[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (3 page)

“Good point, Corbett. I’ll make note of that.” Out came the blue notebook. “In the novel she’s reading an uplifting book,
Pilgrim
’
s Progress,
but the audience won’t be able to see that.”

As the morning progressed, Vance made other suggestions. “In
professional
theatre,” he said with a grating air of condescension, “Sinclair’s role as hero wouldn’t be established so quickly. There should be a little something to give Lorraine a doubt as to his
bona fides.
To increase tension, don’t you think, Reg? I would suggest she catch him searching through a desk, or some such thing. Perfectly innocent, of course, but the audience needn’t know that at the time.”

Reg knew he was right. He bit back his annoyance and replied, “This is just one scene, Corbett. There is plenty of suspicion cast on Sinclair as the play progresses. Have you not read the book?”

“I never read gothics,” he replied.

“Then you must just take my word for it,
n
’
est-ce pas?
I
did
write the book after all.”

“Sorry, Reg. I didn’t mean to step on your toes. Just offering my professional opinion.”

“Too kind,” Reg said with a withering stare.

Vance didn’t make any more suggestions that morning. They were all relieved when Evans arrived at the door with tea. He was accompanied by Miss Lipman, who rushed up to Reggie.

“I have been
dying
to see you at work, Sir Reginald,” she gushed, “but Lady Luten has positively ordered me not to interrupt. I do adore the theatre.” She asked if she might be introduced to his cast. As she gushed, her roving eye suggested her real love was for the actors. Her first attention was for the handsome young Sean Everett, but when she learned he was engaged to Chloe, her interest turned to Vance.

“And what role do you play, Mr. Corbett?” she asked.

“Oh I am the villain, dyed deep in evil.” As he replied, he made a particularly menacing face and raised his hands as if to attack her.

She squealed, jumped back, then laughed and said, “You mustn’t frighten me so. I shall positively have
nightmares.
What other roles have you played, Mr. Corbett?”

He gave a short, undistinguished list.

“What — always the villain?” she asked with a teasing smile. “I see you as more the heroic type.”

“With this ugly phiz?” he asked, laughing but pleased.

“Ugly?” she said, using it as an excuse to get a good, hard look at him. “I would call it the face of a man of strong character.”

When Prance called the actors back to work, she sighed and said, “Poor me. Back to work. I wish I could stay and watch you perform. So thrilling! But the donations for the auction are arriving thick and fast — a lovely silver tea service just came in. I must keep track or Lady Luten will scold.”

“That’s the donations for the Orphans’ Ball, I take it?” Vance asked. “I read about it in the journals. Lady Luten is on the committee, I believe?”

“Yes,” she said. “The donations are kept here for safekeeping as some of them are quite valuable.”

Prance took her by the elbow and led her firmly to the door. “Lady Luten didn’t want the actors to know about the donations being here,” he said sharply.

Her hand flew to her lips. “Oh dear! Foolish of me. But it can’t matter. The library is kept locked.”

“Is Lady Luten involved in the Orphans’ Ball?” Chloe asked, when Prance returned. “How exciting. I would love to go. I mean — you know just to be there as a worker in some capacity, serving drinks or refreshment. I’m sure it must be thrilling to see all the lords and ladies in their finery.”

“Catering to the nobs, you mean,” Vance sneered.

“The ball is for charity,” Reg said. “The
nobs,
as you call us, are going to a deal of work and expense to raise money for the orphans.”

“The work of going to a fancy ball, drinking champagne,” Vance said with a laugh. “Don’t I wish
I
could find work like that.”

“I think it’s wonderfully generous of you, doing all that work for the poor orphans, Sir Reginald,” Chloe said. She never dropped the “Sir”.

“Those who have are morally obliged to give to the less fortunate,” said Reg.

“
Noblesse oblige,
”
Corbett murmured, in a sarcastic tone just loud enough to be heard.

