The Mystery of the Clockwork Sparrow (17 page)

‘Is that so?’ asked Lil, grinning back.

The photographer reached into his pocket. ‘Look, here’s my card,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Why don’t you drop into my office tomorrow morning, and I’ll show you the pictures when they’re developed? Perhaps we can talk about whether you might do some other photographs for me sometime soon?’

As Lil made her way back towards the table where Mr Pendleton was waiting, she glanced down at the photographer’s card, and then over to the empty table where Gregson was now sitting alone. It was just possible, she thought, that their visit to the restaurant might not have been such a waste of time after all . . .

No evening toilette would be complete without a bandeau, the perfect finishing touch for a young lady’s coiffure. This elegant beaded creation is ornamented with a jewelled pin, and is certain to impress at even the most stylish evening occasions, whether a first night at the theatre or a society ball.

T
hick, dark clouds rolled in over London. Wind surged up the river, turning the water dark and turbulent, and whisking the first of the spring blossom from the trees. Fingers of marsh-scented fog began to creep out across the city, and by Saturday morning Piccadilly was a sea of glossy black umbrellas.

Outside Sinclair’s, doormen braved the storm to flag down motor taxis for ladies of fashion, who were anxious about the effect of the rain on their new spring hats. People moved faster than usual, tutting and shaking their heads at the weather. Inside the store, though, all was warm and bright. Sinclair’s was crowded with damp shoppers, taking refuge from the rain and gossiping about the grand opening party that would be taking place that evening. As the hour of noon approached, a little cluster of people gathered in the Entrance Hall in front of the enormous golden clock. It had already become something of a tradition for children to be brought here by their nurses to see the hour sound, clapping their hands in delight as the figure of a lady and gentleman, each holding an umbrella, appeared from small doors on either side of the clock, and bowed to each other gravely before retreating once more. The sight of so many muddy footprints stretching across the marble floor of the Entrance Hall caused Sidney Parker to shake his head and send Billy running for a mop and bucket.

‘Just as long as it clears up in time for this evening,’ Miss Atwood muttered to herself, gazing out of the office window at the damp street below.

She didn’t really believe that a little rain would put off the guests attending Mr Sinclair’s much-anticipated opening gala, but she did feel that it might hamper the mood. How would the guests be able to enjoy strolling on the magnificent roof terrace in this awful drizzle?

‘Mr Sinclair doesn’t have all day, you know!’ she snapped abruptly to the typewriter girl who was finishing the latest version of the list of guests expected to attend the evening party.

‘I – I’m sorry, Miss Atwood, ma’am,’ she squeaked nervously, as the private secretary whisked the finished list from between her trembling fingers and strode off in the direction of the Captain’s office.

In the basement, the rain drummed rhythmically against the high windows. Billy, Joe and Lil perched on boxes, sharing a packet of sandwiches, Blackie the cat prowling around them. He had all but abandoned the boiler room, and seemed always to be in the basement, spending most of his time snoozing behind a warm pipe in Joe’s usual corner. Now, he curved himself around Lil’s ankles, purring loudly.

But not one of them was paying him any attention. They were all gazing at the photograph that Lil had brought back from the photographer’s office that morning.

‘That’s him, all right,’ said Billy, trying not to drop crumbs on the picture.

Joe squinted through narrowed eyes at the face of the man who could be seen in the background of the photo. ‘That can’t be the Baron,’ he said dismissively. ‘He looks like a proper dandy – a toff.’

‘He met Sergeant Gregson exactly like the message said,’ Lil argued. ‘And there’s no question that Gregson was frightened of him.’

‘Was this the only picture?’ Joe asked her.

‘I think so. I pocketed it when he went to make me a cup of tea. I don’t think he’ll even miss it. It isn’t anything like the best of the photographs. But it’s the only one you could see
him
in.’

Joe stared at the image. Was this really the Baron? He didn’t look anything like the monster that was whispered about on the streets of the East End. Instead, he was simply an expensively dressed, but otherwise ordinary man: he could have been almost anyone.

But as he looked, this initial sense that here was just an ordinary man began to dwindle. There was something in the shape of his shoulders, the intensity of his eyes, the fierce lines of his face that spoke to Joe of menace. He had seen those qualities too many times before not to recognise them clearly – and the Baron, for all his fancy clothes, suddenly seemed a powerfully threatening figure. He repressed an abrupt desire to shiver.

‘It’s a shame you can’t really see Gregson, only the back of his head,’ Lil was saying, leaning her chin on her hands as she looked over Joe’s shoulder at the photograph.

‘We’re going to need more than this if we’re going to prove that he’s working for the Baron,’ Billy agreed. ‘But all the same, it’s a good start.’

As he headed back towards the stable-yard, Billy’s thoughts were racing. He felt sure that having an actual photograph of the Baron – a man whom hardly anyone had ever seen – must be tremendously important, but what could they do with it?

He pulled on a mackintosh cape and went out into the rain to help unload cases of champagne for the party that evening, his mind running over the scene in the restaurant yet again: the man leaning over the table talking, and Gregson’s tense face as he listened. What had they been talking about? The Baron had the jewels already, but was there something else he was planning? And if so, why had he come to the restaurant at Sinclair’s, of all places, to tell Gregson about it?

The questions ran through his mind at a hectic pace, but for once, no one seemed to notice that he wasn’t paying much attention to the task at hand. They were far too distracted themselves: the store was buzzing with excitement about the party that evening.

Even for Sinclair’s, this would be an unusually luxurious affair. The maid who had brought down their morning tea had spoken in lip-smacking detail of the delicacies that were being prepared in the kitchen: smoked salmon and caviar, lobster and stuffed snipe. There would be desserts like something from a fairy tale: pastries fluffy as clouds and powdered with sugar; lighter-than-air castles spun from meringue and cream; ice-cream cakes smothered with strawberries.

