The Blood Royal (9 page)

‘They’re
detectives
, these women?’ Incredulity and envy were blended in her tone.

‘Yes, indeed.’ He looked at her sharply, pleased with her reaction. He thought he was beginning to understand what made this girl tick. And her interest chimed with his own. He would have no problem in fostering it. ‘You’re impressed by these young ladies?’

‘I’ll say! Detectives! I hadn’t realized it was possible. Lucky women!’

Joe smiled in quiet triumph to hear the longing in her voice. He was seeing his way through to his goal at last.

‘I believe, along with Philip, that the talents of you and others like you are being under-used in the force,’ he confided. ‘But the Geddes Axe has swung over the police service as much as other public services – we have a four-year war effort to pay for, after all, and we musn’t grumble, Wentworth, must we? But your numbers have been halved – you’re reduced to fifty now, I believe, and the ultimate target is a mere twenty. And that doesn’t please some of us. I, for one, am determined to hang on to the core of exceptional women remaining to us and pray that Nancy Astor can work her magic in Parliament to get the women’s contingent reinstated.’

Daring and undisciplined. A view contrary to that of the Commissioner himself. That would make her think and wonder.

He gave her a glance across the desk, the calculation in the eyes meant to be offset by the smiling lips. Joe thought grimly that he was probably recreating the effect, in his present state of dark dishevelment, of an ancient Greek reveller he’d seen decorating a vase in the British Museum. Bearded, knowing, conniving and with the same winsome smile, the Attic figure had been leading a garlanded heifer. With one reassuring hand he caressed the silken flank, with the other he tugged on the rope, urging the animal forward up the Sacred Way. If you walked round and inspected the far side of the vase, you could see that they were only steps away from an altar where they were confidently awaited by the priest who stood at the ready, sacrificial knife raised.

‘Your name, Miss Wentworth …’ the smiler with the butcher’s knife administered a further calming pat, leaning confidingly towards her though there was no one else in the room, ‘has come to the top of the dismissals list, as I would imagine you’ve calculated, perceptive girl that you are. And that’s exactly what I ought to be doing this morning – handing you your cards and showing you the door. You were aware of this, of course?’

He waited for her nod before going on. ‘But it’s my opinion that you would be a loss to the force and I’m suggesting a way of circumventing the necessity to terminate your contract. I propose a scheme which, rather than striking your name from the roll, will put it in brackets and move it sideways, so to speak … something on those lines,’ he finished vaguely. A slashing hand mimed the expunging of her name and was followed by a demonstration of the bracketing: two cupped hands moving with the care of a cricketer’s to draw aside and bring to safety.

Lily’s eyes followed them, mesmerized. Large, brown and capable hands. The message they were conveying was easily understood. In the small space between them lay her career. It could be dropped or held firm and she was powerless to decide the outcome.

She made no comment and he pushed on. ‘But further, I think there should be a change in the character of your employment. I’ve chosen you, Miss Wentworth, to help me out. In a rather unusual duty. It’s all a bit hush-hush. Got a dainty summer frock, have you? Well, I want you to mothball that ugly blue outfit you’re wearing, get into mufti and do a bit of undercover work for me.’

‘What? Like a spy, you mean? Like Mata Hari?’

Joe managed not to smile at her innocent remark but his reply was light and teasing: ‘Something like that, perhaps. But I don’t envisage you making an appearance, like that unfortunate lady, before a firing squad. And seducing generals would be an entirely optional activity. No – I simply want you to blend in with the surroundings I’m going to pop you into. I want you to help me sort out a little problem I find I have.’

‘Why me, sir?’

‘Because I’ve seen for myself that you have pluck and initiative. From your file – and from the admiring Stan – I gather that you are utterly reliable. And – a rather essential element in my schemes – you’re a girl who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty. The task I have in mind is hardly one for a lady …’

Her glare told him he’d made a faux pas. Unaccustomed to making social gaffes, Joe was flustered. ‘Er … don’t misunderstand me. I intended no insult, Wentworth. And you
will
understand that when you embark on the very particular task I’m about to set you. I was merely trying to convey that I have no use for idle flibbertigibbets who spend their mornings in Asprey and their evenings in Ciro’s.’

