The Midnight Peacock

‘Ah – we do not wish to give away too many of our secrets,’ said Monsieur Chevalier, his small dark eyes twinkling. ‘For that would spoil the surprise – would it not?’

A bluff older man with grey hair was selected next.

‘What do you make of Mr Huntington’s plans, announced just this afternoon, to hold a New Year’s entertainment at his store?’ he demanded. ‘Do you see the Huntington’s New Year’s tea dance as a rival to your ball?’

‘I am sure Mr Huntington’s little party will be a most delightful affair,’ answered Mr Sinclair, his voice as smooth as cream. ‘Of course, our entertainment will be in a rather different league – a tea dance this certainly isn’t.’

There was a warm bubble of knowing laughter, and then it was the young lady journalist’s turn to speak: ‘Is there truth to the rumour that His Majesty the King will be amongst your guests?’ she asked.

Mr Sinclair gave her his most charming smile. ‘Now, of course, I couldn’t possibly comment upon His Majesty’s engagements – but what I will say is that we think this will certainly be a celebration worthy of royalty.’

At these words, a murmur of excitement ran around the room, and more hands were thrust into the air, but Mr Sinclair was already shaking his head.

‘No more questions, I’m afraid. If you require more details, please apply to my private secretary, Miss Atwood. But for now, I would like to cordially invite you to remain here in the Press Club Room for a festive drink, to thank you for your support for Sinclair’s during our first year of business. And when you leave, do look out for our special Midnight Peacock window displays. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you – and may I take this opportunity to wish you a merry Christmas, on behalf of all at Sinclair’s.’

As the members of the press accepted glasses of sherry from waiters with silver trays, two floors above them, Sophie Taylor was sitting in the window, watching the dizzy, dancing swirl of snowflakes fall on the street outside.

The clock on the mantelpiece had just chimed four o’clock, and the light was already fading, but down below her, all along the street, the shop windows were bright and twinkling, and the pavements were thronged with people, wrapped up in overcoats and mufflers. Groups were gathering before the windows of Sinclair’s to admire the parade of Christmas trees, beautifully dressed with gleaming silver stars, candied apples and bonbons wrapped in shiny paper. Another cluster of people were exclaiming over the window dressed all in purple and gold which advertised Maison Chevalier’s forthcoming Midnight Peacock perfume. Beyond, uniformed porters hurried out to waiting motor cars and taxi cabs, their arms piled high with Sinclair’s parcels, and all the while Sidney Parker, the Head Doorman, stood at the top of the steps ringing a bell to welcome people in.

Through the great doors and into the store, the Entrance Hall was crowded with shoppers. Even during the grand opening, earlier that year, Sophie did not think that Sinclair’s had ever been as bright and busy as it was now. Of course, everyone in London wanted to buy their gifts at Sinclair’s, and at that very moment, Sophie knew that gentlemen were purchasing pocket handkerchiefs for their young ladies, mamas and papas were selecting train sets and teddy bears, and ladies of fashion were choosing fans and gloves for their dearest companions. The Confectionery Department would be busiest of all, crowded with people buying sugar-dusted Turkish Delight, silver cones of rose and violet creams, and box after box of glorious Sinclair’s chocolates, nestled amongst feather-light layers of snow-white tissue, and tied with a blue satin bow.

Sophie had a box of the chocolates beside her on the desk at that very moment. The confectioners had been experimenting with a new festive recipe, and Billy had brought up some samples for them to try. Now, she popped one into her mouth, tasting the melting sweetness of caramel and chocolate as she gazed out at the falling snow, and the shoppers surging in and out of the store.

As she watched, she saw the figure of a tall gentleman with a military bearing. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought that she recognised him. Then that sense of familiarity vanished as quickly as it had come, and he was just a stranger again. A little girl was clinging to his hand, obviously nervous of the crowds – his daughter, she supposed. As she watched, he paused and bent down to comfort her.

She turned abruptly away from the window. She had done quite enough daydreaming for one day, she told herself sternly, trying to fix her attention on the document that lay before her on her desk. But even as she began to read, the typed heading CASE NOTES blurred before her eyes and she found herself reaching up to trace the thin, curving line of the white scar that ran across one side of her forehead.

