Mairelon the Magician
Page 17
“Burgle Bramingham Place?” Hunch said. His lips tightened, causing his mustache to wiggle alarmingly. “Master Richard—”
“Yes, I hadn’t forgotten about you,” Mairelon interrupted. He seated himself on top of the chest and looked at Hunch with an air of expectancy. “I assume Shoreham told you something worth hearing, or you wouldn’t have come back so promptly. Let’s have it.”
Hunch rolled his eyes. Kim suppressed an impulse to grin, as much at Mairelon’s tactics as Hunch’s reaction. She wondered how long Mairelon would be able to keep from explaining to Hunch just what he had been doing in his henchman’s absence. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and waited for Hunch to begin.
“’Oo do you want to ’ear about first?” Hunch asked.
“Jack Stower, since he has intruded on us so recently.”
“’E’s a nasty piece o’ work,” Hunch said. “’E lives in St. Giles, far as anyone can tell, thieving and suchlike. Lord Shoreham says ’e ain’t no different from most of the scum as follows ’is profession, and the most interesting thing about ’im is ’is master.”
“Who is Dan Laverham,” Mairelon said. “We’ll have him next, but not before we’re finished with Mr. Stower. Did Shoreham find out when Stower left London?”
“’E left the day after we did,” Hunch replied. “Lord Shoreham found someone ’oo was drinking Blue Ruin with ’im the night afore ’e left, and ’e says Stower was mumbling ’ints about some errand ’e was going to do for Mr. Laverham.”
Mairelon looked interested. “Hints? What sort of hints?”
“Mysterious ’ints,” Hunch said. “Lord Shoreham didn’t say no more than that.”
“How like him,” Mairelon murmured. “Very well. What about Mr. Laverham?”
“’E’s a bit of a puzzle. ’E lives in the rookery, but ’e dresses and talks like one o’ the ton. And ’e went to ’Arrow.”
“Harrow!” Mairelon looked startled. “How did a boy from St. Giles get into a school like that? He is from St. Giles?”
“Far as Lord Shoreham knows,” Hunch said, nodding. “As for ’Arrow, somebody paid ’is fees.”
“He’s probably the by-blow of someone with both a conscience and the money to indulge it, then,” Mairelon said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, the combination is not so unusual that it is instantly apparent who Laverham’s presumed parent is.”
“That’s what Lord Shoreham thought,” Hunch said. “’E said ’e’d talk to some of ’is friends in the City and see if one of ’em could track the money, but it ain’t much of a chance.”
“I wonder how well Laverham did at Harrow? They’re strong in Latin and Greek and wizardry, as I recall.”
Kim chocked. “You mean Dan Laverham is a wizard?”
“If he was educated at Harrow, he ought to know the basics, at least,” Mairelon replied. “Don’t let it trouble you.”
“Easy enough for you to say,” Kim muttered. She didn’t know what a first-class frog-maker could do to someone, but half-formed images of the horrible possibilities whirled through her mind. Their very vagueness made them worse than actual knowledge would have been.
“Anything else?” Mairelon asked, turning back to Hunch.
“Mr. Laverham ’as a name in some parts as the man to see if you want something done and you ain’t fussy about ’ow. ’E ain’t never been caught doing nothing wrong, though.”
“That’s Dan, all right,” Kim said in an undertone.
“Yes, thanks to Kim, we probably have more information about Mr. Laverham’s criminal activities than Shoreham does,” Mairelon said. “Did he have anything to say about Marston or Fenton?”
“Mr. Jasper Marston is ’ead over ears in debt,” Hunch told them. “’E’s supposed to be rusticating right now, to get away from ’is creditors.”
“And Lady Granleigh has promised to assist him to a rich marriage if he helps her with whatever labyrinthine plans she has set in motion,” Mairelon said.
Hunch looked startled. “’Ow do you know that?”
“Kim overheard them talking,” Mairelon said.
“’E’s Lady Granleigh’s younger brother, and Lord Shoreham said ’e was a bit of a slow-top,” Hunch resumed. “When ’e ain’t wasting ’is money on cards and ’orses, ’e does what ’is sister tells ’im.”
