Lucasta (13 page)

The familiar warmth of the tavern welcomed Dick Miesel as he entered the Raven, enveloping him with a smoky cloud in which the smell of sweat, tobacco, meat and onions mingled. He nodded at the landlord and made his way to his usual seat at the long table.

‘There’s a gennleman bin askin’ after you.’

Miesel stopped and looked back at the landlord, suddenly alert.

‘Oh? What sort of gentleman?’

The man shrugged, wiping his hands on his greasy apron.

‘The foreign sort, I’d say.’ He nodded. ‘Over there, sittin’ by the fire. Came in an hour since and said he’d wait for you.’

Miesel looked across the room. The poor light made it difficult to see across the smoky room but he could make out a greatcoated figure hunched over a small table near the fire. The lighted lamp on the mantelpiece threw the shadow from the wide brim of his hat across his face. On the table before him stood a wine bottle and a half-empty glass. Miesel hesitated.

‘A foreigner, you say?’

His host sniffed.

‘Aye, one o’ they damned Frenchies, I don’t doubt.’

Miesel looked again and, intrigued, made his way across the room until he was standing before the huddled figure.

‘I am told you have been asking after me.’

The man raised his head. His hat still shadowed the upper portion of his face but Miesel could now see that his lean cheeks were dark with a few days’ growth of beard.

‘You are Miesel?’

The low voice was heavily accented.

‘I am
Mister
Miesel. What do you want with me?’

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded newssheet. He held it out. Miesel took the paper and moved closer to the lamp to read it. After several moments he bent a frowning look upon the stranger.

‘Well? That is nothing to do with me.’

‘
Vraiment
, m’sieur
, I think it has everything to do with you.’

Miesel glanced back at the newspaper.

‘Tall, dark, thirtyish—’ His eyes narrowed. ‘
You
are the man seen on Hansford Common?’

‘Per’aps.’

‘Well, man?’ He pulled up a chair and leaned closer. ‘What did you see?’

The stranger did not move and after a few moments Miesel said, ‘Perhaps we should discuss this over a jug of porter.’

The thin lip curled.

‘As you wish,
m’sieur
.’

Miesel beckoned the serving maid over and barked out his instructions. Almost immediately a large jug and two horn cups were set down before him. He looked around, making sure there was no one close enough to hear them. Satisfied, he picked up the jug.

‘Will you take a cup of ale with me, sir?’

‘Thank you, no. I prefer the wine.’

‘As you please. But if we are to continue I want to know your name, and your country – where do you hail from, France?’

‘Aye, from the south, where there are warm winds and dry days.’

‘And your name, sir?’

‘Is it necessary?’

Miesel’s thin, pointed face took on a stubborn look.

‘Aye, I think so.’

The man shrugged.

‘I am Alphonse Fôret. I am in your country to discuss the art of pot-making. Having concluded my business I visited friends in Worcestershire before setting out again for London. It was then that I met with an – ah – adventure most exciting.’

Miesel poured himself a generous cupful of the strong dark ale and drank it down. Refreshed, he sat back and regarded the shadowy figure.

‘I wish you’d take off that damn’d hat.’

A smile was the only response.

‘So, then, are you going to describe this adventure?’

‘It was a Friday, was it not? A cold day, but not raining, I think, which is a pleasant change in this country. I was crossing the, ah, how do you say it? crossing the heather in the afternoon.’

‘You refer to Hansford Common?’

‘Ah, yes, the common, that is it. The country on the north side is very flat, is it not? But there are bushes and low trees, plenty of cover to hide footpads – or a
cavalier
.’

Miesel sat very still.

‘Go on.’

‘I had been riding for some time and it was necessary for
me to – ah – make relief. Not knowing the road, I would not risk being caught with my breeches open so I rode a way from the main path into the seclusion of the trees. I was soon thankful for my precautions, for a yellow carriage came along.’

He paused and it was all Miesel could do to sit passively while the stranger refilled his wineglass.

‘Alas for my composure, the carriage, she stopped.
Eh bien
, M’sieur Miesel, I have the choice: do I mount my horse and ride out from the bushes, or do I remain hidden and hope the carriage drives on again very soon. I decided to wait. Now,
m’sieur
, it becomes interesting. I hear a shot. When I look out again the driver of the carriage,
voilà
, he is lying dead on the road.’

Miesel swallowed and licked his dry lips.

‘And did you see the footpads?’

‘Alas, no.’

‘Well that is no matter. You must know that they have arrested the murderer.’

The shadowed face was lightened by a sudden grin.

‘An English lord? I believe your justice is no better than ours,
m’sieur
: he will not be convicted, even if he is guilty. But I think they would find my evidence most interesting. You see, after hearing the shot, I saw the incident most
curious
.’ The man leaned forward. Miesel could not see his eyes, but he could feel them boring into him. ‘There was a
manservant
in the carriage and, as I looked out, I saw this servant placing a pistol in the dead man’s hand.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Oh but I assure you,
m’sieur
, it is what I saw, and I think this Samuel Loughton would be very interested to hear this,
non
?’

