Masquerade of Vengeance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 3)

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

CHAPTER 18

  The party returned from the outing to Rievaulx pleasurably tired and looking forward to a relaxing evening spent in their separate homes.

  Not so Justin, who slipped out after dinner for an arranged meeting with Watts in the privacy of the landlord’s snug private parlour at the Black Horse.

  “I may as well tell you straight away, Joe,” began Justin, a tankard of home brewed in his hand, “that I think I know who the culprit is.”

  “Well, that’s good news, guv’nor!” Watts gave him a shrewd look. “But when you say that ye think ye know —”

  “That’s the devil of it. It’s a strong suspicion, but it only rests on a fleeting expression I caught on his face. We were all seated in an ornamental temple at the time, and I said that there wouldn’t be any loose tiles there.”

  “Crafty,” approved the Runner.

  “Well, yes, I didn’t think it too bad on the spur of the moment,” admitted Justin with a grin. “But, damme, Joe, it’s only a pointer, not evidence, and moreover one could easily be mistaken, so I don’t propose to give you his name as yet. I managed to gather some particulars about the antecedents of these four men — with the invaluable aid of my niece, I hasten to add.”

  “Ah, yes, she’s a right one, is Miss Rutherford, if ye’ll pardon the liberty, sir. Are ye wishful to inform me of these particulars, or shall I give you my findings first? Not that they amount to more’n a couple of brass farthings.”

  “A pity. Never mind, you tell me first.”

  “As ye’ve said already, guv’nor, I think we can set our sights on these four gennelmen up at Warton Manor, for I’ve now looked into the affairs of the other parties new to the district, and they’re harmless enough. All except that Ross, o’ course, and even if he bain’t a murderer and an ex-convict, he’s a wrong ’un, right enough, and I’ll catch him, see if I don’t. Anyways, not to make a long tale of it, I took y’r suggestion, sir, and had a nice, quiet look round at their rooms while they were out today.”

  Justin nodded approvingly. “With the assistance of the little parlour maid, I presume? I hope you made it worth her while, Joe.”

  “Nay, I’d no need to bring the moll into it. I knew where the bedchambers were already from information received —” he grinned — “and there was no one to speak of about, as the servants had decided to have a day out, too. What’s sauce for the goose, sir! I just slipped up there by the back stairs, and the only fly in the ointment was that tarnation valet who works for Mr Fellowes. He was hanging around his master’s bedchamber most of the time I was upstairs, so I had to wait on my chance to get into it. Howsoever, he did pop off downstairs for a few minutes at last. I was keeping close watch so was able to slip in quickly. Daren’t stay long, but long enough to see that he’d been busy packing all his master’s effects — clean as a whistle, all drawers, cupboards, the closet, and such like, except for a set of evening togs laid out on the bed! Puzzled me, I don’t mind admitting. What d’ye reckon, guv’nor? Is he set to do a moonlit flit?”

  Justin frowned thoughtfully and set down his tankard.

  “This queers my pitch, Joe, as I think you’d say. I’d thought this man Fellowes an unlikely starter for our villain, as everything I’ve managed to learn of him suggests that he can’t possibly have been out of the country for the past fourteen years or more. He may be lying through his teeth, of course, but he can’t have had much time to find out such details concerning the theatre, for example, as he appears to know. Certainly the other three men weren’t as well informed. Then there’s the valet, and the connection with Ross. Difficult, if not impossible, to strike up a close acquaintance with either in such a short space of time. And what inducement could he offer them to participate in a plot designed solely for vengeance? Money? He may, of course, have resources hidden away sufficient for that.”

  He brooded a moment, rumpling his hair in the gesture well known to Watts.

  Then he gave a sudden exclamation.

  “Got it! At least, I think I have! If so, old chap, you’re in for double trouble!”

  He explained, while his companion listened and then nodded.

  “Ay, that’s very likely, sir. Wonder we didn’t think of it afore. So I’ll do a spell of surveillance later on — reckon he won’t move until well after midnight, if he does at all, say one or two o’clock onwards — that’s if we’ve guessed aright.”

