A Donation of Murder (14 page)

‘Well, we shall soon see, won't we?' Dody said, wondering if Pike picked up on the doubt in her voice. She put the ring back on the chain around her neck and hid it between her breasts. ‘Let us play this by ear, test Violet's mood first.'

Fletcher opened the drawing room doors with a flourish. ‘Miss Dody, Chief Inspector Pike, sir, dinner is served.

New Year's Eve at John Giblett's house was proving much more fun than Margaret had expected it to be. As the revelry grew and midnight drew nearer, her intention of ending it with John began to waver. She'd always prided herself on being in tune with her own senses and feelings — as a safe-cracker she had to be — but in this instance she wondered if she had deceived herself. Did she really want to call things off with John? Now, she wasn't so sure.

He looked so handsome in his white tie and tails — impossible to resist. And his attentions to her were unfailing. He insisted she remain by his side throughout the evening and introduced her to new clients as his confidante and potential business partner. The French bubbly, which he said he'd bought just for her, lowered her defences further, leaving her with no desire to contradict him. Her renewed faith improved even more when she realised he had kept his promise and not invited Malcolm James to the party.

John's right hand man had been around earlier that evening while the staff was still setting up. He'd spent most of the time with John, closeted in the study. Margaret had set about rearranging the flowers in the hall in the hope of snatching some of the men's conversation, but received little reward for her efforts. The silence from the room had been broken only by the occasional murmur, as if they were going over figures and doing most of the calculations in their heads. When at last they'd emerged, James pinched her on the bottom while John was fetching his coat. She didn't flinch. There were servants everywhere and she dared not make a fuss. On his departure, she'd fixed him with a marrow-melting glare to which he'd tipped his hat and laughed. How tempting it had been to help him on his way with a shove! She longed to push him down the steps and watch him break his bloody neck.

But he hadn't returned, thank God, and she'd begun to unwind. It amazed her that she could be experiencing such a reversal of feelings when only recently she'd been organising her affairs and planning to leave. Thank God she'd never handed out those letters of resignation. But was the champagne clouding her judgement? She needed air. She excused herself from the old cove she'd been talking to — whose cantilevered eyebrows did nothing to hide his body-roaming eyes — took a glass of
water from a waiter's silver tray, adjusted the fur stole around her shoulders and made her way through the French doors onto the drawing room balcony.

Alone at last. The view of Mayfair by night was a lot more edifying than it was by day. Chimney pots and servants' attics were invisible once the bright lights of the streets had been lit and there were well-dressed people below to catch the eye. Taxis, the occasional carriage, and private motor vehicles were still dropping guests at the doors of various houses where parties were in full swing. Margaret noticed a couple in the shadows standing some distance from one such door. They passionately embraced against a wall, hidden from street view at the entry to an alley separating two houses. Margaret envied the couple, though she did wonder why they would choose such a chilly spot to share their love. Maybe theirs was an illicit affair with one or both partners married to someone else. Or perhaps there were other reasons for society's disapproval, such as those of Dody and her secret lover.

Margaret reached into her evening bag and removed a cigarette and matches. She pressed the cigarette into her elongated holder and struck a match on the railing. The sudden flare of light caused the lovers to stop what they were doing and look up. Margaret waved. The lovers shrugged and resumed, as if the show was for her benefit alone.

Margaret blew out a sensuous stream of smoke and picked up her train of thought. She had now donated enough money to pay off the clinic's debts and in so doing had sorted out Dody's immediate financial worries. She knew, however, that Dody's other troubles were by no means over. It wasn't right that someone with as many God-given gifts as the good doctor should be racked with worry and so unhappy. As Margaret removed the cigarette stub from the holder and ground it beneath the heel of her pretty evening shoe she smiled to herself. At least she had dreamed up another way to help.

Matilda, one of her best girls, had managed to get herself a cleaning job at Scotland Yard, and after some digging had discovered the name of Dody's mysterious lover. The detective branch at the Yard was small. There was only one man with the initials M.P and that was Chief Superintendent Matthew Pike. Matilda had even managed to lift a newspaper clipping that included a photograph of Pike from one of the Yard's noticeboards. It had been taken years ago during the arrest of Doctor Crippen. The picture was grainy, but Margaret had managed to make out the same pleasant face as belonged to the man in Dody's locket.

She had instructed Matilda to do some more digging. She was determined to make the road to love a little less bumpy for the woman to whom she owed her life.

Margaret chuckled to herself.
Fancy, the leader of the Whistlers being such an incurable romantic and helping a copper, what's more!

