A Royal Affair

by Allison Montclair

  “Lady Matheson. She was their target?”

  “If they knew how things worked at the Palace, then that would be logical.”

  “Then she’s being drawn into a trap by someone. Maybe we’ll know more when we get those photographs tomorrow. We should bring the letters to Jimmy the Scribe. I’d like his take on them. I wonder if we’ll beat the police to the punch on this.”

  “They don’t know what we know,” said Gwen, picking up a pair of newspapers from her nightstand and handing them to Iris. “Guess who is the lead investigator?”

  “‘Man found stabbed to death in Poplar Dock warehouse,’” Iris read. “‘Name being withheld by authorities pending notification … enquiries being made … anyone with information should contact Detective Superintendent Philip Parham.’ Parham again! The Rota of Fortune has turned and landed on us twice. Well, we needn’t worry about the competition if he’s on the case.”

  “I wonder if your ex is assisting him on this one,” said Gwen.

  “Mike should be in the midst of his honeymoon at the moment,” said Iris.

  “Oh! That happened already? You never mentioned it.”

  “Needless to say, I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” said Iris. “C’est la vie. Or c’est la guerre. I’m not sure where we stood when we left it. I’ve moved on.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s what I do best.”

  “Fine. How was Hagia Sophia?”

  “Enlightening. I ran into one old friend, and saw a second.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Archie sat at his kitchen table, making a list.

  1.Office. Strongbox?

  2.Office next door.

  3.Somewhere else in the building.

  Somewhere else would make things difficult, he thought. Plenty of places to hide it, but less safe. Custodian could find it. Workers renovating offices. Rats. There’s always rats.

  4.Her flat.

  5.Bainbridge house.

  6.Bank deposit box.

  7.With a friend.

  So. One and two were easy. One-man job. He knew a few yeggs he could trust with it. But it wasn’t likely that Sparks would still be holding the bread on the premises at this point.

  He crossed out the first three.

  Her flat, then? Not a big place, but she’d been there long enough to find or make a hidey-hole. He hadn’t exactly been scouting it when he paid his mercy visit the other day, and he hadn’t seen the bedroom.

  He was hoping to see it, he thought sadly. But five thousand pounds were five thousand pounds, and she was merely a girl he’d had two dates with.

  Well, three, according to her. All he did was bring her whisky and curry, but women had their own funny ways of counting things. He had come away from there feeling pretty good, considering all he got out of it was a peck on the cheek.

  Money, Arch, he admonished himself. Remember the money.

  He wouldn’t need a full-blown yegg for the flat. If Sparks had a hidey-hole there, it was more likely used for keeping weapons than money and jewelry. She was a practical girl. She’d know enough to keep valuables outside the flat.

  But that would include the five grand, wouldn’t it? Only it was Sunday, and the banks were closed, so it wouldn’t be in a deposit box. He crossed that one out.

  If she were going to put it in the bank, then he had a limited window to make a move. She’d be home at some point tonight, he guessed, which meant he’d have to have his boys go in armed and fast, and she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d take kindly to that.

  Someone would definitely get hurt in that scenario.

  He crossed out item four.

  The Bainbridge house.

  Kensington. Ritzy part of town. Big place, lots of staff. On the other hand, not the sort of place where they had watchmen. Once everyone went to bed, the place would be ripe for the picking, if it was done silently.

  He needed a creeper, he thought. Someone who could—

  The telephone rang, jangling him out of his thoughts. He picked it up.

  “’Allo?” he said irritably.

  “Uncle Archie!” said a man excitedly. “It’s Bernie! Is this a good time?”

  “Just putting me thoughts in order,” said Archie. “I always got time for you, lad. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to thank you, Uncle,” burbled Bernie. “I never thought it would go like this, but it did! It’s wonderful!”

  “Well, good for you,” said Archie. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m in love!” crowed Bernie. “Oh, she’s wonderful! Not at all what I expected, not the type of woman I’ve dreamed about, but that’s what happened! It’s a miracle, Uncle Archie, and I owe it all to you for sending me to The Right Sort. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “All this after one date?”

  “Two! And the second—well, it took us to—I really can’t say any more, but we’re in love, can you believe it? I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m calling Mum and Dad next to have her over for dinner. You should come, too. I want you to meet Tish. Will you?”

  “Of course, lad. I’m delighted it worked out so well for you.”

  “Right, going to call them now. Good night, Uncle.”

  “Good night, lad.”

  He hung up, then looked at his list again.

  No woman is worth five thousand pounds.

  Except Iris Sparks was worth more.

  He crumpled up the list, dropped it on an ashtray, and put a match to it.

  * * *

  “We need to get into that reception,” concluded Iris.

  “I wonder…” mused Gwen. “Come with me.”

  She had dressed while listening to Iris’s summary of her morning and now led Iris downstairs in search of the butler. She found him polishing a set of candlesticks.

  “Ah, Percival, good,” she said. “Do you know if Lady Carolyne received an invitation to the reception at Claridge’s for the Greek king tomorrow evening?”

  “She did, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

  “Did she accept?”

  “She did not, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

  “Do we still have that invitation, by any chance?”

