Not ever having bribed someone, I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. I suspected stating the fact that I was offering a bribe would be gauche, so when the hall porter at South Regent Mansions repeated that he really couldn’t say anything about Alfred, I opened my handbag and edged out one of the five-pound notes. Perhaps I should offer two five-pound notes? No, better to start low. I glanced around the elegant proportions of the entry hall, which was deserted, but I was sure it wouldn’t stay quiet for long. I squeezed the crisp bill in my palm. It made a satisfactory crunching sound as it crinkled. The porter’s gaze darted down and lingered on the note.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything else about Alfred Eton?” The hall porter had confirmed Alfred was, indeed, a resident, but that’s all he would say.
“No, miss.” With his narrow forehead, wide cheeks, and a mustache that covered his upper lip and traced down each side of his mouth, he reminded me of a walrus. His narrow shoulders and broad hips only added to the effect. “I really couldn’t say, miss.” He slowly drew his gaze away from the money. “I’ve only worked here a month. Mr. Eton moved in before I came, so I don’t know when he arrived.”
“What about friends and associates? Mr. Eton must have an occasional visitor.”
He smoothed his extravagant mustache while he thought. “No, nothing that would be appropriate to share.” The lift rattled and began its descent. The porter looked to the front doors, clearly ready for me to leave.
I narrowed my eyes. “Is it a woman who visits him? Is that why you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Wouldn’t be right,” he said with a note of finality.
I extended my hand. “Thank you for speaking to me.”
His eyebrows went up slightly in surprise, but he reflexively reached out to shake my hand. I pressed the note into his palm. “Perhaps you could keep an eye out and let me know if anything changes. I’ll drop by again soon.” It was hard to tell with the mustache, but I think he smiled.
Not the outcome I wanted, but at least I might have an ally in South Regent Mansions. As I strolled through Mayfair, I considered how to enter that exchange in my expenses. Aunt Caroline wouldn’t be happy to see bribe listed. Perhaps incentive pay. Yes, that sounded much better.
I walked until I came to a telephone box, where I made two calls. First, I rang up Essie Matthews. She wasn’t in, but her maid informed me Essie was looking for a new hat and told me which shops were her favorites.
Next, I telephoned Jasper. His man answered. When I asked to speak with Jasper, Grigsby said, “I will inquire as to whether he is available.”
A few moments later, Jasper’s voice came over the line. I asked, “Does your man dislike all females who telephone you, or is it just me?”
“Olive, old girl! You have to excuse Grigsby. He takes his duty to protect my virtue quite seriously. How are you?”
“I have a job,” I said. “It’s temporary, but it pays well.”
“Sounds intriguing, possibly scandalous.”
“It’s perfectly respectable. I’m working for Aunt Caroline.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll do fine as long as she remembers to pay you.”
“I got a retainer upfront.”
“You are going to be a savvy businesswoman.”
“I would love to tell you all about it, and I have a small favor to ask. Can you meet me later today?”
“I’d like nothing better. I’ll give up the stodgy atmosphere of my club to meet with you anytime, my dear.”
I triangulated the shops Essie’s maid had named and estimated how long it might take to find Essie. “Shall we say an hour from now, in Hyde Park, near Speakers’ Corner?”
“Intent on a stroll, are you?”
“It’s far too nice of a day to stay inside.”
“You always were an active girl. I suppose I could stand a leisurely amble.”
I found Essie in the second shop I tried. She had on a bicorn hat with the brim folded back, which completely covered her dark brown pageboy. She had a moon-shaped face, cinnamon-colored eyes, and pink cheeks. She tilted her head to the side, critically surveying the shop girl who was modeling a wide-brimmed straw hat with a pink sash and a spray of carnations. Essie spun her finger in the air. “Turn.”
The shop girl rotated slowly, and I was glad it wasn’t me under the hat. Essie nodded. “I’ll take it.” The shop girl moved away, and I drifted toward Essie. She spotted me and met me halfway, hands outstretched. “Olive, where have you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you since the Duchess of Seton’s ball.”
“I’ve been up to Parkview for a few days.” It was best not to tell Essie everything.
“Such a lovely setting. And I hear that the happy couple is there as well?”
“You do keep up, don’t you?”
“One tries.”
She might not have been interested in writing essays in boarding school, but she had a nose for news—of the society type. I knew if there were rumors or information—no matter how minuscule—about Alfred, she’d have heard them. The trick would be getting the information out of her without her realizing I was probing for details.
She asked, “Have Violet and Alfred set a date?”
I fingered the appliqué on a beret displayed on a hatstand. “Not yet. Alfred seems a delightful young man.”
“Oh, yes. So dashing. And always so cheerful. I think he and Violet will do well together.”
“And he has such an interesting history.”
Essie put a hand on her chest, tilted her head to the side, and said on a sigh, “Romantic India.” She leaned toward me. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to live there myself, but it does make an excellent story. His father did quite well in the east, you know.”
I only had to raise my eyebrows to get her to continue.
“You don’t know the story?”
“I didn’t get the details. You know Violet. She’s very much about what’s going on now and isn’t interested in anything to do with the past. Too boring.”
“Yes, but when your deceased father-in-law to-be was a nabob, I think that is worthy of discussion.”
“Really? I hadn’t realized.”
Essie nodded. “How do you think Alfred affords his flat in South Regent Mansions? And he’s always so well dressed. And his motor! Have you seen it?”
“No, but you’re the second person who’s mentioned it.”
“A stunner. I really must get a photograph of Alfred and Violet in it. Now that would sell some newspapers.”
“I’m sure it would. Colonial son returns to his roots in Derbyshire and makes good,” I said, picking a random region and tossing it into my imaginary headline to see Essie’s reaction.