  “And I’ll join you — that’s settled. Now, tell me what you found in the rooms of the other three men.”

  “Precious little, beside togs — clothes, that’s to say. Sir John Fulford had a few bills lying about, but no letters, nothing of a personal nature. There was a copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine with an advertisement of a horse for sale that he’d ringed round. Y’know guv’nor, the usual thing: ‘sweet goer, strong well rounded quarters’ and so on. Don’t think that tells us much, do you?”

  “Unless it gave the advertiser’s home direction, and not just that of the journal?”

  “Ah, yes, it did, sir, in this case, so I copied it down to be on the safe side. Here we are.”

  He produced his notebook and flicked over a page. Justin scanned the few lines.

  “A Mr Charles Meyer, and a house in Brighton. Well, by what we’ve learnt of Fulford, he’s familiar with both Brighton and London. A letter to this gentleman asking if Fulford did indeed purchase the animal might disclose where Fulford lives. On the other hand, if Meyer was never approached by him, we’ll be no further forward. But it’s worth trying — I’ll send a letter off by first post tomorrow. So much for Fulford — now what of the other two?”

  “Mr Reade had Lud knows how many racing journals, but nothing of a personal nature, unless ye count a silver brush set with the initials AR on each piece.”

  “Fairly new, was it?” asked Justin, with a glimmer of interest.

  “Not old, at any rate — could have been purchased recently, I dare say. I see what ye’re thinking, guv’nor,” he added.

  Justin nodded. “And Barnet?”

  “Didn’t have much of anything.”

  “I was hoping there might have been a letter from his mother.”

  “Lud, is he a mother’s lad?” Watts asked cynically.

  “Don’t know that, but my niece learnt that he lives with his mother somewhere in Sussex. I had hoped she’d have written to him while he’s here, so that we’d have his direction at home.”

  “No such luck, sir, nor with t’other gent, Mr Reade. That one’s got a mort of boots, sir — boots for walking and riding, enough to equip a small army!”

  “Has he so? Y’know, Joe, he’s the one we know least about, come to think of it, because he disclaims all interest in any subject other than sporting pursuits. Said he didn’t care a button for the theatre — could cover ignorance of fourteen years’ standing, don’t you think? After all, what do we know of others but that which they choose to tell us? And anyone with the least wit can fabricate a sufficiently convincing tale.”

  “True, guv’nor. But it’s our job to find proof, and that we’ll do, come hell or high water,” Watts averred. “I’ll be on watch tonight, and may need to call on you.”

  “Like old times in the Peninsula, eh, Joe? Miss them sometimes, I must admit. Yes, you can rely on me.”

  At a little after three o’clock in the morning, all was dark and silent at Warton Manor. A door opened quietly on the upstairs landing, and two figures stealthily emerged. Both were carrying luggage; one held a dark lantern with part of a shutter opened to provide a faint light. They started to descend the stairs, carefully testing each one as they trod, to avoid the danger of a squeak.

  Stealthy as they were, it seemed that someone had been alerted. A neighbouring door opened the slightest crack, and an unseen pair of eyes observed them for a matter of seconds before the door was closed again.

  They saw nothing of this; their backs were towards the landing and the meagre light they carried was focused on the way ahead. Having descended yet ano
ther flight of stairs, they came to the kitchen, where a faint glow was given off by a fire banked down for the night. They crossed the floor to the back door, quietly unlocking it and drawing back the bolts. Emerging into the yard where the pump stood, they hurried across it to make their way to the stables and the exit into a lane beyond.

  A curricle was waiting for them here with a pair, harnessed to it. A man was walking the horses to keep them quiet. A few brief words were exchanged, the luggage swiftly strapped on to the back of the vehicle, and the couple climbed into it, one of them taking up the reins. The man with the horses walked a few yards down the lane to where another horse was tethered. He mounted, and prepared to follow the curricle.

  Watts and Justin had been keeping watch in the kitchen garden from one of the small greenhouses which overlooked the path to the stables. The moon was riding high behind a barrier of cloud and seldom put in an appearance; but there was just sufficient light for their eyes, accustomed now to the darkness, to discern the two moving forms with their burdens.

