A Death at a Gentleman's Club Read online

  Richenda snorted.

  ‘The very least you can do is ring up Stone and ask him to tell Hans you are safe and well, and will be returning shortly.’

  Richenda rolled her eyes. ‘And no,’ I said. ‘I am not ringing up your husband a second time to tell him where you have run off to. Once was enough. Besides, Amy will be asking for you.’

  It was this appeal that reached her. ‘Oh, very well. Come with me at least. I don’t like using those infernal machines.’

  However, when we reached the front desk, the porter there regretfully refused to allow us access to the phone. ‘I am sorry, ladies, but it is more than my job’s worth. I have my orders.’

  ‘From whom?’ demanded Richenda, her eyes blazing. Now that she could not use the telephone, she wanted to use it more than anything else.13

  ‘Mr Stapleford, Ma’am,’ said the porter. ‘He’s had orders from the Foreign Office.’ The porter nodded in a serious way that suggested there was a lot more to this than he was able to tell us.

  ‘How ridiculous,’ said Richenda. ‘Where is my wretched brother? We’ll soon see about this.’

  At that moment a tall gentleman, carrying an ebony cane and dressed in an excellent suit, entered the foyer. I gauged him to be in his early forties. His dark hair had begun to grey at the temples and his face had deep frown lines, but for all that he had those saturnine good looks that some females admire. He tipped his hat to us.

  ‘That’s me for the day, Evans,’ he said to the porter and walked towards the door.

  ‘Mr Prendergast,’ said Evans. ‘I think…’

  ‘Not now, Evans. On the way to an important meeting,’ said Prendergast and reached for the door. It was only then that I realised the doorman was missing. I turned to look at Evans, who tugged uncomfortably at his collar. I looked back at the door. Prendergast pulled and pushed, but the door refused to budge. ‘Damn thing is stuck, Evans. Where is Walters?’

  ‘On the other side, sir. He’s turning people away now that we’ve closed for the day,’ said Evans. I saw his knuckles go white as he gripped the edge of the desk.

  ‘What rot are you talking about, man? Of course the club isn’t closed. Not unless you have decided to lock us all in! Ha!’

  I pursed my lips to avoid a smile. Bertram had come up with an idea after all. I had to admit it was neat, even if it was liable to antagonise everyone present.

  ‘Mr Stapleford’s orders, sir. No one is allowed to leave.’

  ‘Who in perdition’s name is Mr Stapleford? I’ve never heard of the man.’

  ‘He’s had orders from the Foreign Office, sir,’ said Evans. ‘It’s to do with Mr Lovelock’s sudden demise. Apparently, his memoirs are missing.’

  ‘What the devil has that got to do with anything,’ said Prendergast, striding towards the desk. Richenda and I, as one, moved out of his way. ‘I have told you I need to leave at once for an urgent meeting,’ he said and with that he brought his cane smashing down on the desk to emphasise his point. Richenda jumped. Evans’ knuckles went even whiter, but he held his ground.

  ‘It’s more than my job is worth to open that door,’ he said. Prendergast leaned over the desk. ‘Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the key,’ said Evans, his voice taking on a squeaky quality. His hands remained affixed to the edge of the desk, but he was now leaning backwards away from Prendergast.

  ‘Why, you little whippersnapper,’ he said in a low menacing voice, ‘if you don’t open that door at once I will use your head as a battering ram.’

  I stepped forward. ‘I hardly think that would be appropriate,’ I said sternly.

  Prendergast turned around. Evans finally released his hold and bolted into the backroom, shutting the door behind him. Not, I thought, a man of great moral fibre.

  ‘I will thank you not to interfere, ma’am. This is a Gentlemen’s Club.’

  ‘Then I suggest you start behaving like one,’ I said. ‘I can confirm that Mr Stapleford is acting on orders from the Foreign Office. I believe officials are currently on the way here. I am sure when they arrive everything will be explained to your satisfaction.’ I stood my ground, but I felt nervous. Although, moments before, he had appeared the gentleman, Prendergast’s colour was up and his eyes glistened in a most unpleasant way. I did not think he was fully in control of himself.

