God Save the Queen! Page 22

  “Both the design and the workmanship are truly exquisite, wouldn’t you say?” Vivian bent over her as if admiring a newborn baby.

  “It makes me want to cry.” She brushed at her eyes.

  “Just wait till we see it all shined up.”

  “But we could do that right now, I’ve some of Grandpa’s polish upstairs.”

  “Then go and get it.”

  Flora handed him the tea strainer before racing up the stairs two at a time. She was back with a bottle in one hand and a handful of dusters flapping in the other before Vivian had finished rolling up his sleeves.

  “What a good thing I thought to use these for packing up breakables,” she said as he joined her in the kitchen. “Now bear in mind I don’t possess Grandpa’s magic touch when it comes to cleaning intricate detail, but with this product,” she shook the bottle of polish vigorously, “only as severe a critic as he would notice the difference. The secret with polishing silver,” she continued as she spread out a duster on the draining board, “is a firm but loving hand.”

  “I feel as though we should have a bottle of champagne on ice.” Vivian stepped back so she would not feel he was breathing down her neck.

  “It is rather like waiting for the Sleeping Beauty to awake after the prince’s kiss.” Flora dabbed some polish on her softest duster and got busy. “Look how it’s coming up already! Stand back, because I want to see your eyes when I show you. Patience—this sort of thing can’t be rushed. Oh, I can’t tell you how many times I heard Grandpa say that! And how I wish he could be here for this moment!”

  “So do I, Flora.”

  “I should be feeling sad, but I can’t because I haven’t felt so close to him since he died. It’s as though he is right here in this room, watching me, saying, ‘This is what I taught you, Flora.’ “

  “He taught you well,” said Vivian as Flora turned and held out her hands: the tea strainer had become a brilliant silver swan resting on the clean duster. “I’m speechless.”

  “Do you think Her Majesty will be pleased?”

  “Before we rush to ring up Buckingham Palace, I’d love to find out where it was made and the name of the silversmith. That way we could send it along with full credentials.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Flora. “Not that there’s any doubt in our minds that it was the one Queen Charlotte brought to Gossinger, but it would be very nice to prove it. Oh, bother! Someone’s at the door.” She put the tea strainer gently back down on the draining board in the nest of dusters.

  Vivian grimaced. “I hope it’s not Cousin Sophie again. She spent the night at my place, and I was hoping she would stay put until I got back. But I did forget to tie her down.”

  “Well, she’s bound to be pleased at the missing object’s safe return.”

  But Flora opened the door to find not Cousin Sophie but her father, otherwise known as Reggie, standing outside.

  “I say.” He stepped nimbly inside and flashed his gap-toothed grin. “Hate to be a blithering nuisance but I was wondering if by some confounded chance I left my wallet here yesterday. Wouldn’t you know, it had my last twenty pounds in it.”

  “You’re fibbing, Reggie,” said Flora, to which Nolly added agreement by thumping his tail.

  “Smashing!” Reggie’s smile stretched wider. “Admire a woman who sees right through me. Just thought I’d take a crack at it, a bit short of the ready, you see, but I’ll be toddling along.”

  “Don’t rush off,” said Vivian. “You happen to have turned up at a rather opportune moment. I was just thinking,” he said, looking at Flora, “about something our friend Snuffy said the other night.”

  “Oh, yes?” Reggie cocked an eyebrow.

  “He mentioned a woman he knew—a former fence, who is an expert in silver. It stands to reason she would be, doesn’t it? Because someone in that profession would need to know the precise value of the merchandise. And what I’m wondering is if in return for the loan of twenty pounds,” Vivian pulled out his wallet, “you would be willing to ring up Snuffy and see if he can put us in touch with this woman.”

  “I say,” Reggie looked from Vivian to Flora, “you’re not getting yourselves mixed up in any funny business?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” she told him. “We are just interested in getting an expert’s opinion on a small piece of silver.”

  “Jolly good show! Lead me to the telephone. I’ll give Snuffy a buzz and see if I can catch him.”

