“No more so than I did you.” Mignon was unable to drag her eyes away from his bloodied coat. “You couldn’t help but think what you did. I should have told you the truth.”
The Baroness callously rifled through Lord Barrymore’s coat pockets. “It seems an odd moment for a proposal, Jessop, in front of all these witnesses.”
Lord Jeffries ignored this interruption. “I’ve had a special license burning a hole in my pocket for a week,” he murmured, drawing Mignon closer with his good arm. “My darling, we have got off to a wretched start. Shall we put all that behind us and get to know each other properly, perhaps on a cruise to the Aegean?”
Willie sighed. Dulcie rose to her feet. “In case you’re wondering, it’s an honorable alliance he’s offering you, child. The man adores you, though he has neglected to say so. Shockingly remiss in you, Jessop, though we must recall that you have been under no small strain.”
Mignon roused from her trance to glower at her aunt. “Do you,” she whispered, looking again into Ivor’s face, “truly care for me?”
The Viscount smiled. “Your freckles have become an obsession. I must count them, every one.”
This was all too much for Mignon. She burst into tears.
“Excellent,” said Lady Bligh, dangling an ornate key. “It is not every day that one can solve a series of crimes, dispose of an arch villain, and promote a love match, all in the space of one short hour.”
Chapter 30
They occupied the largest room in Bligh House, which was referred to by the Baron as the “Folly,” due to the fact that it was impossible to properly heat, and had been known by his more conventional ancestors as the “Great Hall.” Great it was, measuring almost one hundred and fifty feet in length, the walls hung with the first damask made in England, a Spitalfields silk with profuse floral patterns on a rich plum-red ground. The elaborate coved ceiling was patterned with octagons and diamonds, painted with figures by Angelica Kauffmann, picked out in blue and crimson. A deep cornice was decorated with landscapes and portrait panels; circular recesses held vases and busts. The huge doorways were of Italian Renaissance design; the windows were relieved with mirrors and panels in relief, worked in stucco duro polished to a marble effect; and the furniture included a set of crimson damask, a pale green and carved gilt set of Louis XIV petit point, and chairs covered in convent-worked needlepoint.
“It all began,” said Lady Bligh serenely, “or our part of it began, when Barrymore dined with Warwick two days before the murder and unintentionally paid his debt with forged banknotes. He realized the error too late, and when Tolly received a note from Warwick requesting a discussion of a very serious matter, he decided the man had to be silenced permanently.”
“The mix-up over the banknotes was Jesse’s fault,” offered Miss Montague, who looked extremely fetching in a gown of gossamer satin with festooned trimming, bordered with gold satin rouleaux. “And I am to blame for Tolly’s knowledge of Leda’s enmity with Warwick. I’m sorry! Gossip seemed a good way to keep his mind from other things. So they broke into her home and stole the weapon, and Charity shot him.”
The Baroness nodded, setting her lilac plumage gently a-tremble. She wore an extremely bold gown of lilac and silver, with a petticoat of silver tissue edged with fringe, and her rich copper curls were arranged in an artfully disheveled style. She looked, thought her niece irreverently, like an expensive courtesan.
“Dressed to look like Leda,” said Dulcie, “Charity shot Warwick. However, cold-blooded murder was not among Charity’s accomplishments, clever though she may have been. She panicked and fled without the forged notes. Everyone was in quite a tangle when the things disappeared. It’s no doubt lucky for Simpkin that no one guessed he’d appropriated them.” The Baroness rearranged herself in the chair, leaving no doubt that hers was not a body imprisoned in corsets or swathed with unnecessary garments. Mignon looked hastily away.
From the Ballroom issued music. “A gratifying turn-out,” murmured Lady Bligh, as she, too, gazed at the milling crowd. “A pity John refused to attend. I fear he is still angry about what he calls my ‘under-handedness.’ As if I hadn’t allowed Crump to be in on the kill.”
“Sir John will forgive you, I’m sure.” Mignon spoke absently, her attention riveted on a tall figure that made its way through the throng. Surreptitiously, she glanced at her reflection in a circular convex mirror, the hollow molding of the frame filled with gilt balls, the outer edge reeded and topped by a carved eagle.
