Death of a Fop (Bow Street Consultant series Book 1) (26 page)

“By Jove it is an idea” said Sir Richard. Jane bit harder.

“Please guvnor, guarantee the zantippy so she stop bitin’ me!” howled the coachman.

Sir Richard touched the knife to Jane’s nose and she felt a sharp pain and hot wet blood.

“I
may
not spoil your face in any case for I like the look of it,” he said, “but I
will
slit your nose if you do not stop biting right now.”

Jane stopped biting.

It had taken up some time at least.

They dragged her to the coaching inn, an unprepossessing building that looked to be two hundred or more years old, three stories high and the plaster covering what was doubtless a timber frame painted white, though there was precious little white to it now, being quite uniformly grey and grimy. Plaster had fallen from the wall in places and Jane was reminded of the women who haunted Covent Garden when daylight came at the end of their working day, the white lead paint too many of them wore cracking after the exigencies of their nightly activities.

She let them manhandle her in a back door and upstairs. There were some semi-clad females up here too who laughed and talked raucously. That should be no surprise; it was plainly a low dive. There had been some sort of sign at the front which looked to be a man in armour of some description; though it looked more like a lobster with a strange looking helmet.

Jane received a jolt of revelation. A man in lobster armour and a morion helm. Well that told her exactly where she was!

She was pushed into a chair; and the coachman left. She suspected that he would be standing outside the door. One of the other chairs was already occupied by Poul de Vries; Sir Richard took the other.

“I really am still most confused still about why you have abducted me,” said Jane, “for my nerves were quite shattered in the coach when you made me cast up my accounts and I was unable to take in anything save that you are not dragging me to Gretna. And this is that Jeweller; the one who came to see me. Why is he here? Are you acting as a pawnbroker, Sir Richard? You said something about Dolly’s wretched necklace; did she pawn it to you? I really cannot be held accountable for my husband’s mistress cheating you and in my opinion five pounds was a stupidly high price to give for it even if you did feel sorry for her, and surely recourse to the law would be a better way to recoup….”

Sir Richard hit her across the mouth.

“Shut up!” he said.

She had at least half expected it having copied her aunt’s way of rattling on inconsequentially; and Frank had once said that he longed to slap Miss Bates across her stupid mouth. It was something Jane would never forgive; true he had been half in his cups, and she had been suggesting leaving him and returning to Miss Bates because he was being unreasonable; but the outpouring of how hard it had been to make up to Miss Bates without losing his temper had been vitriolic. It had been the point at which she had told him that as he did not like garrulous women he need not expect her to speak or react more than was needful.

Expecting it, she rode the blow a little; but it hurt.

Well if he was as easy to manipulate as Frank she would be as passive as with Frank. She sat limp in the chair, trying to relax.

“What did she say in the carriage? Have you questioned her without me that you made her vomit?” asked the Dutchman.

“She cast up her accounts because of having a broken ankle” said Sir Richard.

“She seems to walk quite adequately” said de Vries puzzled. Sir Richard gave him an impatient look.

“She’s pregnant you stupid Dutchman” he said. “It is a euphemism…..And all I did was to tell her that we knew she was lying about that prime piece of goods pawning the necklace. She made that she did not understand.”

“So? Vell she must understand or she vill not like the consequences” said de Vries. His cultivated accentless speech slipped, Jane noticed, quite as much as did Fowler’s under stress. “Mrs Churchill, you vill tell us all about the necklace that we vant to know or it vill not be pleasant; first ve can hurt you vith much more subtlety than poor Smudger managed with the trug; and ve can also arrange that you disappear into a brothel yourself and be most unhappy when you will be villing and ready to tell us all and to marry Sir Richard for his and your protection, no?”

Jane stared.

“Well?” demanded Sir Richard.

Jane transferred her gaze to him, looking mildly puzzled.

He struck her.

“Are you going to talk?” he asked.

“Oh I do not understand!” cried Jane, “first you say to shut up now you say to talk! What do you wish me to talk about?”

