Murder Is Come Again (19 page)

“No, Sir Reginald, just the one note for Mr. Pattle. It was left on the counter or we would have told the caller he had left. We were wondering if we should forward it to London.”

“I’ll take it for him. My footman will be going to London on business for me tomorrow. He’ll deliver it. Did you happen to see who left it?”

“I wasn’t on duty myself, but the clerk mentioned it was a young gentleman. Well built, in a decent jacket.” He withheld the magical phrase, a
good jacket,
which was reserved for real gentlemen. Prance appreciated the distinction.

“I wonder who that could be. Thank you.”

He took the letter, resisting the urge to tear it open and read it. He was afraid he couldn’t affix the seal properly so took it unopened along to Marine Parade with him. The other members of the Brigade were enjoying a game of cards when he arrived. Coffen was wearing his disguise to become accustomed to handling a gown.

Prance sketched a burlesque bow and said, “Good evening, Lady Carter.”

Coffen glared, gave a shove at the wig which was falling forward and said nothing.

“How was your dinner party, Reg?” Corinne asked.

“Delightful. Kind of you to ask. I’ve added a few items to your toilette, Lady Carter.” He handed Coffen the gloves, fan and reticule. Coffen cast a look of loathing on them and tossed them on the table. “The bag is not a thing of beauty, to be sure. I selected it for its size. Plenty big and strong enough to hold a pistol, you see.”

“Thankee, Reg. Kind of you I’m sure. Don’t feel obliged to pick up any more gewgaws for me. You’ll have me loaded down like a pack mule.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve saved the best for last,” Prance said, and handed him the letter. “I told them at the hotel that I’d see you got this. They were going to forward it to London. The fellow who dropped it off was described as a well-built young fellow in a decent jacket.”

“Cripps,” Coffen growled. The cards were abandoned. He ripped open the seal, read the note, scowled and passed it on to Luten.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Luten! Read it out loud,” Corinne urged.

“It says, ‘Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easy. Go back where you come from or you’ll be sorry.’ It’s not signed. Now who could it be from?”

“Cripps, of course,” Coffen said.

Prance shook his head and rolled his eyes ceilingward. “That was a rhetorical question, Coffen. I thought you would recognize one by now. I’m sure we all recognize a semi-literate note when we read it.” With a sly glance at Coffen he added, “Or most of us.”

Corinne took the note from Luten, read it again and frowned. “I hope
it will be the end of it when he thinks Coffen has left town.”

“It ain’t the end of it till it’s over!” Coffen said fiercely.

“No, of course it isn’t,” Luten said, to quiet him. “But it might be best to let him think so. You’re not forgetting our plan to ‘find’ the Czarina’s necklace, and lure Mad Jack out where we can get at him?”

“If he
is
Mad Jack,” Prance added. “At the moment that is still a theory. Not that I am denigrating your scheme, Luten. Even if he isn’t, we’ll still have done the world a good turn to rid it of the highwayman.”

“The devil take the highwayman,” Coffen grouched. “It’s Cripps I want to get my hands on.”

“I’m convinced they’re one and the same person,” Luten insisted. “You always suspect a coincidence, Coffen. Look at the coincidences here -- Cripps and Mad Jack both using the secret tunnel. Cripps spending money he doesn’t earn, both of them riding a black mount. His eagerness to get you out of your house. Why would he care about that, if it weren’t necessary to him? What use would Cripps have for it if he’s not Mad Jack?”

“He could be afraid we’ll find the necklace, but I daresay you’re right,” Coffen allowed. “What’s really bothering me is this dashed wig.”

“Take it off then,” Corinne said. “The blinds are drawn. Evans won’t let anyone in unannounced. Luten has spoken to him about that.”

Coffen pulled off the wig, tossed it on the table, scratched his head and said, “That’s more like it. I don’t know how you ladies can stand having so much hair. No wonder you’re all —” He caught a spark in Corinne’s eye and wisely stopped. He said in a completely different tone, “So what do we do tomorrow, Luten?”

“We go to Nile Street, spend a few hours ransacking the place under the guise of cleaning it up, and announce we have found the Czarina’s necklace. It doesn’t seem to be much of a secret that Bolger handled stolen jewels. He did his dealing at the open fish market, so finding the diamonds in his house will appear plausible. We ought to take some women along to actually do some cleaning. They can act as witnesses. In that manner word will be sure to get about town.”

