Elf downed his champagne with a pained expression. “Good Lord, was there a vote? What on, old thing? I do rather avoid the place when I can. The House of Commons has all but declawed us now, and the tail is very much wagging the dog, though I’m afraid that’s a horribly muddled metaphor. At any rate, sic transit and what have you. But what on earth were you doing there, Wavy? Furthering one of your causes, I suppose?”
“I was forming an impression of this evening’s guest of honour. That was my intention, at least, though he now seems more of a puzzle than ever. He didn’t seem much concerned with the Working Conditions Bill, beyond his own interests. It all seemed rather peculiar.”
“Yes, well, he’s a peculiar chap, Strythe, yet he can’t seem to put a foot wrong. Fancies himself as home secretary, I’m told, when we finally dislodge these Liberals, though quite why anyone would covet that dismal office passeth all understanding. You must tell me when these causes of yours are getting an airing, so that I can make a point of being in attendance. But enough of all that, darling. Have you met Jemima Beausang? You really must. She was staying with the Lyndsays, you know, when Sir Clive came down to breakfast in his natural splendour.”
“You don’t mean that he was naked?”
“Utterly and gloriously so. He sank two hundred thousand into a hole in the ground in Minas Gerais, and what does he have to show for it? Not enough gold to fill a tooth. It’s taken rather a toll on the poor chap’s state of mind. Terribly sad, really, but marvellous fun all the same. No one dared say a word, of course. I mean, what could one say? He’d finished his kippers and got through most of the Times when the nature of the thing appeared to dawn on him. You can’t print a word of that, of course, but I’m sure Jemmy has all sorts of other morceaux.”
Octavia followed Elf to an adjoining room where various intimates of his had gathered, using the shelter of an immense potted palm to defame their fellow guests in comparative safety.
“Well, now,” said Mrs. Beausang when Octavia had been introduced. “So, this is the Miss Hillingdon you’re forever eulogising. One sees why, of course. Look at her here among us, like an orchid in a bog. But she’s much too wholesome for you, dearest. You’ll have to give up all your vices, starting with that repugnant tobacco of yours.”
“What, these?” Elf held up his cigarette. “They’re from Paris, you know, where I rather acquired a taste for them. The aroma is agreeable, don’t you think? They put in sandalwood, or some such thing.”
“Agreeable? It’s perfectly detestable. Like a fire in a eucalyptus grove. But you’ve reminded me to ask. What on earth were you up to in Paris? The stories I’ve been hearing are very odd indeed.”
“Oh, it was all rather dull,” Elf replied. “Official business, mostly, to do with policing methods. I’ve just been telling Wavy.”
“Well, I heard”—Jemima laid an accusing finger on his lapel—“that you’d been keeping some rather colourful company there, and that you were seen at the salon of that frightful Madame Blavatsky.”
“What perfect nonsense,” said Elf. He had been distracted by someone entering the room, or wished to give that impression. “Madame Blavatsky is dead, for one thing.”
“Yes, well.” Jemima gestured carelessly, almost spilling her champagne. “I’m misremembering the particulars, perhaps, but it was someone of that sort. A spiritualist, or whatever they call themselves now. Oh, don’t say it isn’t true, Elf. I so enjoyed imagining it all.”
“Really, Elf?” Octavia said. “That doesn’t sound at all like you.”
“Good Lord, no. We were entertained by the comtesse of something at one point, but she doesn’t keep a salon, unless you count her dachshunds. A very ancient creature, and splendidly mad, but hardly an exponent of the occult. I’m afraid you’ve been toyed with, Jemmy.”
“Yes, but it would explain so much,” Jemima persisted. “Like your youthful appearance, for instance. You haven’t aged a day in fifteen years, and here I am, a perfect hag at thirty-seven.”
“Moderate habits, my darling.” Elf made a theatrical gesture. “A life of purity and self-denial.”
He looked away again, and this time Octavia saw the man who had drawn his attention. He might have been invisibly ordinary in other surroundings, but here he was made conspicuous by his plain brown suit. He stood apart from the crowds, silently turning away the waiters who approached him, and his demeanour was both purposeful and curiously at ease. He met Elf’s gaze with a slight inclination of his head, but otherwise made no overt gesture.
“Do you know that gentleman?” Octavia said. “He seems to know you.”
“Hmm? Oh, vaguely. A Whitehall functionary of some kind. I can’t think what he’s doing here.”
“Perhaps he knows where Lord Strythe is,” Jemima said. “No one else seems to.”
“What do you mean?” Octavia said. “Isn’t he here?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? He’s been held up or called away, or goodness knows what. Lady Ashenden is wretched with embarrassment.”
“How awful for her,” Octavia said. “Called away by what, do you know? Something at Westminster?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention, dearest. Lord Strythe is so unfailingly dull, you see. One never hears of his doing anything. And then that young pianist passed by, and I was quite distracted. What is his name, Kitty, the Austrian gentleman with the good legs? Is it Klemser or Klein?”
But Octavia paid no more attention. Taking hold of his cuff, she drew Elf aside. “We have to find out what’s happened. Can you help, do you think? I’d do it myself, but you have better connections with Lady Ashenden’s set.” He glanced over his shoulder again, but the man in brown had been obscured for a moment by an animated cluster of guests. Rumours of Strythe’s absence had no doubt begun to circulate, and those who might know more were being discreetly sought out. “Elf, are you listening? I’m sorry to impose, but it’s rather important.”
“Hmm? I’m sorry, darling, what’s important? Not the ball, surely?”
“The ball, yes. It will be talked about, you know, if the guest of honour fails to appear. People will want to know why. That is what I do, you know, and in this case I really do want to discover the truth. Something has happened, clearly, and it must be something out of the ordinary. A man like Strythe wouldn’t forgo all this adulation over a broken carriage wheel. Something has happened, Elf, and I want to find out what it is.”
He considered this for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right, darling, though I fear you’ll be disappointed. Strythe is much duller than you might suppose. Still, I shall do all I can. You yourself must remain in the offing, though, so that no one suspects I’m doing your bidding. Her Ladyship is no great friend to the fourth estate, as you may have heard. She was very much aggrieved by her father’s obituary, which slighted his governorship of Ceylon and, what was worse, understated the size of his estate. It sounds ludicrous, I know, but lesser grudges have propped up centuries of strife. Look, they’re serving ices in the blue drawing room. Wait for me there, won’t you? I shan’t be long, I promise.”