As Prance couldn’t think of a smart retort he decided to ignore it. “Lady Luten doesn’t want it known that the donations are here,” he said, casting a stern eye around at his cast. “She has generously put her home at our disposal, and we must oblige her in this matter. Miss Lipman shouldn’t have said anything. I hope I can depend on you all not to mention this to anyone.”

“Of course, Sir Reginald,” Chloe and Sean said at once.

Vance pokered up and said, “I certainly don’t associate with thieves. But I see your point, Reg. Mum’s the word. I shan’t mention it.”

When the rehearsal was over, Prance went to have a word with Corinne. “I’m afraid your assistant has blown the gaff,” he said, to let her know it was not his fault. “I’m dreadfully sorry. She stopped by the rehearsal and announced the donations are being collected here.”

“Oh dear. I
told
her she wasn’t to mention it outside this room. Did the actors hear her?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you think they’re reliable?”

“I don’t think there’s a thief amongst them, if that is what you’re asking.”

“You must warn them not to broadcast it.”

“I did that, of course. I’ll feel wretched if anything happens. Can I do anything to help? I’ll gladly donate a footman or two to keep an eye on the library.”

She thought a moment, then said, “Who can handle this better than anyone is Black. I’ll ask him and Coffen to come over and see if Coffen can spare him. At least he’ll have good advice. One can always depend on Black.”

“Especially in a case like this,” Reg replied with a knowing look.

Black’s background was uncertain, but certainly it was not spotless. It was not known just where or under what circumstances Corinne’s first husband, Lord deCoventry, had found him, but the old lord trusted Black implicitly. Black had served his master, and upon his death, had served the widow faithfully, even saving her life on one occasion.

In fact, he was completely enamored of her. In his leisure moments he imagined himself not Black the butler, but Lord Blackwell, suitor for her hand. He was too intelligent to reveal any trace of his obsession, but when the occasion permitted, he allowed himself an avuncular familiarity.

Black had a suspiciously thorough knowledge of the criminal class, which made him of great value to the Berkeley Brigade, and of value to Corinne in her present trouble. She felt not the least doubt that Coffen would spare him, and that Black would do a thorough job of protecting the valuable donations.

When Black worked for Lady deCoventry he had been in the habit of taking a surreptitious peek at messages delivered to her before passing them on. This was only partly due to curiosity. He truly did want to know what was afoot so that he might be prepared to help her in any contingency. This same practise was followed with his present employer. The only change was that he made no secret of it with Mr. Pattle. When the note from Lady Luten arrived, he naturally read it. His saturnine face softened in a smile to read: “Coffen – I need Black. Can you spare him to me? Both of you please come as soon as you read this. C.”

“I need Black.” He would keep this note among his sentimental souvenirs, along with the curl of her hair he had rescued when that French coiffeur had shorn her locks three years ago, and the little statue of Cupid with the busted wing she had thrown at Luten during one of their spats before their marriage. Lady deCoventry had not always been the serene matron she had become as Lady Luten.

He handed the note to Mr. Pattle, who sat in his office, tossing cards into his hat and allowing himself a sip of wine for every card that reached its target. As most of the cards were on the floor he was not inebriated.

“This just come from her ladyship,” Black said, handing Mr. Pattle the note.

Coffen read it, frowned and said, “I don’t like the sound of this. We’d best go have a word with her, Black, but I’ll tell you here and now, she ain’t getting you back. I need you worse than she does. My house would fall apart without you. You don’t suppose she’s turned off Evans?”

“I doubt it, Mr. Pattle,” Black said, retrieving the note and putting it in his pocket. “It’ll only be for a few days. I daresay it has to do with that load of silver and what not she’s collecting for the ball.”

“Ah, that’d be it. Get your hat and let’s go talk to her.”

Black’s step was light and his heart was lighter as they crossed the road to Lord Luten’s mansion. He handed his hat to Evans with a casual, “No need to announce us. We’re expected.”

When Corinne rushed forward with both hands outstretched to seize his and squeeze, he had a foretaste of heaven. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me,” she said, and drew them towards the library.

