To Mourn a Murder

by Joan Smith

  He told Mrs. Partridge about Mam'selle Grolier's death. "But don't let on you know," he cautioned, "for I don't want to get held up with police questioning. I sent a note in unanimous." He frowned, then said, "or perhaps it was anominous."

  "You didn't sign it," Mrs. Partridge translated.

  "That's it. Well, it was a dandy dinner, Mrs. Partridge, as usual. I plan to be out of here at the crack of dawn, so don't feel you have to see me off. I'll stop at an inn for breakfast along the way."

  This token speech required no answer. He knew she would be up with a full breakfast ready, and he knew she knew, as well as she knew what a large pourboire he would leave her on the dresser. They said goodnight and he hobbled up to his room, where Partridge had a good fire going in the grate and his wife had a pan in his bed to warm the sheets and a hot brick wrapped up in flannel for his feet.

  Where did Luten find treasures like this? He really should turf out the crew at his house and replace them with people who did their job. It would be fine to have a cook who could make gingerbread and fry sausages without charring them. By the living jingo, he'd do it one of these days.

  * * *

  Chapter 26

  When Luten suggested to Corinne that they pay a morning call on Lady Jergen, she regretfully declined.

  "I've been neglecting poor Mrs. Ballard shamefully of late. Since the sun is shining I'm going to take her for a drive. The admirable Black has volunteered to replace my coachman while Coffen is in Brighton."

  "What a treasure the man is," Luten said. "He can turn his hand to anything. You should lend him to Pattle for a week and he'd trim that lot of roughians Pattle calls servants into line."

  "But how could I do without him for a week?" Beyond the doorway, Black's face glowed with pride. "I expect you'll be quizzing Lady Jergen to see what you can learn of last night's doings. I don't believe she knows a thing about the Bee, other than what she's told us."

  "We didn't know what questions to ask. Someone must have helped Jergen handle the purchase of Goodman's jewelry shop, for instance."

  "Wouldn't his regular man of business handle it?"

  "The financial arrangements, but not the physical removal of whatever Goodman left behind. If he did leave anything behind. He might have packed it all up and stored it."

  "To be sorted out by his heir when he died?" she suggested. "I wonder who his heir is."

  "If Lady Jergen doesn't know, I'll send a message off to Coffen at Brighton to look into it. Or the Partridges might know. Unless I discover something startling I plan to go to the House after I see Lady Jergen, to learn the latest news of Napoleon. He's on his way back to Paris after being thoroughly trounced in Moscow. The Russian winter will kill what's left of his men if he doesn't move quickly. I'll see you this evening. Take care." He kissed her lightly and left.

  The door was scarcely closed behind him when Mrs. Ballard came tripping downstairs, already dressed for her outing in a plain black round bonnet and black pelisse. Although her husband had been dead for years she still wore mourning. Prance, in his satirical vein, had once likened this self-effacing lady to a titmouse in crow's feathers.

  "Where would you like to go, Mrs. Ballard?" Corinne asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  "I thought we might drive along New Bond Street, if you don't mind, milady. I've run out of wool threads for the firescreen I'm working on."

  Mrs. Ballard always found some excuse to go to New Bond Street. Born and reared in the country, the parks held no delights for her. This coincided very well with her mistress's preference. They both liked to see the bustling throng and peruse the shops, though Mrs. Ballard bought very little. Embroidery threads and perhaps some linen to make handkerchiefs as gifts for friends were her idea of a shopping spree. Corinne would buy her a box of marzipan, her favourite treat, which she would take to her whist party and share with her friends.

  A fine day after several days of wind and clouds brought out a crowd. Sunlight warmed their shoulders and glinted from sparkling store windows. The broad streets were kept clean by workmen who swept up what the horses left behind, but an echo of the odor lingered, mixing with smoke from chimneys and the tantalizing aroma of coffee wafting from the busy coffee houses.

  The clatter of hooves and rattle of wheels over cobblestones filled the air, muffling the human sounds of greetings. Horses and carriages there were in plenty–barouches drawn by a team of glossy bays, landaus, elegant little tilburys drawn by one pony, gentlemen's sporting curricles powered by a pair of blood grays and even a few high perch phaetons driven by ladies. It was Corinne's intention to acquire and learn to drive a phaeton when she and Luten were at his country seat in the summer.

