Memoirs of Lady Montrose Read Online Free

front garden and the fallen leaves made a carpet on the lawn, bunched between the rose bushes. A breeze stirred and whirled them in eddies down Holland Park Road. On each side of their home stood a foreign embassy, and the respective security systems overlooked the Montrose’s Georgian mansion. Its lovely cream stone walls always made Helen feel safe, but terror had arrived a week ago, sliding in through the mail slot in the front door and it had held her captive ever since. By the end of today, she hoped her heart would be lighter and the dark pall that had smothered her since the night at the opera would be dulled to a soft mist. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite gone, but would be clear enough for her to see a way forward.
    She’d dressed demurely in a costume that spoke of quality and put on her fur coat. It had become unfashionable to wear fur, but on this occasion, being warm concerned her more than public opinion. She prevaricated over wearing a hat and decided against it—perhaps it was a bit too dressy for luncheon with a blackmailer.
    Henry had gone on ahead an hour ago with Bassett driving. He’d taken his walking stick, the one with a knife hidden in the shaft, and she’d teased him that he might be provoked into stabbing Mortlock.
    “I’d cut his balls off, more likely,” he’d retorted.
    Bassett would share a table with Henry and once Mr Christopher Mortlock had settled at her table, Henry would join them. That was the plan, in case Mortlock tarried nearby, watching to see if she’d called in the police.
    Bassett had been told the man she intended to dine with claimed to be a distant relative, who had fallen on hard times and wanted money. Pangs of guilt stabbed at her for telling their loyal servant such lies. However, Bassett’s whole demeanour displayed his delight in today’s outing and his part in the proceedings.
    She was driving the Humber Super Snipe. If Mortlock arrived by car, Bassett would tail him home in her car and she would drive Henry home in the Bentley. An alternative plan allowed for Mortlock arriving by train—Bassett would then shadow him on foot. Henry considered it imperative to know where Mortlock lived. She wondered why Henry needed this information, but he’d told her not to worry her pretty head about it. He could be quite masterful at times, as the current situation proved.
    “Quite like old times, sir.” Helen had heard Bassett say to Henry earlier as he’d helped him into the car. Bassett’s voice had trembled when he’d asked whether he should take a small pistol to protect Lady Helen from a physical attack.
    “Good God, laddie. Can’t have you shooting Lady Helen’s relations, regardless of how distant or distasteful they are. Perhaps a punch to the jaw would be safer.” Bassett appeared to have caught Henry’s air of bravado and while their joint antics had amused her, their mock comedy act had not been funny enough to raise a smile. Perhaps tomorrow she’d manage one.
     
    * * * *
     
    Helen chose a table with a view through the large bay window. The waiter left her with two menus, one for her expected guest. While she waited she let her gaze drift to the trees growing along the riverside walk. The oak’s leaves clung tightly to its branches but the walnut tree tossed its dinner-plate-sized leaves high in the air to greet the winter wind. The chill breeze and light rain helped stick them to the parked cars like large pieces of confetti. At a nearby table she saw Henry and Bassett dining with gusto and obvious enjoyment.
    How typical of men. They had a plan. Their emotions appeared to be tightly under control and their appetite remained hearty. Not for her. Everything she read on the menu made her stomach churn. She wished the day to be over.
    A man approached from the left and paused beside her.
    “Mrs Brown?”
    “Don’t be facetious, young man. You’re quite aware of my real name.” Her voice didn’t echo the turmoil inside her, instead she snapped