The Queen’s description of what had woken her was inconclusive. Was it a scraping sound or a groan? Was it someone murdering Sacchi, or heaving his body into the crate? Caroline fiddled with the pink turban that lay on the bed, and plonked it on her head. It sat at an odd angle amidst her tangled, thinning hair.
‘All I can say is that I woke up, and thought I heard a person in the tent. When I looked over towards the entrance, I could see the lid of the box had been moved. I thought at first someone had tried to steal from the box, but when I looked in, I saw Sacchi looking out at me.’ She sighed. ‘Only he wasn’t. Looking out, I mean. His eyes were devoid of life. Poor bugger.’
Malinferno was quite taken with the Queen’s strange mixture of demure English and coarse Germanic expressions. He could see how people could fall in love with her common touch. Doll, meanwhile was all business.
‘Why do you think he was killed? Did he disturb a thief, who was out to rifle the treasures of the pharaoh? He would have been sorely disappointed, if he was. There was not much to take.’
She cast a meaningful glance at Malinferno, knowing that he had already stripped the body of trinkets, removing them as he unbound the wrappings in front of the crowd earlier. His hands were as nimble as any pickpocket from the lowest rookery or flash-house in the East End. Malinferno blushed, and the little hoard of jewels and keepsakes suddenly burned a hole in his pocket. Before he could say anything though, the Queen spoke up firmly.
‘No. I believe this was done to further discredit me. The Government is unsure whether they can win a majority in the House to condemn me. If I were to be associated with the grisly murder of one of my equerries, it would be the end. They wouldn’t have to prove anything. It would be enough for the possibility to exist, and for the rumours to fly.’
She took Doll’s hand in hers, pleading in her eyes. ‘You must help me find out who did this. Find the government spy in the party, and you will have the murderer. And at the same time save me from a fate worse than death. I mean the loss of all that is mine by rights.’
Strangely, it was Malinferno, not Doll, who then came up with the most practical decision. Moving over to the crate, he decisively pulled the lid closed over the corpse, and pushed one of the protruding nails down into its former hole.
‘We shall say no more to anyone about the death of Sacchi, only that he is missing, and we wish to know what might have happened to him.’ He turned to Queen Caroline. ‘If a body will jeopardise your standing and chances of defeating this Bill in Parliament, then there will be no body. If the murder was done to embarrass you, then how to materialise the lost body will vex the killer in the extreme. He might give himself away.’
Caroline clapped her hands in delight, while Houghton at last looked relieved that the corpse was consigned out of sight, if not out of mind.
‘Professor, you are a genius.’
Malinferno took the compliment with a gracious smile, only noticing over the Queen’s shoulder a wry smile on Doll’s face. He could tell she was not much impressed by his plan, which had been blindingly obvious. He pulled a face back at her, as much as to say, ‘Well, I said it first.’ What he did say was that he and Doll would undertake to make enquiries as the lords and ladies of the encampment rose from their beds.
‘If the person who perpetrated the deed is still here on Solsbury Hill, we will find him out. If the murderer has already decamped in the night, then by doing that he will have revealed himself, and will just need apprehending.’
When Doll and Malinferno left the Queen to her ablutions, Lieutenant Houghton followed them out of the tent. He called for them to wait a moment, but made sure they were all three far enough away from the incognito Queen to speak without being overheard. He was nervous, poking the ground with the end of the gilded scabbard housing his ceremonial sword.
‘You need to know that the Queen did not go straight to bed last night. After I had left the tent with Sacchi on guard, I was restless and took a little walk to that oak grove over there.’
He pointed to the stunted woods on the north-western edge of the encampment. Malinferno guessed that Houghton had not walked there for exercise. He had observed many male guests sneaking in that direction to piss away the drink that had been consumed in vast quantities during the festivities. Doll winked at Joe, implying she knew the purpose of Houghton’s stroll also. The naval lieutenant coughed, and continued his narrative.
‘When I came back past the tent, I saw Sacchi in conversation with a man. A very large gentleman with the distinctive braying voice of a politician.’
Doll and Malinferno exchanged glances. He must be referring to the Honourable Member of Parliament who had last night nestled in Doll’s bosom.
‘He appeared to want to speak to the Queen, knowing her true identity. He had to pass Sacchi some coins before he could enter the tent, however. I would not have allowed it, nor have lowered myself to bribery, but Sacchi is an Italian . . .’
He waved a hand as though that was enough explanation for the misconduct of his fellow equerry. He was quite unaware of Malinferno’s antecedents on his father’s side, and Joe held his temper. He thanked the lieutenant tersely, and they parted company.
Doll giggled. ‘Never mind, Joe. You might be a low Eye-talian on the one side, but you are all stiff, starchy Englishman on the other.’
Malinferno made a face, and poked Doll in the ribs. As they were returning to their tent, the camp began to rouse around them. It was mostly servants they saw, who were up and about lighting fires, and scurrying back and forth from the main marquee to a large tent on the periphery of the encampment. It was altogether a more functional-looking affair than the highly decorated marquee. Made of thick canvas, it bore the stains of long and heavy use. Large tin funnels stuck up above the apex of the canvas, and smoke was already rising from them. The aroma of cooking meats emerged from the tent flaps. Doll licked her lips.
