The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [111]
If I had not known better, I would have supposed Henry had driven me to the wrong address – Covent Garden on opening night, or a dinner party at a great mansion. Carriage after carriage drew up and discharged its occupants – men in evening dress, women resplendent in silks and jewels. Apparently Budge had invited every titled and prominent person in London to attend his performance. By doing so (vain creature that he was), he had of course negated his original purpose; but I suppose he did not suspect, as I did, that the false priest was quite possibly one of those very aristocrats whose favour he courted.
I made my way through the crowd. I never have any difficulty making my way through a crowd. Much of the credit must go to my ever-useful parasols, of which I possess a good number, in different styles and colours. The one I carried that evening was a formal parasol in rich black taffeta, which matched my evening dress and cloak. It (the parasol) had a silver handle and ruffles trimmed with lace. I particularly liked the ruffles. They gave the implement a giddy, frivolous appearance that masked its true function; for the shaft was of tempered steel and the point was rather sharp.
I had been amused by Emerson’s solemn warning that I would not be able to get in without an invitation, for I did not suppose I would have any trouble. In fact, a functionary at the door tried to prevent me from entering, but he yielded to my imperious announcement of my identity, and to my parasol.
Whether Budge had been silly enough to invite the press I did not know, but it would not have mattered; they were certain to find out. Almost the first person I saw was Kevin O’Connell, who stood outside the door of the lecture hall busily scribbling in his pocketbook.
When he recognized me he made an abrupt movement, as if to retreat, but the ruffles reassured him. Remembering he had (or thought he had) some cause for offence, he drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at me.
‘Good evening, Mrs Emerson,’ he said distantly.
I gave him a friendly poke with the parasol. ‘Now, Kevin, don’t sulk. The score is still not even; you have played more tricks on me than I have played on you, and you know perfectly well you would have done the same if you had been in our shoes.’
‘Hmph,’ said Kevin.
‘You are looking very handsome this evening,’ I went on. ‘Evening clothes become you, especially with your Titian hair. Did you hire the suit?’
He tried to maintain his air of offended dignity, but it was not in his nature to hold a grudge. His eyes began to twinkle and his mouth to curve up. ‘And when were you last in Ireland, Mrs E.? For it’s clear that you have kissed the Blarney stone yourself. No, I did not hire the suit.’
‘I thought not. It fits you too well.’
‘Where is the professor? I trust he is not ill.’
‘No, you don’t; you would love to see him prostrate and writhing with pain.’ Kevin grinned, and I went on, ‘I was detained. He should have come before me. You haven’t seen him?’
‘No. But I haven’t laid eyes on Mr Budge, either, and he must be here. I suppose he came in by a private entrance, as the professor may have done. I,’ said Kevin, with an air of profound disgust, ‘am taking note of the distinguished guests. This is degenerating into a blooming social event, Mrs E.; they should have sent Lady Whatworth, who writes the court circular for The Queen. ’Tis sorry I am I ever got involved in it, at all, at all.’
‘Perhaps you miss your rival,’ I said slyly.
‘She added a certain zest,’ Kevin acknowledged. ‘But I never expected she would stick; she’s given it up, and run home to Granny. They are about to close the doors, Mrs E. We had better go in.’
‘I will sit with you, if I may.’
Kevin shot me a suspicious look. ‘What are you up to, Mrs Emerson? Why aren’t you with the professor?’
‘Hurry,