The Red Rover Society Page 4

  His story earned a small smile from Irene before she flopped backwards, stretching her body on the couch, feet dangling over the armrest.

  “I require silence, Joe,” she told him. “Stoke the fire for me if you could, please. Then do not disturb me, with any amount of noise, for at least fifty minutes.”

  Joe stood to tend to the fire. “That’s rather specific.”

  “That is what I require,” she replied with a shrug. “Perfect peace. Then, I shall–”

  The telephone rang shrill and loud throughout the flat, and Irene let out a loud groan. “Some days I curse that phone.”

  Joe crossed the room and scooped the receiver. “Joe Watson speaking.”

  “Doctor Watson?” The shy voice on the other end said. “This is Molly ringing on behalf of Mrs. Beauchamp.”

  There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Mrs. Beauchamp’s voice spoke through the receiver. “Hello? Doctor?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Beauchamp,” Joe said. “Is everything alright?”

  Irene appeared beside him, and he slouched down and tilted the receiver so she could hear the conversation as well.

  “I have some good news,” she announced, her voice bursting with excitement. “We all just received an invite to our usual tea gathering. Is this not great news?”

  “This is wonderful news,” he agreed.

  Irene tapped him frantically on the shoulder and made a flurry of motions with her hands.

  “I think it would be a good idea if we were to come to this tea, to meet Mr. Barry,” he proposed, hoping that’s what Irene meant with her karate chops.

  “Of course!” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “That’s why I rang you. I’m curious to hear where this man went. Also, Mr. Wilton has returned from Paris early, so this party is to welcome him back as well. It is this Friday at three o’clock sharp at Margaret’s Tea House. It is fancy dress as Mrs. Wilton has called in a caterer. With the weather turning colder, this may be the last time we do this before our dogs are trained and no one wants to venture outside.”

  “Fancy dress,” Joe confirmed. “For a caterer. We will be there Mrs. Beauchamp.”

  “Also, doctor,” she said. “As you can imagine, having a private investigator look into our affairs has caused quite a stir among the Society members. Therefore, I’ve assured everyone that you and Miss Holmes are of the highest standards, recommended by the chief at Scotland Yard, and would not press into matters that were not directly related to the curiosities surrounding Mr. Barry.”

  Beside Joe, Irene rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation.

  “We understand,” Joe said. “We shall be as discreet and professional as you require.”

  “Wonderful,” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “Good-bye doctor, see you on Friday.”

  Joe set the receiver down with a click and had barely turned to Irene when the door burst open. Miss Hudson hustled into the room, beside herself with excitement.

  “Fancy dress at the Beauchamps?” she exclaimed. “Is that what I just heard? Oh, this is so exciting. We need a dress, and you, Doctor, need a proper suit.”

  Irene groaned and trudged to the couch, falling face-first onto the cushions. “We were on our way to the library, Miss Hudson.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she snapped. “It’s near supper, and it’s lashing out. We need to find you both something to wear at some point tonight, so I can make the proper alterations if need be.”

  Joe looked at the window, though the rain pelting the glass could be heard throughout the flat. It was a miserable night, and as much as Joe loved the library, he didn’t like juggling books in an attempt to keep them dry.

  “I shall have to see what I have in my wardrobe,” he allowed, resigned to a new plan. “I think I may have a suit, but I haven’t worn it in ages.”

  He looked at Irene, face down on the couch in a huff, before looking at Miss Hudson.

  “Good luck,” Joe said to the landlady, genuinely meaning it. He wouldn’t want to attempt to dress Irene when she was in this mood as it would be like trying to clothe one of those barking terriers they met earlier. He cast one more forlorn gaze at her listless figure on the couch before hurrying upstairs to his room.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later, Joe shut his closet door. He had one suit that might do, but he had no idea if it was fancy enough. Perhaps Miss Hudson could tell him if it was even in fashion anymore, and it was in desperate need of a good ironing too. Joe knew how to iron –not well, mind you, but enough to flatten heavy pants and a jacket– but as he stared at the dark green fabric, he sighed. Perhaps he would just ask Miss Hudson.

