Mrs Dorran was wiping down the kitchen table after preparing lunch, when the door from the back entrance opened and Mirabelle came in. She was wearing a mackintosh coat with a big hood, and wellington boots, and she dripped water all over the floor.
'Mrs Lightning! Shut that door before you let the cold air in,' the cook fussed at her. 'You do look wet! Like a drowned chicken.'
'Yes, it's raining cats and dogs,' Mirabelle agreed. She took off her wet coat and hung it up on the peg inside the door, then removed her wet boots and put on light indoor shoes.
'Come over to the stove and warm up,' Mrs Dorran urged her. 'What have you been doing out there?'
'I've been guarding the back of the house. We need to make sure no one gets close to Mrs Maria's window.' Mirabelle sat down on a chair by the table, and then smiled warmly as Mrs Dorran pushed a cup of hot tea into her cold hands: 'Oh, thank you!' She sipped the hot liquid and felt the warmth spread through her whole body. 'That's better!'
'I don't know why you spend so much time over that woman, I really don't,' said Mrs Dorran, sitting down on the other side of the kitchen table with her own cup of hot tea. 'She's been nothing but trouble since she arrived - when was it? Three days ago?'
'Four,' said Mirabelle. 'This is the fifth day since she came.'
'Ever since she arrived, she's had Mr Manfred and all of us running round after her. First it's clean out the room for her, then she's going out in the evening and stays out all night, then she gets herself kidnapped and her necklace broken, and why Emily felt she had to mend it for her I don't know.' Mrs Dorran shook her head over the foolishness of her colleague. 'Then she's off to that manor house and gets herself shot, and there's poor Mr Manfred never had a moment's rest since she's come, and you and Mr Lightning and Mr Poiccart charging round the countryside at such a speed it's a mercy you haven't been killed.'
'She came back slowly enough yesterday,' Mirabelle reminded her.
'Yes, I'll give you that - bringing her back by boat was an excellent notion of Mr Lightning's. It's slowed her down, and when they brought her in last night I thought, "Well, that young lady's calmed down a bit, at least."'
'She was very touched that you all stayed here late to see her brought into the house,' remarked Mirabelle.
'Yes, well, we wanted to see she was all right,' Mrs Dorran hastened to excuse her curiosity. 'After all, now she's Mr Manfred's wife, she'll be mistress of this house.'
Mirabelle didn't reply to this; she just raised her eyebrows, and sipped her tea.
'You look just like Mr Lightning when you do that,' the cook told her, raising her own eyebrows in imitation of her. 'You're not happy about Mrs Manfred living here, are you?'
'Not really,' answered Mirabelle. 'Leon doesn't trust her.'
'Well, given the run-around she's given you all, I can't say as I blame him,' answered her colleague. 'But what about yourself, young Mirabelle? You've been manager in this house, haven't you? Since you came here last June you and I have kept this house going nicely, I'd say. All the tradesmen tell me that you pay them really regular, and all the orders are sent in good time, and it's all as it should be. But now that foreign woman has come here, there's you and me have our noses put out of joint.'
'Now, Mrs Dorran,' said Mirabelle, smiling, 'we don't know that. She'll probably be happy for us to carry on running the house. She isn't very practical, you know; I don't think she'll want to do any managing.'
'Then she'll go on running around and giving Mr Manfred nothing but trouble? Dear me, poor Mr Manfred. There's him such a nice gentleman, and he has to marry a hussy like her!'
Mirabelle pealed with laughter and the cook smiled apologetically. 'Well, perhaps I'm exaggerating,' she said, 'but you must admit, she's a troublemaker. After all, you've been standing out in the rain all morning because of her.'
'Yes,' agreed Mirabelle, 'and now Mr Digby is standing in my place. I know, I'm not very happy about it, but Maria seems to attract villains like bees to a honeypot.'
'Well, at least you got a good night's sleep last night,' the cook added.
'Yes, for a change! Even Leon was so tired that he slept all night. Mr Dennis and Dick Jones stood guard in the mews, but no one came to trouble us. Perhaps she's worn the villains out as well as us.'
'Let's hope so.' Mrs Dorran drained her tea and rose to her feet. 'Well, it's time for me to serve lunch, so if you can call those two young flipperty-gibbets who call themselves housemaids and tell them to lay the table, I'll get lunch ready for them to take up.'
Mirabelle went up the stairs to the ground floor of the house, where she found Megs and Emily already laying the table in the little dining room. 'Oh, there you are,' cried Megs, 'we were looking for you!'
'I was in the mews, guarding Mrs Maria's window,' replied Mirabelle, a little annoyed. Clearly the maids hadn't looked very far.
'We thought we'd get some flowers for Mrs Maria,' said Emily. 'To cheer her up.'
'That would be kind,' agreed Mirabelle, feeling guilty at once for her annoyance.
The two maids brightened at her approval. 'What do you think she'd like?' asked Megs. 'I said white roses, and Emily said lilies.'
Mirabelle thought. 'She's already white enough as it is,' she said. 'How about red roses? Something romantic? We should go out to the florist's by the park and see what flowers they have.' Chrysanthemums, she thought, as it's the end of October; or possibly Michaelmas daisies?
'We'll go this afternoon,' decided Megs. She started to lay out the cutlery on the table. 'And we'll find a nice vase for them - there's a nice one in the cabinet in the drawing room.'
Mirabelle suspected that the vase was priceless Venetian glass, and wondered how much money she had in her purse upstairs: it would be better to buy a cheaper vase that could be broken without heartache. 'We can have a look this afternoon,' she said.
Over lunch, it stopped raining and the sun came out. Mirabelle lamented the fact that she had stood for two hours in the rain and seen no one, but Leon simply said, 'They knew that you were watching, carina.'
'Well, I'll go out with Megs and Emily this afternoon and buy some colourful flowers to cheer up Maria's room,' continued Mirabelle. 'We'll make the most of the sunshine.' When George gave her a surprised glance, she added: 'It was Emily and Megs's idea. I thought some flowers might cheer Maria up.'
'Yes,' answered George. 'In fact I was going to ask you to go and sit with her this afternoon. She can only talk a little, but she would like to see you. Perhaps you could read to her for a while.'
Mirabelle's conscience smote her - of course, she thought, it must be very depressing for Maria to be shut up in her bedroom, with only George and Nurse O'Leary for company. 'Of course I will,' she said, smiling warmly at George, and he returned her smile.
'Maria was admiring the Venetian glass vase in the drawing room cabinet,' he went on. 'I think that would be suitable for flowers.'
Mirabelle felt her face grow pink. 'Yes, Megs suggested it,' she remarked.
She saw the corners of Raymond's mouth twitch, and Leon laughed, but George simply nodded. 'She is a very sensible girl when she concentrates on what she is doing,' he observed.
After lunch had been eaten and washed up, Mirabelle borrowed one of Leon's coats - her own was still soaked through - found some dry outdoor shoes, and joined Megs and Emily in the hall for a shopping trip. To Mrs Dorran's suggestion that they phone a florist's and ask them to send round some flowers, Megs retorted: 'That would be no good - we want them hand-picked!' Mrs Dorran sighed her exasperation.
'So I expect you're wanting me to polish the silver this afternoon?' she enquired.
'It'll keep!' Megs assured her.
Mirabelle hastened to assure the cook that the silver was not in urgent need of polishing, and that she would ensure that Megs did it when they got back; then she hurried her two companions out into the late October sunshine before it could start raining again.
There were several florists' shops within easy walking distance, but the women knew which one they wanted - it was on Park Lane, opposite the park, and 'It always has such lovely arrangements in the window,' said Megs dreamily. Mirabelle smiled; clearly Megs wanted to buy Maria the sort of flowers she would like to receive herself. Being near the big hotels and opposite the park where the wealthy rode and the world and his wife took their ease at the weekends, this particular florist's shop was always open for business on a Sunday afternoon; but the price of his goods reflected his clientele. Although she was prepared to make a substantial contribution to the cost of the present she thought that the two maids should pay a share - after all, the gift had been their idea. So she said: 'We'll take a look, and see what we can afford between us.'
They reached the florist's in brilliant sunshine, and paused to look at the beautiful sprays, wreaths and floral designs in the window display before going inside. 'Pink roses!' exclaimed Megs, 'how romantic!'
'Look at those lovely golden flowers,' sighed Emily. 'Like sunshine!'
