Murder's Sad Tale (12 page)

As Coffen was driven home, he planned the next day’s work. Go and see if he could find out if anyone had seen anyone, especially a limping man, around Cooper’s place the day the hat was planted on him. Then get busy and try to find out who the limper was.

After his late night, he didn’t awaken until mid-morning. Prance was already at Corinne’s house and had told her and Luten what there was to tell. All Coffen could add was that Mickey didn’t know whether the fellow who killed Russell had limped or not, but it was possible.

Luten thanked and praised them both.

“My money’s on Limpy,” Coffen said, and took the cup of coffee that Black handed him. No breakfast at home this morning, worse luck. His servants must have had a night of heavy drinking. There wasn’t one of them up yet when left home.

“I’d best be off,” Prance said, refusing the offer of coffee.

“Off to visit Byron, likely,” Coffen said as Prance’s carriage rolled past the door a moment later. “Byron’s been sick so he won’t have been back to Jackson’s Boxing Parlor yet to find out about Russell’s friends. So what have you folks been up to while we were gone?”

Luten knew this didn’t refer to his political work. In fact, he felt guilty at having done so little in the case. “I’ve asked around and met a young M.P. from Manchester, Collins by name, who knew the Fenwicks well. I can tell you Miss Fenwick is exactly who she says she is,” he replied. “Her reputation is sterling. She
is
from Manchester, and her family did manufacture pots and pans and kettles there. Collins even knew her man of business and I had a word with him. She had spoken to him about selling some investments and putting the money into Russell’s scheme. He looked into it for her and gave her an earful. Said, in effect, it was a racket.”

Coffen nodded in satisfaction. “Then we have another suspect! She might have done him in herself.”

“I don’t think so,” Corinne said. “I spoke to Mrs. Ballard about it. It seems Russell convinced Miss Fenwick he had been taken in as well. He thanked her for having discovered the truth, and saved them both their money. Of course that was untrue, but
she
believed it.”

He and Luten exchanged a questioning look. Luten shrugged. “Or said she did,” Coffen said. “Had Mrs. Ballard anything else to say?”

“Nothing of interest.”

Luten drew out his watch and frowned, feeling he should leave. Before he left, Coffen said, “I wouldn’t mind a word with Mrs. Ballard.”

Corinne rang the bell and asked Black to ask Mrs. Ballard if she’d mind just stepping down to the drawing room.

She was there inside two minutes, looking worried. She was always uncomfortable in front of Luten, though he had never been anything but kindness itself to her. She was relieved, all the same, when it was Coffen who addressed her.

“Prance and me went to Bedford and found out Russell is a deep-dyed crook,” he began. “And you know he was trying to weasel money out of Miss Fenwick with some crooked scheme. What I was wondering is how angry she was.”

“She was very upset with the men who tried to fool Russell. That was
her
interpretation.”

“Do you think she believed it though? What I mean is, might she have been putting on an act?

“If she was, she should be on the stage,” Mrs. Ballard said. “I’m sure she believed it. She was closer than ever to Russell after that. But she’s cagey enough that she had no notion of investing in anything she didn’t know all about. I shouldn’t be surprised if that’s when he came up with the idea of buying a house. They had their eye on a little house on Grosvenor Square.”

“I remember she said that. Did you ever see a small fellow with a limp hanging about with them? Or did she ever mention such a fellow?

She frowned, trying to remember. “I’m sure he never played cards with us. There was one evening though — about a month ago. We were playing at Miss Barker’s place that evening. Her aunt’s place really, but Mrs. Armstrong treats her quite as a member of the family. Mr. Russell was called to the door. The man didn’t actually come into the room. Russell went out to speak to him. The waiting room at Mrs. Armstrong’s place is across the hall from the room where we were playing. I did notice, when the man left, that he limped. A small fellow, dark complexioned.”

“That’s him!” Coffen’s eyes glowed. “Would you recognize him to see him again?”

“I believe I would. Why, do you think he is the murderer, Mr. Pattle?”

“He could very well be. He was with Russell at Bedford when they skipped town owing half the merchants in the place.”

“The villains!” Mrs. Ballard gasped at such a flagrant flouting of the Bible.

“A falling out among thieves, you see. Did Russell say anything about him when he went back to the table?”

