Free A Conspiracy of Ravens by Gilbert Morris Page B

“I told you, Lord Darby, about how these two gentlemen were such a help in getting Clive freed.”
    “Yes, I was very pleased to hear that, and we’re very happy to have you for the ball.”
    Heather smiled. “Your rooms are ready. I’m sure you want to go freshen up before dinner.”
    “Crinshaw,” Lord Darby said, turning to a cadaverous-looking man, “will you show our guests to their rooms?”
    Matthew and Dylan followed the butler upstairs. He led them down the hall, then opened two doors. “This will be your room, Inspector, and right across the hall will be yours, sir.”
    “Thank you very much.” Matthew waited until the butler left and then walked in and looked around. “What a room!” he murmured. “I feel like a blasted impostor. This is not my kind of life.”
    “Nonsense,” Dylan said. “Carpe diem! Seize the day, man! Enjoy the food and dance with Dora.”
    “I feel out of place. Everyone will be wondering what a grubby policeman is doing here.”
    “It’s nobody’s business to go poking their old noses into! Think of it like this: you’re twice as intelligent as anybody you’ll meet here. Just do what I do.”
    The workings of Dylan’s mind always intrigued Grant. “What are you going to do?”
    “What I always do.” Dylan smiled. “Let’s think of this as a play. I’m expected to be the empty-headed, egocentric actor who’s moving above his station. What does that matter? Let’s just enjoy the food and the ball.”
    “Well, that’s fine for you, but I’m no actor.”
    “We’re all actors, Matthew, yes? All of us are playing roles all the time, pretending to be something we’re not.” He walked around the room gesturing as if he were on a stage. “Shakespeare hit it right on the head in As You Like It. He said:
    All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
    Matthew laughed. “A fine bunch of hypocrites you make us out to be!”
    “Not at all, Matthew. I’m only tormenting you. I can play a role like that, but you’re Matthew Grant, an inspector with Scotland Yard. Don’t try to be anything else, and Dora will be very proud of you.”
    “I hope so,” Matthew said gloomily. “I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing with rich people.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Rich people are only poor people with money, you see?”
    “Yes, but money makes a difference.”

FIVE
    L ady Bertha Mulvane would never admit to it, but she had one serious problem—she was totally and completely colourblind. This resulted in a very strange and often almost frightening combination of colours in her attire. She was never willing to admit, however, that others could see something that she herself could not.
    The dress she wore to the ball was a particularly leprous grey, and the shawl around her neck was purple—not just a mild purple but a blazing, screaming, shouting purple that clashed with everything else she had on. No one had ever come directly out and confronted Lady Bertha with the truth, for it would have been dangerous saying such a thing to one who believed herself perfectly normal, capable, and even superior in every way. She was dominating now the small group that had gathered prior to going into the ballroom, saying to Lord Darby in stentorian tones, “I must apologize for my family, Lord Darby, and to you, too, Lady Darby. I want you to understand that it was not any of my doings to invite that awful actor fellow and that policeman to the ball.”
    Edward Hayden, the Earl of Darby, was accustomed to the antics and blindness of Lady Mulvane. He was perfectly aware that she had no legal right whatsoever to call herself Lady Mulvane, but it made the old woman happy. “That’s quite all right, Lady Mulvane,” he said. “They’ll be interesting enough, I’m sure.”
    “Yes, indeed!” St. John, who was standing back slightly from his uncle and aunt, said,