'The chrysanthemums are pretty,' said Mirabelle. She thought of her kitchen garden at Heavytree Farm, where Aunt Alma had tried to grow chrysanthemums, and every year either the slugs ate them, or the wind and rain beat them down, or one year the cow had got into the garden and devoured them. She could only envy gardeners who succeeded in producing such lovely blooms!
'Let's go inside,' she said, and led the way into the shop. A car whizzed past behind them just as Emily closed the door. 'Your husband isn't out, is he?' she asked Mirabelle, smiling as she asked the question.
'No, he's working in the laboratory this afternoon,' answered Mirabelle.
'Funny, that sounded just -'
Bang! Something whizzed past them and hit the opposite wall. Emily leapt away from the door as if she'd been stung, and all three young women saw in the middle of the plate glass door a neat round hole surrounded by a halo of crazed glass.
'Oh, my word!' It was Mirabelle's strongest oath. 'Emily, are you all right?'
'Yes, it - it missed me.' Emily was shaking like a leaf. She looked at both her hands and arms, as if to reassure herself that she was uninjured and then round the shop as if searching for the missile. 'What was it?'
'It was a gun! He shot at us! We're being shot at!' cried Megs. Their exclamations were interrupted by the florist, who had been in his workroom at the back of the shop and now came into the shop asking: 'What exactly is going on, ladies?'
'I think a passing car backfired,' said Mirabelle at once, gesturing to her companions to be quiet. 'We're looking for some flowers for a friend who's unwell.'
'Something romantic,' said Megs.
'Something pretty,' added Emily.
'Bright colours to cheer up her room,' continued Mirabelle.
The florist looked at them for a long moment, then said: 'Well, ladies, let me see - how about -' and he began to walk about the shop, pointing out bunches of flowers. Megs and Emily at once entered into the game, choosing one bunch after another, rejecting their first choices on the grounds that they wouldn't match each other, then choosing other flowers ... Mirabelle was silent, wondering what would happen when they left the shop. Was the gunman lying in wait for them? And who was he (or she), anyway?
She went to the door and tried to peek through the shattered glass, but the passers-by all looked innocent and harmless: courting couples, nurses pushing perambulators, and a lady walking her little dog.
'Oh, isn't that pretty!' cried Megs, and Mirabelle turned back to see the florist flourishing a bouquet of pink and golden blossoms, surrounded by lacy paper, all tied with pink-and-gold ribbon.
'How lovely!' she exclaimed.
'Do you think she'll like it?' asked Emily, who clearly would very much like someone to present her with a bouquet like that. Mirabelle nodded firmly: 'I'm sure she'll adore it.' She stepped up to the counter. 'How much will it be?' she asked, reaching for her bag.
'I can send my account later,' came the response.
'No, we'll pay now,' Mirabelle replied. 'We're all contributing to this!' She looked at her companions, who nodded, a little nervous now at the prospect of having to part with their hard-earned wages.
The florist nodded, pulled a pencil from behind his ear and a piece of wrapping paper from the roll on the counter, and did a few calculations, then named a price. Emily gave a little gasp, but Mirabelle butted in quickly - she knew they each earned only 30 shillings a week - and said, 'I'll pay two thirds and you divide the rest between you.'
Both girls breathed a sigh of relief and produced their money. Mirabelle dug in her bag for her purse, realising that she had her Browning pistol with her and trying not to let anyone see it. I hope we don't need it on the way home, she thought. She handed over her share of the price and said, 'I was wondering - is there a way out of the back of this shop? We'd like these flowers to be a surprise for our friend, so we'd like to go round the back way.' She smiled hopefully as she said it, knowing that it was a ridiculous request, but hoping he would humour her madness.
The proprietor, however, did not seem at all surprised. 'You can go out of the side entrance,' he said, gesturing towards the back of the shop, 'that leads into the back lane.' He handed the flowers with a flourish to Emily, who blushed and stammered her thanks, and then - leading them down the shop - he opened the side door for them and gestured them out with a bow. 'Good afternoon, ladies.'
'Thank you so much.' Mirabelle gave him the most dazzling smile she could; Megs and Emily smiled and Megs cried, 'Good afternoon!' Emily mouthed something that might have been 'Good afternoon,' but became a squeak; Mirabelle mentally shook her head at the girl's shyness, and led her colleagues out, down the back lane and out into the street, walking briskly homewards.
'Do you think that car was firing at us?' asked Megs, in hushed tones. 'Why should he do that?'
'I don't know,' answered Mirabelle, 'but let's get home quickly before we find out!'
Emily found her voice at last. 'They know we know where Mrs Maria is,' she said. 'They want to kill Mrs Maria!'
'Why do they want to kill her? She's so beautiful!' exclaimed Megs. She ran ahead of the other two, turning into the mews that ran along behind the houses on Curzon Street, and then spinning round to face them. 'I wish I -' the rest of her sentence was cut off by the 'bang!' of a shot.
Emily screamed; Megs put her hand to her bare head - the shot had blown her hat off. She stumbled forward to where it lay in the road, stooping to pick it up, and then ran for her life down the mews, zig-zagging to avoid the bullets that were flying after her. Emily dived into a doorway, screaming at the top of her voice, the flowers clutched to her bosom to protect them; Mirabelle pulled her gun from her bag, looking around her wildly. A slight movement in a window space above her caught her eye - there was someone up there, with a view across the street and down the mews. She raised her gun and fired, hitting the window and shattering the glass. Then she dropped on to her knees ('Never be in the same spot twice' WPC Busby had told her) and fired again. This time her bullet went through the open window.
Had she hit anyone? She couldn't tell, but she had driven the gunman back from the window, so that he couldn't use his own weapon. 'Emily, run!' she cried. 'I've got you covered!' Emily emerged from her refuge and ran up the mews as fast as her legs could carry her. Unlike Megs she ran straight - Mirabelle saw her assailant move inside the window, and fired again. This time she hit the window frame, but he jumped back out of reach. She got to her feet and began to retreat, firing once more. (How many bullets have I used? she wondered. Help! I've lost count!) She kept an eye on the window space - he was still there! She fired once more, and saw him drop. She turned and ran for dear life, zig-zagging as Megs had done. Ahead of her, she heard voices and running feet - Digby was hurrying towards her, gun in hand.
'Miss Leicester! Are you all right?' he cried.
'Yes.' Mirabelle could hardly speak - she was gasping for breath. 'Not hurt - he's up there!' She gestured wildly with her gun. Digby ran up the mews, gun at the ready. Mirabelle considered going to help him, then realised that this would defeat the purpose of his coming to her rescue, and ran on to safety, through the back gate of 233 Curzon Street. Staggering into the kitchen, she collapsed on to a chair by the kitchen table. Megs and Emily were already there telling their story to the astonished cook, voluble in their fear and relief at escaping alive.
'He shot at us!'
'If Mrs Lightning hadn't had a gun, I don't know what would have happened!'
'I was never so frightened in my life!'
'Are the flowers all right?' Mirabelle managed to ask. She didn't ask whether Megs and Emily were safe; they were both clearly unharmed, just very shocked at their experience.
'Yes, I kept them safe,' Emily reassured her.
'Let's get them to Mrs Maria before anything else goes wrong,' Mirabelle said.
Mrs Dorran shook her head over the three of them. 'Them's lovely flowers,' she said, 'but what an expense to go to!'
'She deserves it,' retorted Megs. 'She was shot - and someone just tried to shoot at us! It's horrible!' She got up from her chair and took off her coat. 'I'll just fetch the vase,' she said, hanging up her coat by the door.
Emily carefully unwrapped the flowers and straightened the leaves and petals. 'They're so pretty,' she said, sighing. 'I'm glad we got them.'
'Yes,' agreed Mirabelle. 'And we found out that Mrs Maria's enemies really are watching the house - Leon was right.'
'I don't see why they should want to shoot at you,' Mrs Dorran was saying. 'They didn't shoot at us when we came in this morning.'
'And they didn't shoot at me this morning when I was outside in the rain,' Mirabelle agreed. 'They may have arrived at lunchtime.'
Megs came back with the vase. 'Mr Manfred said it will be perfect,' she said, glowing with pleasure at her boss's approval. 'Let's put some water in it.' She filled it at the sink, and then stood it on the kitchen table for Emily to place the flowers carefully in position.
'Lovely,' said everyone, as Emily stood back to let them admire her handiwork.
'I hope she likes them, that's all,' said Mrs Dorran.
'She'll be delighted,' said Mirabelle. 'Let's all take them up.'
'I don't think I should leave this bread,' said Mrs Dorran. 'It needs watching.'