“Don’t fidget, Mignon!” snapped her aunt, and then held out an amethyst-encrusted hand. “Jessop! And Leda. Well, Percy, I’m delighted you could attend.”
Though Lord Calvert looked anything but gratified, he executed a formal bow. “I’m told I have a great deal to thank you for. Abominable proceedings, but we must put a good face on it. Protect the family name and all that”
“Yes,” murmured Lady Bligh. “You have no choice but to acknowledge Leda now.”
Mignon observed Lord Calvert with interest—after all, she was to become a member of his family. Percy was a portly gentleman, whose high color indicated a tendency to overindulge in food and drink and whose florid features wore an expression of extreme disapproval. Beside him, Leda was an incongruous figure, her customary black enlivened by a striped turban of sheer gauze and velvet trimmed with aigrettes and feathers. At least, reflected Mignon, she would not have to worry about wounding the sensibilities of her mama-in-law.
“So you knew,” said Leda to her hostess, “that Barrymore was behind the crimes? It seems to me you let the thing drag out an unconscionable long time.”
“Let us say instead,” protested the Baroness, rather icily, “that I suspected, and my suspicions were confirmed by Brummell and Trouffant, as well as by my butler. Gibbon had Barrymore’s stickpin, you see, and I recognized it from a description I had read some time ago in the Hue and Cry. I might add that various items of interest to the authorities have been discovered in rooms at the Albany that Barrymore had taken under an assumed name. All the booty was found there, including the proceeds of the various robberies, and the things Mignon brought back from Mary Elphinstone’s.”
“You were aware of Barrymore’s nature, yet you let him court your niece.” Percy’s tone was severe, as was the glance he bestowed upon Mignon.
“Of course,” replied Dulcie, unperturbed. “What better way to keep him under my eye? Tolly was extremely enterprising, and more than clever. Had he not utilized less-than-brilliant accomplices, we might never have found out.”
“You knew Charity was his mistress?” asked Mignon, and then blushed. Well brought up young ladies should not know of such creatures, let alone speak of them. Lord Calvert frowned.
“I knew,” retorted the Baroness, “that she wasn’t a maidservant, and that she hadn’t been sent round by Fenton’s Agency, as she claimed. It was vastly diverting to watch her at her game.” She glanced at Leda. “It was Jesse, of course, who paid your way at Newgate, as it was Jesse who, on Tolly’s instructions, sent you incriminating notes. Once you were implicated, it was child’s play to keep the finger of suspicion pointed at you and away from them.”
“And a damned good job of it they did!” With dismay, Lord Calvert watched the approach of Crump. Lady Bligh performed introductions. “I believe you thought I was guilty, Percy,” Leda said.
Lord Calvert turned crimson, and Dulcie intervened. “Crump! What of those threads?”
“Found at the scene of the crime at White’s,” explained the Runner to his confused companions. He was in an expansive frame of mind, inspired by a staggering amassment of rewards, and not only from the government. “They matched one of Barrymore’s waistcoats right enough. It was he who stole the silver plate.” His own waistcoat was a fanciful creation of purple brocade. “And you were right about Saint-Cyr. He was transported, for theft, and had only recently returned to the country before he made the acquaintance of Miss Montague. She must have seemed a godsend. I don’t
know how you figured that, Baroness.”
“It was you!” gasped Mignon. “The horseman I saw that night. I thought you were drunk.”
“Aye, miss.” Crump saw no reason to explain that his appearance had not been due to overindulgence in the grape but to a vast ineptitude with the reins; or that, had not the wretched beast taken the bit between its teeth, he would have arrived much earlier on the scene. “I still don’t understand, Baroness, why you allowed your niece to become so heavily implicated, even letting her risk her neck.”
“That is a question,” remarked Ivor, “that has also occurred to me, Lady Bligh. You failed to inform me that Mignon was to be placed in so dangerous a situation, when you put forth your plan.”
“What plan?” inquired Mignon. “Heavens! Did you let yourself be taken captive?”
Ruefully, Ivor regarded his wounded arm, which rested in a sling. “It had to look authentic— although I did not expect that the ruffians would get so carried away. But that’s not all, I fear.”