  “I believe so, ma’am.”

  “Could you fetch it for me, please?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  He replaced the candlesticks in a cabinet, locked it, then went in search of the invitation. He returned a minute later carrying an envelope on a silver platter.

  “Thank you, Percival,” said Gwen, taking it.

  They walked back to her room.

  “Won’t the lack of an RSVP be a problem?” asked Iris.

  “Nothing I can’t brazen my way through,” said Gwen.

  “Well, that gets you in the door. What about me? Shall I put on a fake mustache and trousers and try and pass as your escort?”

  “I have a better idea,” said Gwen, pressing a button on her nightstand.

  Shortly thereafter, there was a soft knock on the door, and Millie entered.

  “You rang, Mrs. Bainbridge?” she asked.

  “Yes, Millie. Tomorrow is your night off, is that correct?”

  “It is, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

  “Any plans?”

  “I was going to visit my sister.”

  “Lovely. Would you mind standing next to Miss Sparks for a moment?”

  “Ma’am?” said Millie in confusion.

  “Ah,” said Iris, stepping beside her. “I understand. Millie, would you like to make a little extra money?”

  “What do I have to do, Miss?”

  “Lend me your outfit. Mrs. Bainbridge and I are going to a party, and I need to go as a lady’s maid. We look to be the same size. Shall we say ten shillings?”

  “Oh! Well, if you promise to get it back right after. I’ll need it in the morning.”

  “I will bring it back myself,” Gwen assured her.

  “Then I suppose it’s all right. Shall I bri
ng it to your office in the afternoon? It’s on my way.”

  “That would be splendid, Millie,” said Gwen. “Thank you.”

  Millie curtsied and left.

  “Another odd item for the expense account,” said Gwen.

  “Easier to explain than the cost of holding a captive,” said Iris. “Now, you need one more thing for this party.”

  “What?”

  “An escort.”

  “Oh dear,” sighed Gwen. “Maybe we should have stayed with you and the mustache. Wait. I have an idea.”

  They went downstairs and Gwen went to use the telephone. Iris waited patiently in the entrance hall. Suddenly, the doors burst open and a young boy flew in, skidding to a halt when he saw her.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m Ronnie.”

  “Well, of course you are,” said Iris, squatting so that she could shake his hand. “My name is Iris Sparks. I’m a friend of your mother. It is so very nice to meet you at last.”

  “Are you the lady she works with?” asked Ronnie.

  “I am indeed.”

  “You find husbands for ladies?”

  “We try. And wives for gentlemen.”

  “Are you going to find one for Mummy?”

  “Only if she asks me to,” said Iris, taken aback. “Do you think she should?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ronnie very seriously. “She’s sad a lot. It might make her happy.”

  “It might,” agreed Iris. “But that’s something she needs to decide for herself. I know that you make her very happy.”

  “But I can’t marry her,” said Ronnie.

  “No,” said Gwen, coming into the hallway. “And that is as it should be.”

  “Mummy!” cried Ronnie. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I am, now that you’re here,” said Gwen as she lifted him up and hugged him tight. “I see you’ve met my friend Iris.”

  “She’s very nice,” said Ronnie.

  “Thank you,” said Iris. “And so are you.”

  “Maybe I’ll marry her someday,” said Ronnie.

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time,” said Iris. “Let’s wait until you’re old enough, then we’ll talk about it some more.”

  “All right.”

  Lady Carolyne came through the door, followed by Agnes. She looked askance at Iris, then at Gwen. “I see that you’re feeling better,” she said.

  “Yes, I am, thank you,” said Gwen.

  “Agnes, take Ronnie upstairs and get him changed for dinner,” said Lady Carolyne.

  “I have to change again?” protested Ronnie.

  “Your clothes are all dusty from having so much fun,” whispered Agnes, taking his hand. “Come upstairs, Ronnie.”

  “Goodbye, Iris,” said Ronnie, waving.

  “Goodbye, dear,” said Iris, waving back.

  They watched until he was out of earshot, then turned back to each other.

  “Was it a good visit?” asked Gwen.

  “Of course,” said Lady Carolyne. “What is she doing here?”

  “Iris dropped by to see how I was feeling,” said Gwen. “And to talk over some business.”

  “What sort of business?”

  “Our business,” said Gwen.

  “I’m surprised that you are actually up at this time of day, Miss Sparks,” said Lady Carolyne. “I would expect you to still be in someone’s bed, trying to remember his name.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was in church this morning,” said Iris humbly. “I’m seeking to mend my ways. Your daughter-in-law has been a very good influence, Lady Carolyne.”

  “Piffle,” said Lady Carolyne.

  “Look, while I have you here, I want to ask you a favour,” said Gwen.

  “What favour?”

  “You have an invitation to the reception at Claridge’s tomorrow for King George. May I take it, since you’re not going?”

  “For what reason, may I ask?”

  “Business-related,” said Gwen. “We’re vetting a client who is Greek, and I could find out a few things in that crowd that I can’t elsewhere.”

  “Very well,” said Lady Carolyne. “If you wish to consort with Greeks, that is no concern of mine. I see the influence runs both ways. Good day, Miss Sparks. Gwendolyn, I shall expect you for dinner, now that you’ve fully recovered.”

