The Pigeon Pie Mystery (15 page)

It took a while for Mink to be able to speak. “Why does only one of them have three legs?” she asked.

The servant peered over her shoulder. “That one is for the General, ma’am,” she said. “His butler asked me to make one without eggs, as his master does not eat them, and suggested inserting fewer legs to identify it, as they do every year apparently.”

The Princess continued looking at it. “I can’t stand the man. He appears to forget he’s married.” She glanced around the larder. “We seem to have an awful lot of watercress.”

The maid froze. Slowly she turned her dark eyes to her mistress and swallowed. “It is in season, ma’am,” she replied evenly, then walked swiftly out.

WITH HER HAIR SWEPT UP
into a well-padded chignon to give her extra height, Mink left Wilderness House wearing a turquoise and seal-brown jacket with a high collar, her matching skirt hugging her hips and flaring from the knee as fashion dictated. Pooki followed in a new black merino maid’s dress, with a white apron, cap, collar, and cuffs. They walked in silence, the Princess already regretting having agreed to go on account of the unfortunate-looking contents of the maid’s basket. Nor did she know whether anyone would talk to her, apart from the three ladies who had invited her, as none of the other grace-and-favour residents had tried to make her acquaintance.

Eventually they found the Pond Gardens, laid out by William and Mary into small enclosures surrounded by tall hedges to protect the exotics when moved out of the conservatories. Mink immediately spotted the party in a section that remained as a private refuge for the residents. Some stood in clusters, others were propped up in bath chairs, and a number sat on rugs on the lawn. Neatly arranged on a row of trestle tables draped with white linen were silver platters and dishes bearing joints of lamb and beef, veal patties, rabbit pies, lobsters, apple trifles, casseroles of prunes, and Swiss puddings. At one end stood a silver tea urn, and at the other bottles of sherry, claret, beer, lemonade, and soda water. A row of expressionless butlers stood behind with their white-gloved hands at their sides, all of whom had just placed a bet on which resident would disgrace themselves the most.

The Princess approached, wondering whether the three ladies who called on her had arrived. As she stood looking around, she noticed numerous eyes upon her and heads coming together to exchange whispers. She was just contemplating whether to leave when Lady Montfort Bebb caught her eye and gestured to the garden chair next to her and the Countess.

“Do take a seat, Princess,” she said, smiling, as Mink approached. “It’s always preferable to be off the ground. You get a much better view of the proceedings. We wouldn’t want to miss anything exciting. The chaplain and the organist came to blows last year.” She then looked the Countess up and down. “Though some behaviour is best forgotten.”

The Countess fiddled with the ribbons tying her widow’s bonnet. “It would be forgotten were it not for certain people endlessly bringing it up,” she said curtly. “The reason I fell from my chair was because the sherry was adulterated. Goodness knows what the merchant added to it. I couldn’t get out of bed the whole of the next day.”

Lady Montfort Bebb pursed her lips. “May I suggest that you avoid the sherry altogether this year?” she said. “We struggled getting you to your feet, you were so convulsed with laughter. No one else was amused, I can tell you, apart from the butler who witnessed your collapse and found the spectacle so hilarious he fell backwards into a flowerbed. The poor man broke his leg.” She looked away, then snapped: “It wouldn’t have mattered, except that he was
my
butler.”

“I’ve no intention of going anywhere near the sherry,” the Countess replied primly, her black-gloved hands clasped in her lap. She raised herself up from her chair and looked towards the trestle tables. “I shall try the claret.”

Feeling the urge for some as well, Mink excused herself and returned with three glasses. She sat down next to the Countess and offered her one.

“Don’t encourage her,” muttered Lady Montfort Bebb, reaching out an age-dappled hand for a glass, which she promptly drained. “I don’t know why I arrange this every year. Something always happens to make me regret it. But I live in hope that one year we will be one happy family and let bygones be bygones.”

The Princess glanced towards the path, then lowered her voice.
“I do hope we won’t have to spend the afternoon with the General. I find him intolerable.”