“What else?” Mignon demanded, her suspicions growing apace with the sheepish expression that spread across the Viscount’s handsome face.
“Calm yourself, Mignon,” advised her aunt. “I merely made use of the material at hand. Ironic, isn’t it, that only Jessop should have come to question your innocence, as the villains intended? And fortunate that he brought his suspicions to me! Once Jessop had learned the truth of those banknotes from Sir John, I had no choice but to take him into my confidence lest he go roaring about like a bull in a china shop, ruining all my plans.”
Miss Montague’s freckled features were indicative of mingled indignation and a wrath so profound that it left her speechless. The Baroness leaned forward to pinch her niece’s cheek. “Jessop did apologize for his misinterpretation of your character, albeit a bit later than he wished. After all, you would have been likely to consign your actor to blazes had you known that Ivor knew the truth and didn’t blame you for it, and that I had no intention of allowing the brute to vilify your reputation. Heaven only knows what Jesse would have done then! As to the other, we could hardly take time that night to see you safely home. Our purpose was to catch the villains red-handed, not give them the opportunity to flee.”
Mignon closed her lips against angry words. If not for her folly, none of them would have come into contact with Jesse or Charity or Lord Barrymore. “Little did I suspect,” mused the Baroness, “what excitement would ensue when I invited you to Town.”
“How did you know of my association with Jesse? At least you might tell me that.”
“So I might,” said Lady Bligh, “though by now you should have realized. Maurice may be a pompous ass, but he is sincerely concerned with your welfare. He wrote and begged that I should have you come to me, giving me a sketchy outline of the reasoning behind his request. I suspected your suitor would follow you with all due haste, but it wasn’t till I set eyes on Jesse that I realized the suitor could only be he.” Delicately, she adjusted the low-cut bodice of her dress. “I might add that Maurice never seriously meant to elope with the mysterious Mrs. Harrington-Smythe. Your brother knew you were in some sort of difficulty, Mignon, and suspected that she mysterious ladylove might somehow be involved. On the evening of my gala he took the opportunity to follow her home from the theatre and was no little bit surprised when she led him here. Poor Maurice! I fear he had no opportunity to distinguish himself. Lest he complicate matters even further, I switched dinner plates with him. On the fateful night, Maurice only got as far as the stables before the drug took hold. He snored till dawn in a horse stall.”
Crump rocked back on his heels. “If you don’t mind, Baroness, there are a couple of things I’d like to know. For one, that handkerchief.”
Lady Bligh raised an elegant eyebrow. “You must learn, dear Crump, when a clue is not a clue! That item has absolutely no bearing on the matter, belonging to none other than the Regent. Perhaps you might like to return it to him?”
Crump gazed at that stout gentleman, staggering in State attire, and thought he would not. He glanced at Leda. “One other thing. Just what is the source of those funds of yours?”
“Precisely what I told you,” retorted Leda. “Percy has subsidized me all these years.”
“Why?” demanded the Runner. The Viscount looked thoughtful and his uncle, embarrassed.
“Tsk, Crump!” reproved Dulcie. “A lady must retain some secrets, particularly in regard to her indiscretions. It has little bearing on the case.”
“An actor.” Casting about for diversion, Lord Calvert fixed upon Mignon. “I cannot think, nephew, that your young lady is quite the thing.”
“Nephew,” stressed the Baroness, before Ivor could voice an indignant retort. “That is the key word, I believe. There is an old adage, Calvert, suggesting that people who live in glass houses should refrain from throwing stones.”
Percy’s flushed features had turned ashen. He looked accusingly at Leda. “You told her?”
“I told no one,” retorted Leda. Ivor looked stunned. “Save Mary Elphinstone, and that was a confession for which I dearly paid. For years the wretch blackmailed me.”
“That will teach you,” Lady Bligh said severely, “the dangers of drowning one’s sorrows.” Crump followed the odd conversation with bewilderment. Could it be that Viscount Jeffries was not Lord Calvert’s nephew, but his son?
Mignon, who had come to a similar conclusion, took pity on Percy’s distress. “So you went to Jesse’s apartments,” she murmured to Dulcie, “hoping to catch them all with their misgotten gains. I don’t understand why they had to kill Mary Elphinstone.”
