But Doll was undaunted. ‘And the last entry? What was he writing about when I saw him in the dark?’
Malinferno looked closely at the cramped hand in the notebook. It was increasingly difficult to decipher, as though Powell was getting more and more disturbed about his task and its ramifications. Was number twenty-three Sacchi? Or Houghton? He read the last entry, and gasped.
Doll looked at him. ‘What is it, Joe? What have you seen?’
Just as Malinferno was about to tell Doll what he had read, the gig gave a lurch. Someone was climbing in from the other side, and it had to be Powell. Malinferno grabbed Doll’s arm, and they edged round the back of the Tilbury. Once out of sight of the man climbing back into his conveyance, they made for the rocky outcrop nearby. After they had sat down behind the biggest rock, Malinferno realised two things. He was still clutching the pocket book, and he had left Doll’s bonnet with the stolen plates on the ground beside the gig. He opened the book where he had placed his finger.
‘Listen to this. The last entry reads “I need to deal with number twenty-three.”’
Doll looked questioningly at Malinferno. ‘Twenty-three? Could that be Sacchi?’
‘Only Powell knows that, and we can hardly ask him directly if he is the one who did for Sacchi.’
‘We could ask Sir Ralph.’
‘Doll, you are a genius. He was the one put us on to Powell. He may know more. But where can we find him?’
The site was still a mass of tents, and St Germans could be in any of them. They rose cautiously from behind the rock, and sauntered nonchalantly past the Tilbury gig. Powell glared suspiciously out of the interior, his empty writing slope in his hands. But Malinferno knew that all he saw was a man and a woman who looked as though they had been occupied in some indiscreet activity behind the rocks. Doll smiled sweetly at him and hugged Malinferno’s arm, as if in confirmation of the spy’s guess. Malinferno did notice that Doll’s bonnet was no longer on the ground. As it could not have blown away with its purloined contents inside, he presumed Powell must have it. It was evidence of who had taken his notebook. They hurried on, hoping to find the duchess, who might know where Ralph St Germans was to be found. Powell got down from his gig and stared after them.
It did not take them long to find their employer. She was standing at the entrance to the marquee, talking to a tall, angular man in practical clothes and muddy shoes. She spotted Doll and Malinferno, and beckoned them over.
‘I am glad to have found you, Professor. This is my managing agent, Orford. He wants to know whether you have any further need of the crate in my tent.’
Malinferno cast a wary look at the manager of the duchess’s estates. Had he tried to move the crate containing Sacchi’s body already? It was much heavier than would have been the case if it still contained the mummy, and may have given the game away. Orford looked a little careworn, but otherwise normal. Malinferno assumed his look was because of having to manage the whole entourage surrounding them. He shuffled as if anxious to be on the move, and thrust out his hand.
‘Daniel Orford, sir. I was only desirous of arranging the movement of the crate in order to begin the dismantling of the tent. Everything must come down today, and so I have a lot to do.’
Malinferno took his hand, which was cold and dry, and felt the calluses of a working man on it. Evidently Orford did not limit his activities to the estate office. The duchess, ever full of irrelevant babble, intervened before Malinferno could say anything about the crate.
‘You should talk to Orford, Professor Mal . . .’ She waved her hand in a vague way to fill in her inability to remember his name. ‘Daniel is a student of antiquities, and is terrifically keen on King Arthur. Is that not the case, Daniel?’
Orford blushed at the revelation, looking at the ground. ‘In a very amateur way, madam.’
The duchess turned to Doll, assuming that, as a fellow female, she would be as ignorant and uncaring about such matters as she was.
‘Of course, it is all beyond us, dear, this delving in the past. Digging holes in the ground to find worm-eaten skeletons and . . . other such stuff. Though I am sure the professor loves his ancient pharaohs quite as much as Bonaparte did.’
Doll remembered the abandoned trench behind the duchess’s tent that Joe had dug. The discovery of the body in the crate had quite put it out of both their minds. She wondered if anyone had noticed it yet.
She smiled at the duchess. ‘Oh, I am sure these men know what they are doing, standing up to their knees in mud with a spade in their hands. Myself, I would much prefer to walk down the streets of London or Bath and find a new bonnet shop.’