  But it was mainly the pedestrians that she and Mrs. Ballard enjoyed watching. Ladies in befeathered high poke bonnets and dandies in curled beaver hats and nip-wasted jackets, their shoulders padded to ridiculous widths, exchanged smiles and bows. Officers in their scarlet regimentals and shining black shakos stood out above the throng. Their military bearing easily distinguished them from scurrying red-coated post-boys, each with his bag of letters over his shoulder. Tattered link-boys who patrolled the streets with a torch after dark put their lights away in daylight and earned a few pennies by running errands and watching the horses of the gentry while they descended to go on the strut.

  The noisier display of street corner hawkers selling gingerbread and cider, oranges and meat pies was missing in this polite area. No chimneysweeps with their long poles, no milkmaids with their pails hanging from a yolk across their shoulders, were allowed here. At a corner one girl, she couldn't be more than nine or ten, stood by a wicker cage of canaries, shyly tooting her wares. Mrs. Ballard was tempted to buy one, but as she considered the cost of a cage and the ongoing expense of feeding it and the bother of cleaning it each day, she resisted the impulse.

  At the bow-windowed shops with their many panes, gentlemen raised their quizzing glasses to peer at goods imported from Africa, India, America, Japan. The best the world had to offer was on sale in London. The latest fashion in china and crystal, jewels and silver; in "toys" for the ton–fans, perfume bottles, snuffboxes and quizzing glasses; silks and muslin and calico and the newest japanned ware from the orient. The ladies went into a drapery shop and from the unparalleled array before them, bought an ell of linen and the woolens for the firescreen.

  It was while Mrs. Ballard examined the ells of woolen materials she had no intention of buying that Mrs. Webber espied Lady deCoventry and came to speak to her. Corinne presented her companion, the ladies smiled and nodded and agreed it was fine day.

  "A wretched price they're asking for woolens this year," Mrs. Webber said, regretfully fingering a dark green worsted. "I would love one of the new capes with three layered collars, like a gentleman's driving coat. They're showing them in the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée. It would be warm too, but then it would require so much material. Ah well, I daresay I don't really need a new mantle. 'Consider the lilies of the field', as it says in the old Psalm. Such a consolation, the Bible."

  Mrs. Ballard opened her mouth to object, then considered her lowly position and closed it again.

  "That is a handsome mantle you're wearing," Corinne said to console her.

  "Oh this. I made it myself years ago. Did you attend the Pantheon last evening, Lady deCoventry? I know Lady Jergen and Lady Callwood planned to attend."

  "Yes, I was there."

  "Was it a good show? I do love fireworks, but old Mrs. Webber would never consider letting me go to the Pantheon. Lady Callwood invited me to join her party. I don't like to have much to do with her, however. She's a little fast for my taste. I saw her walking arm-in-arm with Danby a moment ago. I wonder if there's something between them. Her lovers are usually well to grass," she said with a meaningful look. "Of course it never was a love match between her and Callwood. He keeps her on a ridiculously short allowance, just asking for trouble."

  This was of interest to Corin
ne. Luten thought it might have been Danby who relieved Prance of Miss Winchley's money. Lady Callwood could not have been the lady with him though, for she wore a red domino.

  "Why do you think she's having an affair with Danby?" Corinne asked.

  "I don't go so far as to say it's an affair. It's not the first time I've seen them together, however. Such an eligible gentleman. He ought to be looking for a wife, not a mistress. Of course Lady Callwood is very pretty, but really!" She lowered her voice and said, "No better than she should be. I heard she helped herself to a diamond necklace that belonged to an old lady she was working for some years ago." She nodded her head. "A crooked twig grows to a crooked bough."

  "She wasn't with Danby last evening," Corinne said. "Her table was close to ours and she was with Lord Deveril's party."

  "Oh in public she always keeps up the appearance of behaving herself. It would be easy enough to slip off and meet a lover at a place like the Pantheon. Well, I must be getting along. I have to pick up some headache powders for old Mrs. Webber. Nice chatting to you, Lady deCoventry. Oh, by the by, has Luten had any luck in finding out who the Bee is?"

