by Joan Smith
He was teased to reveal the great secret, but remained mysteriously evasive. After a little bantering, the subject of the war came up. Margrave seemed more interested in this than in literature. He was well informed too. His tone regarding the conduct of the war was quite critical.
“I see you take a strong interest in the Spanish campaign, Morgrave,” Prance said.
“Naturally. I follow it closely. Doesn’t everyone?”
“To be sure, though I must admit I haven’t quite your grasp of the details.”
“Well, Sam tells me you are a dashed good writer in any case. Pleased to see you here. You’re not a regular. I was talking to Lady Luten this morning. She called on my wife. I meant to ask her if you chaps were having any luck with your latest case. It’s the murder of young Bolton you’re looking into, I understand.”
“Luten’s looking into it for a relative. Bolton was some connection of his. It’s hardly a matter for the Brigade.”
The old judge muttered, “Shocking,” and the subject moved on to Prinney’s latest outrages.
It seemed a long, tedious afternoon. They sat talking and imbibing for a solid hour while Coffen glanced over the latest race results. He made a few trips in the direction of the coat rack, but didn’t achieve enough privacy to search Morgrave’s coat pockets.
When Prance ordered another round, Coffen knew he was in for another long wait. He made yet another trip to the coat rack and this time he had the place to himself. He headed straight to Morgrave’s coat, third from the right, and began delving into his pockets. The first one held only a bill from Hamlet’s for repairs to a necklace clasp — that’d be Samantha’s, and a couple of his own calling cards. In the other pocket, he found what he was after. He felt soft leather, and drew out a gentleman’s purse. Not just any purse, it was Prance’s! The one stolen the night he was attacked in Long Acre. There was no mistaking it.
Like all Prance’s possessions, it was unique. He had designed it himself, with his family motto etched into the soft leather in gold and black. Three lions walking and something, probably the family motto, written in Latin. Coffen stood a moment, his heart thumping in excitement and his mind whirling with indecision. Should he take it as proof of what he’d found? Or should he leave it so Morgrave didn’t suspect he’d been found out? He soon decided discretion demanded that he not remove it. But he did open it, and noticed it held only a few shillings. The bleater had spent the ten pounds Prance had mentioned were in the purse.
He returned the purse to Morgrave’s coat pocket and returned to the card room. The group was finally breaking up. Morgrave was the first to rise.
“I’d best be getting home,” he said. “Sam and I are dining at my brother’s place tonight.”
“I must be dashing too,” Prance said at once, and shook hands all around.
Coffen and Prance managed to get out the door before Morgrave and hastened to their carriage to follow Morgrave when he left. The groom already had his orders.
“He wouldn’t have to leave this early to get ready for dinner,” Prance said. “We’ll follow him.”
“You’ll never guess what I discovered,” Coffen said, his chest swollen with importance. “Your purse, Reg, the one that was stolen by them roughians at Long Acre. It was in Morgrave’s coat pocket. The ninnyhammer didn’t know enough to discard it after stealing your ten pounds. Still green behind the ears.”
In the excitement of this announcement, Prance didn’t even notice Coffen’s latest mangling of the King’s English. “Are you sure it’s mine. Let me see it.”
“I didn’t take it. I didn’t want him to know we were on to him. As you often say, discretion is the better part of value. I’m positive it’s yours. It’s the only sharkskin purse in town with three gold lions going for a stroll.”
“You’re right. Best to leave it there. There he goes!” Prance cried, as Morgrave’s carriage took off. They followed it at a discreet distance, and were greatly disappointed when it went straight to Morgrave’s home.
“We can go on home,” Coffen said. “There’s Luten's hunting carriage just rounding the bend. Black’s on the job. He must have followed him to Arthur’s and been waiting all afternoon. He sticks tighter than a barnacle.”
“This was a good afternoon’s work,” Prance said. “Morgrave must be the ring leader. Those roughs who beat me up obviously handed their ill-got gains over to him, or how does he come to have my purse?”
