“I’m not sure,” said Iris.

They were separated from the driver by a thick glass panel. Iris leaned forwards and felt along the back of the bench seat until she found a small latch. She opened it and slid a panel to the left. The compartment it revealed held a whisky bottle and a pair of tumblers.

“Want some?” she asked.

“God, yes,” replied Gwen.

“Hey, that’s not yours,” called the driver.

“If we’re guests, then you should offer us a drink,” said Iris as she poured herself and Gwen a generous amount.

“And if we’re prisoners, then to hell with you,” added Gwen.

She clinked her tumbler against Iris’s, then paused. “What if it’s drugged?” she asked. “Or poisoned?”

“He knows I know about it,” said Iris. “He left it for us to find.”

“You’re certain that he doesn’t wish us any harm?”

“Not yet,” said Iris. “Cheers, darling. This will be the best whisky we’ll have had in a while.”

“Well, in that case, cheers,” said Gwen.

CHAPTER 14

The whisky was excellent. They opted for a second drink when the first was done, as the car headed somewhere north. Mrs. Bainbridge gazed out the window.

“We’re in Highgate,” she said. “There’s the cemetery. Oooh, spooky!”

“You’re drunk!” said Sparks.

“I am not!” insisted Mrs. Bainbridge. “Well, maybe a little. I had a few at the reception.” She started to giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just figured it out,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “He left the whisky because he knew we’d drink it and let our guard down.”

“Fiendishly clever,” said Sparks. “Little does he know a veteran deb’s capacity for alcohol. We shall wear our most serious faces and frown at him severely when we see him. Let’s see your best frown.”

Mrs. Bainbridge furrowed her brow and made a disapproving expression.

“Oh, that’s good,” said Sparks. “Now let me try.”

She glared at Mrs. Bainbridge, who immediately burst into laughter.

“That was not the intended effect at all,” said Sparks.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Bainbridge gasped. “Let me compose myself. There. Now, try again.”

Iris imagined a water buffalo facing down a hyena, and tried to duplicate the expression. Mrs. Bainbridge took one look and started up again.

“It’s no good,” she guffawed. “I can’t help myself.”

Sparks, no longer able to hold back herself, joined her.

The driver looked at them in the rearview mirror. “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, don’t you start,” called Sparks. “I’ve already sent one irritating bloke to the emergency department tonight. I’ll be happy to have you join him.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance in hell, Lollipop.”

“Hell is my turf, Big Boy,” Sparks retorted. “Name the time and place, and we’ll have a proper do.”

“Me too,” growled Mrs. Bainbridge. “Marquess of Queensberry rules be damned!”

“You don’t fight, remember?” said Sparks.

“You were going to teach me, remember? We’ll start with him.”

“Save it, ladies,” said the driver. “We’re here.”

He turned into a drive and passed under a stone arch. They looked out the rear window and watched as a man closed and barred a large wooden gate behind them, then picked up a shotgun that was leaning against the wall.