  “I only had it installed yesterday morning,” said Flora as he picked up the receiver. Moments later he handed it to Vivian, who found himself speaking to a woman who answered to the name of Lucy and listened with apparent interest to the story of the tea strainer.

  “She says she can see us now.” He cupped a hand over the phone. “How does that suit you?”

  “Perfectly,” Flora told him, her face radiant.

  “My friend Miss Hutchins is most eager to talk to you,” Vivian told Lucy. “She is descended from a Lincolnshire silversmith and is herself planning to open a silver shop.”

  “I had to make us sound important,” he explained, after hanging up. “Why don’t you put on a hat and I’ll walk Reggie downstairs.” Flora knew the reason for this and said so five minutes later when they got into Vivian’s car.

  “You asked Reggie if he needed more than twenty pounds, didn’t you?”

  “It’s that gap-toothed grin.”

  “I know, he’s like a naughty schoolboy.”

  “And it was money well spent,” said Vivian, putting the car in gear. “At least it will be if Lucy lives up to her reputation. Hold on to your hat, we’re off and running!” And with that the car streaked out into traffic.

  “Where does she live?”

  “Earl’s Court, shouldn’t take us long.”

  “Not at this speed. Are we going under or over that lorry?”

  “You do have the tea strainer?”

  “No, I gave it to Nolly to play with!”

  “All right, I won’t ask again.”

  “Is that because we’ve arrived?”

  “Give me another fifteen minutes.”

  Due to a shortcut not working out, it took a little longer than fifteen minutes to reach the block of flats where Lucy lived. The outside didn’t look much different from where Edna Smith lived. But a doorman in the entryway ushered them to the lift and accompanied them up three floors to the flat in question. Its door was opened by a maid in crisp navy and white who led them down a softly carpeted hall, hung with a mixture of traditional and modern art, into a large living room furnished in tranquil blues and greens.

  Seated on facing sofas were two women. One was gray-haired and matronly. The other ... Flora stood still and stared. The other was the witchy-looking woman whom she had glimpsed at her grandfather’s funeral and later that afternoon walking across the road from Gossinger!

  “I’m Lucy.” The matronly woman extended a hand. “Excuse me if I don’t get up, I suffer from gout and it’s been giving me hell this past week.”

  “Good afternoon.” Flora heard her own voice echoing Vivian’s.

  “And this is Evangeline, a friend of mine,” said Lucy. “I hope that neither of you will mind that I rang her up after I talked to you, Mr. Gossinger, because I thought she would be quite interested in your tea strainer. Evangeline is also an expert in the field of silver. She is descended, as you are, which seems an interesting coincidence, from a Lincolnshire silversmith.”

  “You were at my grandfather’s funeral.” Flora took a half-step toward the black-haired woman with long purple fingernails, now rising to her feet with a swirl of her gypsy-style skirt.

  “He was a cousin of mine, several times removed.” Evangeline spoke in a throaty voice. “I hadn’t seen him for years. That was my fault. I should have got in touch when your mother died, but I was embarrassed, I’m ashamed to say. Your grandfather once lent me quite a sizable sum of money to open a silver shop. It took some years to get off the
ground, and by the time I could afford to pay him back—well, there aren’t any excuses, I just never got round to it. And when I had the occasional moment of feeling guilty, I reminded myself he’d told me at the time that he didn’t expect the money back.”

  “He had a great passion for silver,” said Flora.

  “It runs in the family,” replied Evangeline. “I did want to talk to you at the funeral, but you slipped away before I got the chance. And afterward I took a walk out to Gossinger and saw you in the garden, but you were talking to this gentleman here,” she indicated Vivian, “so I decided not to intrude. It began to seem that we weren’t destined to speak the other day. I spotted you at Kings Cross underground getting into another carriage. But now here we are.”

  “This is all very interesting,” said Lucy, “but am I going to be allowed a look at this tea strainer?”

