Bloody Royal Prints (18 page)

“Thank you for explaining,” Rachel said. “On a happier note, I hear you are coming to Heyward's party tonight?”

“Yes. I'm so excited! I never get to go to a party. I'm sure I have you to thank for the invitation—you're a good friend. But speaking of the party, I must go home. I have an appropriate dress, but I need to air it, make sure it's in decent shape.”

She stood up and Rachel walked her to the door. “I will see you tonight,” Rachel said.

She returned to the library and sat down. She didn't know what to think. She'd pass all this on to Heyward. Maybe he would find it useful. The mystery of her bloody clothes was explained. Julia was amazingly calm about it. Just another nasty trick by someone who hated her. Living in the Little Palace must be terrible.

Friday night, May, London

When Heyward's car pulled up in front of Scott's, Coleman was startled to see great torches on the front of the building, and a doorman wearing a tailcoat and a black bowler. When they stepped out of the car, lights flashed around them. Did the lights go on when they walked on the pavement that led to the doors?

She turned to Heyward. “I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.”

He laughed. “I thought you New Yorkers were used to bright lights.”

“Not like this,” she said. “Somehow this is more exciting, more glamorous than a party in New York.”

•••

Coleman looked around at the private room. “It's perfect,” she said.

The Art Deco room, hung with bright-colored art, was spacious and inviting. A long table, arranged to seat fourteen people, was covered in a pale yellow tablecloth. Bowls of mixed yellow and white spring flowers, and low enough not to block the view of any guest, decorated the table. The amount of space around the table and chairs was exactly right—perfect for the group to circulate, but not too roomy.

She stood by Heyward to greet the guests as they came in. She was glad he had declared the evening to be black tie. All men looked their best in black tie, including Heyward. She had packed several evening dresses, and might buy more while she was in London, if many events called for them. Tonight she wore her new green satin dress, with a matching green satin cap, adorned with a few green feathers, inspired by an outfit she'd seen in the magazine
Majesty
. She also wore the emerald necklace and earrings Heyward had given her for her last birthday.

Dinah and Jonathan were the first to arrive. Dinah usually wore blue evening dresses to show off her blue eyes, so startling with her black hair, but tonight she wore a form-fitting white satin dress, glittering with opalescent sequins, and a spectacular diamond necklace and earrings. Coleman smiled to herself. No one would outshine Dinah tonight. Jonathan was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. He doted on Dinah, and loved seeing her dressed up. She rarely dressed up as much as she had tonight.

After Dinah and Jonathan's arrival, the other guests poured in. Coleman met Rachel, magnificent in wine-colored velvet and the fabulous antique gold jewelry Dinah had told Coleman about, escorted by her lawyer, George Quincy. They chatted a few minutes and Rachel invited her to lunch to talk about their book publishing project. Coleman was pleased to accept. Rachel was likable, as well as intelligent and friendly.

The older couple who came in with Rachel and Quincy had to be Quincy's sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Darny. Lady Darny, in gray satin the color of her hair, and silver jewelry, looked elegant and dignified—perfectly dressed for her age. The Darnys and George Quincy seemed somewhat stiff, but very nice. Rachel's friend Lady Fitzgerald, a tiny, fragile-looking woman, wore lavender velvet, and a cluster of violets on her shoulder. She puzzled Coleman—she seemed skittish, and rather silly, but her pale blue eyes were intelligent, and she was observing everything and everyone around her. Jane Ross, in an exquisite pink dress, had piled her hair high on her head and topped it with a pink veil, and a sprig of pink feathers. All the women were wearing the fashionable long, slim look that the Duchess of Cambridge had appeared in more than once.

A stunningly handsome man arrived alone. Who could he be? He was well over six feet tall, and slender—the kind of slender that suggested he played tennis and other fast games. His tuxedo included the slim trousers that all the well-dressed men in London seemed to wear. His dark brown hair tended to flop onto his forehead. His face was craggy, and his profile and golden eyes reminded Coleman of an angry hawk. But when he smiled, as he did when Heyward introduced him, his ferocity melted away, and he looked warm and friendly.