But the refreshments were not all – there would be spectacular entertainments too. London’s finest orchestra would be playing in the Entrance Hall, where mannequins dressed in the store’s most exquisite Paris gowns would give a dress parade. Unexpected performances would be taking place throughout the shop: a renowned opera star would sing; a
prima ballerina
would dance; and a master illusionist would perform. There would be dancing in the Exhibition Hall; cards in the Gentlemen’s Smoking Room; and an immense supper would be served in the Marble Court Restaurant. Amidst all this, Mr Sinclair’s specially invited guests would be free to sip champagne and explore the store at their leisure. The staff were required to stay on and work throughout the entire evening. They would have an extra meal in the refectory from six o’clock, and they would all work until two o’clock in the morning, when the party would at last come to an end. It would be an exceedingly long and tiring day, but the staff felt that they could put up with that, when it meant they would have the chance to witness all the sights of Mr Sinclair’s opening gala.

Most of all, everyone was excited about the party guests. All of London’s finest would be attending: aristocrats and West End stars; intellectuals and famous beauties; politicians and celebrated artists and writers. Most exciting of all, the typist from Miss Atwood’s office had whispered of a Very Important Royal Personage who was expected to be in attendance. More than one shop girl found her attention wandering that afternoon, as she dreamed hopefully of a rich, eligible young man coming to her counter that evening and falling head-over-heels in love.

The only person who seemed unaffected by it all was Mr Cooper. Striding about the store, dressed exactly as usual in his habitual severe black, his keen eyes did not miss a single smear on a brass doorplate, or a single scuff on a salesman’s shoe. As the afternoon drew on, a rumour began to travel around the store that Sinclair was planning a surprise inspection to ensure that everything was perfect in advance of the party.

‘Best make sure it looks tip-top,’ said Bill from Sporting Goods, warningly, to Claudine. ‘Sid reckons the wind’s in the east.’

Claudine looked alarmed. Sinclair’s staff had taken to using the phrase ‘an east wind’ to indicate that the Captain was in one of his rare tempers, and unlikely to tolerate even the slightest imperfection. She murmured ‘
Zut alors!
’ and hurried off to relay the message to Monsieur Pascal in the salon.

Upstairs in Ladies’ Fashions everything was immaculate, and the shop girls were fighting for a place before the looking glass to check their hair was tidy. But across the way in the Millinery Department, all was in disorder.

Minnie and Violet were rushing to and fro from the storeroom and Edith was struggling to deal with a tottering tower of boxes when Lil appeared, carrying a hat-box tied with a blue ribbon in each hand. ‘I say. Where do you want these?’

‘Where have those come from?’ demanded Edith, crossly. ‘

From the mannequins’ dressing rooms,’ explained Lil. ‘We shan’t be needing them after all.’

‘Well, that’s all I need! Oh – just put them down anywhere.’

Lil did so, and then paused. ‘You really ought to pull your socks up, you know,’ she said briskly. ‘The Captain is going to be walking round the store at any moment and you don’t want to let him see the place looking like this.’

‘I
know
that, thank you very much,’ Edith snapped back angrily. As she spoke, the boxes she was holding slipped between her fingers and crashed to the ground, making several smart ladies examining a display of velvet turbans turn and frown at the sudden burst of noise. One of them shot Edith a very disapproving look through her eyeglass.

Lil helped to pile up the boxes once more. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Where’s Mrs Milton?’

‘She’s gone home with the toothache,’ said Edith, sounding rather despairing now. ‘It’s been frantic all afternoon, and we’re already short-handed with Sophie gone.’ Then she glanced up at Lil. ‘Listen – can you help me?’ she blurted out.

Lil gazed at her, astonished, wondering if her ears had deceived her. ‘Help you?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘You want
me
to help
you
?’

‘Oh well, if you feel like that, you can just shove off then,’ said Edith turning away, her face flaming as she carried on stacking up the hat-boxes.

Lil stood for a moment and watched thoughtfully as Edith wobbled into the storeroom and flung the boxes down. Even in its current untidy state, the little room still reminded her of Sophie. She remembered how they had sat on the floor and Sophie had told her about her father’s death. It seemed unthinkable that she would never be here again.

She glanced back at Edith and made up her mind. ‘Very well, I’ll help you,’ she said. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Half an hour later, the Millinery Department was tidy again. Whilst Edith and the other girls dealt with the customers and tidied the shop floor, Lil worked in the storeroom, bundling hat-boxes on to shelves and even sweeping the floor. When she had finished, Edith muttered a few embarrassed words of thanks.

Lil looked at her for a long moment. Then she said lightly, ‘You’re very welcome, Edith. I’m sure you would have done the same, had it been Sophie who needed help.’

She turned on her heel and walked away, feeling that some small justice had been done, humming one of her favourite songs from the show quietly under her breath. As she went back towards the staircase, she caught sight of Sinclair, leaning over the counter in Ladies’ Fashions to speak to a terrified-looking salesgirl. Behind him was Cooper, with a grim expression; then Miss Atwood, carrying her notebook and looking rather vexed. Even from a distance, it was easy to see that the two were not enjoying one another’s company. The other shop girls stood nervously to attention, awaiting their turn.

But Lil felt oddly indifferent. After what had happened to Sophie, she couldn’t help thinking that getting ticked off for having dirty hands or a smudged counter-top seemed awfully trifling, even if it was by the Captain himself.

She was still humming as she ran lightly down the stairs and back towards the mannequins’ dressing room, her mind busy with thoughts of making her debut on a real West End stage that very evening, and all the excitement that was to come.