An Old Money Murder in Mayfair Read online

  The crystal teardrops tinkled as Mr. Quigley fluttered from one branch of the chandelier to another. “You don’t think so?” She stretched out her arm and whistled. Mr. Quigley swooped down and landed on her wrist.

  “Well! That was impressive. He’s never come when I’ve called him.” I was relieved he was out of the chandelier, but I didn’t want him to flitter away again. “Shall we return him to my room?” I moved to the door.

  “I suppose so.”

  As we climbed the stairs, Mr. Quigley leaned into Gigi’s hand as she stroked the feathers along the back of his head and neck. He didn’t look as if he was about to flit off to the farthest corner of the ceiling, but I was glad when we neared my room. Gigi nodded toward Addie’s door as we passed it. “I invited Addie to join us on the treasure hunt tonight, but she said she wanted to be left alone. I wasn’t awake, but Stella told me Addie went out this morning, and when she returned, she was in tears. Went flying up to her room and shut the door.”

  I opened the door of Mr. Quigley’s cage. “Addie was in a sunny mood this morning at breakfast. She said she was meeting Rollo in the park.”

  Gigi held her wrist down to the cage, and Mr. Quigley fluttered to his perch. “Must be a lover’s spat, then. I tapped on her door again later, but she wouldn’t open it. She said she didn’t want to speak to anyone.” Gigi’s tone was incredulous, as if she couldn’t imagine shutting herself away. “I invited Clara too.”

  “Really?” I would have thought that after Clara’s role in the Murder Party, Gigi wouldn’t want to have her along.

  Gigi must have seen the surprise on my face because she went on, “She was only doing what Granny instructed her to do. Poor Clara really doesn’t have much of a choice, you know.”

  Chapter Seven

  I gathered the golden folds of my long skirt, took Inglebrook’s extended hand, and stepped out of the motor in front of Grafton Galleries. He reached to help Gigi next, but she barely touched his hand as she hopped from the motor to the pavement. Inglebrook had driven his motor, a Bugatti, and met us at the nightclub, while the chauffeur from Alton House had brought Gigi, Clara, and me in the family’s saloon motorcar. Gigi looked completely recovered from the rather traumatic experience of the evening before.

  A man striding down the pavement toward us wearing a thick wool coat over his tuxedo caught Gigi’s eye. He lifted his top hat, an admiring look on his face. She dipped her chin into her fur coat collar and returned his smile. As he disappeared through the door to Grafton Galleries, Gigi lifted her shoulders and drew in a breath of the freezing air. “Oh, it’s so good to be out of the house.” She twirled back to the motor. “What’s taking you so long, Clara? Let’s go. We could be dancing right now.”

  “Sorry.” Clara, gripping Inglebrook’s hand tightly, emerged from the motor. “My heel caught in my hem.”

  Gigi had reiterated her invitation for Clara to join us on the treasure hunt when Dowd sent word that the dowager had opted for a dinner tray in her room and planned to retire early. Gigi had shaken her head. “Granny will never admit to feeling unwell. She thinks taking to one’s bed is a sign of weakness. I don’t understand it at all. I simply adore lounging in bed.”

  Clara hadn’t seemed overly excited about the invitation, but she’d appeared in the hall as Elrick handed us our coats. She wore what I assumed to be another of Gigi’s castoffs, a beautifully cut gown of pink chiffon that complemented her pale complexion, bringing out the pink of her cheeks and lips. With her quiet restrained manner, she didn’t seem like the type of person who’d enjoy the frivolity of London’s nightclubs or what I was sure would be a madcap treasure hunt, which was slated to start at the stroke of midnight. I wondered if Clara had come along merely for a change of scene, but then I saw how her gaze tracked Inglebrook’s every movement as he stepped back from the motor so the chauffeur could close the door.

  We left our coats in the gallery’s cloakroom, then Clara and I followed Gigi to the powder room. Gigi dumped a pile of safety pins out of her handbag. Gigi twisted her arm around and unzipped the back of her dress so that it came open, revealing her shoulder blades. She picked up a safety pin, turned so her back was facing me, and held the pin over her shoulder. “Pin it open, won’t you?”

