Well, doesn’t it?” she asked when Eleanor laughed.
“You’re right, but I shan’t be sitting in the pictures with the major. This is a strictly business arrangement, I’ll warrant.”
Despite the major’s ambivalence on the matter, Eleanor suspected his invitation was down to him needing her as socially acceptable window dressing for the evening — she was unlikely to show him up and could be relied upon not to fall over, get drunk, or make a gaffe. She knew how to make polite conversation, and which knife and fork to use.
For an idle moment she wondered if he had a number of women such as herself, one for every possible eventuality, then laughed at her own fancy.
“Don’t worry, Tilly. I’m aware that Armitage may be using me, but I may learn something pertinent to my own investigation. That’s the main reason I accepted his invitation.”
“And what of Joe? Do you think it wise to involve him? He’s a boy. Look at the trouble he got into last time.”
“You have a very low opinion of the male of the species, don’t you, Tilly? I think he’ll be safe enough. I’ve only asked him to speak to his mate about the rowing club. The more information I can glean about that place, the better.”
Tilly sniffed. “A shame to take him from his garden though, especially at this time of year.”
Eleanor shrugged away her maid’s disapproval. Joe was a bright and resourceful child, unlikely to come to any harm on the innocent errand she’d asked of him.
On the other hand, Major Armitage was far from innocent and while the thought of an evening out with him was appealing, she would do well to be on her guard against him. The last thing she desired was to be dragged back into his murky world.
Chapter 13
Eleanor dithered for hours over what to wear to the Watermen’s Hall. A call to Ann had convinced her that it was a prestigious venue, one that her friend had considered hiring for a small family party for the Duke of Westerbrough. Dressing up was therefore essential.
“I can’t wear that.” This announcement followed sight of every outfit that Tilly pulled from the wardrobe.
“You’ll be going in your birthday suit at this rate,” Tilly retorted. “I still say you should wear Madame Gerard’s creation. It’s beautiful and brings out the colour of your eyes. You’ll be the centre of attention in that.”
Given its plunging neckline, Eleanor didn’t doubt it. Dare she wear it, though, when out with the major?
“It seems a little risqué, Tilly.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got the figure for it. You can carry it off.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. You wore it to the Duke of Denver’s birthday bash and you looked lovely in it, then, and you’ll do the same tonight. Let me help you put it on and you’ll see what I mean.”
Eleanor’s dealings with the major had always been on what she thought of as a business footing, and they had never been out together on a date — to use the modern idiom. Admitting to herself that she was merely nervous about the evening to come, Eleanor submitted to her maid’s ministrations without complaint.
A little while later she surveyed the results of Tilly’s handiwork in the tall cheval glass. “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve worked wonders.”
Tilly sniffed. “I don’t know about that, my lady. I had good material to work with, don’t forget.”
“Yes, this crepe-de-chine is rather lovely, isn’t it?”
Eleanor fondled the material of the dress’s skirt while Tilly sniffed again at her mistress’s deliberate misunderstanding.
Major Armitage arrived on time, gave Eleanor an admiring glance then escorted her downstairs and into a waiting taxi.
“About tonight,” he began.
“Ye...es?”
“Only you, me, and the Master know the real purpose behind this dinner.”
“So, I say nothing, but keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Exactly. To all intents and purposes this is a social occasion, so you won’t be the only woman there, but the Master will steer the conversation in the direction I’ve asked.”
“I see, and how will he — or you — account for our presence?”
Peter Armitage was too good an intelligence officer to openly admit to what he did, yet he must have a plan, a way to disguise his true intentions that evening. Was that why he’d asked Eleanor to accompany him? Was she part of that disguise?
Eleanor was no fool. She knew that he was using her, but if he really wanted her help, then he should learn to give as well as take. His habit of keeping her in the dark was maddening and, to her mind, counterproductive.
“The Master’s other guests will be told that I’m a journalist, looking to write a piece about traffic on the river, whether it has increased of late, where it’s coming from, whether they’ve noticed any...abnormalities, shall we say.”
“And will I be me, or do I also have an alter ego?”
He grinned at her. “Oh, you’ll be you. I wouldn’t ever want you to be anything, or anyone, else.”
“What? A lady who hobnobs with journalists?
“Why not?” His retort was like a whiplash. “You did so on a previous case.”
Touché, thought Eleanor, remembering her night out with Danny Danvers of the Daily Banner. It had been all part of her investigation into the murder of Sir David Bristol, the newspaper’s owner, and strictly for research purposes, but she hadn’t objected to the kiss they’d shared at the end of that evening.
“When I was working for myself, not you.”
“You aren’t working for me this evening. I just want the pleasure of your company. Besides, you might learn something relevant to your current case.”
Eleanor hoped so — she wasn’t getting very far on her own — but didn’t see how. The conversation was unlikely to be about murder, although she would prick up her ears at any mention of Tower Bridge.
