[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (26 page)

“Where do you figure they’ll strike?” Coffen asked.

“Not on Park Lane,” Roger said with the air of one who knows. “Too busy. Where they’ll come at us is on Oxford, either from Old Quebec or a block farther on, the north side of Portman Street. Good hiding either of them places and not too well lit.”

“Not well lit, eh? I didn’t realize that this afternoon when I was checking the route. I believe you’re right.”

“Course I am. Common sense. Then they’ll head west to Hyde Park, only a skip and jump away. If they make it that far, we’ve lost them, my friend. Like looking for a black cat in the dark. If we didn’t
want
to be robbed, we’d of took a different route.”

“That makes sense,” Coffen agreed.

Roger sat forward and peered out the window. “Here, look lively. We’re making the turn.”

The turn required all Black’s attention. Fortunately the racing bucks turned left into Hyde Park to continue their race. Once Black was on Oxford Street the traffic lessened. In fact, there were no carriages in front of them, and none close enough behind to worry about. The nearly empty road, lit with lamps at intervals, had dark stretches between. Like Roger, he figured the attack would come not far from Hyde Park. He looked sharp as a carriage pulled out in front of him at Quebec Street, but it seemed harmless. The robbers wouldn’t be driving a carriage.

He drew a breath and steeled himself as they approached Portman. Also like Roger, he was looking to the north, expecting at every second to see a mounted rider come dashing out from Portman Street.

When the excitement began, it came from a different direction. The carriage in front of him drew to an abrupt stop. Black hauled on the reins to prevent running into it, the team reared up, jerking the carriage so hard that Phillips was left clinging to his perch with both hands. Coffen and Roger were knocked off their seats on to the carriage floor. Roger fell on top of Coffen. In the confusion, their pistols flew out of their hands.

Roger twisted his neck up and looked out the window. “The stupid buggers stopped the wrong carriage!” he said, laughing.

“Best look lively,” Coffen warned as he scrabbled around the floor for his pistol. “We can still get them.”

“For what? They ain’t trying to rob us. Gorblimey, I’ve busted me arm.”

While he was flexing his arm and Coffen was still trying to scramble out from under him, a mounted rider, accompanied by a young man on foot, approached. Both wore black masks and wide-brimmed hats. The carriage door opened as if by magic. A masked man, or at least someone with a man’s voice, called down from his mount, “Stand and deliver, Lady Clare. The necklace, and you won’t get hurt.”

It was the masks as much as the pistols aimed at them that lent the robbery that chilling air of danger. Coffen felt that if he could see that it was just Chloe and Sean, it wouldn’t have seemed so scary. He was pretty sure the one who spoke was a man, not Chloe. Well, the shoulders were too big for one thing. Next he looked at the mount — it looked black in the dim light with a white mark on the nose, a fine gelding but not an Arab. He noticed the boots in the stirrups had little dangling chains. He couldn’t make out whether they were yellow or silver. Then he noticed the masked boy standing beside the horse.

The boy had a hand on the door handle. The man dismounted and pointed a pistol into the carriage. “Throw out your pistols,” he said in a low voice that might have been a girl’s trying to sound like a man’s. They had no choice but to do it. They felt around the carriage floor and tossed the guns out.

Impatient, the mounted one ordered, “The necklace. Now!”

Roger adopted a woman’s voice — certainly not a lady’s — and screeched, “Oh laucks. Don’t shoot me. Here, take it.” Still on the floor, he reached up and felt about the seat for the box containing the paste necklace. Townsend wanted him to hand over the necklace, so he could call it a proper robbery.

The smaller attacker reached out a gloved hand, snatched the velvet box, opened it, to see the necklace was there, and deposited it in a pocket.

* * *

Black’s attention was all on the carriage ahead. Like Roger, he thought the robbers had stopped the wrong carriage, but he might still catch them. While Lady Clare’s carriage was being approached by the robbers, he leapt down, ordered Phillips to take over the reins, and ran to the other carriage.

A young boy was lying on the road, moaning. Chloe had pulled that stunt in the past, but this was certainly not Chloe. It was just a tow-headed little boy of five or six. The occupants of the carriage, an older lady and younger man, were bending over the boy, asking him if he was all right. Unlike Chloe’s stunt, no one rushed forward to snatch the lady’s necklace. And she was wearing something that sparkled around her throat too. What the devil was happening?

