To Mourn a Murder (17 page)

Miss Winchley smiled her gratitude and continued. "Mama decided I needed to get away and hired a cottage at Brighton for the summer. That was our mistake. We didn't know the shopkeepers there. When I went to the shops, she always went with me and watched me like a hawk. But the day she went to have her watch repaired she was talking to the jeweler and I–I picked up a valuable pearl necklace that was on the display counter and slipped it into my reticule. Mr. Goodman had a police constable at our door within the hour. It was horrible!" She gave a little shudder at the memory before continuing.

"Goodman knew it was myself who had taken it. No one else was in the shop and he'd been busy with Mama. The constable said that as the theft was of more than twenty shillings–five hundred guineas actually–it was a capital crime. I could be hung! I might get off with being transported to Botany Bay if I were fortunate. Mr. Goodman was going to lay charges but Mama returned the pearls by a footman and wrote him this letter." She drew another sheet from her reticule and continued her sad tale. "This is the copy mentioned in the Bee's note. You'll see it is very humble and apologetic, trying to incite his sympathy, you know. She hints that my mind was unsound, that I didn't know what I was doing. The Bee has got hold of it somehow. In it mama offered a substantial bribe. Mr. Goodman agreed and the matter was dropped."

"How much was the bribe?" Coffen asked, reaching for the letter. He liked to keep track of all the details. "Ah, here it is. A hundred pounds."

"We didn't call it a bribe, of course, but just to repay him for his trouble. Mama took me to the doctor then. He said my thieving was a sort of mental disease that was not uncommon with troubled ladies, especially after the death or loss of a loved one. It was as though they–we–were taking revenge on the world, trying to fill the hole left by losing the loved one.”

Coffen nodded and passed the letter to Corinne. "Very likely," he said. "Now that you mention it, it was just after Aggie died that my uncle took to filling his pockets at the notions counter."

"In any case, the pearls business frightened me out of my lunacy," Miss Winchley continued. "When Papa found out about the letter, he said it was foolish of Mama to have written it. Such private and embarrassing matters, admitting my guilt, ought not to be put in writing he said. But we heard no more from Mr. Goodman and thought the matter was settled. And now this, just when Lord Egremont is on the edge of offering for me."

"That'd be why you turned down Sir Jeffrey last spring," Coffen said.

"Yes," she agreed, frowning at the frequent interruptions. "I have been fond of Egremont for some time," she continued, suddenly shy. "If it were ever discovered about the pearls, and especially if they thought I was tainted with insanity, his family would not let him offer for me."

"Do you think Goodman is behind this letter?" Luten asked.

She shook her head in bewilderment. "Mr. Goodman died that same autumn, shortly after the pearls incident."

"Who took over his business?"

"No one. There's a millinery shop where Goodman's Jewelry used to be. I have no idea who could have got hold of the letter, or how. What should I do, milord? Should I take the money to the Pantheon? Would you come with me? Perhaps we can catch him and put an end to his marauding."

"Of course we'll come with you," Corinne said at once. Luten nodded his agreement." I noticed he doesn't ask you to come alone."

"He could hardly expect a lady to go alone to the Pantheon," Luten pointed out. This infra-dig dance hall had sunk from its glory days in the last century to little more than a den of prostitutes. It was not a place unmarried daughters were allowed to go at all. The more dashing ladies who wanted a taste of low life occasionally coerced their partners into taking them for the thrill of it, and to see how the muslin company behaved.

"You can get the money all right?" Corinne asked.

"I can scrape five thousand together. I have a few thousand left me by an aunt and a little jewelry I can hawk. Papa would give me the money but I don't like to ask him. I've caused him enough trouble without this."

"As the Bee doesn't specify that you go alone, you must come with my party," Luten said.

"But will he give me the letter if I'm with a party? Especially the Berkeley Brigade."

"She has a point," Corinne said. Then a wicked gleam entered her emerald eyes. "I have it! Lord Byron can accompany her."

Miss Winchley gasped in disbelief. "Lord Byron? He would never agree. I've never even met him."

