[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (18 page)

He took the note and read. Mrs. Ballard, don’t fail your mistress if you want her to recover the stolen goods. Go to the Union Chapel in Blackfriars Road at midnight. No harm will come to you.” He passed the note to Corinne, who read it and passed it along.

“Same paper and writing as the other,” Coffen said.

“Naturally,” Prance said, rolling his eyes. “Did you think two different groups were trying to extort money from us?”

“There was talk of the Maccles working with Dan,” Coffen said.

“Working
together.
Together being the operative word.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Ballard,” Corinne said. “We have no intention of sending you on this dangerous mission.”

“But I insist!” she said. “They said no harm would come to me. And why should they hurt me? I am only doing what they ask. You have been good to me for nearly a decade, milady, and I assure you I am actually relieved to have some small way to repay you for your kindness.”

“No, really, we wouldn’t even consider it.”

Mrs. Ballard was shy, she was timid, but she was scrupulous to a fault, and after a session with her Bible, she had decided God had given her this way to repay her mistress. Being clothed in righteousness, she felt invulnerable.

“Naturally I dislike to go against your wishes, milady, but I must follow my conscience in this matter, or I’d never be able to face myself. I plan to be at that church at midnight. I consulted my Bible. Just opened it at random for guidance you know, and read ‘Be strong, and of a good courage; be not afraid.’ From the book of Joshua. It is God’s will.”

“No, Mrs. Ballard. It is the thieves’ will, and we have no way of knowing they will keep their word.”

“I shall be there,” she said firmly. Then she turned on her heel and left the room, trembling in every fibre, and more determined than ever that she would do as God ordained.

Prance just shook his head. “She seems to be overlooking the fact that she’ll be there with her pockets empty.”

Luten stared at his wife in dismay “What do we do with her? Lock her up?”

“We can’t do that. She’s quite determined to go. When she starts talking about God’s will, you argue in vain, Luten. What we must do is make sure no harm comes to her. We’ll have to be there to protect her.”

“I really don’t see why they should harm her provided she takes the money,” Prance said, looking around to judge their reaction. “What would be the point of adding murder to their crimes?”

“Dan’s already been murdered,” Coffen said.

“But not by the Maccles. The question, surely, is whether you send the ten thousand ransom money with her, Luten.”

“It’d be downright foolish to let her go without the blunt,” Black said. “They’ll want an exchange, the money for the location. A map was mentioned. If she don’t have the blunt —” He drew a hand across his throat to let them know her likely fate.

Corinne turned to her trusted friend, who had so often helped her in the past. “What do you think we should do then, Black?”

“It’s your money,” he said, “but if she goes, we must take every precaution to see no harm befalls her.”

“You think it over, Corinne,” Luten said. “I’ll go and arrange the money, just in case we decide to let her go.”

“
My
money!” Corinne said. “It’s my fault. I want to pay.”

“We can argue about that later,” Luten said, and dashed out. He felt equally liable. Prance, of course, seemed to think it had nothing to do with
him.
It was himself, however, who had brought this down on their heads by allowing Prance to bring his actors into the house. What was he
thinking?
He had also urged Corinne to take on the job for the Friends of the Orphans Committee, for his good as well as her own. The wives of cabinet ministers had their role to play in the game of politics, provided they had social stature. The ladies wielded a deal of influence, despite not holding any offices. They had their little ways of discovering what the opposition was up to. And on top of it all, she wanted so badly for the auction to be a success.

With Luten gone, Black took over the meeting. “What we have to decide is who goes to investigate the Union Chapel area, and when, and where we hide.”

It was a foregone conclusion that even the Dragoons couldn’t hold Coffen back, and equally certain that Black would go with him. They thought Luten would want to go, and knew he would forbid Corinne from going, which didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t be there. Really the only uncertainty was whether Prance would volunteer.

Prance was uncertain himself and said, “We’ll discuss that when Luten returns. Meanwhile we ought to drive there in daylight and reconnoitre the environs.”

“And check out the ransom site,” said Coffen, who had no idea what reconnoitre might mean, or environs for that matter.

