‘Have you asked yourself why she would bother, sir?’
‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought with all the other things screaming for my attention. Assassination trumps a languishing look any day.’ He sighed and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘And, at all events, you can put all this Milady’s Boudoir nonsense out of your head — we have more serious matters to mull over. Cassandra’s news was a bit of a facer, don’t you think?’
‘Glory be, yes! Norfolk! A selection of the royal family gathered together under one doubtless rickety church roof.’
‘And, before you ask — I had no idea. If our Morrigan gets to hear of this — and on the rambling grapevine that is English society, she’s probably had word already — she’ll be forging her invitation, hiding herself behind the arras or planning to blow up the church. Next Saturday. It’s tight, but she must be accounted for well before next Saturday.’
‘Morrigan! Entertaining load of cobblers you were dishing out for the Dedhams! The cabby ruled her out? Oh, yes? And have you investigated a connection between the possible Sinn Fein lady and the possible gent at number thirty-nine?’
‘Mountfitchet? He’s not as white as the driven snow. Bacchus managed to gain access to the gentleman in one of his more wakeful moments. Kicked out of his regiment for naughtiness of various kinds. But he hasn’t two working brain cells to rub together, nor a political bone in his body, which is English to the core. No Irish connections whatsoever. Dead end I’m afraid, Wentworth.’
Taxis seemed to be few and far between on a Sunday afternoon. And, annoyingly, the moment Joe had attracted the attention of one, Wentworth unhooked her arm from his and turned a stricken face to him. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ she gabbled. ‘Sir! Ever so sorry. I’ve left my shoulder bag by the sofa back at the admiral’s.’ She looked to left and right, calculating distances. ‘I’ll nip back and get it. Straight in and out. Don’t you come — they’d haul you in again and offer us drinks and we’d lose another hour. Look, that taxi’s drawing up … don’t let it go. Hop in and I’ll see you back at the Yard. I can just stay on the doorstep and ask Eva to fetch it out for me.’
She was six steps down the road by the time he called after her. ‘I know what you’re up to, constable! Stay clear of the hazel eyes — and the antlers!’
The taxi was turning in to Victoria Street when he began to curse himself for all kinds of a fool. He’d seen her hang her battered old satchel on the hatstand in his office before they left. Too shabby to take out to tea in Mayfair?
‘Cabby! Back to Melton Square! Fast!’