  "He's following up some new clues."

  "Really!" she cried, her face alive with curiosity. "How lovely if we victims got our money back. As I am one of the victims, may I know what clue that is?"

  "He prefers not to say at the moment."

  "But he is in London?"

  "Oh yes, certainly."

  A frown flickered over Mrs. Webber's face, gone so quickly Corinne wasn't certain she hadn't imagined it. "Do keep me informed," she said. "I'm sure Luten will solve the case, as he always does. Such a charming man. You are fortunate to have nabbed him."

  "I know it well," Corinne said, and the ladies parted.

  "I don't like a gossip," Mrs. Ballard said, "and I especially don't like it when they try to cover up their spite by glossing it over as a concern about morals. I think Mrs. Webber is jealous of Lady Callwood."

  "Why, Mrs. Ballard, it's not like you to find fault with anyone. Especially a lady who cleaves to the Bible."

  "She's no reader of the Bible or she'd know the Book of Psalms is not a part of it. Furthermore, 'the lilies of the field' is in Matthew, not the Psalms. Everyone knows that quotation. 'Is not the body more than raiment?' That is what she ought to have quoted, if she really knew her Bible. But she's right that Mr. Danby should be looking for a wife, not a mistress," she allowed. "I expect Mrs. Webber has her eye on Danby herself. She's quite pretty, in a quiet way."

  "Yes, she did sound rather jealous, didn't she?" Corinne said consideringly.

  They bought the marzipan and after viewing a dozen or so shops, they returned to the carriage. They were about to enter when Corinne spotted Lady Callwood across the street, once again draped in furs, despite the warmer weather. She was indeed with Danby, hanging on to his arm and quite obviously flirting her head off. They recognized Corinne and crossed the street to speak to her.

  "How did you enjoy the fireworks?" Lady Callwood asked, after the customary greetings.

  "Lovely. I didn't see you there, Mr. Danby."

  "No, my uncle decided to take Lady Jergen himself. I don't care much for those rough and tumble do's at the Pantheon."

  Lady Callwood turned an impish eye on him. "Where do you prefer your rough and tumble do's, Mr. Danby?"

  "In the boxing ring, Lady Callwood," he replied with an answering twinkle. "I am off to Bond Street for a few rounds with Gentleman Jackson now. I'm putting on weight since coming back from India. Too much roast beef and ale. I've been taking lessons from Jackson in the mornings for a week now, and to round off my skills, I visit Manton's in the afternoon and practise my shooting."

  "Ready for a duel of either fists or pistols, I see," Lady Callwood teased. "What have you been up to behind our backs, sir, that you feel the need of these skills?"

  "Why between footpads and irate husbands, a man never knows when he may have to defend himself–or a lady's reputation."

  Corinne thought about the various morning's conversations as they drove home. She found it easy to believe that the beautiful, rakish Lady Callwood was carrying on with Danby. Odd that he had called on Lady Jergen that morning that Lady Callwood was there. Was it by pre-arrangement, a seemingly innocent meeting, and they would have left together if she and Luten hadn't been there? Lady Callwood hadn't spent all last evening at Deveril's table. She might have slipped away and met Danby. In fact, she might even have changed her scarlet domino for a blue one and been with him when he relieved Prance of the money.

  Mrs. Ballard bustled upstairs with her little parcels as soon as they returned. Prance, bored with his own company and tired of dangling ribbons for Petruchio to swipe at, wrapped his écharpe around his neck and came to call. Black was back on duty at the door.

  "I feel simply wretched about losing Miss Winchley's money," he said, lifting his coattails and perching on the arm of a chair,

  "No one blames you, Reg."

  "Still, if it had been Luten or Pattle, one feels it would not have happened. I blame it all on Byron. His company is so engaging I let myself get carried away. We were talking about our trip to Italy," he said and sat, gazing into the grate.

  Corinne called for tea and just as it arrived, Luten came pelting in. His air of excitement told them he had news. "I learned something of interest at the House," he said. He settled himself by the fire, leaned his cane against the chair arm and waited until Black left before sharing his news. Prance smiled to observe Black left the door ajar when he left, to facilitate his eavesdropping.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  "Don't keep us in suspense, Luten!" Prance urged. "What have you discovered?"