“Coleman, this is Anthony, the Duke of Omnium's son. You should thank him for letting us use the family airstrip yesterday,” Heyward said.

Coleman smiled up at him. “Are you like Lord Peter Death Bredon Wimsey, with a long string of names?”

He laughed. “Guilty, I fear. But please call me Tony.”

“Do you solve crimes as a hobby, like Lord Peter?” she asked.

He laughed again. “Far from it. I always thought Lord Peter should get a real job.”

“Then maybe you work for Scotland Yard, like Thomas Lynley, eighth Earl of Asherton?” she said.

“You know your English detective novels, don't you? No, I don't work for Scotland Yard, but I do have a crime-related job, and thanks to you, it's just become easier,” he said.

“I can't imagine how. What do you do?” Coleman asked.

“I work for an agency that specializes in the recovery of stolen art and antiques,” Tony said. “I understand I have a lot to thank you for. Thanks to you, a long list of stolen art and antiques has been recovered, and a number of criminals arrested. Your discovery at 23 Culross Place is terribly important. We arrested people who're going to turn on their bosses. We're also going to make some antique and art owners very happy when we return what they lost.”

“I'm so glad,” Coleman said.

“You'll be the toast of England. Let me be the first to drink to you.” He lifted his champagne glass and said, “To Coleman, with congratulations and gratitude!”

Coleman smiled, and was about to thank him when the animated conversation in the room stopped, replaced by silence. She turned to see what had caused it.

She was astonished to see a fair-haired young woman in an enormous blue taffeta ball gown over petticoats and a hoop. She was holding up her skirt with both hands, revealing long white pantalets, authentically frilled at the bottom—very antebellum South, although no Southern belle would have held her skirt that high. She wore a tiara, earrings, and a necklace of what appeared to be real sapphires. Coleman raised her eyebrows and looked at Dinah, standing next to her.

“I'm pretty sure the sapphires are real, but borrowed from a jeweler. As for her dress, I can't imagine where she got it,” Dinah murmured.

Jeb Middleton walked in behind the woman's hoop skirt. He wore traditional black tie, a gardenia on his lapel, and an atypically sheepish expression.

“Who's the woman?” Coleman asked Dinah.

“Princess Stephanie—I wrote you about her. An idiot, and a crybaby. She's the one who made etchings that were stolen, and the thief is trying to extort money from her. She told Rachel she borrowed jewelry for grand occasions. This is a grand occasion, but it's not a costume party,” Dinah said.

“I remember all you told me about her. She and Jeb are an odd couple. I can't imagine why he let her dress up like that. This isn't a United Daughters of the Confederacy party,” Coleman said.

“I've heard that Princess Stephanie is telling people she's staying at the Connaught with an American lover. Her lover must be Jeb,” Dinah said.

“I liked him when I met him in New York, but if she's his kind of woman, he's definitely not my kind of man,” Coleman said.

“Nor mine,” Dinah said.

Heyward, normally imperturbable, seemed taken aback by the newest arrivals. “Jeb, welcome. Everyone, this is Jeb Middleton from Charleston, South Carolina. Jeb is in London assisting me with some of my projects.

“Jeb, I haven't met your companion. Please introduce her—but first, tell me, did you have her outfit sent over from Charleston? I know you're a loyal southerner, but making your companion wear a hoop skirt is a bit extreme,” Heyward said.

Jeb laughed. “Not my idea. This is my friend Princess Stephanie. Stephanie, this is your host, Heyward Bain, and this is Coleman Greene, Heyward's sister and the guest of honor. I think you've met Dinah Greene Hathaway—”

“Oh, I know Dinah,” Stephanie said. “We're old friends. I know Rachel, too. No, Heyward—you don't mind me calling you Heyward, do you? Jeb didn't give me this dress. I had it made for the occasion. I know you and Ms. Greene are from the South—I wanted to make y'all feel at home, so I'm wearing your native dress. Do you like it?”

Coleman could see Heyward struggling for a polite answer. She knew Heyward was annoyed with Jeb for bringing Stephanie to the party. Heyward must know all about her. He wouldn't like her calling him by his first name, either. She took him off the hook.

