Maggie MacKeever (4 page)

Thus it was that plain Mr. Crump of Bow Street was conducted on a tour of White’s select club, founded over a century earlier as a chocolate house, and now famed as a gambling establishment where fortunes were made and lost and family estates abruptly changed hands. There were few club members in evidence, perhaps due to the inconveniences that had resulted from the robbery, perhaps because gentlemen who gambled until dawn could hardly be expected to rise before noon. Crump studied the notice board in the lobby where prostitutes posted cards; he passed the green baize tables where gentlemen, hats tilted over their eyes, played whist until their pockets were emptied or exhaustion overtook them; he visited the kitchens where were prepared the somewhat dull dinners for which the club was known. He inspected every avenue of entrance and egress. At length he was conducted into the Visitors Room, where awaiting him was a ludicrously fat gentleman with a dignified air.

“Well?” demanded that individual, as he stared at Crump’s waistcoat. This was a fanciful creation of pale pink silk with an allover pattern in rose, worn over a second waistcoat of plain rose. “Have you found our missing plate? Damned if I know why Raggett called in Bow Street! While you saunter about poking and prying into comers, the thieves will be halfway to France.”

“That’s not likely, guv’nor.” Though Crump’s manner remained affable, he was inspired to draw forth his battered pipe. “Why should your thieves travel all the way with stolen plate when all they have to do is melt it down in an iron ladle held over a fire?”

Mr. Throckmorton collapsed into a chair. “The silver plate melted? Unthinkable!”

Crump threw open a window and lit his pipe. “Suppose,” he said, through a smoky haze, “that you tell me what you know about the robbery.”

Mr. Throckmorton grimaced at the tobacco stench. “Suppose I don’t.” Crump merely puffed harder on his pipe.

Mr. Throckmorton threw up his hands. “Oh, very well! About the hour of 10 o’clock this morning the butler, as is his habit, proceeded to the plate closet to remove the supply of silver necessary to ready the dining tables for the members’ reception. He discovered that the double doors had been forced open and a large quantity of silver removed, including the massive silver candlesticks that he’d deposited there the previous night.”

Crump hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat and rocked gently to and fro. “Does the butler recall if he locked the plate closet at that time?”

“Of course he did!” Mr. Throckmorton’s glance was sharp. “What’s more, the hall porter will vouch for it.”

Crump’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. The hall porter and the butler, you say? Just how much do you know about those two men, guv’nor?”

“They’ve worked for this establishment for a great many years!” Mr. Throckmorton’s cheeks had turned a bright red. “You can’t think
they
were involved in this. It’s obvious our robbery was carried out by desperate and dangerous characters.” He shuddered. “And fortunate it is no one caught them red-handed, or we’d have seen bloodshed.”

“Aye,” said Crump, “doubtless you would. Did anyone see your dangerous ruffians? Or any other suspicious characters lurking about?”

Mr. Throckmorton opened his mouth, and then paused, a crafty look on his fat face. “
I
did! A very suspicious looking person indeed, skulking about the club the very afternoon before the robbery. No doubt he was looking for a means by which he might get in.”

Crump puffed on his pipe even more energetically. “Did you mention this sinister character to anyone?”

“No,” said Mr. Throckmorton. “But I can describe him to you. He was thin and dark, brown-haired and furtive. And he had no notion of how to dress. No doubt he forced his way into the building after everyone was asleep and made his exit by the same means.”

“Uncommonly promising,” mused Crump, and earned Mr. Throckmorton’s first smile. “And a tissue of falsehoods from end to end! I warn you, guv’nor, that it’s a serious offense to trifle with the law.”

“Do you accuse me of fabrication?” Mr. Throckmorton’s bulbous nose had turned bright red. “A gentleman, sir, does not tell a lie. Did I not consider you beneath my notice, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, I would call you out for this insult.”

“Would you, guv’nor?” Crump was enjoying himself. “Apparently you’ve forgotten that dueling is against the law. I suggest you give me the rest of the story without circumlocution. You’ve already given me ample ground for suspicion of yourself.”

“Preposterous!”

Crump began to despair of learning anything useful from this man. “Not at all. It’s plain as the nose on your face that entrance lock wasn’t forced. Nor were any of the windows tampered with. Therefore, if thieves entered this house, they either were admitted by someone already within, or they had access to a key.” He radiated goodwill. “Do
you
have a key?”