There was no such thing as forbidden love within John's circle, unless one man stole another man's woman. Even before Malcolm James had entered their lives and made violence an almost daily activity, such offences against ‘property' were often avenged with violent retaliation — murder even. John Giblett had always been good with his friends, but God help his enemies. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,' was John's favourite saying. Considering how much she'd badmouthed John to his friends in the pub, she thanked her lucky stars she'd ended up with nothing more than a sore crotch.

Margaret felt a presence behind her. She failed to turn, even when manly hands pressed down upon her fur-clad shoulders.

‘What a beautiful night,' John said, the smoky curl of his breath blowing through the chill air. ‘Those two should find a room,' he remarked, following her gaze to the alley's entrance.

Margaret turned to face him. He pressed her against the balcony. A wrought iron scroll caught her in the lower back, his desire prodded at her from the front. ‘Maybe we should too,' he added with a cheeky wink.

‘We can't disappear yet, it's not even midnight!' Yet she felt her body respond to his. She wished they
could
find a room, they seemed to fit together so well. How was it possible to dislike and yet desire someone at the same time? Perhaps some mysteries remained best unexplained.

‘John,' she began. Despite the tingling of her nether regions, her mind was still fixated on ways to help the good doctor. ‘Have you ever had a run-in with a copper from the Yard called Pike?

‘No, can't say the name's familiar. Why?'

‘What about Superintendent Shepherd?' Matilda had told her he was Pike's superior.

John tipped his head back and guffawed. ‘That old bastard? Yes, of course, everyone knows he's dirtier than a sewer rat's toenails. But again, why?'

Margaret paused while her quick mind digested the information. ‘I suspect he's making life hard for a friend of mine, that's all. Some dirt on him would do fine.'

‘Thinking about a little blackmail, are we, ducks?' He smiled down at her and tapped her nose affectionately. ‘Yes, I can get you some dirt. A night-cart's load if you wish. But not just yet, you'll have to wait till I've finished with him.'

‘What are you up to now?'

‘Ah, that's for me to know.'

‘You told everyone I was your confidante, your business partner. Why aren't you sharing this?'

‘I'll come good with you, darlin,' just wait a mo.'

She was dying to find out John's latest scheme, but mustn't push it; she'd never been privy to everything he was up to and vice-versa, of course. ‘Thank you, darling,' she said.

‘No, thank
you.
You've been a proper little charmer tonight, love.'

‘Have you had any more expressions of interest in the necklace?' Margaret asked, her mind still on Shepherd, wondering when John would be finished with him and when she could have her turn.

‘Several more punters want to dine with us and view it.'

‘Genuine buyers?'

‘Know them all personally, they're genuine all right. Word is Piano Charlie's coming to town too. Even if he's not interested himself, his very presence will make the others take notice. I can't see having any difficulty shifting the goods, and then . . . then . . .'

‘Then what, silly.' It was unusual for John to be tongue-tied.

‘Then maybe we, that is you and me, could, umm, you know.' John's sigh curled like a cloud. ‘What I'm trying to say is I'm tired of single-harness, Peggy.'

‘You mean throw in our lot together, as business partners?'

‘Business and private partners, I mean. Goddamnit, Pegs, since when have you been so thick?'

Margaret laughed. ‘And what about you? How often must I spell it out: I'm not throwing my lot in with you while that scum Malcolm James is hanging about. I don't like the way he gets things done. What he did to those lads in the tenement was unforgivable.'

‘Let's get this straight then. If I dump James, I get you?'

Margaret lifted her chin. ‘Yes.'

‘That might be easier said than done.'

‘You have to chose, simple as that.' Margaret pushed him away and folded her arms. She regarded John closely, trying to read the expression in his dark, close-set eyes. ‘What kind of hold has he on you, anyhow? He's not trying to blackmail you or anything, is he?'

‘Darlin', if it was blackmail, do you think he'd still be alive?'

‘It's something else then. One minute he was a low-class villain, just out of prison, whom you didn't want anything to do with, then he was practically living with you.'

Instead of reprimanding her, as she'd expected, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a document. Leaning over the balcony, he slid it under the light of the street lamp.

‘Lord Almighty!' Margaret gasped as she read the title. ‘It's a bloody marriage certificate!'

John chuckled. ‘Notification of Marriage, love. All we need do is fill out the form and turn up at Caxton Hall Registry Office with two witnesses at 2 pm next Friday. Here, you keep it and fill it out.' He handed the document to her and she placed it in her evening bag.

‘You don't do anything by halves do you, John Giblett?' she said as she snapped the clasp.

His breath caught with an unusual show of emotion. ‘You gave me a right proper scare when you jumped out of that carriage. I realised then that I couldn't live without you.'

Margaret turned from him, a mess of feelings tousling for dominance in her head. She fixed her gaze on the couple below and giggled. They were at it hammer and tongs now, squashed up against the wall, going for a right old knee-trembler. When she turned back, John lunged his face at hers and kissed her with such passion that her legs almost gave way.