“They didn’t have to,” said Dulcie. “I fancy Barrymore enjoyed murder for its own sake. They had rifled Leda’s lodgings, you will recall, and doubtless found among her papers some reference to Mary Elphinstone. I imagine it seemed to Tolly a perfect opportunity to have Leda appear guilty of Mary’s murder in case she somehow cleared herself of Warwick’s death. Consequently, the footprints around the well, made by Leda’s shoes, which I imagine Charity wore.”
“She did.” Mignon remembered the day she’d seen the maidservant limping. “I suppose the jewels were left there for Bow Street to find, thereby implicating Leda in the robberies?”
“Yes.” The Baroness favored Crump with a severe look. “Bow Street overlooked a great deal. Zoe was killed because she refused to disprove Ivor’s alibis. It was Charity, incidentally, who released the truth of Ivor’s relationship with Leda to the newspapers. You will recall, Jessop, that I tried to prevent your untimely confession. Charity made a practice of listening at keyholes.”
“It seems to me, Baroness,” Crump said testily, “that you could have prevented a great deal of this!”
“Proof, Crump, proof. One cannot proceed on mere conjecture. And Mignon, given the opportunity, displayed considerable spirit.”
Leda cackled. “I told you, girl, that your aunt would have plans for you.” She squinted at the milling crowd, and then raised her voice. “Willie!” Lord Calvert winced.
Willie fluttered up to them and saluted Dulcie’s hand. “I have a present for you, Lady Bligh! A token of my appreciation.” He dropped a rather untidy package into her lap
“I do adore surprises!” said the Baroness, with an odd glance at the doorway. “I take it you’ve had a successful interview with Kean?”
“I have.” Willie was blissful. “He has agreed to replace Jesse, though at a staggering price. Alas, that so noble a figure should nevermore tread the boards! Such are the workings of Fate, I suppose.”
“A noble figure, indeed,” mocked Dulcie, her slender fingers busy untying knots. “Had not Jesse had so great an urge to triumph on the stage, you would have been killed after forging those banknotes. Tolly was not one to leave potentially dangerous tools lying idly around.” Her voice was very stern. “Don’t you think it time you explained those abraded knuckles of yours?”
Willie looked wounded. “Never had I thought to see so
many aspersions cast upon my character!” He spread his hands and flexed his fingers, looking remarkably like a bird preparing for flight. “I suppose it makes no difference now to admit that there were not one but two attempts made on my life. Hired thugs, no doubt. They could not be expected to know that a journalist early learns a certain nimbleness of foot and manual expertise. Though I may be slight of stature, I am not less handy with my fists than with my pen.”
Leda snorted. “Does this successful play mean that you will no longer wield that pen in my behalf, Willie? Has the world seen the last of the Bystander?”
“Why, Leda!” Willie raised his monocle, this one on a black velvet ribbon and set in gold. “Do you mean to continue with your career? I had thought you might retire from the profession now that your circumstances have so drastically changed.”
“Retire?” Leda was offended. “Never! I would never consider such a thing.” Lord Calvert uttered a sound remarkably like a moan.
“Pardon,” said Ivor, and took Mignon’s hand. She gazed up at him. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“Yes,” replied his mother calmly, “though I quite forgot to tell you in the fuss. Your uncle and I have decided at last to, er, legalize our relationship.”
“Better late than never. It will save no end of legal fuss.” Lady Bligh rose gracefully to her feet. She looked at the Runner. “You will find Gibbon presiding over the refreshments. Crump. I suggest you owe him an apology.”
What Crump owed Gibbon was a tongue-lashing, and he was not at all averse to delivering it. Reflecting that Lord Calvert did not appear particularly thrilled at the prospect of matrimony, he wandered into the anteroom.
“In that case,” mused Willie, “I believe the Bystander will write an article lauding the detective abilities of Lady Bligh. It will be a masterpiece of pithy acumen, though it will not show the authorities in a particularly favorable light. All I require now is an appropriate headline.” But he had lost his audience. Willie craned his neck to gawk at the doorway, as had everyone else in the huge room.
Maggie MacKeever Page 23