The scar was barely visible, but for Sophie, it was important. It was a sign – perhaps the only sign – of everything that had happened to her in the past year.

There was nothing else to show that she was different. She hadn’t grown as much as an inch in the last twelve months – and as for her long, fair hair, however much time she spent arranging it, it still had exactly the same annoying habit of slipping down. Her clothes, perhaps, were nicer than they had been, and here she stroked the skirt of her well-cut frock with satisfaction. Mr Sinclair liked them to wear the very latest styles, and had given both her and Lil a generous dress allowance to spend in the Ladies’ Fashions Department. They both enjoyed choosing new frocks, but whilst Lil liked ornamenting her outfits with all the most fashionable accessories – dramatic fringed scarves, beaded chokers and pendant necklaces – Sophie always found herself coming back to the same old string of green beads that had once belonged to her mama.

She was wearing them today, and now she let the cool shapes of the beads run through her fingers. Sophie had never known her mother, who had died when Sophie was very small, but she had thought about her a good deal in the past few months. She felt full of questions about her – but there was no one left to answer them now.

Could it really have been only a year ago that she had first heard the news that Papa had died? Since then, her life had been turned upside down. She had gone from having a father and a home at Orchard House, to being all alone in the world – and then she had found a new place for herself at Sinclair’s. Somehow, she had found friends and a job that – unexpectedly – she had turned out to be rather good at. For a moment, she grinned to herself. Twelve months ago she could certainly never have imagined that she was about to begin a career as a detective.

But the smile was only a fleeting one. For thinking of that only made her recall all the other things that had happened in the past year – and especially her encounters with the villain called the Baron.

Last Christmas she had never even heard that name – but since then, she and her friends had crossed the path of London’s most notorious crime lord on several occasions. Between them, they had managed to prevent his scheme to destroy Sinclair’s with an infernal machine – even after being locked up in the summerhouse in the roof garden by one of his henchmen. They’d exposed his disguise as the aristocrat Lord Beaucastle and helped to liberate much of London’s East End from the stranglehold of his vicious gang, the Baron’s Boys. Most recently of all they had rescued two valuable paintings by the Italian artist Benedetto Casselli, which the Baron had stolen on behalf of a secret society known as the Fraternitas Draconum, or the Brotherhood of Dragons. Though the society itself remained a mystery, it was thanks to their efforts that several of the Baron’s accomplices were now in gaol – and that the Baron himself was a wanted man, on the run from Scotland Yard. He hadn’t been seen by anyone since she had come face to face with him in a darkened Chelsea alleyway some months ago.

Of all their encounters, it was that one that she thought of most. Perhaps that was because it had been the first time that she had faced the Baron alone – or perhaps because he had confessed to her that he had killed not only her beloved papa, but her mother too, many years earlier. She had escaped from the encounter with no more than the scar on her forehead. Now, in spite of the warm fire, she shivered, thinking how lucky she had been.

I could have killed you a dozen times, he had told her. The words still puzzled her. It was true: so why hadn’t he? The Baron had a reputation for ruthlessness, for exacting the most horrible revenge on anyone who crossed him. Yet he had let her go, saying only: Farewell. This time I know I’ll see you again.

She found she was tapping her pen irritably against the desk. When it came to the Baron there were always these questions: the same frustrating spiral of mysteries and riddles. She counted them off the ever-growing list. How had the Baron known her parents? He had told her that he had once been a friend of her papa’s – but how could she possibly square the memory of her kind-hearted father with what she knew of the Baron’s cruelty and greed? She knew her papa had travelled during his military career, so perhaps the Baron had crossed his path – but how could he have met her mama? She heard the whisper of the Baron’s voice again. When she was by my side, she was the toast of Cairo . . . she gave all that up for a home and a husband – and you.

Cairo . . . What on earth had her mother been doing in Egypt? She knew nothing of either of her parents ever having travelled there. Ought she even to believe a single word that the Baron had said?

