‘As you saw, it was a melancholy play.’ Magdalena fought back the sudden flash of anger that consumed her and she kept her tone measured. ‘I felt that it suited my mood and my situation.’
‘Quite so, quite so,’ said Juana. ‘Although some may believe that widows should shun public gatherings for two years, there is perhaps a case for partaking of such solemn entertainment.’
Teresa finally brought the coffee in their mismatched china cups. She had also arranged small pieces of seed cake on a tiny plate.
‘Ahh,’ Juana said. ‘This is good. I far prefer coffee. The English preference for tea is a mystery to me.’
Magdalena smiled. At least in this, she and Juana had something in common.
‘I understand that tea is a good remedy for stomach upsets,’ Magdalena said. ‘However, I am also baffled about why they drink so much of it here.’ Thankfully, Stephen preferred coffee.
‘They must suffer a lot of gut-ache,’ said Olaya. She helped herself to a second piece of cake. Thank goodness their brother didn’t accompany them, Magdalena thought. We don’t have enough crockery or cake for more guests.
They made her recount the incident with the silk-snatcher and the duke.
‘Of course, it’s scandalous the way the English lords parade their concubines in public,’ Juana pronounced, ‘such a poor example to set the lower orders. They say Mrs Jordan is a woman of the basest origins who made her living strutting across the stage in men’s clothing and has moved from the bed of one man to another all her life.’
Magdalena shrugged. ‘Our Spanish nobles are no better. During the early years of my marriage, before Sebastián was born, Antonio and I spent some time with my relatives in Madrid. They introduced us to life at court and I was a frequent visitor to the vast palace of El Escorial. I quickly became aware of the scandalous and the illicit liaisons that carried on behind the gilt bedroom doors of the palace.’
Olaya’s eyes widened and both women leant forward to hear more. It gave Magdalena great pleasure to let them wait. She was no huge admirer of Mrs Jordan after her unpleasant little trick, but if there was one thing she hated more than anything it was the sense of superiority that many of her fellow émigrés displayed over the English, whom they felt were godless and sinful.
‘You’re referring, of course, to the affair between Queen Marie Luisa and Prime Minister Godoy?’ Juana suggested in a breathless whisper. ‘Was it true? Were they lovers?’
‘Would you like more coffee, Olaya, or perhaps some bread and honey?’ Magdalena asked. The younger sister nodded and smiled. Olaya was easily distracted, Magdalena realised, especially with food. The girl was plain but not quite as sour-faced as her older sibling. However, her corsets were struggling to restrain her expanding waistline.
Juana finally sat back in her chair when she realised that Magdalena wasn’t going to enlighten them further. Irritation flashed across her face. ‘It must be quite a disappointment for a woman who has spent time in the palace of El Escorial to find herself living here,’ she snapped.
Touché, thought Magdalena.
‘I must confess, Doña Magdalena, that I don’t like this area and the people within it – especially the trading men on the street. When we alighted from the carriage I smelt their rank underclothes and walked in fear of their hands reaching out for me. I feared their touch.’
Magdalena almost choked on her coffee and struggled to hide her laughter. This dried-up old spinster must have a nose like a ferret if she could smell the men’s underclothes. And Juana was spending more time thinking about their smalls than they ever would spend thinking about hers. Juana was quite safe from groping hands.
‘Felipe has found us a lovely house in which we can wait out the war,’ Juana continued. ‘It’s in a pleasant area. The house is tall and elegant, with more bedchambers than we require. We also have a cook and several servants. Despite the dismal weather in this country, we’re quite comfortable in our exile.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Magdalena.
‘Sometimes Felipe assists other émigrés who have also found themselves in difficult circumstances by letting them stay with us. He’s so considerate and kind to help those less fortunate than us. He’s a true Christian, a true Catholic. Perhaps I will ask him to let you stay with us.’
‘You can’t imagine how distressed we were to hear of Don Antonio’s death,’ Olaya suddenly blurted out. She drained her cup and passed it to Teresa for a refill. ‘Our brother, Felipe, was particularly upset.’