  “Flora has it.” Vivian nudged her gently forward. “We’re interested in knowing approximately when it was made.”

  “I don’t go in for approximations.” Lucy pulled on a pair of cotton gloves and picked up an eye loupe from the coffee table. “If I can’t give you the month I can certainly give you the year. Hand it over now, I’m not going to run out the door with it! Ah, yes!” she exclaimed. “You are correct, Mr. Gossinger, it is a little marvel. I think you should take a look, Evangeline.”

  “If I may?”

  “Of course,” replied Vivian.

  “There’s no doubt,” Evangeline’s voice grew even more husky, “this is the tea strainer purchased by Queen Charlotte on her way to Gossinger Hall from our mutual ancestor, Flora. His name, if you don’t already know, was Thomas White. One day, if you wish, I will show you his record book. It provides a detailed description of this tea strainer. He made only one.”

  “I have to sit down,” murmured Flora. “This is almost too much to take in....”

  “Oh, I can tell you a lot more, almost all of which I uncovered after I last saw your grandfather. I’m quite sure, Mr. Gossinger, that what he didn’t know was that Thomas White’s daughter wasn’t Sir Rowland Gossinger’s mistress as has been suggested. Neither did she put a curse on him. She became his first wife. A secret marriage, but one that produced a son, and according to my genealogical research, that would mean that my cousin—Flora’s grandfather—was the living heir to the title your uncle inherited. Oh, one other interesting fact,” Evangeline placed the tea strainer back in Flora’s unsteady hands. “The name of that girl who brought the silver to Gossinger Hall and won the heart of Sir Rowland ... it was Vivian.”

  It was at that moment of stunned silence that a male voice was heard calling, “Mother, I’m home!” And Lucy leaned back on her sofa with closed eyes as Mr. Ferncliffe, man of science and teacher of eleven-year-old boys, walked into the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I wonder if Mr. Ferncliffe knows that his mother was once part of the underworld?” said Flora.

  “That’s the third time you’ve asked me that since we got back here.” Vivian leaned back in his chair and watched her get up to close the sitting room curtains which had so recently hung at Gossinger.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I know what you’re doing. You’re reaching into the bag for things to say so that I won’t keep thinking about what your cousin Evangeline told us about the family tree. It does put a different complexion on Uncle Henry’s motives, doesn’t it?”

  “For deciding to change his will?” Flora sat back down across from him.

  “Or saying he was going to, which isn’t the same thing. I don’t like what I’m thinking, Flora, because Uncle Henry has been a second father to me. But what if he did know—and if Evangeline could dredge up the information, so could he—that it was your grandfather to whom the title and everything else truly belonged? For all we know, Evangeline, or someone else, could have been in touch with Uncle Henry and threatened to expose the true state of affairs. That would certainly strike many people as a rather compelling motive for my uncle to get rid of the sole obstacle to his wealth and position. And how clever it would have been to point suspicion away from himself by announcing that out of the goodness of his heart he was going to leave Gossinger Hall to his devoted butler!”

  Vivian dragged himself out of his chair and began pacing, or rather walking around Nolly, who was lying in his path. “I hate myself for suspecting him, Flora, but it’s beginning to seem rather sinister to me that Uncle Henry wanted me and Cousin Sophie there when he put Aunt Mabel in the picture.”

  “Did you get much sleep last night?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “I didn’t think so, because you are talking a lot of rubbish,” said Flora. “Of course Sir Henry had to tell you what he intended. You’re his heir. Grandpa was devoted to Sir Henry, and his devotion was based on his belief that he was a truly good man. And one thing I can tell you is that my grandfather was not a fool.”

  “I have to be the world’s worst brute,” said Vivian, “putting you through another evening on this painful subject.”

  “It isn’t upsetting me, not tonight. And that’s because I’ve felt so strongly today that Grandpa isn’t really gone; he’ll always be here when I need him most. Warm and real and very much my guardian angel, just as he was in life.” She turned her head as the phone rang. “I wonder who that can be?”