'You can leave it for five minutes,' her younger colleague assured her. 'Come on, dear - I know Mrs Maria will be pleased to see you.' Then, as the cook gave her a sceptical glance, she added: 'And we both want to butter her up, don't we?' and gave a conspiratorial grin.
'I suppose so,' sighed the cook. 'Just let me wash my hands.'
Maria was lying quietly, her face turned at the window. Nurse O'Leary was sitting on a chair just inside the door, and when Mirabelle knocked and put her head around the door she said, 'Shhh! She's asleep at last.'
'I am not sleeping,' interjected a soft voice from the bed. 'I am resting.' Maria turned her head, saw Mirabelle and smiled. 'Mirabelle! Please come in. I am glad to see you.' She struggled to rise, but Nurse O'Leary hurried to her side, saying, 'Don't you disturb yourself, Mrs Maria. Gently, now,' and helped her roll over to face her guests.
Mirabelle beckoned Megs, Emily and Mrs Dorran into the room. Emily was carrying the vase; Megs walked ahead of her. 'We bought you some flowers,' she said, 'and we chose them specially for you, and Mr Manfred let us have a vase. Here they are,' and she stepped aside so that Emily, blushing with embarrassment, could place the vase on the chest of drawers that stood opposite Maria's bed.
Mirabelle watched Maria's face while the two girls were making their presentation. Drawn with pain, pale and languid, only her eyes held a vestige of her customary fire. But as Megs spoke, a smile came to Maria's lips; her eyes sparkled; a little colour came into the white cheeks. As Emily set down the vase of flowers and stepped back to face her, Maria put out her right arm. 'Dear Emily,' she said, 'thank you so much! Come and kiss me, sweet girl.'
Poor Emily blushed scarlet, but kissed Maria on the cheek as requested. 'And Margaret! You are so kind. Such lovely flowers. Thank you.' Megs blushed pink and kissed her on the cheek.' 'That is so kind of you. I am so happy; I will look at them and they will make me feel well.' Maria was clearly very touched and pleased.
'Have you met Mrs Dorran, our cook?' asked Mirabelle, and gestured Mrs Dorran forward. That worthy came unwillingly and embarrassed, bobbing her head respectfully, but Maria waved her respect aside. 'I am so pleased to meet you,' she said. 'I already know you are an excellent cook.' She held out her hand for Mrs Dorran to shake. Mirabelle's lips twitched: Leon complained that Maria could twist men around her little finger, but she was pretty effective with women too.
Not with Mirabelle or Nurse O'Leary, however. When greetings and thanks had been exchanged, the latter hurried them all out of the room, 'You're tiring her. She needs to rest.'
'Mirabelle.' It was a command - Mirabelle halted and went back.
'Yes, dear?' she enquired. 'Dear' seemed appropriate, as Maria had told her she wanted 'to be sisters'.
'Come and sit with me. George has to work, and I am very lonely here.'
Shooting a look at Nurse O'Leary, Mirabelle smiled sweetly. 'Of course - shall I read to you? George suggested you would like to hear a book. Shall I go and find one?'
Maria nodded, and closed her eyes. 'Yes, please do.'
Feeling herself dismissed, Mirabelle looked at Nurse O'Leary, raising her eyebrows. The Nurse nodded, and walked with Mirabelle to the door of the room.
'She's a tartar, this one,' she said quietly as they stood in the doorway. 'Takes some handling.' Then, more loudly, 'I'm sure Mr Manfred will be able to suggest a book, Miss Leicester.'
George was his usual gently sarcastic self. 'I believe we have some volumes on recent developments in high energy explosives,' he said, 'and the latest firearms. And of course we have Jane's Fighting Ships and All the World's Aircraft.'
'I expect Leon has already looked them out for me,' retorted Mirabelle, 'but perhaps something more relaxing?'
'It's hard to judge what Maria would find relaxing,' said George. 'I doubt she has ever spent time reading novels. I would suggest the newspapers, but they are still full of the letter I wrote to the Daily Megaphone.'
'Punch?' suggested Mirabelle.
'I'm not sure that Maria would appreciate its style of humour.'
'You must have had something in mind when you suggested I read to her, surely?'
George made a helpless gesture. 'It occurred to me as something which would relax her and prevent Leon from sending you out into the rain again - perhaps a volume of Jane's will be poetry to her.'
'I'll ask Leon if he has any intelligence reports from Russia,' suggested Mirabelle, but George shook his head. 'Better not. That would only remind her of past battles.'
'Russian fairy tales? I saw a copy in the bookcase.'
'Leon bought those to study the mind of the man who compiled them. No, stick to Jane - Maria understands war more readily than fantasy.'
Mirabelle went to the bookcase and looked along the volumes there. 'The mind of the man who compiled Old Peter's Russian Tales? What did Leon decide?'
'That the author would be better writing children's stories than getting involved in Russian politics,' said George.
Mirabelle pulled out Jane's Aircraft, then remembered something. 'Did Megs tell you when she came to fetch the vase? - someone shot at us while we were in the florists.'
George looked up at once from his newspaper, his face concerned. 'Did you see who it was?'
'A car sped past the shop and fired at the door just after we had gone through. We went out the back way to avoid them, and someone fired at us from a first-floor window at the entrance to the mews - the Park Lane end. Digby went to investigate.'
'Were any of you hurt?'
'Megs ran to dodge the bullets - she's obviously seen what cowboys and gangsters do on the pictures. Emily panicked, but managed to take cover and ran when I told her to run. I returned fire, but I don't think I hit anyone.'
'Probably just as well if you didn't,' mused George. 'I'm glad you all got back safely. Has Digby reported back yet?'
'I don't know - I'll go and find out.' Mirabelle gave him a smile, and left the drawing room.
Rather than going down to the kitchen, however, she ran upstairs to the attic, to the bedroom she shared with Leon. Here she put down Jane's Aircraft, and cleaned and reloaded her pistol. Then she crossed the top landing, knocked on the laboratory door and put her head around, asking: 'Is it safe to come in?'
Raymond Poiccart looked up from writing up his notes and nodded, with a slight smile; Leon, who was watching the contents of a test tube in a clamp, welcomed her with a glad cry.
'Carina! Come in and see this.'
She hurried to his side; he kissed her on the lips. 'See - I've stabilised the compound. It reacts without odour and without leaving a residue.'
'Is this the grease remover?' asked Mirabelle, peering cautiously at the test tube.
'It's only suitable for use on metal or enamel surfaces at present,' her husband informed her. Mirabelle deduced from this response that it was indeed the notorious advanced grease remover.
'So not the kitchen table?' she remarked, remembering what had happened the last time Leon used one of his prototype grease removers on the kitchen table - the table now had a permanent black burn mark on it.
'No - but it will clean the oven and the hob.'
'Good! Mrs Dorran will be pleased.' Mirabelle decided it was a safe moment to introduce the subject she had come to tell him about. 'Darling, we got the flowers for Maria, but -'
'Red for blood or white for death?' remarked Raymond idly.
'Pink and gold for romantic young women,' replied Mirabelle. 'Megs and Emily chose them. But we were shot at!'
Both men were immediately alert. 'By Spanish or Russians?' asked Raymond. 'Did they follow you?' demanded Leon.
'We didn't see them clearly, but I do think they were following us. They chased us up the mews - Digby went to deal with them. Has he reported back to you?'
'No,' said Leon.
'I'll go down and look for him,' said Raymond, getting up at once and leaving the room; they heard his feet go rapidly down the stairs.
'When did this happen?' Leon asked her.
'About ten minutes ago.'
'You should have come straight up to tell me,' he chided her, anxious for her safety, and she responded: 'We needed to give Maria the flowers. She wants me to go back and read to her now!'
'What are you going to read?' asked Leon. 'I think I have an advanced guide to modern firearms somewhere.'
'Jane's Aircraft - George's suggestion.'
'Yes, she's already experienced them at his suggestion.' Leon was referring to Maria's flight to London from Paris four days ago.
'She says he only told her to come - not how she should get here.'
'He ordered the tickets for her.' Leon was adamant. 'I called the Paris air office and asked them.'
Mirabelle's gaze met his - they stared sadly at each other for a few moments, sorrowful at this latest revelation of George's acting behind their backs.
'Mrs Dorran says we shouldn't all keep running round after her,' remarked Mirabelle.
'She is a woman of great common sense,' replied her husband, putting his arms around Mirabelle's waist.
Mirabelle stroked his hair, and kissed his nose. 'We'll be running round for a few weeks yet, while she's confined to bed.'
