I strode along South Audley Street, my chin tucked into my coat collar against the sharp November wind, holding my suitcase in one hand and the birdcage in the other. It’s bad form for a houseguest to arrive with a pet, but it couldn’t be helped—I had to bring the parrot with me to Alton House.
I had accidentally acquired Mr. Quigley, an African gray parrot, through an interesting series of events that occurred during a dinner party at Parkview Hall. I hadn’t been looking for a pet. Being a working girl didn’t leave room for much else in my life, but it had fallen to me to care for Mr. Quigley until I could find him a new home. He was quite entertaining. His previous owner had been a missionary, and Mr. Quigley was given to spouting Scripture quotations occasionally.
My former landlady, Mrs. Gutler, had been quite fond of Mr. Quigley. She’d been more than happy to keep an eye on him during my recent trip to Warwickshire. But Mrs. Gutler was closing her boardinghouse, and I’d found a minuscule flat to lease. I’d intended to move to my new flat that morning and install Mr. Quigley there before departing to stay with my school chum, Gigi, who lived in Mayfair. My flat would be about a half-hour walk. I could pop over and check on Mr. Quigley each day until I’d sorted out the problem that had prompted Gigi’s invitation. But when I’d arrived at my new flat to pick up the keys, the hall porter had informed me of the landlord’s apologies and handed me an envelope, returning my deposit. Someone had made the landlord a better offer than what I’d agreed to pay, and the landlord had taken it.
I was due at Gigi’s for tea, and I’d spent the intervening hours trying to find new living quarters, but I hadn’t been successful. I’d stopped at a callbox and rung my good friend Jasper Rimington in the hopes that he might be able to take charge of Mr. Quigley, but Jasper was leaving town.
“One of my semi-annual command appearances before the pater. I could have Grigsby take charge of Mr. Quigley for you.”
“Oh, no. The situation isn’t that desperate yet. Grigsby is already less than fond of me, and I don’t want to give him any more reasons to dislike me.”
“Rotten luck, what with the landlord renting the flat out from underneath you, old bean.”
“Yes, it’s too disappointing for words.”
I literally couldn’t speak about it without a tight feeling in the back of my throat. When I had first taken the envelope from the hall porter, my vision had blurred as I’d teared up. I’d spent quite a long time searching London for new accommodations after Mrs. Gutler, a widow, had announced she was marrying and would be closing her boardinghouse. After so many unsuccessful attempts to arrange lodgings, I’d thought I’d finally found somewhere to settle. Granted, the rooms had been small and dim, but at least they were clean and free of mold. It was to have been my very own place for at least twelve months.
Jasper had continued, “I should be back from the country within a day or two. I’d be happy to take Mr. Quigley then.”
“Thank you, Jasper. That’s kind of you.”
“I’ll give you a ring at Alton House when I get back in town. But I’m sure it will be fine. Gigi seems a good sort.”
“It’s not Gigi I’m worried about. She won’t mind. It’s her grandmother’s reaction that concerns me.” Gigi, more formally known as Lady Gina Alton, came from a prestigious old-money family, and I wasn’t sure what sort of reception I’d get arriving with a parrot in tow.
I’d said goodbye to Jasper, then set off for Alton House on foot. Thank goodness I’d sent my trunk of clothes directly to Alton House. I only had one small case and the birdcage to tote around.
After a few minutes of walking, I reached Alton House, an imposing four-story Beaux Arts mansion in the heart of Mayfair. No lawn or shrubbery separated the house from the street, just a strip of pavement and a low stone balustrade. The stately façade of stone medallions and intricately carved pediments loomed over me as I rang the bell.
When the door opened, a tall butler with a full head of silver hair looked down at me from his hooded eyes. Elrick was a figure I remembered from a prior visit to Alton House with Gigi during our school holidays. Her parents often traveled, and, when they were away, her grandmother came to oversee Alton House, bringing her staff with her, which included her butler. Even though his expression didn’t change, as soon as his gaze fell on the birdcage, I could feel a wave of disapproval.
“Hello, Elrick.”
Before he could reply, an alto voice came from beyond his shoulder. “Who is it, Elrick? Is it Olive?”
Gigi’s elfin form appeared at the butler’s side. Her glossy black hair styled in an Eton crop barely reached the butler’s shoulder. “It is! Elrick, let Olive in.”
The butler gave way, and Gigi drew me inside the massive entry with its white marble staircase. The wrought-iron balustrade curved elegantly up to the gallery above. The entire flat I’d hoped to live in would have fit comfortably on the staircase landing.
“It’s simply marvelous you’re here, Olive. And you brought Mr. Quigley. Splendid! Just what we need around here to make things more lively, isn’t it, Elrick?” She flipped back the cloth cover from the cage, and Mr. Quigley tilted his head to the side.
“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Instead of the bland tones I would expect from an upper servant, I heard a note of disapproval directed at Gigi in Elrick’s reply. Either she didn’t notice or she decided to ignore it.
Gigi hunched over and peered inside the cage. “Say something for Elrick. Show him how clever you are, Mr. Quigley.”