“Are you sure he wasn’t one of them? You mentioned one of them was big.”
“No, he was a heavier set man entirely.”
“Do you think we should send Luten a note?”
“He’ll be home soon enough. Morgrave isn’t on the move, and Black is there to follow him if he does leave. Pelkey is having a new carriage brought around for me to look at.”
Prance, like most young men, was greatly interested in horses and carriages. “Dandy! Is it a curricle? I’m after one of them sporting rigs myself.”
“No, just a carriage,” Prance said, and rather wondered if he shouldn’t be getting a dashing curricle instead.
He was very happy with the plain black carriage with silver appointments glinting in the fading sunlight that stood in front of his house when they arrived. Pelkey jumped down from the box when he saw them approach.
“Perfect,” Prance said. “Just what I wanted. This is the one, Pelkey.”
“Pretty plain. For you, I mean,” was Coffen’s opinion. “I’m beginning to think that beating knocked some sense into you, Reg. I notice you’ve left off wearing that funny hat and cape. You’re wearing a plainer cravat as well, and you’ve quit curling your hair. Other than the eye patch and bruised nose, you look almost normal.”
“Now if only we could do something about your toilette,” Prance riposted. He was not offended, however. He liked to have his appearance noticed and commented upon.
Chapter Fourteen
Over the next few days the investigation proved to be extremely frustrating. Between Black and the two footmen Luten assigned to the job, they knew where Morgrave was every hour of the day. He did nothing more suspicious than visit his brother, drive in the park with his wife, order a new pair of top boots, visit his tailor and attend Tattersalls with his brother, who bid on but did not purchase a hunter for his wife. His nights were equally innocent.
Finding Prance’s purse in Morgrave’s pocket proved that he was involved, if not the ringleader, yet he did nothing suspicious. He received no visits from Henri, Guy or Alphonse. In fact, he was never seen anywhere near a Frenchman. He did not send or receive any suspicious communications, unless it was done through the post office. Black was sent back to the Sheepwalk and reported that the Frenchies had not returned.
Samantha Morgrave was flattered to receive two more calls from Lady Luten. On the second visit she was invited to call Corinne by her first name. Samantha was given to understand she was being considered for elevation to the committee for the Orphans’ Ball for next year, to account for this sudden barrage of visits. On one more occasion John was present, though not studying maps of Spain or drinking brandy. To make matters worse, Corinne liked the Morgraves. And when Samantha blushingly confided that she was enceinte, Corinne was sorry she had ever become involved in the case. How cruel for Samantha if her husband should turn out to be a traitor just when she was having their first baby.
Prance found the eye patch so distracting that he abandoned it, except on one or two occasions when he went out in the evening where tout le monde could admire it. His special quizzing glass arrived and was added to his toilette. The sword in a cane also arrived and he and Villier spent an afternoon flailing at each other in the drawing room, Prance with the sheathed sword and Villier with Prance’s malacca walking stick. The long, narrow neckcloths were made up and Villier practised arranging them in intricate folds. Prance bought a black enameled snuffbox that opened at the touch of a button, filled it with pepper and carried it with him everywhere.
His
jackets were a little bulkier than usual due to concealed weapons, including a small hasp knife with a cleverly concealed corkscrew.
The side pockets of his coach were bulging with pistols, knives, ropes and handkerchiefs to use for gags, a small bottle of laudanum in case he wanted to put an enemy to sleep and brandy for resuscitation purposes. He even managed to find a pair of manacles. He was prepared for any emergency, but no emergency arrived.
Luten was pulling his hair in frustration when Black finally came up with a clue. Black had been making queries among his many acquaintances in the underworld and called on Lady Luten just before dinner on the third day of inactivity. He took special pains to time his visits when he was likely to find her alone for a few minutes. He found her reading in the rose salon, all dressed for evening and waiting for Luten to come home. She looked even lovelier since her wedding. Less agitated, more serene. Almost like a Madonna.
“Black,” she said, smiling. “Dare I hope you have brought us news? Luten is so frustrated with this case.”
