She was still standing when I returned to the drawing room. I said nothing but raised my eyebrows.
‘Ah, yes, sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have let you know what I was up to; perhaps you could have helped.’
I maintained my silence.
‘It’s a reasonable bet that our Mr Brookfield is in the employ – or at the very least under the collective thumb – of Autumn Wind. He’s not a stupid man and yet he continues to peddle these hopeless suspects and it’s pretty obvious that he’s trying to keep us well away from anyone who might actually have had anything to do with it.’
‘I confess I thought the same, my lady,’ I said.
‘Exactly. So it can’t do any harm to play the snooty widow who has no real idea of what she’s doing, just to keep them off our backs. If I’d told you what I was up to you could have chimed in with some improvised ignorant nonsense of your own. I do apologize.’
‘Think nothing of it, my lady,’ I said. ‘I thought it might be something like that, but I didn’t want to join in in case I took things in the wrong direction.’
‘Splendid,’ she said. ‘Well, now that he’s out of the way for a bit, reporting back to his masters that we’re a pair of snooty old duffers, we can get on with some serious work.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘Is it the sort of work that will require tea? I’m spitting feathers, I am.’
‘A splendid notion, pet, yes. Make a pot of tea and we shall plot together.’
Lady Hardcastle came through to the kitchen and sat at the table while I was still putting the tray together.
‘I know I said that Lady Bickle is in no real danger, but I don’t honestly believe it,’ she said.
‘No, nor I,’ I replied, filling the warmed teapot and settling the tea cosy on it before filling the milk jug.
‘She is in the hands of capricious and arrogant men who believe themselves above the law, and if one of them should hit upon the notion that killing her would be in some way beneficial, or even just a jolly good wheeze, then her life is worth nothing.’
We sat in silent contemplation for a few moments, sipping our tea.
‘The city council’s the key, isn’t it,’ said Lady Hardcastle after a while.
‘It seems that way, my lady,’ I agreed.
‘So how do we gain access to the dishonourable members of Bristol City Council? How do I inveigle myself into their august and slightly grubby company.’
‘You could always go to that reception, my lady,’ I said.
‘What reception?’
‘You were invited to a reception in honour of some visiting Americans. You thought it would be a waste of time.’
‘So I was, so I was. I’d completely forgotten. Well done, Flo, well done indeed. What happened to the invitation? It’s not in my study.’
‘It’s in the bin over there, I think,’ I said, and pointed to the kitchen bin. ‘But I’m sure we can clean it up. No one will notice.’
‘Brava, dear girl. I shall go to the ball. When is it?’
‘No idea, my lady. Soon, though, I should think. One moment.’
I got up and rummaged around in the bin until I found the slightly tea-stained invitation.
‘Ah,’ I said as I read it.
‘“Ah”?’ she said. ‘That doesn’t sound like a positive and encouraging sound.’
‘It’s tonight, my lady.’
‘Ah.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ I said. ‘It’s RSVP, too, but at least we didn’t send regrets.’
‘Oh, that’s not a problem; I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have me there. I’ve met the King, you know.’
‘I know, my lady, you remind me often.’
‘So I’m exactly the sort of person they’d want at their soirée.’
‘They’d be lucky to have you.’
‘Quite so, pet, quite so. What time does it start?’
‘Seven-thirty for eight, my lady,’ I said, reading the card.
‘So early?’ she said, standing up. ‘How gauche. Still, we’ve plenty of time. If you’d be kind enough to seek out something elegant for me to wear we can have me all polished up and fit to be seen in plenty of time to make a late entrance. Will you drive, please.’
‘Of course, my lady. We can’t have you scuffing up your best shoes driving the Rover. I shall be an attentive chauffeuse.’
‘As long as you can speed up a bit, everything will be spiffing. Come on, then, pet – lots to do. My hair’s a mess, for a start.’
We set about preparing her for the reception.
I delivered Lady Hardcastle to the doors of the Council House on Corn Street at around ten minutes to eight – late enough not to be unfashionable, but early enough not to be rude. Having seen her safely inside, I had then driven the motorcar round the block to park on Broad Street outside the Grand Hotel between two other, slightly swankier, vehicles in the deepening shadows. Lady Hardcastle had said she would stay at least an hour so I checked that I had a good view of the corner of the building and would be able to see her when she eventually emerged, and then settled down to wait.
Although there was no particular reason to imagine that I might need them, we agreed that I should take a pair of plimsolls with me. I wore my usual boots in case I had needed to get out of the Rover and be a “proper” chauffeuse, but I had the soft, rubber-soled shoes in a bag under my seat “just in case”. Using the same “just in case” reasoning, I had replaced my white-collared blouse with a black one. There would almost certainly be no need for sneaking about in the shadows – Lady Hardcastle was just attending a civic reception, after all – but no one ever came a cropper from being too well prepared.
As much for something to do as anything else, I removed my boots and slid my feet into the plimsolls. It was a warm evening and I had already shrugged off the heavy driving coat. It felt odd to be excluded from Lady Hardcastle’s activities again after nearly a year of being away from the London’s social scene but I also had the reassuringly familiar feeling of being “on duty” again. Since that night in Shanghai when Lady Hardcastle had finally revealed why she was so often absent for days at a time and had invited me to join her in her world of espionage and intrigue, I had spent many evenings sitting silently in the shadows, watching and waiting.