  “What? Your dress is lovely as it is.” She looked spectacular in a midnight-blue frock. The sheath design dropped straight from her shoulders to her calves and had a modest scoop neck and long sleeves. The whole thing was encrusted with sequins and shimmered with her every movement.

  “Granny has decreed that Elrick not let me leave unless I’m wearing something ‘decent,’ which means the dress must have a full back and long sleeves. However, I refuse to look dowdy. A low back is all the rage now.” She wiggled the pin. “So tuck the edges under and pin it back in a scoop shape.”

  Another girl farther down the row of mirrors held two safety pins in her mouth as she folded the fabric of her friend’s dress, exposing her friend’s back down to the waist. The modification Gigi had asked for would look tame compared to the other girl’s dress.

  She waved the safety pin. “Come on, Olive. I want to dance before the cabaret.”

  I knew Gigi well enough to know that if I didn’t pin her dress, she’d have someone else—probably Clara—do it. I folded the material back and inserted the pins into the fabric, careful to avoid damaging the sequins. “There. Now you’re all the rage.”

  While I’d been working on the back of her dress, Gigi had been tying a low knot in the long rope of pearls she wore. She draped the strand across the front of her throat like a choker, then let the knot fall against her spine. She had style. Even with a self-modified gown, she looked fabulous.

  She took her powder puff and dusted her face with dead white powder. “I’d offer to pin your dress, Olive, but that gown is perfectly cut, and you look wonderful as you are.” She turned toward Clara, who’d been hovering a few paces back. “Clara? What about you? Would you like me to pin your dress?”

  “Oh no. That wouldn’t be appro—”

  Clara broke off and looked like she wished she could take the words back, but Gigi said, “I know it’s not appropriate. That’s why I like it.” She swept the rest of the safety pins back into her handbag. “Come on, girls. Let’s have some fun.”

  Grafton Galleries was an art gallery during the day, but in the evening the basement was transformed into a nightclub with tissue paper covering the paintings of nudes. I wondered if it was to prevent damage from the cigarette smoke or if the proprietors felt the images were too racy for display during the evening.

  Couples swirled on the dance floor to a lively foxtrot. Small circular tables draped with long white tablecloths ringed the dance floor. A babble of conversation and laughter came from the tables as men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns shouted over the music.

  I danced with several young men and enjoyed swirling around the dance floor. A couple twirled by, the woman with a close-fitting white turban covering her head. The pair turned, and Essie fluttered her fingers. A brooch in the design of a cobra rearing up with a flared hood was pinned in the folds of the turban at the center of her forehead.

  I caught a glimpse of Gigi in Inglebrook’s arms. The next time my partner circled me around, a young man who’d been dancing with Clara was tapping Inglebrook on the shoulder. The young man cut in, spinning away with Gigi. Inglebrook, his mouth in a flat line, held out his hand to Clara. My partner swung me away, and I lost sight of them, but when the music ended, I saw them again. Clara was saying something to Inglebrook. He answered, but his attention was concentrated across the dance floor on Gigi.

  While we danced, my partner, a polite young man Gigi had introduced as “Dougie,” recounted the story of how Plummy Smythe had motored into a hedge at full speed. My feet were beginning to ache—I’d been on them all day—so I was glad when a cabaret was announced. My partner returned me to our table, where Inglebrook was holding a chair for Clara as she took a seat beside Sebastia
n Blakely. Inglebrook excused himself and merged back into the crowd coming off the dance floor.

  Sebastian and I exchanged greetings. The current style for slicked-back hair only emphasized Blakely’s gaunt features. The small lamp on the table highlighted his protruding cheekbones, but his deeply set eyes were in shadow, giving him a skull-like appearance. I’d met him recently when Gwen and I attended a party at his home, Archly Manor. He was well known for his cutting wit and his photographs of high society beauties. Because I’d been helpful in sorting out a distressing problem at Archly Manor, he’d hired me to complete an inventory of the art at another of his estates, Hawthorne House.

