The Blood Royal(119)

She paused in the shrubbery, as Mrs Colonel Belton apparently had, to hitch up her stockings and straighten her hat. If Lily had had a Balkan Sobranie available in a dolly bag, she’d have lit it. And taken a couple of nerve-calming puffs while considering her options.

Mountfitchet apparently was not a man to risk an appearance on the streets of Mayfair in his underpinnings. With no sign then, as now, of pursuit, the entirely innocent woman who’d used up so much police time and so many police handkerchiefs had made the mistake of trying to jump into the admiral’s cab. Out of the frying pan and into the line of fire. Poor woman. An encounter with Mountfitchet followed seconds later by one with Fenian gunmen? No wonder she’d been emotional. No wonder she’d stuffed her fingers in her ears, shut her eyes and screamed. And then gone underground.

Sandilands, in his lies, seemed, in fact, to have stumbled on the truth.

Mrs Belton was no more than a neglected army wife seeking cash and excitement. One of the hundreds of lonely and desperate women stepping out under the bright lights of the streets of London. Lily, out on her beat, had shared a park bench and an intimate conversation with many such. She’d heard confidences so raw, so devastating, they could only have been whispered into the receptive ear of a stranger who would listen and not condemn. The dangerous life of a London prostitute was no mystery to Lily.

Mrs Belton was clearly leading a dubious life that could only end in disaster, but she was no Morrigan.

And yet Morrigan had been here.

Someone had fired the last decisive bullet from the pavement a few feet from where she was standing now. Lily retraced Mrs Colonel Belton’s steps through the shrubbery and on to the pavement edge.

With unnerving coincidence, a taxicab screeched and swayed to a halt in front of her.





Chapter Thirty-Three




The door opened. Joe got out, bowing and smiling.

‘Still searching for your bag, Wentworth? Let me help. I think I may have a clue. Do get in.’ He called to the driver. ‘Change of plan, cabby … another one. Take us to St George’s Hospital, will you?’ He was trying for unconcern but feared he betrayed his tension as he asked: ‘Successful raid mounted, I take it, Wentworth … judging by the jaunty angle of your hat?’

‘Very successful, sir.’

‘And now you’re going to reassure me that you came into no direct contact with the dubious owner of the premises in front of which I find you skulking? That nothing … untoward occurred?’

‘Oh, plenty of untoward, sir. Lashings of it. Threats of a deviant sexual nature, blackmail and violence amounting to actual bodily harm all occurred. I’m afraid the gentleman has grounds for complaint against the forces of law and order, but somehow I don’t think he’ll fancy standing up in court to tell exactly how his privacy was invaded.’

She was smiling as she spoke but Joe was horrified. ‘Tell me you’re all right, for goodness’ sake, Wentworth!’ he croaked.

‘Tickety boo, sir. I came out as intact as ever I was when I went in.’

Joe sighed. ‘Here we go again! Very well – you got there …?’

* * *

‘So, you see, she’s not your Morrigan, sir.’ Wentworth gave him a sideways look, uneasy with Joe’s silence. ‘But I think you already knew that. You weren’t lying to the Dedhams, were you? And why are we coming to the hospital? The cabby really has regained consciousness – is that it?’

‘Notes of some of his communications with members of his family have started to come through. We’re in the neighbourhood … I thought we might check on him ourselves. If we should be lucky enough to find him compos mentis I should like to shake his hand. Ah, here we are.’

The matron welcomed them herself and had them conducted to the private room that had been allocated to Percy Jenner. ‘There’s a constable on duty and his daughter’s sitting with him,’ she’d told them.



‘But he’s asleep! How can he possibly be taking notes? This amounts to dereliction of duty,’ Joe hissed. He prepared to poke the gently snoring constable in the ribs, but found his arm being restrained by the young girl at the cabby’s bedside.

‘Please don’t bother him, sir. He’s done double time. His relief didn’t turn up and I was here anyway so I says just you have a quiet kip in that chair over there and I’ll stand watch. I’m Percy’s daughter, sir. The eldest. Clara. I’ve been taking notes. Sent ’em on to the super … what’s ’is name … Hopkirk. Didn’t they get them?’

Percy Jenner’s daughter was a pretty girl of about sixteen and if she had her father’s presence of mind she would be a good girl to leave in charge, Joe thought. He calmed himself.