Rupert flushed a little and grunted. “Thank you, my dear. But I think just toast if you will send for bread and hand me the toasting fork.”
We conversed politely of the weather and the state of the pound until the tea things had been refreshed. A stack of newly cut bread arrivedwith more sandwiches, whole plates of cake and tarts along with a kettle of boiling water for the pot. I toasted the bread whilst Lavinia occupied herself with the business of serving, handing out cups topped with a lavish spoonful of whisky this time.
“For the chill,” she murmured. The maid left at last, and as Rupert applied himself to a stack of buttered toast, Lavinia turned to us.
“So with what fresh adventure can we assist today?” she asked brightly.
Rupert choked a little, and it took several swallows of tea before he recovered himself.
“My dear,” he managed at last. “I think the safest course in our dealings with Stoker and Veronica is never to ask questions about their deviltry.”
Stoker raised a brow. “What deviltry?”
Rupert gave him a pained look. “Stoker, I have, as you know, the confidence of the Government at the highest levels. Kindly pay me the compliment of not underestimating what I know about your exploits.”
“Exploits?”
Rupert waved a hand. “Very well, yourshenanigans.”
“Shenanigans?” Stoker was clearly outraged. “I will have you know thoseshenaniganshave resulted in—”
“Your near death and Veronica’s by drowning, stabbing, shooting, garroting, and—have I left any out?” Rupert asked pleasantly.
“I was going to say they have resulted in the exposure of several murderers, the saving of an innocent man from the hangman’s noose, and—oh, yes, how quickly we do forget—the successful signing of a treaty between Britain and our allies that has preserved the peace against German encroachment,” Stoker thundered back.
“Should we speakquiteso loudly about the treaty?” I asked. “Perhaps it is best if the entire domestic staff do not know the details of matters of international significance.”
“It is quite all right,” Lavinia assured me. “They are all hired throughRupert’s office and thoroughly vetted. The upstairs maid used to work at the Palace.”
“Oh, that is nice,” I told her.
“Yes, she has given the laundress some extremely useful tips on how to get Rupert’s cuffs white. He is forever scribbling on them in pencil. Usually secret codes,” she added with a tap of the finger to the side of her nose.
I nodded in understanding, and Rupert made a strangled noise deep in his throat. “My dear, do you think it is possible that we might omit any discussions of my precise work with people who are not altogether—”
“Not altogether what, Rip?” Stoker asked as he set his cup into its saucer with an audible crack. The use of Rupert’s nickname ought to have been a signal to him of Stoker’s mood, and if not, the tone certainly was. Stoker was edging into a dangerous mood, one which might well result in a bit of fraternal unpleasantness. He was always sensitive to slights from his brothers, and Rupert’s perpetual conventionality would never fully appreciate Stoker’s more unorthodox talents.
Rupert sighed. “Please do not break the crockery, Revelstoke. The tea set was a gift from the Khedive of Egypt and it’s rather a favourite.”
“It is a most attractive pattern,” I put in kindly.
“Thank you, my dear. Now, if you do not mind, I have had rather a trying day, and my feet are wet. I am starting a cold. I want a hot bath, my slippers, and a proper dinner on a tray in bed, followed by a glass of port that is older than any one of us. I do not believe this is an entirely social call, so I should take it as a personal favour if you would state your business and let me get on with slowly dying.”
“People hardly ever die of colds,” I told him.
“I shall mark that as a consolation,” Rupert replied. He paused and looked at us significantly. Stoker had lapsed into mulish silence, and I realised it was left to me to explain our errand.
“We have indeed come to ask a favour, a very small one,” I assured Rupert. “We would like an introduction to Lord Ambrose Despard.”
“Despard! What do you want with that eccentric?”
“Is he eccentric?” I asked, widening my eyes. It had occurred to me that anyone who collected waxwork Beauties might well be rather out of the ordinary, but the less we shared with Rupert the better, I decided.
“The whole of the Despard family are,” Lavinia put in. “The late marquess was a bit of a fanatic with regards to health—always following the latest fads. I remember a time when he was obsessed with body temperature. He believed it had to be strictly regulated, so every morning he dressed in seven coats, and as the day went on and he became warmer, he would discard them one at a time.”
“A trifle unusual, I grant you,” I said. “But not entirely unhinged.”
“Except that he simply dropped the coats wherever he happened to be. On a train, walking across a field, in the middle of church—he just tossed them aside. The children who lived near his house knew they could earn a ha’penny for each one returned to him, so they took to following the marquess around and waiting for him to discard his coats. Of course, the oddness didn’t end with him,” she went on. “The new marquess, Lord Ambrose’s elder brother, courted me briefly when I first came out. A frightfully good dancer, but he would only waltz with his left hand held above his head. Something about blood flow. I tried to overlook it—one doesn’t like to be impolite, and he was a wonderful conversationalist.”