The Bloodied Cravat (23 page)

Sunday morning, while the rest of Mayfair felt compelled to put in an appearance at fashionable St. George’s Church, I was on my way to that part of London most in need of transformation.

Seven Dials had got its name because seven streets met at the base of a Doric pillar which housed a clock with seven faces. The old column with the clock had been taken down about thirty years ago, but the name of the area remained.

I took a hackney coach to The Jolly Cow in Little White Lion Street. Alighting from the vehicle, I argued for several minutes with the coachman. He did not want to wait for me in this part of London. As is so often the case, money solved the problem.

Following Lionel’s—or Lion as I now called him—line of thinking, I judged that if the inhabitants of The Jolly Cow were up late drinking and reveling, they would not be awake early. Thus my chances of finding Neal before he rose and went about his criminal life would be good.

The theory proved accurate.

I had to pound on the door until the owner, a rotund, moon-faced man, let me inside. Do I need to tell you that coins changed hands before the proprietor was so accommodating?

On a straw pallet behind the bar, a wiry man dressed in dirty clothes snored. He lay on his side, the red birthmark on his cheek in plain sight.

I nudged him with my dog’s head cane.

He came awake and was on his feet instantly, in the manner of one always on the alert for trouble. His red-shot eyes looked me over from shining Hessian boots to the top of my head.

“Neal, I am George Brummell. I have business with you, business that could be quite profitable.”

The thief was a raw nerve. He blinked rapidly at my use of his name. “Do I know you?”

“Not exactly. You are familiar with some of my clothing, I believe, having sold it to Mr. Kirkhead in Monmouth Street.” Sensing he was about to either bolt, or strike me, I waved a careless hand. “I am unconcerned about the loss. I have plenty more clothing.”

Neal scratched the back of his left hand. “What’s yer business then and how much money?”

I framed my answer carefully. After all, it would hardly do for Neal to get wind of just how valuable the blue velvet book and the letter were. I removed a silver shilling from my waistcoat pocket and held it between my gloved fingertips. “I merely want the answers to some questions first.”

Neal nodded his head, the greasy, stringy strands of his hair barely moving. “As long as I gets the coin.”

“You shall have it in your possession in moments.”

“Ask away.”

“You are employed by Roger Cranworth?”

Neal hesitated but a moment. “Not any more. Gone all respectable on me. Got hisself engaged to a
lady
. Took rooms in Curzon Street. Discharged me and said he’d hired a proper butler.”

“When did this happen?”

“He found me late Friday night, might have been Saturday by that time of mornin’. He told me then.”

“Did he pay you to be quiet about the Weybridge robberies?”

Neal snorted. “So what? You’re payin’ me to talk. I think I’ve already earned that coin.”

I nodded politely. “Agreed.” I handed it over to him. He grabbed it and held on to it for dear life. Or opium.

I reached into my pocket and produced the equivalent of five shillings, a crown-piece.

“A whole coachwheel?” Neal’s expression grew crafty. I thought it prudent at that moment to release the mechanism on my dog’s head cane. With a loud click in the quiet room, the sharp swordstick came into view. Neal looked from the blade back to me.

Holding the crown where he could see it at all times, I said, “Last Tuesday, you robbed a coach in Weybridge. There was a manservant carrying a small dog in the coach.”

“Heh heh heh, I remember. Prig of a gent. Shoutin’ at me while holdin’ on to that dog. The dog bit him.”

“What did you take from the manservant?”

“Couple cases with only clothes inside. I didn’t think they were worth much. No offense iffen they were yours. Plain they were, not a bit of lace in sight.”

Later he must have found the value of the clothes to be high, unless Mr. Kirkhead had cheated him, which I would not be surprised to learn. “Anything else? Think hard.”

“The cases the clothes were packed in were mighty fine. Oh, and some blue book covered in fancy velvet with silver corners.”

My heart leapt rather uncomfortably in my chest, but I remained outwardly calm. “What did you do with everything?”

“I met up with Roger as planned. He told me to sell the clothes and the cases. He kept the book.”

“You are doing very well, Neal. Here, you have earned the extra coin.” I handed him the crown. I could tell he wanted to run to the nearest place where he could purchase opium. From my pocket, I then removed the biggest lure: a gold guinea.

