by Joan Smith
“I could do with a bite first.”
“A quick one then.”
Black didn’t care for the looks of the grub at the tavern and limited himself to a glass of ale, just to keep his master company. They had a little trouble finding a hackney when they came out. It was nearly midnight by the time they reached Berkeley Square.”
Evans informed them that the Lutens had retired for the night. “They’ll want to hear this,” Black said.
“His lordship particularly asked not to be disturbed. Would you care to leave a message?”
A certain enmity had arisen between Evans and Black since the time Evans had managed to include himself in one of the Berkeley Brigade’s cases. Black was determined that it not be repeated and Evans was galled that Black, a butler like himself, had ended up as confidant to Lord Luten. He sat at Luten’s table, and called his lordship “Luten”, as if he were a gentleman. A bloody crook was what he was.
“I’ll be in the library overnight to guard the donations,” Black said. “I’ll speak to Luten first thing in the morning. Meanwhile you might bring a bottle of wine to the library for Mr. Pattle and myself, Evans.” To tease Evans, who was on thorns to know what was afoot, he added, “We’re celebrating.”
Eager as he was to know, Evans wouldn’t satisfy him to ask the cause of the celebration. The wine was duly brought. After two glasses and a strong urge to have another, Black said, “We mustn’t overindulge, Mr. Pattle. Why don’t you run along home, and come back early in the morning to tell Luten.”
“I will. I’m feeling peckish again. Wine takes me that way. I’ll ask Cook to bring me a sandwich.”
“Oh no, Mr. Pattle. Remember what I said. You will tell Cook to bring you a sandwich. And leave word you’re to be awakened early. Seven-thirty to be here by eight. Luten’s an early riser.”
After Coffen left, Black went to the cabinet to check out the items similar to the ones Corbett had marked in that art book. He lifted the jug pictured in Corbett’s book, reminding himself it was to be called a Grecian urn in public, and examined it. No thing of beauty either, in his view. Then he went to the gold salon and stood before the Caravaggio painting, wondering why anyone would want such an ugly phiz on his wall. Prance, for all his airs and graces, had much prettier pictures. Ladies in lace and ribbons being pushed on swings in a flower garden and such things as fancied in a man’s dreams. He began to feel hungry, and had the pleasure of calling Evans and asking him for a sandwich.
“I’m afraid Cook has retired, Mr. Black.”
“So he has. I’ll just go below and rustle myself up a bite. Luten won’t mind.”
But her ladyship would mind when Black told her, and he would. Black was a great favorite with her ladyship. Evans was forced to swallow the bitter wormwood and say, “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Black. I’ll do it myself.”
“That’s a good fellow. I’ll be in the gold salon.”
Black enjoyed his light repast, then returned to the library to see all was well there. Nothing was stirring. Pleased with the night’s work, he decided to just check out the back garden before settling in for the night’s watch. He found the footman blowing a cloud, “Just to keep myself alert,” he explained with an air of apology.
“No harm in that, Jack, so long as you’re not drinking.” Black didn’t often smoke, but he was in a mood for company and when the footman offered him a cigar, he accepted. They strolled together through the darkness, while the footman assured him there wasn’t so much as a mouse stirring in the garden.
As they passed the little stand of bushes, two masked men leapt out and attacked them from behind. They didn’t make a sound. They just leapt out and each struck a blow, sending Black and the footman into oblivion. When they came to they were bound, gagged and their eyes covered with a plaster. They could hear hurried, muffled sounds and Black at least knew exactly what was going on.
The donations were being removed, and he couldn’t stir a finger to stop them. He couldn’t even see them. He writhed and wriggled until his wrists were raw and his clothes — luckily his rough clothes — beyond redemption. He remained helpless, racked with impotent fury, while the goods he was supposed to be guarding were spirited away. It was the blackest moment in a career that had known some very black moments indeed.
