Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 3

  Certainly, the notion of entertaining guests in their London house now seemed rather daunting. The temptation to remain at Sedgwick Court, where she could be cosseted and protected from visitors by their zealous servants, was almost too great. Yet, hot on the heels of this thought came the certainty of Lavinia’s inevitable disappointment. She could imagine the girl’s furrowed brow, her face set in a sulky pose, a look of silent reproach in the girl’s eyes … Rose stifled a laugh. Of course, she was just being fanciful. Lavinia was unlikely to be silent. She would undoubtedly give voice to her frustration like a petulant child, and more likely than not she would blame Cedric.

  Rose was brought sharply back to the present by the realisation that her husband’s look had become one of growing concern. She had been lost in her thoughts and consequently had not answered him. Her mind had been remembering Lavinia’s idle chatter while her hand still caressed her swollen stomach. Forced to act swiftly, she rallied, her mind in that moment made up.

  ‘I shall be quite all right,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it. It will give me something else to think about apart from the baby.’ She patted her stomach tenderly. ‘Of course, I shall have to give some thought to my costume if I am not to resemble a billowing sail.’

  It was only later that Rose realised that it had been a pivotal moment. Unbeknown to her, the fate of others had lain for a moment in her hands. For, she concluded, had she decided otherwise, it was quite probable that the tragic events that were to unfold on that fateful night might never have occurred.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Ah, there you are, Atherton,’ said Commander Elias Wrenfield, looking up from the papers on his desk before placing them in a buff-coloured folder and putting them aside. ‘Come in; come in. No need to stand on ceremony, don’t you know. Griffin told you I wanted to see you, did he? Good chap; one of the best. Still, I don’t suppose you need me to tell you that?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied his visitor, for the older man referred to his immediate superior. ‘Mr Griffin’s a jolly decent sort,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how much he’s taught me.’ Immediately he wondered whether he had been too gushing in his praise and felt his cheeks turn crimson. It was not every day one was summoned to the inner sanctum, as the juniors referred to the commander’s office.

  ‘Good, good,’ murmured the commander, rather distractedly. He was keen to get to the purpose of the meeting. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, eager for the opportunity, however slight, to appraise the young man who stood before him. So this was The Honourable Hallam Atherton, was it? Son of a baron. Awfully young, of course. Still, it was as well to get them while they were still wet behind the ears and eager to please. The question was, had he got the mettle for it? It was all very well to know the right people, but if he hadn’t –

  ‘You wished to see me, sir,’ said Hallam, cutting into the commander’s musings, the young man’s nerves and the silence getting the better of him. Inwardly he admonished himself severely. By rights he should have waited for the great man to speak first, to broach the subject of why his presence had been so unexpectedly sought. Certainly, he should not have rushed him. Eyes downcast, he stared forlornly at the floor. Likely as not he had scuppered his chances of advancement.

  If Commander Wrenfield had any misgivings regarding Hallam, he did not show it. He was, in fact, too absorbed in wrestling with a problem that had filled many of his waking hours to consider him insolent. Hallam’s words had, if anything, reminded him that he would be required to provide some sort of an explanation. Such a thing would oblige him to take the young man into his confidence before he had shown his worth, something which, under normal circumstances, he was loath to do. Still, there was no doubt that he required his visitor’s assistance if he were to implement the daring plan he had formulated, an operation which, even in his own opinion, was rather fanciful and a trifle ridiculous. Indeed, when he tried to put the notion into words in his own mind, it sounded quite absurd.

  Putting aside his various reservations, the commander beamed at his subordinate in what he hoped to be an encouraging manner. His aim was to put the young man at his ease. It was perhaps unfortunate, therefore, that his smile had rather the opposite effect on his companion. For, being a thickset man with a heavy jaw and huge, fleshy hands, which had more than a passing resemblance to paws, he rather reminded his young visitor of a pugnacious bulldog.

