“If you want to know, he questioned your credentials. And he’s impatient to get the girl out of his station house. So, the longer we argue—”
“I’ll do it, Richard.” Julia stood. “Of course I will. The poor girl . . . where is she?”
“King Street police station.”
“Julia half smiled. “Shall I bring my medical registry certificate to convince this inspector person?”
“Division Inspector Evans, and documents won’t be necessary.”
“I’ll get my bag. My Aunt Caroline expects me for tea, so I’ll take a cab from King Street to Sussex Terrace when we’re finished.”
Tennant smiled faintly. “We won’t keep Lady Aldridge waiting. I wouldn’t dare.” He put his hand out and stopped Julia before she went through the door. “She’s young, and she looked frightened. Her name is Annie O’Neill.”
* * *
Mary Allingham was late. Her bonnet’s sapphire ribbons streamed behind her as she flew along the paths by the boatinglake of Regent’s Park. She was tall, fair, light on her feet, and waved to the Regent’s Park groundskeeper who’d doffed his cap. Mary felt as sunny as the cloudless afternoon.
And why not? Mary knew she was singularly blessed. Although she’d lost her parents while still in the cradle, she’d come of age with a generous income and an older brother too amiable and indolent to check her independence. At twenty-three, she was clever enough to understand her good fortune and sensible enough not to let it go to her head. Men losttheirsin her company, something she’d understood since she was fifteen. But to Mary, her golden good looks were like her money, invested in the funds at five percent: not an object of pride or vanity but an asset she’d be a fool to deny.
The groundskeeper returned to his work. Mary watched him lift and drop his iron mallet with a resounding crack. Birds flocked to the water he’d freed from the ice. She stopped at the end of a path, shielding her eyes from the low January sun, tracking a swan’s graceful flight and landing. Each beating wing rose to form a perfect V, the bird gliding until its webbed feet skimmed the ice, sliding to a stop.
Fifty yards from shore, about twenty stick-wielding men chased and passed a slippery disk. One hockey player followed the puck to the pond’s edge, digging in his blades to stop, nearly colliding with the mallet-wielding groundskeeper. When the skater stepped back to push off, his boot broke through. He pulled out his foot, shook off the water, and skated away. Mary caught the parkkeeper’s eye and smiled. He gave her a salute and resumed breaking the ice at the lake’s edge.
Mary picked up her pace and spotted her sister-in-law standing by a bench along the south shore. She was easy to find. Louisa was as tall as Mary but more amply shaped and held herself like a queen. Her abundant auburn hair spread like wings under her cobalt hat, gathering at the back in a braided chignon at the nape of her neck. When she turned her head topeer down the pathway, her hair caught fire in the slanting sunlight. Mary smiled at Louisa’s indifference to the admiring glance of a passing gentleman.
“Here I am,” Mary called, coming from the opposite direction.
“You’re late, my dear,” Louisa said, sounding worried.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Mary dropped her skates and sat. She looked across the lake, distracted by the winter landscape. She was a painter and had an artist’s eye for nature’s beauties. Mary’s fingers itched for a pencil to sketch a birch tree’s curling white bark and capture winter-bare branches like black lace against the sky.
Louisa eyed her sister-in-law. “Have you changed your mind?”
Mary smiled at her hopeful tone. “Not at all.” She bent and fiddled with her skates.
“My dear, suppose you fall?”
“I wore my best lace petticoat just in case my skirts fly.” She scanned the skaters. “I don’t see Charles. Has he grown bored already and given up?”
Her brother’s recent enthusiasm for the sport surprised Mary. He’d rarely done anything more strenuous than amble through a picture gallery. But Charles, being Charles, had no objection to her company that afternoon.
Mary spotted her tall brother etching lazy figure eights into the ice. Charles looked up and waved. Then, in a burst of energy, he tossed the end of his scarlet scarf over his shoulder and skated to the lake’s edge, turning the inside of his blade into the ice, sending flakes flying. He doffed his fawn houndstooth cap in a sweeping bow.
“Ladies, no applause, please.”
“You’ve been practicing,” Mary said.
“And you’re late—but what else is new?”
“Does your business partner know you’re playing truant?”
“Allingham and Allen can do without me for a day.” Charles turned to Louisa. “My dear, I hope you’re not dissuading Mary from skating today.”
Louisa swept her muff across the lake. “I don’t see a single lady out on the ice.”
“Lady?” Charles stretched out the word, raising his voice in a comical question. “You expect our Mary to do the ladylike thing?” A grin split the fair hairs of his trim beard and mustache. “I have the answer.” He edged up the incline sideways and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Come, my dear, you must set the precedent. Slide along with me. Never mind your boots. I’ll hold you up.”