  He jogged down the stairs, suit over his arm, and entered the sitting area. It was empty and silent, which made him instantly suspicious. A thump came from Irene’s bedroom, and he heard Miss Hudson scoff.

  Joe set the suit on the couch and crept toward the room, careful not to make a sound. The door flung open, and Miss Hudson stormed out, throwing her hands in the air.

  “It’s like wrestling a cat in a bag.” She saw his suit. “This yours, love? A bit drab, but I’ll press it and try to freshen the colour a wee bit.”

  Irene finally emerged from her room wearing a pale green dress that was an eerily similar shade to Joe’s suit. She was slumped over in protest, hair straggly and half pinned to her head.

  Miss Hudson mumbled something angrily under her breath, marching to Irene. She swatted her on the behind and Irene straightened.

  “Dammit, Miss Hudson,” Irene snapped, rubbing her bottom.

  “Then do this properly,” she said. “You don’t even have stockings on, or shoes! Good heavens, you’re a thrawn wee lass sometimes, taking after your father right up to getting on my last nerve.”

  Irene sighed. “All I wanted to do was ponder upon the case.”

  “You can ponder all you want after this is done. Now let’s get on with it.”

  Joe scratched his chin, doing his best to hide a smile and stifle a laugh. He had no idea what ‘thrawn’ meant, but it had to mean difficult or stubborn or something to the like. Miss Hudson was correct in her comparison. Irene did resemble what Joe thought a cat might look like if you put it in a dress.

  But, after a huge pointed sigh, Irene straightened and adjusted the dress, and it made a world of difference. The colour was a bit faded, the sleeves came down to her elbows, and the neckline was a bit crumpled, but none of that seemed to matter when she finally co-operated. The fabric cinched at her waist and the skirt came out and fluttered as she twirled in a circle, begrudgingly showing off.

  Joe could only imagine Irene with her hair done in proper curls and her now-signature red lipstick. She’d be the belle of the ball anywhere she went.

  Miss Hudson shimmied up beside Joe and gazed at Irene with the same expression Joe assumed she had for most of Irene’s childhood: an exasperated yet proud smile on her face, mixed with the loving eyes of a grandmother. It was silent for a moment, and then Miss Hudson elbowed Joe.

  “Well,” she said. “What do you think, Doctor?”

  “Oh!” Joe stumbled over his words as he fished his brain for a compliment. “Well, she looks rather lovely.”

  Irene swished the skirt back and forth. “How am I supposed to detect anything? How am I supposed to run if I need to?”

  “You could bunch the dress up?” Joe offered.

  “Bunch it up?” Miss Hudson exclaimed. “Doctor Watson, for shame. I know you think people will not take you seriously, but trust me, these people will listen to you more if you are wearing a dress rather than dressed like a pageboy.”

  “Shall I wear it for supper?” Irene asked. “To practice?”

  Joe caught the sarcastic tone in her voice, but Miss Hudson was not amused.

  “You are not wearing that anywhere but to tea on Friday,” she scolded. “A few places need taking in, and I want to fix those sleeves, so they aren’t as long. The colour is a little faded, but we’ll add some jewellery to compensate. Tak
e it off, carefully, while I prepare your supper.”

  She took Joe’s suit and left the flat.

  Once she was safely down the hall, Joe shrugged at Irene. “It does look rather nice if that makes a difference.”

  Irene sighed and wandered back to her bedroom, stepping in and gazing at herself in the floor-length mirror.

  “That is the problem, Joe,” she complained. “I like how I look in dresses and wished they worked more for my profession, but they simply don’t. Never mind worrying about the decency of running and leaping over walls and fences, but trousers are cheaper and wear easier. Though a dress does seem to suit me...”