“No, it wasn’t Derbyshire. Somewhere in the Midlands, a little village . . .” Essie stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Setherwick, that was it. I remember because I misunderstood him. I thought he said Leatherwick. But he said, ‘No, Setherwick.’ I’ve never been there myself. Alfred said it’s a tiny little village, barely a speck on the map.”
“And who are his particular friends?”
Essie twisted a hatstand so she could look at the back of a fringed turban. “Sebastian, of course. Can’t think of anyone else. Of course, growing up in India, he wouldn’t have developed relationships here that go back years and years.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
The shop assistant returned, and Essie asked to see the turban modeled. As I left, Essie said, “Delightful to see you, Olive. Tell Violet I simply must have that photo of her. I’ll be in touch to arrange it.”
I made my way toward Hyde Park. Violet would love to have her photo in the paper, but Aunt Caroline and Gwen wouldn’t like it.
Jasper was in the park before me, lounging against a bench, surveying the scene through a monocle. I joined him and said, “You’re much too young to use a monocle.”
He screwed it into his eye and swiveled in my direction. “I thought it made me look jolly distinguished.”
“It makes you look rather foppish.”
“Dear me, I best not let Grigsby see it, then.” He pocketed the monocle and offered his arm. “Shall we begin this arduous trek?”
“I promise it won’t be too taxing.”
“Now, tell me all about this commission you have.”
I said, “You must keep this completely between us.”
“You know I can do that.”
“That’s why I’m confiding in you.” Jasper was one of the few people that I knew who actually could keep a secret. I’d learned that many summers ago when I’d been scribbling in a notebook, writing an epic story of love and adventure. It had involved a mummy, a sheik, and—of course—a beautiful woman. I was carrying the notebook with me as I walked to Parkview and had paused on the bank of the river to write down some important detail.
I didn’t realize Jasper and Peter were close, or I’d never have the notebook out in plain sight. Their cricket ball sailed into a tree overhead, and a distant buzz sounded, but I didn’t realize what it was. Jasper ran up to retrieve his ball just as a swarm of bees descended. I panicked and ran straight over the edge of the riverbank. The instant I made the leap, I realized I was still holding my notebook with my precious story in it. I tossed it to Jasper, who had the presence of mind to notice the bees weren’t actually coming in our direction. He caught the notebook and watched me plunge into the river. When I came up sputtering from the shock of the cold water, he his raised his gaze from the open pages to me. “You’re writing a novel.”
I scrambled up the steep bank, water sluicing off my dress. I squished through the long grass and pushed my wet hair off my face. “If you tell a soul . . .” So many emotions surged through me—mortification, anger, embarrassment. I couldn’t even finish my sentence.
Jasper closed the notebook with a snap. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and his tone had a certainty that I trusted. He wouldn’t lie to my face and then later snicker with Peter about it. He handed the notebook back, then took off his jacket and dropped it over my shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He picked up his ball and trotted back through the trees to where Peter was shouting for him.
A squeaking sound brought me back to the present as a nurse came toward us, pushing a perambulator with a wheel that needed oil. Jasper and I paused for a moment to let her cross the path in front of us, then I told him about Aunt Caroline’s concerns about Alfred Eton. I finished with, “And so you see, because of what you did during the war—”
He looked at me sharply.
“Your work for the Admiralty,” I said quickly. I knew it was a touchy subject. Many people had looked down on men like Jasper who didn’t fight on the front lines, but Jasper had contributed to the war effort, even if it hadn’t been on the battlefield. “I thought you might have connections—someone who could find out what Alfred’s father did in India.”
“Oh—yes. Right. I can make a few inquiries. Old Somerville might remember him. Delhi, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Might your father have known him?” I asked.
“No. Father was in Bombay.”
“Ah.”
Jasper didn’t often speak of his family, and his tone indicated the subject was closed. His steps, which were already at an ambling pace, slowed even more. “You need to be . . . careful.” He whacked a tuft of grass with his walking stick. “Alfred doesn’t keep the best company. He spends a lot of time with Sebastian, and that set is rather . . .”
“Fast. Yes, you told me. But I’m not marrying him. It’s Violet you should warn off. If there’s anything truly unsavory there, I’ll uncover it—”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said.
I ignored his comment. “. . . and that will allow Violet to untangle herself from Alfred before things get too much further along.”
Jasper stopped walking and turned to me, leaning with both hands on his stick. “You’re determined to do this, then?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” He straightened, then offered me his arm again as we resumed walking. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Our ramble had brought us back to Speakers’ Corner, and we parted there. I shook off my irritation at Jasper’s reaction. Who was he to tell me who to associate with and what to do?
Instead, I focused on the upcoming house party at Archly Manor. I had several evening gowns Gwen had given me. We were close to the same size, except she was a few inches taller than I was. The only adjustments the dresses needed were shortened hems, and I did that myself, but none of the dresses were silver or gold. I did have a sleeveless white sheath dress. I could make a few adjustments to the dress to make it fit the party theme.
I used my dwindling personal money to buy a tulle fabric shot through with gold thread, then returned to my room. I spent the evening sewing. The long lines of the current styles made it easy to sew the gauzy fabric into a loose overdress that would float around the white dress. With a gold sash tied around my hips, and Mum’s pearls, I looked passably fashionable.
The next morning, I kept an eye out the window. When Gwen’s mint green Morris Cowley arrived, I grabbed my bags and hurried down the stairs. My lodgings were clean and respectable, but I saw them with new eyes after returning from my short visit to Parkview. The shabbiness of the building stood out to me now. I hurried out the door before Gwen could come inside.
She was about to step out of the Morris. “You’re ready?”
“Why do you look so surprised?”
“Because you’re usually late.”
“Not this time.” I stowed my bag and climbed into the seat beside her. “On to the party.”