It was a fine rectangular room, thirty feet long and twenty wide. The walls were lined with oak bookshelves, topped with marble busts of famous men. There were no windows. Two French doors provided light and a view of the small garden beyond. Three tables with matching chairs ran down the centre of the room. The chairs had been stored against the wall and tables cleared of lamps and writing materials to hold the items for the auction.

She told them that Miss Lipman had let slip to the actors that the donations for the auction were here, and she feared that if word got out someone might try to steal them. “For there is no saying what sort of people actors associate with. Anyone with a decent jacket can get into the Green Room. The lesser actors have rooms near the theatres, where all sorts of lowlifes live. As to the actresses! Heaven knows who they associate with. There are thousands of pounds worth of goods here.”

She waved her hand towards a table piled high with fine silver and china. Another held statues, bibelots and a dozen boxes containing jewelry. Paintings leaned against the bookshelves. She shook her head in dismay. “We should never have allowed Prance to bring his people here. What should I do, Black?”

Black looked and listened. “You keep the doors locked, of course, and a guard on the place at night?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem enough. There are four doors in the room, two to the back garden and two into the hallway. No windows at least.”

“How many keys to the doors, and who has them?”

“Four keys in all. One key opens both inner doors, and one opens both outer doors. We have two copies of each. Evans usually has one, but I’m holding them while I have the goods here. Luten has the other.”

“Where do you keep them?”

“I’ve been keeping mine in my pocket. I don’t know where Luten keeps his. In the bedroom, I believe. There’s a big key ring in his dresser.”

“You both want to keep them where no one can get at them. A thief could take a wax impression, have a copy made in a minute, and put the original back so’s you’d never know it had gone missing.”

Black paced around the room, tried the doors, even stepped out one of the doors into the garden for a look around, shaking his head and muttering at bushes that offered concealment, to say nothing of that gate leading into the street. At least it opened inwards, so that could be taken care of. The properties on either side were separated by dense hedges that made invasion by that means unlikely.

“You’ll need two men during the day, and four at night,” he said when he had finished. “One outside and one inside during the day — both armed — and double it at night. Pity we can’t use dogs, but there’s no time to train them. You couldn’t have them in the house and they’d create a racket outside. I wouldn’t keep the jewelry here at all. Put it in your safe, or wherever you keep your own jewels.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll move the jewelry right away. What do you consider the weakest points? Where someone could get in, I mean?”

“They’re like mice, they can squeak through any crack — check the doors and windows every night and morning, including the cellar. They’ll come at night, of course, and not early either. Just before dawn is when your professional ken smashers go to work. The guards are sleepy by then. They figure the danger has passed and relax. Now as to the back yard, you’ll not want to cut down them pretty shrubs, I daresay.”

“No, Luten’s mama planted those roses,” Corinne said.

“At the very least you’ll want some sort of barrier to prevent that gate to the street from being opened. It opens inwards, so all you’ll need is something heavy enough that it can’t be pushed open from outside. The hedges offer fair protection from coming in by the neighbours’ yards.”

They all looked worried at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, as if a thief might even then be approaching. It was Luten who stepped in. He stopped and stared to see the three of them in conclave, all looking extremely worried.

“What the devil’s going on?” he demanded in alarm, fearing some catastrophe had befallen the auction goods. His major concern for them was his wife’s involvement.

Corinne had not been born to wealth and privilege. She had been catapulted to it when his cousin, old Lord deCoventry, three times her age, had seen her riding on her father’s estate in Ireland, fallen in love with her, and bought her for five thousand pounds. He had married her, given her a quick coat of town bronze and presented her to society, where she soon gained a following.

Now as Lady Luten, her prestige had risen to new heights. She had been thrilled when she was selected for the committee of the prestigious Friends of the Orphans Ball. In social importance, the position was second only to being a hostess of Almack’s. Almack’s was a social club that provided balls and entertainment to the very tip of the ton. A ticket to Almack’s was an announcement that one had arrived. But it did nothing to help those in need. She preferred to donate her time and energy to a charitable cause.