‘Horses for courses?’ she suggested.

‘Exactly! You know where you are with horses,’ he said, grinning. ‘You read me right – I’m not looking for a thoroughbred so nervy you have to clap blinkers over its swivelling eyes to stop it dancing sideways.’

‘If you’re seeking a plodding percheron, I can’t help you, sir.’

‘Quite! I’d be looking at you a long time before a cart horse came to mind, miss! No – what I’ve got my sights on is a hunter. Light bay with an intelligent eye. Shows courage over fences. Ideally one that doesn’t bite your hand off down to the arm-pit when you offer it a sugar lump.’

At last she’d smiled at him. He returned her smile and forged on. ‘Now – a further test. The lout you sat upon at Paddington … the Sparrowhawk. Had you been in charge of the case instead of Inspector Proudfoot, how would you have proceeded with him?’

She nodded and sat forward in her chair, understanding that her interview had, at last, got under way. She spoke up with confidence. ‘I’d have located his headquarters and raided it.’

‘Easily said – but if he refused to reveal its whereabouts? And I have to tell you – he
did
refuse. Rather forcefully. Hard man under that foppish exterior.’

‘I would have assumed so. But there were other indications. The flowers were freshly bought and the florist whose wrapper was still around them might have something to tell. But, for speed, I’d have consulted the one reliable witness we already had at the scene. The witness who would have led us straight to his base of operations. I’d have just followed the dog, sir. Let it lead me to its home, which would most probably have been a shortish distance away – I’m guessing somewhere north of the park, along the Bayswater Road. Then I’d have mounted a raid.’

‘Good. Good.’ He nodded. ‘Proudfoot – and the dog – got there in the end.’

‘And the little girl and her brother?’

‘Are safely lodged with the aunt they’d set out to find in London. She lives out east in one of those streets between Petticoat Lane and Spitalfields … they’d never have found her under their own steam. The poor woman! She’d no idea they even existed, so it must have been quite a shock when the NSPCC knocked on her door. But she rallied round quite admirably, they report, and took them in. And what a Dickensian scene I imagine
that
to have been! They were runaways from a particularly distressing situation in their home village. Brave little pair. They’ll come through.’ Something in her expression made him add: ‘And yes, I shall be checking on their well-being.’

He slid a file across his desk at her. She’d passed the first two of his four tests. Physically: perfect. Under nine stone, less than five foot seven and attractive. Intellectually: astute. But what sort of a strategist was she? He needed a girl who could think for herself, and fast. He’d decided which fence to put her at.

‘And now we come to it … the reason I summoned you here. Your first case, Wentworth. Disturbing, urgent and of national importance. I want you to acquaint yourself with the contents of this file, which must not leave my office. When you’ve read it—’

She interrupted him. ‘Sir, excuse me but I’m meant to go on Park patrol in half an hour.’

Joe wasn’t pleased to be distracted by routine. ‘Park patrol? Forget it. Don’t concern yourself with regulations. Consider yourself removed from whatever were your daily duties. I’ll have a word with your commanding officer. Tell me – to whom do you report?’

‘To Inspector Margery Stewart, sir.’

‘Ah! There’s a piece of luck. The Honourable Margery, eh? A distant cousin of mine. I’ll square it with her. Leave all the boring operational stuff to me. Now – this file …’

The telephone rang and he snatched up the earpiece at once.

‘Speaking. Ah, yes. The matter is in hand. In fact I have her here in the room with me right now.’ Sandilands glanced across the desk at Lily, who was politely scrambling to her feet to leave the room. He flapped a hand to indicate that she should remain seated. ‘No. I won’t be pushed on this. You interrupt my interview. Yes, yes … entirely suitable. And I’m sure I can say ready and able … Not fully briefed yet, of course.’ He paused to flash a placatory smile at Lily. ‘Understood … I’ll work to that.’