‘Bugger the party,' she said when they finally came up for air. ‘Let's find a room.'

‘I ran across my old CO last night at the Rag,' Pike said, placing his knife and fork together on his empty dinner plate. ‘He implied that the Regiment would take me back.'

Florence and Violet drew simultaneous breaths of surprise.

Dody looked at him across the table, aghast. ‘You want to return to the army? But what if there's a war?' Why had he not mentioned this to her earlier, Dody thought, when they were alone? It was disconcerting to have this news thrown at her while they had company. And he had said it as casually as if he'd announced he was travelling north to enjoy some grouse shooting.

Pike raised his eyebrows, as if surprised by her question. ‘Then I will do my duty, of course.'

‘I think it rather a good idea, actually,' said Florence, recovering from her shock. ‘If I was a man, that's what I'd be doing. And on another note, I'd feel a lot more comfortable with Pike back in the army. Speaking as an active suffragette, it's deuced awkward having a policeman as a friend.'

Dody pushed her unfinished meal away. ‘How can you both speak so flippantly?' she said, forcing her voice to remain on an even keel. Someone had to take the side of rationality in this irrational conversation. ‘And you, Matthew, haven't you seen enough war?' Why, sometimes it only took a rumble of thunder or a back-firing car to make him start, to make him tremble. This was one of many the reasons she'd been so distressed to hear he'd been involved in the shooting at the tenement.

Pike shifted in his seat. ‘I know what I'd be getting myself into, believe me. But I am a trained soldier, and as such I am obliged to do my duty to my country.'

Dody felt herself redden. ‘And what about your duty to your loved ones? What about Violet?'
What about me? ‘
Your daughter has already lost her mother to violence, will she lose her father too?'

‘Dody,' Pike rejoined sternly. ‘You're pre-empting what may never happen. Even if there is a war, it probably won't be much more than a quick skirmish.'

Dody took a swallow of wine, and counted to ten in her head. However short the conflict might be, war was a young man's game, and Matthew was no longer a young
man, and he also had a permanently damaged knee. There had to be a way of talking him out of this ridiculous idea without insulting his pride.

‘Well, if there is a war, I intend on doing my bit too,' Violet announced, looking her father bravely in the eye. ‘When I've finished my nurses' training I too will apply to the military. The army will need nurses.'

Pike gagged on the wine he'd just swallowed. ‘Over my dead—'

‘Why ever not, Matthew?' Dody interjected. ‘Really, talk about goose and gander. Violet's patriotism is no less compulsive to her than yours is to you. Why should you talk about serving your country and not hold that your daughter wishes to do the same?'

‘Because it's different for a man.'

‘Matthew, how dare, you!'

Florence tapped her spoon against her glass. ‘Enough of that, both of you. If there is a war we will all have to rethink our positions. I expect I will probably serve in some capacity myself.'

‘They won't allow you to fly,' Dody snapped, refocusing her anger onto her sister.

‘No, but perhaps I can drive an ambulance.'

It was Dody's turn to almost choke. ‘Good idea, Florence. One experience of you behind the wheel and the injured will be picking up their beds and walking to the field hospitals!'

‘That was most uncalled for,' her sister shot back.

Violet hiccupped. How much wine had the girl consumed?

‘Please, ladies, let us not expect the worst,' Pike said, raising his palms. ‘There might not be a war at all. And besides, I'll still have to pass the army medical. What are my chances, do you think, Dody? Is there any medicine I can take to improve my knee?'

Of all the
. . . Dody felt a strange pressure building in her chest, the frustration of being misunderstood — had he not listened to a word she'd said? Is this how Margaret had felt just before jumping from the carriage? Dody had always thought that she and Pike had understood one another implicitly. Well, she thought with a sniff, when it came to an emotional matter like this, they were obviously poles apart. How could he think that she would be happy with this plan of his? She would rather
he stayed with the police and they remained secret lovers than marry him and lose him to a war.

‘You wrap me in cotton wool,' she said, her voice rising, her usual calm drawn like the smoke up a chimney. ‘You avoid telling me when you have been involved in a gun fight in order to protect me from worry. And then you dump this on me, this army business. I didn't repair your knee so you could go off to war and get it shot up again.'

‘It was hardly a gun fight,' Pike said, looking to Florence for support. She would not meet his eyes. She picked up her glass and took a sip of wine.

Pike dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin, tossed it onto the table and leaned back in his chair. ‘I think I've handled this badly.'

‘Yes, yes, you have,' Dody said, her spine so rigid she felt it might snap.