‘The well-to-do don’t stint themselves, do they? Even when they are picnicking, so to speak.’
‘Some picnic that is,’ commented Malinferno, as a liveried servant hurried over the grassy embankment with a large silver dish in his hands. He sniffed as the man passed them.
‘Boiled beef.’
Doll and Joe exchanged looks, and nodded in tacit agreement. The investigation could wait until their stomachs were fed. They followed the servant into the marquee, Malinferno providing the necessary justification.
‘After all, it is most likely we will encounter those we wish to interview there. And it is not as though we have fresh linen to change into in our tent.’ He brushed down his soiled coat. ‘We shall have to make do as we are.’
Inside the marquee, the semi-shade might have obscured a clear view of who had already risen. But a forest of candles burned around the tables, their light gleaming off the silver cutlery set on the not so pristine white linen from the night before. When Doll and Joe cast around to see who was there, they were gratified to see the vast corpulence of the Honourable Member for the rotten borough of Plympton Erle, Sir Ralph St Germans. He was already gorging himself on a plateful of boiled beef and potatoes. With a polite murmur of apology, Malinferno sat himself and Doll opposite.
As though by magic, plates of food appeared at their elbows. Malinferno recognised the pattern of red dragons encircling the plate. It was the highest quality Meissen porcelain – a far cry from the two chipped plates they had been dining on before escaping London. He had a passing thought of slipping the plates under his coat after he had cleaned them of the beef. But when he looked guiltily up at Doll, he saw that she had read his thoughts. She was nodding towards St Germans, who had merely grunted at their intrusion and continued to eat his way through the full plate of food.
Malinferno coughed. ‘Sir Ralph, my name is Malinferno. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance by the name of Mrs Hattie Vaughan.’
The corpulent Member of Parliament paused in his trencherman efforts, and gave Joe a startled look. It took in his sh
abby coat, and grubby linen, and caused Malinferno to blush. St Germans chortled, revealing a mouthful of half-chewed food.
‘I hardly think she is an acquaintance of yours, sir. You would not presume to claim a propinquity, if you knew who she really was.’
Malinferno grinned wolfishly. ‘And you, sir, make a terrible mistake, if you think, on such a short acquaintance with me, that I do not know the lady is one who will soon be the subject of an enquiry involving yourself and your parliamentary colleagues.’
St Germans’ face turned bright purple, and he began to choke on the half-chewed beef he had just begun to swallow. As he coughed uproariously, Doll rose and politely patted him on the back to relieve his discomfort. Recovering, the fat man waved away the bewigged servants, who had rushed over to his side. They retreated to a more discreet distance, probably regretting being unable to listen in on a conversation that had caused such a reaction. St Germans wiped his mouth with his napkin.
‘You know it is she, by God. Then you can imagine why I was in her tent last night. Though I must say there was no impropriety involved.’ He glanced nervously at Doll. ‘Despite the rumours of her licentiousness, I am prepared to believe the best of her. My hope in speaking to her was to convince her that her best course of action was to give up her quest to be crowned alongside the King. He will not allow it, and neither will the Government. Needless to say, I was not successful in my campaign.’
‘And when you left, did you see the gentleman outside the tent? Mr Sacchi?’
St Germans looked puzzled by Malinferno’s enquiry, his beady eyes almost disappearing into his puffy face.
‘What of him?’
‘He was there when you entered, and when you left?’
‘Why, yes. When I arrived at the tent, I had to give him a guinea, or he would not have granted me access to the Quee—to Mrs Vaughan. Damned scoundrel is an Italian, you know. I should have kicked him up the backside, but I needed to speak with the lady. I cut him when I left, naturally.’
For a moment, Malinferno thought the MP meant he had been responsible for the murder. Then breathed a sigh as he realised St Germans was only employing the vernacular to point out his deliberate ignoring of the venal Italian. Swallowing yet another slight about his half-fellow countryman, he thanked the man for the information, and was about to get up, when St Germans leaned across the table. He peered at Malinferno, as if trying to gauge the man.
‘What is all this about Sacchi? Why are you so interested in him?’
Malinferno waved a hand in dismissal of the enquiry. ‘He has not been seen this morning, and Mrs Vaughan expressed some concern, that is all.’
St Germans pushed away from the table, causing a minor earthquake amongst the crockery on it, and rose ponderously.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised, if he has decamped with the duchess’s silver.’
He laughed and turned to leave. Then he paused, and looked back at Malinferno and Doll Pocket.
‘If you truly want to know his whereabouts, you would do no worse than ask Mr Powell. His carriage is still here, I believe. The Tilbury next to that infernal machine of the duchess’s.’
With no more explanation, the august Member for Plympton Erle waddled out of the marquee. Malinferno shot a look at Doll, who had remained silent during the whole interrogation of St Germans.
‘What do you think, Doll? Was he angry enough at Sacchi to have slit his throat?’
Doll shook her head, and slipped the last piece of beef from her plate into her mouth. She stared longingly at the Meissen plate, and then sighed.
