[MaC] At the party - Richard, Marty, Nicola, the Skeffington-Nottles

[Katie Fulton]

Marty Fitzroy was hovering - a difficult thing for a
man of his bulk to manage successfully.  It was clear
that the focus of his attention was Miss Nicola
Douglas, who he was watching almost greedily. At
Richard's approach he nodded, as though distracted by
other things and then - as though struck by a
brilliant idea - he said, "Have you met Miss
Douglas yet?  Miss Nicola Douglas?  Would you like me
to introduce you?"

"Of course, of course..." He offered his hand, and a
slightly crooked smile to Miss Douglas. "Charmed,
really."

"Well, the pleasure is all =mine=, Lord Richard,"
Nicola said with a sultry smile. "Such a shame that we
haven't been properly introduced yet.

Richard continued, "But I'm afraid, old boy, your wine
steward is being tugged away for a moment. Something
about the elevator shaft, trapped guests, you know how
it is. Probably got shook in the last raid."

"Oh, no, the poor dears," Nicola said, putting on a
sympathetic face. "I do hope Hodges can work some
magic or else we may have to move the entire party
downstairs!"

A lady, Nicola had been told, never is the first to
rush to the scene of a fire. She therefore would have
to be satisfied with silently counting heads. Nobody
on the fifth floor would be in the lift, so that meant
the Beamans were out of harm's way. She had personally
seen Marjorie, Mr. Davis from the third floor,
Countess Arabella (which meant Lady Pamela was not in
the lift as those two were practically joined at the
hip), the Skeffington-Nottles, Officer Worthington
and-

Suddenly, realization hit. She had seen Mrs. Evans
leaving her flat just before she started tredging up
the stairs, but the older woman had still not arrived
at the party, when it had been at least twenty minutes
since Nicola had seen her.

It took a very quick and unladylike sip of gin to keep
her giant grin hidden from view.

"I'm certain Hodges will make everything right." Richard took a sip of his
own drink. "Struck me as a terribly competent fellow, and even if he is
pouring, I don't think he's sampling. Nothing worse than a drunk steward,
trust me." He laughed to himself. "Reminds me of Christmas three years ago,
back home..."