“What do I wish……why you stupid woman I want you to answer questions as de Vries has asked you!” ground out Sir Richard “He has asked me something? I do not know Dutch though; I could not understand what he said at all, it was like a dog barking” said Jane “And moreover why would I answer questions of a nasty little mushroom like him? I do not have conversations with cits you know, Sir Richard, especially those who cannot even speak the king’s English!”

De Vries looked angry; Sir Richard was quite purple.

“Richard you have better ask the questions” said de Vries in a low voice“If the
verdompt vrow
cannot understand my accent; ach, it is true I am agitated enough that I do not have command of my voice!”

“I agree” said Sir Richard, also in an undertone. “She is not faking; she did not once blench when you told her the consequences; I thought it odd.”

Jane heard him well enough; the ears of a musician were quick to hear. Once again she was grateful that she had learned to mask her expression during that secret engagement.

Sir Richard schooled himself to impassivity of manner and explained in detail the consequences of failing to talk to Jane who assumed an expression of worried horror.

“So; what do you know of the necklace?” asked Sir Richard.

“Oh I am so confused and scared!” cried Jane, “you are a cruel and ungentlemanly man; why should you care so much about that wretched necklace? I
told
de Vries that Dolly told me she had pawned it; what can anyone care for – good God! Are you saying that Frank picked up the wrong one by accident when he bought it, that it was
real
? Why Sir Richard, was it then yours and you ended up with the paste necklace? Why then you have every right to be testy but surely you could have been honest with me about that, and not act in so hole-in-the corner way? If I thought for one moment that Dolly knew, I should have gently persuaded me to tell me where then it might be; but you are not going to think that I shall ask her now you have behaved so shabbily towards me; for I shall not be in the least co-operative over helping you to find the wretched thing and I hope it was sold to some Mill Owner’s wife for a fraction of its value!”

“Does that
onnozelaar wijf
not have any kind of speech that is not like your
dombo
horse that can only gallop or stay still?” cried de Vries.

“Apparently not” said Sir Richard. “Are you trying to put over me the tarradidle that you had no idea that the necklace was anything but fake? Any woman who has seen real diamonds knows what they look like!”

“Oh yes! For I have real diamonds in the necklace that Frank’s uncle made me wear at our wedding, and I was never so disappointed in all my born days; for they were so dull and shabby and the rubies quite unprepossessing too, and Frank said that they should have been cleaned, though I do not know how to clean such things and there was not time to take them to a jeweller because they arrived so soon before the wedding. If I had seen Dolly’s necklace I should have known at once it was real because diamonds are such ugly dull stones and not in the least bit as exciting as the name of them seems to suggest, for is there not something evocative in the very
word
diamond?” said Jane. “At least coloured stones have something to them other than the dull grey look.”

“Dull? Grey? That wench has never a diamond seen never!” cried de Vries “Much less the Avon necklace! That sly little piece Frank was keeping has held out on her also; you will have to get hold of that one, Richard and put
her
to the question!”

“I am still tempted to run a needle or two up under her nails to see if she continues to tell the same tale” said Sir Richard.

“Lock her in; and give her time to contemplate that you will test her” said de Vries.

Sir Richard nodded; and seized Jane’s left hand, withdrawing a needle pinned to his lapel.

He pushed it a little way under her middle fingernail.

Jane cried out; the pain was considerable.

“It can go a lot further than that,” said Sir Richard, “and it will. Because in an hour I shall come back and test whether you still tell the same story. And if you wish to change it either speak now, or the minute I return; because that wasn’t even starting.”

“I don’t understand,” Jane nursed the abused hand, “how can I change what I have told you? You asked questions and I have answered them. Do you want me to
lie
?”

“I just want to make sure that you do not, you little gabbster” said Sir Richard.

He and de Vries exited the room and she heard the lock turn and Sir Richard’s peremptory command to the coachman to keep guard.

Jane heaved a sigh of relief; that bought more time.