Mr. Quigley sidestepped along his perch and, with a ruffle of his feathers, let out a squawk that could probably be heard belowstairs in the kitchen. I flipped the cloth back over the cage. “Perhaps later.”
Gigi popped up. “Of course. I’ll show you to your room.” Elrick had signaled to a footman, who took my suitcase and the birdcage.
Gigi looped her arm through mine and pulled me to the staircase. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived.” She squeezed my arm. “It’s been grim with Granny here.”
The clack of the typewriter sounded as we walked along the corridor upstairs. It brought to mind Jasper a week ago at Hawthorne House, his fingers flying over the keys as he typed an art inventory for me. I’d discovered Jasper had a hidden talent—touch typing. But unlike Jasper, whose fingers had hardly ever paused, this typist slowly picked out a few letters, then trailed off into silence.
“My cousin Felix. He’s working on a new play,” Gigi said and put a finger to her lips as we passed the open door. A young man sat at a desk, his back to the door. He wore a cape that trailed to the floor on each side of his chair. The cape hid his build, but if his narrow neck was any indication, he was a skinny young man. He wasn’t bent over the typewriter. His head was up, and he seemed to be gazing out the window in front of his desk. He didn’t notice us as we walked by.
When we were a few steps down the hall, Gigi spoke but kept her voice low. “Poor Felix. He’s had a rough time. His first play opened last week. The critics weren’t kind. I think he should stick to novels. He wrote a ‘shocker’ that he let me read. I thought it was splendid, but he wants to write plays.”
Gigi had occasionally mentioned her younger cousin, Viscount Daley, but I didn’t know he’d had a play performed. “Was his play any good?”
“No idea, darling. I fell asleep before intermission, so I don’t really know.”
“Gigi, that’s terrible!”
“I’d danced all night the evening before. A girl can’t be expected to stay awake when there isn’t any banter to enjoy. Felix is a dear, but his stuff is rather dreary. Granny forbade him to read his poetry aloud at tea after the one about the blood in the trenches.”
“Oh, was he in the War?” The fragility of his neck had given me the impression that he was young.
“Oh, no. He’s three years younger than I am, but he says”—her voice shifted to a deeper timbre—“all the best literature is of a sober nature.” She grinned. “I tease him terribly. He’s such a serious little bug. I tell him life is beastly enough. He doesn’t need to dwell on the bad parts.” A shadow seemed to pass over Gigi’s face, and I imagined she was thinking of her older brother, Jeffery, who’d died during the first days of the War. “I tell him that now’s not the time to focus on death and dying. Now’s the time to live.” Her words were fierce, and someone who didn’t know her might have thought she sounded callous, but I knew she’d been devastated at the news of Jeffery’s death. I thought her abandonment to what some would call a self-indulgent existence was her way of embracing life.
“And Felix is staying here at Alton House?” In the quick glimpse I’d gotten as we passed by, the room had looked neat apart from the desk, but it also had a lived-in atmosphere with stacks of books and newspapers ranging across the surfaces and pictures propped up on the bureau.
“Yes, it was Granny’s idea. She says it’s only right that the heir should be here with Daddy. Never mind that Daddy and Mummy are away half the year.”
“And how are your parents? Are they having a good journey?”
“Splendid, now that they’re off the ship. Mummy suffers from the most ghastly seasickness. She said in her last letter that she’s so glad to be on land that she doesn’t even mind the heat in India.” Gigi opened one of the paneled doors that were twice as tall as we were. “Here we are. Mrs. Monce, the housekeeper, suggested you have this room as it’s away from the noise of the street.”
“Oh, it’s lovely.” The wall coverings were a pale rose, which made a nice contrast to the intricately carved and gilded trim of the rococo furniture, which had a hand-painted flower motif. Swaths of a floral brocade hung from the ceiling to enclose the bed, and drapes of the same material framed the windows, which looked out over a square garden. A fire blazed in the grate, and my luggage had already been brought up along with Mr. Quigley’s cage. The delightful room was more spacious than any flat within my meager budget.
A door opened across the hall, and a plump woman with straw-colored blonde hair came out, pulling on her gloves. The moment she saw Gigi, she rushed in through the open door to my room and clasped Gigi’s hands. “Rollo’s written to me again. It’s too, too divine.” She swung their linked hands in and out as she spoke.
“Goodness, Addie. That’s every day for a fortnight. Very impressive. I think you have him well and truly hooked.”
“I do hope so.” Addie squeezed Gigi’s hands before dropping them. “He’s the most adorable man. I’m off to meet him now. He’s taking me to Gunter’s.”
“How lovely. Before you go, may I present my friend?” Gigi turned so that I was included in the conversation and performed the introduction. “Olive, this is Addie Inglebrook, Captain Inglebrook’s sister. Addie, this is Olive Belgrave, a good friend of mine.”
Addie bounced on her toes as she turned to me. “How too, too marvelous! More young people!”
“How do you do, Miss Inglebrook?” As we exchanged greetings, I scanned her apple-cheeked face and soft brown eyes, but I couldn’t see any similarity to the dashing Captain Inglebrook, who had recently set many hearts aflutter. My cousin Gwen had been among that group, but her interest in Inglebrook had only lasted a short time.
