A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [79]
“The door is locked!” called a woman’s voice. “Let me in!”
Runcible looked at his uncle and then, reluctantly, put down the cleaver and unlocked it. The detective’s body flooded with relief.
“How can I help you?” he said to the young woman. Lenox turned and saw she was with a man.
“You can’t! I want to see him!” She pointed to Lenox.
He looked again. “Clara?” he said with surprise. “Clara Woodward?”
The girl looked indelibly beautiful, rosy with happiness. “You dear man,” she said, “I’m going to give you a kiss on the cheek.”
Lenox stammered something as she made good on her word. “Thank you,” he managed to come up with at last, blushing, “but whatever for?”
The young man at her side, who looked equally happy, said, “They’re finally letting us get married, and it’s down to you and your wife, sir. Pardon my rudeness—I’m Harold Webb.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Webb.” They shook hands. “More pleased than you know.”
“Isn’t it the most wonderful thing?” said Clara. “I saw you through the window and had to tell you. The way you spoke to my aunt at our dinner in Paris—it brought her to my side of things, and after that it was simple to convince my parents. Harold proposed to me yesterday. You dear, dear man!” she said again and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again on the cheek.
In another mood Lenox might have found this comical, but only now was his heart slowing down. “I’m delighted for you,” he said.
“In eight months’ time,” said Harold, who was a tall, well-built lad, with friendly eyes. “Clara has said more than once that she hopes you’ll come.”
“It was the best luck running into you,” said Clara, her eyes sparkling.
“Indeed,” he murmured. “It would be my pleasure to come to your wedding,” he added and bowed slightly, smiling, “and Jane will be so pleased.”
“Excellent. Now let’s leave him to his shopping, Harold. Good-bye! We’ll send you your invitation soon!”
The three men were left alone again, too quickly for Lenox to say he would leave with the young couple. There was a crucial difference, however, which was that Lenox was closest to the—now unlocked—door. More importantly, perhaps, the mood of anger and tension had deflated.
“Listen, Runcible,” he said. “Starling shouldn’t have gotten you into this mess. I’ll not tell the police if I think I can avoid it.”
The young butcher looked at him suspiciously. “Oh? How do I know?”
“You have my word.”
Now Runcible sighed. “All right. Thank you, Mr. Lenox.” It was strange to see him almost deferential, gentle, after his earlier anger. He would be a dangerous boxer, in the right mood. “Can I have my dockiment back, though?”
Lenox looked down and saw that he was still holding the piece of paper. “Here it is,” he said, handing it over, “and please, be smarter in the future.”
“Stupidest thing I ever heard of,” repeated Schott and went back to his veal as Lenox left the shop.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
On the street Lenox breathed freely for the first time since he had laid eyes on the figure in the shop. Being near Ludo as he was stabbed (Gratefully! Imagine!) had given him a certain squeamishness about blood.
There was always a breakfast or luncheon after a christening. Thomas and Toto had planned a particularly grand one, with lunch served at three o’clock and dancing in the early evening. A select group had been invited to dine, and a larger number to dance, eat sherbets, and gossip about each other.
Lenox tried to recompose himself as he arrived at the house only ten minutes after he had been held at knifepoint, and found that he had an appetite. McConnell was at the door, greeting people, and Toto was seated in the drawing room, a few friends scattered around her for protection, all young and pretty. She motioned him over.
“Charles, you dear, how are you? Didn’t you think George performed admirably? I can’t tell whether I would mind if she ran off and became an actress on the Parisian stage. She has the talent, to be sure—but the life they lead you! Of course she would be popular, but the impudent men