“He didn’t look happy at being interrupted, and when he came back he looked rather worried. He apologized and said it was a business matter that required an immediate decision on his part. He talked like that, as if he were a big man of business. When we went to get our coats, Miss Barker said, rather unkind of her I thought, that it was probably someone dunning him for money. She took against Russell when he stopped paying attention to her.”

“Anything else you can tell us about the limping fellow, or anything at all about Russell?”

“I never saw the limping man again. If you think it’s important, I could ask Miss Fenwick. I really should call on her. She’s not going out much at this time. She’s in mourning, you know. Not formal mourning, but Miss Barker called on her and said she was wearing a very stylish new black bombazine gown, so I daresay she’ll be at the next whist meeting.”

“It would be a help if you’d call on her,” Coffen urged. “Find out anything you can about Russell, and especially the limping fellow.”

“Should I intimate to her what you discovered at Bedford?”

Coffen looked to Luten. “She’ll have to know sooner or later,” Luten said. “It might be best if she’s given some intimation now.” Mrs. Ballard flinched at the prospect of this unpleasant duty.

“She’s well rid of him,” Corinne said. “I haven’t a doubt he would have fleeced her and run off.”

Mrs. Ballard shook her head and tsk’d. “One doesn’t like to be unchristian, but I own I was never fond of Mr. Russell. He seemed a very
common
sort. Loud, you know, bragging, and a little coarse in his humor. I can’t understand what the ladies saw in him. Of course he was rather handsome, if you like that type.”

Corinne knew her companion was on thorns to escape. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask Mrs. Ballard, Coffen?” she said.

“That’s all I can think of. Thanks, Mrs. Ballard.”

She wasn’t tardy to nip off. Luten also took his leave, leaving Coffen free to hint for breakfast. Black had already been busy on his behalf and brought in an egg sandwich and fresh coffee. Coffen thanked him profusely.

As Coffen took his leave later, Black said, “About the limping fellow you’re looking for, Mr. Pattle. I might be able to help you there.”

Naturally Black had had his ear to the door during their conversation. No one knew exactly where the late Lord deCoventry had found Black, but there was a general idea that his background was shady. And the Berkeley Brigade knew from past cases he was sharp as a needle, though not so straight.

“You know him?” Coffen asked eagerly.

“I know half a dozen scoundrels that fit the description. There’s Leo the Gimp, and Hop-along Eddy, and — But you aren’t interested in hearing all that. I’ll make enquiries amongst my friends and see what I can do for you.”

“You’re solid gold, Black! And there’ll be gold in it too, if you come up with the man.”

Black smiled modestly and held the door for his second favorite member of the Berkeley Brigade. Lady deCoventry ruled supreme in his heart, but for a gent, you couldn’t beat Mr. Pattle, no matter that he looked like he’d hopped out of the rag-bag. He was worth ten of the mincing jackanapes across the way, with his airs and graces and fancy jackets.

Luten was soon in the thick of politics at the House, urging the Whigs to take full advantage of the difficulties Prinney’s wife and daughter were causing him. While it was impossible to admire or even like the ladies in question, the Prince was treating them abominably. This marriage between Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange, commonly known as “Young Frog” for example, was unconscionable. Luten was particularly sympathetic to the Princess at this time, with his own marriage to Corinne drawing near. Only think if someone was forcing her to marry Young Frog! The people were on the ladies’ side, and that was useful to the Whigs.

His day was full of meetings, but at lunch hour he met with Collins at Bellamy’s, the tuck shop at the House, to see what he could discover about Miss Fenwick. She was the only person they were aware of who knew Russell at all intimately. There must be something she could tell them. She might give them a line on his limping friend, for instance.

Mr. Collins, a junior M.P., was flattered to be sought out by one of the pillars of the Whig party. There was no saying what Luten could do for him if he played his cards right. So when Luten asked him if he knew anything about this house Miss Fenwick was interested in buying, he didn’t say no, which would have been the simple and true answer.

“Not offhand, but I daresay I could find out,” he said. “I am not a
close
friend of Miss Fenwick, although I knew her father.”

“I believe the lady would be flattered to receive a condolence call from the M.P. of her former riding. Just to pay his respects, you know. And perhaps to inquire if there’s any way in which he might be of assistance to her at this trying time.”