'We could leave them here and go off on another investigation - there's a case in Italy which is asking for my attention.'
'Italy! That would be wonderful. Could Raymond come too?'
'I'm sure he'd love to come.' Leon kissed her, and for a few minutes they forgot everything else that was going on around them ...
They were disturbed by the sound of Raymond's feet on the stairs, and drew apart a little to avoid embarrassing their friend and colleague. Raymond came in, shaking his head. 'Digby is back at his look out post, just outside the back gate. He says that the gunman who shot at you got away, but thinks that the gang responsible are still around. I have telephoned Miss Goddard.'
'Aunt Alma?' exclaimed Mirabelle.
'Yes; I wanted to send a confidential message, and I expect the phone wires are being tapped.'
'Of course,' realised Mirabelle.
'I'll have a look outside,' said Leon, and walked out on to the upper landing, where he reached up and pulled at a rope which hung from the ceiling. A fire ladder lying flat against the ceiling came down, and a small skylight opened. Leon ran up the ladder and out of the skylight on to a flat section of the roof; Raymond and Mirabelle heard him walk across the flat surface to the parapet wall, and look out. There was a short silence, then he walked back the other way; then he descended, and released the rope that held the ladder and hatch in place, returning everything to its original position.
'I think it would be wise if Digby came inside our back gate,' he said. 'We may be about to go under siege. I'll go and tell him. Raymond, can you instruct our household staff not to open the front door to anyone? And, darling' (this to Mirabelle), 'much as I hate you running round at the beck and call of Maria, if you can read to her for a while it will stop her throwing things out of the window to any of her friends who may turn up to pay her a call.'
Maria was delighted with Jane's Aircraft, and lay peacefully, gazing dreamily at the flowers in their lovely vase, while Mirabelle read out descriptions of modern flying machines. It takes all sorts, she thought to herself, but Maria is a sort by herself. Still, at least she's quiet now, and seems to be relaxing, which will help her to recover. It would be best if George could take her away to the coast to get well - the terrible winter fogs of London will do her health no good at all - but at the moment it simply isn't safe.
As Mirabelle was reading aloud, Leon went outside to call Digby into the paved back yard of the house, saying: 'Bolt that gate and don't let anyone through.' Raymond explained to Mrs Dorran, Megs and Emily that the men who had shot at the girls were still close to the house: 'Don't go out, and don't open the front door to anyone.'
'Is it a shoot-out?' asked Megs, round-eyed, but Emily exclaimed: 'Bob! He went out with this week's orders and he hasn't come back yet!'
The three women began to speculate about what could have happened to the kitchen boy, but Raymond remained calm. 'He's a sensible boy. If he sees gunmen hanging around, he'll keep away from the house.' He himself thought it likely that Bob had taken the opportunity to go off on his own affairs and was unlikely to return before 5 o'clock, for a cup of tea before going home at six.
He was about to utter more words of reassurance when the back door opened and Leon burst into the kitchen. 'We're under attack,' he said. 'I'll guard the roof,' and he ran for the stairs.
Raymond bowed courteously to the ladies. 'I'll step outside and assist Mr Digby,' he said. 'Don't open the front door to anyone.' And he went out of the back door, drawing a gun out of the inner pocket of his jacket.
'Now here's a fine state of affairs!' exclaimed Mrs Dorran. 'Well, girls, if we're going to be in the middle of a shoot-out, at least we can get the silver polished.' And she went to the cupboard to fetch the polish.
Mirabelle's reading was interrupted by the sound of gunshots. She carried on reading until a bullet came through the open window and hit the ceiling, bringing down a shower of plaster.
'What is happening?' Maria struggled to sit up.
'You stay right there, young lady,' exclaimed Nurse O'Leary. 'You're a wounded woman and you must rest.'
'But we are being fired on!' All Maria's instincts were driving her to leap into action; she tried again to sit up, but fell back on to the pillow, too weak to lift herself.
Nurse O'Leary scrabbled in the suitcase which Maria had brought back from Thorney Manor the previous day, drew out a pistol and positioned herself near the open window, screened from view by the curtain. 'Carry on reading,' she instructed Mirabelle. 'If I see any more of them, I'll fire.'
Mirabelle continued to read, trying not to be distracted by the Nurse letting off shots at intervals, or by the sound of shattering glass as their attackers fired at the house windows. She could not see what was happening, of course, but Nurse described the scene outside: 'One of them is trying to get over the gate; Mr Poiccart shot him. There are some more coming down the mews. Wait a moment' - she fired off some shots. 'They're retreating. I think we have someone on the roof.'
'Leon,' said Mirabelle.
'Good.' Nurse was silent for a moment, and Mirabelle went on reading aloud. Then there was another volley of shots outside, and Nurse let off some more bullets. 'That's driven them back again,' she said. 'They're keeping their distance. If they start shooting again, we can close the shutters and switch on the lights.'
When will Poiccart's reinforcements arrive? wondered Mirabelle; and has anyone managed to tell the police?
Bob the kitchen boy had gone out soon after lunch with the new week's orders to the various retailers who supplied the household, and the cheques paying for the previous week's supplies. It seemed odd to him to pay the bills so frequently - Mr Poiccart used to only pay bills once a month. Mrs Lightning seemed to think it was important, however, and Bob was happy to go along with this as it meant he could go out round the various suppliers, chat to their staff and cadge cups of tea and cake. They were more friendly when he brought cheques, as well as the week's orders.
When he had delivered all the cheques and orders, he wheeled his bicycle along the side of the Thames, watching the boats and the people on them, and whistling to himself. He heard Big Ben toll - it was three o'clock. No need to be getting back to Curzon Street yet awhile, he thought to himself.
'Good afternoon, young Bob.'
Bob jumped and looked round. He recognised the policewoman who had spoken to him; she was quite short, and had dark hair and piercing eyes. He had seen her come to the house a few times, and he didn't like her. She had the sort of eyes that see too much and the sort of mouth that won't let minor mistakes go. He wondered for a moment whether he could get away with pretending that he hadn't heard her, but then realised that he couldn't.
'Good afternoon,' he mumbled, and tried to walk on; but she positioned herself right in front of him.
'How's Mrs Maria?'
Bob was annoyed. He had stayed late last night to see Mrs Maria arrive back at the house, and she had hardly paid any attention to him at all. 'She's all right,' he muttered.
'I thought I'd just walk back with you to see her,' said the policewoman. 'You were going back, weren't you?'
'S'pose so.'
'Good. Then I'll come along with you.'
Bob walked along in sullen silence all the way back to Curzon Street. He thought angrily about his ruined afternoon. He had been going to feed the ducks - meet a few friends - practise with his new catapult - go paddling in the park. Now he had to go straight back to work, all because of this meddling female!
'Have you seen any strangers hanging around the house?' asked the policewoman.
'Not since yesterday,' snorted Bob.
'Are you sure? I've heard that some Catalan revolutionaries are trying to kidnap Mrs Maria.'
That caught Bob's attention. 'I've not seen anything,' he retorted, 'but if they try, they'll have me to deal with.'
'Good,' said the other, and Bob was disgusted to see her smile. It was no laughing matter, he told himself. Hardly anyone seemed to give Mrs Maria the respect that was her due. She was such a lovely lady, so gracious and just like a princess, but Mr and Mrs Lightning, and Mr Poiccart, and Mrs Dorran didn't like her at all. Mr Lightning had been very rude to him when he had said she was pretty. Well, even if they didn't like her, he would be her faithful servant, so just let them see what he could do!
They were getting near Curzon Street now. He noticed that the policewoman had something in her hand - he hadn't noticed it before. She had been carrying a truncheon, but she'd stuck it in her belt and now she was carrying a gun.
'Didn't think policewomen were allowed to carry guns,' he said.
'They can if they have to defend women,' said the other.
That seemed fair enough, although Bob had never heard it before.
'What are you going to defend her from?' he asked, and at that moment something whizzed over his head and took his cap off.
Bob ducked, reached for his cap, looked around wildly, then saw the policewoman fall on to her knees, draw up her gun and fire twice, quickly. He heard a man's voice scream and the sound of something heavy hit a solid object. The policewoman leapt to her feet, grabbed his arm and shouted, 'Take cover - quick.' He followed her without argument, dragging his bicycle with him and pausing only to pick up his cap as he ran past it. They ran back up the street and round a corner, where they paused, panting with the sudden exertion and excitement of the last few moments.
'Are you hurt?' asked the policewoman.