Neal licked his lips.

“I am a sentimental man, much to my regret,” I bemoaned. “That blue velvet book contained poems and letters of value only to me. I want it back. I cannot just ask Roger Cranworth myself. These matters between gentlemen can become awkward, you understand. To your knowledge, does Roger still have the book?”

“I know he does. I seen it. I seen it myself.”

Lying, I thought. He probably lies with the regularity of rainfall. We locked gazes. He must be assuming Roger still has the book and that he can steal it from Roger’s rooms. That was fine with me. As I have said, I did not wish to try to break into Roger’s lodgings myself. Yet.

I held the gold guinea up to the light. In the most casual voice I could muster I said, “If you would be so kind as to get the blue velvet book and bring it to me, this is yours.”

“I will,” he cried, unable to contain his excitement. Though whether it was the thought of the guinea that thrilled him, or the opium the money in his hand would purchase.

If he was going to get the book—and hopefully the letter—for me, the sooner the better. If he was bluffing, I needed to know that. Time was critical. On the other hand, if I demanded Neal go immediately, the thief might steal the book then see who would give him the most money for it: Roger or me.

“When will you have the book?” I asked.

Neal considered. With the money I had given him, I suddenly realised he could be in an opium fog for days. I felt like kicking myself, but, no, money had been necessary if I were to pry information out of him.

“I could have it for you by the end of the week,” was the reply.

I made as if to leave. “I am afraid that will not do. I am a busy man. Tomorrow night would be the longest I would be willing to wait for it. If you do not think you can get it for me by then, I must hire someone else to do the job. I know where in Curzon Street Mr. Cranworth is residing. So you see it would be quite simple for me to offer my gold guinea to someone else.”

Neal fidgeted like a five year old. “I’ll get it for you by then. Not many parties and such on Sunday, but Roger will be out tomorrow night, I’d wager. He always is when he’s in London. Miss Cranworth might be home—”

“Miss Cranworth is not to be harmed in any way, is that quite clear?” I demanded harshly.

“Fine, fine! No need to get all riled up. I’ll get the book and bring it to you tomorrow by midnight. How’s that? Where do you live?”

I struggled for calm, feeling myself closer than ever to retrieving Freddie’s letter. Most especially, here was my chance to get it back before Roger Cranworth could begin blackmailing Freddie and me. Freddie was not in Town yet, though she had said she would arrive tomorrow. Once I had Freddie’s letter, I could give Mr. Lavender certain details about the house party that I had previously withheld from him carefully edited, of course.

“Perhaps it would be best if you were not seen at my house.” My gaze fell to a copy of the
Times
lying on the bar. I picked it up and scanned the front page. “There is to be a Grand Masquerade tomorrow night at the King’s Theatre in Haymarket. Send word to me there once you have the book. I shall be wearing a black domino and a tall black hat with a red plume.”

Neal started scratching again. “Seems a lot of trouble just to conduct a bit of business.”

“Meeting in a public place would be best for both our safety,” I pronounced in a tone that would tolerate no argument.

Neal nodded. “Just be sure to have the yellowboy.”

“I give you my word.”

* * * *

I walked to Hyde Park Sunday afternoon to make the circuit of the Park. Since I had appeared at Lady Salisbury’s ball last night, knowledge that I had once again taken up Society’s amusements would be known. I must continue to frequent fashionable places to give an impression of normalcy.

After my trip to Seven Dials, I had felt dirty. I had ordered hot water and a change of clothing. Because of the late hour I had returned to Bruton Street last night and the early hour I had departed the house this morning, a nap had also been needed before I dressed to go out.

Hyde Park was crowded. As I greeted numerous acquaintances, some by just a doffing of my hat, the sun shone brightly above. Later I planned to call on Lord and Lady Perry to see the new baby. Then a visit to Lady Crecy’s was on my list. I was anxious to see Lady Ariana.

At that moment, a feminine voice hailed me. I turned to my right to see Miss Lavender, her father grudgingly following behind her, crossing the grass. Her stride was most determined. Now what had her looking so peeved?

Lion! The boy had told her of his adventures. I had neglected to ask him to remain silent.