“People will want to see the necklace,” Prance said. “The police, the press.”

“It will be stored in a bank vault for safety, until we have arranged its safe transfer to London. And have made a few arrangements of our own. We must discover where Mad Jack usually strikes.”

Black, who had been listening closely without speaking, said, “The Dyke Road. But I see your meaning. We must find out if he usually strikes from one particular spot. It’ll be somewhere that he can hide behind a hedge or barn or what not and come darting out to catch his victim unaware.”

“Yes, that’s how they usually get me,” said Coffen, who had more than once fallen victim to highwaymen.

“How far do you plan to go with this scheme of finding the necklace?” Prance asked Luten.

“Far enough to convince Mad Jack it’s genuine,” Luten replied.

“The reason I ask, I could get a paste necklace from Boo to put in the bank,” Prance suggested. “He has two that look pretty good, if you don’t use a loupe. He offered me the loan of one for Lady Carter. Boo mentioned his friends often borrow them to wear to a ball. I doubt a banker would know the difference.”

“A good idea, Reg,” Luten congratulated. “You haven’t told your friends why you’re borrowing these items, I trust?”

“No details at all,” Prance said. “We who dabble in theatricals are always borrowing from each other. And in any case my friends wouldn’t know a person like Cripps.” Luten nodded his satisfaction.

“We can use the fancy purple velvet box with the satin lining that I use to hold the few treasures I brought with me,” Corinne said. “It’s French, but at least it’s foreign-looking.”

“Would we have found the box, though?” Prance said.

“Why not?” Luten said. “An extravagant diamond necklace is not the sort of thing the duchess would have been wearing in her carriage when she was robbed. She was likely carrying it in its case. The more important matter is to let Cripps discover in some seemingly innocent manner when the necklace is to go to London.”

“Catchpole,” said Black, eager to do his bit. “Cripps would have told him by now that I work for Mr. Pattle, and that puts me in touch with the rest of you. That can account for knowing about taking it to London.”

“You’ll have to make it plausible why you’re sharing the information,” Luten said. “It’s not the sort of thing a man in our confidence would be discussing in a tavern.”

Black had worked his plan out while they talked. “I’ll look worried,” he said. “Catchpole will ask me what’s eating me. He already thinks I’m a crook so I’ll say I might be on to a good thing, but don’t see my way clear to making hay out of it. It won’t take Catchpole long to mention the necklace, not if he’s as wide-awake as I think he is. I’ll say, just between him and me and the bedpost, that I don’t have long to act for it’s leaving town in a day or two. I’ll be invited to a private spot for a little talk. Of course the name Cripps won’t cross his lips, but I figure I could mention Mad Jack without giving anything away.”

They all listened entranced. Prance said in his insinuating way, “One would almost think you’d done this sort of thing before, Black.”

“It’s no secret amongst us few that I wasn’t always the upstanding citizen I am today, Sir Reginald,” Black said with simple dignity.

Corinne and Coffen glared at Prance. Before an argument could arise, Luten said rather hurriedly, “Go on, Black.”

“As I was saying,” Black continued, “I won’t give way without some bartering. I’ll demand my cut. Cripps will have no intention of giving it to me, but it will make a reason for me telling what I know. I won’t offer up the time and route first thing. I’ll just be repining when first I mention it, and let Catchpole convince me to ferret out the secret. What do you think of that, Luten?”

Luten grinned. “I’m very glad you’re on our side, Black.”

Black glowed. Such crumbs of praise were sweeter to him than honey. “It’s an honour, Lord Luten.”

Coffen reached out, poked his elbow and said, “Good man. I don’t know what I ever did without you.”

“Here, here,” Corinne said, smiling to see her pet being praised.

“So tomorrow morning we take Lady Carter over to Nile Street and begin cleaning up the Augean stable,” Prance said.

“There’s no stable, Reg,” Coffen informed him. “It’s the house we’re talking about. But speaking of stables, we never did find out where Cripps stables his mount. It wouldn’t be at the tavern, or the constable would have seen it, but it likely isn’t too far away either.”

“A fine mount like he rides, he must exercize it on a regular basis,” Black said. “I’ll loiter about town and see if I can’t spot him. I’ll follow him and see where he stables it. I could do that tomorrow, while the rest of you are finding the necklace.”

“Good,” Luten said. “The more we know about our enemy, the better prepared we’ll be to catch him. You can borrow my mount for the day. I’ll speak to Mrs. Partridge about hiring a couple of women to help with the cleaning at Nile Street.”

