[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (7 page)

“That lad will want watching. You leave him to me.”

“I’ll speak to Miss Lipman. Let her know no one is to go into the library.”

Miss Lipman adopted an air of injury when she was spoken to and said, “He just carried that big silver epergne in for me. I couldn’t lift it. It’s very heavy. Even Evans was afraid to try to carry it. What was I supposed to do?”

“If anything like that happens again, let me know. I’ll arrange for it to be moved. I understand Corbett took an interest in the safety precautions we’re taking. The doors and guards and so on.”

“Just an intelligent interest, no more,” she said with a toss of her curls. “In fact he mentioned that locking those doors to the garden wouldn’t stop a thief from breaking the glass and unlocking it from the outside. No precaution has been taken in that regard.”

“We can hardly have the doors boarded up. There is an armed guard outside at all times.”

A footman interrupted them to announce a picture had arrived, and Miss Lipman went to attend to it. It was a small Chardin portrait that Miss Lipman had no trouble carrying herself.

When Luten came home that afternoon, he found his wife had gone to her room to take a headache powder. When he went abovestairs to see her he was dismayed to see her looking so pale and worried. “Why don’t you have a lie down, darling?” he suggested. “You look fagged.”

“I feel wretched,” she said, and told him about the T’ang horse. “It’s been preying on my mind. I hated keeping things from you. I didn’t tell you yesterday as I knew you would be angry, and I hoped to find it.”

“And you did, so stop worrying.”

“But one of them must have taken it, Luten. It turned up in the gold salon. And Miss Lipman let that Corbett fellow into the library, and he seemed mighty interested in the donations, and our precautions. If anything should happen to them!”

She felt close to tears. Her usual good humour had completely left her. “I’m becoming a shrew,” she said. “It’s the responsibility of having all those valuable items in the house. And Prance having his crew here certainly doesn’t help. Oh I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“We’ll take a holiday, perhaps that trip to the Lake District we’ve been promising ourselves.”

“Yes, let’s do it. I feel I’ve aged a dozen years since this began.”

“It will soon be over. You’re doing a marvelous job, and it will be a real feather in your cap. Why Lady Castlereagh and the Patronesses of Almack’s will have to look to their laurels.” He spoke on until she was easier in her mind.

“Here am I worrying myself to a thread about a roomful of so-called treasures people are donating because they don’t want them, while you are worried about Napoleon trying to take over the world, and never utter a single complaint.”

“I expect the difference is that Napoleon isn’t billeted on us, right here in the house.”

“How are things going at the House?”

It was Luten’s turn to complain a little, and they both felt better for the talk.

Coffen was so bored that afternoon that he had even sunk to reading the
Morning Observer
Black made him buy. He saw Black had outlined an article about the Gas, Light and Coke Company, which meant Black wanted him to read it. Finding it largely incomprehensible, he flung the paper aside and picked up the latest issue of a sporting magazine hoping to find an article on curricles. He felt hard done by to find the featured carriage was the Tilbury. Who in his right mind would drive a two-wheeled carriage? Except a curricle, of course. Different thing altogether.

Not only did he have to do without Black but now Prance — no favorite companion at the best of times — was busy with his play. Only one actress in it and she was engaged. His other chum, Corinne, was always running about like a mother hen tending her new brood when he called on her.

What he wanted was a nice mystery to solve, a murder for choice. So when Black came home and told him that Lady Luten was worried about Vance Corbett, and why, he immediately volunteered to look into it. Black felt guilty about abandoning Mr. Pattle and knew this little caper would please him.

“I thought we might go to have a look about the lad’s flat,” Black said.

“We’ll go tonight,” Coffen said at once. “Night would be the best time. Do you know where he lives?”

“No, but Sir Reginald would know. His rehearsal’s over for I just saw him go home. You could visit him, and while you’re there, see if you can find out what Corbett is doing tonight.”

“I’ll go call on him right now. I wager he has all their addresses in that blue notebook he carries around with him, jotting things in it. He calls it his
Shadows
book, so it must be full of play stuff. You don’t think he’ll be sore that we’re checking up on his villain?”

