last time, the place
was very popular and most of the tables were full when he arrived,
ladies and gentlemen both playing dice or cards, faces absorbed as
they tried their luck. It was amazing just how unlucky people could
be, he reflected, pausing to watch one particularly intense game of
loo. Really, people did take their vices so seriously.
He was hovering in a corner, trying to
decide if he should try a game of faro or if he would prefer Piquet
when a sliver of conversation caught his attention.
‘… don’t know who! If I
knew, I would not have asked you to meet me.’ A female, clearly in
a state about something. But that was females for you; twitchy
things, most of ‘em.
‘And they just appeared in your reticule?’ A
man’s voice, deep and quiet. Charlie realised that they must be
sitting on the other side of the small oriental screen he was
lounging behind.
‘Yes, I tell you. What do you think it
means? I mean, he is dead after all…’
‘I know that. Dear God, all of London knows
it. Not that I’m not delighted about it. The man was an utter
snake.’
It occurred to Charlie that he was hearing
something of actual interest to him. That light, musical voice… did
it belong to Lady Astor? He couldn’t say that he knew her well but
she possessed a distinctive, breathy tone that, once heard, was
hard to forget. It seemed entirely likely that the couple was
talking about Sutton’s death and he found he was suddenly all
attention, ears straining to hear what was being said.
‘But… but whoever it was
returned my chits. All of them.’
‘Well I just hope to hell they return mine,’
the man muttered.
‘I simply can’t understand it. I almost died
when I opened my reticule.’
‘And you have no idea how they got there?
Honestly Avis, somebody must have put it in the reticule you were
carrying. How could you not notice?’
‘I don’t know! I have thought about it and I
simply have no idea.’ There was a pause and then she said, so
quietly that Charlie was forced to apply his ear to the fold in the
screen to hear her. ‘What do you think they want?’
‘I don’t believe they want anything,’ the
man said reasonably. ‘I mean, they returned your debts to you, my
dear. Whoever murdered that swine must have decided to do the right
thing.’
‘Do you really think so?’
There was no mistaking the profound yearning in Lady Astor’s voice.
She was desperately hoping that it was indeed the case. ‘Even so,
it makes me go cold to think that I must have been so close to
a murderer .’
‘Never mind that. If you
ask me, whoever killed Sutton did Society a public service. Should
be given a medal. I have to say, I’ve thought of murdering the man
on more than one occasion and don’t pretend to me you have not
wished him dead. And if it is the case that the scoundrel’s loot is being
returned to its rightful owners then perhaps the beggar might take
pity on the rest of us. I’d give a lot to breathe easy again. Come
on; I’ll find you a glass of champagne. God knows, you should be
celebrating. You’re free, my dear. Your reputation is
secure.’
The eager eavesdropper heard the rustle of
material and the faint squeak of furniture that indicated the
speaker was matching deed to word, rising to his feet to go in
search of liquid sustenance. Charlie immediately ambled away,
heading into a different room.
The conversation had given him something to
think about. Miss Honeywood must have slipped the debts back into
Lady Astor’s bag where they had been discovered later on. A bold
move, he acknowledged. The girl had a good deal of pluck; there was
no doubt about it even if her actions had made Lady Astor and her
companion labor under the unfortunate misapprehension that their
savior was a murderer. It was understandable, under the
circumstances, because who else would they expect to have laid
their hands on Sutton’s stuff?
There was one other thing that had been
perfectly obvious. Lady Astor,
was very popular and most of the tables were full when he arrived,
ladies and gentlemen both playing dice or cards, faces absorbed as
they tried their luck. It was amazing just how unlucky people could
be, he reflected, pausing to watch one particularly intense game of
loo. Really, people did take their vices so seriously.
He was hovering in a corner, trying to
decide if he should try a game of faro or if he would prefer Piquet
when a sliver of conversation caught his attention.
‘… don’t know who! If I
knew, I would not have asked you to meet me.’ A female, clearly in
a state about something. But that was females for you; twitchy
things, most of ‘em.
‘And they just appeared in your reticule?’ A
man’s voice, deep and quiet. Charlie realised that they must be
sitting on the other side of the small oriental screen he was
lounging behind.
‘Yes, I tell you. What do you think it
means? I mean, he is dead after all…’
‘I know that. Dear God, all of London knows
it. Not that I’m not delighted about it. The man was an utter
snake.’
It occurred to Charlie that he was hearing
something of actual interest to him. That light, musical voice… did
it belong to Lady Astor? He couldn’t say that he knew her well but
she possessed a distinctive, breathy tone that, once heard, was
hard to forget. It seemed entirely likely that the couple was
talking about Sutton’s death and he found he was suddenly all
attention, ears straining to hear what was being said.
‘But… but whoever it was
returned my chits. All of them.’
‘Well I just hope to hell they return mine,’
the man muttered.
‘I simply can’t understand it. I almost died
when I opened my reticule.’
‘And you have no idea how they got there?
Honestly Avis, somebody must have put it in the reticule you were
carrying. How could you not notice?’
‘I don’t know! I have thought about it and I
simply have no idea.’ There was a pause and then she said, so
quietly that Charlie was forced to apply his ear to the fold in the
screen to hear her. ‘What do you think they want?’
‘I don’t believe they want anything,’ the
man said reasonably. ‘I mean, they returned your debts to you, my
dear. Whoever murdered that swine must have decided to do the right
thing.’
‘Do you really think so?’
There was no mistaking the profound yearning in Lady Astor’s voice.
She was desperately hoping that it was indeed the case. ‘Even so,
it makes me go cold to think that I must have been so close to
a murderer .’
‘Never mind that. If you
ask me, whoever killed Sutton did Society a public service. Should
be given a medal. I have to say, I’ve thought of murdering the man
on more than one occasion and don’t pretend to me you have not
wished him dead. And if it is the case that the scoundrel’s loot is being
returned to its rightful owners then perhaps the beggar might take
pity on the rest of us. I’d give a lot to breathe easy again. Come
on; I’ll find you a glass of champagne. God knows, you should be
celebrating. You’re free, my dear. Your reputation is
secure.’
The eager eavesdropper heard the rustle of
material and the faint squeak of furniture that indicated the
speaker was matching deed to word, rising to his feet to go in
search of liquid sustenance. Charlie immediately ambled away,
heading into a different room.
The conversation had given him something to
think about. Miss Honeywood must have slipped the debts back into
Lady Astor’s bag where they had been discovered later on. A bold
move, he acknowledged. The girl had a good deal of pluck; there was
no doubt about it even if her actions had made Lady Astor and her
companion labor under the unfortunate misapprehension that their
savior was a murderer. It was understandable, under the
circumstances, because who else would they expect to have laid
their hands on Sutton’s stuff?
There was one other thing that had been
perfectly obvious. Lady Astor,
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