“I believe I might have a little something, milady. Is his lordship at home?” he asked innocently.
“Not yet, but he’ll be here shortly. You can tell me. Any little crumb will be more than welcome. What have you discovered? Is it to do with the brandy you ordered?”
“No, I’ve had no word from Freddie as yet.” To prolong his visit, he said, “If Luten will be along soon, we might as well wait for him. I see marriage agrees with you, milady. You are flourishing, if I may be allowed to say so.” He cast a sideways glance at the wine on the side table beside her.
“Certainly you may. Thank you. We are very happy now that we’ve finally managed to get married. We hardly argue at all. Prance says we have sunk into a connubial lethargy. Let us have a glass of wine while we wait for Luten.”
They hadn’t long to wait. Sooner than Black liked, Luten arrived. His first attention was a smile for his bride. Then he turned to Black. “Black, what brings you to call?” he said, his eyes gleaming with hope.
“Black has found out something, Luten,” his wife announced.
“A little something that I hope will help,” Black said modestly.
“Let us go into my study,” Luten said. As Corinne was about to join them Evans entered with a note from one of her colleagues on the Orphans’ Ball committee.
“The footman is waiting for a reply, madam,” Evans said, so she had to read it, sort out the pro’s and con’s of various suggestions in a way that would alienate the fewest number of members of the sub-committee on renting and decorating the hall, then write her reply.
“I paid a call on Ted Vickers,” Black said, as soon as the door was closed behind him. He felt like a Member of Parliament or a lord, standing chatting in Luten’s grand oak-lined office, with a desk as big as a dining table, and a chair like a throne behind it.
Luten sat down and waved Black into a chair by the desk. “Ted Vickers?” he said, frowning at the name, that sounded familiar, yet he couldn’t put a face to it.
“The fellow who rescued Sir Reginald the night he was attacked.”
“Ah, with the little fellow, his son, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. Tommy, a wide-awake little rascal. I figured they’d know who was who at Long Acre, and since that’s where Sir Reginald was taken to be attacked, it seemed possible the roughians were from that area, or known there at least.”
Luten just shook his head. “I should have thought of that. And did you get a line on them?”
Black blushed happily. “It turns out there’s a whole nest of Frenchies working out of Long Acre. From the names I got at the Sheepwalk and their description, Ted figured he knew the lads. He didn’t know where they live, but he knew where they went to wet their whistles. An awful dive in Long Acre, it was. I don’t believe it has a proper name but thereabouts it’s called Bessy’s place. I dressed up in some old clothes I keep on hand for such occasions and went along. Took a hackney part way and walked the rest as I didn’t want to give them the notion I was worth robbing. I couldn’t swear it was the lads from the Sheepwalk for I didn’t get to see them when I was staying there, but the descriptions fit to a tee. One of them was called Henri. And to clinch it, Morgrave’s name came up.”
Luten was so excited he nearly jumped out of his chair. “I knew it! Damme, we’ve got to teach you French, Black.”
“Alas, they were speaking the bongjaw for the most part. I’ve been reading up on it since this case, and caught a few words. As luck would have it, they named places in English. They kept talking about Somers Town, and saying something that sounded like meenyouee.”
“Minuit — that’s midnight. Somers Town makes sense. It’s a large French community now. Many of the French emigrants have hired houses there. There’s a deal of construction going on in that district. The Duke of Bedford took me out there one day. He’s selling ground leases for new houses to be built. They’re clearing away trees and bushes at a great rate. Did they mention a day?” He rimed off the days of the week — lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi — ? “
“The days of the week are in the second chapter of my French grammar. It was joodi. Thursday, that’s today.”
“So tonight at midnight,” Luten said. “Well done, Black. I wonder what they have planned?”
“They were chattering like crows. My French isn’t good enough to follow what they were saying, but they were mighty pleased about it to judge by their crowing.”
“Then we’ll just have to go and find out. It’s a sizable place — acres and acres.”