Lady Montfort Bebb patted her arm. “Don’t worry, my dear. Thankfully he finds me intolerable, so we will be spared his presence,” she replied. “I’m not at all surprised that you’ve taken against him so quickly. He has no manners to speak of. He gets into his carriage before his wife, and continues to smoke in the street when he passes a lady. How he can object to my music is beyond comprehension. It never bothered you when you were living next to me, did it?” she asked, turning to the Countess.

There was a significant pause. “Not in the least,” she replied, glancing at the floor.

“Goodness knows what Mrs. Bagshot sees in him,” Mink continued. “I bumped into her before she left for Egypt. I rather took to her.”

“Mrs. Bagshot is adorable,” agreed the Countess. “But her husband is another matter entirely. I heard he once slapped a kitchen maid for rejecting his advances. And he was extremely rude about my interior decoration when he and Mrs. Bagshot moved into my old apartments overlooking the Thames.”

“So he does have some taste after all,” muttered Lady Montfort Bebb, peering through her lorgnettes at the crowd. “I wonder where Lady Beatrice has got to. We’re still missing the blancmange. Oh, look, there’s Dr. Henderson. Why I should eat luncheon in the company of the man who treats my chilblains is beyond me, but Lady Beatrice insisted that I ask him. It seems her daughter is quite taken with him. Oh, dear, he’s coming our way.” She turned to Mink. “Let me know if you have no wish to be introduced, and I’ll pretend I haven’t seen him.”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “That man needs instruction on the etiquette of train travel.”

Once Lady Montfort Bebb had acknowledged him with a nod, the general practitioner approached and raised his hat, revealing
his tousled curls. She turned to Mink. “Allow me to present Dr. Henderson. Princess Alexandrina, Dr. Henderson.”

Mink looked at him from her seat. “It seems you have a mania for fresh air, Dr. Henderson,” she remarked tartly.

“Ventilated air, such as that in a railway carriage provided by an open window, is much better for the health than that which has already been expired by others, Princess,” he replied.

She raised her chin. “And what of chills, doctor? Surely one could catch one’s death being subjected to a fully open window during a train journey in the month of March?”

Dr. Henderson glanced away, then met her blue gaze. “Strong emotions lead people to act in ways that they often later regret. One can only hope that a victim of such behaviour would find it within herself to forgive such foolishness.”

The Princess was about to reply when Lady Montfort Bebb stood up. “Finally!” she exclaimed. Mink turned and saw Lady Beatrice approaching with her daughter, a plain-looking girl much more timorously attired, whose gaze scattered over the guests until it settled on Dr. Henderson. Behind them walked a sweating butler carrying a large pink blancmange on a silver platter as if it were a bomb. Suddenly he appeared to falter, his view of the ground obscured by his tremulous load. All might have been well, had it not been for his woeful over-correction. It was never clear what hit the ground first, but one thing was certain: the servant and the dessert were entirely enmeshed by the time they both landed. Without a backwards glance, Lady Beatrice and her daughter increased their pace and sat down.

“It appears that your butler’s gout isn’t cured after all,” remarked Lady Montfort Bebb.

Mink raised an eyebrow and looked at Dr. Henderson. “He must be your patient, doctor,” she said.

“It gets better and better,” said the Countess, dabbing away a tear of mirth with a black-bordered handkerchief. “Here’s the General, with whom I can only assume is his American guest.”

“What on earth has that foreigner got on?” asked Lady Montfort Bebb, examining him through her lorgnettes.

Mink sat up and peered. “It appears to be some sort of monkey-fur coat.”

The General approached, wearing a bowler hat, a fashionably quiet grey lounge suit, and an unconventional fancy waistcoat arranged with a double row of buttons. He scanned the women, his eyes stopping on Mink. With him was a broad man in a chimney-pot hat and a luxuriant pelt down to his knees. His dark hair was expertly plastered to his head, and over his wide smile perched the politest of moustaches.