Violet scraped her plate with her knife, making a hair-raising sound, like nails on a blackboard. ‘Oh, do please excuse me,' she said, blushing. ‘The duck was delicious; I was just trying to scrape up every last mouthful. So much better than anything we get at the hospital.'

‘Yes, please tell Cook it was superb.' Florence addressed Annie who was busy preparing the table for the pudding course.

Dody felt Florence kick her under the table. Buck up, her sister was saying. Yes, she supposed she'd better. She mustn't let her mood with Pike spoil the evening — for Violet and Florence's sake at least.

‘I always thought the St Thomas' girls were fed well,' Dody said for conversation.

‘Tolerable stodge,' Violet answered.

Florence laughed more than Violet's answer warranted. Oh, God, Dody thought, the evening that had started with such promise would now go on forever. The clock struck ten. Annie brought in a steamed treacle pudding and Pike was given the task of serving it.

When they had finished eating, they returned to the drawing room for coffee. Florence, bless her, dreamed up another excuse to leave Dody and Pike alone. She'd bought some shoes that were too big and giving her blisters. Perhaps Violet would like to try them on? If they were comfortable she could have them.

Once the girls had left, Pike put his cup of coffee down, stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

‘I'm not going to storm off,' he said with infuriating calm.

‘And neither am I,' Dody replied, standing poker-stiff before him. ‘Much as I would like to.'

‘Good. I am glad to see that we are both behaving like adults.'

‘But I will not back down from my stand, which is that I am absolutely against your participation in any war — and not only for selfish reasons. I do not consider you fit enough, for a start.

He stood up, walked over to the fire and turned. ‘Of course I'm fit enough. And there might not be a war at all — I am merely canvassing possibilities.'

‘If there is, it will change our lives irrevocably.'

Pike swallowed. ‘You mean if I join the army I will lose you?'

‘I did not say that,' she said, looking down to ensure the ring was still tucked between her breasts.

‘What do you mean then?'

‘It means I will have to think about things — this proposal of yours.' The tightness of her throat was almost strangling her. It was just as well they hadn't announced their engagement to the girls.

‘Come here.' Pike stood by the fire, one arm out to her.

Dody remained where she was, arms folded, unmoving.

‘Very well, then.' Pike walked over and pulled her into his arms. ‘I'll come to you.'

At first she held herself like a plank, then she slowly began to bend, moulding herself to his body. The drawing room door opened and closed.

‘Who was that?' she whispered.

‘One of the girls, I think. They may as well get used to this if we are to be officially engaged.'

After several moments of silence, Dody said, ‘I don't want you to join the army, Matthew.'

‘You've made that perfectly clear.' He guided her over to the sofa and shook his head. ‘It's so unlike you to worry about things that might never happen.'

Yes, it was unlike her, she thought, as she settled down and stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. She had always prided herself on her practicality, her no-nonsense approach to life — anything less and she would never have been able to cope with her job. But since Matthew Pike had entered her life she'd
discovered another side to herself, and it was a side of which she did not always approve. This side seemed resistant to change no matter how hard her brain instructed it to be more flexible. Is this what love did to a woman? It certainly seemed to have clouded Margaret's rationality and judgement.

Dody felt a feather touch against her cheek. To her horror she discovered it was Pike dabbing at a tear with his handkerchief. So now she was crying — what next! She took a breath and attempted to pull herself together.

‘How did Shepherd react when he was given the necklace I pulled from the boy's throat?' she asked, turning to a subject she could cope with.

‘I've never seen him look so pleased. He's sent it to an expert to verify its authenticity.'

‘Did you tell him it might be a counterfeit?'

‘I did, but he chose not to hear me. I think he was planning his promotion party.' Pike paused. ‘But I thought we had a pact not to talk about death or murder tonight?'

‘You've already broken that with your talk of war.'

‘Touché.'

Florence entered the room and eyed them sitting close on the couch. ‘Have you two made up then?

‘There was nothing to make up,' Dody replied through clenched teeth.

‘Good, because Violet and I are itching to have a go at this tango — are you ready,
maestro
?'

Pike rose and offered Dody his arm. When Florence turned her back to leave the room, Pike lifted the chain and pulled the ring from Dody's décolletage. ‘Will you wear it on your finger for me, just for the remainder of the night?' he whispered.

She gave him a tentative smile as he unthreaded the ring from the chain and placed it on her finger. As she gazed upon the ring she marvelled at how natural it felt. She did not wear rings often, they interfered with her work, and when she did they felt clunky and awkward. This ring, although made for Pike's mother, could have been made for her.

‘Just for tonight, Matthew.' She pulled it from her finger and slipped it into Pike's jacket pocket. ‘But only after you have broken the news to Violet and she is not disturbed by it.'