  He pointed his cane at me. ‘Poppycock,’ he said. ‘I do not believe for one moment that a woman would be more au fait with events than myself. If there was a serious situation in the club I would have been informed. I am the honorary secretary.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Stapleford is unaware of your position,’ I said. ‘You do not appear to be wearing a badge.’

  I had gone too far. The man raised his cane. I cut in at once. ‘I suggest you think very carefully about your next action. I am the granddaughter of an Earl. My fiancé is also present. Neither would take kindly to you behaving in such an ungentlemanly manner.’

  Prendergast uttered what can only be described as a growl and stalked off. Richenda, who had not left my side, emitted a loud breath. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘I thought he was going to go for us there. Nasty piece of work.’

  ‘Isn’t he just,’ I said. ‘And if it proves that Lovelock was murdered I would put him top of my list of suspects.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Richenda. ‘Are you about to have another adventure? Only, I do not think your mother will approve. And is Bertram really working for the Foreign Office? I know he speaks French, but I’ve never thought of him as the type to take charge in a situation.’

  I shook my head. ‘We should go and find him,’ I said. ‘He can explain better than I.’

  ‘He’s gone now,’ I called over the desk. Evans’ head appeared round the side of the door jamb, quickly followed by his body. He was holding an umbrella. ‘I went to get this to defend you, ladies,’ he said quite unable to look either of us in the eye. ‘I’m not up to much with my fists, so I got a weapon.’

  ‘How thoughtful,’ said Richenda. ‘It doesn’t matter now. My friend has seen him off with her best weapon - British grit and a sterling backbone.’

  Evans had the grace to blush. I noticed, however, that he placed the umbrella under the counter in easy reach. ‘Is Mr Prendergast often so - so irate?’ I asked him.

  ‘Not often, miss. He had a bad time in Africa. Apparently, before he went out there he was known as a jovial personage at the club.’

  ‘That would be why they elected him secretary,’ said Richenda.

  Evans nodded and opened his eyes wide enough to show their whites all the way round. ‘I hear terrible things happened to him in the jungle.’

  ‘Oh, do tell,’ said Richenda promptly.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ said Evans. ‘Even thinking about them tales gives me the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘Was he a friend of Mr Lovelock?’ I asked and then quickly added. ‘I wondered if his demise might have unsettled him.’

  ‘Not that I know of, Miss. They were of different generations, if you ask me.’

  I thanked him and tipped him a shilling. ‘You will have earned yourself a pint in the local establishment by the end of the day,’ I said. He gave me an odd look, but swiftly pocketed the shilling.

  As we walked away Richenda said, ‘It is not really the role of a lady to tip.’ She blushed slightly. ‘Not that I am saying I know how to be a lady better than you do.’

  ‘I would not do so normally, but Bertram never carries pocket change. Rory McLeod saw to all that sort of thing. It seems unfair that such gratuities should go undistributed because your brother cannot carry change without fiddling in his trouser pockets in a most unseemly manner.’ Richenda suppressed a laugh and only succeeded in snorting.

  We found Bertram on his own in the corridor. He was pacing back and forth, clearly deep in thought. ‘Has the man with the tools still not appeared?’ I asked.

  Bertram looked up and blinked owlishly. ‘What? Yes. Been and gone. Work of a moment to get into the drawer. Useless lock. Rem
ind me to get McLeod to check the locks at White Orchards.’ Then he remembered and looked particularly glum. ‘I suppose I shall have to do it,’ he said and sighed as if he had given himself a Herculean task. He began to pace once more.

  ‘Were the papers there?’ I asked.

  ‘What? No. Empty as a poor man’s purse,’ said Bertram. ‘I’ve locked us all in.’

  ‘I do hope you haven’t swallowed the keys,’ said Richenda. ‘He did that once, you know, when we were small. Locked Richard in a wardrobe and swallowed the key.’

  ‘Of course I haven’t swallowed the keys. They are in a secure place.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘There are some difficult people here.’ And I told him of our encounter with Prendergast.