“That has become fairly evident. Shoreham didn’t mention Marston’s man, Stuggs, did he?”
“No.”
“Ah, well. One can’t have everything, and I didn’t ask.” Mairelon stared pensively at the window for a moment. Then he looked up and said, “I believe that leaves James Fenton.”
Hunch grinned. The unaccustomed expression made him look positively fiendish, and Kim was completely taken aback by the change. Mairelon took one look and came to attention like a skilled sharper sighting a promising dupe.
“Fenton’s the black sheep of ’is family,” Hunch said, still with that disturbing grin. “They’re mostly respectable tradesmen. ’E seemed clever, so they ’ad ’im put into service. ’E started off as a footman.”
“Indeed.” Mairelon’s eyes narrowed. “And what house was he in service to?”
“Lord St. Clair’s,” Hunch said with great satisfaction.
“St. Clair!”
“And ’e was dismissed the day after the Colony Queen left the docks,” Hunch added.
“Huh?” said Kim.
“The Colony Queen was the ship Hunch and I took when we, er, fled the country after the Saltash Set was stolen,” Mairelon said. “So Fenton was dismissed right after the theft was blamed solidly on me, was he? I wonder if he knows something about it.”
“Lord Shoreham thought ’e might,” Hunch said. “’E also thought you’d be interested in knowing that on the night the Saltash Set was stolen Fenton ’ad some unscheduled free time.”
“Unscheduled? You mean he took French leave?”
“No, ’e ’ad Lord St. Clair’s permission,” Hunch said. “’E just wasn’t supposed to ’ave that night off, Lord Shoreham says.”
“Well, if Shoreham says Fenton was supposed to be working that night, he’s probably right,” Mairelon said. “I don’t know how he comes up with these things, but he hasn’t been mistaken once in five years. What has Fenton been doing since he, er, left St. Clair?”
“Mucking about ’ere and there. ’E did a few jobs for some of them ’ousebreakers, but ’e ain’t ’ad no honest work until six weeks ago, when ’e upped and ’ired on at Meredith’s ’ouse.”
“Six weeks,” Mairelon said, frowning. “Time enough for him to find out about the platter and notify St. Clair, if that was why he was here. But if St. Clair let him go—”
“Couldn’t it have been a blind?” Kim said. “That Lord St. Clair, he sounds like a fly cove; maybe he didn’t want any ties to a looby like Fenton. If the two of them nabbed that silver stuff you’re always on about, then—”
Mairelon shook his head. “No, no, I can’t believe St. Clair was involved in the original theft. He’d have to be completely lost to all sense of honor.”
“And I suppose he wasn’t a Captain Sharp if all he did was peach on you to the nabbing culls?” Kim said scornfully.
“It’s not the same thing,” Mairelon said.
“I don’t see why not,” Kim told him. “Anyway, lords aren’t that different from other folks. If they want somethin’ bad enough, they’ll try to get it however they can, and never mind the right and wrong of it.”
“What a remarkably cynical philosophy to find in one so young,” Mairelon said, staring at Kim.
Kim shrugged, only half understanding. “I’m not that young; I’m rising seventeen, I think. And I don’t see what my age has to do with how people are.”
The muscles in Mairelon’s jaw tensed, and for a moment he looked positively angry. Then he said gently, “It’s not a matter of how people are, Kim; it has to do with how they ought to be. We’ll discuss it some other time, perhaps. Though I still don’t think St. Clair
had anything to do with the theft, if only because he’d have kept the Saltash Set for himself instead of splitting it up and selling it. He’d had his eye on it for years; he wouldn’t have given it up easily.”
“Oh,” Kim said, disappointed. “Then we still don’t know who stole it?”
“Don’t look so cast down,” Mairelon said. “We’ll find out eventually. Meanwhile, we have a few other things to take care of.”
“What things?” Hunch asked, squinting suspiciously at his master.
“St. Clair is staying at Bramingham Place,” Mairelon said. “So is Renée D’Auber. And it is evidently no secret that the Saltash Platter—or rather, an exceedingly good copy—was in Henry Bramingham’s possession until the night before last. I doubt very much that all this is merely a coincidence.”
