[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (24 page)

“Dashed clever!” was Sean’s only praise.

“Now you I see as one of his young gallants. Petruchio, perhaps, from
The Taming of the Shrew.
I pay the usual rate of professional models. Are you interested?”

Sean liked the notion of having his portrait done. “Could I have the picture in lieu of getting paid to sit?” he asked.

This gave Prance the hint that money wasn’t short with him, which was unheard of for an aspiring actor. He agreed, and they discussed details of times and costume while Chloe paid her visit next door.

She was served tea in Mrs. Ballard’s sitting room. Mrs. Ballard did not have to worry about finding an opportunity to tell Chloe how the diamonds were to be delivered. Chloe had hardly taken a sip of her tea before saying, “Now that Lady Luten has had to pay ten thousand pounds out of her own pocket, I do hope she has made safe arrangements for the diamond necklace that lady has donated. Sir Reginald told me about recovering the goods.”

“She’s learned her lesson. She will have nothing to do with delivering the necklace. Lady Clare will do it herself.”

“Ah, I see. I hope Lady Luten has warned her that she must take special precautions.”

“Indeed she has,” Mrs. Ballard said, and outlined exactly what she had been told.

“That certainly sounds safe,” Chloe said, with a sweet little smile. “One would hate for the orphans to lose out on that five thousand pounds. Now you were going to show me how to make a fringe for the scarf I am knitting Sean, Mrs. Ballard.”

“It is really quite simple,” she said, and took up a ball of wool to show her how it was done. As usual, Chloe caught on to it in no time. She didn’t linger long, but said Sean was waiting for her at Sir Reginald’s house, and she must not be late.

“Give him my regards,” Mrs. Ballard said, and accompanied her down to the door. She didn’t believe for a moment that Sir Reginald had told her about the auction goods being returned. That was supposed to be a great secret. This was a pretty good indication that Chloe didn’t care if she was caught out in a lie. In other words, she never meant to show her face on Berkeley Square again. Such venery in such a lovely
-
looking young girl. The face of an angel, but alas, a heart black as coal.

Next door, Prance was keeping an eye on the clock to make sure he held his company for the required time. He had ascertained before asking Sean to remove the boots that they were trimmed with danglers. Silver, not gilt. He had got that idea from his own boots. Villier would tell him whether there were signs in the leather of the gilt ones having been removed. To stretch out the visit, he called for tea. He noticed that Chloe’s eyes were shining when she returned. She was trying hard to control her joy. Mrs. Ballard had done her job well, then. Luten was right. There
was
more to the old girl than he had imagined.

He glanced at his watch and said, “I expect you two youngsters are eager to be off and doing. I’ll be in touch about your portrait, Sean. You can tell Chloe all about it. I have an appointment with my publisher. I must be off. Can I drop you somewhere?”

To his dismay, they accepted, and he drove them to Bond Street, then hastened back home to ask Villier about Sean’s boots.

“You noticed the
silver
tassels?” Villier said. “He nicked that idea from you, trying to look like a gent. As if he could, in that jacket. And the silver ones, by the way, were not silver but tin. I undipped them, and there were two sets of indentations in the leather. When I saw those boots, I knew they were the ones I’d seen with gilt tassels in the rose salon. Not a single doubt in my mind.”

“Excellent work, Villier.” Prance said, then darted to Luten’s house to hear how Chloe’s visit with Mrs. Ballard had gone. He found Mrs. Ballard having tea with Corinne in the rose salon.

“She took the bait!” Corinne crowed.

“I knew it!” Prance said, laughing. “She was glowing like the north star when she came back. Kudos to you, Mrs. Ballard. You must have given a performance worthy of Mrs. Siddons.”

“Hardly that,” she said, flushing with pleasure. She was finding it dangerously exciting, working with the Berkeley Brigade. It felt almost sinful, till she reminded herself it was for a good cause. She had never realized before that doing good could be pleasant. It was difficult to wrap her mind around such a revelation. She had always considered doing good a duty, almost a punishment, whose only pleasure was the satisfaction of a duty done.

“Sean was wearing new tin danglers on his boots, but Villier tells me the boots showed indentations where other danglers had been before, and is quite certain it was Sean who had the gilt ones earlier.”

