The Blood Royal (6 page)

‘You’ll be wanting to preserve the prints in evidence, officer,’ suggested a voice whose assurance echoed the quality of the tailoring. ‘This weapon may well have been used in previous crimes.’ The stranger laid the knife at her feet and straightened. Lily noticed that he kept his brogue firmly on the Sparrowhawk’s hand.

She was aware of a hatless head of well-barbered black hair, a brown face, clean shaven and confident to the point of unconcern. With an outpouring of relief she began to gabble her thanks. ‘Oh, well done, sir! Lucky for us you were passing. Always a member of the public ready to come up in support, thank God,’ she heard herself say. ‘The Commissioner should hear of this.’

‘I’m sure he will, Miss … er, Officer 1555. One way or another.’ He seemed amused. ‘Ah! And here, a little late, and buttoning up his unmentionables, comes your valiant escort. Let’s hope he has at least remembered his handcuffs.’

The stranger’s voice took on a military tone as Halliday panted up. ‘Constable! Glad you could join us. You nearly missed the party. Arrest this recumbent person on a charge of attempted kidnap of minors, intent to wound a female officer of the law, uttering obscenities in a public place and littering the environs of the station. And anything else that occurs to you.’

He stepped aside and retrieved an untrampled white rose stem from the floor, broke off the bloom and stuck it with a flourish into the band of Lily’s hat, which had remained firmly in place throughout the proceedings. ‘Oh, and let’s be sure not to forget proxenetism,’ he added. ‘I’m sure a little research will confirm: proxenetism. Cuff the villain and take him to the local nick. You may give my name as a witness of events.’

‘Sir! Yes, sir!’ Halliday grunted, hauling the prisoner’s arms behind his back and clicking on the cuffs. ‘At once, sir!’

‘Dash it. I may have missed my train,’ grumbled the military man and, snapping off a gracious salute to Lily, he picked up his overcoat and briefcase and marched off at the double. Lily watched him go, mortified that she hadn’t thought to return his salute. Still, with her right hand firmly entangled in the Hawk’s greasy hair in the prescribed controlling hold, the other clutching her whistle, perhaps the gentleman wouldn’t have expected it.

Halliday turned his attention to Lily. ‘Proxy what was that?’ he said. ‘What was he on about?’

‘He meant procuring. Getting hold of young children and exploiting them for felonious purposes. It’s from the Latin word for pimping. We’ve collared ourselves a predator, Halliday. A sparrowhawk. But that chap – the country gent with the nifty footwork and the nice smile – what did he say? Use his name? I didn’t hear him give one. Should we—’

‘He doesn’t need to give it. Everybody knows
him
! Commander Have-a-go-Joe Sandilands,’ Halliday groaned. ‘That’s who you were showing off for. Interfering sod! Nice smile? Huh! And you’re trying to tell me you didn’t know him? Pull the other one!’

‘No, honest, Halliday, I didn’t.’

‘Well, you can get up now, 1555 – the prisoner can’t breathe. And your audience has slung its hook. Take that silly bloody flower out of your hat! What
do
you think you look like? Gawd! I was only in the gents for a minute,’ he protested. ‘He got my number. I saw him looking. That’s my police career over.’ He glowered at Lily. ‘But I’ll tell you something, Miss Showoff, if I go down, I’ll take you with me. There’s things they ought to know about you.’

Lily wasn’t going to allow his threats to dampen her triumph. ‘He got my number too,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that was a man who misses much. But first things first – never mind this villain …’ She gave one last triumphant bounce on the Hawk’s head before she struggled to her feet. ‘And never mind the commander. Where are those children?’

‘It’s all right, I’ve got ’em safe,’ said Stan, appearing with a child firmly in each hand. ‘While the PC’s organizing that piece of filth’s accommodation I’ll just give these two nippers a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich. They look as though they haven’t eaten for a week.’ And, turning to the wide-eyed pair: ‘Welcome to London, kids. I think that’s enough excitement for one day. Come along o’ me and this lady policeman. Naw – don’t you fret about the dog. We’ll see he’s all right. You’re all going to be all right.’