* * *
Chapter 11
Black had decreed that the hour just before dawn was the likeliest time for an attack on the valuables. To be on the safe side, he had ordered the second night shift to come at three a.m. The guards chosen for the house were Dennis and Thomas. For the garden one of Coffen’s footmen, a young Irishman called Paddy, was accompanied by an older man, Slack.
During this crucial period, Paddy was admitted at the front door by Evans, as access to the gate to the back door was blocked. He always came ten minutes early to have a bit of a chat with Jack before Slack got there. He was amazed, when he arrived at the library, to find no one guarding the door. After knocking two or three times, he tried the knob and found the door unlocked. He peered into total darkness, which was odd as the guard usually left a light on “so he wouldn’t fall asleep”, he said, though Paddy suspected he was afraid of the dark.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom, but by the dim moonlight coming in the outer doors he soon observed the tables were empty of their treasures. Dashed queer! If they’d decided to move them, why hadn’t Evans told him? Now where was he supposed to go? E’er long he felt a breeze, and knew the door to the garden was open.
His curiosity rising ever higher, he went cautiously out into the garden, and there he found the victims, bound and gagged, rolling around on the grass. They had not managed to free themselves, but had rolled out from behind the bushes in an effort to reach the library door. “Saints beshrew me, is it yourself, Mr. Black?” he cried.
Black, of course, could not reply, but Paddy knew by this time that something extraordinary had happened, and it was up to him to do something about it. What he did was run inside to tell Evans. Having admitted Paddy, however, Evans had retired for the night. The house was in darkness. His mind roaring in excitement, fear and disbelief, it occurred to Paddy that who he really should notify was Lord Luten.
But that would mean going to his bedchamber. And besides having no idea which of the many bedchambers might be Luten’s, it might mean interrupting Luten and his lady in the middle of some married folks’ doings. No, he couldn’t awaken Lord Luten, so he stumbled through the darkened house, down to the kitchen and roused up Toddy, the footman whose bedroom was off the kitchen to facilitate his job of stoking up the fire in readiness for Cook when he came down at 6:30.
“Paddy, you mad fool, what the hell are you doing here?” Toddy demanded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had been resting in bed, but fully clothed.
“It’s Black. Him and Jack are trussed up in the garden and all the finery gone from the liberry.”
Toddy froze for an instant, then tossed the covers aside and jumped up in alarm. “Gorblimey, I’d best get the fire stoked up. They’ll be wanting coffee.”
“I daresay, but first we’ve got to untie them.”
“You mean you left them there, you great booby? What ails you, Paddy?”
“I didn’t know what to do. The guard from the liberry’s gone and all.”
Luten’s footmen were not the sort to lose their heads in an emergency. “Get a butcher knife, we’ll have to set Black free. He’ll know what to do.”
Toddy and Paddy headed back to the garden armed with knives and scissors to free Black and the footman. Black was speechless with dismay and so tired from all the struggling that he had to sit and catch his breath on the garden bench before he could begin to issue orders. He was so ashamed he almost wished the thieves had murdered him while they were at it. How could he ever face Luten, and her? He wanted only to slink away and never be seen on Berkeley Square again. But if he did that, they’d think he was in on the robbery.
His sense of duty soon
had him on his feet and issuing orders. His first thought was not to alarm Luten, but to go into the library, light the lamps, and see how things stood there. He knew the donations would be gone, but was mystified to see no sign of Harry, the guarding footman.
A banging in the hall outside the door alerted him to Harry’s whereabouts. He found him trussed up in a cupboard and untied him. Harry looked like death. He was still too dazed to answer questions, so Black sent him to the kitchen.
But where was the second set of guards who should have been here by now? Mystery piled on mystery. He no more relished the notion of invading the Lutens’ bedchamber than did Toddy. He reluctantly went to Evans’s room and awoke him. Under less harrowing circumstances he would have been amused to see Evans wore a nightcap to bed, and jealous as a green cow to see the finery of his bedchamber. But this was no time for trivialities.
