Enter Pale Death(70)
“Dinner’s over here. In sophisticated London, they’ve all dined and gone on somewhere else. Aunty Phyl came and helped me watch.”
“And?”
“Straight to the QED bit, Joe?”
“Please.”
“Fitzwilliam was entertaining a female guest. She was happily entertained—in fact, Aunty Phyl, who hadn’t a clue who the pair were, rather thought they were in love. But it all turned sour when he gave her an unexpected present. It consisted of two items I couldn’t make out. Small. Gold. They had significance for her, though. She burst into tears and fled the table.” She hurried to add, “They’re not spending the night together.”
“Identification, Lil?”
“Pursued by me to the ladies washroom, she told me her name was Dorcas Joliffe.”
Lily absorbed the heavy silence and then took up again, slowly: “Upshot was, Miss Joliffe took off in a taxi, leaving me to make her excuses to Fitzwillie. She said she was going to stay with a friend … Kate. I heard her direct the cabby to Highgate.”
Joe’s voice was a growl of distress. “You said it, Lil. Romantic place, silver words—I’m sure there were plenty of those—and a meaningful gift. Yes, I know what that would have been. The Swine actually tricked me into acquiring it on his behalf the day before. He set me up to bid for it at Christie’s. It cost him fifty quid; it’s cost me …”
“What on earth was it, Joe?”
“A pair of gold-mounted miniatures. Very good ones. Great-great-grandmama and -grandpapa. A matched pair of betrothal portraits.”
Hissing of a human kind filled the earpiece. Lily was quick to understand. “The shit! That was a seduction scene he’d set up all right, but more than that … A proposal of marriage. Don’t you think? Am I reading too much into the gesture, Joe?”
“I’m sure you are.” Joe’s response was devoid of emotion. “He’s a free man and will marry again if he is to achieve his ambitions. Future Prime Ministers are expected to acquire wives who will do them credit: they should be of high social standing, unassertive and, for choice, British. Dorcas is illegitimate and—worse—she has a French mother. The half that’s not French—her father’s side—is half German. Her paternal aunt, you’ll recall, was conveniently murdered before she could be exposed as a German spy working at the heart of the British Navy.” Sensing that he was responding a little abruptly, he added, “And, of course, she regularly marches with the Suffragettes, let’s not forget.”
“Then I’ve misinterpreted things … Definitely a non-starter in the marriage stakes! You’ve convinced me. Funny though, he seemed to me to be offering her his family on a plate. He must have been very confident that she would be impressed.”
“They were impressive—all velvet and pearls and haughty stares. Now, the sight of my hand-hewn ancestors—bristly chins, rough tweeds and blackcock’s feathers at a jaunty angle—the gentlemen were even more fearsome—would have a girl running for the exit.”
“Well, that’s sort of what did happen, Joe,” Lily said gently. She always guessed his self-deprecating flippancy concealed distress. “She saw something there she didn’t like the look of. Fitzwillie must have realised he’d misjudged things because she left the gift behind on the table when she skedaddled.”
“Did he go after her?”
“No. He’s still here in the hotel morosely sipping his brandy. Hoping she’ll think again and come back, I expect. Do you want me to ruin his romantic prospects for a week? Albert’s taught me the neatest trick and I’m sure I can borrow an umbrella …”
“Leave it, Lil. Just go home with my thanks. Yes, I said—thanks! Boils are better lanced, and this is one that’s been swelling for some time. Give Phyl a stiff drink and my undying gratitude, summon up old Albert and get him to drive you away from that den of iniquity … How did you get this number?”
“I rang your sister. Lydia told me you were down in the country chasing villains. Anyone I know?”
Joe swallowed. “As a matter of fact, you do. I’m at Melsett being the life and soul of a very dull party, at the beck and call of Cecily, Lady Truelove. Yes … standing in for James. Again! Does the word ‘stooge’ come to mind? He’s expected here tomorrow morning with a mixed party. IDs unknown to me. No doubt I shall be surprised but not half as startled as he will be to see my ugly mug in the welcome line.”
“Lord! What a scene! Shall I come?”