  Gigi must have ended the dance with Mr. Tower, because they were weaving through the other couples leaving the dance floor. Gigi had wrapped her arm around his elbow and was snuggled up to his side. Despite the difference in height, they looked quite cozy, but as soon as they approached the table, she broke away from Mr. Tower to greet Sebastian. Gigi leaned close to him and spoke over the clamor of voices around us. “Sebastian, darling, it’s simply delightful to see you. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in eons.”

  “Rusticating in the country, thanks to Olive.”

  Gigi turned to me. “Is that so?”

  Sebastian stubbed out his cigarette. “Olive was instrumental in resolving a problem for me at Hawthorne House.”

  “Was she?” Gigi turned to me, clearly wanting to hear more, but Inglebrook returned at that moment and the conversational thread dropped as we shifted our chairs to make room for everyone around the small table. For just a moment when Inglebrook walked up, he hadn’t looked pleased when his gaze fell on Sebastian and Gigi with their heads close together. Had I misread Inglebrook’s manner with Gigi in the drawing room the evening before? Was he interested in more than flirting and banter?

  Gigi took out a cigarette, and Inglebrook leaned forward quickly with his lighter as Sebastian said to me, “How do you find your new flat? All settled in?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Under cover of the long tablecloth, I worked one foot out of my shoe and wiggled my toes. “Someone swiped it out from under me before I could move in.”

  “Rather unsporting of them.”

  Gigi blew cigarette smoke up to the ceiling and turned away from Inglebrook. “It’s too sick-making.” She touched Sebastian’s arm, and Inglebrook frowned. “I don’t see how Olive does it. She’s been tramping all over town today, looking for a new place to live.”

  “And were you successful?” Sebastian asked.

  “Not yet,” I said with more optimism than I felt.

  A musical fanfare sounded, and a line of young women dressed as chocolate boxes filed onto the dance floor. The round and square boxes covered in glitter and bows encased the dancers from shoulders to thighs. The music began and they launched into their routine, weaving and circling in time to the music.

  “What sort of place are you looking for?” Sebastian asked over the music.

  “My list of requirements is quite short—something small that doesn’t have moldy wallpaper.”

  The women dressed as chocolate boxes spun, then lined up and performed high kicks. Sebastian took out a gold card case and a small pen. He scribbled something onto one of the cards and handed it to me. “I might know of something that could work. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, ring me up.”

  “That would be wonderful,” I said, but I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. Any place Sebastian recommended would likely be far outside my budget.

  A chorus of cheers rang out, and I turned to look at a group of three men lifting their arms in a toast. “Why, that’s Felix,” Gigi said and waved to him as the chocolate boxes made their bows and exited. A woman in a dark shawl and full-length dress took center stage and launched into a ballad.

  Felix lifted his glass at Gigi but didn’t cross the room to our table. He looked completely transformed with a radiant smile on his face. Gigi strained her neck to see the men in the group. “I believe one of those men . . . Clara, isn’t that the man who produced Felix’s play?”

  Clara leaned to the side. “Yes, I think it is. Mr. Evans, wasn’t it?”

  Gigi sighed. “I do hope they’re not planning another play. Granny won’t hesitate to disrupt his plans again.”

  “Hope springs eternal,” Sebastian said, his gaze focused on Inglebrook, “whether there’s a reason for it or not.”

  Inglebrook’s handsome features hardened, but before he could say anything, Gigi said, “Sebastian, it’s been wonderful to see you, but I think we should look in on the Embassy Club. And Lisbet’s treasure hunt starts soon. It will be screaming fun, you know.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  Gigi picked up her handbag. “Care to join us?”

  Sebastian put away his card case and settled farther back into his chair. “I’ll read about it in the newspaper tomorrow. Run along, little ones. I’m far past the age of participating in childhood games.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Here it is,” Gigi called, and I hurried across the small courtyard to where she stood beside a sundial. The treasure hunt had begun at Horse Guards Parade, where Lisbet had outlined the rules and given the first clue. Then we’d divided up into couples and roared off through the empty London roads. It had been quite an experience with motors flying along the dark streets, three and sometimes four abreast as each driver vied to take the lead.

