The Great Eastern was a railway hotel in the middle of the city, its clientele as diverse as London itself. Wesley was shown to the restaurant, where dozens of square tables with white tablecloths were set amongst large carved pillars. Tuxedoed waiters glided between full tables before disappearing through gilded archways, and the warm light of the many chandeliers reflected off the green and gold adorning the walls.
Wesley was seated at a prominent center table beneath a large stained-glass dome set into the ceiling, and given a drink menu. He’d only had time to glance at it when a host was approaching with his companion.
Wesley stood and offered his hand. “Miss Robbins. What an unexpected pleasure to see you again,” he said, and even meant it.
Jade, looking more Parisian than American in a man’s suit and high heels, took his hand with a smile. “Lord Fine, I am so pleased to see you safe,” which seemed a bit unusual to say. It wasn’t as if he was in any danger.
He waited for the host to get Jade’s chair before taking his own seat. A waiter appeared almost instantly at their table. “Drinks tonight?” the waiter asked, starting with Jade.
“Just tonic water, thank you,” she said.
That also seemed a bit odd. Wesley ordered a whiskey neat for himself, and as the waiter disappeared, he said, “Just soda? There’s no Prohibition here, you know. Don’t you run a speakeasy?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’m a bit of a problem after a drink,” Jade said, as if confessing a secret.
“Are you really?” Wesley had a hard time picturing her as anything but composed. “Then you’re a teetotaler?” He snorted. “Christ, next you’re going to tell me you don’t eat meat or some other rubbish.”
Jade raised an eyebrow. She looked amused, rather than annoyed, but Wesley still wanted to wince. Surely he wasn’t yet such a lout that he couldn’t manage to be civil to an immensely interesting person for one sodding evening?
“Then again, your choices are none of my business,” he said, trying to sound more gracious. “If you do eat meat, the lamb here is very nice, and if you don’t, I’m certain they can provide a suitable alternative.”
“Lamb sounds lovely, thank you.” Jade, unlike his thorny rudeness, was effortlessly warm and gracious.
The waiter reappeared and set their drinks on the table. He took their orders, and as soon as he’d vanished again, Jade leaned forward. “How are you, Lord Fine?”
She sounded sincerely concerned. How curious. “I’m hale enough. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She shrugged delicately. “I didn’t know if perhaps anyone was bothering you as of late.”
“Bothering me?” He snorted again. “No onebothersme, Miss Robbins. Or rather, everyone bothers me, the world itself bothers me, but no particular individual is bothering me at present. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” she said lightly.
“Well, that’s clearly bollocks.” Wesley picked up his whiskey. “You know, the stories Arthur told me about your time as a spy during the war—they made you sound practically supernatural.”
“Did they?” Jade said, a little weakly.
“They did,” said Wesley. “So you see, I don’t believe anyonejust wonderssomething like that, but I particularly don’t believeyouwould ever just wonderanything without a good reason.”
Their first courses were dropped off, oysters and consommé, and when they had privacy again, she finally spoke. “I met an Englishman in May that I believe you might know. The Earl of Blanshard.”
It was Wesley’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Yes, I’ve met Blanshard, went to a party of his once. What of him?”
Her eyes darted to the side, her head tilted almost as if she were listening to the air, except that would be quite strange. “Will you tell me about him? About that party?”
Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice had said in Wonderland. “I don’t have much to say, I’m afraid. Blanshard would be utterly forgettable if he weren’t completely unlikeable.”
“That’s certainly something,” she said. “May I ask why you don’t like him?”
“I’m not sure I can say why,” Wesley admitted. “There’s simply something off-putting about him, but then everyone is off-putting, so even that is hardly noteworthy.”
Jade steepled her hands in front of her mouth, pretty pink nails to match her scarf and lipstick. “Have you ever heard or noticed anything odd about Lord Blanshard?”
“Odd.” Wesley sipped his whiskey. “No, I don’t believe I have. He hoards antiques like a magpie, but that’s a fairly harmless hobby, isn’t it?”
“Depends on the antique,” she said, “and where you got it, and how you got it. Do you happen to remember any of the items you saw?”
Wesley recounted what he’d seen over their fish course and then their lamb with mint jelly. Jade listened intently. “Your memory is excellent,” she said, when he’d finished.
