England Expects by Sara Sheridan Read Free Book Online

portrait of Sir Isaac Newton. Vast navy-blue curtains framed the long windows. Two crystal chandeliers dropped from ceiling roses, their vague shadows cast over the full height of the back wall. The room must face due east, Mirabelle thought. The morning sunlight streamed in on a set of comfortable sofas and generously proportioned armchairs that looked as if they had been in place for years. Dust motes whirled in the sunbeams. On a table there was a jug of water and some glasses.
    ‘Do you think they’d mind?’ Vesta asked, and without waiting for Mirabelle’s reply she poured a glass and gulped down the water. ‘Would you like some?’
    Mirabelle shook her head.
    Vesta perched on the edge of one of the sofas. She could feel the warm chintz along the back of her calves. ‘It’s very nice. It doesn’t feel secretive or sinister at all. I can’t see anything dangerous happening round here. Do you reckon Bill’s just jealous? Perhaps this crowd never asked him to join – maybe that’s his real problem.’
    Before Mirabelle could fully consider this idea, the door opened on a balding man in his sixties. He was a rotund fellow, wearing a navy suit and a tie that sported an embossed military insignia that Mirabelle recognised as that of the IX Corps. Thin red veins were visible on his cheeks and he was limping heavily. He raised a hand, half in greeting, half to encourage the women to have patience.
    ‘I say,’ he said, ‘we don’t often have lady visitors. I’m John Henshaw, the chap in charge today. Don’t mind this.’ He indicated his leg as he settled himself in an armchair. ‘Gallipoli. Got promoted to captain for it before they pensioned me off. Takes me a little longer to move around.’
    Mirabelle joined Vesta on the sofa. ‘The Dardanelles campaign,’ she said. ‘An honest foe. You must have been quite young, Captain Henshaw.’
    This made the fellow grin and lean forward conspiratorially. ‘Quite. I was straight out of school. Keen as mustard. By now I’ve had one leg for longer than I ever had two. I try to walk normally but sometimes I require a wheelchair. My wife says I am the resistance in that regard but I prefer to be on legs than wheels, and that’s that. Thank you for waiting. Well now,’ he regarded the women carefully before continuing, ‘seeing we’re playing a guessing game, if I didn’t know better, from the look of you two ladies, I’d hazard that you were soliciting for charity. We hand out a good deal over the year – we like good causes here at the lodge. I’m informed, however, that you’re debt collectors.’
    ‘Yes. McGuigan & McGuigan.’
    ‘Well, I never. And what can I do for you?’
    ‘Joey Gillingham. The incident in Oxford Street yesterday. The fellow who was murdered. As I understand it, he was a freemason.’
    ‘And the poor chap owed a client of yours money, Miss? Is that it?’
    Mirabelle let the unanswered question settle into being a fact. Vesta looked away. She didn’t like it when Mirabelle stretched the truth.
    ‘I’m Mirabelle Bevan, and this is Vesta Churchill, my partner in the firm,’ Mirabelle continued.
    Captain Henshaw rubbed his chin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give out details about our membership but what I can say is that Mr Gillingham was not personally known to me and I’ve been a member here for some years. How about that?’
    ‘So he wasn’t in Brighton on masonic business when he died?’
    Captain Henshaw sat back. ‘I couldn’t possibly say what the chap was up to. How would I know?’
    Mirabelle wondered what Captain Henshaw might do if she pushed him. She decided to try. ‘As you can imagine, in our profession we have close connections with the police force, many of whom, as I understand it, have close connections here.’
    ‘That’s hardly a secret.’ An edge crept into Henshaw’s voice though he was still smiling. ‘What specifically is it you want, Miss Bevan?’
    ‘Mr Gillingham, or, at least, his body, appears