The Unkept Woman--A Sparks & Bainbridge Mystery by Allison Montclair

Author:Allison Montclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

Henderson was grabbing a catnap, slumped down in his seat with his hat brim pulled down over his eyes, when Musgrave poked him in the arm.

“What?” he asked, straightening.

“Chauffeur’s pulling a car out.”

Henderson put his binoculars to his eyes to see a black Daimler backing out of the garage to a point concealed from view in back of the house.

“Start the car up,” he said.

A minute later, the Daimler pulled up the driveway, paused at the street, then pulled out, passing them. In the rear, keeping her head down, was a woman.

“Purple hat,” said Henderson. “Same one. Follow them.”

“Yes, sir,” said Musgrave.

They kept a decent distance behind the Daimler, which headed north. The chauffeur took a right at Notting Hill Gate, then an abrupt left on Pembridge.

“They make us?” asked Musgrave, accelerating to make the turn.

“I don’t think so,” said Henderson. “Wonder how she’s got the pull with the Bainbridges to borrow the chauffeur like that?”

The Daimler made a dogleg onto Portobello Road, then pulled over to the kerb by a stall with trays of fresh herbs on display. The chauffeur got out, walked around to the rear passenger door, and opened it. A woman got out, carrying a large, wicker shopping basket. She was wearing a brown cloth coat which, when she turned in their direction, revealed a maid’s uniform underneath.

“That’s not her,” said Henderson with a sinking feeling. “It’s the same hat, I’ll bet my badge on it. Pull over.”

He was out on the street and moving before the car came to a stop, dodging around the carts and stalls set up in front of the shops, ignoring the irritated glances from the people he brushed as he strode between them. He caught up to the woman and grabbed her by the shoulder. She turned around indignantly.

“And who might you be?” she snapped.

“Henderson, CID,” he said. “Where’d you get that hat?”

“The hat?” she asked, a look of confusion on her face. “Did my hat do something illegal?”

“You stole it,” he said.

“I never did!” she said hotly. “I borrowed it.”

“From who?”

“From Miss Sparks,” she said. “She wanted me to wear it while I was shopping.”

“Why?”

“It was some sort of joke she was playing,” said the maid. “She gave me a shilling.”

Cursing, Henderson dashed back to the car and jumped in.

“She’s done a runner,” he said. “Back to the house. She’s probably on foot. Step on it.”

Musgrave peeled away, heading back to Kensington.

Millie watched them go, then walked calmly back to the Daimler where Nigel, the chauffeur, was waiting. She nodded to him. He went to the rear of the car and opened the boot. From inside Sparks, who was curled in a foetal position, looked up at him.

“The coast is clear, Miss Sparks,” said Nigel, holding out a black-gloved hand.

“Thank you, Nigel,” said Sparks, taking it.

He assisted her to the kerb, then pulled out her train case and handed it to her.

“Do you want your hat back, Miss Sparks?” asked Millie.

“Not for now,” said Sparks. “If you hear I’m in jail, keep it and wear it in good health.

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