‘We can’t steal them, can we?’
Malinferno cast a quick, frightened look around. The servants closest to them appeared not to have heard. He hissed at Doll, ‘Don’t even think it.’
She laughed. ‘Why not? You did, when you saw them. But in answer to your question, no, I don’t think he would have killed Sacchi for the man having extorted a guinea out of him.’
‘I agree. But who is this Powell he referred to? And why should he know about Sacchi’s movements?’
Doll tapped the side of her nose. ‘I think I have an idea about that. Eat up, and I’ll be back in a minute.’
She disappeared out of the marquee, and Malinferno continued to fill his belly. When he had finished, and Doll hadn’t returned, he shrugged and called for another glass of red wine. As he drank that down, she reappeared, wearing her demure poke bonnet that she only put on if she wished to play the part of his virginal sister, a role that was required normally only to win over suspicious landladies. She sat down beside Malinferno, and took off the bonnet, placing it on the table. She grinned.
‘He is coming to breakfast, so we must act quickly.’
Malinferno frowned. ‘Who is coming?’
Doll twirled the ribbons of her bonnet flirtatiously. ‘Why, Mr Powell, of course. Look, here he is.’
She nodded her head in the direction of a slim-built man, who at that moment had just entered the marquee. His clothes looked as rumpled as Malinferno’s, though being better cut, they had borne the night’s depredations more sturdily. His cravat was retied and elegantly chivvied into shape, unlike Malinferno’s, which hung limply under his chin and was now stained with gravy. He watched as the man chose an area of the tent well away from them, and the glare of the numerous candles. When he sat, Doll nudged Joe, and they rose from their place at the table.
‘Come on. We can search his gig now.’
Malinferno was still at a loss, but followed Doll, who clutched her bonnet to her bosom. He pointed at it.
‘Aren’t you going to put your bonnet back on, seeing as you went out of your way to fetch it?’
Doll grinned. ‘My bonnet is already well filled, Joe.’
She shook it slightly, and he heard the rattle of fine porcelain. He stopped her and peered in the bonnet. A red dragon lay curled in its straw and lace folds.
‘You stole them, after all. Two Meissen plates?’
‘Three. I took St Germans’ plate too. I wanted to allow for breakages.’
He stopped in his tracks, shaking his head in disbelief.
Hurrying ahead, Doll motioned for him to follow. ‘Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.’ She skipped across the grassy sward and past the Trevithick Flyer to an undistinguished-looking little gig with its hood pulled up.
‘Here, hold my bonnet.’
She thrust the headgear with its stolen goods into Malinferno’s hands, and clambered up the step of the Tilbury, and on to the bench seat. It was a small open gig, so there would be few places to hide what she was looking for safely. She poked around unsuccessfully at first. Malinferno, aware of the incriminating contents of Doll’s bonnet, and eager not to be seen with purloined goods, poked his head inside the gig.
‘What are you looking for? How do you know this is Powell’s carriage? And who is he?’
She ignored him, and finally, fumbling under the seat, she found a little compartment hidden away. She felt inside, and pulled out the writing slope she had seen the man using in the early hours of the morning. Opening it, she saw the notebook he had been writing in. She waved it in Malinferno’s face.
‘This proves it. When St Germans hinted that Powell would know Sacchi’s movements, he was telling us that Powell is the spy that Hattie feared had been dogging her footsteps. This carriage is drawn up behind ours, and must have arrived late. And after Hattie’s coach. When I walked past it in the early hours, there was a man in it, wrapped in a blanket as though he had nowhere to lay his head other than the gig. So I deduced he had not planned to be here. Until he found himself following his quarry from Bath.’
She opened the notebook and looked inside. ‘And who but a spy would write in code.’
Malinferno laid the bonnet on the ground and grabbed the book off her. ‘You could not have known he was writing in code until you just looked at the book.’
Doll pouted. ‘Well, no. But it was a good guess, wasn’t it?’ She hopped down and stood bes
ide him, reading over his shoulder. ‘Can you make out what it says?’
Malinferno read from the opening entry in the book: ‘“August, 1818. The whole affair is much canvassed by number eight and number six, though the proper authority is not forthcoming.”’
Doll was perplexed, and a little disappointed.
‘Who is number eight and number six? The Prince Regent? The Prime Minister? How do we decipher it?’
Malinferno was flicking through the pages, scanning for clues. He pointed a trembling finger at a later entry.
‘“1819. Number eight has no proof of an intimate connection between number one and number ten.” Number one is surely Caroline – Hattie, I mean – as she is the purpose of Powell’s investigation. That would then imply the King – the Prince Regent then – should be number two. So number eight or number six would be the instigator of all this dirty work – the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool, or the House of Commons generally.’
‘And number ten has to be Baron Pergami, who Hattie left behind on her return to England. Are there any more references to number ten after she came back?’
Malinferno turned page after page until he came close to the end.
‘No, there isn’t. But look here. The entry for the 29th of January this year reads merely, “Number one is now Queen.” The later entries get quite rambling after that, with references to numbers from sixteen to twenty-three. We will never know who they are.’
Hill of Bones Page 34