She got up from her chair and walked over to the fire. She’d promised herself that she would stop going round in circles like this. She’d spent weeks after her last encounter with the Baron, mulling over everything he had told her, trying to piece together each tiny piece of evidence. It had been their friend and adviser Mr McDermott – himself a private detective – who had put a stop to that. ‘I’d advise you to leave it alone. The Baron is the only one who can answer those questions – and with Detective Worth and Scotland Yard’s top men on his trail, he would be foolish to set so much as a foot in this country. Try to forget about him – and focus your attention on Taylor & Rose.’

Mr McDermott had been right, of course. He usually was. Reluctantly, she’d taken down the photograph of the Baron and her parents from the wall and filed it away in the folder in their office that was neatly labelled ‘The Baron’. For that was what she was going to do with the Baron now, she told herself: file him away with the rest of their paperwork on the office shelves. Far better to put all that aside and keep her attention firmly fixed upon new mysteries.

They certainly had plenty of those to keep them busy. In their first two months of business, Taylor & Rose had dealt with half a dozen different cases – from missing jewels to strange anonymous letters. Thanks to Mr Sinclair’s appetite for publicity, everyone knew about his latest innovation: London’s first (and only) young ladies’ detective agency. From where she stood beside the fire, Sophie could see its name, Taylor & Rose, printed in curving gold script across the glass panel of their office door.

Plenty of people had already come through that door, curious to see Mr Sinclair’s ‘young lady detectives’ for themselves. At first, the stream of visitors had made Sophie nervous. She lay awake at night, wondering how they could show everyone that two young girls really were capable of being detectives.

But little by little, she found her confidence was growing. With Mr McDermott’s guidance, Taylor & Rose was beginning to thrive – and Sophie had suddenly found herself a person of some consequence at Sinclair’s. When she had been a shop girl, she had been all but invisible, passing unnoticed through the crowds of shoppers. Now, people turned to look at her: salesgirls stared curiously in her direction; customers nudged each other, recognising her photograph from the newspapers; and some of the older doormen shook their heads, muttering that they ‘didn’t know what the world was coming to’. It would seem that not everyone approved of the idea of a young lady becoming a private detective.

But Sophie paid that no attention. She loved being part of Taylor & Rose. She had never really felt like she fitted in with Edith and the other salesgirls in the Millinery Department. It was not that she had minded selling hats for a living – in fact, there had been times when she had rather liked it. But her new work fascinated her like nothing else. Of course, the cases they dealt with were not on the same scale as the Baron’s schemes, but each was engrossing just the same. They put her brain to the test, forcing her to trust her instincts and hone her powers of observation – and they absorbed her completely.

But today for once she was struggling to keep her mind on work. It was almost Christmas; and the office of Taylor & Rose was unusually quiet. Mr McDermott was away on the Continent on business, Lil had gone out to visit one of their clients, and whilst the rest of Sinclair’s hummed with people, on the first floor, Sophie had been alone all the afternoon. The office was a pleasant place, attractively decorated for them on Mr Sinclair’s orders, with a pretty sitting area, furnished with elegant chairs and a table spread with the latest fashion papers. There were two desks, one for Sophie and one for Lil, and even the telephone which Mr Sinclair had insisted must be installed stood on its own dainty little table beside a vase of flowers.

Yet in spite of Mr Sinclair’s ladylike vision, the office of Taylor & Rose had swiftly acquired its own particular atmosphere, which was not really smart or elegant at all. It was a place where friends came to call, where crumpets were toasted before the fire on wet afternoons, where tea was poured from their own teapot, books and newspapers were read, and the latest cases were discussed – Sophie usually pacing up and down on the rug, whilst Lil leaned back in her chair, resting her boots on her desk in a most unladylike manner. In fact, the office had begun to feel like home, Sophie thought – in a way that nowhere had since she had left Orchard House a year ago.

But thinking of Orchard House led her back to Papa, and thinking of Papa led her back to the Baron, and that was no good at all. Sophie went back over to the desk, curled herself in her chair, and pulled the sheaf of documents decisively towards her. She must stop thinking about all that, and actually do something useful.

CASE NOTES, she read – but before she had got any further, there came an unexpected knock on the office door.

CHAPTER THREE

‘It’s only me,’ said a familiar voice, and Billy came into the room, bearing a stack of envelopes. ‘We’ve just finished downstairs. Mr Sinclair had the journalists eating out of the palm of his hand, of course. They’re ever so excited about the New Year’s Eve Ball. Here, I’ve brought up your post.’