  She shimmied back and forth in front of the mirror. As Joe watched her gaze at herself, he remembered their first case together on a warm summer day in June. He was having one of his panic-induced episodes in an alley just down the block, and he’d seen Irene across the street, marvelling at a lovely rich green dress in a window. He hadn’t thought much of it up until now because he’d always assumed that she disliked wearing dresses.

  “Perhaps we will have to go places where dresses are more suited,” he said, now knowing her true feelings about the garments.

  She threw her head back in a laugh. “Shall we go dancing every Friday night then?”

  He chuckled along with her. “Well, maybe not every Friday. We still have cases to solve.”

  She twirled to him and put her hands on her hips. “Are you even a dancer, Joe Watson?”

  Her eyes twinkled and sparkled as she waited for his answer, her hips swaying back and forth in whatever rhythm she played in her head, the skirt brushing off her bare calves. For a moment, Joe watched her in her own little world as she’d seemingly forgotten she’d asked him a question. She adjusted a dress she’d been so difficult about a moment earlier, and now wore with pride.

  He caught himself smiling, and a nervous flutter tickled his stomach.

  “I can dance quite well, actually,” he told her, pushing himself off of the couch, ready to wash up for supper and quell the sudden nerves inside him. “Having three lively sisters forced me to learn so they could practice.”

  Irene laughed again. “Don’t mention this conversation to Miss Hudson, or she’ll have us out to one of those Christmas parties dancing the night away.”

  “That might not be such a bad thing,” he said, heading to the lavatory. “As long as there are those little cakes to eat.”

  Chapter III

  A Little Help From the Professionals

  The next morning Irene and Joe got off to a slow start, the cold weather keeping them each in their beds until Miss Hudson threatened to not make another pot of tea after finding the third one she’d made for them sitting cold on the table.

  Joe buzzed with glee like he always did when they both went to the library, and Irene had wondered if this is how he was when he travelled alone to the old building.

  By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, Irene and Joe stepped up from the Underground station a block from the library.

  Joe shook his head. “I will never forget to put petrol in the car again. There are far too many people down there.”

  “Sometimes I am in the mood for people,” Irene stated before continuing her explanation at Joe’s raised eyebrow. “It is rare, but that is how you learn about people. By observing them.”

  Joe pointed back to the station. “Were you prepared for all of those people?”

  She shook her head. “I was not.”

  The ride in the train car hadn’t been too long, but being jostled by people all trying to mind their own business and travel somewhere on time was still too long for Irene.

  “We will never forget the petrol,” she promised while they approached a pedestrian crossing in the broad road. “You are wearing that cologne again.”

  “I am,” Joe said, cheeks flushing.

  “Do not be embarrassed, Joe,” she chided. “It smells quite lovely.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, a smile spreading over his face.

  Like the flip of a switch, they were accosted with fat, heavy raindrops and they hunched their shoulders, dashing across the road and up the wide stairs leading to the library doors.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Irene flipped another page in the catalogue, attempting to find any sort of jewellery that resembled the sapphire necklace. She was sure that it was Parisian, but she needed to know its worth or the designer responsible for creating the ornate pattern holding the sapphire in place. There were limited books about Parisian jewellery, and Joe was growing restless, so she sent him off to the fiction section to find his latest read. She looked upwards, to the second floor, and saw him stroll out of one aisle and down another, half a dozen books clutched in his arms, and the sight made her smile.

  As she focused back on her work, the young librarian who’d assisted them on their last case came up to Irene. She appeared a bit nervous and slowed her steps ever so slightly as she approached.

  “Excuse me?” she said in a shy voice.

  Irene turned to her, giving her a once over. Lovely clothes, clean fingernails, left-handed, and owned a ginger cat, if the orange fur on her heavy skirt was anything to go by.

  “Yes?” Irene replied, attempting to figure out what the woman wanted before she spoke. Irene didn’t look like she needed help with anything, so she couldn’t fathom why the librarian approached her.