  They left their shelter and followed at a discreet distance, taking cover whenever their quarry slackened pace. They waited a while before moving out into the lane; but presently they heard the clop of hoofs and the jingle of horses’ harness, and knew that the fugitives were moving away.

  It was then that they saw the third man following the curricle on horseback.

  “As we supposed,” whispered Justin, “our friend Ross, no less. He had the curricle waiting for them. So to horse, my friend! But softly does it — at this hour, every hoofbeat will sound like a clarion call unless we keep to the fields. We may be tolerably certain of their destination, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Ay, no doubt of it, guv’nor — York, and First Water Lane into the bargain. Lie up there until close on time for a coach to leave for — London, would ye say? Best place to get rid o’ the loot — and to hide away for a spell, too.”

  They sprinted back to the spot in the grounds where they had left two horses ready and waiting, and were quickly off in pursuit. Once they reached the turnpike road, they kept to the fields beside it, as there was no other traffic abroad; but soon they entered the town, where haycarts and wagons from the country, together with the occasional horseman, offered them plenty of cover.

  It was evident that they had guessed right, for the three fugitives made for First Water Lane, eventually entering the house where Watts had seen Fellowes go on a previous occasion. The curricle had first been driven into the yard of the alehouse next door, and left there together with the horse ridden by Ross. A fourth man had admitted them to the house.

  By now the first streaks of dawn were in the clouded sky, but it was still dark.

  “Keep watch, Joe,” murmured Justin. “I’ll stable the nags, then go to the nearest Justice for a warrant. The London coach leaves the Black Swan at five o’clock, and it’s now a quarter to four, so we’ve ample time — that’s if our reckoning’s not amiss.”

  Watts grinned as he dismounted, handing his horse’s rein to Justin.

  “Reckon the Justice won’t welcome ye at this hour, guv’nor!”

  “Precisely why I came — he might refuse to rise from his bed even for a Bow Street man, but will scarcely deny the representative of another Yorkshire Justice.”

  The morning air was a trifle raw, and Watts was missing his sleep. He paced up and down quietly, keeping one eye on his objective meanwhile, but shivering a little at times. No sound or movement came from the house or from the street, until the dawn came up reluctantly. Then one or two people emerged from the neglected dwellings — a sweep with his brushes, a costermonger with his barrow — giving signs of a new day beginning. They glanced incuriously at Watts, too wary to concern themselves with others in a street where curiosity did not pay dividends.

  Watts had not long to wait. In about twenty minutes, Justin appeared with two burly constables at his heels. He handed the search warrant to Watts.

  They approached the house, and Watts banged upon the door. Justin motioned to one of the constables to follow him round to the back of the house. They reached it just as Watts gave another resounding thump on the front door, accompanied by a shout.

  “Open in the King’s name!”

  Receiving no response, the Runner and his constable put their shoulders to the door. The rotting wood gave readily, and they charged into the room beyond.

  The four occupants had already run through into the tiny scullery to the rear door. One of them wrenched it open, but started back in dismay as he saw the two men awaiting him outside. He started to pull a pistol from his coat, but Justin moved in swiftly, gripping his wrist.

  “I’ll have that, I think, Fellowes,” he said.

  Watts grinned as he handcuffed the prisoners.

  Justin arrived back at Firsdale Hall shortly after ten o’clock. Early as the hour was for social calls, he found Cholmondeley closeted with his brother-in-law.

  Both greeted him with grave faces. “Don’t know where y’ve been, Justin. None of my business,” said Sir George. “Only Cholmondeley here’s come to report the most devilish thing to me! All his wife’s jewellery and some of the family silver stolen overnight! And what’s more, that chap Fellowes and his valet have disappeared without leaving a stitch behind — curricle gone, as well! One can’t help but draw the conclusion that Fellowes must be responsible and the valet an accessory. I’ll have to question the servants at the Manor, of course, but —”

  “No need,” interrupted Justin, having greeted the distracted Cholmondeley. “I know all about it. Watts is with one of the York magistrates now. He’s arrested Fellowes, the valet and your groom Ross —” Sir George started — “yes, you’ll find Ross has decamped, too. He was one of the gang of jewel thieves led by the man Fellowes — if that’s his real name. But no need to disturb yourself, Mr Cholmondeley, for all your stolen property is safe. You’ve but to go into York to identify it, and then you may bring it safely home.”