Mr. Throckmorton gasped like a dying carp. “What are you suggesting, man? You can’t think that anyone here would admit robbers to the premises!”

“Can I not?” inquired Crump. “Despite the Banbury tale you’ve spun me, no one else noted any strangers near this building at any time approaching the robbery, and there’s no evidence of forced entry. Since you dislike the notion that the thieves were admitted into the house, perhaps you would prefer to think the robbery was performed from inside.”

“No, no!” Mr. Throckmorton wrung his hands. “Think of the scandal was suspicion to fall on one of our members! Raggett would be forced to close his doors!”

Crump, who’d never entertained such a notion, nearly choked on his tobacco smoke. “And you,” he said, when he’d recovered, “would lose your most profitable business. I begin to understand your concern.” The gentleman looked ready to weep. “Never mind! With your cooperation—which I might say I’ve so far seen precious little of!—we may be able to forestall that particular disaster.”

“I fling myself on your mercy,” Mr. Throckmorton said.

“I thought you might. Go on, then. What happened after the butler discovered the theft?”

“Chaos, sir, chaos!” Mr. Throckmorton sighed. “The idiot informed the housekeeper and the rest of the staff. They immediately began accusing each other of the misdeed and speculating upon how it might have been done. By the time Raggett learned of the theft, the house was in an uproar. He, of course, immediately notified me, then apparently called in Bow Street.”

By which time, mused Crump, any clue that pointed to the thief’s identity had been destroyed. “It is my opinion,” he said aloud, “that the guilty party entered through the front hallway and departed the same way, which argues that he was not an uncommon enough caller to excite either comment or interest.”

“My conclusions exactly.” Mr. Throckmorton was so preoccupied with gloom that he didn’t even flinch when Crump emptied his pipe against the windowsill. “Although, in a household of so many people, a stranger might conceivably go unobserved.”

“I’ve spoken to the butler.” Crump tucked his pipe away. “He recalls admitting no one except club members to the house. Nor did anyone appear at the tradesmen’s entrance other than people who may be logically accounted for. The hall porter verifies his account, and swears that no one could enter or leave the club during the hours it was closed without his knowledge, since he locked and bolted the door and placed the key in his pocket.”

“True.” Mr. Throckmorton looked glum. “Except for the chimney sweeps, who by rights should have gone to the back door.”

“Chimney sweeps!” In his excitement, Crump rose on his tiptoes.
“What
chimney sweeps, guv’nor?”

“Why, the usual chimney sweeps, I suppose!” Mr. Throckmorton was greatly astonished at the Runner’s tone. “How should I know? The butler admitted them early this morning—as I said, they came to the front door—and they left some time later with a bag half full of soot. Why are you suddenly interested in chimney sweeps?”

“A bag of soot,” mused Crump, eyes half closed. “Damned clever, if I say so as shouldn’t. Fetch the butler, if you will. I’d like to learn more of those lads. I’ll lay a monkey, guv’nor, that in that bag they carried out not soot but silver plate.”

Mr. Throckmorton was not convinced, having never encountered a particularly clever chimney sweep, but he was happy to accept any explanation that did not implicate the club’s members. He scurried to fetch the butler before Crump could change his mind.

Chapter 4

Lady Bligh, clad in a rich and simply cut gold silk gown with a drawstring neck, lounged upon the yellow satin couch in a charming state of indolence. Her heavy hair, this day pale blue, was drawn high upon her head, with flirtatious curls escaping to caress her temples. The Baroness had only recently returned from a breakfast given to two thousand people in the Horticultural Gardens. She brought with her a prize-winning Providence pine, weighing eleven pounds, which she had nicked from beneath the owner’s proud nose. Beside Dulcie on the couch was her orange cat. The parrot was not in evidence, having been confined to his cage in the Baroness’s bedroom following an audacious invasion of the kitchens of Bligh House, where he startled the cook into hysterics.

They were in the Grand Saloon, an exquisite chamber with tall velvet-draped windows, a gay rococo ceiling and a marble fireplace topped with Sicilian jasper. Seated near Mignon’s straw-colored French chair was her most persistent admirer, Lord Barrymore, a gentleman of medium height and neat figure, with brown hair and blue eyes. He was the most courteous of cavaliers, and one of whom even Mignon’s mother would have approved.