Chapter Four

September 1922

In the warm intimacy of the rear seat of a London cab, Admiral Lord Dedham stretched out his long legs and adjusted the scabbard of his dress sword so as to be sure not to snag the trailing chiffon gown of the woman by his side. It had been a long, hot evening filled with far too many blood-stirring speeches – the most incendiary of them coming from his own lips, he readily admitted. He’d received a standing ovation and that sort of thing always went to the head however tight one’s grip on reality; he’d taken on board too much adulation and too many drinks for comfort. He was longing for the moment, soon approaching, when he could relieve his chest of its cargo of medals and slip out of his much-bedecked dress uniform.

But until that blissful moment arrived, he was more than content with the present one. Even at his time of life – which he thought of as ‘vigorous middle age’ – the admiral still found that the capsule of darkness to be found in the back of a taxi, lightly scented with gardenia, good cigars and leather, sliding secretly through the roistering crowds of central London, had its enlivening effect. It had been even more invigorating in the swaying hansom cabs of his youth but his ageing bones could never regret all that bouncing about over cobbles. He reached out and seized the white-gloved hand left invitingly close to his on the banquette and lifted it to his lips with practised gallantry, a wary eye on the driver.

The observant cabby’s eyes gleamed in the rear-viewing mirror, his shoulders shook perceptibly and he launched into a cheery offering from
Chu Chin Chow
.

Lord Dedham had seen the musical extravaganza three times. It was his favourite musical comedy. He recognized the sumptuously romantic duet ‘Any Time’s Kissing Time’.

Cheeky blighter, Dedham thought, with an indulgent grin. Typical London cabby. Ought to be keeping his eyes on the road, not spying on his passengers. He wondered if his companion would take offence. Many women would.

His companion responded to the effrontery by leaning mischievously towards the admiral and biting his ear, her aim, in the dark, surprisingly sure. Then she joined in with the song, timing her entrance perfectly, weaving her clear soprano voice into the chorus to sing along with the cabby.

‘Nearly there, my love,’ growled Dedham. ‘Did you ask Peterson to wait up?’

‘As though he’d agree to do otherwise, Oliver! He’ll be there waiting with your eggnog at the ready. But I dismissed your valet. I’ll help you out of that clanking regalia myself.’ And, as though the promise of eggnog and wifely ministrations was not enough to stiffen the sinews, she squeezed his arm as they turned from the hurly-burly of Buckingham Palace Road into the quiet opulence of the streets approaching Melton Square. ‘Oh, it’s
so
good to have you home again, darling, and I shall go on saying that until you beg me to stop. And when we arrive, you will remember to do as Joe told you, won’t you?’

‘Dash it all, Cassandra, we’re in Belgravia not Belfast!’ he objected.

Lady Dedham quelled her husband’s predictable splutterings by her usual method of putting a finger firmly over his mouth. ‘And thank God for that! But your young friend at the Yard is worth hearing. It’s a very simple arrangement. It makes complete sense. We must prepare ourselves to observe this routine until all the unpleasantness blows over or you and that fire-eater Churchill stop making sabre-rattling speeches, darling, whichever is the sooner.
Yo u
it was who insisted on dismissing the police protection squad Joe kindly set up for you, and now you must perform your part of the bargain.’

‘Protection squad!’ The admiral spat out his derision.

‘He didn’t have to do that, you know – over and above his duty. You’re an ungrateful piggy-wig, Oliver. You listen to no one. I can’t think why you objected. Those Branch men he sent round were terribly discreet … really, you’d no idea they were there. And the young one was incredibly handsome! I was so enjoying having him about the place. He cheered us all up.’ She weathered his splutter of outrage and sailed on. ‘But you agreed to the commander’s alternative proposals and I for one shall hold you to your promise. I have a part too, you know, and I fully intend to play it. I expect nothing less from you. Now – tell the driver what you want him to do. And don’t cut it short – I shall be listening!’