He saw Malinferno’s face fall, as he took her hint about the trench he had dug. They would have to fill it in as quickly as they could before Daniel Orford began clearing the tents. It also made her wonder for the first time where the mummy had gone that had occupied the box before it had been used to conceal Sacchi. She nudged Malinferno as the duchess prattled on about dresses and bonnets. Roused to action, he took Orford’s arm and they walked away from the women. He took savage pleasure in seeing the pleading look in Doll’s eyes as the duchess compared the merits of a poke bonnet to a stove-pipe straw bonnet in full sunshine.
He and Orford walked towards the tent where the crate stood.
‘I will gladly remove the crate and its contents, if I can have use of a carriage to return it to Bath, Mr Orford.’
The managing agent hesitated, breaking stride for a moment. He took Malinferno’s arm.
‘I had not intended to bother you with the shipping of the crate. The Egyptian mummy is the property of the duchess, is it not? I can easily arrange for it to be removed to the duchess’s country house. She will not want it in Bath. No, I only wanted to ensure that there was nothing of yours in the crate first.’
Malinferno was almost inclined to say there was nothing of his there, but that there was plenty belonging to the Queen. They had stopped outside the duchess’s tent. He hesitated about going inside, wondering if Orford knew of Queen Caroline’s presence. And his mind was whirling, thinking how he could remove Sacchi’s body before Orford loaded it on a cart, and it ended up in the duchess’s stately home. There, the growing smell might cause a servant to realise it was not a three-thousand-year-old body, but one of much more recent origins.
How to divert Orford was solved by the timely arrival of Doll Pocket. Swirling the folds of her muslin dress around her curves, she took Orford’s arm, and manoeuvred him away from the tent and the crated body of Sacchi.
‘Mr Orford, the duchess tells me you know a lot about the history of the very hill on which we are standing. That it might have been the site of a battle involving King Arthur. Do tell me all about it. I have an interest myself in the location of Arthur’s bones.’
Reluctantly, Orford allowed himself to be drawn away from the matter of the crate, and he began to relate the story of the Battle of Mount Badon. Though he did still manage to call out some advice to Malinferno: ‘Don’t concern yourself about the crate, sir. I will deal with it.’
Malinferno waved a hand at the retreating couple, and ducked his head through the tent flap. Inside, he was surprised to see the Queen, in the guise of Hattie Vaughan, entertaining none less than the mighty person of Sir Ralph St Germans. A jug of claret sat on a small table between them and, judging by the hilarity evinced by the two of them, it was far from full. They were clinking crystal goblets together as Malinferno entered. The Queen tilted her head in his direction, her black wig and pink turban with its long ostrich feather fully restored to their rightful place. Sir Ralph chortled, and drank down the claret in one gulp.
‘Madam, though I am a Whig, and would soundly whip any Radical who called for the downfall of the King, I have to say you have convinced me that the Queen . . .’ here he winked knowingly at Mrs Vaughan, ‘. . . should have my support. She has been hard done by, and deserves to be crowned alongside His Majesty. And if she were present, I would tell her that.’
The Queen giggled, and drank from her own goblet.
‘When I see her next, I will be sure to inform her of your support, Sir Ralph. Though as the trial is to take place in the Upper House, I fear it is in the Lords’ chamber where she needs help most.’
Realising her unintentional innuendo, she put her hand to her mouth and guffawed. Sir Ralph chortled all the more merrily, sounding like a babbling stream running over pebbles. He banged the flat of his hand down on the top of the crate housing the mortal remains of Guido Sacchi.
‘Now, Mrs Vaughan . . .’ once again he gave a grotesque wink, ‘. . . tell me again of the time in Italy that the Queen watched Mahomet the Turk perform that obscene dance.’
Malinferno retreated, seeing that he would get no sense from Sir Ralph concerning the meaning of the numbers in the spy’s notebook, now nestled in his coat pocket. But he need not have concerned himself with interpreting the code, for as he backed out of the tent, he felt the end of something poking in his back. He started, and a voice hissed in his ear.