“So?”
“So I want to know how Shoreham’s secret information on the whereabouts of the Saltash Platter managed to reach so many people in so short a time,” Mairelon said. “Also, I’m worried about Renée. She was supposed to meet me at the druids’ hill over an hour and a half ago, but she never arrived. I’m going to Bramingham Place to see if I can find out why.”
“I thought you didn’t want that Lord St. Clair seein’ you,” Kim objected. “Ain’t—isn’t that why you sent me over there yesterday?”
“It is, which is why you’re coming with me. Don’t argue, Hunch; you’ve had a long ride and you should rest. Keep the shotgun handy in case that Stower fellow turns up again. I’ll set up the warding spells when we get back.”
“Now, see ’ere, Master Richard!” Hunch said. “You ain’t a-going to take that girl with you, not if I ’ave anything to say about it. Like as not, she’s working for that Mr. Laverham.”
Kim scowled fiercely at Hunch to hide a sudden, strong inclination to cry. Stower’s accusations hadn’t gone unnoticed, after all, and she had no way of proving that he was wrong. “I ain’t!” she said, but she had little hope of being believed.
“Really, Hunch.” Mairelon’s tone was mild, but Hunch stiffened and sat back, eyeing his master warily. “You forget,” Mairelon went on, “I questioned Kim myself, with the Saltash Bowl to compel her to be truthful. Or do you remember that, and doubt my skill?”
“I’d forgot,” Hunch said, plainly chagrined. “But—”
“No,” Mairelon said in the same mild tone. “No buts. Spell or no spell, Kim has earned the right to be trusted. You owe her an apology.”
“No, he don’t,” Kim said hastily. Hunch looked at her in surprise, and she hurried on, “I’d forgotten about that spell myself. I thought sure you’d take Stower’s gab for truth. I would have. So he don’t owe me nothin’.”
“Doesn’t,” Mairelon said.
“What?” Kim said, momentarily at sea.
“Hunch doesn’t owe you anything. We’ll leave it at that.”
Hunch nodded, still wearing a faint expression of surprise. Mairelon looked at Kim and added in a severe tone, “You have been doing well with your lessons, but you tend to fall back on cant phrases and poor grammar when you get excited about something. Try to be more careful.”
Kim fought down a desire to laugh in relief. She felt positively light-headed and didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she simply nodded.
“Good. We’ll be going, then.” Mairelon paused and looked at Hunch, who was chewing on his mustache but wisely refrained from commenting. Mairelon smiled. “I’ll send Kim back if I need you for anything, but I doubt that I will. And perhaps you’d better pack while we’re gone; we might want to move the wagon in case Stower takes it into his head to come back with a friend or two. Assuming, of course, that he has a friend or two. Don’t forget the shotgun.”
“I won’t,” said Hunch. “And don’t you forget to watch for that there Stower, neither. ’E might follow you instead of coming back ’ere.”
Mairelon nodded and beckoned to Kim. With some caution, he opened the wagon door, but there was no sign of Jack Stower. “Come along,” Mairelon said to Kim, and started briskly for the road. Kim stared after him for a moment, realizing suddenly that she had let herself in for another two-hour walk out to Bramingham Place and back. Cursing mentally, she ran to catch up.
NINETEEN
The walk to Bramingham Place was every bit as long as Kim remembered. To make matters worse, Mairelon decided that Kim needed more practice with her speech lessons and drilled her mercilessly as they hiked along. He stopped only when an approaching rider or cart distracted his attention, but as they saw only three during the entire trip this did not give Kim much respite.
At the edge of the manor grounds, Mairelon turned down a narrow side lane along a tall hedge. Kim followed, relieved by the end of the lessons and equally glad that she would not have to face the long trudge up the formal drive. All those rows of trees and carefully positioned shrubs made her uncomfortable.
“There ought to be a gap along here somewhere,” Mairelon muttered a few minutes later. “I didn’t think it was this far.”
“Maybe they’ve plugged it up since you were here,” Kim said.
Mairelon looked at her, then at the hedge. “You know, I think you may be right. Well, we’ll just have to push our way through, then.”
