Murder Is Come Again (22 page)

“We’ll think of something. I am very happy with your suggestion of a hound, Villier.”

“Have we earned a glass of something delicious?” Villier asked coyly.

“You read my mind.”

Townsend arrived at Marine Parade early the next morning and was admitted by Evans, who recognized the rotund little fellow with a wide-brimmed white hat over his flaxen wig. Neither his kerseymere breeches nor straight cut blue jacket was in the acceptable style of a gentleman, but he was a familiar and welcome caller at the best homes, including palaces.

The grandest balls were safeguarded by him to prevent theft of the ladies’ jewelry. The government hired him when it was necessary to transport large sums of money, and the Berkeley Brigade often hired him to help out on a case. Townsend was the premier Bow Street Runner, having taken more prisoners than the rest of the Runners together.

Overnight, Luten had formed his plan for the safety of the Czarina’s necklace and greeted Townsend warmly. Without wasting time in courtesies, Luten explained the situation to him, beginning with Coffen’s inheriting the house on Nile Street and finishing with, “What we’re after is to get the necklace safely to London and to capture Mad Jack. To accomplish these goals, we’re going to let it be known publicly that the necklace is going to London under your supervision and heavy guard, but let Mad Jack believe it’s going by a different means at a later date.”

You didn’t have to tell Townsend things twice. He nodded his understanding. “So Mad Jack will think himself a slyboots to realize the public plans are a ruse. How are you to let him in on the secret without him becoming suspicious? If he’s as clever as you say, he’ll smell a rat a mile away.”

“Black will take care of that. He’s established himself as a fellow with a shady reputation at the tavern where Mad Jack does his disappearing act. He’s also known to work for Pattle, which will explain his knowing about the plan. He’ll drop hints at the tavern that’s he’s unhappy working for Pattle, and gradually let himself be talked into revealing the plan, for a share of the profits.”

“But Pattle is supposedly in London, so how is Black to ferret out the secret plan?”

“His friend Evans, my butler, is to be his informant.”

Townsend listened, then said, “Mad Jack will never tell Black where he means to attack.”

“Black will actually be dealing with the fellow who runs the tavern, Catchpole. Catchpole certainly works for Mad Jack. We’ll have something to say about where he attacks. He usually works the Dyke Road, so Black will tell him the necklace will be taking the New Road to London. Mad Jack will want to strike as close to Brighton as possible, as he has his headquarters and ingenious escape hatch here. A few miles north of here there is a somewhat desolate spot of road with a hedge that offers good hiding on one side and a growth of trees on the other. If he doesn’t attack there, he’d have to go another five miles, for the area is built up south of Heath.”

Townsend listened and pondered, picturing the attack in his mind’s eye, then said, “It’s only common sense that the necklace would be going before dark. Would he dast attack on a public road in daylight?”

“When have you known us to limit ourselves to common sense, Townsend? The fiction is that Pattle’s visiting relative, Lady Carter, will be taking the necklace to London. An elderly lady in a modest carriage, relatively unprotected, is not likely to be carrying valuables. She is known to be an eccentric lady. She loathes travelling in a carriage, and always travels after dark, taking a sleeping draught so that she snoozes away the trip, unaware of the jostling. She never takes anything worth stealing with her on a journey.”

“What, send the necklace at night with an old lady who is asleep? He’d never fall for that — would he?”

“Oh she will not be quite alone. A companion, Miss Birk, will accompany her. That will be Sir Reginald Prance. He likes dressing up like a lady, but can handle himself well enough. Then of course there will be her groom and a footman.”

“I see. And which role have you cast yourself in?”

“Prance’s groom will drive, I have the honour to be the footman. I’ll have to wear a suit of my own livery, but in the dark the colour won’t be noticed. You will be waiting at the spot where we think Jack will attack. Black will be nearby as well.”

“Sounds demmed risky to me. If anything goes wrong, Mad Jack will ride off with — what? For the trial, it’ll be best to let him actually steal something.”