‘So why have you come here, why not go to Bow Street?’

The man sat back, irritatingly at his ease.

‘Well, now, you see, I am a traveller in your country: I am on my way back to France. I have no wish to become involved in your petty crimes. After all, our two countries are forever at war,
non
?’ What is it to me if one more Englishman is dead?’

A sly grin split Miesel’s lean countenance.

‘Aye,
m’sieur
. You have the right of it. Why should you bother yourself with our concerns? It can only lead to
trouble
, you being a Frenchie and all.’

‘
Oui
.’ The man pointed to the newspaper. ‘Only now I cannot ignore it, for it appears that I was seen.’

‘But you have said yourself,
m’sieur
, that you are on your way home. There is no need for you to become involved in this little matter.’

‘Ah, I wish that I could believe you, M’sieur Miesel, but – if there is a witness to my being there, I must clear my name. If I return to France then, who knows? It may be thought that I was the killer.’

‘Ah,’ said Miesel, smiling, ‘but you would be safe over the water by then, would you not?’

‘And yet I have my good name to think of.’ Monsieur Fôret sat back, one hand resting on the table and his long fingers drumming on the wooden surface. ‘I am a businessman,
m’sieur
.’

‘Now I understand you. What is your price?’

‘There are reports that a fine necklace went missing.’

‘There are many reports,
m’sieur
. One should not believe all one hears.’

‘Of a certainty,
m’sieur
, one should rather believe the evidence of one’s own eyes.’

There was a long silence. The Frenchman gave a soft laugh and leaned forward.

‘Come now, we both know it would be impossible to sell the necklace in this country for many months, and the longer you keep it the greater the danger. Give it to me: I will make my escape and leave a trail that cannot be missed. It will be believed that I am the murderer and you will be free of all suspicion.’ He poured the rest of the wine into his glass. ‘You will then be free to sell off the rest of your master’s trinkets.’

Miesel stared at him.

‘By God, how much do you know?’

Monsieur Fôret lifted his head and for a moment the lamplight glinted in his cold eyes.

‘Enough to hang you,
Mister
Miesel.
Eh bien
, do we have the bargain?’

Never had the hours passed so slowly for Lucasta. A nervous excitement disturbed her sleep and she was relieved when morning came and she could leave her bed. When she told her mama that she was driving out with the duchess the news was met with no more than a fatalistic shrug while Camilla was more interested in deciding which of the posies that had been delivered from her admirers she should wear to the ball that evening. Lucasta looked at the colourful little bunches spread out on the table.

‘Is there one from Lord Kennington?’ she asked.

‘No, but he told me last night that he will not be
attending
.’

‘No doubt you are relieved,’ muttered Lucasta drily. ‘You are always so cold to him.’

Camilla tossed her head, making her golden curls dance.

‘Adam understands. He has told me he will not pay his addresses until his name has been cleared.’ Her hand hovered over the flowers. ‘They are all so pretty and yet I think I shall wear … these.’ She picked up a delicate bundle of blue and white flowers. ‘They will match my dress
beautifully
. How clever of Sir Hilary.’

‘Very clever,’ laughed her mama, ‘when you were anxious
to describe your gown to him in so much detail the other evening!’

As Lady Symonds sailed out of the room Lucasta looked at her sister.

‘Camilla, do pray be serious for a moment and tell me truly what you feel for Adam. If – if your feelings towards him have changed, would it not be kinder to tell him now, than to let him go on hoping?’

‘Oh, Sister, my feelings have not changed at all, and once he is free of all this scandal I shall be delighted to become engaged to him.’ She began to dance about the room. ‘Just think, Lucasta. I shall be a viscountess!’

‘Yes, but do you love him?’

‘Lord, Sister, of course I do!’ She stopped dancing. ‘Because I go out to parties every night does not mean I do not care what happens to Adam. I feel quite sad every time I think of him, but I know he does not want me to sit at home pining for him. Now I must go and stand these flowers in a bowl of water, or they will be dreadfully wilted by tonight.’

‘Well, Your Grace, what can you tell me of this new witness?’

Lucasta had struggled to maintain a calm silence while the footman handed her into the carriage and carefully spread the rug across her knees, but as soon as they were trotting out of Sophia Street she could contain herself no longer.

‘I know nothing of him, my dear, save what is written in the notice that was sent to the newspapers.’

Lucasta’s eyes narrowed: she knew enough of the duchess to be wary of that mischievous smile.

‘The report said he was seen on the Common at the time of the murder. How is that known?’ she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘
Does he even exist
?’

