The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead (34 page)

“Why not?”

“Because… I don’t know… it’s her special night.”

“Special night? What are you prattling about?”

“She thought you were dead.”

“So, she’ll want to know I’m alive straight away.”

“I think she’d prefer to know in the morning.”

“Nonsense.” Earnestine prised Charlotte’s fingers from the frame and wrenched her away. “And, Lottie, we’ll have to have words about your attitude.”

“On your head be it,” Charlotte whined.

“On my head be what?”

Earnestine grabbed the door handle, pulled and–

“I told you, I keep telling you, but you don’t listen.”

Earnestine stepped back: “I beg your pardon?”

“She got married in a chapel and everything, and now she’s gone to the Savoy with her new husband.”

For a moment, Earnestine was speechless, but only for a moment: “I see.”

“Yes, she thought you were dead and–”

“She thought I was dead and so the first thing she did was fling herself at the nearest man.”

Charlotte beamed: “He’s a Captain.”

“I might have known,” said Earnestine. “I caught her hanging around with one on the Continent and now… she’s far too forward. She’ll get a reputation.”

“He’s a Gentleman Adventurer.”

“An adventurer? What sort of profession is that to look after Georgina?”

“He’s a good man and–”

“Charlotte – go to your room!”

That was that: Charlotte went to her room.

Chapter XVIII

Miss Deering-Dolittle

The doorman of the Savoy didn’t want ladies of her sort, he said, so Earnestine tore him down a strip. She assured him that she was not a lady of any sort! Once he was on the back foot and in his place, she stormed up to the front desk.

“Tell me at once which room Mister and Mrs…”

There was a long pause.

“Miss?”

“The newlyweds?”

“Captain and Mrs Merryweather–”

“Merryweather!”

She might have guessed. It was the man she’d caught her sister with under that tarpaulin before anything happened. And now, anything could have happened or
be happening.

“They are in Room 802, which has a private bathroom and, like the rest of the hotel, is fully lit by electricity.”

“I see.”

“You can take the all–electric lift to the eighth floor,” the clerk explained, and he pointed.

The all–electric lift soon deposited Earnestine on the eighth floor. Room 802 was very nearby and Earnestine marched to the door, turned the knob and went straight in.

The cosy bedroom had a huge bed, a few other pieces of furniture beside the bed, and there were flowers on the bedside cabinet and the bed was made up with fresh, white bed–linen along with bedding, and a man’s pyjamas on one side of the bed and a woman’s night attire on the other side of the bed. What was her sister thinking: being alone in a room with a man
and a bed?

It was indeed lit by electricity and the lights were on, but there was no–one home.

Perhaps, she thought, they might be–

The latch opened on another door and a deep male voice preceded a figure.

Earnestine did the only thing she could do and hid in the wardrobe.

“So, erm…”

It was Captain Merryweather: clearly he had survived capture in Strasburg and managed to reach England.

“Yes, dearest,” Georgina replied. Dearest indeed, Earnestine thought.

“Darling, I could… do you want…”

Earnestine was incensed: now a ‘darling’ from him.

“Whatever you think is best, dearest.”

“Oh. Right. Erm…”

“Dearest?”

“I’ll… erm… wait outside for a short while.”

“Don’t be too long.”

Earnestine heard the main door open and Merryweather leave, followed by that irritating humming that Georgina did when she was happy. Now was the time to emerge and tell Georgina exactly what Earnestine thought of this outrageous… only Earnestine wasn’t at all sure what she thought, exactly.

There was a rustle of bedclothes.

Silence.

Well, she wasn’t going to stay in the wardrobe all night. She’d spent far too much time in confining wooden boxes recently and… best not think about that.

A knock at the door:
rat–a–tat–tat.

“Come in, dearest.”

The door creaked, much as Earnestine’s curled–up knees threatened to echo.

“Ah yes, erm…” Merryweather said. “Darling.”

There was some… what was that?

The famous electric illumination of the Savoy went out. It was dark at first, but then Earnestine saw that the slice of light from the gap between the doors had simply changed colour: no longer the bright and unearthly orange but a softer bluish tone caused by light from the window.