“Couldn’t we go around?” Kim asked without much hope. When Mairelon took a notion, he was stubborn as a hackney coachman wanting full fare in advance. “This ain’t—isn’t the way we came the other night.”
“It isn’t dark now, either,” Mairelon pointed out. “Unless Bramingham has replanted the entire grounds since I was here last, there’s a wood on this side that will screen us from the house. The other way, there’s a vista from the South Lawn. We’d be seen at once.”
“Right,” said Kim gloomily. “What are you plannin’ to do when we get up by the house?”
“I’ll work that out when we get there,” Mairelon said. “I think the bushes are thinner here, follow me, and mind your head.”
With considerable difficulty and more than a few scratches, they forced their way through the thin spot in the hedge. When they emerged into the little wood on the other side, Mairelon’s clothes were covered with leaves and twigs, there were several snags in the previously smooth surface of his coat, and one sleeve sported a long smear of mud that ended in a small tear. Kim had fared little better, but she hadn’t been wearing gentry togs.
“Hunch isn’t going to be happy when he sees what you’ve done to them clothes,” Kim said.
“Do you think so?” Mairelon said. He brushed the leaves and twigs from his shoulders, ignoring the ones caught in his hair, and studied his mud-flecked sleeve. “It is a little extreme, I suppose. Well, there’s no help for it now. I think the house is—”
The echo of a shot from somewhere nearby cut Mairelon off in mid-sentence. His head whipped around and his eyes widened. “That was a pistol,” he said, and started running in the direction of the noise.
Kim choked back a shout of dismay and ran after him while her mind listed in a remarkably clear fashion all the reasons why this was intensely foolish. Shots were something you ran away from, not toward. Someone else might have heard and roused the house. They would be taken up for poachers. They should sherry off while they had the chance. She should sherry off while she had the chance.
The list came to a sudden end as she broke out of the woods into one of the tree-lined alleys she so disliked. Mairelon was several steps ahead of her, slowing to halt beside an anonymous figure in a dark blue coat that lay sprawled on the ground at the edge of the woods. As Kim skidded to a stop next to him, she caught a glimpse of someone running off through the trees. The distance was too great for her to get more than a vague impression of a dark shape, but Kim didn’t care. What mattered was that he was going in the right direction: away.
Mairelon went down on one knee and reached under the collar of the blue coat with one hand. “He’s dead,” he said. He shifted and bent to grip the corpse’s shoulders, then gently turned it over.
“Get back, Kim,” Mairelon said sharply, as though he had just remembered her and was not at all pleased to find her standing next to him.
Nothing loath, Kim backed up a few paces and looked around. A large canvas bag lay on the ground a few feet away. She stared at it with a sinking feeling, then went over and picked it up. It was much heavier than she expected, and she frowned as she tugged at the strings. If it wasn’t another platter, what was it? She got it open at last, looked inside, and made a strangled noise.
“What’s that?” Mairelon asked, looking up. “Another platter?”
“No,” Kim said. “It’s two of them.”
“Two of them?” Mairelon stood and came over to her. He took the sack and put his left hand inside for a moment, then shook his head. “And both fakes. Well, at least now we know who was responsible for making them.”
“We do?” said Kim.
“Well, nearly. It has to have been either Fenton or the man who shot him,” Mairelon said. “One of them brought that bag here, and who would have two false platters except the man who’s been making them?”
“You do,” Kim pointed out. “Or you did until just now. Now you’ve got four.”
“Yes, well, that’s different. We’ve been collecting them, not making them.”
“Why couldn’t Fenton do that, too?”
Mairelon sighed. “True. It doesn’t seem likely, but it’s possible.” He stared into the trees for a moment, then shook his head again. “There’s no help for it. I shall have to send you back to get Hunch.”
“What? No! I ain’t goin’!” Kim barely stopped herself from shrieking. Leave Mairelon alone for over an hour with a dead body and a killer lurking in the woods, more than likely? Leave without having any idea what Fenton had been doing—or what Mairelon was going to do next? Leave now, and have to pry the story out of Mairelon later?