Bob put his cap back firmly on his head. 'No,' he said fiercely. 'Are you?'
'No, thank god.' She looked cautiously around the corner, gun in hand, and then looked back at him. 'Get on that bike and race for Scotland Yard. Tell the desk sergeant that WPC Busby wants reinforcements at 233 Curzon Street ten minutes ago. Got that?'
'Yes.'
'Then hurry.' She waved him away. Bob hesitated, then saw the desperate urgency in her face, jumped on his bicycle and pedalled for dear life.
Annie Busby peered round the corner again. From where she stood, she could see men at windows, behind trees and on street corners, guns in hands, watching 233 Curzon Street. Some of them wore smart grey suits and hats and some were dressed casually as workmen; there were at least twenty of them. No one was shooting, but the house was surrounded. The besiegers were playing a waiting game.
At this time of day, there was no one around in the street; many people were out of town for the weekend, businesses were closed, housekeepers and servants were resting. In a few hours people would be returning home and expecting to be able to reach their houses. There could be a bloodbath of innocent civilians.
WPC Busby wondered which of Maria of Gratz's innumerable enemies the current bunch of gunmen represented. Scotland Yard had heard from the police office in Barcelona that Catalan anarchists were coming after Maria to assassinate her, but so far as Busby could recall the Catalan revolutionaries were Maria's friends - so it must be someone else. At present a large number of her Russian enemies and a few Spanish were in the cells at Scotland Yard, having been arrested at Thorney Manor on Friday or yesterday. There were considerably more Russians and Spanish in the mortuary. In Middlesex Hospital lay one of her old Czarist enemies who had tried to kidnap her on the second day after her arrival. Busby wondered how many more of Maria's enemies remained to come out of the woodwork.
All this, days before a Parliamentary Election, when the instructions from the Chief Constable were to keep the peace and prevent demonstrations and disruption at all costs! The letter that Manfred had sent to the Megaphone had aroused a general panic about revolution and riot. At this rate the election would be decided on which political party seemed best able to maintain law and order, thought Busby, who regarded the forthcoming election with the disinterested air of an onlooker - as she was under thirty years of age and owned no property, she was not eligible to vote.
She looked down the road. The gunmen who were besieging 233 Curzon Street were blocking any approach from that direction; she needed some back route. She turned, and walked back up the road the opposite way - and then she saw a vehicle approaching. For the second time in a week, she jumped out into the road and waved her arms vigorously to halt Riley's taxi.
'Afternoon, officer,' came Riley's cheerful voice. He had stuck his head out of the driver's window. 'Want a lift somewhere?'
'The road is full of anarchists,' Busby told him. 'How fast can you drive?'
'Not fast enough to dodge their bullets,' Riley assured her. 'But I've a few people with me who may have some ideas.' He gestured at the back of the taxi.
'Afternoon, Busby,' called Edward Davies, 'where's Pearce?'
'At the Yard - I just sent Bob back for her. Lucy, I thought you were working?'
'I finish at two,' came Lucy's voice. 'Isn't this fun?'
'It may be,' said Busby darkly, 'if we get this right!'
'Aren't there any more of the Just Men's agents around?' asked Davies's lazy voice.
'I certainly expected to see some.' Busby turned back and looked down the road.
Lucy leaned out of the back door of the taxi. 'Is there someone up on that roof?' She pointed upwards, and Busby's eye followed her gaze, then she waved vigorously at the figure who was leaning over the parapet high above them.
'Dennis! What can you see up there?'
'There's a whole gang of them,' that worthy replied.
'How long have they been here?'
Dennis shrugged. 'About an hour. They turned up about 2 o'clock.'
'Can you see their leader? Who's in charge?'
Dennis looked down the road, then shook his head. 'There's a group of them up round the front door,' he said.
'Can you get closer?'
'No,'-and Dennis disappeared. Busby bit her lip. 'Damn,' she said.
'There are more of our people on their way,' remarked Davies. 'Mr Poiccart asked Miss Goddard to call out the troops.'
'So we can have a shoot-out. The Inspector won't like that.' Busby was thinking hard.
'Get in the vehicle,' said Riley. 'I'll park up round the corner there and we decide what to do.'
Busby nodded, and jumped in; Riley turned the taxi round and drove into a side street, then spun around again and parked.
'Now,' he said, 'what are we trying to do here?'
'We want to arrest the gunmen,' said Busby, 'or persuade them to surrender.'
'I could try to get through to the house,' said Lucy. 'I could pretend to be a visitor.'
'That would be a way of getting a message in,' said Busby, 'but we need a message to take.'
'I know!' exclaimed Lucy, 'I can be a journalist again. I can get the leader's story.' She picked up a copy of the previous day's Megaphone from the back seat of the cab, folded it back and handed it to Busby. 'Look! They printed that story Mirabelle and I got for them when we talked to the people at Thorney Manor. They printed our names - I can tell them it's me.'
Busby looked at the story and handed it back to Lucy. 'That's either extremely reckless or absolutely brilliant,' she said.
'Definitely reckless,' said Davies, 'but possibly brilliant too.'
'I'll walk down the street and ask to speak to their leader,' said Lucy. 'I've still got my notepad and pencil.'
'I'll cover you,' said Davies, pulling a gun out of the inner pocket of his jacket.
'Right,' said Busby. 'Be careful - if it looks like getting nasty, signal to Davies and we'll come in to rescue you. If anyone happens to you, my Inspector will skin me.'
Lucy gave her a big grin. 'Nothing will happen,' she said, 'I'll be fine!'
'While you're talking, we'll hope the rest of Mr Poiccart's reinforcements arrive, and then we can try to surround the area,' said Busby. 'If you can get into the house, all well and good - if not, come back.'
'Will do,' replied Lucy. She hopped out of the car, eager for action, and Davies went with her to the corner of Curzon Street. Then she set off alone down the road, and Davies stood on the corner, covering her with his revolver.
'Brave girl,' said Riley, thoughtfully.
'She should join the police,' said Busby. She was about to say: 'I'll go and look out for the rest coming,' when Dennis knocked on the door of the taxi.
'Hey,' he said, 'there's a group of police coming.'
Busby jumped up at once and got out. 'Thanks,' she said. 'Where are they?'
'Just coming up from Piccadilly. I could see them from the roof up there.'
'I'll go and meet them,' said Busby, and hurried off down the road towards Piccadilly.
Lucy walked down Curzon Street, holding her notepad and pencil in her right hand, a smile of anticipation on her lips, her heart and stomach fluttering with excitement. Mirabelle would have said that she was scared, but Lucy's view of adventure was wholly positive. She had never known terror so intense that it froze her to the spot, or dread so terrible that she felt physically sick. For Lucy, adventure was still a wonderful game, and the whole world was her friend.
She could see men standing in the road ahead, their hands in their pockets, and assumed that they were concealing guns; but she could see no reason why they should fire at her, so she just went on walking. Unlike Mirabelle, who had been attacked by Dr Oberzohn's men for no apparent reason (it was only later that she found out that she had inherited a goldmine, and that they wanted it), Lucy still believed that the world was logical and fair. And because she was young and attractive, for the most part the world had humoured her.
Behind her, Edward Davies - who, as a veteran of the Great War, had a very different view of the world - watched her anxiously, his gun flicking back and forth from one figure to another. If anyone so much as took a hand from a pocket, he would shoot them.
However, no one did. Lucy walked up to the men in the road; they looked her up and down, but said nothing. Lucy spoke.
'Good afternoon. I'm Miss Lucy Baines, a reporter working for the Daily Megaphone. I'd like to talk to you about your political cause.' She had heard the expression 'our cause' from a lot of politicians at Thorney Manor, and thought it would probably be a useful phrase here.
The two men nearest her looked at each other, and then one spoke. Lucy was taken aback, because she did not understand a word he said.
'I'm very sorry, I only speak English,' she answered.
The men conferred, and then one gestured to her to follow him and led her on down the street. Edward, sweating with anxiety, watched her go and prayed that the na\u00efve, courageous young woman would be safe in the hands of the anarchists.
'How's she doing, Davies?' asked a voice behind him - Busby.
'She's fine,' answered Davies, without looking round. 'Don't interrupt her - she's just going to talk to the boss.'
'Fine.' Busby slipped away again.
'She's occupying them,' she said to WPC Pearce and the rest of the group of a dozen armed police officers who had come to the scene. Police Sergeant Stanley, who was in charge of the group, considered the situation.