“These seats are already taken, General,” declared Lady Montfort Bebb, gesturing to the empty places beside them.

“By whom, I wonder?” he asked, smiling. “A couple of whelk sellers, or maybe some sweeps? Or the organ grinder? No? Then it must be Mr. Blood! Pity he didn’t take you away while he was round on Saturday. Not to worry. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll be back, with any luck.”

Lady Montfort Bebb looked away, nostrils flared, gripping her cane in fury. The General started the introductions, and she reluctantly turned back at the sound of her name to find Cornelius B. Pilgrim holding out his hand. She looked at it as if she had caught the tail wind of an elderly cheese. “In England, Mr. Pilgrim, a well-mannered man never puts out his hand in greeting until a lady extends hers,” she said pointedly. “Such behaviour is based on the assumption that the lady is the social superior.”

The American laughed, slapped her on the back, and took a seat. She sat in stunned silence, looking ahead of her.

“Mr. Pilgrim is a friend of the family and a palaeontologist. He’s staying with me for a few weeks while he visits our museums,” said General Bagshot, sitting down next to Mink, who immediately froze.

Lady Beatrice leant forward, the pink ostrich feathers on her hat quivering. “You must go and see the life-size dinosaur replicas
at the Crystal Palace, Mr. Pilgrim,” she suggested. “They were the first in the world, like most things in Britain. I understand the plans for those in Central Park were scrapped.”

Cornelius B. Pilgrim thanked her for the recommendation and said he had just been to see them. “I do love English trains. You get much less covered in soot over here,” he said.

Mink edged away from the General, who had opened his legs to such an extent that his knee was touching the edge of her skirt. “It’s all to do with the coal we use, Mr. Pilgrim,” she pointed out. She looked at Dr. Henderson. “Though, of course, it also depends on how far open the window is. Some people insist on having it all the way down, much to the great annoyance of the other passengers.”

The doctor’s eyes fell to the floor.

“No one ever agrees how much fresh air to let into a train carriage,” said Lady Montfort Bebb. “The consumptives are the worst. Do you have any other plans, apart from visiting our museums and manhandling the populace, Mr. Pilgrim? I should avoid the National Gallery when it’s raining. The working classes tend to shelter there when it’s wet.”

“I was thinking of going to see some of the Dickens landmarks,” he replied, lounging back in his chair. “Apparently you can still see the steps in
Oliver Twist
on the Surrey side of London Bridge.”

Lady Beatrice adjusted her golden-blond fringe. “Much of the rest, I shouldn’t wonder, has been trampled to death by foreign tourists. Furnival’s Inn, where he began to write
The Pickwick Papers
, was torn down several months ago. At least that’s one less mecca for the Yankee hordes.”

Cornelius B. Pilgrim scratched his cheek. “I must confess I haven’t read it. I’m about to start
Little Dorrit
.”

There was silence as the women exchanged disapproving glances.

Mink turned to him. “I hope you’ll feel at home during your stay, Mr. Pilgrim. Jacksons of Piccadilly sells American groceries.”

“Should anyone want such things …” said Lady Montfort Bebb, looking doubtful.

Suddenly Mink felt an arm on the back of her chair, and the General turned towards her and lowered his voice. “I called yesterday, but your maid said you weren’t at home. You weren’t hiding from me, were you?” he asked, his eyes skimming her chest.

Her stomach turned as she inhaled the fetid stench of pipe tobacco and port. “Hiding from you, General?” she asked, sitting forward. “To be perfectly frank, I haven’t given you a second thought. I was attending a meeting of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies.”

“Were you, indeed?” he said, looking her up and down. “Woman suffrage is condemned by the Bible.”

Mink smiled politely. “I wasn’t aware that you had read it, General.”

“What on earth does
he
want?” cried Lady Montfort Bebb, staring at Gibbs, the grocer’s boy, running towards them, clutching his cap.

Panting, he approached Dr. Henderson. “Mother says to tell you that the baby’s on its way,” he said. Mink watched the doctor leave, turning away when he glanced back.