  “Yes, Lady Carolyne.”

  “Good day, Miss Sparks,” said Lady Carolyne. “Percival will see you out.”

  She walked away.

  “I guess that means I’m leaving,” said Iris. “I didn’t hear an invitation to stay for dinner.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Gwen.

  “Well, that’s progress, in any case,” said Iris. “I have set foot inside chez Bainbridge, and met the young lord and master, who is delightful, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Gwen. “I’m glad you like him.”

  “I’m glad he liked me. Let’s see. He’ll be old enough to marry me in twelve years.”

  “When you’ll be—”

  “Twenty-eight,” said Iris firmly. “And I shall call you Mum after we’re married.”

  “What a dreadful idea! Well, see you at The Right Sort in the morning. Oh, and I have an escort for the reception.”

  “Well done. Who?”

  “I’ll surprise you.”

  “I’m intrigued,” said Iris. She paused. “How much of the conversation with Ronnie did you hear?”

  “Do you mean did I hear when he asked if you were going to find me a husband?”

  “Yes. Out of the mouths of babes—”

  “Iris, I’m a professional husband-finder. When the time comes, I’ll do it myself. And here is Percival. Goodbye, dear.”

  “Goodbye.”

  * * *

  Iris’s telephone was ringing as she entered her flat. She dashed to answer it before the connection was lost.

  “Hello?”

  “’Allo, Sparks,” said Archie.

  “Hello, Archie.”

  “So when were you gonna tell me about the five thousand pounds?”

  CHAPTER 12

  “I gather he’s talking,” said Iris.

  “’E’s talking,” said Archie. “’E’s not saying much. Most of it is about you, so I’m applying grains of salt. But the five thousand was no porker, was it?”

  “The five thousand is real, and it’s alive and well.”

  “So you trust me enough to commit a major felony on your behalf, but not enough to tell me you were recently loaded.”

  “Oh, Archie.” Iris sighed. “I trust you. I didn’t tell you about the money for the same reason you didn’t tell me where you were stashing the gent. I wanted to protect you and the lads.”

  “Protect me?” Archie exclaimed indignantly. “Just ’oo are you to be protecting me? I’m Archie Spelling! I don’t need protecting.”

  “This situation comes from Very High Up,” said Iris. “If it goes wrong, the powers that be will come down like a ton of bricks. I didn’t want them to make a public example of you. I’m sorry, Archie, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Oh gosh, listen to us. Our first lovers’ quarrel, and we aren’t even lovers yet.”

  “I’m liking the ‘yet’ part. So where does the money go when all is said and done?”

  “Back to its originator. Sorry again, Archie. Neither of us is getting rich off this one.”

  “’Ow do you resist the temptation? You can practically ’ear it breathing when there’s that much of it lying about.”

  “By letting the Incorruptible One hold it. I don’t entirely trust myself in this matter, either.”

  “Item five,” muttered Archie.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So this bloke talked like ’e knew you before.”

  “Clever boy, clever ploy. What did he say?”

  “That you worked for British Intelligence. Special Operations. No surprise to me there.”

  “Old news, but very interesting that he claims to know about it,” said I
ris. “Anything else?”

  “Suggested that you ’ad something to do with the feller who took a blade to the gut at the Poplar Dock yesterday.”

  “Did he say I was the one holding the other end?”

  “Implied as much. Thing is, ’ad you done so, I wouldn’t’ve found myself in a state of shock on that count, either.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I came in after the bloody deed was done.”

  “Ah, so that’s ’ow it came about. That was where the money was going? To the deceased?”

  “Not exactly. He seems to have been an uninvited guest. After we found him, we had to make a quick exit. Our new friend recognised us, showed up at the office waving his Mauser about, and things got complicated. And now he’s trying to turn you against me. Thank you for not succumbing, Archie.”

  “It was a near thing,” said Archie. “Shall I play along with ’im? Might get ’im talking some more.”

  “Actually, what he said is quite useful,” said Iris thoughtfully. “We’re treating the money as an expense account at the moment. How would you like to be an expense?”

  “I’m listening,” said Archie.

  * * *

  Iris came into the office Monday morning to find Gwen on the telephone, holding the earpiece several inches away from her ear.

  “I am so pleased,” she said. “No, you don’t send us the marriage fee until after it takes place, but it all sounds like an auspicious beginning. No, auspicious, not suspicious. Yes, that means a good thing. I will. Thank you for letting us know.”

  She hung up.

  “Miss Hardiman?” guessed Iris.

  “How did you know?” asked Gwen.

  “Because Little Ronnie uses his indoor voice on the telephone now.”

  “Sorry, couldn’t hear what you were saying, I have this ringing in my left ear!” shouted Gwen.

  “She called to say that things went spectacularly well with Bernie.”

  “She did. You already knew?”

  “Heard it from his uncle Archie last night,” said Iris.

  “How is our guest?” asked Gwen. “Has he recovered from our tender ministrations?”

  “Well enough to try and worm his way into Archie’s confidences. Fortunately, Archie still likes me better, even after finding out about our having the payoff moola.”