'We'll take advantage of their being distracted,' he said. 'Busby, you stay here and keep an eye on Miss Baines. Blow your whistle if it starts to go wrong. Pearce, you try to get into the back of the house to speak to the woman Gratz - the rest of you come with me; we'll try to get round the back of them and take them by surprise.' He divided the group down the middle, sent Pearce off down the mews to the south of the street with half the men and led his owns group north of the street and down the mews that side.
Busby remained with Davies, watching and waiting, until she heard a man whistle above her. Looking up, she saw Dennis gesturing to the east, and she knew that the rest of the reinforcements summoned by Poiccart had arrived.
But where was Bob? She had sent him back to fetch police reinforcements, but where was he now?
Having delivered his message, Bob had headed back towards Curzon Street, intending to go in through the back door to report on what was going on outside. However, at the entrance to the mews he was stopped by a man with a gun in his hand, who told him roughly to 'hurry off.' When Bob remonstrated, saying that he needed to get to his work, he was told 'go another way. This road is closed.'
Bob fumed. 'Are you an American?' he demanded.
'No,' said the other.
'You talk really funny,' retorted Bob, and stormed off on his bicycle, heading for Piccadilly.
He wondered what to do, then noticed the fire escape down the back of one of the tall houses and had an idea. Parking his bike at the bottom, he ran up the stairway on to the roof.
The fire escape was intended to act as an escape route for a row of houses, so it was possible to make one's way along the roofs, between the parapet and the slope of the roof, around chimney pots and gables, from one end of the row to the other. Bob wasn't sure how far this would take him, but it would bring him much closer to 233 Curzon Street than he was at present, so he set off on his way.
Half way along he noticed a pigeon standing on the roof of a house on the other side of the mews, and got out his catapult. Could he singe the pigeon's tail? A small stone that he had picked up in the road earlier made a suitable missile - yes, that worked! The pigeon flew away with a satisfying flurry of wings.
A moment later a shot whistled past his ears - whoever was down in the street had been startled by the bird. Bob dropped down so that he was creeping along below the parapet, out of sight to anyone below. At last he came to a point where the roof line ended. There was a flight of twisting iron stairs leading down on to the roof of the next building, which was a few storeys lower than this. He peered down, and saw a man below. Recognising him, he was about to jump back out of sight, but the other man had seen him and waved to attract his attention.
'Bob! I've been expecting you to appear,' said Leon Gonsalez.
Bob scowled. 'What are you doing there?' he demanded.
'Guarding the roof and acting as aerial lookout. What are you doing there?'
'Coming down,' said Bob, and matched action to words. 'I've got a message for Mrs Maria,' he announced as he descended.
'What?' asked Leon.
Bob shook his head. 'It's for her ears only.'
Leon gave a regretful sigh - for Bob's benefit: only the sparkle in his eyes gave away the fact that he was teasing the boy. 'That's a pity, because you have a vital role to play in the defence of the house.'
'What?' asked Bob suspiciously.
'You're the only person who is light and nimble enough to go back the way you've come and stop the enemy getting in this way.'
Bob looked back up the stairway, a look of sudden horror on his face. He hadn't realised that he could have been followed over the tiles. 'I'll go back up and guard the stairs,' he said, and ran up the fire stairs as fast as he could. At the top he paused, and called down, 'Tell Mrs Maria the police are coming.'
'I'll tell her,' promised Leon. 'You could guide them over the roof,' he added.
Bob nodded and ran off. He had just thought of that for himself.
He made his way back, round chimneys and by parapets, pausing at intervals to look down into the mews below. Lounging around in the road were men with their hands in their pockets, some dressed in grey suits with hats, while others wore workmen's caps, jackets, rough trousers and boots. He fingered the catapult in his trouser pocket, wondering what he could use as ammunition. A crumbling parapet supplied some flakes of cement and stone; he shoved these into his other pocket.
As he approached the fire escape which led down into the mews, he heard foot falls below and a voice: one of the policewomen. Peering over the parapet he saw that it wasn't the one who had accosted him earlier but her friend with the curly red hair. She was leading a group of five policemen carrying guns, and they were coming very cautiously down the mews, keeping close to the walls either side. Bob felt a stab of pride: these were the police whom he had summoned, coming to rescue Mrs Maria! He was about to move on to the top of the fire escape and attract their attention when he saw one of the grey-suited men lounging against a wall in the mews below take his hands out of his pockets and straighten up.
Quick as a flash, Bob's catapult was out of his pocket and a flake of stone hurtled through the air. As the gunman pulled his gun from his pocket, Bob's missile hit him on the cheek, sharp as the sting of a wasp. The gunman yelled and slapped a hand to the spot, dropping his weapon; hearing the yell, the police dived for cover. Bob called from the roof top: 'Up here! Up here!' WPC Pearce looked up, saw the boy gesturing from behind the stone parapet on the roof, followed his gestures and saw the fire escape.
'Up here,' she called, and headed for the staircase.
The gunmen in the mews saw them go, but even as they drew their firearms, Bob got busy with his catapult. It was a few moments before the men in the mews realised the source of the stone pellets that were raining down on them and trained their guns on the roof; but by that time Pearce and her party were well up the stairway and were firing back at them. In a few minutes they had scattered their opponents, and were crawling along the rooftops, past Bob.
'You go that way,' Bob told them, gesturing towards no. 233. 'You go down a flight of steps to the roof. I'll guard this way and stop 'em from following you.'
One of the policemen, a PC Adams, insisted in staying with him to guard the way. Pearce led the other four on, warning them to 'take care; the rain has made these tiles very slippery.'
Bob watched them go and positioned himself behind the parapet at the top of the stairs; PC Adams was hidden behind a chimney. 'If they come up 'ere, we'll shoot 'em,' he said to Adams, and fitted another chip of stone into his catapult.
Down in Curzon Street, Lucy Baines was talking to a man in a grey suit and smart hat who carried a pistol in one hand. She had shown him the article that she and Mirabelle had written about Paul Simpson MP's political house party, and had explained to him that she wanted to get 'his story' for the Daily Megaphone. He had begun by being offhand, even rude; telling her that war was no place for women, and that this was war. Lucy retorted that the Megaphone had had female war reporters for ages and that 'this story is all about a woman, Maria of Gratz.' He had then changed his tune a little, and said that he would be prepared to talk to her, but he did not expect her to understand the high ideals which motivated him and his comrades. Lucy told him that she had heard Maria of Gratz speak at South Place Chapel 'and I thought what she had to say was very interesting.' She added artlessly: 'Wasn't Maria in Spain for many years? I read about her in the Megaphone when I was a little girl.'
He seemed taken aback. 'You are well informed,' he said. 'Yes, it is true that she has been in Spain.'
'I heard at Thorney Manor that she is wanted in Spain for conspiracy to revolution,' said Lucy.
'Yes, that is true.' The other eyed her sideways, and Lucy realised that he was trying to weigh her up. She stared back boldly, trying to act the part of the fearless newspaper reporter.
'Are you here to arrest Maria?' she asked.
The other seemed to reach a decision. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, we are here to arrest her.'
'Do you have an arrest warrant?' asked Lucy.
'No. No, in fact we are not here officially. We are acting for the Spanish government, but we are - what do you say in English? - we are undercover.'
'I see,' said Lucy, looking up and down the street. There seemed to be armed men everywhere - not very undercover, she thought.
'I would have expected you to try to get access to the house to arrest her,' she said. 'An armed siege in west London in broad daylight will attract the attention of the police.'
'We tried to get into the house, but we were not successful,' said the other. 'So now we are besieging the house. But if they will hand over the Red Woman of Gratz, we will leave peacefully.'
'Have you told the people in the house what you want?' asked Lucy.
'No. No, we have not yet spoken to them. We are waiting for them to surrender, then we will give them our terms.'
'Wouldn't it be better to give them your terms straight away?' asked Lucy, 'and then they might be prepared to negotiate.' She smiled hopefully at him. 'Don't you think? I expect the police will come soon, and they won't be prepared to negotiate. As you don't have an arrest warrant, they'll arrest you for causing an affray.'
The other shrugged and turned away, uttering words that Lucy didn't understand. She stood firm, however, and waited for him to speak in English. Further up the street, Edward Davies's finger tensed on the trigger of his Weobley revolver. If that dago touched a hair of Lucy's head ...
'Very well.' The other turned back to Lucy. 'You will carry a message into the house for me.' He reached into his jacket, produced a notepad and pencil, and scribbled a note, which he folded up neatly and gave to her. 'You will deliver this to the Red Woman herself,' he said. 'You will tell her that it is from Juan Jos\u00e9, of the Spanish secret service.'