Before he handed it over, he paused for a moment to shake his head at Sophie. Billy was always very keen to ensure that Taylor & Rose operated as professionally as possible. Though he continued to work in Mr Sinclair’s offices, reporting to Miss Atwood, he had been given permission to spend one day a week, helping Sophie and Lil with their new business. And that was a jolly good job, he was given to remark, since neither of them had the first idea of how an office ought to be run.

‘If you want Mr Sinclair to take you seriously, then you have to do things properly,’ he reprimanded Lil half a dozen times a day. Billy had been well trained by Miss Atwood, and in his book, doing things properly meant writing reports, filing documents, keeping careful accounts with neat red lines ruled in all the right places, and making sure their desks were always tidy. That was an easy enough matter for Sophie, who rather liked putting things in order, but an almost impossible task for Lil, who was forever surrounded by a jumble of crumpled papers and spilled ink. Most importantly of all, Billy said, they must always be ready to receive clients who might turn up without an appointment. Now he looked at Sophie disapprovingly. Sitting comfortably curled up in a chair was not what he considered properly businesslike.

But Sophie just grinned at him. ‘I don’t think we’ll get any new clients this afternoon,’ she said. ‘They’re all downstairs, choosing presents and buying delicious things to eat. Christmas just isn’t the season for mysteries. Why don’t you sit down? I’m sure Miss Atwood can spare you for a few minutes, and I was just going to make some tea.’

Appreciating the logic of this, Billy shrugged, and flopped down into a chair. ‘Oh – are those the notes from the Albemarle case?’ he asked with interest. ‘Let’s have a look.’

Sophie passed over the documents willingly, as she flicked quickly through the afternoon post. At first glance it all looked quite usual: two letters from clients that she put aside to read later; some bills and circulars; and the latest edition of Theatrical News for Lil, who combined working for Taylor & Rose with performing on the West End stage. But underneath them was a narrow envelope with a foreign stamp. She frowned. Surely that handwriting was familiar? She swiftly ripped the envelope open – but her gasp of surprise was stifled by the bang of the door opening again as Lil burst into the room, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

‘Hello, all!’ she announced breathlessly, casting off a stylish coat with a fur collar, and tossing a pair of new kid gloves carelessly down upon the chair. Whilst she might look very much the glamorous young actress these days, Sophie knew that underneath the fashionable clothes and hairstyles, Lil was just the same girl that she had been when they had met at Sinclair’s for the very first time. There could certainly be no doubt that she still talked just as much as ever, Sophie thought with a smile.

‘Gosh – I don’t think I’ve ever seen the store so busy before, have you? Oh yes, it all went quite well. Miss Balfour said she was awfully pleased with everything we’ve done – and she’s going to recommend Taylor & Rose to all her friends. I say, just look at how the snow is coming down! It makes it feel like it’s really Christmas. Isn’t it cosy in here? Joe’s on his way up and look – Leo’s come to tea with us. I’ve promised her cake, so I jolly well hope we’ve got some.’

Sophie saw that another girl, of about the same age, had followed Lil into the room. In her plain, dark coat, now speckled with melting snowflakes, Leo Fitzgerald could easily have been mistaken for any ordinary schoolgirl. But the big portfolio she carried, and a certain dreamy gleam in her brown eyes were clues to the fact that Leo was a promising young artist, currently studying at London’s prestigious Spencer Institute.

‘Hullo, Leo!’ exclaimed Billy.

‘Come and sit by the fire and get warm – it’s so cold outside,’ Sophie urged her. ‘I didn’t realise you were still in London – I thought you’d have already gone home for the Christmas holidays.’

Leo carefully set down her portfolio, and the cane she always used – a rather beautiful one, made from a rich, dark wood, with a handle carved into the shape of a lion’s head. ‘I’m going tomorrow,’ she explained, as she unwound her scarf. ‘Some of us students have been helping Mr Kamensky with the scenery for the New Year’s Eve Ball and there’s been an awful lot to do. But it’s been good fun – and truthfully I’ve been rather glad to have an excuse to stay in town a little longer. I’m in no rush to go home,’ she confessed. ‘In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you all about. I wondered whether you had plans for Christmas?’

