Moonlight Secrets (#2 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Ten

Piano music tinkled around the room while guests mingled at the Valentine's Day soiree. The butler, Edgar, attended to the new arrivals at the door. He took their hats, coats and scarves, then herded them on to Jim's grandmother in the main room.

"Mr Singh, I'm so glad you made it," she said, her greeting rising above the murmur of conversation. "My brother, Broom, has told me so much about you."

Jim and Westman turned their heads. They found the young Indian scientist in full evening-dress, his hair neatly combed back.

Singh passed his coat and hat to Edgar. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, madam. I find the English culture and traditions fascinating. Especially a day devoted to romance. This festival appeals to me a great deal."

Primrose clasped her hands, lace dangling at her wrists. "May I compliment you on your English, sir? It is impeccable."

"Thank you." Singh pressed his palms together in thanks, his fingertips brushing his bow-tie. "I've lived in London these past five years, and I had a superb teacher."

"Please, let me introduce you to the other guests. Oh, is your friend not with you?"

"My assistant, Mr Gupta? He had a prior engagement. Also, I must admit, he is not a great admirer of the romantic arts."

Westman leaned close to Jim's ear, his voice rumbling up from low in his throat. "What is he doing here?"

"It would appear my grandmother invited him."

"Where's Sophie?"

Jim tried not to smile. "My, my, Freddie. Don't burst a stay-lace. She's over there with Millicent."

An arrangement of chairs spanned the room, facing the pianist in rows, and Sophie and Millicent Sinclair stood at the far end. Despite Primrose's advice that ladies attend in romantic shades, Millicent wore black. But the professional clairvoyant rarely dressed in any other colour.

Westman relaxed. Just then, Blinks appeared beside them, carrying a silver salver of glasses. He'd offered his services for the evening, donning his black and gold livery to wait on Primrose's guests. And he'd even washed his stockings for the occasion. Jim took two glasses of warm elderflower cordial and passed one to Westman.

At the sound of Primrose announcing the first reader, they took their seats. The poetry began with Mr Barnaby, a neighbour from two doors down, reciting Wordsworth. Part way through the reading, Sophie noticed Singh seated further down their row.

"Oh, it's Mr Singh," she whispered loudly. "I didn't know he'd be here."

She leaned past Jim to catch his eye and waved. With a polite smile, Singh joined his palms in greeting. Westman folded his arms, his expression darkening. When the poetry reading broke for refreshments, Jim beckoned him to the buffet table. They found Blinks and helped themselves to his tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"You look ready to murder someone, Fred."

Westman smoothed down his black waistcoat and gave his matching tailcoat a tug. "How many more love poems must we sit through? This whole tradition is ridiculous."

"Why don't you tell her?"

"What?" Westman asked, startled.

He kept his voice low. "Sophie. You both like each other a great deal. Why don't you tell her how you really feel?"

Westman's scowl lifted, and he exhaled. "Jim, believe me, I've considered what you're suggesting. But let's face it, people like you and I, we court danger, not girls."