  To distract his mind from this rather unpleasant thought, Hallam took a deep breath and decided to fill the brief, unnerving silence that followed by taking a cursory glance at the room in which he found himself. Though it was generous in size, running the full width of the building in which the offices were situated, and commanded a fine view of the London street that it overlooked, as a room it was a veritable disappointment. The chief reason for this was that it was quite unremarkable in appearance. Indeed, it reminded Hallam of a solicitor’s office that he had once visited with his father, a rather faded affair with its dusty collection of deed boxes and heavy dull brown furniture of Victorian vintage. It hardly seemed fitting that it should be occupied by a man of Commander Wrenfield’s distinguished reputation.

  ‘Look here, Atherton,’ began the commander, indicating a chair and bestowing upon his guest a particularly earnest gaze. ‘I daresay you’re wondering why I wanted to see you. In the ordinary course, I’d tell you like a shot, but … well, it’s a matter of ...’ The commander paused, as if he were having difficulty finding the appropriate word to describe his dilemma.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ supplied Hallam quickly, in considerable trepidation of what he was about to hear. Really, it was bad enough that he’d been sent down from Oxford the previous year, but to be told he hadn’t been pulling his weight when his father had had to pull any number of strings ...

  ‘The Earl of Belvedere, what do you know of the fellow?’ Commander Wrenfield asked rather unexpectedly.

  ‘I … well …’ said Hallam, somewhat taken aback by the question.

  ‘I understand he’s by way of being a friend of yours?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’ Relief and bewilderment showed themselves in the young man’s face in equal measure. ‘The Belvederes are old friends of my family and Lord Belvedere is a particular friend of mine. There are only a few years between us in age, you see. We’ve known each other since we were children and –’

  ‘Quite,’ said his superior, bringing to an abrupt end the young man’s spiel, now that the intimacy between the two parties had been established to his satisfaction. ‘Tell me, Atherton, this party of his –’

  ‘Party? I say, are you referring to the ball?’

  ‘I am. Well, what do you make of it? I suppose you’ve been invited, eh?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir,’ replied Hallam, considerably surprised by the rather bizarre turn the conversation had taken. ‘It’s a masked ball. A masquerade ball in the Venetian style. You know the sort of thing? Georgian fancy dress; powdered wigs and those three pointed tricorn hats … though I daresay most of the men will be wearing evening dress. That said, guests have been requested to arrive in a suitable disguise –’

  ‘By that do you mean they must arrive wearing a mask?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, the invitation makes it quite clear that one will not be admitted unless one does. What‘s more, it’s not to be a mask on a stick.’ Hallam frowned. ‘Lavinia is being most tiresome about that.’

  ‘Lavinia?’

  ‘Lady Lavinia Sedgwick, Lord Belvedere’s sister. I expect you’ve heard of her? She makes a habit of being in all the society pages. Well, the ball was really all her idea.’ Hallam paused a moment. ‘I can’t for the life of me think why Lord Belvedere agreed to it because I find it hard to believe it’s his sort –’

  ‘You mentioned that masks on sticks would not be permitted?’ persisted Commander Wrenfield, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hallam, a little tetchily, in spite of himself. If only the great man would not keep
interrupting him, they’d make much better progress. Aloud he said, letting the words tumble out hurriedly, afraid of yet another disruption to his narrative: ‘Lady Lavinia has been most particular on that point. Her reasoning, I believe, though rather irksome, is quite sound. Masks attached to sticks may be lowered. In fact, in my experience they usually are once the novelty of holding them up to one’s face wears off, which I suppose does rather defeat the purpose of wearing them in the first place.’ The commander made as if to interrupt and Hallam carried on hurriedly. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘Lady Lavinia has stipulated that everyone should arrive with their masks tied tightly to their heads with ribbon and that they should on no account be removed.’

  ‘Good,’ the commander muttered, more to himself than to his companion.