  ‘What a rotter!’ said Bertram. ‘Not that you didn’t send him on his way with a flea in his ear. Jolly good show and all that. Thing is, I’ve a whole smoking room full of the fellows and I’m rather concerned that Fitzroy would want me to take matters forward. I’ve told the waiting staff and the porters they must stay too, but no one seems to be able to find me a duty sheet, so I can’t be sure no one slipped away.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think a waiter stole these papers?’ said Richenda. ‘Or was the man murdered?’

  ‘No, and I don’t know,’ said Bertram.

  Richenda looked to me for explanation. ‘What Bertram is thinking is that, although it is most unlikely that one of the staff stole the papers, it is quite possible that one of them might be persuaded - with a suitable economic endorsement - to smuggle the papers out.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Richenda. ‘How clever of you to think of that.’

  ‘As for the unexplained death, we have learnt that Lovelock often took heroin, having been prescribed it many years ago. It is an old habit of his, but it is always possible that he accidentally overdosed. It may be like some other medicines in that one can build up a tolerance to it. Do you know about such things, Bertram?’ I asked.

  ‘Dammit, Euphemia! I wanted to keep the sordid parts from you. How did you… don’t tell me, Fitzroy.’

  ‘He called again to say he is being detained even longer than he hoped.’

  ‘Rats,’ said Bertram. ‘We will have to interview them, then. That is, if you will help, Euphemia. I think a woman’s touch might keep things calmer.’

  ‘Or infuriate them,’ said Richenda. ‘I don’t think you should tell Euphemia’s mother and stepfather that you work for the Foreign Office.’

  ‘We don’t,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Then explain your situation to me,’ said Richenda.

  Bertram and I looked helplessly at each other.

  ‘Perhaps I should ask this Fitzroy when he appears.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Bertram anxiously. ‘He’s a tricky fellow. You don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t want anything to do with him.’ The latter part of the speech was said with deep feeling.

  ‘Well, for now, I shall leave you and Euphemia to do whatever it is you are not doing and return to the lounge. I assume everyone there can be ruled out as they would have been in eyeshot while Mr Lovelock died? Or was he quite cold when you found him?’

  ‘Poor fellow was still warm,’ said Bertram and gave a small shudder.

  ‘I believe it takes a certain amount of time for the living warmth to leave a body,’ Richenda remarked. ‘I read about it in the Mystical Section of Country Hostess. Your friend Madame Arcana writes the column.’

  ‘Go away,’ said Bertram. ‘Not you, Euphemia, you need to come and meet the members I’ve managed to round up. They’re all in the smoking room.’

  ‘Will there be drinks?’ said Richenda.

  We both looked blankly at her.

  ‘During the introductions? Is there anyone interesting amongst them?’

  ‘It’s not that kind of introduction, Richenda,’ I said quickly before Bertram responded in a blistering manner. Richenda was far from unintelligent, but she defaulted to a society frame of mind rather than a murder investigation one. Something that had become the reverse for Bertram and me. ‘We will be asking them questions to ascertain if any of them have accidentally removed -’

  ‘Or stolen,’ said Bertram.

  ‘The memoirs of Mr Lovelock.’

  ‘Or even killed him for them,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Golly!’ said Richenda. ‘What on earth do you ask that makes people confess?’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ I said. ‘It’s usually more about working out why someone would want to do - well, whatever has been done.’

  ‘I don’t know, Euphemia, we have had one or two notable confessions,’ said Bertram, giving me a wink. He seemed to be cheering up now there was actual work to do. Or, perhaps, he liked looking more knowledgeable than his older sister.

  ‘Is it interesting?’ asked Richenda.

  I shifted position quickly, treading on Bertram’s foot before he answered.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Bertram, regarding me like a puppy who had been kicked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s very boring.’

  ‘Oh, well, maybe I should help,’ said Richenda, sounding a lot less keen. ‘I don’t want to shirk my responsibilities.’

  ‘I think you might be too intimidating,’ I said quickly. ‘Why don’t we bring you in later?’

  ‘As a sort of specialist?’ said Richenda.

  Bertram glowered at me and rubbed his foot.

  I was suddenly struck by an idea. ‘Actually, what you could do is take a look around the place. If Bertram has the main suspects corralled in the smoking lounge, and my family is in the coffee lounge, you could take a look about the place. I doubt the porters will like it, but there’s not a lot they can say if you say you’re helping Bertram.’

