Read Online The Mysterious Lady Law by Robert Appleton - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Appleton
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“Tristch-Tratsch Polka,” one of her absolute favourites. Couples from all over the dining room, and even a few from the upper deck, scurried onto the polished, glittering dance floor and arranged themselves in a circle.
“Now or never,” Julia teased, holding her arms out for Al to lift her down from the chair.
He grinned and leapt to her aid with the agility of a swashbuckler. “Hey, do you even know this dance?”
“One way to find out.”
The dust cloud faded in the whorl of a breeze outside, permitting full, unfettered entry to the most brilliant sunlight Southern England had seen in weeks. It reflected off shiny crockery and bare tabletops and the roof of the spotless piano, blinding every dancer who spun in that direction. To her surprise, Al segued into the fast tempo with grace to spare, his compact, athletic frame matching her turn for turn. The feel of his hand on her waist made her giddy and his gaze found hers even when they changed partners. It inspired her to improvise during the ladies’ solo forays into the centre, and her bouncy quick-shuffles and spins soon drew generous applause from spectators. Al never once faltered. He was the steady glide to her soaring syncopation. This was her moment to shine. Hers and Al’s. While they were together, everyone else aboard the Pegasus faded away.
She had never enjoyed dancing more.
The gloaming descended early that evening, a little after five-thirty. Already the autumn fog visibly grasped at the quays and airship docking wharfs, its smog-fingers sliding along the Thames between factories, hangars, and around the Leviacrum. The Pegasus was the last to dock and Julia was one of the last to leave the dining room. Al had nipped to the bathroom a few minutes before and she waited for him at the exit. Patrons of every conceivable age and class acknowledged Julia on their way out with compliments on her dancing.
She checked her watch. Al had left her over five minutes ago. Was he all right? The only other person in the dining area was a bespectacled, rather hunched fellow wearing a thick, dark beard and a mop of curls, just returned from the bathroom. He looked familiar somehow. Where had she seen him before?
Strangely, he took a few steps toward the kitchen corridor, in the opposite direction of the exit. Hands low behind him, he paused. Deliberate sideways glances, short, measured paces back toward the bathroom doors, then out into the centre aisle. He stopped again.
Was he lost?
“Excuse me,” Julia shouted across, “if you’re looking for the way out, here it is.”
His somewhat theatrical bow in reply struck her as very odd. As did the dark green bowler hat he’d been holding behind his back, which he now raised and placed carefully onto his thick curls.
Perhaps he was drunk.
Julia stole into the doorway, her tired limbs now recovered. She was ready to leave in a hurry. Drunkards were far too unpredictable to take for granted, especially strange ones in an empty room.
“My husband is in the water closet, sir,” she called, appealing to his common sense. “He will be out at any moment.”
No response. He slid his hand into his breast pocket and started toward her. Julia stepped back onto the gridiron floor of the outer corridor, missed the rubber pedestrian mat. Her high heel snagged in the gap. She staggered. Hell’s bells. Still no reaction from the drunkard. Hand in his pocket, he strode after her at a quicker pace, his line unnervingly straight for an inebriate.
And what was it about him that…
God, the dark green bowler hat! Was this the man from the church? That same slouch?
She yelled, “Al!”
She wrenched her shoe free from the grid. The heel snapped. Christ. A few lopsided steps told her to lose the other shoe as well. Now she could run and run she did. The cold damp wrung through her stockinged feet all the way down the white-walled outer corridor, onto the freezing gangway—no Pegasus personnel to help her
“Now or never,” Julia teased, holding her arms out for Al to lift her down from the chair.
He grinned and leapt to her aid with the agility of a swashbuckler. “Hey, do you even know this dance?”
“One way to find out.”
The dust cloud faded in the whorl of a breeze outside, permitting full, unfettered entry to the most brilliant sunlight Southern England had seen in weeks. It reflected off shiny crockery and bare tabletops and the roof of the spotless piano, blinding every dancer who spun in that direction. To her surprise, Al segued into the fast tempo with grace to spare, his compact, athletic frame matching her turn for turn. The feel of his hand on her waist made her giddy and his gaze found hers even when they changed partners. It inspired her to improvise during the ladies’ solo forays into the centre, and her bouncy quick-shuffles and spins soon drew generous applause from spectators. Al never once faltered. He was the steady glide to her soaring syncopation. This was her moment to shine. Hers and Al’s. While they were together, everyone else aboard the Pegasus faded away.
She had never enjoyed dancing more.
The gloaming descended early that evening, a little after five-thirty. Already the autumn fog visibly grasped at the quays and airship docking wharfs, its smog-fingers sliding along the Thames between factories, hangars, and around the Leviacrum. The Pegasus was the last to dock and Julia was one of the last to leave the dining room. Al had nipped to the bathroom a few minutes before and she waited for him at the exit. Patrons of every conceivable age and class acknowledged Julia on their way out with compliments on her dancing.
She checked her watch. Al had left her over five minutes ago. Was he all right? The only other person in the dining area was a bespectacled, rather hunched fellow wearing a thick, dark beard and a mop of curls, just returned from the bathroom. He looked familiar somehow. Where had she seen him before?
Strangely, he took a few steps toward the kitchen corridor, in the opposite direction of the exit. Hands low behind him, he paused. Deliberate sideways glances, short, measured paces back toward the bathroom doors, then out into the centre aisle. He stopped again.
Was he lost?
“Excuse me,” Julia shouted across, “if you’re looking for the way out, here it is.”
His somewhat theatrical bow in reply struck her as very odd. As did the dark green bowler hat he’d been holding behind his back, which he now raised and placed carefully onto his thick curls.
Perhaps he was drunk.
Julia stole into the doorway, her tired limbs now recovered. She was ready to leave in a hurry. Drunkards were far too unpredictable to take for granted, especially strange ones in an empty room.
“My husband is in the water closet, sir,” she called, appealing to his common sense. “He will be out at any moment.”
No response. He slid his hand into his breast pocket and started toward her. Julia stepped back onto the gridiron floor of the outer corridor, missed the rubber pedestrian mat. Her high heel snagged in the gap. She staggered. Hell’s bells. Still no reaction from the drunkard. Hand in his pocket, he strode after her at a quicker pace, his line unnervingly straight for an inebriate.
And what was it about him that…
God, the dark green bowler hat! Was this the man from the church? That same slouch?
She yelled, “Al!”
She wrenched her shoe free from the grid. The heel snapped. Christ. A few lopsided steps told her to lose the other shoe as well. Now she could run and run she did. The cold damp wrung through her stockinged feet all the way down the white-walled outer corridor, onto the freezing gangway—no Pegasus personnel to help her
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