‘“Dirty doings”, my lady?’
‘Quite so. Skulduggery and ne’r-do-wellism of the blackest stripe. And doesn’t that make you wonder if the inspector is going to be allowed to investigate things entirely freely? If the chaps at the top are up to no good, they’re not going to let the chaps at the bottom bring them to book, now are they?’
‘You make a compelling case, my lady,’ I said. ‘But we’ve already upset our only source of information.’
‘Mr…?’
‘Mr Brookfield, my lady.’
‘Oh, he’ll be back. He’s a journalist – they’re tenacious chaps. Even if he just gets in touch to try to pick a fight, he won’t let this lie and he needs allies with “connections”.’
‘Like you?’
‘Like us, pet, yes. You didn’t believe all that flannel about our detective skills? He wants help from someone a little higher up the social ladder than he’s able to reach on his own. And from his fishing I’d say he strongly suspects that we might have connections beyond the local smart set. We’ll hear from him before the week’s out.’
‘And what will we say?’ I asked.
‘We’ll say… oh, here we are.’
We had arrived at the milliner’s shop. With a display of achingly fashionable hats in the window, and a gold-painted sign reading “Brighting’s” which somehow managed to be at once bold and discreet, it was clear that this was no ordinary hat shop. The bell tinkled as Lady Hardcastle opened the door and we walked in.
‘Good afternoon, madam,’ said the tiny woman behind the counter. ‘How may we help you?’
‘Good afternoon to you,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘My friend Lady Farley-Stroud recommended you. She said you might be interested in making a hat to unusual specifications.’
‘Ah, yes, Lady Farley-Stroud. A charming lady. How is she?’
‘Passing well, I think,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’ve not seen her for a couple of weeks, but she was in fine form when last we met.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said the milliner with an ingratiating smile. ‘Now, when you say “unusual specifications”, madam, exactly how unusual do you have in mind.’
With some enthusiasm, Lady Hardcastle outlined her harebrained scheme for the “holster hat”, and produced the Derringer from her handbag to illustrate the size of the weapon that would have to be concealed. The milliner, who had introduced herself as Mrs Brighting, seemed amused and intrigued by the plan in equal measure and chipped in with several expert suggestions of her own, and before long they had roughed out a design for the new hat.
I sat on a stool in the corner and tried not to tut or sigh.
With the trams still not running, we took a cab back to the motorcar in Clifton and were home in plenty of time for me to prepare a light supper. The conversation turned to corruption and scandal and once again we were reminiscing about our escape from China.
The journey down the Irrawaddy and into Rangoon was not without incident, but such stories as I might tell would be more suited to a travelogue, or even a treatise on natural history. There was beautiful scenery, charming people, exotic (and occasionally terrifying) wildlife, and almost no danger at all.
Similarly, Rangoon, with colonial and Burmese buildings jostling for space and a populace jostling for trade, was intriguing, thrilling and beguiling but never properly threatening. We secured a berth on a ship bound for Calcutta and it wasn’t too long before we were in contact with trustworthy representatives of the Foreign Office.
We had been missing, presumed dead, for nearly three years and our arrival at the government offices in the spring of 1901 caused something of a stir. Our debriefing by senior Foreign Office officials took several weeks but once they were satisfied with our accounts of the events of the past three years and had asked us seemingly endless questions about the submarine, the surveillance of which had precipitated our rapid departure, we were free to go. Or, rather, we were free to rejoin the active roster.
As far as any foreign powers were concerned, it was Lady Hardcastle’s husband, Sir Roderick, who had been the spy. He had been a rising star in the Foreign Office, and espionage followed him wherever he went. It had also stopped the moment he had been killed. No one except his killer had known that it was his wife and her maid who were up to no good, and he hadn’t had time to tell anyone before Lady Hardcastle had shot him.
And so we returned to a life of apparent idleness and privilege among the British community in Calcutta. That is to say that Lady Hardcastle returned to a life of apparent idleness, while I returned to a life of catering to her every whim. The privilege, though, was very real for us both – our lives were as comfortable as can be. There were lunches and dinners to enjoy, bridge games to play, polo matches to watch, parties to host and to attend. And all the while we were collecting information on visiting foreign traders, politicians, and the wealthy and curious from around the world.
One of Lady Hardcastle’s regular bridge partners was an old friend, Major George Dawlish. They had known each other since they were children and his presence was almost certainly what made us stay in India much longer than we had originally planned. His regiment went on regular postings to assorted outposts but whenever he was in Calcutta, we put him up at the house that Lady Hardcastle had rented. He joined us on many adventures during the two years we were in India, including the unmasking of a South American merchant as a saboteur in what became known as The Poisoned Banana Tree Affair, foiling the attempted assassination of a minor member of the Russian royal family, and a run-in with an Austro-Hungarian spy who styled himself Der Mungo (the Mongoose) who almost succeeded in stealing sensitive military documents but who left empty handed in more ways than one – not only did he fail to steal the papers, but he returned home with two fewer fingers than he had come to India with.
By far the most disturbing affair, though, involved a shadowy organization known as Autumn Wind, and it was to them that our conversation now turned.
‘So what do you think, pet? Do you see any similarities between events in Bristol over the past couple of months and life in Calcutta during the time of the Autumn Wind?’ asked Lady Hardcastle, swirling the cognac in her glass and gazing into the softly flickering flame of the lamp on the table.