‘May God guard the souls of the departed.’ Juana crossed herself as she spoke.
‘Amen,’ said Magdalena. She was grateful for the interruption provided by the younger woman. It gave her a moment to recover from the shock of Juana’s suggestion. Is that why they were here? To offer her charity? Yet only two nights ago, Juana and her siblings had snubbed her at the theatre.
‘Felipe had always felt close to Antonio, he regarded him as the brother he never had,’ Juana continued.
Again, Magdalena bit back her urge to laugh. Despite his faults – and he had many – the energetic Antonio had been a good judge of character. He despised Don Felipe, whom he considered as lazy and hedonistic. Antonio always referred to the sisters as a pair of twisted old geckos. In a society where men stuck together, her husband had spurned the company of Felipe Menendez and ignored his overtures of friendship.
The Menendez family were never part of the ancient hidalguía to which Magdalena and Antonio belonged. The Menendez were the new rich, who had grown wealthy and idle on the gold stolen from the natives of the Americas. ‘His rings won’t fall off,’ Antonio had said many times about Felipe Menendez and his idleness. The family treated their servants badly and took only a self-serving part in politics. They had no social conscience, made no effort to improve their land for the benefit of the community or to adopt modern agricultural practices that might improve the lives of their illiterate peasants. Thanks to the languid attitude of families like that of Felipe Menendez, Spain had become a fractious, underdeveloped, economic backwater. No wonder Bonaparte and his French pigs had walked all over them.
‘Antonio and I were always very fond of Don Felipe,’ she said.
‘I’m sure that he will be pleased to hear that,’ Juana said. ‘But I think that your late husband would have been distressed to have seen you fallen so low in fortune. You and Teresa must come and stay with us for a while. You would enjoy the comfort – and the warmth. It would save you some money.’
‘Thank you for your kindness,’ Magdalena said graciously. A few months ago she would have leapt at the opportunity to live off the charity of this wealthy family, no matter how much she disliked or distrusted them. ‘However, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I must decline your kind invitation. I’m about to commence some employment which I hope will improve my circumstances.’
‘Employment?’ Juana looked like she had been struck.
‘Yes, I will be giving Spanish lessons to the staff of the British government.’
‘Teaching?’ Olaya spluttered crumbs across the table.
‘Yes, Detective Lavender helped me gain this employment.’
‘Ah, this Detective Lavender,’ Juana said slowly. Her eyes narrowed. ‘He’s the policeman, yes?’
‘He’s a highly respected principal officer at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court,’ Magdalena corrected her. ‘You saw the familiar ease with which the Duke of Clarence addressed him? Well, Detective Lavender is a man of influence.’
Teresa placed a plate stacked with bread and honey in front of Olaya. ‘He also likes to kiss,’ her maid said suddenly.
Magdalena gave the startled sisters a beaming smile. ‘Yes, he’s forever kissing my hand – and Teresa’s,’ she said. ‘His manners are impeccable.’ She really must have a word with Teresa as soon as possible. For someone who didn’t speak much in either Spanish or English, her maid chose the most inappropriate moments to suddenly become articulate. The sisters lowered their eyelids. Magdal
ena knew that they didn’t believe her.
‘Does he come to your window at night?’ Olaya asked, her mouth once more crammed full of food.
Magdalena smiled at the thought of Stephen up a ladder at her first-floor window, wooing her in the traditional Spanish custom. That would raise a few eyebrows in the neighbourhood. ‘Detective Lavender is a good friend. He found out what had happened to Antonio. Without his help I would never have known of my husband’s death at Talavera.’
‘A friend like that must be valued,’ Juana said. ‘Come, Olaya, we have taken up far too much of Doña Magdalena’s time and encroached for long enough on her hospitality. We must return in time for evening prayers.’
Olaya cast a last, lingering glance of regret at the unfinished plate of food then rose to leave with her sister.