  “This may seem a bit forward.” The librarian cleared her throat. “But, I was wondering if you and that tall, kind, inspector were married?”

  Irene didn’t know what expression she had on her face, but it caused the librarian to stutter out an explanation.

  “I didn’t see a wedding band on either of your fingers,” she continued hastily. “But I didn’t want to assume in case you’d given the metal to the war efforts and just hadn’t replaced the bands.”

  Irene held her finger up to stop any more words from falling out of the woman’s mouth. There was a lot of information to unpack in her few sentences, and Irene was confused.

  “The inspector?” she repeated. “You mean Joe? He is my colleague.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Do you work at Scotland Yard with him?”

  “We do not work at Scotland Yard,” Irene corrected her. “We are private investigators. Well, Joe is actually a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine turned private investigator.”

  “Oh!” She exclaimed, glancing upwards to where Joe wandered as if she’d been keeping a close eye on him. “So, you are colleagues. Does that mean that you’re not married?”

  Irene had no idea where this conversation was headed and attempted to figure out why this woman was so interested in Joe’s marital status.

  “We are not married,” she told her. “Did you need help with something?”

  “Oh goodness no,” the woman laughed, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Oh, dear, now I am embarrassed. I guess I should’ve made it clearer, but I was worried I would make a fool of myself asking you about Joe. I’m Sarah, by the way.”

  She stuck out her hand, and Irene shook it. “Irene.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sarah smiled. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I thought I better talk to you first before I started chatting with Joe. Though, I’ll probably be twice as shy when I speak to him if I’m honest.”

  “There is no need,” Irene said. “Just walk up to him and say hello. He will mumble, but that is his way. I shall walk you to him if you like.”

  “Would you?” she asked, eyes widening. “That would be marvellous. Handsome men always make my cheeks go red.”

  Irene led Sarah to the stairs and up to where Joe sauntered, still wary of this woman. Joe was handsome, yes, but to hear a woman say it with a sigh and a bat of her eyelashes was something Irene hadn’t seen, and it suddenly made her feel very protective over her friend. It was too late now to reject the librarian’s request unless Irene wanted to be horribly rude, which she didn’t feel like being today, so she continued throu
gh the aisles of books.

  She felt Sarah’s eyes on her outfit as they roamed through the fiction section looking for Joe.

  “I like your blouse,” Sarah said. “I do wish I had your confidence to wear trousers, but I can’t seem to get away from these dresses.”

  “Thank you,” Irene mumbled, spotting Joe at the end of an aisle. He met her gaze, then looked at Sarah beside her and froze for a moment like a caught rabbit. They reached him, and Irene gestured to them both.

  “Sarah, this is Joe,” she said. “Joe, this is Sarah. She was too nervous about introducing herself, so here I am. Now, excuse me, I must get back to work.”

  She walked away to let them chat about whatever small-talk they wanted, but as she reached the other end of the long aisle, she stopped and turned around, watching them from behind a thin row of books.

  Joe said something to Sarah, and she giggled and gave his shoulder a small, playful shove. He smiled at her and kept talking, running his hand through his shaggy hair, nervously.

  To others, his boyish appearance would appear to be from lack of discipline, but Irene knew the reasons behind his unkempt and rough quality, and she’d learned over the months that it wasn’t an accident. He kept his hair long because it was sheared off of him against his will during his time as a POW, and he never ironed his clothes because he was either off in some imaginary land and simply forgot, or because he felt insecure about himself. Even his slouched posture was due to the fact that he towered over most people and had learned to hunch as to not have people comment about his height.

  Irene suddenly wondered what had caught Sarah’s eye about Joe and tried to look at him how Sarah was staring at him at this moment. Try as she might from behind that bookshelf, though, all Irene saw was her good friend and partner, Joe Watson.

  He made Sarah giggle again, giving her a sideways smile Irene had only seen on him once or twice. He was charming her.

  Joe, the shy, awkward, quiet man she’d come to know was actually making this woman blush like a love-struck school-girl.