He replaced the earpiece, deep in thought, then exclaimed, made a pantomime of shaking the fatigue from his head, and picked up the phone again. When the switchboard answered, he asked, ‘Can you reconnect me please with that last number? It was extension 371.’

‘You’ve got Sandilands back. I forgot to say – don’t try to get me here at my desk until at least tea time. I shall be out at the scene.’ A burble of protest at the other end was audible even to Lily and set Joe frowning. ‘It’s my back yard. My concern. My responsibility. You’ll just have to await further instructions.’

His broadside delivered, he hung up, grinned at Lily and picked up his conversation where he’d left off. ‘When you’ve read it – and assuming the telephone doesn’t ring in the meantime to announce that the Home Secretary has decided to accept the resignation I put on his desk first thing this morning – we’ll proceed to St George’s hospital with a notebook and a bunch or two of flowers. Now—’

‘Hang on a minute! You’ve turned over two pages at once there.
Your
resignation? Blimey! Sir!’ Astonishment stripped away the veneer of cool accent, revealing something more earthy and emotional below. ‘You’re never giving up. Over this business of the admiral? Go on with you. You shouldn’t do that, sir.’

He bit his lip. Fatigue. He’d said too much. But what the hell! It had provoked a spontaneous but sympathetic reaction. Joe decided to follow up his unexpected advantage. ‘Least I could do in the circumstances. You and me both – in the same boat. And if
I’m
scuppered, so are you. Your career and mine are hanging by a thread this morning. And, I’ll tell you, it’s the same thread. With gross unfairness I carry on as though nothing has happened … I offer you a new partner one moment only to have you discover the next that he is compromised. Professionally speaking, of course.’ He peered at her suspiciously, realizing that her composure was unusual. ‘Some girls would have been wailing at me by now … or weeping … Don’t you care?’

‘I’m still trying to absorb your news, sir. And its implications.’ She leaned towards him, fixing him with eyes which he could have sworn held a certain understanding and – at last – approval. ‘And of course I care. It would seem to me that a great injustice is about to be done. It’s not my place to say it, but – don’t go chucking in the towel. Surely there’s something you could do?’

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking away to glower moodily into the middle distance. And then, with the brittle firmness of a man who has just come uncertainly to a decision: ‘It seems to me we have three choices: we can combine our strengths – such as they are – to plot a rearguard action and go down fighting; we can accept our fate and hear each other rehearsing our farewell speeches in the taxi; or we can simply jump ship. Leave this mess behind us. Climb aboard the next boat train and be in the casino in Monte Carlo by tomorrow evening, glass of champagne in hand.’ Joe fell silent, caught out by a sudden heady vision of eyes full of mischief holding his over the rim of something chilled and fragrant. The champagne bubbling between them was Pol Roger 1911. The eyes were dark and deceitful, and after all these months they still had the power to ambush his thoughts.

He saw Lily’s very different eyes flare in surprise and fix at once on the notes in front of her. All three of his suggestions were alarming and ought never to have been uttered, fuelled as they were by a cocktail of exhaustion, tension and guilt, and triggered by the lethal touch of female sympathy. Always his Achilles heel. Joe sensed, too late, that he was losing control, teetering on the crest of an emotional wave and threatening to drag this innocent down with him. What must she have thought?

She seemed aware of the danger and, when he might have expected a hissing intake of breath and an offended drawing away of skirts at his desperate third suggestion, she replied calmly, ‘I don’t agree. There is a fourth. And I suspect it’s a course you’ve already decided on. We simply carry on doing our jobs for a bit longer. I’ve got a week to work out. That’s the routine. Not sure how long you have – it’s probably different for the upper ranks. I would suggest carrying on normally while awaiting further developments. See what the Home Secretary has to say and then think again.’

He nodded glumly, regretting his outburst and avoiding her eye.

‘And then, sir, when you know the worst, I’ll join you in whichever of the above schemes seems most attractive. With a preference for the last.’