To Mourn a Murder (29 page)

"Cherchez la femme,"
Coffen said. "Though there's no reason the Bee couldn't have been two men, come to that." This new notion caused a little pause, during which Coffen, unfortunately, added, "Two bees or not two bees" as Shakespeare said. "I'm surprised you didn't quote that at us, Prance."

Prance shook his head. "Two e's or not two e's. In that case, not. In the word be, I mean. Never mind, I believe we're looking for a woman right enough. There was a woman with the man who got his hand in my pocket and stole Miss Winchley's money. Now who could she be? The dashing Lady Callwood leaps to mind, of course. Surely the only lady of that crew with the sort of insouciant gall to pull off the various pranks involved."

"No reason one of them couldn't have been a dainty fellow dressed up like a woman, like you were at the Pantheon," Coffen said. "But if it
was
Callwood, it'd explain one thing that's been pestering me. Where did the Bee get all them bees he sprinkled over her dead dog? He didn't. She made it all up."

"Could he—or she—not have gathered them
chez
Hummer-Winkler?" Prance suggested. "He knew Winkler kept bees. He must have been there. The workers push the drones from the hive when their job is done, I believe."

Coffen nodded. "Very likely that's it, if the other Bee isn't Lady Callwood."

"It sheds no light on the lady in the case," Corinne said. "Lady Jergen and Lady Callwood were at the Pantheon. Either of them could have been with the Bee for a few moments. We don't know when the Bee actually got into your pocket, Reg. Or it could have been Mrs. Webber, who made a point of telling me she wasn't there."

"I think we all agree we can acquit Miss Winchley and Mrs. Huston in any case?" Prance said. They all nodded. "Surely there is no reason we need limit ourselves to the Bee's victims in our search for his murderer. Anyone involved with Danby might have done it."

"What other involvements had he?" Byron asked. "He wasn't courting any lady, so far as I know. He had no sworn enemies. He usually won at cards, but there was never any suggestion of cheating, and in any case that would more likely result in a duel than poison. So how are we to find out who killed him?" He looked all around.

Only Prance noticed that "we" and felt a nettle of resentment. Since when was milord Byron one of the Berkeley Brigade? Had Luten unilaterally invited him to join them? Prance wanted to keep Byron for himself, except for those occasions when he might prove useful to annoy Luten by flirting with Corinne.

"Did you have any luck finding out where the bottle of brandy came from, Byron?" Luten asked.

"It was delivered to the front desk. Not by a liveried footman, which would have given us something to work on, but by one of those anonymous link-boys, who all look alike. Ten or twelve years old, tow-coloured hair, shabby. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands of them in London."

Coffen pulled at his ear. "They each have an area they work, like footpads. It'd be more than his life was worth to poach on another lad's territory. The one that delivered the bottle must work near Stephens's Hotel."

"Or close to whomever hired him," Prance suggested.

"Either one of them places," Coffen agreed. "What time of day was it delivered, Byron?"

"Late afternoon, around four."

"Was there a note with it?"

"No, just the bottle. The clerk who accepted it assumed Danby had ordered it."

"Did he have any callers that afternoon?" Luten asked.

"Tom Pritchard called on him around two. Danby came down to the lobby to buy a journal after Pritchard left. I've seen them playing cards together at Alfred's. I can't believe Pritchard would be involved in this. He's a young innocent."

"We haven't talked about why Danby was killed," Coffen said. "The how and the opportunity were there in the bottle, but why? If he was working with someone on the Bee business, why did she, if it was a she, suddenly turn on him? There must have been a falling out between them."

"A lover's quarrel,
peut-
être?”
Prance suggested. "Was Mam'selle Grolier the victim of a jealous she-lover, and innocent of anything to do with the Bee
qua
Bee?"

"Quay? What's a quay got to do with it?" Coffen demanded. When Prance rolled his eyes Coffen said, "Ah, French, is it?" and ignored it. "What I think happened is that the Bee and the queen bee fell into a spat over the money since there was no trace of it in Danby's room, t'other person must have it. And we know Danby was in need of cash."

They discussed this, then Luten said to Byron, "We have another job for you, if you're game." Prance came to rigid attention, ready to assert his right to any job that sounded interesting, or at the very least to accompany Byron. "There's something we meant to check up on but it seems to have been overlooked. Since you're on friendly terms with Gentleman Jackson, I'd like you to ask him if Danby spent his mornings there the past week, and ask about the afternoons at Manton's." Prance decided not to interfere. A trip to Gentleman Jackson's was only slightly less revolting than a trip to a slaughterhouse.