Sophie did not answer at once. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. She knew that the others would be busy on Christmas Day: Billy would spend the day with his mum and Uncle Sid, and she expected that Lil and her older brother Jack would go home to see their parents. But she herself had no plans at all. ‘Oh – I think I’ll just have a quiet day,’ she had murmured, when Lil had pressed her. The truth was that she didn’t want to think about it. The idea of another Christmas without Papa was something that she couldn’t quite bring herself to contemplate.

Luckily no one noticed her reluctance to answer the question, for just then Joe came in, with Daisy at his heels.

Officially Daisy was the Sinclair’s guard dog, but Joe had looked after her ever since she had arrived at the store, and she considered him her owner. She slept on his bed in the rooms above the stables, and followed him wherever he went. When she was on guard duty, she could be fearsome, but the rest of the time she was gentle and playful, and loved nothing more than a frolic with Mr Sinclair’s little pug, Lucky. Now, she sniffed around the office, greeting each of them with an enthusiastic lick, and then laid one big paw on Sophie’s knee, tilting her head to the side, with a hopeful look at the chocolate box.

‘You know you aren’t allowed those, you daft dog. Come over here and sit down,’ said Joe, grinning around at everyone and settling himself next to Billy. Joe still worked in the Sinclair’s stables, but like Billy, he was very much part of Taylor & Rose. He was sometimes allowed to act as Sophie and Lil’s driver, accompanying the two young detectives on their investigations – with Daisy coming along to help too, of course.

‘Look, now we’re all here, just listen to this,’ Lil was saying excitedly, as she spooned tea leaves into the teapot. ‘Leo’s got a terrific idea! She wants to invite us – all of us – to spend Christmas with her at her home, Winter Hall! What do you think of that? Isn’t it awfully kind?’

Leo’s face flushed pink. ‘Well, I have to be honest – it’s not really very kind of me at all. The truth of it is, I’d have an awful time at home on my own. Mother and Father always have a big house party for Christmas, and they invite lots of society people. None of them have a single thing to say to me – except for my godmother Lady Tremayne, of course. You’d like her. She’s the one who persuaded them to let me go to art school in the first place. Anyway, Mother said that I could invite some of my own friends this year. I thought that if you would all come for a few days, it would be much better – rather fun, in fact.’

‘What about your brother? Won’t he be there?’ asked Lil, handing her a cup of tea.

Leo gave a little snort. ‘Oh yes, Vincent will be there all right. But he’s – well – you’ll see what he’s like for yourself, if you come.’ She looked around at them all. ‘Do say you will. I know I haven’t made it sound very enticing, but Winter Hall is beautiful at Christmas – I’d love to show it to you. I’ve already asked Jack and he says he’ll come if you will.’

‘Well, thanks for the invite – but I reckon I can’t get away,’ said Joe, as he accepted a slab of the iced plum cake that Billy had found in the cake tin. ‘You see, even when the store’s closed, we’ve still got the horses to look after. Most of the other fellers want to go home to their families, so I said I’d stay on and look after things.’

Sophie gave him a quick smile. Like her, Joe was all alone in the world, with no family that would expect him on Christmas Day. It was just like him to volunteer to shoulder the work, so that the other stable boys and grooms would be free to go home to their loved ones.

‘Me neither,’ Billy was saying. ‘I’ve got Christmas Day off, of course, but apart from that, I’ll be here. There’s an awful lot still to be organised for the ball, you know – and Miss Atwood says I’m to expect to be rather busy. Besides,’ he added candidly, ‘Mum wouldn’t half be mad if I wasn’t at home for Christmas dinner. She’s already ordered the goose. You ought to come and have dinner with us, Joe, if you can. Mum’s a grand cook.’

‘Well I definitely want to come, Leo,’ said Lil, taking a second piece of cake. ‘I think it sounds perfectly marvellous. I’m starting rehearsals for a new play in January you know, which is set in a country house. It’s a mystery and my character – Daphne De Vere – is to be horribly murdered in the first act. Rather thrilling, don’t you think? This will be absolutely perfect for research!’ she exclaimed happily.