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was particularly good myself,’ remarked Hallam. ‘I can’t tell you how much I loathe the idea of wearing a mask all evening. Though I suppose,’ he added rather grudgingly, ‘it does add to the ambience of the proceedings. Still, at least we get to remove them at the grand unveiling.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Commander Wrenfield sharply. ‘When does that take place?’

  ‘Oh, not til the very end of the evening. That’s to say, three o’clock in the morning to be exact. People tend to keep late hours during the season, you know.’

  A brief silence ensued while the commander appeared to ruminate this fact. It did not seem to Hallam to require much mulling over. He had attended a number of balls which had finished at a much later hour; four or five o’clock in the morning was not uncommon.

  ‘Yes, I think that will do quite well enough,’ the commander said finally, again more to himself than to his companion. He raised his head and said rather brusquely: ‘Trustworthy, is he?’ His penetrating gaze was met with a blank stare. ‘Lord Belvedere,’ he clarified. ‘Is he the sort that can be relied upon? That’s to say, the type who’d want to do his bit for King and country?’

  ‘Oh, rather, he’s just that type of fellow,’ enthused Hallam, feeling himself on firmer ground. ‘He’s an awfully decent sort.’

  ‘Now then, Atherton,’ the commander said with forced breeziness, ‘I suppose there’s every chance you could procure a couple of additional invitations to this ball, what with the Belvederes being such great pals of yours?’

  ‘Well, I daresay I could,’ replied Hallam cautiously for, great man though Commander Wrenfield undoubtedly was, he thought it highly unlikely that Lavinia would consider him a suitable guest to attend her masked ball. If nothing else, he mused, the commander could hardly be considered a ‘deb’s delight’ by any stretch of the imagination, for he must be approaching sixty if a day. He probably had a wife and family tucked away somewhere, grandchildren even. And the very idea of him donning a mask and tricorn with that great bulldog head of his … well, it would bring a smile to any man’s lips. Indeed, it was all Hallam could do not to laugh out loud at the picture that he had just conjured up in his mind’s eye.

  ‘Good,’ muttered the commander, apparently quite oblivious to Hallam’s uncharitable thoughts. ‘I suppose we ought to take his lordship into our confidence. Of course, it’s not something I’d do normally, and I don’t take the decision lightly, but on this occasion I believe it can’t be helped.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Hallam. ‘I should take Lord Belvedere into your confidence, if I were you.’ Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. Really, it would be much better if the commander spoke to Cedric. He, Hallam, would feel rotten if he had to touch Lavinia for a couple of invitations pretending they were for two of his eligible contemporaries. If nothing else, she’d be livid if she ever found out that he had intentionally deceived her.

  ‘I suppose we can rely on his discretion?’ the commander was saying.

  ‘Oh, rather,’ agreed Hallam, feeling that the commander was rather labouring the point. In fact, he felt inclined to bring this rather strange, dreary conversation to a close. With that in mind, he reasoned that the swiftest way to achieve this was to provide an example of when Cedric had been at his best. He said: ‘He was awfully good over that ghastly business at Dareswick, you know. I can’t tell you how awful it was for all concerned, but particularly the family.’ He shuddered at the recollection. ‘If it hadn’t been for Lord Belvedere and Miss Simpson –’

  ‘Miss Simpson?’ said Commander Wrenfield sharply.

  ‘I meant Lady Belvedere, Lord Belvedere’s wife,’ Hallam corrected himself hurriedly. ‘They weren’t married then, of course, and in my mind I always think of her as Miss Rose Simpson, which was what she was called then, but –’

  ‘Not the amateur sleuth, Rose Simpson?’ exclaimed the commander frowning.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hallam cheerfully, ‘that’s her. Have you heard of her? I daresay you’ve read about her various exploits in the newspapers. She enjoys quite a remarkable reputation as a private enquiry agent. According to Lady Lavinia, she’s solved dozens of murders and, if you believe all she says, Scotland Yard would be quite at a loss without her assistance, although,’ he added with a smile, ‘Lavinia is rather prone to exaggeration.’