The duchess’s smile grew.

‘How suspicious you are, my child. He must surely exist, since he was seen on Hansford Common. I think you should put up your parasol: the sun is particularly hot today.’

Lucasta did as she was bid, but immediately returned to the subject, saying quietly, ‘Is this perhaps a result of Mr Loughton’s investigations?’

The duchess gave a peal of merry laughter.

‘Heavens, no. Mr Loughton was not at all pleased that I had used his name in the notice, but he has promised that he will not deny this report, should anyone question him about it. After all, as he so wisely said to me, “What is there to deny, it merely asks anyone with information to bring it to me at Bow Street and that is just what they should do, whether it is about a – er – foreign gentleman or anyone else”. Really, I was quite impressed with him.’

‘But if there is such a person, he may well have seen who attacked Sir Talbot: he would know that it was not Adam.’

‘He would most assuredly know that Adam is innocent.’

Lucasta looked at the duchess, frowning a little. ‘Is that why Lord Kennington is gone out of Town?’

The duchess opened her eyes at her.

‘
Has
my godson left Town?’

Lucasta waved an impatient hand.

‘There is no need to deny it, ma’am: he told me as much at the play the other night. Where has he gone, Your Grace? Is he hunting down this new witness? Is he gone to Hansford, perhaps?’

‘Hush, Lucasta. Let us not speculate any further upon this matter. Be assured that when there is some news, some real news, I shall tell you of it.’

With this promise Lucasta had to be content, although she
found it hard to settle to anything for the rest of the day, and was glad when the time came to prepare for the evening’s entertainment.

‘Really Lucasta, you seem very eager to go out,’ remarked Lady Symonds, as they went upstairs together. ‘All this talk of your not wishing to go abroad, I knew it was all nonsense. You are not so very different from your sister: I knew you would come to enjoy yourself if you only put in a little effort.’

Lucasta shook her head, laughing, but she did not disagree. She wanted to attend all the balls and evening parties with her sister, eager to hear what was being said about Adam, however painful it might be. By forcing herself to go into society, she found that she had gradually overcome most of the awkwardness she felt on such occasions. In
addition
to this, most of the new acquaintances she met were so dazzled by Camilla that she no longer had the impression of being weighed up and assessed. If only Adam had been free of suspicion she thought she might even have enjoyed herself. As Lucasta accompanied her mother and sister into yet another ballroom, the knowledge that Adam would not be present doused her in a wave of disappointment. Camilla laughed, danced and flirted in her usual manner. If anything, she seemed even more vivacious, thought Lucasta: as if she was relieved that the viscount’s disturbing presence had been removed.

Lucasta found the evening even more trying than usual, for all the talk was of the new witness. It seemed that the notice had been placed in every newspaper. Even Camilla was obliged to listen to comment upon it, for Lucasta heard Sir Hilary Collingham discussing the latest development as he escorted Camilla back to her party after a particularly energetic bourée.

‘A reliable witness is the very thing,’ he remarked, his
round, boyish face glowing with the exercise of the dance. ‘Kennington will be very glad to have that. I hope they track the fellow down as soon as maybe, then we can bring this sorry business to a close.’

‘You believe the viscount to be innocent, Sir Hilary?’ asked Lucasta, warming to the young man.

‘Indeed I do, Miss Symonds. I’ve known the viscount for years, never known him do an ungentlemanly thing.’

‘But the evidence,’ sighed Camilla.

‘Damn the evidence – begging your pardon, ladies,’ exclaimed Sir Hilary. ‘Even if I saw Kennington do such a thing with my own eyes I should still think there must be some reason for it. A man don’t change, Miss Symonds, and that’s a fact.’

Sir Hilary’s words cheered Lucasta and it was in a sunnier mood that she joined her mother and sister at the breakfast table the following morning. However, she could persuade neither of them to stir out of the house before noon to
accompany
her to the circulating library, so she left them yawning over their coffee cups and set off with only her maid for company. She was crossing Hanover Square when she saw Jacob Potts watching her from the corner of one of the streets. She hailed him cheerfully and stopped to wait for him to come up to her.

‘Good day to you, Mr Potts. How is your leg today?’

‘It’s healing nicely, miss, I thank you. I hardly limp at all now, you will notice.’

‘I do, sir, and wonder that you do not look more happy about it.’ She hesitated. ‘I am on my way to Bond Street: will you not give me your company? Hannah will drop behind.’ She smiled at the maid who gave her a speculative look.

‘I ain’t sure the mistress would like that, miss.’

Lucasta’s lips twitched, knowing Hannah was calculating how much her silence was worth.

‘Well, we will discuss it with Lady Symonds when we get back,’ she said pleasantly, the steely look in her eye making it quite clear that there was no possibility of bribes on this occasion. She walked on, slowing her pace a little to
accommodate
Jacob’s dragging step.

