Chapter 5 #2
It was by no means certain that Beth would receive Harry’s letter in time to meet her at twelve-thirty, but she set out for Regent’s Park all the same.
Nor had she settled on the best way to approach the matter of infiltrating the Hot Spot with Seb.
Her note had been brief, simply asking Beth to meet her beside the fountain in St John’s Lodge Gardens that afternoon, but Harry had spent much of the morning wrestling with the conundrum of how much she should confide in the young woman.
Beth had proved trustworthy so far, but she knew nothing of Harry’s true identity.
Introducing her to Seb would open a door that could never be closed again.
And yet Harry couldn’t see a way round it: she needed Beth to be her eyes and ears inside the Hot Spot, to see what she could uncover.
She had managed to persuade her brother to arrange entry to the club that evening, shamelessly dropping into the conversation that it had been Oliver’s idea that he accompany her.
But she had not managed to convince him that, once inside, she would seek out Serafina on her own.
‘Absolutely not, Harry,’ he’d said when she had called him the night before, and the words had rung with unaccustomed steel. ‘I’ll get you in, but you stay with me for the duration of the evening and you leave by midnight. Lawrence will have my hide otherwise.’
‘But how am I supposed to find out what Serafina wants?’ Harry objected. ‘Everyone knows who you are – she probably knows you, at least by reputation, and even if she doesn’t, someone will tell her.’
Seb sighed. ‘I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that. Pretend to be someone else?’
It was a possibility that had occurred to her already, until she remembered how terrible Seb had been at amateur dramatics in their younger years. ‘Of course not, you’re far too easily recognisable.’ She paused. ‘But I’m not.’
He laughed. ‘I hate to break it to you, Sis, but the Hot Spot is – well – hot. Meaning the place will be teeming with people you know – the Goldsworthy sisters, the Chartwells and plenty more, as well as those who know you by reputation. If you’re hoping for an incognito meeting with Miss Eccleston then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. ’
Harry hesitated, toying with the telephone cable, but she could not bring herself to suggest she wore a disguise. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to find out anything.’
‘Talk to people,’ Seb suggested. ‘Lips get surprisingly loose as the night wears on. And if nothing else, you’ll have some fun.’ He stopped as though reviewing his own words. ‘A very little fun.’
‘I might want to bring a friend,’ Harry said, giving in to the inevitable.
‘The more the merrier,’ her brother replied. ‘Anyone I know? It’s not Fortescue, is it?’
‘No,’ Harry said quickly.
‘No, I suppose that really wouldn’t do, would it?’ Seb mused. ‘All right, I’ll need your friend’s name by tea-time tomorrow to arrange the invitations. What do you want to drink?’
Harry thought back to the newspaper reports she’d read about the over-inflated prices charged by nightclubs and tried not to wince. ‘Whatever you’re having.’
‘Champagne it is,’ Seb said. ‘Don’t forget to call me with the name.’
Which had left Harry wondering how Beth would react to the suggestion that she join them at the Hot Spot.
A small part of her hoped the other woman hadn’t received her letter in time; if she didn’t appear then Harry could spend a pleasant half-hour walking among the hidden passages between the winter foliage and then return to her office without having to risk her identity.
But that hope was quashed when she reached the fountain and saw Beth waiting.
Squaring her shoulders, Harry approached, waiting for the light of recognition to dawn on the other woman’s face. It did not take long.
‘Blimey, you scrub up well.’ Beth’s gaze was narrow as she took in Harry’s expensive shoes, fitted woollen coat and fashionable hat, in sharp contrast to her own clean but well-worn clothes. ‘You’ll be telling me next your name ain’t Sarah Smith.’
‘I think you already knew that.’ She held out a hand. ‘Harry White.’
Beth’s nose wrinkled. ‘Is that another made-up name? ’Cos you don’t talk like any of the Harrys I know.’
‘It’s short for Harriet,’ Harry said, smiling. ‘And I’m sorry I pretended to be someone else. It was necessary at the time.’
‘When you was nosing around Mrs Haverford’s Bureau of Excellence, you mean?’ Beth nodded. ‘I don’t think you’d have got through the door if you’d gone as yourself.’
Harry took a breath. ‘Exactly.’ She glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot, but the day was dull and grey and threatening sleet. They had the garden to themselves. ‘Shall we walk a little? There are quite a few things I need to explain and I don’t have very much time.’
To her credit, Beth did not interrupt as Harry laid out the reasons she had adopted the alias of Sarah Smith, nor did she raise an eyebrow when Harry explained in more detail the reason for her interest in Serafina Eccleston.
She listened to everything, an inscrutable expression on her face, and continued to walk in silence for almost a minute once Harry finished speaking.
‘I wondered why you was interested in a dance hostess,’ she said eventually. ‘Thought maybe she was in the family way, like your friend in Brighton.’
Harry blanched. She meant Cecily Earnshaw, a young woman whom Simeon Pemberton had seduced and abandoned when she became pregnant, but the idea that there might be a time-pressing reason for Rufus to marry Serafina had not occurred to Harry. ‘I hope not.’
‘That’d put the cat among the canaries, wouldn’t it?’ Beth flashed a brief, humourless smile. ‘But it ain’t smart, not if she’s got the kind of ambitions you say. You get the ring first, see?’
Harry did see. Men had been denying responsibility for pregnancies outside of wedlock since the concept of marriage had first been invented.
If Serafina really was a gold digger, she’d want to be assured of her reward before she took such a risk.