One of Luten's rare smiles curved his lips, softening the severe geometry of his face. He was pleased that Corinne suggested detaching Byron from their party. If she cherished his company she would have suggested Prance as Miss Winchley's escort. Byron was the perfect choice. If one quarter of the tales he told were true, he should be able to handle himself in a brawl.

"He's helped us before. He's a friend of ours," Luten said. "Would you accept him as your escort to the Pantheon?"

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, weak with wonder. "I don't know what Egremont would say to that." The eager gleam in her eye said she was more than willing to find out.

Corinne took a sip of wine, then sat frowning into the glass. "There is just a possibility the Bee might change his instructions at the last minute," she reminded Luten.

"Yes, he's done that before," he explained to Miss Winchley.

"How many ladies has he robbed in this cowardly fashion?" she asked.

"You're his fifth victim that we know of. He's changed his method in your case, however. If you hear from him again before tomorrow night, let us know immediately. But I doubt he'll change the arrangement. The Pantheon offers plenty of opportunity for confusion and mischief."

"There are to be fireworks outside for Guy Fawkes night as well," Corinne added. "That may be where he plans to arrange the trade."

"How will he recognize me in a mask?" Miss Winchley asked.

"I doubt there'll be more than one or two green dominos. The ladies usually wear blue, or occasionally red." When Miss Winchley lifted her eyebrows in surprise at the countess's familiarity with this den of iniquity, Corinne hastily added, "Or so I've heard. The gentlemen, of course, usually wear black."

"Which will make the Bee particularly difficult to recognize," Luten said with a scowl.

"He's so brassy I wouldn't be surprised if he dressed like a bee," Coffen grumbled.

Luten fell silent. His air of absorption told his fiancée that his mind was highly active. What was darting through it was that the Bee would take whatever lady wore a green domino for Miss Winchley. It could be some other lady under the mask. Indeed it need not be a lady at all. He was too tall for the job and had as well his busted ankle to deal with. Coffen couldn't pass for a lady, not in a dark room with a blanket over him. And besides he had a wrenched knee. Prance was the obvious choice, but he feared that if he told Corinne his plan, she would put herself forward as the likelier stand-in, so he said nothing.

"Do you think Lord Byron will agree to it?" Miss Winchley asked.

"I'm sure he will," Luten replied. "I'll go and ask him now. Unless you hear otherwise from me, you can take it as settled that Byron will call on you tomorrow evening to accompany you to the Pantheon."

A dimple peeped out at the corner of her lips. "That will be almost worth the five thousand pounds," she said, and laughed. "Please don't tell Egremont I said so."

"We never reveal our friends' secrets," Corinne said with an answering grin. "We ladies must stick together."

Miss Winchley rose and placed a kiss on Corinne's cheek, then shyly on Luten's. Coffen, caught between hope and fear that he would be next, leaned down and began fiddling with the bandage on his knee and escaped her gratitude.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you all," she said, turning to include Coffen. "It's such a relief to know you will help me."

"We haven't done anything yet," Luten said, trying not to look embarrassed at the kiss. "And now I'm going to spoil your pleasure by advising you to tell Lord Egremont about the pearls. He'll understand."

"Oh certainly. I always planned to tell him, if he ever came up to scratch. It's only his mama I'm worried about, but he won't tell her."

Miss Winchley, having unburdened herself, left the room at a livelier gait than she had entered it. Corinne turned to Luten and said, "You know, Luten, I am about Miss Winchley's size. In a domino and mask the Bee–"

"No, absolutely not."

She blinked in surprise. "I haven't told you what I was thinking."

He leveled a steely gaze at her. "I know what you're thinking and I forbid it."

"Forbid it? We are not married yet, milord."

Coffen shook his head and muttered, "Never will be at this rate."

"Let Prance wear the green domino," Luten said. "He'll enjoy Byron's company."

"That's not why I suggested it, to be with Byron."

"You're no more fit to tangle with the Bee than Miss Winchley is."

"But Prance is too tall."

"He's not much taller than Miss Winchley."

"He'll have to change his walk," Coffen said. "Miss Winchley don't walk like a girl."

A bark of laughter escaped from Luten's lips. "I'm glad Prance didn't hear that!"

Corinne thought a moment, then said, "I know how to use a gun. That might be convenient, if there's trouble."