And then she might, on their return, spin some fictional tale and let them realise it was fictional with false details; and then sob that she did not want them to hurt her so had made up another story as they seemed to want one. They would still hurt her but the longer she spent talking rubbish the less time they would have to hurt her before Caleb arrived.

And besides she would also spend the time seeing if she might escape.

The window opened inwards; but when she opened the casement she found that the poor quality glass in the narrow leads concealed bars. They had already thought of that.

She turned her attention to the chimney; they would never suspect a lady of quality trying to climb a chimney. In truth, Jane was not too sanguine about her chances of succeeding herself; but where needs must she might make some shift to try. The trouble was, deciding which flue to take if she
did
get up the chimney; coming down ignominiously in a pile of soot in the room where her enemies were would not be a good idea. And when they returned to this room they would see a soot fall and guess; and a fire lit under her would be as bad as any other torture. Jane sighed; she must pin all her hopes on Caleb; but then Caleb was a man on whom one might pin one’s hopes.

And Caleb might be helped by having some clew to follow like the thread of Ariadne….

Caleb, Will, Jackie, Daniel and Fowler were ruffianly looking enough to frighten any villain, as Miss Bates said with half admiration and half trepidation.

“Are you sure your arm will take not hurt, Mr Armitage?” she asked anxiously.

“Miss Bates, if I knew it would cost me the use of it for the rest of my life you know I must still go to rescue Mrs Jane” said Caleb gruffly.

“You
DEAR
man!” said Miss Bates. “I have my salves if we are ready.”

“Beg pardon ma’am? I was not expecting you to be coming…..”

“And who else will see to my dear Jane if I do not come?” said Miss Bates, “she may need a woman’s hand; you and she might very well be smelling of April and May but there are some things that are not seemly. I shall not get in the way.”

“Why Miss Bates, I believe I see where Jane gets her indomitable spirit!” cried Caleb in admiration. “You will do well though to stay back; we shall not be playing a gentlemanly game of cricket.”

“Mr Armitage, if you plan to save parliament the price of rope by killing them not saving them to be hanged I shall not grieve; these monsters are ready to harm poor helpless women!”

“Ar, and half-women too like Mr Churchill was” Fowler muttered, fortunately too low for Miss Bates to hear.

Caleb agreed with Fowler; he strongly suspected that the villains would find that Jane was a far less helpless proposition than her husband!

The drive was not accomplished as fast as the berlin and its two fine horses might have managed; but it was done with as much despatch as the driver was able to manage for the promise of gold if he might do so. The horse, poor creature, was sweating profusely; but it might rest once they got to ‘The Spaniard Inn’; where the Jarvis would rub it down and see it fed.

Miss Bates was to wait in the Hackney until called; the three soldiers and Caleb stood as though arguing about something, and pointing much at the tollbooth built on the other side of the road, a gate barring any further progress north without payment of the required toll.

Will walked around the inn towards the back, supposedly to relieve himself and came back ginning.

“Single blue strand o’ wool danglin’ from a winder” he said; and proceeded to describe in detail where the window was and exactly how far along the back of the inn, and up on the second floor under the eaves.

Caleb grinned. She would not have got away with using the whole muffler again; his clever Jane.

They walked into the tap room; still apparently quarrelling.

It did not take much in the way of contentious comments about Government and taxation – leading from tolls to the Corn Laws – with one supposed apologist for the government, before a full scale brawl was in progress with other interested parties joining in. Dealing with incidental locals was going to be something that needed to be done first and hard fists and the butts of pistols soon saw these possible reinforcements laid low, while Caleb went up to mine host, smiled, put his pistol to the man’s ribs and required him to turn around.

A heavy pewter tankard knocked scientifically against his head ensured that the man lost all further interest in the proceedings; and Caleb tied him up expertly. The soldiers, having subdued the half dozen or so locals, kicked, dragged or persuaded them to sit in a circle, and proceeded to cross their hands behind them to tie in a ring one hand to the hand of the fellow next to him. It had been a method they had used to deal with French prisoners requiring a minimum of twine to keep a relatively large number of prisoners immobilised.