“He’ll relieve Lady Carter of a paste necklace borrowed from some fellows who put on plays here in Brighton, but he’ll not ride off with it. That’s when you make your arrest.
You,
with all due pomp and outriders, will already have taken the real necklace to London. Mad Jack, you recall, will be told your delivery is a trick devised by the Berkeley Brigade to mask the real time of delivery.”

“Yes, of course. Any chance he’ll attack my rig in daylight?”

“I doubt
he
will, but some bigger gang might be interested. When they see you accompanied by a dozen armed men, however, I should think they’ll change their minds.”

“And if they don’t, I and my men will handle them. I’ll have a group of them sent down here. Plus I’ll hide the necklace so they’ll not find it.”

“I’d be interested to know where you mean to hide it.”

“In case you have to take if off my corpse, you mean,” Townsend said, and laughed. “Not much chance of that, Luten. No, I find the safest place is to hide it on the outside of the carriage. They never think to look there. They’ll make their victims strip off their hats and boots and even trousers, and slash the seats and interior roof and have the luggage pulled down and searched, but I’ve never known one to search the
outside
of the carriage. Tape the goods down on the roof with black tape and it’s as safe as a bank. There, I doubt you were aware of that. And don’t spread it about, for it’s our little secret.”

“Very true. I always learn something from you, Townsend.”

“Well, it’s a mad enough scheme you’ve come up with, but the only danger I see is that Mad Jack may get away with the paste stones. Now, about what I do with the sparklers when I get to town. Lloyd’s, I take it, would be the proper recipient as they’ve paid for them?”

“Right. Prinney may try his hand at getting ahold of them. It would be a fine, regal gesture to return them to Czar Alexander to cement our alliance with Russia.”

“If they still belonged to Russia he would, certainly.”

“It would gratify his enormous ego to do it anyway, at the taxpayers’ expense, of course.”

“Lloyd will have something to say about that, which is why you want me to turn them over to the insurance company right away.”

“As soon as you get to London. Lloyd will have to deal with Prinney and the Duchess of Brampton, if she wants them back.”

“You won’t be popular at Carlton House, my lad. Nor will I, for abetting you in this harebrained scheme.”

“That is a grave concern for me,” Luten said, smiling.

“Well, your highwayman won’t get the sparklers from
me,
and if they get the paste goods from you, no harm done, eh? Unless one of you gets shot in the fracas. How do you figure he’ll set about it? What is his usual
modus operandi?
Shoot the coachman?”

“Just point the pistol in the window and order the occupants to stand and deliver is the usual procedure, from what I’ve read in the local journals about former attacks. With the pistol at the master’s head, the driver and any other outriders are ordered to lie down, face to the ground. He cuts the horses free to forestall being followed, then hightails it to the Brithelmston Tavern, where he disappears into the tunnel with his loot until the excitement is over.”

“What happens to his mount?”

“It’s been trained to return to its stable on its own. Black tells me he rides a black mount with a white star on its forehead and left front leg. During the attacks he darkens the white markings with soot, which washes off easily.”

“How did Black learn all this?” Townsend asked.

“Oh, Black has his ways. He talks to people, snoops around.”

“A good man, Black.”

“The best.”

“I could use him at Bow Street.”

“Not a chance, Townsend. Now, I’d like to do this as soon as possible. We’ll want to make a statement to the local journals today, and you’ll have to get your men down here. You go to London the day after tomorrow, the paste necklace goes that night.”

“We’d best get moving then. You can handle the journals, I’ll send a note off to Bow Street.”

“I’ll have Evans show you to my office. One of my boys will take the note to London for you. You might as well stay here tonight. We’ll want to talk, and there’s plenty of room.”

Townsend went to write his note, and Mrs. Partridge was told another guest would be staying at Marine Parade.

“He’s one of them Bow Street Officers,” she informed her mate, when she returned to the kitchen. “A strange-looking little fellow. I swear he’s wearing a wig! It’s a good thing his lordship brought down a few maids, for I’ll not have time to air out the bed in the spare room abovestairs with the extra cooking to do. I’ll send one of them down to the fish market, and have her pick up a few things at the green grocers as well. Lord, I never thought I’d say it, but I’ll not be sorry when they leave.”

“There’ll be a fine bonus at the end of it though.”

