Page 4 of The Locked Room

Harry felt her heart sink. While she’d never visited any of the many nightclubs that seemed to spring up and close virtually overnight in Soho, she’d read enough reports of police raids in the newspapers to know the role of a hostess involved much more than encouraging the clientele to dance along to the band. Often unlicensed, the clubs were run as bottle parties, which allowed them to serve alcohol past legal hours. Guests were required to sign an ‘invitation’ to gain entry, and place a private order for the drinks they wanted to consume while on the premises, usually at ridiculously high prices. The job of a hostess was to encourage them to stay longer and drink more, and perhaps lure them into worse vices. It was not, Harry thought, an encouraging discovery.

‘As you’d expect, Lawrence reported this to Mama and Papa, who confronted Rufus and made it clear that an engagement was out of the question,’ Seb continued. ‘He refused to break things off and was immediately sent to contemplate his choices in the Highlands.’

The change had done Rufus good, Harry had thought when he’d returned to Abinger Hall for Christmas. Gone was the slightly sallow tinge brought about by too many late nights – he’d been clear-eyed and straight-backed, glowing with the kind of good health only fresh air and exercise could provide. She even thought he’d grown an inch, so that he was almost as tall as Seb. His demeanour had changed too – he had always been mercurial, charming one moment and furious the next, but he’d been agreeable and polite throughout the holiday. Perhaps suspiciously so, Harry mused now. ‘Let me guess – he didn’t break things off with Miss Eccleston.’

Seb sighed. ‘He did not. Great-Uncle Douglas mentioned to Mama that Rufus had received a number of letters from London while he’d been in Scotland. He forwarded one that had arrived after Rufus had left, which she intercepted and read.’

Harry winced, caught between indignation that their mother would do such a thing and apprehension about what the letter revealed. ‘And?’

‘Rather than return to Great-Uncle Douglas at the end of this week, it seems Rufus plans to elope to Gretna Green with Miss Eccleston, where they will be married over the blacksmith’s anvil. The letter details which train she will be taking and reminds him to bring money for lodgings on their wedding night.’

Harry groaned. None of them had met Serafina Eccleston and it was possible they were doing both her and Rufus a great disservice. The two of them could very well be a pair of star-crossed lovers and their desperate plans to elope the result of being denied a more leisurely courtship. But the speed with which matters were moving troubled Harry. There was a strong possibility that her mother was right, that Miss Eccleston was trying to improve her situation in life and she had chosen Rufus as the means to do so. ‘What happens now?’

‘Obviously, Mama has invented a reason not to send Rufus back to Scotland as planned,’ Seb said. ‘And she’s tasked me and Lawrence with finding a way to persuade Serafina to break things off. I suppose we’ll have to pay her.’

‘I suppose so,’ Harry echoed doubtfully. She had no idea how much it would cost to satisfy the girl – it all depended how confident she was of her beau’s affections. Rufus was not in line to inherit anything more than a sizeable allowance, but he did offer status and a very nice lifestyle. That could be worth more to a determined gold digger than a quick pay-off. And there was also a chance she was truly in love with Rufus, in which case Harry assumed no amount of money would deter her. The trouble was that while an indignant refusal might be terribly romantic, it wouldn’t overcome the fundamental difficulty of her station in life. Evelyn White might say she wanted her children to have happy, loving marriages, but Harry did not imagine that extended to welcoming a dance hostess into the family, no matter how anguished Rufus became. If it was love, he would need the support of his brothers and sisters to overcome their mother’s objections, and none of them could offer that without a better understanding of who Miss Eccleston was. ‘Do you think we should find out a little more about her before we jump to any conclusions?’

‘How?’ Seb asked, looking askance. ‘No crime has been committed, as far as we know, so we can’t trouble the police. Surely you’re not suggesting we hire a detective?’

Endeavouring to maintain a neutral expression, Harry waved a dismissive hand. ‘Of course not. But some discreet enquiries might be prudent. We might uncover something we can use.’

He cocked his head. ‘You’ve been reading too many mystery novels.’

‘Probably,’ she said, forcing herself to smile.

‘Still, you might have a point,’ Seb mused. ‘As the great Sun Tzu said, attack is the secret of defence. I’ll speak to Fortescue, see what he thinks. He might know someone at Scotland Yard who can do a bit of digging around on the sly.’

‘Oh, do you think so?’ Harry said, wrinkling her forehead as though the idea would never have occurred to her. ‘Yes, I suppose he might.’

‘In fact, I’m going to delegate that task to you, Harry,’ Seb said, beaming at her in self-satisfaction. ‘The two of you can discuss it over dinner or drinks – it might be just the nudge he needs to see you as more than Lawrence’s little sister, eh?’

Given Oliver’s involvement in Harry’s recent adventures as R. K. Moss, she was fairly certain that his opinion of her had already undergone some extensive changes, even if he hadn’t expressly said so. When she had first sought his help, to visit Mildred Longstaff in Holloway Prison several months earlier, he had agreed out of duty to Lawrence but hadn’t backed away when Harry admitted the truth about her interest in Mildred’s plight. Despite clear reservations, he had continued to assist and, on more than one occasion since, Harry had caught him observing her with what looked very much like respect, which suggested he had learned she was considerably more capable than she might appear. Perhaps he was even beginning to regard her as an equal, a thought that gave her no small amount of satisfaction; her own opinion of him had certainly deepened in return. But Seb didn’t need to know that she and Oliver had developed a partnership that was quite separate from his friendliness with Lawrence. Apart from anything else, it suited Harry to pretend Oliver might use an acquaintance at Scotland Yard to look into Miss Eccleston. It meant she could employ agents of her own, without having to explain how she had come by the information. ‘An excellent idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to him tomorrow.’

‘I recommend Gordon’s Wine Bar, near Charing Cross,’ Seb offered, raising his champagne glass with a suggestive wink. ‘Full of nooks and crannies for secluded tête-à-têtes.’

He really was incorrigible, Harry thought with exasperation. The teenage crush she’d once nursed for Oliver was a thing of the distant past, but Seb rarely missed an opportunity to tease her about it and the teasing was made all the more annoying by the fact that her heart still felt the occasional flutter when her guard was down. It was something she would rather die than admit but she supposed it wouldn’t do any harm for any onlookers to mistake them for a couple, especially since Oliver had no idea how she had once felt. ‘Thanks for the tip,’ she managed, with only a hint of asperity.

Her dryness was lost on Seb. ‘Let me know what he uncovers,’ he replied, and was instantly distracted by the approach of their waiter. ‘And look – here are the oysters. Now the evening can really get going.’

3

It was a little before midday on Wednesday when Harry discovered the letter from Esme Longstaff. The envelope was addressed in the same copperplate handwriting Harry recognised from the young woman’s previous correspondence, although one or two of the vowels were carelessly shaped, as though written in haste. Frowning, Harry slit the envelope apart and withdrew the letter.

Mr Sherlock Holmes

221b Baker Street

London

NW1 6XE

5, The Cottages

Foxley

Surrey

23 December 1932