‘Now, sir, return to me my notebook, or it will go ill for you.’
Thinking of the scene inside the tent, and how Powell would love to record it, Malinferno moved decisively away from the tent flap.
‘Of course you may have it back. I would have had no intention of keeping it, if you hadn’t startled us earlier.’ He took out the notebook. ‘May I have the lady’s bonnet back in exchange?’
Powell sneered, and turning, Malinferno noticed that the object stuck into his back was not a pistol as he had imagined but a small twig. He sighed at his cowardice, and defeated, handed over the book. Powell laughed.
‘The bonnet containing the three stolen plates? Perhaps I will keep it as evidence of your wrongdoing, should I need to ensure your silence on this matter.’
Malinferno cursed Doll’s light-fingeredness, conveniently forgetting his own when it came to unravelling the bindings of the mummy. Powell dropped the twig on the ground, and flicked through his notebook, ensuring no pages had been removed. Malinferno indicated the secret document.
‘Very full, and informative, your notes. May I just ask if number twenty-three is Signor Sacchi?’
‘The Queen’s latest Italian paramour?’ The spy’s disgust of the Queen’s activities was evident. ‘Yes, you are correct in your assumption. And the other one – Houghton – is number twenty-two. I have my eye on both of them. And anyone else who entered the duchess’s tent in the night.’
‘Sir Ralph St Germans, for example?
Powell coughed in embarrassment.
‘I cannot say. My commission is from Parliament, so there is a conflict of interest there. Though I am sure Sir Ralph would have tried to persuade the Queen to accept a divorce. I will tell you one thing for free. That man who I saw just now hanging on to the arm of your lady-friend was hovering round the tent in the night too. I saw him sneak inside much later than Sir Ralph when I went to use the bushes for . . . some relief. Sacchi must have deserted his post by then for I could not see him. He didn’t come out for a while, and I returned to my carriage. It had been a tiring day, and I fell asleep almost immediately.’
Malinferno felt his gorge rise. Powell meant Orford. Could he have been the murderer? If so, Doll was even now in his clutches. He looked nervously around the tented encampment. He could see neither Doll nor Daniel Orford, but spotted Lieutenant Houghton in the distance. He thanked Powell for his information, and rushed after the naval officer.
‘Lieutenant Houghton, wait a moment.’
Houghton turned around to see Malinferno running across the sward towards him, and for a moment looked as though he was going to flee. But he then stood his ground, and waited for Malinferno to catch his breath.
‘Have you seen Doll? She is with the duchess’s estates manager, Daniel Orford. A tall man, dark hair, rough clothes.’
Houghton’s eyes clouded over, and he kicked at the tufts of grass at his feet.
‘The . . . lady you were with? No, I haven’t seen her. I was looking for the fat man who Sacchi allowed into the Queen . . . Mrs Vaughan’s tent last night. I saw him there again this morning. He is a Member of Parliament, St Germans by name.’
Malinferno could have got annoyed at such people as Houghton casting doubts on the virtue of Doll Pocket by the innuendo in their voice when they mentioned her. Doll had fought hard to become who she was, using the best means at her disposal. Men like the naval lieutenant had had their way paved with family gold. He knew who he preferred to associate with. But he contained his anger.
‘Yes. Sir Ralph St Germans, and I think you will find that he and Mrs Vaughan are bosom friends by now.’
Malinferno spoke the words without thinking and then hoped they were not too literal a description of the friendship blossoming in the duchess’s tent. Houghton, though, was livid, his face turning a deep shade of purple.
‘What are you suggesting, sir? The Queen is of a trusting and friendly nature, on which some place a sinister interpretation.’
He had clearly forgotten the discreet incognito of the lady concerned, and practically foamed at the mouth as he berated Malinferno.
‘I am sure Sir Ralph’s intentions are honourable, and that he merely wishes to persuade the Queen to retire from public life. Sacchi, of course, could not see that. All he wanted to do was make money out of his association with the Queen. He took Sir Ralph’s coin, and then later I saw him talking to that man in the Tilbury gig. You should be chasing after him, if you ask me, not your lady-friend.’