  Frumpy Jones, who was in the passenger seat of a Vauxhall with its top down, had stood up and called, “Tally-ho!” as we sped around Piccadilly Circus, then fell back into his seat with a plop as the driver accelerated and cut off another motor. That had been hours before at the beginning of the race. Gigi and I were now in Pickering Place, a tiny enclave off St. James’s Street.

  Gigi flicked on her lighter. The courtyard had gas lamps, but they didn’t provide enough light to read the piece of paper she’d found. She skimmed it. “Oh, it’s one of those with word pairs where the first letter of the answer forms the next clue. The first thing on the list is ‘girl,’ so its opposite would be ‘boy.’ Next is ‘down,’ so that would have to be ‘up,’ but then—here. Take a look, Olive. You’ll figure it out faster than I will.”

  As the hunt progressed, the players had gradually spread out, and it was difficult to tell who was in the lead. After each team found a clue and deciphered the next location, they left the clue in place so the people behind them could continue with the game. I was pretty sure Gigi and I were near the front of the pack, mostly because of the pristine condition of the paper clues. This sheet of writing paper was still crisp and unwrinkled.

  Gigi held the lighter over the paper for me. “All right,” I said. “Next on the list is ‘Troilus,’ so the match for him is ‘Cressida.’ Then ‘Petruchio.’ His match would be ‘Katherine.’” I paused to scan along the list, counting the clues. I looked up. “It’s Buckingham Palace.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. It’s the correct number of letters. The last clue on the list is ‘Harrow,’ which has to be ‘Eton.’ And can you think of another location with sixteen letters that begins with ‘b-u-c-k?’”

  Gigi snapped the lighter shut. “Let’s go.” As I replaced the paper on the sundial, a motor throbbed, then brakes squealed. We froze, immobile in the darkness, our breath making little puffs of white air.

  Doors slammed. Chatter and giggles filled the air as footsteps rang out, moving along the pavement past the enclosed arcade-like passage that led from Pickering Place to the street. We gave it a few seconds, then plunged into the darkness of the narrow wood-paneled passage. We emerged onto the pavement to find an empty motor parked behind our taxi, which was several yards away. Gigi had instructed the driver not to park directly in front of the passageway so as not to give away the location of the clue. A third motor, a yellow Bugatti, its engine a throaty purr, swept to a stop a few yards behind us.

  Inglebrook emerged from the car and hurried around to open the door
for Clara. “See you at the finish line, Captain,” Gigi called as we dashed off to our taxi. Gigi and I went to opposite sides of the cab, slid in, and slammed the doors.

  The driver twisted around, his arm across the seat. “Where to now, my lady?”

  “Buckingham Palace.”

  He let out a whistle and moved through the gears quickly, dodging to the side of the street as several motors came toward us head-on, filling the road as they drove side by side. He reached for his horn, squeezed the bulb, and produced a fanfare of hoots. One of the motors fell back, and we passed them, flying by in the opposite direction.

  Gigi looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was following us. “Do you know a shortcut to the palace?”

  “I’ll have you there in a few moments,” the driver said.

  If we were in the lead, it was mostly thanks to Gigi. When we assembled for the race, Gigi had disappeared for a few moments, then returned and said she’d hired a driver from the taxicab rank for the night and that she and I would be a couple, leaving Inglebrook to pair up with Clara. Inglebrook had been put out by the arrangement. He was too much of a gentleman to say anything, but his frown had spoken volumes.

  “I don’t think you’re endearing yourself to the captain tonight. He expected that you would be his partner.”

  “It never hurts for a man to wonder where he stands.”

  I braced my hand against the side of the door as the driver made a quick turn. Gigi had hired a taxi driver because he knew all the shortcuts and could get us to the locations quickly. She was quite competitive. I hadn’t thought that trait was prominent in me, but I found myself swept up in the excitement of the hunt. We’d all contributed five pounds to the kitty, which Lisbet would award to the winner at the end of the race. Considering that there were over fifty people participating in the treasure hunt, it was a significant amount.