‘But what if she’s not ambitious? What if she loves him? ’
Beth shrugged. ‘You won’t know until you meet her.
And even then you might not be able to tell – not if she’s good.
I knew a girl who’s as common as a crow, spent a bit of money on learning to talk nice and read a few books on manners.
Now she’s married to some posh bloke and living in a big house and no one has any idea what a grubby-kneed kid she used to be. ’
It was her mother’s worst fear, Harry thought gloomily, and sighed. ‘Rufus certainly seems to be smitten.’
‘I expect he is,’ Beth said evenly. ‘And maybe she’s sweet on him in return. But I’ll tell you something I bet he don’t know. Her name ain’t Serafina.’
Harry stopped walking. ‘How do you know that?’
Beth looked pleased with herself. ‘I chatted up one of the Hot Spot bottle boys,’ she replied, then caught sight of Harry’s puzzled expression.
‘The ones what clear out the empties each morning. Anyway, he’d never heard of her, but he asked the kid he was working with and he said, “Oh, you mean Ida. She works the late shift, Thursdays to Sundays.”’
The simplicity of Beth’s approach impressed Harry. Why hadn’t she thought of doing something like that? ‘Did you find out anything else?’
‘Not much,’ Beth admitted. ‘I told them I was looking for work and I’d been given Serafina’s name by a mutual friend. And here’s the interesting bit. The one who called her Ida said I shouldn’t hang about, on account of her not working there for much longer.’
Harry digested this. It certainly seemed to dovetail with the couple’s plan to elope. ‘Did he say why?’
‘He said she was due an inheritance,’ Beth answered. ‘But he sort of smirked when he said it, and tapped his nose as if it wasn’t really an inheritance at all.’
Not an inheritance, perhaps, but an allowance, Harry thought, alongside an expectation that anyone who married into the wealthy Abinger family need not trouble themselves with work.
‘Ida isn’t quite as glamorous as Serafina, is it?
’ she said, making a mental note to pass this fresh information on to Oliver as soon as she could.
Beth snorted. ‘Serafina sounds like the kind of woman who spends all day floating around a butterfly house. I prefer Ida.’
But another thought had occurred to Harry. ‘Do you think either of the bottle boys would recognise you?’
She shook her head. ‘Nah. They don’t start work until the morning, so they never mix with the toffs.’
‘Very well,’ Harry said, taking the assurance at face value. ‘If my brother is to be believed, there will be several other guests who know me, which will make it impossible for me to be much more than a distraction while you do the real digging.’
Beth regarded her steadily. ‘There’s just one problem with that. I ain’t got nothing to wear.’
It was an objection Harry had been expecting.
Beth was taller than her, and her feet looked to be at least one size bigger.
She was broader across the shoulders too, meaning there was nothing in Harry’s own wardrobe that would hang well on her.
She dug into her handbag for the money she’d added that morning.
‘Use this,’ she said, offering it to Beth.
‘You’ll need a dress, some shoes and a coat.
I can lend you a handbag and some jewellery. ’
The other woman did not take the notes. ‘I don’t need charity.’
‘But you do need to look the part and that costs money,’ Harry replied, with gentle but firm insistence. ‘Think of it as necessary expenses, no different to me paying for your train tickets when you were investigating Polly.’
This justification seemed to do the trick. The money disappeared into Beth’s pocket. ‘I don’t know what my old mum’s going to think when she sees me dressed up all fancy.’
Harry took a deep breath. ‘I thought about that. Would you prefer to change into your new clothes at my place?’
‘Your place?’ A frown creased Beth’s brow as she considered the offer. ‘I suppose it depends on where it is.’
‘Mayfair,’ Harry said. ‘Hamilton Square.’
Beth quirked her lips. ‘Very nice. Won’t your butler notice?’
‘I don’t have one,’ Harry said, and felt a pang of reproach at the thought of Chesterton, the Abinger family butler. ‘At least, not in London. I live alone, as it happens, in a small apartment that suits me perfectly.’
‘Good for you,’ she said, favouring Harry with a considering gaze. ‘In that case, I accept.’
Reaching into her purse again, Harry withdrew a small rectangle of card, upon which she had written her address. ‘I will be home at five o’clock, if that suits you.’
‘It does,’ Beth said, taking the card and tucking it away.
‘Excellent,’ Harry replied. ‘Which brings me to my final question. My brother needs to supply our names in advance of our visit. What do you want to be called?’
The question gave Beth a moment’s pause. ‘Lizzie,’ she said at length. ‘Lizzie Devine. That’s posh enough, I reckon.’
Harry turned it over in her mind, making sure Beth hadn’t accidentally hit upon the name of someone she already knew. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your shopping trip. You should find everything you need in Selfridges.’
The other woman grinned. ‘Selfridges? No fear. I’m off to Petticoat Lane, thank you very much.’
The market that crowded the length of Middlesex Street was still called Petticoat Lane, in spite of the road being renamed more than a century earlier.
It was as famous for its silver-tongued street traders as it was for the dubious goods they sold but Harry suspected Beth was too shrewd to be taken in by smooth sales talk.
Shopping there might even mean some money left over from the crisp notes she had handed over.
Not that she begrudged the expense, which was entirely necessary to find out the truth about Serafina – or Ida – Eccleston.
‘As long as you’re able to get everything you need, I don’t mind where you go,’ Harry replied. ‘I’ll see you later. We can plan everything in more detail then.’
‘See you later,’ Beth echoed, and cocked her head. ‘It’s nice to meet you properly, Harry White. I think we’re going to have some fun together.’