“Mr. Brummell, even from a distance I knew it was you. No one else dresses with such elegant perfection,” she said, a martial light in her emerald eyes.

I made her a small bow. “Thank you! Ah, Mr. Lavender, keeping to your practice of not working on the Sabbath, I see.” Except in regards to that deuced toothpick jumping up and down between his teeth.

“Aye, laddie. But I see you’re hard at work.”

I tilted my head. “Why, what can you mean? I am merely enjoying a spring stroll.”

“Working twenty-four hours a day to stave off your boredom is how I see it. I reckon I should be glad you’re not poking your nose in Bow Street work.”

A sound suspiciously like a snort came from Miss Lavender. I noted she looked most fetching this afternoon in a light moss-green muslin dress. She said, “No, this time he’s meddling in the Weybridge magistrate’s work. He’s trying to find the highwayman that’s struck out that way.”

“Is that so, Mr. Brummell?” the Bow Street man asked, his interest caught. “And just why would you trouble yourself with a country matter?”

Before I could reply, Miss Lavender was ahead of me. “It is so, and he’s used an innocent young boy to help him!”

“My clothes, you know, I had to find out what had become of them,” I explained in my best foolish dandy voice.

“Faith!” exclaimed Miss Lavender. “That’s what you told me, and I believe you. ‘Twas one thing when you came to me wanting to know the location of the rag-merchants. But then to bribe a boy of two and ten to go into Seven Dials to find a thief. How could you? Even though you said you were concerned for the Royal Duchess’s safety, I still couldn’t believe it when Lionel told me you’d paid him to find the ruffian.”

Mr. Lavender seemed annoyed at my doing Squire Oxberry’s job. I would wager the news that I had called on his daughter did not sit well with him either. At any rate, his eyes narrowed. “I’m having a hard time believing your stolen clothes were that important to you, Mr. Brummell. What was it that really caused you to expend your energy on such a matter?”

I hesitated. Mr. Lavender is not stupid. I would have to tell a version of the truth. “As Miss Lavender said, her Royal Highness, the Duchess of York, is a special friend of mine. She must be protected from danger. I felt Squire Oxberry not up to the task. Lionel ran the streets of Seven Dials for the past year. Miss Lavender told me so herself. I thought it safe enough for the boy to help me investigate the robberies.”

Miss Lavender suddenly averted her gaze from me. “I am beginning to understand the way of things. In your mind even the most remote possibility of the Royal Duchess being set upon by thieves must weigh more in importance to you than a boy’s safety.”

“That is not true,” I denied with some heat. “I cautioned Lion to be most careful, and he gave me his word that he would be. He knows Seven Dials and grew up under the worst of circumstances. He can take care of himself. Did he tell you I have given him the nickname of Lion, by the way?”

“Yes,” Miss Lavender said, her head still turned away from me. “He thinks you nothing short of a god. Foolish boy.”

“I shall disabuse him of the notion. That is, unless you have already done so yourself, Miss Lavender?”

She refused to look at me. “Father, is that not Jack Townsend in conversation with the playwright, Mr. Sheridan?” Miss Lavender said, referring another investigator from Bow Street. “Let’s walk over and greet him.”

“In a minute,” her father answered. “I’ll be round to question you further about the house party at Oatlands, Mr. Brummell. The Royal Duchess has charged me with the task of finding Lord Kendrick’s murderer. I’ve got my suspicions.”

I did not like the sound of that. “I have not the slightest doubt you are leaving no stone unturned,” I told him.

“Justice is always my chief concern. I think I’ll have one of the Runners keep an eye on your thief, Mr. Brummell. Neal, I believe Lionel told Lydia was his name. Not that I think you’d withhold any pertinent information in a murder investigation from Bow Street,” Mr. Lavender said in a tone that said he thought just the opposite. He turned to his daughter. “We’ll go talk to Townsend now.”

I reached out and touched Miss Lavender on her arm above her gloves. The action startled her, and she turned to face me at last. “What is it?”

Mr. Lavender saw my hand on his daughter’s arm. Every freckle on his face stood out. For an instant, I thought he would reach for his pistol.

“Please walk with me for a minute, Miss Lavender,” I asked. “I wish to explain some things to you.”

“Lydia, you’ll come with me now,” Mr. Lavender growled.