  Nolly showed his annoyance at the noisy interruption by attacking the cord, and Flora had to step over him to pick up the receiver. He continued to yap for the few minutes that she spoke to the caller.

  “That was Mrs. Much,” she told Vivian, hanging up.

  “Anything important?”

  “Odd, to say the least. I forgot to tell you that she came round this morning and said she would take a bottle of Grandpa’s silver polish with her to Buckingham Palace when she went to work this afternoon.”

  “In hope that Her Majesty would be dazzled by the new brilliance of her silver and ask if a new polish was being used?” suggested Vivian. “Which would in turn jog her memory regarding a recent application for the Royal Warrant?”

  “That was the general idea. But as it turned out, Mrs. Much sprained her ankle getting off the bus and didn’t go in to work today. The odd part is that someone telephoned Buckingham Palace to say that a member of the staff would be bringing in a bottle supposedly filled with silver polish, but really containing an explosive. The result was the biggest rumpus ever, with bomb squad people pouring through the palace. Mrs. Much got wind of it through her cousin who also works there.” Flora pressed a hand to her mouth and sat down on the arm of the settee. “Oh, my goodness, I am dense! Boris!”

  “What about him?” Vivian went over to her.

  “He was here as Mrs. Much was leaving, and I told him about the polish.”

  “Why, the wicked little devil!”

  “This shows he really is disturbed, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll say!”

  “Poor Edna, I’ll have to tell her.” Flora felt thoroughly miserable.

  “You don’t have any choice.” Vivian pulled her to her feet and put an arm round her. “Cheer up, maybe this is what it takes to get that boy some help. And speaking of taking action, I’ve decided to look in on Uncle Henry and Aunt Mabel tomorrow to see if I can’t get a better perspective on things.” Vivian was now back to pacing around Nolly again. “The trouble is, it’s the old story of never practice your profession on your relatives.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Flora.

  “It’s something else I never got round to telling you.”

  “What is?” Flora was thoroughly confused.

  “That I do have what comes close to a full-time job. I work for a private detection agency owned and operated by a couple of my relatives. I think I may have mentioned them to you in passing. They are elderly women—”

  “The ones you send lavender water to at Christmas?”

  “That’s them. They’re sisters. And the agency is named Flowers Detection because the
ir names are Hyacinth and Primrose. As of the last month or so they have been working on a case in Switzerland. Or I hope that’s where they are. It’s hard to keep in touch with them when they go undercover, which is why I haven’t been able to discuss our situation with them. And that’s a major pity, because they would have had the answers while I was still asking the questions,” he added glumly.

  “So your job with George at the flea market was just a front?”

  “A woman had taken to flogging her mother’s knickknacks. Nothing of any great monetary value, but the rest of the family was mad as hell so I was hired to catch her in action. That’s the sort of job I handle mostly,” said Vivian, “the stuff that doesn’t have the police begging to get first crack at the action. My stint at Macho Man, the toiletries-for-men people, was a little more interesting. There I was brought in by the chairman of the board’s ex-wife to find out if he was lying about the extent of his income.”

  “Do you like it?” Flora asked. “Being a private eye?”

  “Yes, I do. Fortunately I’m not dependent on what I earn, because at the moment I’m not worth all that much. Hyacinth and Primrose have yet to be tempted to cut me loose on a big case.”

  “Well, I think you’re going to amaze them one day soon with your brilliance,” Flora said firmly.

  “So you’re not upset that I didn’t tell you about this before?” Vivian wanted very much to take her face in his hands.

  “No, of course not,” replied Flora. “We’ve only begun to know each other, and I wouldn’t like to think you spilled out your heart to just any girl after that short a time.”

  “But there’s a difference. Not every girl lets me spend the night on our first date.”

  “I’m obviously a very shallow person.”

  “I think you’re entirely wonderful.”

  “You’re only saying that,” Flora was having trouble breathing, “because you want me to be shallow one more time.”

  “I’m getting to like having my own room here.”