Malinferno was getting more confused by the hour. The sun had risen over Solsbury Hill, and the camp was stirring. Even the hardiest sybarites had risen from their bucolic beds. And no doubt with thoughts of more comfortable conditions at home, were preparing to leave the encampment. Living alfresco had been an alluring proposition for the duchess’s guests. The reality was proving less attractive. If Malinferno didn’t resolve the murder of Guido Sacchi soon, all his suspects would be dispersed across most of the estates of the West Country, rendering his task hopeless. And there still remained the problem of disposing of the body in such a way that the Queen would not be implicated by association.
Houghton was proving useless to his investigations, and he curtly bade him good day. What mattered now was finding Doll, and the possible murderer, Daniel Orford.
Malinferno hurried hither and thither, amongst collapsing tents, as Orford’s men did the agent’s bidding. Passing one flapping structure, he sensed rather than saw something flying down towards him. He leaped to one side over a small mound on the edge of the embankment, and fell face down, momentarily dazed. He felt a hot breath on his cheek, and opening his eyes found himself staring into the dull and rather sad brown eyes of the dancing bear. Scrambling away from the tethered creature over which he had tripped, he almost fell again over a large, wooden tent pole. It was this that had crashed down just where he had been standing a moment earlier. A roughly dressed labourer emerged from the folds of the tent, his old-fashioned wig askew and his face red. He muttered an unconvincing apology, and retrieved the pole that had very nearly done for Malinferno. He, for his part, wondered if what had just happened had been other than an unfortunate accident. Was the labourer a cohort of Orford, tasked with doing his bidding, and getting rid of Malinferno? Or at least scaring him off his hunt? If so, what he was proposing to do with Doll right now?
Malinferno quickened his pace, and moved away from where other tents were being lowered, and towards the south-west corner of Solsbury Hill. He had recalled the duchess saying that Orford was an amateur antiquarian of some skill. Perhaps he had drawn Doll to where Malinferno knew, from Hawkins’ map in his pocket, the ground was peppered with treasure. His own excavation had been behind the duchess’s tent, but there were other crosses marked on the map on this part of the hill. With the oak grove to his right hand, he began to scour the flat top of the hill. But he still had no luck. So he pulled the old map from his pocket, and examined it aga
in. There were a couple of crosses marked on the down-slope of the embankment. He ran to the edge and peered down. Just below the ridge, he saw two figures, one a woman in a cloak mighty like Doll’s. She was peering at a hole in the ground. The man was tall, and standing behind the woman. He was lifting a spade over his head. Malinferno called out as loud as he could, and scampered down the bank.
‘Orford! What are you doing?’
As he tumbled down the slope towards them, Daniel Orford and Doll Pocket looked at him bemused. Malinferno managed to stop his descent by bumping into Doll, and clutching her arm.
‘I saw . . . he was . . .’
Catching his breath, he realised that Orford had the spade slung casually over one shoulder now. Had it been like that before? He simply wasn’t sure. He took a deep breath, and forced a smile on to his face.
‘What are you doing down here, Doll?’
Doll’s eyes sparkled in that special way that told Malinferno that she had learned some new facts.
‘Daniel was showing me where he has been excavating the remains of an ancient battle. One that may have involved King Arthur.’
Orford exercised a word of caution. ‘There is no proof that the Battle of Mount Badon was fought here, or that Arthur was more than a mere legend . . .’
Doll nudged Malinferno, silently reminding him of the time they had held the bones of King Arthur in their hands.
‘We know a bit about old Arthur. Don’t we Joe?’
Malinferno quietened her with a glare. The bones – if they had been Arthur’s at all – were safely hidden away, and were causing no more trouble.
‘Miss Pocket exaggerates, Mr Orford. My speciality . . .’ Doll nudged him again. ‘. . . our speciality is ancient Egypt. A far cry from old England. But tell me, what have you found here?’
He peered into the hole in the ground, being sure to keep Orford and his spade visible in the corner of his eye. He did not want another ‘accident’ like the tent pole to occur.
Hill of Bones Page 35
