Rutland Place - Anne Perry [84]
Inigo climbed out and handed her down. The lamps were brilliant in the street, and some on the front of a large building were of different colors.
“Electric,” he said cheerfully. “There are quite a few of them now.”
She stared around her. There was music coming from somewhere, and a dozen or more people on the pavement, mostly men, some of whom were in evening dress.
“Where are we?” she asked in bewilderment. “Where is this?”
“It is a music hall, my dear,” he said with a sudden, flashing smile. “One of the best. Ada Church is singing here tonight, and she’ll pack ’em in.”
“A music hall!” Charlotte was stunned. She had been expecting a cemetery, a clinic, or even a madhouse—but a music hall! It was preposterous—like a black farce.
“Come on.” He took her arm and pushed her toward the doorway. She thought of resisting; she was both frightened and intensely curious. She had heard of Ada Church—she was said to be very handsome, and had one of the best music hall acts. Even Pitt had once commented that she had beautiful legs—of all things! He had smiled as he said it, and she had recognized that he was teasing, so she had refrained from asking him how he knew!
“Good evening, Mr. Charrington, sir.” The doorman raised his hand in a little salute, although his eyes registered surprise at Charlotte. “Good to see you again, sir.”
“You’ve been here before!” Charlotte accused him. “And often!”
“Oh yes.”
She stopped, pulling against his arm. “And you have the impertinence to bring me with you! I know I am a policeman’s wife, but I do not frequent places like this! I’ll have you remember that there are a great many things men may do and women may not! Now you have had your rather cheap joke. I accept that it was tasteless and cruel of me to ask what happened to your sister. You have your revenge, and my apologies. Now please take me home!”
He held on to her arm tightly, too tightly for her to break away.
“Don’t be so pompous,” he said quietly. “You aren’t any good at it. You wanted to know what happened to Ottilie. I’m going to tell you, and prove it. Now stop making a scene and come in. You’ll probably even enjoy it, if you let yourself. And if you don’t want to be seen here, then don’t stand in the entranceway where everybody can look at you making a spectacle of yourself!”
His logic was irrefutable. She jerked her head in the air and sailed in on his arm, looking neither right nor left, and permitted him to seat her at one of the numerous tables in the center of the floor. She was dimly aware of tiers of boxes and balconies, like a theater, of a brilliantly lit stage, of gaudy colors, flounced dresses low off the shoulders, and the black and white of rich men’s clothes mixed with the duller browns of those less comfortable, and even the checks of men come from the local streets. Waiters wove their way through the throng, glasses sparkled as they were raised and lowered, and all the time there was the murmur of voices and the lilt of music.
Inigo said nothing, but she was conscious of his bright face watching her, curiosity and laughter so close to the surface she could feel it as if he touched her.
A waiter came over and he ordered champagne, which in itself seemed to amuse him. When it came, he poured, lifted his glass, and toasted her.
“To detectives,” he said, his eyes silver in the light. “Would to God all mysteries were so simple.”
“I’m beginning to think it is the detectives who are simple!” she replied acidly, but she accepted the champagne and drank it. It was pleasantly sharp, neither sour nor sweet, and she felt less angry after it. When he poured more, she accepted that too.
Presently a juggler came onto the stage, and she watched him without particular interest. She granted that what he was doing was extremely difficult, but it seemed hardly worth the effort. He was followed by a comic who told some very odd jokes, but the audience seemed to find them hilarious. She had a suspicion she had failed to understand the point.
The waiter brought more champagne,