  ‘I see.’

  It occurred to Hallam, somewhat belatedly, that instead of being thrilled by this piece of news, the revelation of Rose’s expertise in the field of detection seemed to have had quite the opposite effect on the commander. In the few minutes since her name was mentioned, the commander’s face had paled significantly. Indeed, it would not be overstating it to say that he looked aghast, his eyes bulging and his mouth hanging open, the combined effect of which was to amplify his resemblance to a canine creature.

  ‘I am quite certain you can rely on her ladyship’s discretion,’ Hallam said hurriedly though to little effect for he had the distinct impression that the commander was not listening to a word he was saying. Commander Wrenfield’s next words seemed to confirm his assumption.

  ‘I suppose she’s the inquisitive type? Likes to interfere, eh? What with her being a detective and all?’

  ‘I shouldn’t say she was particularly,’ replied Hallam, a trifle defensively. ‘Unless, that is, she was summoned to investigate a crime, then, of course, she’s wont to turn up all sorts of things.’

  The frown that creased Commander Wrenfield’s forehead became more furrowed.

  ‘But I doubt she’s doing much detecting at the moment,’ said Hallam. The commander looked perplexed, though his face brightened a shade. Spurred on, Hallam added rather flippantly: ‘In fact, Lavinia says there’s an outside chance Lady Belvedere may give birth at the ball, but, of course, that’s just the sort of thing Lavinia would say.’

  ‘Pregnant, eh?’ meditated Commander Wrenfield. ‘It’s likely her ladyship will have her hands full. That’s to say, she won’t feel like prying into things that don’t concern her?’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think she will.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’ll have to do. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say,’ his superior remarked rather mysteriously. ‘I can’t say that I like it, but I can’t for the life of me think of what else to do.’

  Having apparently made up his mind, the commander leaned forward and placed his great arms heavily on the desk. The wood creaked, as if in protest.

  ‘Of course, I’ll have to involve you, Atherton. Do you think you’re up to it, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Commander Wrenfield chuckled. ‘You should hear what I have to say, young man, before you go about making rash promises. Now,’ the commander lowered his voice, ‘what I’m about to tell you, Atherton, is pretty hush-hush. You’re to keep it to yourself. It remains within these four walls as it were, do you hear me, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Hallam, somewhat apprehensively.

  ‘No one else knows what I’m about to tell you. If I could think of another way … but there’s the thing, I can’t. It’s a damned risky business, mind you; I’d be lying if I said different. And I know what you young fellows are like, you’ll be telling me ‘danger’ is your middle na
me.’

  With one swift movement the older man grabbed the lapel of Hallam’s jacket. Taken unawares, the young man instinctively recoiled, only to find himself pulled unceremoniously across the desk towards his superior until he was forced to adopt an awkward and ungainly half-sitting, half-sprawling position. Before he could protest or right himself, Commander Wrenfield was whispering furiously in his ear. Hallam ceased to struggle. Instead, his eyes widened as the commander gave him a comprehensive account of the plan he had concocted. A few minutes’ later and Hallam could quite understand why the commander had acted as he had done. It had been imperative that he was not overheard. For, even to Hallam’s relatively novice ear, the operation which had been described to him bordered on the ludicrous. Indeed, if the matter had not been so deadly serious, he might have laughed.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Cedric, ‘surely you can’t be expecting me to wear that?’ He held at arm’s length the object to which he was referring, a look of disdain on his features as he regarded it critically.

  The article in question was a rather flamboyant Venetian mask. Made of papier-mâché, it was ivory in colour, overlaid with gold leaf, and decorated with a bold mosaic pattern. It was not this, however, that drew the earl’s disbelief, but rather the beak-like nose which, despite the elaborate decoration, was the mask’s most striking feature, protruding as it did a good few inches from the face. ‘I shan’t be able to speak to anyone, that’s to say, if I don’t want to butt them in the face with this beak. It will be as bad as wearing a pair of horns.’