“Aye, and a new gown for me.”

Brighton was all a twitter with the news in the morning’s journal that the Czarina’s necklace had been found, and eagerly read what they already knew. The Misses Mercer had been interviewed and were joyfully chagrined to see their names in the journals. Mama had always told them a woman’s name should only appear in print when she was born, married and died. But then Mama had never imagined they might be involved in such high goings-on as finding a duchess’s diamond necklace. Sir Reginald’s only qualm about the appearance of his name was that he had failed to tell the reporter he was in town researching his next novel. Never too early to begin tooting the horn.

Reporters, thronging to Marine Parade in hope of news, had the unexpected bonus of an interview with Officer Townsend, come down from London especially to transport the necklace to London. Townsend outlined the number of guards that would accompany him, and their orders to shoot on sight anyone foolhardy enough to attempt a holdup. Brighton took little interest in what would happen to the necklace once it reached London and Townsend did not enlighten them, lest Prinney’s spies at his pavilion send word to London.

Prance pretended to be unhappy at having to pose as a lady (and
was
unhappy to realize he would be in some jeopardy during Mad Jack’s attack) but when he visited Boo to borrow a gown, wig and bonnet, he certainly enjoyed being questioned and quizzed, and making much of some vague but perilous mission. “If I don’t make it out alive,” he said with a dégagé air, “I want your little group to have my collection of costumes.”

“Hush, I won’t hear such talk!” Boo scolded. He did think to enquire later where the collection was kept, however.

Tony held up a gaudy evening gown spangled with bows and beads and exclaimed, “This peacock blue gown would just suit you, Reg.”

“No, no. I am a lady’s modest companion. Nothing gaudy. A plain black merino or sarsenet, if you have such a garment.”

“The gown Sheila wore when she was playing the vicar’s wife,” Boo suggested. “It will be tight, but it fastens up the back and with a shawl around your shoulders no one will see it gapes open at the back.”

“And I shall require a bonnet. Again, plain, or at least modest, though not a round bonnet. I look horrid in a round bonnet. It doesn’t suit my face. Not too many feathers, mind.”

The costume was assembled and Prance returned to the Royal Crescent to model it for Villier’s approval. “You look just like my Aunt Mabel,” Villier said. “We must get some peppermints. She always smelled of peppermints.”

“I fear I shall be smelling of brandy. I shan’t undertake this frolic without some false courage.”

“Is it really dangerous?” Villier asked, hoping to hear more details, although he knew the general setup.

“I don’t believe Mad Jack has killed many of his victims,” Prance replied, tilting the bonnet over one eye, then setting it back further on his head to hold the wig in place.

* * *

Black had the more trying job that day. Catchpole now knew who he was, and that he had aided and abetted Mr. Pattle in the matter of the duel. He certainly suspected, if he didn’t know, that he had been involved in kidnapping Cripps and Flora. As it couldn’t be denied, Black decided his best course was to confront it head on, turn it to his advantage. He decided to walk, as he didn’t like to leave Mr. Pattle’s fine curricle and team unguarded in the stable. He entered the tavern with a scowl on his face, and was met with another on Catchpole’s ugly phiz behind the bar. Other than two old regulars nursing a drink in the corner and a boy with a broom rearranging the dirt on the floor, the place was empty.

“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Smith,” Catchpole said with a glinty stare. “You’ve been neglecting us for your fine friends lately, Mr. Smith.”

“Friends! Hah! If you can call them friends after the way they’ve treated me. Never put your faith in the nobs, Catchpole. They use you, then cast you aside.”

After weighing this remark for a significant amount of time to show his disinterest, Catchpole said, “I don’t see your master about town these days. Gone off and left you all alone, has he?”

“Gone to London on business, and did he take me along? He did not, after I done things for him that could put me in gaol. And he knew full well I wanted to go. I have a little business hanging fire in town. It wouldn’t surprise me much if he hires my replacement while he’s there, Catchpole.” Black exhaled loudly to stress his annoyance.

Catchpole was interested enough that he decided to give Black a glass of ale, which he had withheld thus far. “Why’s that, then? Seems to me you done your best for him.”