“Dearest, may I look?” Georgina said gently.

“Darling… erm… of course.”

“Oh, my word.”

There was something sharp sticking up in Earnestine’s back: an umbrella or a parasol.

“Good heavens, is it supposed to do that?” Georgina asked.

“Perhaps we should start with a kiss, darling.”

“Of course!”

“I meant on your lips rather than your hand.”

“Oh, sorry, dearest.”

That was it! Earnestine was going to – ow, that was sharp – if she could get up and… because they weren’t even engaged. They were married.

“You can take your hand down, dear.”

“Sorry, dearest, there.”

They probably were allowed to kiss on the lips. But they hardly knew each other, which made little difference, but even so… perhaps she could offer to be their chaperone?

“Darling, I’ll just…”

“Of course, oh!”

The issue, perhaps – and Earnestine felt guilty about this – was that she’d kissed Pieter on the lips. Well, he’d kissed her, but she’d let him. Or rather she hadn’t stopped him, but then she hadn’t known what he was going to do so, until it was too late, and he had. So, in effect she’d missed it, which was doubly cruel of him.

“Dearest,” Georgina simpered. “Could you perhaps stop being so gentle and do… whatever it is you are supposed to do?”

“Sorry, darling.”

“Surrey.”

Her sister was slurring her words now. She’d probably drunk a lot of wine thinking she was a proper adult now she was married, but she was only seventeen.

Georgina started again: “Kent, Surrey.”

“Sorry?”

“No, Surrey.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kent, Surrey, Dorset, Essex, Sus – ah – sex, Middle – oh – sex…”

“What are you doing?”

“The Home Counties.”

“Pardon?”

“I thought I’d start with the Home Counties… why have you stopped?”

“It’s a little distracting.”

“Really?”

“A little… darling.”

“I thought… well, dearest, I mean to say.”

“I don’t suppose you could explain why?”

“We were told to… lie back and think of England.”

“I see.”

“So I thought I’d start with the Home Counties.”

“Ah. Darling, do you have to do it aloud?”

“No, I don’t suppose so.”

Earnestine decided she’d have nothing to do with gentlemen: they were nothing but trouble. She saw no purpose in turning out the lights to play
I, Spy
or
Geography
games… or whatever. Georgina had married the first man she’d come across and was currently doing whatever it was that she was doing, and silly Charlotte… well, the less said about her predilection for cadets the better. No, Earnestine had fallen in love with Pieter and–

Earnestine sat bolt upright.

“Arthur! What was that?”

“Nothing darling.”

“Oh dearest.”

“I thought I heard something too.”

“Please, Arthur, I’m working up the Pennines.”

She’d gone and fallen in love with Pieter. It was stunningly obvious. Of all the stupid things for her to have gone and done.

“Nor– folk, Suf– f– folk. Folk.”

“You’re doing it again, darling.”

“Staffordshire… Rut – rut – land.”

“Ah!”

“Riding! Riding!”

“Yes, yes.”

“
Cum…
bria!”

What she needed to do was–

What on Earth had those two just done?

What had she just missed?

The two on the bed let out long sighs and there was the ruffling of bedclothes. Perhaps, thought Earnestine, she could wait until they’d fallen asleep and then sneak out quietly.

“Arthur dearest.”

“Yes, my darling.”

“I’ve just thought of some more counties, mostly in the Midlands, so would you mind, my love.”

“Of course, dear, if you’d give me a few moments to recruit myself.”

Mrs Arthur Merryweather

In the morning, Georgina found herself thinking of Earnestine, which was understandable as she missed her sister, and dreaming about her dear Arthur. She found it hard not to compare the two. Usually newly married brides - she smiled - who had looked up to their fathers, now looked up to their husbands. They were their new guardians after all. This change of regime obviously brought new freedoms and curtailed others.

