“Gustav is on the door, checking the invitations, just as he said he would be,” said Toni in a hushed voice.
“You sent him our photo,” said Agatha, “so he’ll recognise us. Watch for his signal.”
They approached the queue and could immediately hear the cause of the hold-up. A distraught young woman was searching her handbag for her invitation and pleading with Gustav to fetch Mary, who would vouch for the fact that she was a bona fide guest. Gustav was taking fiendish delight in refusing to do so and barring her entrance. He spotted Agatha and Toni about to join the end of the queue and nodded to the side. Agatha gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up.
“Let’s take a walk in the grounds until all that fuss dies down,” she said in a loud voice, leading Toni off towards the side of the house. “The butler’s pantry,” she added softly. “Gustav has left the door unlocked for us.”
Having come through the butler’s pantry to the rear of the hall, they entered the ballroom through the smaller side door. Mary was greeting her guests at the double doors approached from the main part of the hall. Her outfit was far grander than either Agatha’s or Toni’s, her hairpiece decorated with costume jewellery, her purple bodice studded with glittering fake gems and trimmed with silvery silk, the skirt a sea of rolling purple silk waves. Charles was standing close by, dressed more like a footman than the lord of the manor. Mary’s father was also in attendance, his long dark wig, gold coat, gold breeches, white stockings and white shoes decorated with gold bows far outshining his son-in-law. Behind his mask, Charles looked achingly awkward. Agatha tried not to smile at his obvious discomfort and the way that Darell had positioned himself to deny him the opportunity to slope off and sulk in his beloved library. She had to try harder to spot Mary’s mother, but eventually recognised her drifting elegantly among the other guests.
The ballroom had, Agatha recalled, many mirrors and a fine Venetian crystal chandelier, but it had been dressed for the evening with printed drapes hanging like tapestries. The glass doors leading to the lawn were open but manned by the same black-suited security staff who had been in attendance at the wedding circus. Up in the minstrels’ gallery a small orchestra was playing, and down by the fireplace the catering staff were building a pyramid of coupe glasses for a champagne fountain beside a white-clothed table with a banner above it that read “Sun King Burger Bar.” Round tables and seats surrounded the main dance floor, with more tables outside on the patio.
Agatha plucked two glasses of champagne from a tray carried by a passing flunkey and handed one to Toni.
“We are here to have a bit of fun,” she said, raising her glass, “but we are also here to mix with Mary Darlinda’s friends and find out whatever we can that might possibly be of use to us. So don’t go dousing yourself in champagne and drawing attention to yourself.”
“No, boss,” said Toni, clinking Agatha’s glass and saluting. “But you have to admit, this does look like fun. I’ve never been to a party like this before. It’s incredible.”
“Like I say,” said Agatha. “Keep a low profile.”
They mingled with other guests, exchanging pleasantries, the room slowly filling with a glittering array of fabulously dressed ladies and extravagantly attired gentlemen. Then the orchestra struck a chord and launched into a waltz. Agatha prided herself on being an excellent dancer and knew that the Strauss waltz being played by the orchestra was around a century too young for a Versailles party, although the dance itself could trace its roots back much farther. Mary and her father took to the floor, waltzing with more confidence than competence, and the other guests gradually joined in, most managing only a fair interpretation of a waltz.
Suddenly a masked young man, tall and slim, was standing in front of Agatha. He took her hand and bowed, an invitation to dance. A young man was choosing her rather than Toni! Agatha handed her champagne to her assistant, grinned, stuck out her tongue and glided off onto the dance floor.
Her partner danced reasonably well, managing to avoid tromping either on Agatha’s toes or on the bottom of her dress. She found that she was leading him rather than him being in charge, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. He was wearing rather too much of an over-perfumed aftershave, as young men tended to do. Agatha thought that it might suit her more than it did him. Then Toni spun past in the arms of a man Agatha instantly recognised—Charles! He stopped, tapped the young man on the shoulder, and they exchanged partners.
“How on earth did you two get in?” He laughed as they stepped and swirled around the crowded dance floor.
“Easy,” said Agatha. “I managed to gatecrash the wedding. I certainly wasn’t going to miss out on this.”
“Stop!” a voice screeched. “Stop!” The music stopped. The dancers stopped. A hand clawed at Agatha’s shoulder and spun her round. It was Mary.
“It’s you!” she howled, reaching out and ripping off Agatha’s mask. “I knew it! I warned you to stay away!”
“I invited her!” Charles lied.
“Well I’m UN-inviting her!” Mary growled, stepping quickly forward and planting the heels of her hands in Agatha’s chest with a mighty thump. The shove sent Agatha stumbling backwards. She crashed into the champagne fountain just as the catering manager, standing on a ladder, was pouring champagne into the highest glass. Champagne glasses and champagne came raining down on her, soaking her wig and her dress.
“BITCH!” she spluttered, struggling to her feet. She snatched plastic mustard and ketchup bottles off the Sun King Burger Bar and flung herself at Mary, spraying her red and yellow before landing a sharp kick straight to her shin. Mary squealed and clutched her leg. Charles and her father stepped between the two women.
“Was that really necessary, Mary?” yelled Charles. “Honestly, I could cheerfully strangle you sometimes!”
“Stop all this at once!” Darell howled. “What the hell is going on here?”
A strand of Agatha’s champagne-sodden wig flopped down over her nose before the whole top-heavy headpiece toppled forward and hit the floor with a splodge. She ripped off the hairnet that had held her own hair flat and ruffled it into some sort of shape with her hands.
“It’s you,” said Darell. “The Raisin woman!”
“I’m going to change.” Mary sobbed, rushing off.
“I’d start with the chin if I was you,” snarled Agatha, noting with satisfaction Mary’s pronounced limp.
“That’s quite enough, Agatha,” said Charles. “Gustav, get some people to clean up that mess.”
“And you lot!” shouted Darell, waving up at the orchestra. “You’re being paid to play, so get on with it!”
The music restarted, the dancers returned to their partners and the party stuttered back to life. Charles led Agatha out of the ballroom, with Toni in tow.
“I’ll call a taxi,” said Toni, producing her phone. “Better reception outside. I’ll … um … start walking down the drive to meet it.”
Charles stood with Agatha on the steps outside the massive oak front door. Agatha could hear Toni muttering to herself as she walked away. “Don’t go dousing yourself in champagne … drawing attention to yourself … Keep a low profile…”