"I'll do it tomorrow morning," Byron said at once. "If he was using Jackson as an alibi, I shouldn't think he'd lie about it though. It's too easy to check."

"Just dotting the t's and crossing the i's," Coffen explained.

"Ah yes, nothing like crossed eyes to keep things clear," Prance said, smirking at Byron, who playfully crossed his eyes.

"Exactly," Coffen said, taking it for a compliment. "You ought to send a note off to Brighton and see if the police there have any clues as to who killed Mam'selle, Luten. I'd do it myself but no one would pay any attention to me. You remember when I talked to the tobacconist across the street from Mam'selle he said a lightskirt and a lady went into the place that morning. The lightskirt didn't come out hollering so it stands to reason Mam'selle was still alive then. If one of them killed her, it was the lady. The tobacconist said the lady wouldn't find anything to suit her at Mam'selle's, which lets Lady Callwood out. She wears pretty flashy bonnets."

"So does Lady Jergen," Corinne said, "though if they didn't want to be recognized ..."

"Who don't wear any finery is Mrs. Webber," Coffen continued. "Danby seems to have arranged an alibi but I wonder where Webber was when Mam'selle was killed. You mind, Corrie, you said Mrs. Webber was jealous of Lady Callwood because she had her eye on Danby herself."

"It was just a casual remark. She's a widow, and unhappy living with her mother-in-law."

"She seemed jealous of Lady Callwood, though?"

"Yes, I had that impression."

"I imagine she's desperate to get out from under old Mrs. Webber's thumb. Maybe desperate enough to take to extorting and murdering."

Byron frowned. "Does anyone else get the uneasy feeling we're traducing a virgin, to speak of Mrs. Webber in these terms?"

Coffen said, "Eh? Can't be a virgin. She has a son."

"She's considered a sort of lay saint," Byron explained. "Earning her halo by taking an active interest in all the fashionable charities."

"I never trust a saint," Coffen said. "The bald-faced truth is we're all sinners. If you have to be at pains to hide your sins, then they're probably the kind you have to be ashamed of. And before you tell me we should be ashamed of all our sins, Reg, what I mean is just a bit of drinking or womanizing or gambling don't slam any doors in your face. That's only human nature. A woman wanting to be prettier than the other girls or a man wanting to be smarter or better dressed than the rest of us, like you, is all right as well." Prance pokered up but got no chance to retaliate.

Coffen continued, unaware of having given offence. "Folks may snicker behind his back, but no one really thinks the worse of a man for that. It's them other sins they have to hide under a halo. Sins like cheating at cards, or having kids before they're married or this sort of thing the Bee's been up to. I don't say Mrs. Webber killed Mam'selle, but mark my word, she has some vice she's ashamed of."

"But haven't we all?" Byron asked. "I know I have my share. Haven't you?"

His listeners all fell silent a moment, examining their consciences. Corinne mentally accused herself of selfishness that sometimes interfered with Luten's work. She didn't trust Luten an inch out of her sight, though he had proven marble constant thus far. Luten asked himself if his political aspirations were caused solely by a wish to better the world, or whether wanting the glory of seeing himself Prime Minister hadn't something to do with it. Prance acknowledged a rampant vanity, and simultaneously forgave himself. No one was perfect. It was Coffen who answered aloud.

"I'm lazy and I'm overly fond of food and drink and actresses," he said, "but none of it's a secret."

The rogue in Prance said, "How about you, Byron? What are your vices?"

"Read my poetry," he replied and uttered a cynical laugh. "My vices are public knowledge. Even those I don't have. One must exaggerate a little to titillate the public into buying. Of course the more interesting ones are deep, dark secrets."

Then he immediately cut this promising line of conversation short by saying, "I wonder if Lady Callwood had no criminal involvement with the Bee but had come to suspect Danby. Perhaps that's why she's been seeing him, trying to ferret out proof. She's just the lady who could do it too. A beautiful, clever woman like that, not overly encumbered with virtue, to judge by her past. What do you think, Luten?"

"Are you suggesting she found her proof and sent him poisoned brandy?"

"Just an idea. Really I hardly know what I meant."

