Читать книгу The Devil’s Due - Bonnie Macbird - Страница 17

My career had taken me through challenging terrain on three continents, but I will admit that there were corners of London which could seem both foreign and unnerving to me. Mayfair was one.

Before departing, I sent over a quick note to the Goodwin brothers to politely warn of my impending visit and made an effort to elevate my appearance – a close shave, a fresh collar, and a quick change back to my ‘ostentatious gold watch’, as Holmes had called it. While he teased me about pretension, these touches added needed gravitas, or so I felt.

My curiosity rose as my cab drew near Grosvenor Square. I had long admired the grand houses nearby but had never set foot inside one. Thankfully, the rain had ceased, but the wet streets gleamed and a touch of frost appeared on the grass on the lawn in the centre of the square. The air had grown much colder and a further freeze during the night would turn the pavements treacherous.

We pulled up to an enormous home not far from the square. The Goodwins’ residence was startling in its grandeur. Three storeys high, gleaming in marble and masterful plaster, a frieze of cavorting ancients across the portico, it was a remarkable edifice. Set back from the street, and fronted with a half-moon of private driveway, the enormous house buzzed with activity and glowed with numerous outdoor electrified lights.

Bathed under this bright glow, the Goodwins’ own carriage, shining black with a gilded coat of arms painted discreetly on the doors, stood at the entrance. It had recently arrived, for a glossy matched pair of chestnut beauties stamped and snorted, their breaths showing as white puffs in the frigid air.

A driver sat atop, rubbing his gloved hands for warmth, while two servants, sporting powdered wigs and velvet coats adorned with gold lace and buttons, ran to and fro with packages from expensive grocers and specialty shops. Servants costumed in anachronistic livery was something I had read about but never seen. A strange conceit, I thought!

Boxes from Fortnum and Mason appeared in one of the servant’s hands, and their delicious Scotch Eggs came to mind. They were a favourite of Holmes’s as he could stash them in his pockets while on a case. Unless Fortnum and Mason’s extravagant delicacies were daily fare for the Goodwins, some kind of party was being prepared.

A servant took my hat, coat and cane, and I was happy that I had transformed myself, even modestly, for this visit. I was asked to wait in a salon which was, by itself, nearly twice the size of all the rooms at 221B taken together. The decor was ornate – Regency, perhaps – with baroque touches, hand-painted cabinets with cherubs madly cavorting, and much of the furniture edged in gold.

The chairs and settees were upholstered in subtle satin stripes, and delicate and complicated china figurines dotted every available surface. I was afraid to move, lest I should knock over one of these costly items, and so stood rather uncomfortably in the centre of the room.

I heard voices in the hallway just outside. I recognized one as Andrew Goodwin, he of the Byronic look. ‘She is simply the best pastry chef we have ever had, Billings,’ he said. ‘I will not let her go over gossip and rumour.’

Billings! Could he be referring to Titus Billings, the new man in charge of the Metropolitan Police? I moved closer to the door and secreted myself behind it so I could see them near the entry through the crack while remaining hidden from their view.

I recognized Titus Billings from the newspaper. He was a huge man, taller even than Andrew Goodwin. Broad of shoulder, he was muscular, with thick, wavy black hair and beetle brows. He had a military moustache and bearing. Late of the army, I thought, just as Holmes had judged me in those first moments of our meeting at Bart’s.

‘My dear Lord Goodwin, this does not come from me. But from the … er, Royal cousin himself,’ Billings said, his booming voice lacking discretion. ‘The French are a rising menace. It would be to your own interest to replace your French staff – and the Italians, too while you are at it – with good British stock. Those Frogs in particular are not to be trusted.’ Billings dropped his voice, and continued confidentially, ‘The unnamed Royal gentleman to whom I refer purged his own kitchen of all the dirty foreigners, and good riddance to them all. The theft of his treasured silver stopped at once.’

True story or not, I was horrified to hear this blatant prejudice spilling from a man so highly placed in law enforcement. I was no naïf on the subject and had encountered deeply prejudiced men in all ranks of the military. But in this context, and so vehemently spoken by a man in his position, it was nothing short of shocking.

‘Oh,’ said Goodwin, ‘are you going about London, warning us all from door to door?’

‘Sir!’ said Billings, affronted. ‘I am attempting to do you a favour.’

‘Surely you cannot dismiss an entire nationality on the basis of a few anarchists and the theft of three forks? Nor will you succeed in eliminating the French from our shores. Besides, how then, shall we dine?’ he added with a smile.

‘Heed me, Lord Goodwin,’ said Billings. ‘If I could stop every Frenchman from entering Britain, I would. The dirty, lying—’

‘My mother’s family were French, Mr Billings.’

Billings was taken aback, but only for a moment. ‘The Royal cousin himself has given me leave to act on his preferences. Of course, I—’

‘The Royal cousin who himself is not English?’

‘Sir, you do not take my point. I speak of the criminals among those who flood our shores. Not your relations. But bombers, thieves, murderers! We should be more selective. You would be wise to—’

‘Let me stop you, Mr Billings, before you place both feet in your mouth and have trouble making it out the door.’

‘But the Royal personage himself—’

‘Our cousin as well. Oh, did you not know? I suggest you take your theories and trot on home with them where you can commiserate with others who share your views. Perhaps over a good Beaujolais. Good day, Mr Billings.’

Billings left abruptly. I thought that whoever was working closely with that blustering man ought to watch his back, for when a bully like that is chastised, others will be made to pay.

I stepped back from the door, and just in time, as Lord Andrew Goodwin bounded in. I now got a good look at his at-home loungewear: a black velvet dressing gown with blue silk quilted lapels, fine embroidery all down the front and sleeves, and carpet slippers which were worked in the finest needlepoint shot with gold. He was otherwise as impeccably groomed as he had been earlier that day. What an enormous amount of upkeep went into this young gentleman’s appearance, I thought.

But I quite admired him for standing up to Billings.

‘Dr Watson, how good of you to come out of your way in this terrible weather,’ he said amiably. ‘So chilly out! I’ve just had all the fires lit. Twenty-three of them, including the servants’. I am so sorry that we have neglected to send you the list as promised. We are entertaining tonight, and the thought just flew from my head.’

I wondered that someone might be murdering members of the society he had founded and yet this ‘flew from his head’.

‘Please, let us come away from this stifling room. This home has been in the family a long time, and this room was my grandmother’s favourite, and remains pleasing to our lady guests. I cannot fathom why they placed you here. Follow me to our study and see if James and I can’t come up with another name or two for you.’

As we moved quickly through the ground floor of the house, I was aware of many rooms through which a seemingly endless supply of liveried servants scurried, carrying vases of fresh flowers, trays of champagne flutes, soft lap blankets of what looked to be cashmere, silver bowls of nuts, candied fruits, and small cakes, in preparation for what were most likely distinguished guests. As they passed us in the spacious hallways, each servant stepped aside deferentially with a small bow of the head. Andrew Goodwin appeared not to notice they were there.