'Yes, I'll do that,' Lucy assured him. She put the note into the bag which swung over her shoulder, and then said brightly, 'Will one of your men escort me to the front door?' - and smiled.
He bowed briefly, unsmiling, and gestured one of his men forward. 'Escort this newspaper reporter to the door of the house,' he said, and then said something else that Lucy did not understand, but which she assumed was the same instruction in Spanish. The newcomer nodded, gestured to her to follow him, and led her up to the front door of 233 Curzon Street.
Lucy thanked him and rang the doorbell.
Up on the roof, Leon had been watching events through the squat pillars of the parapet. As Lucy approached the front door, he hastened back towards the hatch in the roof.
'Gonsalez!' A clear voice above spoke his name. He looked up and saw WPC Pearce's lively face looking down at him.
'Officer! Follow me down the ladder.' He gestured towards the open hatch.
Pearce looked down the narrow, twisting iron stairway and then at the hole in the roof and tried to swallow her fear of heights. 'Right-ho,' she said, and descended. Leon watched her come, ready to rush forward to catch her if she slipped, but Pearce reached the bottom safely, followed by her four colleagues - who were no happier about the descent than she was.
'Can we get off this roof?' asked the officer at the back. 'It's about to pour with rain.'
'Follow me down, friends,' answered Leon, and led the way. When they were all down the ladder, he said: 'I suggest that one of you stay here to guard the hole in the roof; if Bob comes back he'll want to come down this way. If it starts to rain heavily, you can close the hatch with this rope,' - pointing it out - 'the rest of you, come downstairs with me.'
Lucy was ringing the doorbell with increasing irritation and growing anxiety when Leon finally reached the door with Pearce and her three fellow-officers. Megs was standing by the front door, wringing her hands in perplexity.
'Oh, Mr Lightning!' she cried when she saw Leon, 'Mr Poiccart says I mustn't open the door to anyone, but there's Mrs Lightning's friend Lucy stood on the doorstep, and she's looking awful worried!'
'Is there anyone with her?' asked Leon.
'Yes, there's one of those men who are hanging round the street. I think he's one of those who's doing the shooting,' Megs confided.
'Don't worry,' said Pearce. 'Stand back; let Mr Gonsalez here open the door, and my colleagues and I will cover him.'
Megs was only too glad to stand aside. Leon eased back the bolts, slipped his Browning from his jacket pocket and held it ready as he opened the door. Pearce and two of her fellow officers stood immediately behind him - the other stood slightly to the side, ready to shoot anyone who tried to rush in.
'Good afternoon, Lucy,' Leon greeted her. 'Have you come to see Mary?'
Lucy's face broke into a smile of relief at seeing him. 'Hello, Mr Brown,' she said. 'Yes, please.'
Leon stepped slightly to one side and gestured her in, holding his gun aimed at the man beside her. The latter simply nodded, and stepped away. Leon pushed the door shut behind Lucy and shot the bolts home.
'Are you all right, Miss Baines?' Pearce asked her. Lucy nodded, temporarily speechless with relief. At last she burst out: 'I thought you were never going to open the door!'
'I needed police reinforcements first,' said Leon. 'But I thought you would be all right - you have nerves of steel. And Davies would shoot anyone who tried to harm a hair of your head.'
'Would he?' Lucy found her face had gone hot with embarrassment, wondered why, and tried to cover her confusion. 'I've got a message for Mrs Maria, from a man called Juan Jos\u00e9, of the Spanish secret service.'
'I think we'd better see it first,' said Pearce, holding out her hand for the note. Lucy handed it over, and Pearce unfolded it, then frowned.
'Damn! It isn't in English.' She looked at Leon. 'You're a linguist, aren't you?'
Leon nodded, took it from her, and read it. His expression changed, and Lucy sprang forward to seize his arm.
'Are you all right, Mr Brown?' she cried.
'Yes.' Leon shook his head as if to clear it. 'George must see this.'
'I thought you were going to faint!' cried Lucy. 'Are you sure you're all right?'
'You need to sit down,' said Pearce, putting an arm about his shoulders. Leon did not shrug off her intrusion - as a policewoman she had been trained to offer support to those in distress. He just shook his head, and said, 'We must show this to George.'
'You need Mary. Where is she?' asked Lucy.
'She's reading to Mrs Maria. I'll fetch her,' cried Megs, and ran upstairs, with Lucy on her heels.
'George,' said Leon, and held the letter out to Pearce, who said, 'I'll do it - where is he?'
'In his first floor office. Up the stairs - turn left' - but Pearce had already gone. Leon sat down on the chair in the hallway for a moment, but was upright again a moment later as Mirabelle came running down the stairs with Lucy and Megs. 'Darling!' she cried, 'Are you all right?'
'It's George,' said Leon. 'I've sent Pearce to give it to George.'
'What, darling?'
'The message Lucy brought.' Lucy immediately butted in: 'It's from the leader of the men outside - Juan Jos\u00e9, of the Spanish secret police.'
'There's no such man in the Spanish secret police,' said Leon bluntly, 'and I should know! That note says that he's Maria's husband, and he's come to take her to America.'
A ghastly silence met his words. Lucy let out a gasp; Megs uttered a sob. Then Mirabelle said: 'Darling, he's lying. He can't be. It's a lie. You've seen how Maria looks at George. She's never dreamt of any other man but him.' She put her arms about him. 'It's a lie,' she said again. 'You said that the men all flock about her. This Juan Jos\u00e9 is just one of the men who wants to control her, but no one can.'
Leon's light blue eyes met hers, and his mouth twisted in a smile. 'Darling,' he said softly, and kissed her lips.
'I bet he's lying,' cried Lucy. 'I'm sure he's lying! He's trying to tempt her outside, and then he'll kidnap her!'
'Shall we go and tell the Master?' asked Megs. 'I mean, that it's a lie?' Her big brown eyes were filled with tears, but there was hope in her voice.
'We'll watch the front door,' said one of the policemen who had come with Pearce.
'You stay with them, Megs,' said Leon, 'and we'll go and see Mr Manfred. It may be that Mrs Maria can tell us more about this man.'
Megs nodded wordlessly, and Leon, Mirabelle and Lucy made their way upstairs.
Out in the street, the Just Men's reinforcements were gathering. Busby hurried to meet them as they came down the street, dressed as workmen, some carrying sticks, others apparently unarmed but presumably with weapons in their jacket pockets. 'Come round this corner for a moment,' she said. 'We need to do this intelligently.' Riley left his taxi and came to stand beside her as she gave the new arrivals a verbal sketch of the situation. Edward Davies remained standing where he was on the corner, watching for Lucy's reappearance.
The men exchanged glances as Busby summed up the scene. 'So the anarchists look like workmen?' said Dick Jones. 'Can we just blend in?'
'That's my plan,' said Busby. 'Make your way down the street and move in among them - act like them - don't make any sudden moves, but get alongside them. Then, when their leader gives the signal to move: hit them.'
'How will we know what the signal is?' asked one man - Jim White.
'We don't, but they do. I'll shout as well, if that will help.'
'And there are police around somewhere?' asked William Smith.
'They're getting into position. But we need to be ready to move when the anarchists are ready, so let's not hang around.'
'I want one of them smart grey hats,' remarked Riley. Busby gave him a grin.
'Yes, that would be great - to lure one of the smartly-dressed ones this way and get his gear. I assume that the men in grey suits and hats are the leaders.'
'I wonder.' Riley walked down Curzon Street, whistling. He paused a hundred yards from the nearest gunman, who was leaning on a wall, hands in pockets. He continued whistling, and eventually the gunman looked round. Riley gestured with his head, as if to say, 'Come over here.' Then he walked away, still whistling.
Busby and the others peered around the corner as he walked back and turned down their side street. The gunman followed him, came round the corner; and found himself facing Busby's gun.
'Keep quiet or you're dead,' she said. 'Get his gear,' she said to the others, and they quickly stripped him of his grey jacket, trousers, hat and gun, which Dick Jones put on as the nearest to the gunman's size. They tied up the unhappy Spaniard with string and pocket handkerchiefs, bundled him into the taxi and locked the doors. Busby stood on the corner, gun in hand to guard the rear, while the others set off down the road, just a group of scruffily dressed foreigners, blending with the men already standing around. Edward Davies, however, edged close to the front door of 233 Curzon Street, to be ready to protect Lucy when she emerged from the house.
