Page 15

She didn’t reply – simply sat, waiting for me to answer her. I was stumped. ‘Er …’

‘Start with this room. What strikes you as different?’

I gazed around at the bookshelves and windows and desk, but there really was nothing new. They were all as cluttered and dented as normal. ‘I don’t see any …’

I trailed off. I’d just worked it out.

‘You’re dressed, Miss Decima.’

Dressing Miss Decima was, thankfully, not on my list of duties. She usually wore the same nightgown for several days in a row, and, when she did need to change, I’d leave her clothes on her bed after breakfast and she’d do it herself, though it took her an absolute age. But this morning, she’d beaten me to it. She was wearing a whole outdoors outfit: hat, shawl, gloves, the lot. No wonder it had taken her so long to start shouting for her egg.

‘Got there in the end,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You really must sharpen yourself up a little, Stephen. The next few days will be intolerable if you don’t arrive at deductions faster than that.’

I opened my mouth to ask the obvious question when the doorbell rang, again.

‘Right on time!’ she sang, happy as anything. ‘Get that, please, Stephen. It will be a telegram for me.’

I walked to the front door, dazed, and opened it. It was the same delivery boy as before. This time, he was wearing a messenger-boy cap.

‘Forgot this,’ he said, holding up a smudged letter with a shoeprint on it. ‘Telegram for Miss Decima Stockingham.’

I nodded dumbly and closed the door on him, just as he held out his hand for a penny. I carried the letter through and watched Miss Decima open it, briefly scan the contents, then turn to her egg.

‘All to be expected,’ she repeated, without much enthusiasm. ‘Stephen, stop gawping, please, and summon a cab. We shall be late for our meeting.’

12

Sunday, 18 June, 8.14 a.m.

It took absolutely ages to find a cab, on account of the fact that she refused on principle to travel in anything other than a motorized one and there were hardly any on a Sunday morning. Normally I’d ask Mr Benson to do it for me, but, just as the messenger boy had said, his office was empty. I finally managed to flag one, then headed back upstairs, wheeled Miss Decima into the lift, escorted her into the cab and then helped the driver strap her bath chair to the roof. By the time I clambered inside after her, I was exhausted.

‘I don’t see why you won’t take a simple horse-drawn growler, Miss Decima,’ I huffed. ‘It always makes things ten times more difficult.’

‘Stephen, I have been perfectly clear on this. I will not spend any more time in the company of a horse than is absolutely necessary.’

I groaned. ‘This thing with you and horses –’

‘Posturing little bastards,’ she spat, rapping the cab ceiling. ‘Driver! 44 Berkeley Square, please.’

I recognized the address – it was right in Mayfair, one of the finest parts of the city. But I had no idea why we were going there, or even who had written to Miss Decima: she hadn’t told me a thing. The cab lurched off and we trundled out of the Gore and away from the Hall. The roads were still a complete mess from last night: there was rubbish strewn across the pavements, broken glass everywhere, hats and handbags stamped into the gutter. Who knew how far down the street the vandalism stretched – maybe even as far as Ponting’s. I swallowed. ‘Miss Decima, regarding that advance on my wages –’

‘All in good time, Stephen,’ she replied. ‘For now, study this telegram and tell me what you think, please.’

She handed it over before I could continue. Curiosity got the better of me and I took it, eager to see who had summoned her.

The presence of Miss Decima Stockingham is kindly requested at

44 Berkeley Square

as soon as is convenient to her.

A friend

That was it. No name, no explanation. As far as I knew, Miss Decima didn’t have any friends. ‘Who’s it from?’

‘Well!’ she huffed, gazing imperiously out of the window. ‘Sounds like someone needs to work on their training!’

I groaned again. She wasn’t going to tell me until I solved it for myself. So I sat for the rest of the journey in silence, pretending to rack my brains for an answer, while all the time wondering what had become of my red hat.