“So it looks as if Coffen’s clue was helpful,” Corinne said, nodding. She expected Mrs. Ballard to remove herself from the room now, her duty done. She usually disappeared when the men were around. Instead, she said, “Should I order a fresh pot, milady, and more cups? We’re nearly out.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Ballard.”

Black suggested taking a hackney cab to Stukeley Street. They didn’t want Sean or Chloe to recognize Mr. Pattle’s rig, he said, but the fact was that he was having very little luck teaching Fitz how to follow instructions. He was as like as not to park the carriage right outside their door.

“They might try to hire the cab for the trip to Prance’s house if they see it closeby,” Coffen warned.

“We’ll not be that close. Half a block away. They’ve never gone in a hackney yet. Why would they this time?”

“Because they might be ten thousand pounds richer than before.”

“You’re right. We’ll get out a block away, send the cab on and take cover in a doorway.”

They saw Chloe and Sean leave the house and hasten along. When they judged it safe, they went to the house, climbed the stairs and headed to Sean’s room. Before entering, Coffen noticed Chloe’s door was not only ajar, but actually moving to and fro. Fearing someone might leap out at them, possibly with a gun, he gave Black’s elbow a poke, put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door. Black immediately drew out his pistol. They waited a moment, then proceeded to the door and peeked inside.

Coffen called, “Anybody home?” Receiving no answer, they went in. Things looked much as before. No one was there. Apparently Chloe had left in such a hurry she hadn’t bothered closing her door. The breeze from an open window accounted for the door’s movement.

“Might as well have a look about while we’re here,” Black decided.

There were no signs of cooking or eating or even living there, except for the mess of clothes tossed about the bedroom. Black’s sharp eye noticed a bag on the end of the bed and picked it up. It held Chloe’s knitting. He pulled out a blue and red striped scarf, done in an intricate pattern, with not a stitch out of alignment.

He held up the scarf for Coffen’s perusal. “She didn’t learn to knit like this in a week or so,” he said.

“There was a knitting bag at Sean’s place last time we were there,” Black said. “Not this one, and it was slippers in it, not a scarf. Funny she’d have two bags, and be working on two things at the same time.”

“We figured they’d had a party there. T’other one belonged to someone else, possibly Mother Maccles. Didn’t Luten mention her sending slippers to Father in gaol?”

“He did,” Black said. “But surely this must be her own. No, the clever wench learning to knit was an excuse to make up to the old malkin.” This was his usual manner of referring to Mrs. Ballard behind her back. He stuffed the scarf back in the bag. A quick search revealed nothing else of interest.

They went across the hall to Sean’s room and Black performed his trick with the twisted wire on the lock. Sean’s rooms were more neat than clean. Things were in their place, but no effort had been made to either dust or sweep. They could find nothing connecting him to the robbery of the auction goods, but in the bedroom, tossed carelessly on the dresser, was a little gilt boot dangler. Coffen pulled its mate from his pocket and gave a contented sigh.

“Have a look at this, Black. I’ll leave it here so he don’t twig to it we’ve been here. Not a great haul, but I’ve got consummation of what I was after.” Black, unlike Prance, found nothing amiss in Coffen’s speech.

“A good job, well done, Mr. Pattle.”

“Thankee, Black. We’ll dart along home and tell the others.” Coffen had made himself so much at home at his cousin’s before her marriage that he still often called her house “home.”

Luten had returned during their absence and was waiting with Prance and Corrine and Mrs. Ballard to hear what they had learned. Corinne told them of Chloe’s visit, and Prance added that Villier assured him Sean’s boots were wearing their second pair of danglers.

Coffen pulled out the dangler and announced that its twin sat on Sean’s dresser. “We’ve got them now. No wiggling out of it,” he said, and was applauded. He went on to add the clue of the scarf.

Luten felt a brass boot dangler and a scarf were somewhat slender evidence to take to court, but along with Chloe’s visit, more than enough to proceed with their plan.

“Townsend will be here for a meeting tonight,” he said. “The auction goods are under heavy guard at Corinne’s house and will be moved to Elgin Hall tomorrow.”

“How will the real diamond necklace be delivered, and when?” Prance asked.

“It is presently at Carlton House in the care of the Prince Regent. He will take it to Elgin Hall.”

“Luten!” Corinne said, laughing. “How on earth did you get Prinney to help? You and he are not exactly bosom beaux, to put it mildly.”