“I’ll wait for Luten to come back,” Corinne said. “Do come and let us know what you find out, Black. And you too, of course, Prance,” she added as an afterthought. She didn’t have to give Coffen an invitation. He’d be here.

“It was very thoughtless of them to choose such an out-of-the-way place for an exchange,” Prance griped, as they crossed over the bridge to the Surrey side. Through the window he looked down at the shimmering light on the river, barely visible through patches of fog. At least it wasn’t raining. They still had some distance to go.

Even Prance’s excellent groom, Pelkey, had trouble finding the place. He seldom had occasion to drive his master to such shabby districts with ugly little houses, costers’ shops and stables, each causing a deal of traffic. Once he found Blackfriars Road the driving was easy. A nice, straight metalled road, just as he and his team liked. Ahead he saw the rounded bulk of the Union Chapel on the right and drew to a stop when he reached it.

The occupants of the carriage got out and stared at the chapel, limned against the gray sky. It was a small building, an octagon with two rows of windows, one above the other, rather than one tall window as was more usual with church architecture. The slanting roof was capped with a cupola, the cupola with a spire. It was not exactly ugly, but did not inspire, as a place of worship ought to do. It looked more suited to commerce or amusement than devotion.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Coffen asked. “Don’t look much like a church.”

Black pointed to the name on a plaque by the front door. He walked up to the door and tried it. It was locked. “That answers our question as to where Mrs. Ballard’s to meet them. I fancy the exchange will take place right here, outside the front door. It’ll be private enough at midnight.”

Prance repeated his old complaint, “I don’t see why they couldn’t have arranged to meet on the other side of the river.”

“Because this is a better place to hide the loot,” Black explained. We ought to drive around and see if we spot a likely building. A warehouse, a shop that’s gone out of business. Even an unoccupied house.”

Coffen had been examining the surroundings and said, “There’s no good hiding nearby. No trees. A doorway across the street is the best we can do. And no taverns or what not nearby to cause foot traffic. Nossir, I don’t like to think of poor Mrs. Ballard meeting villains here at midnight.”

“Let’s drive about and see if we can find a likely place for them to have the goods stored,” Black said.

As usual, they did as he suggested. There was no shortage of such places, but how to determine whether the good were concealed in the derelict mansion whose blackened brick suggested it had undergone a fire, or the costermonger’s shop that had gone out of business and covered its windows with brown paper, or the lumber yard that was housed in a large, barn-like building?

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Black grouched. “And now I consider it, it ain’t likely the goods are here anyhow, unless they’ve moved them since the night they took them. It’s too far away from Berkeley Square. According to the few hours that passed between the time they looted the house and returned the wagon to Newman’s stable, they could hardly have brought the goods this far. No, we’re wasting time. Let us go home and see if Luten got the money, and if he plans to let the old malkin go through with the exchange.”

Luten had got the money, and Mrs. Ballard, despite every exertion on the Lutens’ part, insisted she would go to the Union Chapel at midnight. The next order of business was to decide who would be there before her, and who would follow her. “Since she’s to go in a hired cab,” Black said, “I could be the driver.”

“Excellent, Black,” Luten said. “And the rest of us will be there earlier.”

“We can’t loiter about the streets dressed like gentlemen,” Prance said. “We’d stand out like peacocks in a chicken coop. I didn’t see a decent jacket the whole time we were there. Anyone loitering about the street would be suspect in any case. There’s no tavern nearby, or any shop that’s likely to be open at midnight to afford a pretext.”

“One or more of us could hide in the cab with Mrs. Ballard,” Luten suggested.

“One of us has to be there early, to see if we can spot the fellow giving the link-boy the map,” Coffen said. “If he gets it to her that way, I mean.” He volunteered to go early, dressed like a labourer, and walk around the neighbourhood looking for a link-boy. If someone gave the boy a map, Coffen would snatch it.

“No, better to follow the man who gives it to him,” Luten said. “It might not be the map, but just directions to some other place to get the map, and if he sees you attack the link-boy, they’ll call the whole deal off. Follow him and ten to one we’ll catch the whole crew there. Prance and I will go in the cab with Mrs. Ballard.”