Addie smiled widely, bringing out dimples on either side of her mouth. “If you’re looking for the family resemblance, I’m afraid there isn’t much of one. Thomas is my stepbrother.”
“Forgive me for staring.”
“And you must call me Addie. Gigi spoke of you so fondly that I feel as if I already know you. I do hope we’ll become the best of pals.”
“Then you must call me Olive.” There was really no other reply in the face of such determined enthusiasm. “Is your stepbrother staying here as well?” I asked Addie while sending Gigi an arch look.
“No, he’s staying nearby with a friend.”
“Which works out well,” Gigi said. “Granny would never allow a single gentleman to stay, even when we have other guests. She’s quite the Victorian dragon.”
The clocks in the house began ringing at the top of the hour, the grandfather clock with a deep bass knell, and the smaller carriage clocks with light cascading chimes. Addie took a few steps back, moving through the doorway into the corridor. “I’m sorry to run off, but I must fly. Rollo hates to wait.” She said the last sentence as if impatience was the most endearing characteristic she could name about a man. She hurried off with a springy step, humming “Ain’t We Got Fun.”
Gigi sighed as she watched Addie disappear down the stairs. “She is smitten. That first flush of love. It quite obliterates one’s ability to think rationally.” Gigi sent me a saucy grin. “I want that.”
“You always want to be in love.”
“As Addie would say, it’s ‘too, too divine.’”
“Is Rollo equally smitten with her?”
“I believe so. Do you know him? Roland Weatherspoon? Good family from the Dales. He has a passion for motorcars. Don’t let him corner you during a party. You’ll never hear the end of his chatter about engine parts, pistons, and horsepower.”
“Noted.” I moved to flick back the cover over the birdcage. I was surprised to see Mr. Quigley’s water bowl was full. The footman who’d brought him to my room must have seen to it before he departed. “And isn’t Captain Inglebrook too, too divine? Or have you gone off him?”
Gigi loved to be in love, but she fell in and out of the state rapidly. She strolled around the room, inspecting the flower arrangement on the small table beside the armchair and whisking away a crumpled leaf. “There’s nothing very interesting going on with Captain Inglebrook. I’m not head over heels like Addie.”
“But his sister is staying here.”
The door of the wardrobe hadn’t been closed completely. Gigi crossed to it, put a hand on the spray of roses and daisies painted on the center, and pushed it shut. A little grin curved up the corners of her mouth. “It does give him many reasons to visit us.”
“And flirt with you.”
“I’m never opposed to flirtation. And Addie is a dear. So enthusiastic and cheerful. It’s nice to have her around. She counteracts Felix’s gloom.”
“His new play isn’t going well?”
“I think it isn’t going at all. That’s the problem.” Gigi cocked her head toward the still-open door. No sounds of clacking typewriter keys broke the silence. Gigi made a face. “I’ll have a word with him to be on his best behavior at dinner tonight. He’s a grump when he doesn’t get more than a page written.”
“He won’t be down for tea?”
“I doubt it. He’ll sit there all afternoon, staring out the window.” Gigi shook her head. “I don’t understand it. How can he be still that long?” Gigi, who had walked to the window to tweak the drape and then crossed to the door again, paused with her hand on the knob. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. Would you like to come down for tea and meet Granny, or would you rather wait and meet her before dinner?”
“I’ll come down for tea. That’s why I’m here, after all.” Gigi had only told me that her grandmother thought someone was trying to harm her. Initially, I’d had the impression that her grandmother was a bit on the dotty side, but that didn’t match up with Gigi’s description of her as a dragon.
“Excellent. I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”
“Wait. Aren’t you going to tell me what’s worrying your grandmother?”
“I think I should let her explain it.”
I frowned at the door after Gigi closed it, wishing she’d at least given me some details. It wasn’t like her to be coy—not with me. She excelled in coy flirting, but she’d always been forthcoming when it was just “us girls.”
I turned back to the cage and opened the door. I’d learned in the last few weeks that Mr. Quigley liked to walk around my dressing table as I freshened up. He stalked across it, twisting his head at his reflection as I removed my hat and combed my bobbed hair. I dusted powder lightly over my face, then applied a thin layer of lipstick. I suspected Gigi’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Alton, was the sort to frown on cosmetics.
I held out my arm. Mr. Quigley nudged my powder puff, then returned to studying his reflection as I tried to coax him to come to me. After nosing around my jewelry box, he finally hopped on my wrist. He cocked his head so I could stroke the feathers along his neck as I took him back to the cage. “I’m off to see the Victorian dragon.”
He flitted inside and landed on the perch, squawked, then announced, “Redeem the time.”
I recognized the verse—I was the daughter of a retired clergyman, after all—which concluded, “For the days are evil.”
I closed the door on the cage. “Well, that’s not auspicious. Couldn’t you come up with something more cheerful?”
Mr. Quigley hopped over to his water bowl, and I made a mental note to teach him a few less ominous phrases.