“An excellent idea, milord! I should have thought of it myself. I shall call this very afternoon.” At home in Manchester Mr. Collins was too far below the Fenwicks to call on them, but this wasn’t the time to mention that. Things were different now — the sharp-tongued old Fenwick was dead, while
he
had become an M.P. He would casually mention Lord Luten’s name in their conversation.

“Thank you, Collins,” Luten said, and gave him the lady’s address. “Let me know immediately what you learn, whatever the hour. I look forward to hearing from you. You know where I live?”

“Oh certainly,” Collins said, delighted at an excuse to call on Luten at his mansion.

“My understanding is that Mr. Russell had made enquiries regarding a certain house on Grosvenor Square that he and the lady were interested in buying. You might see what Miss Fenwick has to say about the financing of the purchase. She’s no fool where money is concerned. It’s more than likely it was a ruse on Russell’s part to get hold of her money. I am especially curious to discover if Russell was involved in any other business transactions, and if he had a partner. The partner I have in mind was a small, dark-complexioned man with a limp.”

“This Russell sounds like a scoundrel!”

“Yes, our investigations have confirmed that. He might have intended to marry the lady. That would put him in control of her fortune eventually. I doubt he’d find her easy to cozzen, however. I expect he would have preferred a hastier method of getting some cash. He was in dun territory.”

“I shall see what I can discover. I’m happy to do what I can to help.”

“Very kind of you. I shan’t forget it,” Luten said. Mr. Collins left, smiling.

* * * *

Corinne received an unexpected call from Lady Dunn that afternoon. The lady wore a high poke bonnet trimmed with feathers and a stylish blue pelisse edged in fox fur.

“What a
darling
little house!” she exclaimed when she was shown in. She looked around at the elegant little drawing room, her gaze resting on paintings, the fireplace and various elegant furnishings. “I was just passing and wondered if you’d be interested in doing some shopping. So many things to buy when one is getting married. I have an appointment with a little French modiste who makes ravishing lingerie with silk smuggled in from France. I daresay we mustn’t let our fiancés know that — though all the Honorable Members have their keg of brandy in the cellar. Are you free, or have I come at an inconvenient time?”

“I’m quite free at the moment,” Corinne said. “I
do
require all sorts of things for my trousseau.”

“Excellent! My carriage is waiting outside.”

Corinne got her pelisse and bonnet and they went out. As they were leaving, she said to Black, “Tell Mrs. Ballard I’ve gone out, if she’s looking for me. If Prance or Pattle call, I shall be back in an hour or so.”

Lady Dunn’s footman had her dashing tilbury waiting at the curb. It was painted green with sparkling silver appointments. “Are you driving yourself?” Corinne said.

“Don’t worry, I am an excellent whip, if I say so myself. Grafton teases that I’m setting up in competition with that famous fiddler, Lettie Lade.”

“How daring of you. I drive a little in the country but I haven’t tackled it in town, with so much traffic.”

“Rankin takes over when I run into difficulties,” she admitted. “He’s my factotum — footman and sometime butler. My little establishment doesn’t run to a large staff. He’s playing John Groom today as my groom is ill. Grafton wouldn’t like it if I went out unattended.”

“I have only a small staff myself,” Corinne admitted, and went on to mention Black and Mrs. Ballard.

Rankin, a handsome young fellow, assisted the ladies into the open carriage, where Lady Dunn took the ribbons and they set off at a pace a little faster than Corinne found comfortable. She had to hold on to her hat for the wind seemed determined to carry it off. It was cold, too. The wind whipping beneath her pelisse made her wish she were in her own cozy carriage.

As they wheeled down the street, Lady Dunn said in a casual way, “This Mrs. Ballard — is she anyone I would know? The name sounds familiar.”

“I shouldn’t think so. She’s my companion, a cleric’s widow. She doesn’t go about in society.”

“You’ll be happy to be rid of her. I can hardly wait to jettison my Mrs. Hansen. She has her nose in everything. I can’t receive a single caller that she isn’t there. One would think I were a deb, the way she guards me. We widows are not used to such close scrutiny. It is Grafton’s idea that I need her. I daresay it’s Luten who has forced Ballard on you.”