The taxi pulled up in front of a late Georgian house on the northern side of the park-like boulevard that was Melton Square. Heavily porticoed balconies and densely planted patches of garden gave these houses an air of discreet dignity. Dedham looked about him with satisfaction at the solid grandeur, the sedate Englishness, the well-lit pavements, of what he considered to be the heart of London. Nothing truly stirring had happened, in public at least, here in the Five Fields since the Earl of Harrington’s cook had been set upon and beaten to death by highwaymen a century before. Since the arrival of the gas-lamps, the only crimes hereabouts were committed behind closed doors by the inhabitants themselves and went unrecorded unless, chiming with the spirit of the times, they gave rise to an ennoblement of some sort for the perpetrator. There were more rich, influential villains per square yard here in this genteel quarter than in Westminster, the admiral always reckoned.

He frowned to see one of these approaching. A gent in evening dress, opera cape about his shoulders, top hat at a louche angle over his forehead, was weaving his way uncertainly along the pavement.

‘I say, Cassie.’ He drew his wife’s attention to the staggering figure. ‘Who’s this? Do we know him? He looks familiar.’

‘He
is
familiar! Look away at once, Oliver!’ Cassandra put up a hand, seized his chin and turned his head from the window. ‘I forget you scarcely know your own neighbours. But that’s ghastly old Chepstow. Drunk as a lord again!’

‘If that’s Chepstow he
is
a lord,’ objected Dedham, trying to turn for a better view. ‘He’s entitled, you might say.’

‘It’s no joke, Oliver! Stay still and give him time to move off. He’ll recognize you. And you’re the one man in London everyone – drunk or sober – wants to talk to and shake hands with. You really have no idea, have you? You’re twice a hero now, you know. He’d expect to be invited in for a nightcap. Darling, you’ve been away from me for six months! I’ve no intention of sharing you with any old toper.’ She pulled his head down into an enthusiastic kiss. ‘Ah … there he goes … Now, Oliver – the cabby’s waiting. Get on with the briefing.’

The driver had been grinning in understanding throughout the conversation. He seemed to have a sense of humour and Dedham prepared himself for a sarcastic response to the guff he was about to spout. However, the man accepted his fare and the generous tip he usually enjoyed from the denizens of these fifteen square acres and listened, head tilted in an attitude of exaggerated attention, to the request that came with it. He nodded when the briefing was over and returned a simple ‘Understood, sir’ in response to the crisp naval tones.

As instructed, he hooted twice and waited for thirty seconds before winking his headlights three times. He even managed to keep a straight face throughout the proceedings. ‘There we are, sir. Signal acknowledged. Light’s come on in the vestibule,’ he said, enjoying the game. ‘And the front door’s opening. Here we go! Time for the lady to make her sortie.’

With a snort of amusement Lord Dedham understood that the man had been listening as his wife rehearsed him in his exit tactics.

‘Road’s clear and well lit, sir, no suspicious persons or obstacles in sight, but I’ll get out, take a quick recce and then launch the lady.’ The driver had suddenly about him the briskness and wariness of an old soldier. ‘Just in case. You never know who’s lurking in the shrubbery these days.’

He got out and walked up the path, peering into the bushes. He kicked out at an innocent laurel or two before returning to the rear of his motor to open up for Lady Dedham.

‘Fire Torpedo One!’ she said with a grin for the cabby and, clutching her evening bag tightly in her right hand, she walked off quickly towards the front door the butler was holding wide in welcome. She turned on the doorstep and gave a merry wave.

Before the driver could fire his second charge, a slight form dashed across the street and accosted him. ‘A taxi! What luck. In fact, the first stroke of luck I’ve had tonight. Park Lane please, cabby. Pink’s Hotel – do you know it? And fast if you wouldn’t mind.’ The stranger fiddled around, tugging open with nervous fingers the velvet evening bag she carried dangling from one wrist. She exclaimed with frustration as a handful of coins fell clinking to the ground, and her thanks to the cabby, who scrambled on his knees to retrieve them in the dark, were embarrassed and voluble. Her discomfort increased when she caught sight of Lord Dedham’s legs reaching for the pavement. ‘Oh, frightfully sorry! Cabby – you already have a fare?’

‘Don’t worry, miss!’ Dedham’s reassuring voice boomed out. ‘Leaving, not entering. It takes a while to get my two old legs working in concert. You may drive straight on, cabby. As soon as I’ve disembarked my old carcass.’