"And are you eager to shoot someone?" Luten asked.

"Of course not. There's no reason to think it will come to that."

"Rhetorical question," Coffen informed her. "Means you don't have to answer. He's just asking to show off, like Reg."

Luten glared. "The matter is settled, my dear," he said to Corinne. Her face stiffened mutinously. Wanting to avoid another serious rift, he took her two hands in his and said in soft, lover-like accents, "I won't risk losing you. Don't ask it of me. We've waited too long." He watched, quietly exhaling in relief as her stiff face softened in a smile.

She knew Luten loved her. He showed her in a hundred ways, but he, who could speak so passionately about the plight of the disenfranchised and impoverished, had little verbal passion when speaking to the woman he loved. And she usually found herself equally speechless. It was only during their arguments that they waxed eloquent. She blamed it on the three years they had spent squabbling.

Coffen, sensing that they had forgotten him, for Luten would no more make love in front of an audience that he'd jump off the London Bridge, uttered a discreet cough. Their surprised expressions told him he was right. They leapt apart as if holding hands was a criminal act.

"You'd best go and find Byron, Luten," she said. Luten understood that she had capitulated to his wishes.

"Ain't you forgetting something?" Coffen asked. "Prance. You've got to let him know about Goodman's, and who bought it. Stands to reason it's the Bee, or something to do with him anyhow. Prance didn't leave here till mid-morning. He'll not get his business done and be back for his date with Byron if you don't get a letter off to him pronto, Luten. I'd send a footman to Brighton on my fastest mount if I was you."

"Yes, of course. I'll do that now."

Still embarrassed by his former dallying in front of Coffen, he took a formal leave of his fiancée. When he was gone, Corinne just shook her head ruefully.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, you know, cuddling a little," Coffen said, to assure her he took no offence.

"Try telling Luten that. He's a very private man, Coffen."

"Yes, a real gentleman. I do hate to see couples cuddling and making eyes at each other in public. Underbred. In a general way, I mean," he hastened to add, lest he had given offence.

"How's the knee?"

"I'm going to hobble about a bit to get it in shape for tomorrow night."

"You're not thinking of going to the Pantheon?"

"I'll be there if they have to haul me on a litter."

After driving over the half of London, calling at Byron's flat, at Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Parlour, at Manton's Shooting Gallery and a few of Byron's known friends, Luten went looking for him at the House. He finally ran the poet to ground behind a journal at Bellamy's, the lounge at the House of Lords. Luten recognized him by the raised wedge on his boot.

"Oh, it's you, Luten," he said, looking up when Luten jiggled the paper and peered over the top. "I was just resting my ears. These sessions are demmed dull affairs when you're not slated to speak. Even boredom, of course, is preferable to the torture of having to stand up and make an ass of yourself in front of them all. Well, the two or three who are awake. I was just thinking of taking my boredom home and giving it a glass of something wet. Will you join me?"

"I have something that might amuse you," Luten said. He sat beside Byron on the sofa to tell him about his conversation with Miss Winchley, and to put forward his suggestion that Byron accompany her to the Pantheon. "Are you interested?" he asked, when he had finished.

Byron slapped his knee in pleasure, waking a few somnolent members who were also hiding behind journals, and causing snorts of outrage. "Stap me if this ain't the most exciting thing that's happened since I was caught dead to rights with– Well, never mind that. Your Miss Winchley, is she pretty?"

"Very pretty, and very much in love with Lord Egremont," Luten told him. "Don't take that as a challenge to your romantical prowess. She's a nice lady."

Byron struck his heart playfully. "You wrong me. Every way you wrong me, Luten. It's poor I who am the victim in these curst romances."

"You prefer to be the victim of a pretty lady, I take it?"

"Don't we all? I am only human."

"Then there's no truth to the rumour that you flew down from Mount Olympus?"

"We all know rumour is a jade. Anyhow I accept your offer. It will be a great relief to only have to worry about losing five thousand pounds, and possibly having a knife slid between my ribs. At least I won't have to worry that some irate husband has hired a gang of thugs to beat me, or some single lady is weaseling me into a position where I must offer for her to save our mutual reputations. Well, hers. Mine is beyond salvation."