"It's all conjecture. We have no proof. Coffen had an interesting point." He turned to Coffen and smiled. "As usual. I'll get on to the police in Brighton and try for a better description of the second lady who visited Mam'selle's shop the morning she was killed."

"And I'll get to work on the link-boys in the morning," Coffen added.

"I'll speak to Jackson and Manton," Byron said.

Prance raked his mind for some contribution he could make. Coffen, suspecting his problem, said, "Why don't you call on Lady Callwood and Mrs. Webber, Reg? Tell them about Danby's death, and see how they take it. You pride yourself on being able to read people's expressions. No point calling on Lady Jergen. She'll know already and have her face ready. The police will have notified the Jergens as next of kin."

"Yes, I suggested it," Byron said.

Prance agreed to do his bit. He had no appetite for calling on the sanctimonious Mrs. Webber but he would call on Lady Callwood. After more discussion the guests left and Coffen went upstairs to spend his last night in the comfort of his cousin's well run house. Luten remained behind a moment with his fiancée.

"As soon as this is over we'll settle the arrangements for our wedding. A Christmas wedding would be nice," he said, drawing her into his arms.

"As long as Prance doesn't decide to hold it in a manger and put us up in a stable," she said, smiling that smile that sent the blood throbbing through his veins.

"That is hardly Prance's style."

"Oh but he loves a theme." He stilled her lips with his. Black, guarding their privacy from the hall, averted his eyes. He knew she loved Luten, but he didn't have to subject himself to the torture of watching his beloved in another man's arms.

Prance called on the dashing Lady Callwood the next afternoon. He was disappointed, upon his arrival, to find her dressed in an ordinary afternoon gown. A closer examination told him that, on her, even mauve merino with a modest fichu looked extraordinary. Really her figure was admirable. Chin up, she drew her insouciant shoulders back and her chest thrust forward as she advanced. Below the waist, this military brio subsided to a gentle, feminine swaying of the hips.

"To what do I owe the honour of this call, Sir Reginald?" she asked in a honeyed voice. She neither shook his hand nor curtsied. The violet eyes gazing into his, and especially the artful smile, implied the reason was bound to be deliciously naughty.

He hated to disappoint her, yet to read her unguarded reaction to Danby's death, he must catch her off guard. "My reason for calling is to inform you of Mr. Danby's death," he announced, watching her like a miser watching his money. "I know you're a friend of his and could not like to think of your hearing it on the street." Her mobile face registered what Prance took for astonishment, tinged with annoyance. No more than that. No gasp of grief rehearsed in front of her mirror, which might indicate the murderess's prior knowledge. Certainly nothing like a lover's genuine grief. She didn't question the word 'friend'. Surely if she were his accomplice she would have insisted she was only an acquaintance.

"Shocking!" she exclaimed. She took a seat and gestured for Prance to sit beside her on the narrow velvet sofa. "I saw him only yesterday afternoon. In fact he was kind enough to accompany me to my carriage when I met him on Bond Street. How did it happen? Was he thrown from a horse? He's a bruising rider."

"No, he was murdered. Poisoned, actually," Prance said. It was a ruthless way to treat a lady, but with such a sterling excuse he had to admit he rather enjoyed playing the brute.

Her violet eyes opened a shade wider." Murdered! But where was he? What was he doing? Poison–that doesn't sound like footpads or—"

"Ah no, madam. He was minding his own business in his room at Stephens's Hotel. Someone sent him a bottle of brandy liberally laced with cyanide."

Lady Callwood's white fingers fluttered to her breast in shocked horror. Then she leveled a sharp, intelligent gaze on Prance and said, "As you're aware of all the details, the Berkeley Brigade is obviously taking a special interest in his death. I must ask, was he the Bee, Sir Reginald?"

"I admit it had occurred to me, but why should
you
think so, when he had the reputation of being a nabob?"

She arched a shapely eyebrow in derision. "I've seen no evidence of this great wealth. He's generous in minor details–flowers for his aunt, that sort of thing. One never heard of this wealthy bachelor showering some fortunate woman with diamonds, for instance. And despite his love of riding he doesn't even own a mount. He rides Jergen's. My husband–he's connected to the banking world–suspects the fortune is all a sham. I can tell you this, Mr. Danby's fortune is not deposited in any London bank, nor were any monies ever transferred from India. We don't always deserve our reputations, do we, Sir Reginald? Mrs. Webber gave me to understand that I am earning the reputation of a flirt, which is the strongest language she allowed herself to use, but she meant more."