Mydworth Mysteries - Episode 4-6 (eBook)

2. A Night to Remember
   

Kat had been to many grand parties in her time working for the American government, in various capital cities across Europe.

But this one? Something else entirely.

All the Manor’s ground-floor rooms had been thrown open – even the Grand Ballroom at the back of the house, which was rarely used: so far she’d only ever seen it covered in dusty white sheets with shutters closed.

Now she could see that the great room positively sparkled, mirrors dazzling, chandeliers bright, the intricate parquet floor spotless as a crowd of guests swayed to the music of a four-piece jazz band that played in the corner.

Not dancing yet, she thought, but, at the rate the champagne was flowing, it clearly wouldn’t take long.

Harry led her through other rooms, all just as packed. He gave her a running commentary as they slipped, hand-in-hand, through the crowds and past long lines of buffet tables at which masked guests queued for food.

“All right. See the lady by the fireplace in ostrich feathers? Caused rather a scandal with the prince, last year.”

“Don’t need to guess which prince,” said Kat.

“The Royals – always entertaining. And those chaps having a chinwag in the corner...” Kat looked across to where a group of elderly men in Arabian robes stood smoking cigars. “Some of our most illustrious generals, I do believe. Fella on the chaise longue in the cowboy outfit – American novelist, very popular. What’s his name, always forget. Oh look – out on the terrace there...”

Through the open French windows Kat caught a glimpse of a tight cluster of men and women in vivid colours, all shimmering Chinese silks and elaborate Indian headgear.

“Lavinia’s old Bloomsbury pals. Painters, writers, theatre directors, what have you. Hard to tell if they’re in fancy dress or not. Wonder who’ll be sleeping with whom by the end of the evening? We should run a lottery! Oh... and look.”

Kat followed his subtle nod to the door.

“Rare sighting of the Leader of the Opposition. Dressed as Robin Hood. Good lord, look at those tights. Too tight, to be sure.”

Kat laughed, then pointed to a pair of bishops in purple leaning against the door chatting earnestly.

“Those two?” she said.

“Actually,” said Harry, “they’re real bishops.”

“Gosh, I’ll have to mind my language.”

“Oh, don’t bother – off duty you wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard them tell.”

Kat heard some cheers from outside.

“Come on,” she said, taking his arm and heading for the French windows, “let’s go see what’s happening out there!”

If the interior of Mydworth Manor was extravagant, Kat could see from the terrace that the gardens and grounds were going to be even more amazing.

On the small lake behind the house, a pair of gondolas were ferrying couples to and from the little island with its white stone building. It was called a “folly”, she knew, though she didn’t have a clue why.

A classical string quartet played on the lawn, and an elegant soprano stood with them singing an aria.

“Puccini, if I’m not mistaken,” said Harry.

“One of my favourites,” said Kat. “First opera ever at The Met... Tosca. Oh – look there. That fire-eater—”

Harry stepped back as a young man, stripped to the waist, twirled into view, shooting flames into the evening sky. A small crowd gathered to watch him.

“Are there clowns and tight-rope walkers due soon? Going to be a long night, I think,” said Kat. “Maybe hit the buffet?”

“A very good idea,” said Harry.

As they turned to go back indoors, Kat caught a movement in a copse of trees beyond the terrace. A tall, hooded monk, in a long black robe, stood close by another man dressed – she guessed – as Henry VIII, his stomach bulging.

From the finger pointing, and head shakes, the two were clearly arguing, but their voices were low.

Something about the way they stood together made Kat pause for a second. Something... furtive... in their manner. Looking around. Checking.

Almost as if they were hiding.

“You all right?” said Harry.

“Sure,” said Kat, turning, and following. “Some of these costumes – crazy, aren’t they?”

*

“Your cook McLeod has outdone himself tonight, Aunt Lavinia,” said Harry, putting down his plate and wiping his hands on a napkin.

Kat looked across, to see Lavinia approaching the corner where she and Harry had perched together to eat.

She thought that amid the sea of cardinals, doges, and even more courtesans and pirates, Lavinia in her gown – a duchess perhaps? – took the cake. Waves of blue material shimmered in the glow of lamps and candles.

“I do hope so,” Lavinia said. “We’ve hired God knows how many extra kitchen staff to make sure things roll along. But–”

“Something wrong?” Kat said.

“Well. There are these absolutely darling little lobster things that should have arrived by now. I do want to keep my guests well fed.”

“Would you like me to go and check the kitchen?” Harry said. “I can be very discreet; they’ll never know I’m having a snoop!”

Kat was still getting used to seeing her husband as a pirate, his face hidden by a mask, which she had to admit rendered him even more attractive.

“Would you? I really must circulate among the throng.”

Lavinia reached out and touched Kat’s forearm. “Some of the people here? I don’t even know their names! But invite one from a certain set and you have to invite them all!”

Harry – about to make a run to the downstairs, where mayhem must be reigning in the kitchen – said, “You okay here, Kat? Just a minute or two. On your own?”

“Sure,” Kat said. “I’ll be fine. After all, I’m a courtesan.”

She saw both Harry and his aunt grin at this before hurrying away. She stood there, champagne flute in hand.

All alone.

Though here at Mydworth Manor she felt – in a way – that she was at home too.

She put down her plate and headed in the direction of the ballroom where the band was belting out one of her favourite Cole Porter numbers, What Is This Thing Called Love.

*

Harry threaded his way through the guests who filled the main corridor leading to the hallway, nearly bumping into a hooded monk who scurried past and headed up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Must be one of the London guests, staying over, thought Harry, as he watched the monk disappear along the landing above.

He turned down the corridor that led behind the staircase, dodging incoming footmen and maids, all madly bustling, and then headed down the stone steps to the kitchens.

Years ago, growing up here at Mydworth Manor, these subterranean corridors were his special haunts. The old cook (now long passed) had always been happy to find him a treat, or a mug of cocoa, or a warm corner by the stoves on a freezing winter’s day.

All that... helped him get through things.

He tipped his mask up – at least the regular staff would recognise him now and not be upset at the unannounced arrival of someone from “above stairs”.

Everywhere he looked there was furious activity: trays of food heading one way, great crates of dirty plates going the other for the kitchen porters to wash.

He sidestepped a pair of footmen carrying an impressive cold salmon on a silver salver, and peered through into the busy kitchen – just as a young man in an ill-fitting footman’s uniform bearing a massive bowl of oysters slipped on the wet floor... and fell badly, the bowl flying from his hands and smashing on the hard stone kitchen floor.

For a second there was utter silence. It was that loud! Then from every side, Harry saw kitchen staff race to the disaster – some to clear, some to clean.

One figure – the fearsome cook McLeod – picked up the young lad by the shoulder and dragged him to one side, an unintelligible stream of curses echoing around the kitchen.

“What’s the bloody point of you, laddie! I’ll kick your arse back to that boat you came off—”

Harry stepped forward and McLeod spun round, surprised to see Lady Lavinia’s nephew here in the kitchens.

“Sir Harry—”

“Sorry to interrupt, McLeod. But Lady Lavinia was wondering how the lobster hors-d’oeuvres were coming along.”

With a reluctant shake, McLeod let go of the footman and he sank back to the floor like an unwanted item of clothing.

“Aye, Sir Harry, should be ready. I’ll just away and see,” he said, leaving Harry and the young man together.

Harry lifted him up.

“You surviving?” said Harry, noting how nervous the lad seemed. Harry’s words brought a smile.

“Just about,...