Unfortunately, Mignon did not, and was even so ungrateful as to wonder what there was in her appearance or manner to inspire his devotion. Tolly had dogged her footsteps since their first meeting, shortly after she had come to Town. She turned away from Lord Barrymore, whose unfailing cheerfulness never failed to grate on her nerves, and studied the fourth occupant of the room, a plump and cozy black-clad matron with well-groomed white hair and warm brown eyes. Leda Langtry looked far more like a cozy gossiping grandmother than the author of radical and libelous prose, and she reminded Mignon strongly of someone. Try as she might, Mignon could not think who.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Lady Bligh’s long and slender fingers, heavily laden with topaz rings, tapped against the sofa’s arm. “I only obliged Jessop because I knew that if I did not, someone else would. I must say, Leda, that you don’t appear to have taken any great harm from your experience.” She sneezed.

Leda snorted, dispelling her air of gentle unworldliness. “I suppose I should have uttered deep groans and fainted over the rails of the dock? It’s no great distance from Fleet Street to Newgate, and many a journalist has walked there by way of Ludgate Hill to see prisoners hanged, or to attend trials in the Old Bailey next door, or to stand trial himself.” She sipped her ratafia, a drink made of apricots and cherries and other fruits, their kernels bruised and steeped in brandy. “Residence in Newgate has been a hazard of the profession ever since the first news sheets were produced in the Stuarts’ time. The risks were even greater then. One might suffer the loss of an ear, or be hanged and drawn and quartered. Which, I daresay, is exactly what Prinny would like to do to me.”

“You are very foolish, Leda. What purpose can it serve to make the Regent your enemy?”

“None at all. I’ve simply no time for a man who has himself bled to a suitably pastel complexion so that he may persuade the lady of the moment that he suffers a broken heart. To give you the word with no bark on it, Prinny is a popinjay.”

“I take it,” Dulcie said wryly, through the handkerchief she had raised to her reddened nose, “that your reprieve has not inspired you to mend your ways. This isn’t America, where you can gain an interview with the President by ambushing him while he bathes nude in the Potomac. Although I will admit that was enterprising of you.”

 “You sound just like Ivor. He thinks I should sit by the fire knitting and composing my memoirs. Stuff! Someone needs to keep our politicians on their toes.
You
wouldn’t know anything of that, having no thought in your frivolous head but for your everlasting balls and dinners and promenades.”

The Baroness stiffened. “I see that time hasn’t taught you to curb your tongue. But I’m far more interested in the Viscount than in your opinion of myself.”

“Ivor?” Leda looked faintly shocked. “You’re nearly twice his age!”

Mignon immediately regretted her giggle, for it brought Lord Barrymore’s attention back to her. “Shocking,” he murmured, with all the haughty disapproval indispensable to the man of fashion that he wished to be. “I fear this conversation is hardly fit for a young lady’s ears.”

Mignon thought regretfully of her lost love, whose numerous sins had not included placing her on a pedestal. “Nonetheless I mean to enjoy it,” she retorted, loud enough to draw Leda’s attention.

“Good girl!” said Leda. “Enjoyment is all, at least at your age, and so Dulcie will tell you, even though at
her
age she should know better.”

“Surely, we can carry on this conversation without these continual references to my age!” remarked Lady Bligh. “I grow more and more convinced, Leda, that I should have left you to rot in Newgate.”

“And so you should have. My little sojourn in Newgate would have provided me with enough sordid information to incriminate the entire justice system in England and enough shameless sin to titillate me until the grave.” Leda drained her glass. “You might try out prison life yourself, Dulcie! ‘Twould make a break in your life of uniform dissipation. And one a great deal more enlightening than dallying with the Viscount!”

“Ladies!” Lord Barrymore was driven by what he considered the low vulgar tone of this exchange to outright protest. “I vow, you go too far! May I remind you that Miss Montague is present?”

Mignon was far too well bred to tell her suitor precisely what she thought of his untimely intervention. “I’m not so easily shocked.”

“Your niece, you say?” Leda inquired of Lady Bligh. The Baroness nodded. “Then you don’t need to worry about
her
tender sensibilities, my lad! Exposure to Dulcie would inure even a woman of very low condition to shame.” The ratafia had apparently gone straight to Leda’s head, for she squinted in a most vulgar manner at Tolly. “What’d you say his name was?”