The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) Read Online Free PDF Page A

running for three or four years now, and was rapidly becoming a fixture on the social calendar of a certain section of London society. It had begun as a joke, after a promising young artist had spent six months producing an experimental sculpture of a gigantic white rabbit in papier mâché, which had proceeded to collapse under the weight of its own over-sized ears on the opening night of its first exhibition to the public. Fortunately, the artist in question had seen the funny side, and some bright soul had had the idea of turning it into a regular thing with music and dancing and a light supper. Each year at this time, therefore, the Duke of Wymington gave up his house and his ball-room at the behest of his wife, who was a great patron of the arts, and sat in his library, shuddering quietly, as hundreds of people flocked through his front door, shrieking, laughing, chipping the paint and ruining the carpets. Meanwhile, a white papier mâché rabbit, produced on the model of the original but filled with balloons, was placed as the grand decoration of honour at one end of the ball-room. At midnight a bell would sound, giving the signal for all the revellers (by now usually very drunk) to attack the rabbit with anything that came to hand—forks, knives, shoes and many other things besides—until it lay in smithereens and all the balloons were set free.
    This year’s ball looked like being every bit as riotous as its predecessors, and when Angela arrived in company with the Pilkington-Soameses and some other friends she found the place already hot, crowded and deafening. On the one hand this boded well, for it meant that nobody was likely to notice if she spent part of the evening in company with Edgar Valencourt, but on the other there was some doubt as to whether they would be able to find one another at all in the throng.
    ‘Come and dance,’ said Freddy once they had found their table and sat down. ‘It’s bad enough now, but it’ll be unbearable after supper once people have started being sick on the floor.’
    Ignoring Angela’s pained expression, he took her hand and pulled her into the middle of the heaving crowd.
    ‘So, then, what have you been getting up to lately?’ he said. ‘You hurried me out of the house so quickly the other day that we didn’t have time to chat. What have you been doing with yourself?’
    ‘Not much,’ she replied. ‘Very little, in fact. It’s been a very quiet week. Marthe has left me and all my friends keep falling ill or dropping dead when I want to go and see them.’
    ‘Inconsiderate of them.’
    ‘Well, quite. I think this is the first time I’ve been out in about a fortnight.’
    ‘You ought to have called me,’ said Freddy. ‘We might have gone out together. As a matter of fact there was rather a good night at the Express Club about ten days ago. All the old crowd were there—all the fun people: Bill Arnott, Mags Bagley—Gertie, of course. You ought to have come.’
    ‘I think they’re all a little young for me,’ said Angela. ‘I’m not twenty-one any more, much as I weep to admit it.’
    ‘I refuse to believe it,’ said Freddy stoutly. ‘You are as young and lively as you ever were.’
    ‘Thank you, Freddy,’ said Angela. ‘You’re terribly kind and I choose to believe you. But what about you? How is business at the Clarion ? Have they promoted you to editor yet?’
    ‘Incredible as it may seem, they have not,’ said Freddy. ‘Anyway, I don’t know that I want to be editor any more. I rather enjoy getting out and about.’
    ‘Are you pursuing any exciting stories at the moment?’
    ‘Well, of course the big one at the moment is this jewel robbery in Kent,’ he said.
    A frown flickered across Angela’s forehead.
    ‘It’s a gang, isn’t it?’ she said.
    ‘Yes, the Boehler gang. They’re a bunch of ruffians and the sooner they’re caught the better.’
    Angela could not help asking half-fearfully:
    ‘Are the police quite sure it’s