‘Do you still find a place and an opportunity to pray and take Mass in this heathen country, Doña Magdalena?’ Juana asked as she fastened her cloak.
‘Oh yes, I pray all the time,’ Magdalena lied blithely and pointed across the room to the curtains which hid their sleeping quarters. ‘I have a devotional corner where I keep my Bible and the family reliquary. But I don’t have a priest to take my confession.’
‘That is another reason why you should come and stay with us for a while,’ Juana said. ‘Felipe has found us a priest, a Father Hernandez. I’m sure you have much to confess,’ she added, with a sly glance. ‘But it’s good to hear that you had time to remember to pack your religious items before your dramatic flight from Spain.’
And with that final curt statement, she turned on her heel and marched out of the door, Olaya trailing in her wake.
Magdalena breathed a sigh of relief when the rigid figures of the Menendez sisters finally disappeared down the stairwell. However, her relief was short-lived. She was shrewd enough to realise that there must be a reason why those dreadful women had called on her today. Two nights ago they had turned their back on her at the theatre. There was something behind this sudden flush of friendship and she doubted it was her brief popularity with the Duke of Clarence. She wasn’t sure what had prompted their renewed interest or offer of hospitality, but their quick departure after the discussion about Stephen left her uneasy.
Chapter Nineteen
Lavender, Woods and Magistrate Read stared silently at the innocuous piece of paper on the desk. The longcase clock ticked gently in the background. Dusk was falling and the gas-lamp lighters would soon be out but Lavender could still hear the cries of the market vendors outside in the cold streets of Covent Garden, shouting out their wares. London never stopped. This was the time of the day when frugal housewives would arrive at the fruit and vegetable market in the hope of buying produce at reduced prices and the fruitiers and florists vied with each other for customers, desperate for a last few coppers.
Read and Woods were silent for a considerable time. They had a lot to think about, Lavender realised. They had been shocked when he told them about April Clare’s deception and how she had been masquerading as her dead sister for the last few days. However, when he explained how genuinely scared the woman had been and that he believed the kidnapping had been an attempt to retrieve the document that lay on the table before them, their irritation had quickly turned to concerned curiosity.
‘What has this woman got herself mixed up with?’ Read took off his wig, tossed it onto the desk and scratched his close-cropped head. He pointed an ink-stained finger from his other hand at the sheet of paper. ‘What do you think it is?’
‘I think it’s in code,’ Lavender said. ‘A code that gives the location of ships. The location of our naval fleet in the Indian Ocean, probably. I have no idea about how accurate it is – or how relevant.’
Read frowned. ‘If you’re right, then we have a grave situation before us.’
Beside the magistrate, Woods scratched his stubbly chin. The glow from the flickering oil lamp on Read’s desk illuminated the tired confusion on the faces of both men.
‘Miss Clare had put her play script into Captain Willoughby’s bureau?’ Read asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it may simply be one of his old papers that had become mixed up with her script. It is not inconceivable that a naval captain might be thinking about navigation and jot down a list of the degrees of latitude and longitude.’
‘That’s what she thought, at first,’ Lavender said. ‘But I don’t think that Captain Willoughby wrote that list. He sailed away from England over a year ago and that list has been written since November.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because of the line drawn through the word “Victor”. HMS Victor was a French ship called the Iéna. We captured her from the French in 1808 and renamed her HMS Victor. But she’s no longer one of ours. The French recaptured her in November last year. I read about it in the news-sheets. One reporter likened her to an inconstant mistress because she was forever swapping from one master to another.’
‘We’re grateful for your prodigious reading and excellent memory, Stephen,’ Read said.
Lavender glanced up, suspecting sarcasm but the magistrate’s praise was genuine. It seemed their earlier disagreement had been forgotten in the light of this new and disturbing development.
‘The Victor has been crossed off this list because she’s no longer part of our fleet. She’s back in the hands of the French,’ Lavender continued. ‘Captain Willoughby couldn’t have made this mark on a paper back in England because he was on the other side of the world when the ship was retaken.’