A little throng was gathering around the scene. Looking up, he saw Vance Corbett, bending over the boy on the ground. Their eyes met, Corbett stared, then jumped up and took to his heels. Black had to decide in a second whether to go after him or go back to see to Lady Clare’s carriage. He realized now that it was some new kind of a trick. His job was to catch whoever went after the paste necklace. He drew his pistol and ran back to Lady Clare’s carriage.

He stared in chagrin at the two attackers. The bigger one had dismounted and was pointing a gun into the carriage. The smaller one turned a pistol on him and said, “On the ground, face down.” He reached out and took Black’s pistol, while Black gulped and tried to think what he could do.

With the carriage door open, he could see the shambles within, with Roger rubbing his arm and Coffen just looking stunned. He saw their pistols on the ground. If he could snatch one of them ... Even as the thought occurred to him, the smaller fellow kicked the pistols under the carriage where he couldn’t get at them.

“Down!” the robber repeated, and Black dropped to the road.

The smaller robber took hold of the mount’s lead and said, “Come on,” in a hard voice to the other. Seemed they were going to double up on the mount. As the bigger man passed Black, lying on the ground, Black reached out and grabbed his ankle. He went sprawling. The smaller one let out a curse, hopped up on the mount and rode off, towards Hyde Park. A mounted rider seemed to come out of nowhere and went thundering down the road after him. Good! One of Townsend’s men would get him, and with the goods on him, unless he had the sense to toss them.

Black arose, went to the figure sprawled on the ground and pulled the mask down. Sean Everett’s sulky face stared at him. “The bitch!” he growled. So the little “fellow” was Chloe, as he suspected.

Coffen and Roger clambered out of the carriage and came limping forward, hanging their heads in shame. “I’ve broke me arm,” Roger said, getting in his excuse before he could be castigated. Black just sneered.

“T’other one was Chloe,” Black said, pulling Sean up by his collar and yanking his hands behind his back to attach the manacles. “Their friend Corbett was in on it. He took off as well,” he said, hoping to goad Sean into revelation.

“It was all
his
idea,” Sean said.

“You can tell it to Bow Street.”

“Did he say Corbett?” Coffen asked. “I didn’t see Corbett.”

“I did. He ran off. Ah, here’s Townsend’s boys come to help us, after it’s all over.” Two Runners had joined them, one from either direction. Black remembered that one of them was chasing Chloe and said, “Let’s hope your man has caught her. You want to stop that first carriage. It’s part of the stunt.”

“Them? Why they’ve left,” the Runner said. “They’re taking the little lad to a doctor.” The carriage in front was indeed flying down the road.

“Go after them!” Black ordered, and the Runners left.

“You’d best get your pistols out from under the rig,” Black said to his helpers. He was in no mood to go scrambling in the dirt for them.

“Me arm,” Roger said. Coffen reached under the carriage and with a deal of stretching and grunting, retrieved the two pistols.

“This isn’t all my doing!” Sean said.

Coffen pointed one of the pistols at him and said, “Shut up, and start talking.”

“We’ll be off to Bow Street to lay a charge against this one,” Black said, giving Sean a poke. “Let’s hope the Runner catches Corbett. Sean here says he’s the ring leader.”

“There’s a shocker,” Coffen said.

Sean was pushed into the carriage, the others took their places and Black drove to Bow Street. Within the carriage, Coffen tried to question Sean, but he kept a sulky silence, except for repeating once or twice that it was all Corbett’s idea.

“It’s Townsend we ought to report to,” Coffen said, as Black mounted the box. “Since he hasn’t shown up, he must be at Elgin Hall.”

Much as Black disliked to go to the party in a groom’s outfit, he said, “You’re right.” Coffen scuttled into the carriage and Black drove along Oxford Street to the Hall.

He had to draw to a stop before he reached it. Two carriages were lined up, awaiting entrance. Coffen stuck his head out the window and called up, “It’ll be faster on foot. I’ll go. You wait for me here.” He opened the door, hopped out and hurried along towards the Hall, while Black sat, writhing in anguish at his failure, and trying to figure out what the devil had happened.