‘So, Mr Potts, I thought you would have gone out of Town with Lord Kennington.’

‘Aye, miss, that’s what I would’ve thought, too,’ grumbled the groom. ‘But I’m to stay, to make it look as if his lordship is skulking in Filwood House.’

‘But surely the general’s men who are watching the house will grow suspicious if they do not see the viscount himself.’

‘Ah, but they
do
see him.’ Potts allowed himself a little smile. He glanced about to make sure there was no one within earshot. ‘The watchers do see him, miss. Every so often the duchess has one of her trusted lackeys put on Lord Kennington’s coat and parade in front of the window.’

‘Good heavens!’

‘Aye, fooled ’em proper, she has, for his lordship slipped out yesterday and is now heaven knows where and mayhap getting himself into all sorts of bother without me.’ His mouth worked as if he was gathering himself up to spit, then he thought better of his company and merely sighed.

Lucasta’s lips twitched as his despondency and she said in a bracing tone, ‘The duchess and Lord Kennington know what they are about and I am sure they will tell us in good time. But tell me, have you visited Milk Street recently? Is the cheesemonger flourishing?’

It was a lucky shot: Jacob straightened himself.

‘Aye, it happens that I have been buying a fair bit o’ cheese recently. As a matter o’ fact, I was there yesterday.’

‘And how is Mistress Jessop?’ Lucasta observed his
suspicious
look and added hastily, ‘I greatly admire her, a woman alone, running a business.’

‘She has a fine head on her shoulders,’ agreed Jacob.

And a fine pair of shoulders
, Lucasta added silently, remembering the ease with which the widow had moved the great cheeses. She dragged her thoughts back to more
serious
matters.

‘But are you not afraid that you will be discovered? Would it not look suspicious if you were seen so close to Miesel’s lodgings?’

‘Lord love you, those watching Filwood House don’t know I’m gone, and the ones keepin’ an eye on Miesel haven’t got the sense to look at anyone else! I changes me coat, puts on a hat and winds a muffler around me neck and they
wouldn
’t recognize me from Adam. In fact,’ he scowled suddenly, ‘I didn’t see anyone watching Miesel at all yesterday, and I was there for most o’ the day.’

‘All that time buying cheese?’ murmured Lucasta at her most innocent.

‘One of the windows in the back room was broken and I fixed it, that’s all.’

‘Yes, of course you did,’ she said, a laugh trembling in her voice. ‘Any gentleman would do the same. Pray do not mind me, Mr Potts. Do carry on.’

His reproving look almost overset her gravity, but she averted her eyes, staring hard at the pavement until he continued.

‘Well, anyway, as I was saying I was in Milk Street most o’ the day, and saw no one hanging around outside at all. So when Miesel takes himself off to the Raven for his dinner I follows him. No one knows who I am, o’ course, but having been in the tavern on a couple of occasions no one takes any
notice o’ me, now, so I takes a flagon of porter and sits meself down quietly in one corner, watching Miesel. Well, blow me if he doesn’t eat up his dinner then announces that he’s off. An appointment, he says. That made me sit up a bit, and I took meself out into the street before he had settled up, so it didn’t look like I was following him. Then I hung around on the corner until he came out.’

‘And where did he go?’

‘Whitechapel, miss. Very shady place. It wouldn’t be too strong to say it was in the rookeries.’

‘And you followed him there? Oh Jacob, what if he had seen you?’

‘No need to look so grim, miss; there wasn’t no danger of that. It was drizzling and Miesel had his head down so he wasn’t paying attention. But since I could see no one else keeping an eye on our friend I thought it might prove useful.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘I followed him to this low tavern. There he gets into conversation with a group of pretty ugly characters. I daren’t get too close, but they looked very much as if they were up to no good, so I keeps me ears pinned and stays in the corner with a flash o’ lightning (that’d be gin to you). Then Miesel gets up to go, and I hear him say, quiet-like, “Do not forget, Finsbury Fields tomorrow – eight o’clock”.’

‘Heavens! And did you tell Lord Kennington about this?’

‘Didn’t have a chance, miss. He’s been gone for a couple of days.’

‘The duchess, then.’

‘Well, I was going to, then I thought p’raps I should tell this Mr Loughton, so when he came round to check up on us all I mentioned it to him, and gets ticked off for me pains! He objected to my giving his men the slip.’

‘But
did
he listen to you: is he going to have Miesel followed?’

Jacob aimed a kick at a stone on the flagway.

‘He tells me that his men knows their business, which was to tell me to mind my own, if you ask me.’

‘But we know that Miesel is a villain.’

‘Aye,’ he retorted gloomily. ‘And he’s up to more mischief, you mark my words.’

Lucasta fixed him with a steady, determined gaze.

‘Then we must find out what it is, Jacob!’