“She’s blackmailing me. Says that if I don’t pay her an outrageous sum every month, she’ll expose me.”
“Her own version of red paint?” I asked.
“She told me it wouldn’t matter whether there was paint,” Lady Glover said. “The end result would be the same.”
“What is the end result, Lady Glover?” I asked. “Please know I don’t mean to offend you—you know I’m fond of you. But it’s not as if the ladies of society have drawn you to their collective bosom. Wouldn’t these pictures only confirm what they’re already convinced they know?”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “But if I don’t appease her, what will my friends think? Gentlemen aren’t forgiving of everything. I’ve made a decent life for myself, and I’m not going to see it ruined.”
“You’re not going to pay her, are you?” Ivy asked.
“What else is there to do?”
“Colin may be able to help you,” I said. “What she’s doing is illegal, and she must be stopped.”
“She’ll get her due,” Lady Glover said. “Of that I’m sure. I’ve half a mind to write to our Shakespearean friend and tell him all about her. Request some paint if I can.”
“Then you’d be no better than she,” I said.
“Lady Emily, I’m only interested in being as good as myself.”
Colin was extremely troubled by the letter sent to Lady Glover.
“
“I do,” I said.
“I want to take it with this one to Scotland Yard.”
“Why both?” I asked. “Do you suspect Lady Glover penned both of them?”
“I do,” he said. “Particularly because of what she said to you—that she was going to suggest Mrs. Harris for paint.”
“She was awfully glib when she first showed us the note. I would have thought she’d be upset.”
“Something’s rotten here,” he said.
“I agree, but I’m not convinced Lady Glover is the person we’re after,” I said. “And what of Mrs. Harris? Where would she have come across those postcards? Surely that’s not a coincidence.”
“No, but it’s possible they were”—he coughed—“in the possession of her husband.”
I raised an eyebrow. “An interesting possibility, to be sure, but wouldn’t that still be something of a coincidence?”
“That would depend on how popular that particular batch of cards was. My understanding is that they were quite the rage amongst a certain set.”
“How would you know such a thing?”
“I’ve heard it discussed,” Colin said. “Lady Glover needn’t worry about her ‘gentlemen friends.’ They’re all perfectly aware of her sins and forgave them long ago.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “But if the pictures were to become public, she’d find herself in a difficult position. What gentlemen accept in quiet club gossip is quite different from what they’ll publically condone.”
“True,” Colin said. “She has a sticky enough time with society now. If the old dragons had solid proof of her indiscretions, every husband in town would be forbidden from speaking to her.”
“And what of her own husband? We’ve no idea if he’s aware of the full breadth of her past activities.”
Davis entered the room. “Sorry to disturb, sir. A gentleman from the War Office is here to see you on what he insists is urgent business.”
24
Our caller was not just any gentleman from the War Office, but the head of the whole department. His mustache reminded me very much of the Prince of Wales, and his erect bearing suggested a man who had spent many of his younger years serving the empire on the front lines rather than from behind a desk. He and Colin exchanged pleasantries and he bent over my hand with perfect politeness, but his eyes twitched when my husband told me to stay in the room while they spoke.
“Er, right,” he said. “I’ve come, Hargreaves, on a rather sensitive matter.” He looked at me.
“Lady Emily has served the queen in sensitive matters,” Colin said. “She’s instrumental to my work. No doubt you heard of what she did in Constantinople.”
The man cleared his throat. “Quite. Yes. Well. No time to fuss about, is there? This business of the red paint—we’ve received some rather disturbing information about one of the gentlemen involved. A Captain Riddington.”
“Yes,” Colin said. “We’ve been wondering when his secret would be exposed. The poor family have been beside themselves waiting.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s likely they’ll be feeling anything akin to relief soon. A package arrived at my office yesterday detailing a battle that took place during the Zulu War.”
“Captain Riddington was serving at that time, if I recall correctly,” Colin said.
“He was. He was one of the most decorated soldiers in the combat—due in no small part to his deeds at Kambula. But now, it seems, the information upon which the honors were based were incorrect. His commanding officer, who was also a friend of his from school, invented much of the report. We’ve already spoken to several members of the unit, and they all corroborated the new version of events. Far from being a hero, Riddington hid instead of fought.”
“That’s outrageous,” Colin said. “Was Riddington aware of what the officer was doing?”
“Hard to say, but he certainly knew he didn’t deserve any of his medals.”
“What will happen to him?” I asked.
“He’ll be immediately stripped of the honors,” the man said. “We’ll see what shall be done beyond that.”
“What about his commanding officer?” I asked.
“He died some years back,” the man said.
“Riddington’s offense is grievous,” Colin said. “To lie about such a thing when so many others gave their lives is the sort of thing that merits its own circle of hell.”
“Quite,” the man nodded. “I’ve half a mind to support this campaign of red paint. Riddington deserves censure.”
“He does,” Colin said. “But we can’t allow an unknown madman to mete out justice as he sees fit. May I see the letter he sent?”
“It’s not a letter, actually, but a printed pamphlet.” He pulled it out of a small, leather case he’d brought with him and handed it to my husband.
“I was hoping for handwriting,” Colin said, flipping the pages and then holding the paper up to the window. “No watermark.”
“A man who wishes to remain safely anonymous,” our visitor said. “Can’t say as I blame him. Although if he’d stuck to exposing this sort of infraction, he’d have more supporters than he could count.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Colin said. “This sort of vigilance would be welcomed.”
“We wanted to keep you informed, as we’ve been told you’re the one running this show,” he said. “You may keep the pamphlet.”
“Thank you,” Colin said. “Does Riddington know yet?”
“Riddington’s always known. But I’m setting off to see him next and will have him relinquish the medals.” He rose from his seat.
“Thank you again,” Colin said. “And I’m sorry you’ve such an unpleasant task ahead of you.”
“Not unpleasant in the least. Just glad the coward is finally getting what he deserves.”