The major paid off the taxi outside Watermen’s Hall and led the way inside the elegant Georgian building. Here, an attendant took their coats and they were shown into the Court Room.
“Armitage! Good to see you.”
A man wearing a heavy chain of office around his broad shoulders peeled himself away from a knot of people standing next to the fireplace and came towards them. Eleanor took him to be the Master of the Company, a fact confirmed by Armitage when he introduced her.
“You are most welcome, Lady Eleanor.” The Master took the hand she extended and gave it a brisk shake before returning his attention to her companion. “There’ll be sixty-three of us, including ourselves. Some have brought their wives, so we can’t keep it all strictly business, at least not during the meal. Later, over coffee and brandies, I’ll start the ball rolling for you.”
“Thank you, Master.”
While the two men talked, Eleanor looked around in admiration of her surroundings. The stunning ceiling alone was worthy of her attention, though she was careful not to let her jaw drop, or stand staring upwards for too long. She was here to learn all she could, not gawp like an idiot, though it might provide ideal cover for her and the major’s real purpose. She smiled inwardly at the thought of suggesting it to him sometime.
Eleanor knew none of her fellow guests, but chatted amiably to them, happy to play her pa
rt. Quite what Armitage really hoped to learn from them was a mystery and, unable to bluntly introduce the subject of murder, it seemed rather a waste of an evening.
The meal, however, was superb, the accompanying wines well chosen, and the service attentive.
After exchanging pleasantries with the diners on either side — Armitage having been seated opposite — Eleanor was halfway through an exquisite chocolate and raspberry roulade when the back of her neck prickled. Aware of a steady scrutiny on someone’s part, she glanced around in a careless way, trying not to draw attention to herself.
No one around the table seemed in any way interested in her, they were either talking to neighbours or enjoying their dessert as she had been until that tell-tale signal. A signal that she could still feel.
Puzzled, she caught a flicker out of the corner of her eye and turned her head in time to see a white-coated waiter disappearing out of the room. His face in profile had been vaguely familiar. Where had she seen him before?
“Always excellent food here, don’t you think?” said the gentleman to her right, putting his spoon down with a clatter.
Distracted, Eleanor forgot about the half glimpsed figure and answered. “I’ve never been before, but I agree. That meal was most enjoyable. The Company must also have good cellars if the wine was anything to go by.”
Unfortunately, her neighbour turned out to be a wine importer and she was forced, if only by politeness, to listen to a lengthy lecture on the subject. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when the dishes were were finally cleared from the tables, replaced with cups of coffee, glasses and decanters, and the Master rose from his seat and called for order.
He introduced Armitage and Eleanor and explained the reason for Peter’s visit.
Once the major in turn had risen to his feet and begun to speak, Eleanor surveyed the room, paying attention to the effect his words were having. She noted the nods of agreement and the murmurs of interest. He asked if anyone had noticed what he referred to as ‘odd activity’. A lot of the guests were eager to answer that question and all had stories to tell. Somewhat to Eleanor’s surprise, odd things happening on and along the river appeared to be the norm.
However, odd did not necessarily have anything to do with spies, or with murder, and how much the major actually learned from this she couldn’t tell, though he seemed pleased enough when the Master called a halt.
“There’s more coffee if anyone wants it in the Freemen’s Room,” he announced. “Do help yourselves.”
As people wandered around she joined Armitage.
“My compliments to your chef, Master,” she said. “The meal was excellent and most enjoyable.”
“Indeed,” Armitage agreed.
“Thank you, my lady, but the food is provided by outside caterers. We have neither the room on the premises, nor the staff to prepare and serve, I’m afraid.”
Disappointed that she couldn’t ask the name of the waiter who had seemed familiar to her, she asked who they employed instead.
He looked surprised by her enquiry until she mentioned a party organising friend who might be interested in putting business their way, then he gave her the name readily enough.
Seeing that the two men wanted to talk, she excused herself and went searching for a rear entrance. There might still be some of the caterers about and it would save a visit to their offices if she discovered who the familiar face had belonged to before its owner left the Hall.
No one was about and she had several doors to chose from. The first proved to be an office, the second a broom cupboard and the third led directly into a small yard. She stepped outside in time to see the tail lights of a large van as it drove away.
Too late!
Cursing under her breath, and wondering if, after all, she’d imagined the whole incident, Eleanor rejoined the major and they said their goodbyes.
Chapter 14
Stars twinkled in the darkness of a fine, dry night as Eleanor and her escort left Watermen’s Hall.
Armitage took her arm and walked her past the row of queueing taxis. “Fancy a walk, my lady? It’s too lovely an evening to spend in a taxi.”
Eleanor looked doubtful. “A little way, perhaps. I’m not sure I can walk it all the way to Piccadilly in these shoes.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “You probably dance well enough in them.”
