He found it somewhat relaxing sitting here regarding the people as they came and went through Claridge's lobby. Sir Malcolm felt younger than he had in some time waiting for Mrs. Poole. He'd invited her to luncheon and she was pursuing her feminine prerogative of being fashionably late; perhaps the spirits had detained her. He really shouldn't be so glib on that point. He knew full well the existence and effects of the demimonde. Still, he wanted this meeting between the two of them to be light and pleasant.
Malcolm was distracted by two young ladies as they glided across the lobby enveloped in a soft cloud of perfume and their own chattering. He smiled as he watched them arise in the lift like brightly plumaged caged birds.
If things had gone differently, Vanessa and Mina, might have been as those to young ladies were. He was allowing himself to become maudlin. He had to try harder to prevent that.
"Sir Malcolm," Mrs. Poole's clear voice brought him back from his musing.
He rose and took her proffered hand. "My dear Mrs Poole, you are looking very well and are delightfully punctual."
Seated across from the delectable Mrs. Poole. "Yes, quite delectable," Sir Malcolm thought as he watched her delicately dismember her lobster. She ate with great delicacy and relish, like a cat.
He buttered a roll and asked, "How did you come to choose "Madame Kali" as a professional name?"
"It seemed suitable to imbuing myself with an aura of the mysterious, mystical East. People like that. It adds to the allure; so much more intriguing than plain "Mrs. Poole."
"No, you are not, nor ever could be plain Mrs. Poole. You are most assuredly mysterious and alluring. You would do well as a medium, or indeed, anything you chose, even if you called yourself professionally "Evelyn Poole."
She tilted her head and smiled at Sir Malcolm over the rim of her wineglass.
He returned her smile and continued, "I had reason to confer with Dr. Lyle recently . . .
"Oh, really, a question of Egyptology, you surprise me, Sir Malcolm," she commented too brightly.
"Why should you be surprised of my having wide ranging interests. He seems to be quite put out by you at the moment. He claims that you apparently tried to kill his cat."
"Ah yes, Baast, that detestable little creature. Dr. Lyle told me that when a household cat died in ancient Egypt, not only was it mummified, but the members of the family went into mourning and shaved off their eyebrows. It would be fascinating to see if he decided to mourn that little horror in the same way. He'd probably even try to have her mummified."
What prompted you to want to kill Dr. Lyle's cat? If I may ask."
"I was visiting with him and the reprehensible feline walks in with a still squealing rat, not a mouse, a rat at least half as big as she, only to deposit it practically on my feet. Of course, he says, 'Don't be alarmed. She's honoring you with a gift and the further honor of killing it yourself.' I choose to express my gratitude by grabbing the fireplace poker and attempting to smash it down on that cursed cat. Dr. Lyle was beside himself. Baast and the rat had disappeared into the hall. By this time he's livid, exclaiming that he would thank me not to throttle his cat, and to be so good as to take my leave."
Sir Malcolm chuckled, "Why Mrs. Poole, I must confess that Dr. Lyle has explained to me in detail, even to which room where you were. Now, if you had throttled the cat, or the rat, you would've gotten blood on the Turkey carpet. The one that was a wedding gift from Mrs. Lyle's family, her brother, I believe. The point being his wife would forgiven that."
"It's a shame that never happened," Mrs. Poole smiled. "How delicious it would've been to have killed the cat, the rat, and have distressed Mrs. Lyle. She's barely civil to me. Ah, but that is no concern of yours, Sir Malcolm. I apologize."
"I've already forgotten your breach of etiquette, Mrs. Poole. I've never actually met the elusive Mrs. Lyle."
"Count yourself a lucky man."
"Mrs. Poole, do you always say such provocative things?"
"No, but may I ask you about Miss Ives."
Sir Malcolm raised an eye brow and slowly chewed on his food. "She was a friend of my daughter Mina's and our families were friends."
"She lives in your house, Sir Malcolm. Everybody knows that. It's all quite open, but you've been evasive with me as to your close association with her. It does have the aura of scandal, a beautiful young, unmarried woman living with a widowed, older man."
"It is a large house, Mrs. Poole."
"You might marry her, as she is quite the beauty. Ah, but there is that taint of madness about her. It would be quite difficult to marry her off to anyone else. She may well be an accomplished young lady who plays the piano well and speaks French exquisitely — but that taint of madness.
A shame really, she seems to have everything, beauty, breeding, true she is Catholic, but her family is distantly related to the Howards. There is that matter of madness in her past, and judging from the seance at Dr. Lyle's perhaps something darker as well. Still, well, she is an heiress"
"Mrs, Poole, you seem to know a great deal about Miss Ives. You no doubt also know that I am the trustee of her estate and her guardian. There is nothing untoward in my relationship with her. And may I reiterate, she and I live in a large house."
Pompous buffoon, was what Evelyn Poole thought as she settled back into the seat of the hansom cab. Sir Malcolm Murray, what a silly man. So he felt himself to be the protector of Miss Ives. Did the foolish boor even begin to grasp that she was far more adept at looking after herself than he ever could be. There are depths to Miss Ives. Yes, there are depths.
For now she had to deal with Sir Malcolm to begin to affect Miss Ives. In truth, he was such a tiresome man. She well knew the type, very paternal, so very assured. Murray had almost always gotten his way. He was a rich man, a celebrated explorer, tall, still handsome . . . sill virile. Well, she could use that to her advantage — or not. Yes, Sir Malcolm in your finely tailored clothes, smelling faintly of fine whiskey, expensive cigars, and bay rum. Well, thankfully the man didn't wear patchouli. Still Evelyn had reservations about bay rum. Let the fool smell as he chose. She had her objective. She would maneuver around, or through, him. Sir Malcolm, who almost always got his way. Well, my good sir, almost always is not always.
Now as to Miss Ives. There are depths, yes, Miss Ives there are depths.