Mrs. Partridge was called up, and once again proved helpful. “The Mercer sisters,” she said at once. “They usually do for summer folks. They won’t be too busy yet, and they’re grand workers. Mind you Betty isn’t too bright. She does the rough work, but Polly keeps an eye on her.”

“Will you speak to them and let me know? It will be only for a few days.”

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning. They’ll be in bed at this hour for they get up with the birds. Polly finds it’s the best time for gardening, before it gets too warm. They have a wonderful garden. I get all our greens there in the summer.”

“Thank you,” Luten said, and she left, after a smile at Mr. Pattle, who looked so strange in her dress, without his wig. She hurried belowstairs to share this latest development with her husband.

“It seems Mr. Pattle plans to keep the house, then,” he said, “or why clean it up?”

“There’s no telling with them, Partridge. I wager it’s Berkeley Brigade business. Why else is Mr. Pattle wearing my gown?”

“They’re a caution,” was Partridge’s only comment. Then he filled his pipe and settled in to read yesterday’s journal. He was always a day behind on the news when Luten was in residence. But that was rare enough that he couldn’t complain, since his lordship subscribed to the journal year round.

A time for meeting at Nile Street was settled on. Black had walked and Prance was happy for his company on the drive home. All this talk of Mad Jack had set his nerves on edge. As they neared the hotel, Black gave a lurch and said, “There, isn’t that Jasper?”

“Where?” Prance asked, and peered out the window. “Yes, it looks like him. I wonder if he’s meeting Cripps.”

“Or p’raps stopping at the hotel to see if Mr. Pattle’s note has been picked up.”

But Mr. Jasper walked past the hotel and as a quick look up and down the street showed no sign of Cripps, they alit at the doorway and Pelkey took the carriage
around to the stable.

“Should we follow Jasper?” Black suggested.

“Why bother? Coffen is safe tonight.” Prance wasn’t convinced that Luten was right about Cripps being Mad Jack. What about Willie Scraggs?

Was there any good reason why
he
couldn’t be the highwayman? He lived right at the Brithelmston, he was obviously sharp as a bodkin, and with access to France to sell those objects too fine for Bolger to dispose of. They entered the hotel without incident. The desk had no messages for Sir Reginald or Mr. Pattle.

“Where do I find the Mercer sisters, Mrs. Partridge?” Luten asked his housekeeper in the morning when they were preparing to go to Nile Street.

“They’ll be waiting for you at Mr. Pattle’s house, your lordship. I gave them the directions,” Mrs. Partridge informed him.

“We could have arranged a drive. I hope it’s not too far for them to walk.”

“They have a dog cart,” she told him. It was his thoughtfulness that endeared Lord Luten to her. How many fine lords would give a thought to how a cleaning woman got to her work?

Two prim women of middle years both wearing blue poke bonnets, blue cotton gowns protected by striped pinafores of a sturdy material sat in a dogcart in front of the house when they reached Nile Street. Brooms, mops, tin pails and dust rags, soap and bottles of cleaning liquids were piled in the box behind them.

Corinne joined them as they climbed down and began removing their gear. Miss Mercer was tall, thin, sharp-looking and dark haired with a mole on her chin. She was spokeswoman for the pair. She introduced herself and her sister, Miss Betty, who was short, stout and fair.

Corinne turned to Coffen and asked, “Well, what do you think of Coffen’s house, Lady Carter?”

“Not much,” Coffen said gruffly. “Can we go inside?”

“Certainly.” She turned to Miss Mercer. “I see you brought your own equipment with you.”

“We always do, your ladyship, and our own lye soap, beeswax and vinegar and so on,” Miss Mercer said. “No telling that old — that Mr. Bolger would have proper supplies.”

Luten joined them and greeted the workers. “Well, shall we go in and see what needs to be done?” He didn’t wait for a reply but unlocked the kitchen door and led them inside. Coffen immediately darted into the drawing room to get away from the women. He felt like a dashed fool, and his head was itching like the devil.

“Where would you like us to start, your ladyship?” Miss Mercer asked, looking around the kitchen. When her ladyship seemed undecided, Miss Mercer said, “Betty usually starts in the kitchen while I do the drawing room.” She lowered her voice and added, “Betty don’t care for working around fine things. She can’t do much harm in the kitchen.”