“I didn’t arrange it, I just came up with the idea. Townsend did the arranging. He and Prinney are old friends. Prinney claimed he was delighted to help ‘the poor wee orphan lads’ out.”

“Then we can assume the necklace is safe at the moment and they will never dare attack Prinney’s carriage. What about Lady Clare, and the scheme we’ve laid to trap the thieves?”

“She is happy to go along with us,” Luten assured her. “Lady Clare’s carriage will deliver a paste necklace.”

Mrs. Ballard cleared her throat and spoke for the first time. “You’ll want an elderly lady to masquerade as her in the coach. I would be happy to do it.”

Five heads turned to stare, five jaws dropped, five pairs of eyes opened wide as barn doors. No one laughed, or said a word. After an astonished pause, Luten said, “Very kind of you, Mrs. Ballard, but we’ve exposed you to more than enough danger.”

“I don’t mind that, in a good cause,” she said firmly.

“Actually we have a double for Lady Clare. Roger Rich, from Astley’s Circus, will play the role of Lady Clare, outfitted in a puce gown and mantle, with three short ostrich plumes in his hair. He’s that wiry little fellow who performs all sorts of stunts at Astley’s. You’d swear his bones were made of rubber. He’s about Lady Clare’s size. We thought Black might pose as her groom, if you have no objection, Black?”

“Dandy! I’ve been driving hacks lately. I’d like to get the ribbons of a real team between my fingers.”

“I’ll be inside the rattler with you, Luten,” Coffen said.

“Actually Townsend thinks it would be less suspicious-looking if I proceeded to the ball with Corinne.”

“So will Townsend be with me?” Coffen asked.

“No, he’s decided to ride along the route, keeping an eye out for trouble. He’ll rush forward if anyone attacks the carriage. He’ll have men stationed at intervals along the route as well.”

“What is the route?” Corinne asked. She noticed that Mrs. Ballard was looking somewhat crestfallen at Luten’s refusal to let her play Lady Clare. She wouldn’t object verbally, of course, and it was ridiculous to think of putting her in such danger, but it seemed hard to cut her out of the excitement of the finale after all her help. She was struck with an idea that would never have occurred to her a week ago. She wondered if Mrs. Ballard would like to attend the ball.

“As you know, Lady Clare doesn’t spend much time in London. She hasn’t opened up the house since her son’s death,” Luten continued. “She’s staying with her sister, Lady Eaton, on Curzon Street, and Elgin Hall is on Oxford, at the corner of Duke Street. The carriage will go north up Park Lane and east on Oxford. Traffic on Park Lane is always busy in the early evening with folks going out. My feeling is that Oxford Street is the more likely place for an attack. We figure the attackers would come out of one the smaller side streets — Portman, Orchard or Balderton. But of course we must be on guard during the whole route.”

“How will we let Chloe know where Lady Clare is staying?” Corinne said. “Did she ever mention it, Mrs. Ballard?”

“She never asked me. No, I don’t believe it came up at all. That’s odd.”

“She knows,” Prance said. “Vance told her. He was always asking questions about how the haut ton lived. He used to walk around the elegant squares and enquire how much a house there would cost. I remember him asking where the lady who donated the diamonds lived, and the next day he mentioned he’d walked by
_,
the knocker was off and the blinds drawn. I told him she was staying with her sister on Curzon Street.”

“But would Chloe have heard?” Corinne asked.

“She was paying attention all right. I remember her saying, ‘Curzon Street? Where’s that? I never heard of it.’ Vance just shook his head at such ignorance.”

“She’d have no trouble finding the street, and once she knew that, finding the house would be easy,” Black said. “Just knock on any door and let on she was looking for Lady Clare.”

“She’d be in a bit of a pickle if she’d happened to light on the right door,” Coffen said.

“Devil a bit of it. She’d think up some excuse. Let on she was collecting for some charity. But it’s not likely she’d hit the right door first time. The butler would direct her which place to go.”

“Fancy you knowing that,” Prance said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Just common sense, Sir Reginald,” Black replied, unoffended at the tacit suggestion.

“What I asked you before, Luten, who’ll be in the carriage with me?” Coffen said.

“Townsend has hand-picked one of the better Runners for the job, a George Phillips. He’s an ace shot, young, a good runner.”