Evans took one look at his bedraggled appearance, his face red from the gag and the removal of the plaster, his hair all askew, his clothes covered in mud, and his expression like death. “Good God, Black, what’s happened?” he demanded.
“The place has been robbed, Evans,” he said. “You must tell Lord Luten.”
“But how did it happen, with all the guards and precautions?”
“I don’t know,” Black admitted, still too stunned to have put a decent face on the calamity.
Evans was not a cruel man. He was jealous of Black, he resented his toplofty ways since elevation to the Berkeley Brigade, but for years they had been friends and confreres, butlers to Lady deCoventry and Lord Luten, sharing their little domestic secrets and helping each other when possible.
“Get yourself a brandy, Black,” he said in a kindly way. “You look like death. I’ll inform Luten.”
Black went downstairs and took Evans’s advice. As the stinging fire of brandy coursed through him, he felt some of his old strength returning. He had disgraced himself, but he must not give up. He must find the stolen goods and bring the thieves to justice — and do it before the auction. At least he had a good notion where to begin. Vance Corbett would pay for this!
In his distress, he didn’t think to clean himself up before returning to the library to meet Luten, who came rushing down in his dressing gown with a shock of black hair hanging over his forehead. Black was relieved he had let his wife sleep. What would she think of him? She had always placed such reliance on him to protect her interests.
“Black, my God what happened to you?” Luten demanded. “Are you all right? You’re not seriously hurt?”
That was Luten’s way, always sensitive, caring. “They got away with the whole lot, Lord Luten,” Black said. Luten had asked him to drop the Lord, but at this moment, it seemed presumptuous.
Luten scowled around at the empty library. “Yes, I can see that. How the devil did it happen with all our safeguards?”
“I’ve been trying to figure it out myself,” Black said. “I left the library door open myself when I went into the garden for a word with Jack, which I oughtn’t to have done. It let them in easy.”
“It wouldn’t take thirty seconds to break the glass and get in. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”
He led Black to a pair of chairs by the side of the room and Black told his story, the search of Corbett’s house, the items marked in the art book, the return to Berkeley Square, omitting nothing except having a glass of ale before returning, and wine after he arrived.
“They just leapt out from behind the bushes at me and Jack and knocked us out cold, bound us up leg and wing and covered our eyes. We couldn’t see a thing, or get free. Then Paddy, the night guard came on, Paddy from Mr. Pattle’s house, and found us. I’d sooner have lost both eyes than have this happen, Lord Luten.”
“None of that now, Black. It’s not your fault. They’ve outwitted us, that’s all. But we’ll recover the goods. You remember that spy case where the scoundrels got away with my mount and left the lot of us tied to trees in the wilderness. We solved that case and we had less to work on than now. We have some excellent clues to begin with. Corbett is obviously the place to start. If he hasn’t run off on us.”
Black was heartened by this view of things. “He can’t know we’re on to him. He’ll look more innocent if he carries on as usual. Who we must have a talk to is Harry, the fellow who was guarding the library, and the guards that were to come on here at three a.m.”
“Where is Harry?”
“He’d been mussed up. I couldn’t get any sense out of him. I sent him to the kitchen to get taken care of.”
“Let’s see if he’s coherent yet.”
Harry was run to ground in the kitchen, where he had recovered and was regaling the servants with his version of the night’s activities. Such stunning news as Paddy had for them had soon spread through the whole house.
Harry came forward tugging his forelock. He wasn’t too worried. He couldn’t be expected to handle any crook that could outwit Black. He told his story, well-rehearsed from telling belowstairs.
“I was standing guard outside the liberry like I was supposed to be. I heard some noise inside but figured it was Black moving things about. He had gone in earlier. But then I heard what sounded like talking, and I knew Black was in there alone, so I opened the door and took a step inside, wondering why Black was in the dark. I figured Jack — he was watching the garden doors — had heard something and notified Black. I wanted to give ‘em a hand, like. And that’s the last I remember. Something hit me a wallop on the head. I’ve a bump as big as a tater.” He rubbed the bump and looked to see if they were done with him.