“There’s no telling with Sir Reginald. If you can get the information without letting him know, do it. If worse comes to worst, you’ll have to tell him. Her ladyship says he’s not overly fond of Corbett, so he might not mind.”

Prance’s toplofty butler, Soames, was soon showing Coffen into Sir Reginald’s dainty drawing room. Sir Reginald was abovestairs with Villier trying a new arrangement of the cravat. Soames sent a footman abovestairs to notify him he had a caller. Knowing Mr. Pattle’s insatiable thirst and hunger, the butler just nodded at the wine carafe and left Coffen to it. Before helping himself to a glass, Coffen looked about the room for the blue notebook. He could hardly believe his luck that it was sitting right there on the sofa table. He picked it up and there, on the first page, he read the names and addresses of his three actors. Prance had even left his patent pen with the book. No doubt he had been jotting down notes. He memorized Corbett’s address, then decided he might as well find out where the others lived while he was there. Pattle was thorough when it came to crime.

One address he could remember. Three required a written reminder. What he couldn’t find was a piece of paper. Without a moment’s hesitation he tore a page out of the blue notebook and jotted down the three addresses. Chloe and Sean had the same street address but different flat numbers. He barely had time to put the book and pen back and stuff the addresses in his pocket before Prance joined him.

“Coffen, we haven’t seen much of you recently. I’ve lost touch with society. How does the world wag? I am completely immersed in
Shadows.
”

“Why don’t you light some lamps?”

“I was referring to my play,
Shadows on the Wall.
Between working on the script for Drury Lane and directing my rehearsals, I have lost touch with the world.”

“You’re not missing a thing. I’m not doing anything at all, Prance. Bored to flinders if you want the truth, with you and Black and Corrie all working like navvies. And of course Luten is always busy with his politics. Take tonight, now, what are you doing?”

“Work, work, work. I have a meeting with some chaps from the theatre. I want to give George — that’s George Edwards, the producer, a few ideas I’ve come up with. I realize, too, that some of the speeches in the novel that read well are not euphonious.”

Coffen said, “Eh?”

“I hadn’t realized there was such a discrepancy between reading and speaking. I must fine-tune my script. Some of my lines don’t translate well to the spoken word. The arguments between hero and villain lack vitriol. I want harsher consonants and rougher vowel sounds, whereas the love scenes lack euphony. I am aiming for a sweet, mellifluous flow of consonants there, with soft vowels for the love scenes.”

Coffen blinked and said, “Eh?” again.

“Sorry, just professional tinkering with the script, of no interest to the layman. That’s why I’m having these rehearsals, to see how my lines read.”

“I thought they read fine myself.”

“When I say ‘read’, I mean spoken.”

“You mean out loud?”

“Yes, on the stage.”

“You’re saying they don’t sound as good as they look.”

“Something like that. I fear I am only a dramatist manqué.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Reg. You’re nothing like a monkey. More like a greyhound.”

“Are you calling me a dog?” Prance asked, but in jest. He knew Coffen didn’t always say what he meant.

“Devil a bit of it. So what are the others doing tonight?”

“Lady Tremaine is having a rout party. I expect Luten and Corrie will drop in there. Were you invited?”

“I haven’t opened my invitations. What I meant was, what do your actors do at night? Do they sit home and work on them vitriols and eu-things as well?”

“They merely
say
the words, Coffen. Surely you realize they don’t
write
them. That is the dramatist’s job. Only William could put to paper such words as ‘To be or not to be.’ I should have thought even you —”

“Shakespeare,” he said, to show he at least knew who Prance meant by William.

“Or in this case, Sir Reginald.”

“Funny they didn’t make Shakespeare a Sir, him being so famous.”

“Oh surely a duke at least. Posthumously of course,” Prance said with a sad shake of his head.

“Very likely,” Coffen said, quite at random. Before Reg could sink into further obscurities, he said, “But about the actors, what would they do of a night?”

“You
do
know Chloe is engaged to Sean?” Prance assumed Coffen wanted to go out with Chloe. His admiration for actresses was no secret.