Wondering when he’d had the opportunity to see her dance, she replied, “Ah, yes, but dancing is different from a route march.”
“Who said anything about marching? At a leisurely pace, you should be home around dawn.”
“Heavens, Major! You’re forgetting my beauty sleep.”
Nor was it any great leap to imagine Tilly’s reaction if her mistress wandered home at the same time the milkman was doing his rounds.
“You don’t need it. It’s been a pleasure to look at you tonight. Thank you for coming with me.”
Never sure how to respond to compliments, Eleanor murmured, “Oh, I’ve enjoyed it”, and left it at that.
Armitage, however made no attempt to release her and carry on walking. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her.
Eleanor surprised herself and did not resist him. It wasn’t until he murmured, “Oh, Ella, why did you have to be a duke’s daughter?” that she recalled who, and where she was. She pulled away.
“Thank you for the reminder, Peter.”
He groaned and gave a rueful grin, and she linked arms again to show there were no hard feelings.
They turned onto Eastcheap, strolling arm in arm, saying little, content to be together. Eleanor suspected the Major of no more wanting the evening to end than she did. She might have told him so if he hadn’t beaten her to it.
“You go to a man’s head, my lady. I could walk with you all night, and kiss you till dawn, but I suppose we ought to find a taxi and get you home. There’s a rank around the next corner, I think.”
They were never to reach it.
The stillness of the night shattered at the squeal of tyres, and the scream of an engine. Eleanor heard the crack, crack, crack as shots were fired.
“Look out!”
Peter’s push on her back sent her stumbling into the relative safety of a shop doorway. Eleanor crouched, melding with the shadows as the car roared past.
“Major?” She got to her feet and peered out. “Oh God, no! Peter!”
She ran to the fallen figure on the edge of the pavement, knelt beside it, and put her hand on his sleeve. The moist warmth stuck to her hand. She raised it to her face and caught the tang of blood.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Why hadn’t she done a nursing course like Tilly? Why, when the war had come had she preferred fixing cars rather than her fellow human beings?
She put her clean hand to his neck, feeling for life, wishing her maid were there to tell her what to do, trying to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Peter! Are you all right?”
At last! Running footsteps.
“All right, Miss. What’s happened? I thought I heard shots.”
“You did, Constable. My friend is bleeding. I think he’s alive but we need a doctor, or better still, an ambulance.”
“Right you are, Miss, I’ll see to that. There’s a police box on the corner. I don’t suppose you saw who was shooting, did you?”
“No,” Eleanor said. Her mind suddenly sharp and clear. “They were in a car. Registration number was AS 252.”
“Very good.” He raced off towards the corner, and his place was filled with others who had heard her shout.
“Is anyone a doctor?” Eleanor scanned the faces. “He’s bleeding, but I don’t know where from.”
At the mention of blood the small group took a step closer, crowding her. She wanted to push them back, they were taking her air, she couldn’t breathe.
A couple dragged her to her feet and she resisted, not wanting to leave the prone figure on the pavement.
“A doctor?”
Eleanor asked again.
“Don’t fret, love.” A stout woman peered at Armitage and shook her head. “He don’t look good, but there’s an ambulance station only a few streets away. They will be here in a minute. Your man will be all right.”
“Oh, but he’s —”
The ringing bell of the ambulance drowned out Eleanor’s protest. She watched it come to a halt in front of her and its occupants jump out.
Major Armitage was quickly rolled onto a stretcher and carried into the back of the vehicle.
“’Ere, are you all right?” The woman leaned forward, clutching Eleanor’s arm. “You’ve got blood all over your hand. You ain’t been shot an’ all, have you?”
Eleanor looked down at her palms. “No, I’m fine, thank you.” Desperate to escape the woman’s clasp, she tried to pull away.
It was too late, the ambulance doors were already closed and within a heartbeat it pulled away.
“Where will they take him?” she asked. The crowd was thinning now that the excitement was over. Even the woman who’d grabbed hold of her seemed to have deserted her. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
“Dunno, love.” An old man seemed happy to linger. He screwed up his lined face, removed his cloth cap and scratched at a nearly bald head. “Probably London Bridge, or maybe Guy’s. You’ll have to cross the river for them.”
Eleanor stared at her shoes. A route march, she’d said. She must have had a premonition.
“There’s a taxi stand just around the corner,” the man offered, pointing up the road in the direction she and the major had been heading. “Better than you walking at this time in the morning.”
She stood there looking to left and right as if not knowing what to do.
“Come on,” he said, kindly. “I’ll walk with you and show you the way.”
The rank was empty. It seemed like an eternity before one showed up, and although Eleanor urged him to hurry, the driver took the journey at a steady pace.
“No point going that fast we end up in the hospital ourselves,” he said.