However, as her own father had never really been present and Earnestine had so powerfully filled that dominant niche in her life, it was therefore Earnestine she compared to Arthur. Her sister was like a low pitched grating sound: whereas whenever she thought of Arthur it was with a sigh. He was a very handsome husband, and caring too. He’d gone down to breakfast early to leave her time to get ready, and... but there was this growling sensation, a constant reminder somehow of Earnestine. Perhaps it was the new-fangled electric light? Did they snort? She’d no idea, but, by stopping to look at the strange bulb in the centre of the room, she herself was no longer bustling around the room, and, as she was silent, the noise seemed louder. It was a buzz and a snort as if the gas phutted and popped? She expected the Savoy to have thicker walls.

She went back to sorting out her clothes, folding some in the chest of drawers, which was by the window, and the longer dresses, which she turned to the wardrobe to deposit–

“Bally Hell!”

The figure slumped with the shoes and her new umbrella jerked upright: “Pieter… Gina! Don’t swear!”

Earnestine half–fell out and half–staggered to her feet, bent and old looking like some Horrible Helga come back to haunt her. Already Georgina could taste soap in her mouth.

“What! Wardrobe… alive… in my… what?”

“Georgina, do try and use proper sentences when you speak.”

“Sorry, Ness,” Georgina mumbled. She hung her head down. This was awful. She should be pleased to see her sister; she was, but she also felt like a naughty girl caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. And in a man’s bedroom too.

“Charlotte tells me… well, I want to hear it from your own lips.”

“Hear what?”

Earnestine’s own lips tightened and her arm shot out to point at the bed.

“I’m married,” said Georgina.

“That may be, but it is a matter for discussion. Clearly I need to see this gentleman’s financial records, before I could possibly consider consenting to such a match.”

“It’s too late, I’m married.”

“It’s not too late to have it annulled.”

“I consider it far too late.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“It isn’t.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“Am not, and you can’t tell me not to be childish.”

“Of course I can.”

“You cannot.”

“Can.”

“Cannot.”

“Can… why ever not?”

“I outrank you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am a married woman,” said Georgina, “whereas you are just a spinster.”

Earnestine blinked: “I see.”

And Georgina stood upright: shoulders back, chest out, head up, because she realised that, for the first time ever, she could do anything, anything at all (with Arthur’s permission naturally) she wanted, and so she was finally free of the eldest sister’s dominion.

Georgina reached into the wardrobe and took out an umbrella.

“Here,” she said. “A present from the seaside.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a Fox’s Paragon, never inside out.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you get anything for Charlotte?”

“Of course. But she’s eaten it already.”

“I see.”

“My husband,” Georgina declared, “will be waiting. Come along, sister.”

And with that Georgina swept out allowing herself a big smile once she passed Earnestine, who followed in her wake.

Miss Charlotte

Charlotte didn’t see why they had to wait for Earnestine and Georgina, but they did. She tried not to fidget. Finally, the two made their entrance, Georgina looking radiant followed by a rather bedraggled Earnestine. The men stood: Captain Merryweather held the chair out for Georgina and McKendry for Earnestine. Caruthers had held the chair out for her earlier and he was the senior officer, so Charlotte felt she was ahead on points.

They all sat.

Earnestine mouthed ‘what are you wearing?’ at Charlotte, who pretended not to understand.

“Sorry to barge in on you all before breakfast,” Caruthers said, “but there are matters to discuss. Tea?”

Charlotte had had tea already with her toast and marmalade.

A pot was finally brought and the small milk jug topped up.

“We need a plan of action,” said Caruthers.

It seemed obvious to Charlotte: “Get the army and shoot the lot of ‘em.”

“Charlotte, language” Earnestine snapped.

Georgina coughed.

Earnestine blinked rapidly and sat back.

“Thank you,” said Georgina. “And Charlotte, please watch what you say.”

They were both telling her off now. Wasn’t she the prodigal daughter returned to the British side, even if she was still wearing the enemy uniform? Surely, that entitled her to a fatted calf with pickle and trifle for dessert?

Caruthers summed up the situation: “The Austro–Hungarians, the faction headed by Graf Zala at least, are preparing for war. Or that’s the suspicion.”

“It’s not a suspicion,” Charlotte said.

“How can you possibly know that?” Georgina asked.