  "That it was Jergen's nephew, Danby, who took care of cleaning out Goodman's Jewelry shop for him. He wasn't formally acting as Jergen's secretary at the time but he did odd jobs for him. He had been working at a bank and was let go for some prank and was apparently earning his living at the card table. In fact, it was the hand-to-mouth life he was leading that made Jergen suggest he go to India to make his fortune. Since he's succeeded so marvelously his checkered past is forgotten."

  Prance nodded. "One sees, of course, that he might have had access to Miss Winchley's letter and have picked up on the other scandals if he was racketing around Brighton that summer, but if he did succeed so stunningly in India, why bother with these relatively small sums the Bee has been exacting from his victims?"

  Luten's gloating smile stretched to a grin. "From Lady Jergen's place I continued on to the House. I searched out young Erskine who had been shipped off to India to make his fortune five years ago. I took him to Bellamy's, the tuck-shop at the House. Erskine was called back from India last year when his elder brother died, making Erskine the new heir. He was at Madras, working for the governor there.

  "He says the only gents who make a fortune in India are those who act as nawab for one of the princes. Danby was a salaried clerk for the East India Company at Calcutta, so if he did make the million we hear so much about, he made it dishonestly. Stole it or a fortune in jewels or rifled the company till or some such thing. Erskine assures me such an event would have caused a great stir amongst the English conclave in India. He heard no mention of it, not a whisper.

  "Erskine is of the opinion Danby came home with his pockets as near to empty as makes no difference. The tale of the million is to ensure his popularity at the better sort of ball where he hopes to attach an heiress. Were it not for his being Jergen's nephew, Erskine doubts he would be welcome anywhere."

  "It's odd Erskine didn't drop a hint of this before now," Prance said.

  Luten shrugged his elegant shoulders. "He doesn't actually know Danby is lying. That's merely his opinion. Having been a younger son himself, scrambling for a living, I daresay he felt a certain sympathy with Danby. If Danby had offered for some friend or relative of Erskine's, I expect the truth would have come out fast enough."

  Corinne said, "Cof
fen thought it was odd he didn't buy a house or carriage."

  "Yes, and Byron mentioned that he often sits down to cards at his club and usually wins," Prance added. "No doubt that is how he's financing his search for an heiress! Well, there's no crime in that. He's not the only fortune hunter in town."

  "I also heard something today," Corinne said. Two bright pairs of eyes turned to her. "I met Mrs. Webber in the drapery shop. She suspects an affair between Danby and Lady Callwood, who likes to spend money and whose husband keeps her on short rations, yet she's always outfitted in the highest kick of fashion. I saw them together, arm-in-arm. They did seem to be on a very familiar basis. Danby says he wasn't at the Pantheon last night, but of course he'd lie if he's the thief. The description fits him. The lady with him could even have been Lady Callwood, wearing a different domino."

  "That could also explain her choosing a scarlet domino, so that we wouldn't associate her with the thief’s partner," Prance said. "No one was watching her in particular. We were all on the qui vive for a man."

  They were interrupted by a rattle of the door-knocker, followed by a loud thumping in the hallway and a muttered thanks to Black as he picked up Coffen's dropped cane. Coffen hobbled in, spotted the tea tray and said, "I'm famished. I was in such a rush to get back with my news I didn't stop to eat. I haven't had a bite since I left Brighton, except the lunch Mrs. Partridge packed, and that was gone before I got to Lewes."

  Black, listening, darted to the kitchen to order sandwiches.

  "What news?" Luten demanded.

  Coffen hobbled towards the grate and dropped into a chair. His cane clattered to the floor again. "Your Bee is Danby and he's murdered Mam'selle," he announced, and settled in to enjoy their astonishment and praise, which exploded around his ears in a highly gratifying volley.

  "How do you know it was Danby?" Luten demanded.

  "What happened?" Prance asked.

  "When was she killed? How?" Corinne asked in a frightened voice. "Please don't say she was strangled!" There rose up in her mind the memory of another working girl, a seamstress at Drury Lane, who had been strangled with her own stocking. She would never forget that engorged face. Luten, watching her, reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.