The three of them were in it together — Corbett, Sean and Chloe, with Corbett the ring leader, if Sean was telling the truth. Yes, and there was more than the three of them. That first carriage was part of the stunt as well. It must have been waiting along the road and darted out in front of him when Clare’s rig was recognized. Likely the whole Maccles gang were in on it. It wasn’t by accident that that carriage in front of them ran over a tot. Nossir, that was one of Chloe’s old stunts. Corbett had got the Maccles gang to help out.

P’raps he was a Maccles himself, despite the certificate from that orphanage. Easy enough to get a piece of paper making you whoever you wanted to be. Townsend didn’t think a Maccles would have the brains or gall to pull off a jewel robbery, but p’raps Mother had had a bit of a fling with some fellow with brains. Now there was an idea! Had the kid during one of Father’s vacations in gaol, and put him into an orphanage. Made sure it was far from London so Father wouldn’t learn of it. Who was to say the father wasn’t Diamond Dan? And that would make him Chloe’s half-brother.

Before long Coffen and Townsend came pelting forward. “So you let them get away with it,” Townsend said to Roger, as he had to shout at someone and didn’t like to chastize Luten’s friends.

“I busted me arm,” Roger said in a pitiful whine.

“I’ll bust your head, you fool. Drive along to Bow Street, Black, and we’ll hash out what’s to be done. No, make it Berkeley Square. It’s more private. I should have been in the rig with you.”

“Did you tell the Lutens?” Black asked.

“They have enough on their minds. Well, thank God I had the wits to put a paste necklace in the carriage. They’ll not hold up Prinney’s rig.”

He hopped in with Roger and Coffen. Black was on nettles to hear what was said in the carriage. He called to Phillips. “Can you drive?”

“Certainly,” Phillips said.

“Then get up here and take us to Berkeley Square.” He joined the others in the carriage. Phillips turned the rig around and drove to Luten’s house. “Keep the rig standing by till we decide what’s to be done,” he ordered Phillips.

Evans stared to see the unlikely group at the door. A policeman, a felon in manacles, a man dressed like a woman and an ex-butler, Mr. Pattle was the only gentleman amongst them, and even he was dressed in extremely soiled livery.

“We’ll use the rose salon,” Black said, as if it were his house. In the salon, Townsend pushed Sean on to a chair. Sean was half a foot taller than Townsend. He could be intimidated more easily if he were seated. He stood in front of him, wearing a wicked scowl.

“Now, start talking, Everett, or it’s the gibbet for you.”

“It was all Corbett’s idea,” he said.

“But it was your girlfriend that got away with the ice. Where do I find Corbett?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a voice that implied he not only didn’t know, but didn’t care.

“He’s not living at home. Is he staying with you?”

“No.”

“Where is he staying these days?”

“I don’t know.” Townsend gave a glare that caused Sean to reconsider his blasé attitude. “He never lets us go to his place. We meet him in a cafe,” he added.

“How does he get in touch with you?”

“He sends a note.”

“Who brings it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just waiting for us when we go home at night or get up in the morning.”

“Where is young Chloe off to with the ice?”

“I don’t know!” he said, louder, becoming either frightened or angry.

“You don’t know much, do you?”

“It didn’t turn out the way we planned. I don’t know where she’s gone. Not to our flat anyhow. She wouldn’t go there.”

“Where does Mother Maccles live?”

“Who?”

“Your mama, sonny.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The questioning continued for half an hour, without their learning anything new. At that time Townsend said he’d drive Sean to Bow Street, lock him up and go for a word with Luten. “I’ll take him in the rig out front and send it back, if that’s all right with you. You come along with me, Roger.”

“I’d oughter see a doctor,” Roger said, massaging his arm.

“Plenty of time for that. Your arm ain’t going to fall off.”

“It might. Drop me off at the mews where Lady Clare keeps her carriage. I ain’t showing my phiz in public wearing skirts. I’ll make my own way to the sawbones from there.”

“Make sure you hold on to your arm,” Townsend said with awful irony. “We wouldn’t want you to lose it along the way.”

When they were alone, Black said to Coffen, “We’ll go home and change before we go to the party.”

Coffen rose and they went home. Evans was smiling as he closed the door on them. He hadn’t missed much from his listening post outside the rose salon. This would teach the mighty Black a lesson. Let the thieves get clean away. Gudgeon!