Pearce had knocked on the door of George's office and entered without listening for his response. Inspector Meadows always expected people to knock and enter, unless he told them to wait.
George was sitting at his desk, reading through papers connected with an ongoing case. He looked up as Pearce entered, nodded in greeting and said, 'Good afternoon, WPC Pearce. Has the siege been lifted?'
'No, I came in over the roof,' Pearce explained. 'The boy Bob showed me a route via the fire escape.' She produced the note that Lucy had brought. 'Miss Baines has been talking to the besiegers,' she said. 'Their leader gave her this to give to Mrs Maria. He calls himself Juan Jos\u00e9 and he says he's in the Spanish secret service.' She handed it to George. 'Gonsalez has read it, and he says you should see it.'
George raised his eyebrows, unfolded the note and read it. Pearce saw him frown, and he pursed his lips. Then he looked up at her and said, 'What did Leon think?'
'He wasn't very happy,' said Pearce. 'I think it was a great shock to him.'
George nodded, and read the note again. 'I don't know the name,' he said. 'Leon should know this man, if he is what he says he is. Did he say whether he knows him?'
'I don't think he does,' agreed Pearce.
George considered the note, and Pearce waited patiently, reflecting how differently each of these two Just Men had reacted to what was obviously - to judge from their reaction - devastating news. The silence was broken by the thunder of feet on the stairs, and Leon, Mirabelle and Lucy entered the room.
'Do you know this name?' George asked, before Leon could speak.
'No,' responded his friend. 'That part at least is a lie.'
'Then the probability is that the rest is also untrue.' George got to his feet. 'I will ask Maria.'
Leon opened his mouth, but George waved him to silence. 'Let Maria speak for herself,' he said, and led the way to her bedroom.
'You can't all come in here together,' began Nurse O'Leary as they entered, 'I won't have her upset. She needs rest and quiet.'
'She will have it,' answered George, sitting down on the end of Maria's bed. He looked into her eyes, his stern expression melting to tender affection; Maria returned his gaze with sweet love in her eyes. Embarrassed, Leon and Mirabelle tried not to look; Lucy thought how sweet it was; Pearce wished that she had stayed outside.
'Miss Baines has been talking to the men besieging the house,' George said. 'Their leader calls himself Juan Jos\u00e9 and says he is from the Spanish secret service. He's sent you this note.' He held it out to her, but Maria waved it away.
'How sweet of him!' she exclaimed, then coughed at the exertion. She continued in a quieter voice. 'He said he would come and help me if I were in trouble, although I told him that there was no need and that you would take care of me.'
George smiled in puzzlement. 'What do you mean, dear?' he asked.
'When I told him I was going to leave Barcelona and come to London, he promised he would come to help me if I needed him,' answered Maria. 'But I told him there was no need, and that I would come to you, because I knew you loved me and I loved you. But he said that Englishmen are not to be trusted, and that if I was in trouble he would pose as my husband and come to take me to safety.' She smiled and shrugged. 'What can one do? He always wanted to be my special friend, but I have only one beloved.' She smiled sweetly at George, who bent and kissed her. Everyone else in the room averted their eyes, except Lucy, who thought it was as good as a film.
'So when he calls himself your husband -' George began, but Maria laughed charmingly.
'No, no, beloved - it is a joke, a code between us. It means nothing except his own foolishness, perhaps. He would never listen when I told him that it could not be.'
George nodded. 'I will go outside and speak to him,' he said. He rose from the bed, squeezing her hands in tender farewell, and left the room - Lucy and Pearce followed him, but Leon and Mirabelle remained.
Maria looked up at them, and smiled mockingly. 'Ah, I see that the high priest of justice does not approve of me,' she said.
Mirabelle glanced at her husband - his narrow, pointed face was pale, his light blue eyes at their coldest and most piercing, his grave features set like stone. He indeed resembled some vengeful priest of justice.
'You have led so many brave men to their deaths,' said Leon, 'how many more must die before you are satisfied?'
Maria shrugged: 'It is their choice; they do not have to follow me. I did not ask this man to love me, and I did not desire his love. I told him that I love only George.'
'So while you were writing to myself and Poiccart pleading for our aid, he was risking his life for you, arranging your escape from Spain, expecting your reward - and you allowed him to do it?'
Maria shrugged again. 'I could not stop him. He would do it, whatever I said.'
'And now he has come, what are you going to say to him?'
Maria shook her head. 'He has had his journey in vain - I will remain with George. I told him that I would.'
Leon and Mirabelle looked at each other in sudden fear, the same thought occurring to both. 'George - it's a trap!' cried Mirabelle, and they both ran for George's office, where they threw up the sash window and leaned out to see George, Lucy and Pearce standing in the street below with the policemen who had accompanied Pearce, facing the supposed 'Juan' and his gunmen. They shouted together: 'George! Look out!'
Maria heard them shout and looked up at Nurse O'Leary. 'I don't know why they are worried,' she said calmly. 'George is a much better shot than Juan.'
Even as she spoke, a shot rang out in the street, and a figure fell to the ground. Everyone around took to their heels with shouts of alarm, and drawing their guns. Only Pearce's voice could be heard above the rest: 'Police! Drop your weapons!'
Leon and Mirabelle rushed downstairs and emerged into the street as Police Sergeant Stanley burst on to the scene from a side alley, his armed officers on his heels, echoing Pearce's call: 'This is the police! Everyone drop your weapons!' His voice went unheeded in the general confusion, but it was followed immediately by a cry from Edward Davies: 'Drop your weapons, or I'll kill your leader!'
He was standing over the fallen figure in the street: the man who had called himself Juan Jos\u00e9. His gun was pointed at Juan's face. Juan's men heard the cry, saw where Davies was standing, and lowered their guns. The police and the Just Men's forces stepped forward and disarmed them.
As the anarchists were led away to be charged, George knelt down by the body of Juan Jos\u00e9. 'Where is he wounded?' he asked Edward Davies.
'I shot him in the thigh,' said Edward. 'He'll live.'
'That was an excellent shot,' George remarked. Edward shrugged. 'I thought he was about to harm Lucy.'
'Oh, Edward!' Lucy kissed his cheek. 'Thank you.' She looked down at the prone man. 'Is he badly hurt?' she asked George, who was making a quick examination.
'I think he will live,' he answered. Then he addressed Juan Jos\u00e9 in Spanish: 'I apologise for this rough welcome, friend, but your comrades have given us no choice.'
The other grimaced in pain, and tried to spit into George's face. 'I do not speak the language of oppression,' he answered in English.
'Leon,' said George, 'come and talk to this Catalan anarchist for me.'
Mirabelle almost burst out laughing: George had not even acknowledged Leon's presence, but he knew his friend would be there. She and Leon came up to kneel by the wounded anarchist in George's place; Leon took his pulse while Mirabelle felt his forehead and loosened his collar. 'We need to get him to hospital,' she said.
'You are badly wounded, comrade,' Leon said in Catalan, 'but we will take you to hospital and you will live. Then you will explain to us why you tried to shoot my wife here and her friends, who have never done you any harm, and why you are calling yourself by a Castilian name, when your name is surely Joan Josep, and you have a family name also.'
'Yes, as you do yourself, Leon Gonsalez,' replied the other in the same language, 'but as you did, I have given up my inheritance in the name of justice.'
'Leon,' Mirabelle interrupted, 'we have to get him to hospital - he's very hot, and he's losing blood fast.'
'Yes,' said Leon. He looked up at Lucy and Edward, who were watching the wounded man with concern: 'Lucy, can you run inside and call an ambulance?'
'Yes, of course,' - and Lucy ran off, Edward on her heels.
As the police moved around arresting the anarchists, talking to George and taking statements from everyone involved, Raymond Poiccart and Digby came out into the street to report that the anarchists at the back of the house had been rounded up. Bob and Dennis followed them with PC Adams, hot-foot from their roof-top vigils, and Bob came running over, shouting excitedly, 'Adams says I can join the police when I'm old enough and learn to shoot a gun!' Through all this confusion Leon and Mirabelle did their best to staunch the wounded anarchist's blood, while Megs and Emily brought out bandages and helped to bandage his wounds; and at last an ambulance arrived and took him away.
Leon and Mirabelle watched him go with a sense of regret for the brave man who had sacrificed himself for Maria of Gratz. 'We didn't shoot anyone this time,' Mirabelle said to Busby as the ambulance drove away, 'We just tried to save a criminal's life.'
'That's the second time you've done that in three days,' said Busby. 'Inspector Meadows will think you two are losing your touch.'