He managed to convince Corinne to stay at home.

“I will,” she said, “because I’m afraid they’ll come after the jewelry in the safe while you’re all away.”

This gave Luten a moment of alarm, but with the doors locked and the house full of servants, she convinced him she and the jewelry were safe. The only one who remained calm through all the preliminaries was Mrs. Ballard. She stayed in her room plying her Psalter, which she was finding more bracing than the Bible on this occasion. “The Lord is a shield for me,” Psalm III. What could be clearer than that?

 Luten suggested that he and Prance not enter the carriage at the house in case it was being watched. Pelkey would pick them up a few blocks farther along. As the note had not expressly forbidden her sharing the carriage, Mrs. Ballard had no objection to this arrangement.

Black went out at eleven and paid a driver an inordinate sum to borrow his carriage and hat for a few hours. Rain, wind, snow and sun gave a cab driver’s hat a distinctive air of decrepitude that was difficult to duplicate on the spur of the moment. At eleven-twenty Black drove the cab up to the house, Mrs. Ballard carried the case holding the ten thousand pounds out to the carriage and got in. Luten and Prance waited at the corner of Berkeley and Piccadilly, looking about to see they weren’t watched. The cab slowed down, they hopped in and the long drive to the Union Chapel began.

The procedure they were to follow had been thoroughly thrashed out before they left, so there was little to say along the way. Luten noticed that Mrs. Ballard’s lips moved in silent prayer, while her hands held on to the leather case with an iron grip. Long before they reached their destination she suggested that Luten and Prance should “Bend down now, lest you be seen.” They reluctantly did so, to keep her calm.

Coffen Pattle had a little luck while he was waiting for midnight. He didn’t see any link-boys, but he met a reeling drunkard called Alfie and joined him. It was easy to lead him to within sight of the Union Chapel and keep him there. He seemed a good-natured drunk, but selfish. He refused to share his bottle. And it was maraschino too, Coffen’s favorite tipple. This drink had an air of prestige for Coffen as he had discovered it at a do at Carlton House, where Prinney himself was drinking it. Like Coffen, the drunk called it Masherino.

At five minutes to twelve, Coffen heard the rattle of the cab’s wheels and steered Alfie closer to the chapel. “Tha’s a cab,” Alfie said in a voice of wonder, staring at the approaching hackney as if it were a gilded chariot drawn by six white horses.

“I believe you’re right. I wonder who’s going to church at this hour. Ah, a nun,” he said, as the door opened and Mrs. Ballard, outfitted in her usual black, got out.

“None such,” Alfie said, and pulling a cosh from his pocket, he landed Coffen a stunning blow on the back of the head and took to his heels.

Luten and Prance, still crouched down to hide that they were in the cab, didn’t see Coffen’s plight, and Mrs. Ballard’s gaze was concentrated on the chapel. Coffen lay on the ground, unconscious, while she, clutching the black case, approached the door of the chapel at a stately pace. Slowly, the door opened. A disembodied voice — low, gruff — said, “Open the bag and let me see the money.”

She gasped and nearly dropped the precious bag. A pistol, held in a large, rough hand, advanced an inch through the slit of open door. “Open it, now,” the voice demanded.

With trembling fingers she opened it and held it closer to the door. He peered inside and gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Leave the bag on the doorstep, Mother, and get rid of the cab. You stay there,” he ordered. She stared, and saw the muzzle of the pistol pointing at her heart. She obediently set the bag down, but before returning to the cab recovered enough courage to say, “You were to give me a map.”

“It’s at Luten’s house.”

“How do I know that?”

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s there. Now git!”

Without another word she turned and hastened back to the waiting cab, half expecting a bullet to hit her spine. Black, watching her from the driver’s perch, wasn’t quite sure he had seen the chapel door open a crack, but he certainly saw Mrs. Ballard wasn’t carrying the case when she bolted back to the carriage.

“Drive on, Black,” she said in a trembling voice. “I am to remain here. He has a gun and I believe will shoot me if we don’t do as he says.” Luten had the window open and heard her.