Previously: Man in the Red Underwear is a pastiche of prose and poetry with hints of parody and a dash of social satire on gender roles and class mores. Cecelia throws her annual society ball, where former lovers Andy and Bedelia meet. Andy and friends try to stop villain Malcolm Tent. Bedelia vows to capture the Man in the Red Underwear.
“Oh good. The orchestra has arrived,” Cecelia announced to her guests in the ballroom.
“Do you have anything decent to eat around here?” a lone voice echoed through the crowd. I’m starving.”
Cecelia decided to ignore it. “It’s a wonderful new group. It can play any music in the world.” She entered the library beaming. “Come, everyone, the orchestra has arrived. To the ballroom.”
She circled the room herding Andy, Millicent and Eddie out to the ballroom. Tent, however, closed the door and turned to focus on Cecelia.
“Lady Snob-Johnson,” he announced menacingly.
“Yes?”
“I wish to talk to your daughter.”
“What about?” She arched her brows which, by the way, sported perfectly applied eye liner.
“You ask too many questions,” he growled.
“And you will ask my daughter none at all,” she snapped back.
“You seem to forget I have ways to bend you to my will.” Tent took a couple of steps toward her.
Cecelia turned away, going nowhere in particular. “You can’t intimidate me with my canapés. My guests have already refused to eat them.”
“I have other, even more powerful, ways to persuade you.”
This threat intrigued her. She looked over her shoulder. “You do?”
“You seem to have taken a special indecorous interest in Mr. Billy Doggerel.”
“I don’t care if you tell the world I think I love that sexual animal. I don’t care.”
“Ah, you miss my meaning.” He walked near enough to whisper in her ear. “I don’t intend to blackmail you. I intend to bribe you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Simply this. If you send your daughter in here, alone, to be interrogated about her knowledge of the Man in the Red Underwear, I will order Billy Doggerel to spend the evening with you, to do anything you wish.”
Cecelia stepped away again. “Do you think I’d sacrifice the safety of my daughter for the chance of only one night of animal passion with that glorious male creature? Never!”
“Very well. The whole weekend.” Tent displayed a snide, crooked smile.
“Beginning Friday night at dusk?”
“If that is your wish.” He nodded in agreement.
Cecelia tried to hold her labored breathing in check. “And he won’t bathe until I have a chance to cleanse him?”
“It goes without saying,” he replied smugly.
Cecelia went to the door, opened it and whistled. “Millicent! Get in here!” She smiled and curtsied. “Chief inspector.”
Millicent passed her mother, giving her a quizzical look. When no explanation was forthcoming she entered the library, very miffed because the orchestra was playing a new music from America which involved a crystal globe twirling above the dancers.
“Did you want to see me, chief inspector?”
“Yes, I did. Close the door.”
She did not think much of the inspector’s request because the music was rather loud, and she imagined the twinkling from the mirrored ball was probably giving the old geezer a headache. “What about?”
“The Man in the Red Underwear.”
“The Man in the Red Underwear!” Her hand went impulsively to her lips. Slowly she let it drop as she stared straight ahead. “I never even heard the name before.”
“I think otherwise. And I will make you tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I have the means.” Tent pulled a letter from his pocket.
“How could you be so mean?”
“It’s quite easy, actually.” He smiled and shrugged.
Pointing at the letter, Millicent asked, “How did you get a hold of that?”
“When you hand Prince Edward a love letter on the streets of Soho and tell him to put it in his shirt pocket so he can read it later, you must remember he forgets to wear a shirt. The letter then drops to the street where it can be picked up by anyone.”
“Billy Doggerel!”
“Yes, Billy Doggerel.” Tent slapped his trousers with the letter. “My associate has many duties, one of them is to watch the streets of Soho for any unusual occurrences.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the contents of that letter.” She tried valiantly to dismiss the significance of her correspondence with Prince Eddie.
“Oh, you think not? Let me read a bit of it to you.” He opened the letter with a flourish, cleared his voice and began to quote. “See Millicent. See, see, see. See Millicent take her clothes off. Strip. Strip. Strip. See Millicent—“
“All right. All right. It isn’t Shakespeare, but I had to make it simple enough for Eddie to get the idea!” She paused to compose herself. “What do you plan to do with it?”
Tent took three steps forward. “Why, nothing at all—if you tell me who the Man in the Red Underwear is!”
Millicent took three steps backwards. “I know nothing!”
“We’ll discover how much you know when Queen Victoria reads this letter.” There. He placed all the details of his blackmail scheme on the table. Figuratively, of course, because there was no table in the library.
“The Queen won’t mind. She approves of me.” Again she tried to bluff her way out of a sticky wicket.
Tent laughed in derision. “I disagree. They don’t call this the Victorian Age for nothing!”