Page 32 of Peril in Piccadilly
“It isn’t harm’s way,” Christopher protested, turning from the wardrobe with a petal pink, tasseled gown in his hands. “I’m perfectly safe.”
“As long as Tom gets to you before the other police can,” I said.
“Yes, of course. But what are the chances that they’ll raid us again?”
“I’d say they’re pretty good, actually. Tom yanked you out of harm’s way in April. There was no ball in May, because they were regrouping, but then there was another raid in June, that you only missed by the skin of your teeth, and only because Crispin and I interfered. Tom was there looking for you during that one, too.”
Christopher made a face, but insisted, “There won’t be a raid tonight.”
“How can you possibly know that? Did Tom tell you?”
He didn’t answer, and I asked, “Would you like me to come with you?”
“Under no circumstances,” Christopher said and tugged the pink frock over his head. When his head came out of the other side, he added, as he shimmied the gown down the rest of the way, “Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew that I had taken you to a drag ball. They wouldn’t be happy about me going, either?—”
Certainly not.
“—but they’d be even less happy about my debauching you.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s hardly debauching, Christopher. I went to the ball at Rectors in June, remember? If just being there is enough to debauch one, I’m debauched already. And don’t forget that I’m older than you, too.”
“Only by four months or so,” Christopher said. “Not enough to matter.”
Perhaps not. The fact that I was a young woman and not a man weighed heavier than that I was older in this case.
“At any rate,” Christopher said, smoothing the dress over his (non-existent) hips before walking to the toilet table and the wig waiting there. I watched as he dropped it on top of his head and adjusted it.
“At any rate, what?”
He met my eyes in the mirror. “If there is another raid, and if Tom isn’t there to rescue me, and I do get arrested, I need someone here I can ring up to bail me out. I can’t involve Tom, not at that point—if he came to bail me out, his career would be over—and I don’t want them to phone Beckwith Place, or, God forbid, Sutherland House.”
I shuddered delicately at the thought. “Decidedly not. We don’t want your parents to know anything about it, and if the police rang up Sutherland House, even if it were to talk to Crispin, it would get back to His Grace, wouldn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it would,” Christopher said, leaning into the mirror and doing the final adjustments to his face and hair. “That’s why I need you to stay here. If I get arrested, I’ll have them notify Evans, and then Evans will knock you up, and you’ll come to the police station with enough cash to take me home. And Mum and Dad and Uncle Harold need never know that anything happened.”
That all made sense. However— “Wouldn’t it be simpler if you just stayed home? There’d be no danger of being arrested then.”
“It would,” Christopher said with a grin, “but it’s been some time since I had fun, Pippa, and I’m looking forward to it.”
“Well, thank you very much for that,” I sniffed, faux offended. “Am I no fun, then?”
“You’re plenty of fun, my darling.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek before snagging his evening cloak from the wardrobe and wrapping it around himself. “But you know what I mean. Now, how do I look?”
He struck a pose.
“Too much like Laetitia for comfort,” I said sourly.
“Other than that?”
“You’re stunning. As you well know.” And so was she, not that that needed mentioning. “Are you certain you won’t tell me where you’re going to be?”
“Not a chance,” Christopher said, and click-clacked his way through the door and down the hall and across the foyer. “Be good, Pippa. Don’t wait up.”
I hadn’t planned to. If he got himself arrested, Evans buzzing from downstairs would wake me, and I would deal with it then. And that was if Tom didn’t already have any raid well in hand. I certainly wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.
So I waved Christopher off, and locked the door behind him, and went about changing out of the afternoon frock I had worn to tea with Wolfgang, and into pyjamas. It was still early, of course, but I had no plans to go out again, and I was alone in the flat—not that Christopher’s presence prevented me from lounging about in my sleepwear. But no one else was here, nor did I expect anyone to turn up, so I might as well make myself comfortable for the rest of the evening.
I curled up on the Chesterfield with a book, enjoying the peace and quiet. Tea with Wolfgang had taken care of my hunger pangs for the time being, so it was several hours later that I meandered into the kitchen and put together a supper of toast and paté and cucumbers. That done, I headed back to the Chesterfield, but before I got there, the buzzer in the foyer rang.