“They mentioned Grays Inn Lane, if that helps pinpoint it. And something about a grand something, meaning big. It sounded like arbour.”
“It helps considerably, Black. Coming from Long Acre, they’ll turn north off High Holborn.” He went to a cabinet, drew out a map of London unfolded it on his desk top and studied the area. “There’s no arbour there, to my knowledge.”
“I could take a run out and look about, if it would help,” Black offered.
“A good idea. I doubt you’ll find an arbour, but you could scout around and see if you spot a likely meeting place. Somewhere private. I wonder if they’re meeting in a building or in the open. Since they mentioned an arbour, it sounds as if they plan to meet outdoors.”
“Being Frenchies, they might not know what an arbour is,” Black said uncertainly.”
“It is a broad term,” Luten said, frowning.
Black disliked to be less than omniscient, but was eager to learn just what he was looking for. “No telling what they might take it to mean, then,” he said, hoping for more details.
“Nowadays we usually mean some sort of covered walk, perhaps with a trellis and vines. It comes from the French for tree, l'arbre. I’ve heard my older relatives refer to a small planting of trees as an arbour. There is no large arbour there, but there might be some grouping of trees left standing.”
Black was eager to be off. “I’ll let you know what I find,” he said. “Should I take your plain black carriage?”
“Of course. Consider it for your own use until we get this matter solved, Black. I’ll let my stable keeper know he’s to send it to you when you call for it.”
“That might save time,” Black said, reigning in his euphoria. “I’ll report as soon as I get back.”
“Please do. I’ll let the others know we’ll need their help tonight.”
Corinne was frustrated to see Black leave before she could join him and Luten. As soon as she answered the note, she rushed to Luten’s study. He was just folding up a map. “What was Black’s news, Luten?” she asked.
He was ready for her. “Oh he spoke to Ted Vickers, the fellow who brought Prance home the night he was attacked. Vickers tells him he thinks the French have a hangout at Long Acre. Black’s going to look into it. We were just studying this map to see exactly where Prance was abducted. I’ve given him the use of my hunting carriage for the time being.”
“He’ll like that,” she said,
pleased to see her old friend’s help being recognized in a way that would please him. She knew both Black and Luten well enough to suspect that their excitement had some bigger cause than Luten had told her. “Anything else?” she asked.
“That’s a good start,” he prevaricated, as he disliked lying to her, and rushed on to discuss how they could help Black after her house was rented.
She saw she was to learn nothing more from him and would have to keep her eyes open to discover what was going on.
Chapter Fifteen
Black was as good as his word. He was back before Luten sat down to dinner. Corinne was still abovestairs making her toilette. Luten had left word with Evans that Black was to be shown in the minute he arrived. If he was abovestairs dressing, Black was to be sent up. Black was deprived of this honour and was shown into Luten’s study, but not before Evans gave him a good roasting.
“You’ll soon be having your own key to the door, the way you’re running tame here,” he said.
“Deep doings, Evans,” Black replied importantly.
“He won’t want her to know about it. Keep your tongue between your teeth if she quizzes you.”
“No need to tell me my business, Evans,” he said, with a broad wink to show there was no ill will.
Luten jumped up from his seat when Black was shown in. “Well? Any luck?” he demanded.
“As you said yourself, there’s nothing in the way of a real arbour there. The whole place is a shambles, with trees coming down and houses being thrown up all over the place. There’s one spot on the southeast corner of Grays Inn Lane that still has a good stand of trees. It’s a handy spot to meet, just off the main road, but far enough in for them to hide from passersby. Not that there’d be many at midnight. I believe that’s the likeliest spot.”
Luten thought a moment, then said, “Even if they meet elsewhere in that area, it’s ten to one they’ll come from Long Acre by Grays Inn Lane, so we’d see them coming and could follow. I believe that’s our best bet. We’ll want to be there early. Around eleven-thirty. Let us say eleven. It’ll be a tedious wait, but we don’t want them to spot us arriving, if one of them should come early.”
