Page 13 of The Locked Room

Beth quirked her lips. ‘Very nice. Won’t your butler notice?’

‘I don’t have one,’ Harry said, and felt a pang of reproach at the thought of Chesterton, the Abinger family butler. ‘At least, not in London. I live alone, as it happens, in a small apartment that suits me perfectly.’

‘Good for you,’ she said, favouring Harry with a considering gaze. ‘In that case, I accept.’

Reaching into her purse again, Harry withdrew a small rectangle of card, upon which she had written her address. ‘I will be home at five o’clock, if that suits you.’

‘It does,’ Beth said, taking the card and tucking it away.

‘Excellent,’ Harry replied. ‘Which brings me to my final question. My brother needs to supply our names in advance of our visit. What do you want to be called?’

The question gave Beth a moment’s pause. ‘Lizzie,’ she said at length. ‘Lizzie Devine. That’s posh enough, I reckon.’

Harry turned it over in her mind, making sure Beth hadn’t accidentally hit upon the name of someone she already knew. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your shopping trip. You should find everything you need in Selfridges.’

The other woman grinned. ‘Selfridges? No fear. I’m off to Petticoat Lane, thank you very much.’

The market that crowded the length of Middlesex Street was still called Petticoat Lane, in spite of the road being renamed more than a century earlier. It was as famous for its silver-tongued street traders as it was for the dubious goods they sold but Harry suspected Beth was too shrewd to be taken in by smooth sales talk. Shopping there might even mean some money left over from the crisp notes she had handed over. Not that she begrudged the expense, which was entirely necessary to find out the truth about Serafina – or Ida – Eccleston.

‘As long as you’re able to get everything you need, I don’t mind where you go,’ Harry replied. ‘I’ll see you later. We can plan everything in more detail then.’

‘See you later,’ Beth echoed, and cocked her head. ‘It’s nice to meet you properly, Harry White. I think we’re going to have some fun together.’

6

Harry wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting the entrance of the Hot Spot to look like, but she had not imagined a shabby black front door that simply bore a brass knocker and no number.

‘That’s rather the point,’ Seb murmured when she expressed her surprise as they climbed out of the cab. ‘It’s a private party, only accessible by invitation. It’s supposed to be nondescript, at least on the outside.’

He gave one short rap on the door knocker and stood back expectantly. Beside him, Beth merely shrugged, as though she attended illicit bottle parties in Soho every night of the week. She certainly looked the part, Harry thought, feeling alarmingly drab in comparison. Her dress was long, a flash of azure-blue satin peeping from beneath the sumptuous, almost floor-length coat wrapped over the top. She had not seemed the least disappointed when Harry confessed she did not own a fur stole to complete the look. Her dark hair was fastened into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, coaxed into fashionable waves that framed her neat features and transformed her into an elegant reinvention of a bright young thing, the thrilling group who had ruled London’s nightclub scene for most of the previous decade. And she had managed to buy everything she needed at a fraction of the money it would have cost at Selfridges.

‘I drive a hard bargain,’ she’d explained over tea in Harry’s apartment, when Harry had exclaimed over the amount she’d tried to return to her.

‘Then you earned it,’ Harry said, shaking her head in astonishment. ‘Consider whatever is left as payment for this evening.’

Seb was quite taken with her too, beaming with approval when Harry introduced him to her friend Lizzie in the taxi cab. ‘What an utter delight to meet you, Miss Devine. I can tell you are exactly the kind of friend my sister needs to rescue her from self-imposed spinsterhood.’

Beth smiled, her cheeks dimpling as she dipped her head. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

Deciding as they dressed that it would be too risky for Beth to attempt to disguise her Cockney accent, they had invented a wealthy merchant father who indulged his daughter’s ambitions of rising above her East End roots. They kept the details of how and where the two of them had met vague – at some get-together or another would suffice – and agreed that admitting to a loose connection would allow Beth to drift away as the night wore on, the better to undertake her mission. Thankfully, it appeared Seb was too captivated by Beth’s appearance to question the likelihood of his sister making such an acquaintance.

Gerrard Street was in the heart of Soho, an area of such wild reputation that Harry had not felt the need to visit. She took the opportunity to gaze curiously around as they waited for the door to be opened, taking in the crowd spilling from the pub on one corner and resisting the temptation to tap her foot to the music floating above the laughter and chatter on the frosty air. It was not yet ten o’clock, perhaps too early for the wildest behaviour to manifest itself, but she could only see people enjoying themselves. It seemed to her that rumours of Soho’s debauchery were greatly exaggerated.

‘Ah,’ Seb said, turning an expectant look towards the door at the sound of bolts being drawn back. ‘Open sesame.’

The door was pulled back enough for a sharp-faced, diminutive woman to peer out at them. She looked them up and down in turn, showing no sign of recognition as her scowl travelled over Seb. He smiled in return. ‘How are you this evening, Nell? You look as radiant as ever.’

The woman was unmoved by his honeyed tone. ‘Names?’ she snapped.

Seb remained unperturbed. ‘Samuel Black, Hortensia Croft and the esteemed Laura Doone.’

Harry did not dare glance at Beth as he pronounced the unfamiliar names. Nell made a show of consulting a dog-eared notebook, somehow managing to eye them with disfavour at the same time. After a moment, she let out a grunt of satisfaction and opened the door wide enough to allow them inside, slamming the bolts home as though shutting out a pack of crazed wolves. The hallway beyond the door was narrow and badly lit. One yellowed bulb hung from the ceiling, revealing peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet that led to a single staircase at the far end. It was not the most welcoming of entrances and Harry could only hope the club beyond was better furnished.

‘Sign here,’ Nell demanded, pointing to another book, this one on a small table behind the door. Seb bent to scribble carelessly on the page, then handed the pen to Harry. She squinted down at the writing, locating the name Seb had given for her and saw that the neighbouring column detailed an order for a bottle of champagne. Trying to look natural, she jiggled the pen to create a perfectly illegible signature. Beth followed suit and placed the pen on the paper. Beside them, Seb peeled off three pound notes and handed them to Nell, who took them without smiling.

‘Up the stairs,’ Nell said, jerking her head towards the end of the hallway. ‘Ask for Albert.’

Seb made a little bow. ‘Always a pleasure, Nell.’