Page 30 of The Locked Room

Harry nodded. ‘Do you think we might use it to leave?’ Her brother’s eyebrows rose. ‘It’s for the play. Method acting – the art of experiencing, as the eminent Mr Stanislavski calls it.’

She had read about Konstantin Stanislavski and his school of acting in one of her mother’s magazines and she hoped it would lend some much-needed credibility to her story now.

‘Who am I to argue with such dedication?’ Seb said, with airy respect. ‘Although I think you should know I don’t believe a word of it. What are you really up to, Harry?’

She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the waiter with their drinks. Once he’d gone, she took a fortifying gulp of her cocktail and opened her mouth to reply, but Oliver beat her to it. ‘It’s my fault,’ he said, shooting Seb an apologetic look. ‘One of my contacts at Scotland Yard gave me a lead on Serafina Eccleston and I persuaded Harry here to go undercover to follow it up.’

It was all Harry could do not to drop her drink and Seb appeared similarly astonished. ‘Undercover? I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, Oliver. But I appreciate the lengths you’re going to on our behalf. That wig is a crime all on its own.’

‘So now you see why we need to use the back door,’ Harry said, flashing Oliver a grateful look before turning an entreating gaze upon her brother.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘But discretion is all part of the service here.’ Raising a hand, he summoned a waiter and murmured something into his ear. The man nodded and straightened, turning an expectant look towards Harry and Oliver. ‘Drink up,’ Seb went on encouragingly. ‘Lord Pritchard is coming down the stairs and I really don’t care to introduce you.’

Obediently, Harry swigged the rest of her cocktail, wincing as the alcohol seared its way to her stomach. ‘Thanks, Seb,’ she said, rising to follow the waiter. ‘I owe you.’

He waved her away. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, his expression somewhat pained. ‘Really, don’t mention it. I dread to think what Mama would say. Let’s just pretend this never happened.’

The waiter maintained a dignified silence as he led them through the sea of whispering diners, towards a discreet burgundy velvet curtain and a set of stone steps beyond it. The air grew noticeably cooler as they travelled further underground, for which Harry was profoundly grateful. They passed a number of alcoves, each piled high with pyramids of wine bottles that looked dustily expensive. At last they came to another staircase, leading steeply upwards to a door. Without a word, the waiter drew back a number of bolts and pulled the door open, fixing his gaze somewhere above the lintel. Offering a nod of thanks that she knew would go unacknowledged, Harry stepped past the man and onto one of the narrow alleyways that ran between some of Mayfair’s streets. Rectangles of light shone at each end but the alley itself was black with shadows.

A resolute thud indicated the door had been closed behind Oliver. ‘Now what?’ he said.

Harry stood still for an instant, savouring the bite of frosty air and the welcome anonymity of the night. She had been all too conscious of the attention they had garnered as they had made their way between the tables in Quaglino’s. It had been a relief to be able to pass beyond the velvet curtain and an even greater respite to escape the mute disapproval of the waiter escorting them. But they could not linger in the passageway forever. ‘Now we go home. Separately.’

Oliver shook his head, as she knew he would. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘It makes sense,’ she argued. ‘If whoever was following us is still in the area, they’ll be looking for two men, not one.’

He folded his arms. ‘If you think I am letting you walk home alone at almost midnight, then you don’t know me very well at all.’

His glower almost matched hers in ferocity. Harry raised her chin. ‘I appreciate that you mean well, Oliver, but you have to stop treating me like a child. You only see me as your best friend’s little sister but I’m a fully grown woman. Haven’t I proved I can look after myself?’

Oliver’s jaw tightened. ‘Believe me, I’m well aware of everything you are, Harry. And I don’t think of you as Lawrence’s little sister.’ He stopped and looked away. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if I did.’

‘What does that mean?’ she cried. ‘Easier to do what?’

He took a deep breath. Harry waited, fists clenched in frustration. She was tired of having to bend to society’s expectations, tired of being told what she could and could not do. And right at that moment, she was tired of Oliver’s overcautious attitude. She was wearing a false beard and a suit, for goodness’ sake, she looked every inch a man, especially under cover of darkness. What could possibly happen to her in the ten minutes it would take to walk to Hamilton Square?

‘Easier not to care,’ he said.

He meant for her reputation, Harry supposed, and huffed with irritation. ‘No one is going to recognise me dressed like this.’

‘I don’t imagine so,’ he replied. ‘But that isn’t what I meant. Everything would be easier if I didn’t care for you.’

Abruptly, the wind was plucked from Harry’s sails. ‘You… care for me?’

The look he gave her was level. ‘You must know I do. Would I be dressed like this if I didn’t?’

‘But—’ she paused to gather her scattered thoughts ‘—you’re dressed like that to solve a crime – to make sure justice is done.’

Oliver shook his head impatiently. ‘I’m dressed like this because you asked me to. The same way I pretended to be a workman and was almost killed by an angry mob in south London, and waded through freezing fenland to follow a boat in Cambridgeshire. I wouldn’t do all of that for just anyone, Harry.’

It was true – she had demanded he do both of those things and much more besides, and the realisation made her queasy with guilt. She had asked too much of him, put him in danger, both physically and professionally, and used his friendship with Lawrence to persuade him to risk everything. Her head drooped as she stared at the floor. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said, his impatience subsiding into bafflement as he sighed. ‘I can see I’m going to have to speak plainly and it would really help if you could look at me while I do.’

Reluctantly, she raised her head, bracing herself for the painful truth. His face was half hidden by the shadows, but she saw the glitter of his eyes as he observed her.

‘Thank you,’ he said, and cleared his throat. ‘I can’t claim this is exactly how I imagined saying this but, for the avoidance of doubt, I am not here out of a sense of duty to the law, or your family, or anything else. I am here because of you. Because I can’t get enough of the way you light up when you piece together a puzzle, or make a connection no one else has noticed. Because I see how much helping people matters to you, especially when the law fails to do so. Because you are kind and resourceful and determined and brilliant, and every time I think you can’t surprise me more, you do.’ He took a breath. ‘Because whether I’m crouching in a cockroach-ridden hovel, or up to my neck in icy water, or bundling into a dingy alley behind a nightclub wearing a beard that itches like sin, there’s no place I’d rather be, as long as I’m next to you.’