When they just continued looking, he said, “When I come to, I was tied up in the cupboard. I couldn’t holler or move my arms, so I kicked the door and Black come and let me out. My head hurt something awful, so he sent me down here to get a headache powder from Toddy.”
“What about the others?” Luten asked. “They were to go on duty at three a.m. Did he get them as well?”
Harry tossed up his hands. “Far as I know, they never come.”
“Tell Evans to have the house searched for them,” Luten ordered. “They must be tied up somewhere as well. I hope no one’s seriously hurt. You’d best go have a lie down, or have breakfast if you’re hungry, Harry.”
It was half an hour before the others appeared. Dennis and Thomas, severely chastened by Evans, had been found in bed, fast asleep and informed of what had happened. “Well, Dennis, where have you and Thomas been through all this?” Luten demanded.
“Me and Thomas come at three o’clock like we were supposed to, your lordship. The liberry door was unlocked, there wasn’t nobody in there and no sign of Harry. We saw the valuables were gone and figured you’d had them moved for safekeeping and no one told us, so we went back to bed.”
“So you saw nothing of the thieves, heard nothing?”
“Not a whiff of them, your lordship. ‘Twas all over and done before ever we got here, and that’s the Lord’s truth. Ask Thomas.” Thomas nodded his agreement.
“Why didn’t you inform Evans?”
“We did! Well, not at first. Since there was nothing to guard, we went to bed. I couldn’t sleep and got to thinking it over, like. I roused up Thomas and we talked it over a while, thinking it was odd we hadn’t been told not to stand watch. That’s when we went to tell Evans, but he wasn’t there, where he always is. We figured if he’d gone to bed there couldn’t be anything amiss, so we went back to bed.”
“You should have informed Evans at once!” Luten said angrily.
Dennis gulped and said, “Yessir. I see that now. Hindsight —”
Luten growled in frustration. “What of the outdoor guards?”
“Well, Paddy was there.”
Slack came forward reluctantly. He had been having coffee at the kitchen table. “I was only five minutes late, your lordship. I just stopped down here to get coffee, for I wanted to be wide awake. Then when Harry came and told us what happened, I didn’t see no point to go upstair
s.”
“So you saw nothing?”
“No, your lordship.”
“Very well,” Luten said with an angry sigh, and dismissed him. He turned to Black. “Who we need at this point is Pattle. He has a way with clues. He might find something here or in the garden. And of course we’ll nab Corbett if he shows his face. I’ll send a brace of footmen to watch his cottage, in case he makes a run for it. Stop him, whatever it takes, and haul him here. Take a pistol, but don’t shoot. We have to talk to him.”
Dennis and Thomas, eager to get back in his lordship’s good graces, were keen to accept the job. Black gave them the address and a pistol and they left.
“Let us go and have some coffee, Black,” Luten said. “Or would you rather go home and clean up?”
“I’ll go home and rouse up Mr. Pattle and come back as soon as I’ve made myself decent.” Then he grimaced and said, “Her ladyship will have to know, of course.”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “There’s no way we can keep it from her.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Lord Luten.”
He looked close to tears. Luten felt sorry for him and said, “I know, Black. I know, but really it’s not your fault. They outwitted us, that’s all. But we’ll get them. Now you go and do what you have to do. We’ll let my wife sleep.” He drew a sigh and said, “It’s the last good night’s sleep she’ll have till we recover the donations.”
* * *
Chapter 12
Unlike Black and Luten, Coffen was secretly delighted that the auction donations had been stolen. Not that he wished to shatter Corinne’s dream of being the queen of London society, or to deprive the orphans of whatever they had coming to them. No, what he relished was a nice juicy mystery to keep him busy. Black’s breakfast stuck in his throat so he limited himself to coffee and told Coffen the whole story while he gobbled down his gammon and eggs and potatoes.