  ‘You mean I can say I’m with the Foreign Office?’ said Richenda, her voice rising to an excited squeak.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Bertram doesn’t work for the Foreign Office. He has received a request from them and you are aiding him. It’s not the same thing.’

  Richenda tossed her head in a remarkably excellent impression of her favourite horse. ‘You’re splitting hairs.’

  ‘No, she’s not -’ began Bertram.

  I interrupted him again. ‘Believe me, Richenda, you would not like to face down the people who are on the way and explain why you are impersonating government officials. Technically, I believe they could still throw you in the Tower. The Tower of London,’ I added when she frowned.

  ‘Think how the children would miss you if you were incarcerated anywhere,’ added Bertram in a master stroke.

  ‘All right,’ said Richenda. ‘I have been wondering what is upstairs.’ She headed off down the corridor.

  ‘Do you think we should tell her to be careful?’ I said.

  ‘I think we should tell the staff to hide,’ said Bertram frankly. He scowled at me. ‘I do wish you would stop stepping on my feet. It’s become quite a habit. I never realised you were so clumsy.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘But I will keep you from trying to say inappropriate things.’

  Bertram’s scowl deepened. ‘I suppose being an honourable you would know.’

  ‘So, who am to meet?’ I asked, refusing to take the bait.

  ‘It is easier to show.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘Do not expect them to like you.’

  As we walked along the red carpeted corridor together I said, ‘It was most clever of you to lock the doors. Where did you put the key?’

  ‘If you don’t know they can’t force it out of you,’ said Bertram grimly.

  I did my best to suppress a smile but failed. ‘It is only a group of older gentlemen in the smoking room, is it not? Short of waving their canes at us, what can they do?’

  ‘Explain that to Lovelock,’ said Bertram and threw open the smoking room door.

  13Rather like a dog that ignores its bone until you try and take it away, at which time it will do its best to take your arm off.

  Chapter Eight

 
; In Which I Behave in a Most Ladylike Way and am also Quite Undignified

  The moment the door opened my eyes began to water. I have heard others talk of the fog of a smoking room, but at all the houses where I have been, and gained admittance to this sacred male arena, there had never been that many smokers. The same could not be said here. Tendrils of smoke reached out towards me and the extremely strong odour of cigars assaulted my nostrils.

  ‘Rather slaps one in the face, doesn’t it.’ said Bertram, giving a slight cough.

  I waved my hand in front me. ‘How utterly ridiculous,’ I said, sounding and feeling like my mother. I strode into the mists. I managed to collide only with two small tables, before I staggered to the other side of the room and threw open a window. The cries of alarm and anger that greeted this action could surely have been no more than if I had thrown a bomb into the place. Indeed, they might have preferred a bomb, as it would have added to both the smoke and fog.

  The smoke fled with surprising alacrity out of the sash window I had thrown up. I had feared it might be nailed shut, but it opened with an ease that suggested that sometimes, when the room was empty, the staff must come and air the room. For this I could only be grateful. The tobacco smell, one I normally do not mind, was enough to make a cat sick. Shelves of books lined the room, but I doubt they were ever read. On the walls above the bookcases that rose only two-thirds of the way up the wall were the stuffed heads of a number of tropical animals. All of these were portrayed bearing their fangs as testament to the brave hunters who brought them down. The room was littered with chairs, both wing-backed and chesterfield, a number of small tables, and a single larger one. On these tables was a variety of humidors, ashtrays, decanters, half-full glasses of spirits, and soda siphons. In the corner stood a small unit filled with what appeared to be packs of cards, game boards, and boxes of pieces. The overall effect was to give the room a cluttered and crowded appearance. The windows, of which there were two, were along one side of the room, and faced out of the back of the building into the gardens beyond. Though the lawns were neat there appeared to be no sign of activity outside. I could imagine that at the height of summer it would be perfect for cricket or croquet, but I was yet to see evidence of enough active members to make up a half-decent team. The door and the fireplace faced each other. The impressive marble hearth had been stacked up with logs upon logs. Next to it sat a large basket of more fresh logs, and close to this, practically in the hearth itself, sat the irascible gentleman Richenda and I had previously met, Prendergast.