“Thank you for the thought,” Coleman said. “I've never worn a hoop skirt, but Dinah has. She was a beauty queen in high school and wore a dress very like the one you have on.”

“Yes, and it was a terrible nuisance. I couldn't get into a car, and when I sat at a table, I took up three spaces,” Dinah said. “Incidentally, you don't have to drawl when you talk to us. I think Jeb is the only one of us who has that Deep South accent.”

“Really? I thought all southerners talked like that,” Stephanie said.

“No, and hardly any of us wear hoop skirts,” Coleman said.

“I suggest you remove the hoop,” Dinah said. “It's not like you'll be naked. You have on all those petticoats and those pantalets.”

“Oh, I can't do that,” Princess Stephanie said. “I can't remove the hoop—the dress will droop. I'll look terrible!”

“I'm afraid Dinah is right,” Heyward said. “You will have to dispense with the hoop. The table is set for fourteen people, and there's no way to rearrange it to accommodate the hoop.”

“Oh, no,” Princess Stephanie cried. “Please don't make me remove the hoop.”

“Speaking for the southerners you're honoring, there's no choice. We can't sit down to dinner until you get rid of the hoop,” Coleman said.

“Maybe I should just leave,” Princess Stephanie said. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

“There goes the crybaby act,” Dinah said into Coleman's ear. “She can weep for hours.”

Jeb stepped in. “Don't be silly. The restrooms are just down the hall. Run down there and get rid of the hoop so we can have dinner. The food here is delicious.”

He was echoed by a murmur of agreement from the group, and everyone began to move toward the table. Coleman was pleased to be seated by Tony, but not so happy to see Charles Ross, who had accompanied Lady Jane—and who looked a lot like her—on her other side. Coleman was sure she'd seen him in the menacing crowd at the Ross office. Would he be as surly and rude as his relatives had been? Why had Heyward seated him next to her?

Before she had a chance to speak to either Charles Ross or Tony, Stephanie returned, and all eyes focused on her.

She had scooped up the blue dress and all the petticoats, and was holding them over her arm. She marched in, with the pantalets in full view. She was in no way exposed, since the pantalets were made of thick cotton, but she had set out to make people look at her. The effect was vulgar and crude. “I want to make sure I don't crowd any of you,” she said crossly.

Coleman and Dinah exchanged glances of disapproval. Stephanie was a disagreeable little thing. She needed lessons on manners.

Heyward had placed Stephanie between Jeb and George Quincy. Jeb pulled out her chair and seated her. She looked around, spotted Tony, and batted her eyelashes. “Are you southern, too?” she asked.

Coleman saw him stiffen. She could tell he didn't want to meet Stephanie or introduce himself to her. “No, Tony is an old friend from the North,” she said, her fingers crossed. “Jeb and Heyward are the only southern men here tonight. But you should get to know George Quincy, who's sitting beside you. He's a well-known lawyer who lives here in London. You never know when you might need a good lawyer,” Coleman said.

She heard Dinah swallow laughter and Tony sigh with relief. Charles Ross looked at her suspiciously.

Coleman smiled at him and at Stephanie, and turned to the waiter, who was asking if she wanted oysters, smoked salmon, or razor clams as a first course. She chose razor clams because she'd never tasted them, and didn't even know what they looked like. When they came, she was thrilled with her choice. They were grilled with garlic and a dab of spicy sausage and served in their own six-inch-long shells. Delicious!

The main course was Heyward's favorite: grilled Dover sole, with new potatoes, tiny green beans, and creamed spinach. Coleman had heard that seafood in England was the best in the world, and after she'd tasted the sole, she believed it. She looked up and down the table. Everyone seemed to be enjoying their food and their companions except for Charles Ross and Stephanie. Both were silent and sulking.

She turned to Tony and said, “Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Only when you talk to me,” he said. “Tell me all the things you want to do while you're in England.”

“I will, if you promise not to laugh.”

“I promise,” he said.

“First, ride the London Eye. I want to see bluebells in bloom—they're in bloom now, aren't they? I really want to see them. I have friends in New York who come to England in February to see snowdrops—I'd like to do that someday. I want to see and touch a hedgehog.”

“Okay. What else?”