  Cholmondeley exclaimed in relief at this news, and for the next half hour or so was vociferous with questions and thanks. Justin satisfied him as best he could without revealing the real reason why he and Watts had been keeping an eye on the guests at Warton Manor.

  “But a man who was my guest,” said Cholmondeley mournfully, “a gentleman, as I thought! I declare it shakes one’s faith in human nature! How can I tell my dear wife?”

  “I imagine she will be overcome with joy at the recovery of her jewels,” remarked Justin drily, “and every other matter will fade into insignificance. Tell me, sir, where and when did you meet this man and invite him to your home for Races week?”

  Cholmondeley made an effort to pull himself together, for he was considerably flustered.

  “I’m not quite sure — now, would it have been at the Knavesmire during the spring races? I think it was! He’d come specially for the meetings, and chanced to mention that he meant to come again in August, and of course I said I’d be happy to put him up, and so it was arranged. Much pleasanter than trying to book in at an hotel, as I’m sure you’ll agree, Rutherford, and of course my wife and I simply delight in company!”

  “You can’t recall if anyone of your acquaintance introduced this man to you?”

  Cholmondeley shook his head. “No, we just fell into conversation in the way one does.”

  Justin and Sir George exchanged glances.

  “Possibly, my dear chap,” said the latter, “you may find it wiser for the future to know rather more about chance-met acquaintances before inviting them into your home. However, this matter hasn’t turned out too badly, as luck will have it.”

  He turned to Justin.

  “I suppose Runner Watts to be delayed in York giving evidence to the magistrates? No doubt he’ll have more to tell us on his return. Were these three men responsible for the general outbreak of robberies in this area of late, d’ye know, Justin?”

  “As it happens, I do. They were all clapped into gaol after Watts arrested them,
and hauled before the magistrates about eight o’clock. The fourth member of the gang — the one who rented the dwelling in First Water Lane — couldn’t peach on the rest fast enough! Said they’d threatened his life if he didn’t let them use his place for their nefarious ends, and so forth. He was the fellow whom Watts saw meeting Ross at a coffee house in York, by the way — told you of that, George, you remember?”

  “A vastly pretty little scheme they’d worked out,” said Sir George. “Two men in the house posing as master and servant, a third working in a nearby stables, and a ‘flash house’, as they call ’em, only a few miles off in the city! I’d give a deal to know how often they’ve worked that trick! Well, they won’t do so again, I’ll warrant — they’ll be up for trial at the next Assizes; meantime they’ll rest in gaol. I dare say your man Runner Watts won’t lose by bringing this affair to a successful conclusion,” he added.

  “No, indeed!” exclaimed Cholmondeley.

  “I and my dear spouse can’t be sufficiently grateful to him, I’m sure! And we shall certainly express that gratitude in practical terms! Only to think — all is recovered! I must hasten home to acquaint my dearest Maria with the welcome tidings!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Life at Denby House was slowly returning to normal after the recent catastrophic events. Philip de Ryde would be immobilised for some time to come, but his general health was good, and the concussion had left no permanent damage. His daughter Anne looked into his room every day to cheer him up and play an occasional game of backgammon; neither were his neighbours lacking in all those attentions which help to alleviate a patient’s boredom.

  Under the sensible administration of his sister Cassandra de Ryde, domestic affairs were comfortable again, while the influence of the de Rydes’ old nurse had restored even the mistress of the house to a less tragic frame of mind. She began to interest herself tentatively in the embroidery of which she had once been fond, and Nurse encouraged this.

  On the morning of those events which Justin was even then discussing with Sir George and Cholmondeley, and of which the inhabitants of the village were so far ignorant, Mrs de Ryde sent Healey down to the village shop.