“I heard that. Besides she ain’t my type. She don’t seem like a real actress. Not friendly, I mean. About the men, though, would they be at home?”

“I doubt it. Sean and Chloe have an active social life. He mentioned they were going to a friend’s party. Some chap they know is planning a tour of the provinces for the autumn. They’re always trying to make connections in the theatre. It helps, knowing people in the business.”

“Will Corbett be going to this party as well?”

“Not likely. He isn’t interested in touring. He prefers to work in London, where the big directors and producers can see him. He hopes to get the role of Maldive with Drury Lane when
Shadows
opens there. It will be rehearsing in the autumn, so he wouldn’t accept a touring engagement at this time.”

“I wonder what he does with himself of a night.”

“I understand he cadges a box at one of the theatres most nights. He took Miss Lipman to see
School for Scandal
last night. Unlike the rest of the country, he didn’t find Sheridan’s humour amusing.”

“Then he won’t be going there tonight.”

“No, but I doubt you’d enjoy his company, Coffen, if that’s what you mean by these questions. He’s not your type at all. Always carping and picking faults.”

“Ah, more your type,” Coffen said, with no thought of giving offence.

“You haven’t heard me complain about you recently. I find a remarkable improvement in your toilette since Black has taken your servants in hand. You no longer look as if you had tumbled out of a rag bag.”

“Why thankee, Prance. Not every day I pry a compliment out of you.”

Prance took a closer look at Coffen’s cravat that was stained with red wine by afternoon, examined his tousled hair and dusty topboots and said, “Well, you begin the day looking like a gentleman at least.”

His ingenuity exhausted, Coffen rose. “So you don’t know what Corbett’s up to tonight?”

“I really wouldn’t advise you to strike up any friendship with him, Coffen.”

“I don’t intend to.”

Prance gave a sly smile. “Ah, I see! You and Black are planning to search his flat. Why didn’t you say so? You won’t find the T’ang horse there. It’s turned up in the gold salon, but it might not be a bad idea to see if he’s snitched anything else from Luten’s place. Nothing else has been reported missing, but if he’s taken anything, I shall be responsible and will have to repay Luten. Be careful, though, Corbett will raise almighty hell if he finds out you were there. Do you have his address?” He reached for his blue notebook.

“I do, thankee, Prance. If there’s lights showing at his place, we won’t go in.”

“I believe I can arrange that he’s not home. I mentioned I’m meeting a few chaps I know who are involved in the theatre tonight to discuss
Shadows.
Edwards is producing
Shadows
and Jeremy Ferrar does some casting for Drury Lane. Corbett won’t refuse a chance to meet them. I’ll send an invitation along right away.”

“That’s good of you, Prance. Appreciate it. Does he have any servants?”

“He never mentioned them, and he would have — nine or ten times. No, I think it’s safe to say he looks after himself. And turns out remarkably well groomed too.”

“What time is the meeting, and how long will it last?”

“An after dinner meeting. I can keep them busy till midnight.”

“Good. I’ll be off then. I’ll let you know if we find anything. I believe I’d recognize any little toys from Luten’s place. Been running tame there any time these ten years.” He escaped before Prance noticed he had torn a sheet out of the notebook. He was very fussy about his belongings.

“Got it,” he announced to Black when he returned, and related how helpful Prance had been.

“He suspects this Corbett then,” Black said at once.

“He didn’t say so.”

“He wouldn’t, but Sir Reginald isn’t one to go out of his way to help unless there’s something in it for him.”

“He did mention he’d be responsible if Corbett had snitched anything from Luten’s. Anyhow we know where he lives and that he has no servants and he won’t be home till midnight, so what time do we leave?”

“We’ll set out at ten. Might be wise to take a hackney cab. We don’t want Fitz on the loose in your carriage for the half hour or so it’ll take us, not if we want a drive home. No telling where he’d have got to.”

Fitz was proving the least teachable of Mr. Pattle’s servants. With the best spirit in the world, he just couldn’t learn or remember directions. East, west, north and south had no more meaning for him than if they were higher mathematics. He now hopped to open doors and let down the step without being reminded, but once he had the ribbons in his hands, the passengers were at his mercy.