“Yes, we are both with the Royal Field Artillery, and I’m stationed with him at the garrison at Exeter. When he found out that he couldn’t attend tonight because of his official duties, he asked me to come in his stead and look out for you.”
Ah, well, that explained something, I thought. I met his gaze and discovered that his eyes were a remarkable bright-blue shade. “Why didn’t you mention him straight off?”
“I didn’t know I needed to.”
I did not state the obvious, that any young man from a good family knows how to make proper introductions, including a reference to your acquaintances in common. Instead, I fished around for a bland response and said, “He’s a fine fellow.”
“Do you know Arthur well?”
“Not very well, but he is a lovely friend. We met when I was staying with the Mathews at Thorp Arch Hall in Yorkshire, and we got on.”
My dance partner—who still had not introduced himself by name—didn’t respond. The silence bothered me, so I got chatty. “He’s a good dancer.”
“You sound as though you’re disappointed I’m here instead of him.”
I decided to see if this young man’s mood could be lightened. “Well, sir, this is our first dance. And since you’ve liberated me from my dance card, you may yet have the chance for another to prove your dancing skills.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound. As he spun me around the floor, past the familiar faces of the Wilfreds and the Sinclairs, I laughed along with him, feeling quite different from those around me. Freer somehow. More alive.
“I intend to do precisely that,” he said.
Emboldened, I asked him, “What is it that you do as an officer at Exeter?”
“I fly.”
I froze for a moment. Everyone was mad for the notion of flying, and here I was dancing with a pilot. It was too thrilling. “You fly?”
His cheeks turned a fiery red, visible even in the low ballroom light. “Well, I’m actually a gunner at the moment, even though I’m the 245th qualified aviator in Britain. Soon enough, though, I’ll be entering the newly formed Royal Flying Corps.” His chest, already quite broad, puffed up a bit at this statement.
“What’s it like up there? In the sky?”
For the first time, he unlocked his eyes from mine and glanced up at the frescoed ceiling, as if there, among the artfully depicted faux skyscape with its abundance of cherubs, he might relive the real thing. “Exhilarating and strange to be so near the clouds and to see the world below so small. But quite terrifying too.”
I giggled a little. “I cannot even imagine, though I’d like to try it.”
His blue eyes clouded over, and his tone grew more serious. “I haven’t chosen flying for the thrill of it, Miss Miller. If there’s a war—and I do think there will be one—planes will be vital. I intend to be integral to the war effort, a critical cog in the massive military machine. To help England, of course, but also so I can reap the benefits afterward in my career. When aeroplanes will be an important part of our economy.”
His intensity moved me, as did the boldness of his approach. He was quite different from all the men I’d encountered before, whether at home in Devon or abroad in Egypt. I felt quite breathless, and not just from the quick pace of the one-step.
The last notes of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” sounded, and I stopped dancing. I began to untwine myself from him when he reached for my hand. “Stay on the dance floor with me. As you yourself said, you no longer have a dance card. You are free.”
I hesitated. More than anything, I wanted to dance with him again, to start to solve the mystery of this unusual man. But I could hear Mummy railing in my head, reprimanding me for the untoward message a girl sent if she danced with a gentleman twice in a row, particularly a girl who was already spoken for. I wanted something in exchange for my trouble.
“On one condition,” I said.
“Anything, Miss Miller. Anything at all.”
“You tell me your name.”
Blushing again, he realized that, for all his valiant gestures with me, he had forgotten the most basic protocol. He bowed deeply and then said, “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Miller. My name is Lieutenant Archibald Christie.”
Chapter Four
Day One after the Disappearance
Saturday, December 4, 1926
Hurtmore Cottage, Godalming, England, and Styles, Sunningdale, England
“Everything all right?” Sam asks him upon his return to the dining room.
Although he’s already crafted an answer to the inevitable question, Archie stammers when called upon to say the actual words. Lying has never come easily to him, even when circumstances as of late have presented him with abundant opportunities to practice. “Oh, it’s, um, my mother. She’s taken ill, I’m afraid.” Before he can explain further, Madge gasps. He holds up his hand and assures her, “Nothing serious, the doctor promises. But she’s asked for me, and needs must.”
Sam nods his head. “Duty and all that.”
“Well, if it’s not terribly serious, can you spare Nancy through luncheon?” Madge, recovered from her concern over Archie’s mother, asks with a coy glance at her friend. “Sam and I would love to keep her captive for a few hands of whist.”
“I don’t see why not,” Archie says, giving Madge and then Nancy his best approximation of a smile. Nancy, sweet and unchallenging and lovely in her pale-blue frock, deserves a happy, carefree afternoon with her friend.
“Will you be able to return for dinner?” Sam asks, and Archie feels the weight of the Jameses’ disappointment. They’ve been so kind to plan this weekend, and now he’s undermined their gesture. One he doubts anyone else would have made.
“I’ll ring to let you know whether that will be possible. If not—” Archie breaks off, unsure what to say. He doesn’t know what he’ll be facing at Styles, doesn’t know what the police know, and he cannot plan for the different eventualities. In truth, he hasn’t even allowed himself to consider those eventualities.
Sam rescues him. “No need to worry, old chap. We will take Nancy to her home if the evening plans prove impossible.”
Gratitude surges through him, and he rounds the table to shake his friend’s hand. Just as their fingers touch, a knock sounds at the door.
“Again? That damned maid.” Sam grunts in irritation, then yells out, “What is it now?”
“Sir, there is a policeman at the door,” the maid says through the crack.