Read observed him shrewdly. ‘That is one explanation, I suppose, but you put a lot of significance into a single line through one word, Stephen.’
‘Don’t forget that somebody has gone to extreme lengths to retrieve this document,’ Lavender insisted. ‘Every mark on it has significance. These villains have kidnapped the woman they thought had taken it, ransacked her lodgings and possibly murdered Darius Jones so they could gain undisturbed access to Raleigh Close in order to hold their victim prisoner. This list is significant to someone.’
‘What is so damned important about a piece of paper with a few degrees of latitude and longitude marked on it?’ Woods jabbed a finger in the direction of the paper on Read’s desk. ‘Why would those coves kidnap and terrify two innocent gals in order to get it back?’
Read sighed. ‘We won’t know the answer to that question, Ned, until we have determined exactly what the paper is. But if Lavender is right, and this document does give the whereabouts now – or at some point in the future – of our naval fleet in the Indian Ocean, then the situation is more serious than I ever imagined.’
‘Why?’ Woods asked.
‘Because such information is classified,’ Lavender explained patiently. ‘If it landed in the hands of the French, then the lives of thousands of our seamen and officers may be in danger.’
‘Gawd’s teeth!’ exclaimed Woods. He sat back in his chair in horror. His gaze flicked between Lavender and Read. ‘Have we stumbled across a Froggie spy ring?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lavender said. ‘But a document like this shouldn’t be lying around the green room of the Sans Pareil Theatre. Someone has been careless.’
‘That woman in the Hart Street bakery, that Jacquetta Higgin, claims she heard foreigners talkin’ outside her shop one evenin’,’ Woods reminded them. ‘She thought they were French.’
‘Do you think that somebody who works at the theatre is involved?’ Read asked.
Lavender shrugged. ‘There has to be some connection to the theatre. That is the only other place where Miss Clare took her play script; the paper before us must have become caught up in her script when she put it down in the green room.’
‘I thought Admiral Lord Nelson had destroyed the French fleet at Trafalgar.’ Deep furrows embedded themselves into Woods’ broad forehead. ‘Why would it matter if anyone knew where our ships were in the South Seas? The French have no ships left. Britannia rules the waves!’
‘Not quite,’ Lavender said smiling. ‘The French still have substantial frigate squadrons at the Île-de-France and Île Bonaparte in the Indian Ocean. They use these islands as raiding bases to disrupt our trade links with British India. The East India Company sends millions of pounds worth of goods back to London every year. The Royal Navy is dominant in these waters and protects the heavily laden East Indiamen as they sail home. But French warships have become a real nuisance; they capture or sink trading vessels and isolated British frigates.’
‘So this case is about ruddy piracy as well as spyin’?’ asked Woods. He had raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared beneath his hair.
Read smiled. ‘No doubt Napoleon Bonaparte would call it an act of war, rather than piracy, Ned,’ he said. ‘Remember that not all wars are fought on an Iberian battlefield under the command of Viscount Wellington. Some wars are more subtle, more remote – but still as devastating to our island nation.’
‘We need to verify this document,’ Lavender said. It had been a long day and he was tired.
‘I have a contact in the Home Department in Whitehall,’ said Read. ‘Captain Sackville will know what it is. I will pass it across to him first thing tomorrow.’
‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Go home,’ Read replied. ‘Miss Clare is safe under the watchful eyes of our constables and there is nothing else you can do tonight. Things will be clearer in the morning when my contact has had a look at this document. Call on me at midday after I have finished my early session in court. Then we will know how to proceed.’
‘Let’s get a brandy,’ Lavender said as he and Woods pulled up their coat collars and descended down the steps of the building onto Bow Street. Despite his exhaustion, Lavender’s mind was still in turmoil with the day’s events and he welcomed the opportunity to wind down for a while in front of a blazing tavern fire with Woods’ company and a large glass of brandy. ‘It’s early yet and Betsy doesn’t expect us all for supper for a while.’
The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) Page 16
