Murder's Sad Tale (18 page)

“Let’s hear it, Black.”

“I made a few calls on old friends last night. I had a spot of luck at Lonesome Larry’s place. Larry’s on the ken lay, helps hisself to a bit of loot when folks have their knockers wrapped up for the summer. Does a bit of napping and hooking during the winter. He didn’t know Sykes had been done in, but when he heard, he opened up his budget. They were friends, see? He knew Sykes was getting money from Russell all right, but Sykes was shy to tell him what for. But when Sykes was short, he could always get a bit of the ready from either Russell or some woman called Peggy. The three of them were close as inkleweavers.”

“Peggy!” Coffen exclaimed. “There’s our P, our note-writer.”

“That was my first thought. The hitch is Peggy can’t write. She might have had somebody write it for her though.”

“Any idea who’d do the writing for her?”

The maid arrived with the coffee. When she left, Black said, “There’s a fellow called the Pen.”

“Another P!”

“Coincidence,” Black said with an air of certainty. “He does a deal of small time paper hanging. Forged checks to you. He can write any hand you like. Just show him a sample and he could write King George of England good enough to fool old Queen Charlotte herself. As a favour he’ll do the writing for them that can’t do it themselves. I couldn’t track him down last night but he’s not in gaol at the moment. I have a lead to follow. With luck I’ll find out where he lives by tonight.”

“You’re a wonder, Black. I don’t how you do it.”

Black preened under this stroking. “It ain’t just what you know, Mr. Pattle. It’s who you know.”

“I bless the day I met you.”

“We’ll not tell her about this yet, till we get it wrapped up right and tight. Agreed?” Black intended to do the telling himself and didn’t want anyone stealing his thunder.

“Just as you say.”

“What have I missed here at home? I heard a mutter about Luten cutting up stiff. The poet fellow been around while I wasn’t here, has he?”

“Devil a bit of it. It’s about a lady this time.”

“You never mean himself's been cutting up!” Black cried, red with indignation at such treatment of his beloved. Yet he was not completely unhappy. He was allowed to cosset her with blankets and possets and kind words when she was in the dumps.

“Not at all. She’s the one has a new lady friend.”

Black pokered up and declared, “Now that I will not believe, Mr. Pattle, even though it’s yourself that says so.”

“Keep your hair on, Black. It’s nothing like that. Just a friend to gad about with, visit the shops and gossip.”

“And his lordship objects to that when he’s away twenty hours a day!”

“It seems the friend, this Lady Dunn, was running around with Byron, so naturally Luten don’t want her seeing the lady.”

“Ah, jealous as green cows, the pair of them,” Black said with a parental tsk at their folly. “It’ll blow over, if Sir Reginald don’t stick his fork in.”

“I’ll keep a tight rein on him.”

“And I’ll follow up with Pen. We’re getting there, Mr. Pattle. We’re getting there.”

“Good lad. I believe I hear her coming downstairs now. I’ll join her for breakfast. I wouldn’t want her to have to eat alone. I daresay Mrs. Ballard has taken her meal hours ago and is at her prayers.”

Black accompanied him to the breakfast parlor, where he greeted her ladyship and asked if there was anything he could do for her. She politely declined and joined Coffen at the sideboard. He was good to his word and didn’t mention Black’s work. “No word from Luten?” he asked, as he sat down with his plate loaded.

Corinne took only coffee and a slice of toast. “No new
orders,"
she said, her face stiff with annoyance.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll wait to hear what Prance has to say. He was going to ask Byron about Lady Dunn.”

“You can’t put too much faith in Prance’s word. He enjoys stirring up mischief.”

“I know, but if he tells me he thinks Lady Dunn is not the thing, then I shan’t see her again.

She was surprised that Coffen left immediately after taking breakfast. He didn’t tell her where he was going and she was too distracted to ask. Only Black saw him nip smartly across the street and into Prance’s house. Prance was in his office working on his novel. To disturb him at this task was well known to be forbidden. Coffen barged past Soames and went in anyway. “Matter of life and death,” he said over his shoulder to the butler.

“Now see here, Prance,” he said, “I don’t want you stirring up mischief next door. You’ve got to tell her Lady Dunn’s no good. She’s like a tea kettle about to boil over, just waiting to hear what Byron has to say about Lady Dunn.”

“Of course,” Prance said, hardly listening. “Tell me what you think of this, Coffen. '
His body froze in place as he stood, listening in horror. Moonlight glistened off the poignard he held aloft, poised to strike. What was that low rumble? Was it thunder? But no, it was closer at hand. It seemed to come not from the above, but echo from the very depths of the forest, a primitive, otherworldly sound, like the savage roar of the jungle uttering a warning. He stood immobile, listening, breath suspended in terror. The roaring grew louder. Peering through the darkness, he saw two glowing emeralds, that seemed to be staring right at him. For one fatal instant his mind reeled back in time, he was a cave man with an inbred fear of the dark and the unknown. Wicked, unearthly fears not felt since mankind discovered fire took possession of him.' "

Prance looked up and said, “What do you think?”

“It makes my flesh crawl,” Coffen said with a shudder.

“Good! That is exactly the effect I was striving for.”

“What the deuce ails him? Is he drunk?”

“No, it’s the tiger lurking to strike.”

“Tiger? Ah, the tiger cub grew up. Very good. I like it. But about — “

“Any suggestions to improve it?”

“You might explain to ordinary folks what that poynard thing is he’s holding. Some sort of a pointy club, is it?”

“A kind of dagger.”

“Then I’d call it a dagger. We don’t all speak Latin.”

“French, actually.”

“All the same difference.”

“I see your point. You’re absolutely right. If the writing is good, one has no need for meretricious ornaments. They merely distract the com — the average reader. William is well known to use simple language in his most climactic scenes.”

Coffen didn’t have to ask who William was. Prance was known to be on a first name basis with all the literary greats. He quoted William often enough for even Coffen to know he meant Shakespeare. He didn’t waste time wading into the quagmire of what meretricious ornaments had to do with it. Likely some sort of a jeweled dagger. “But about Byron —"

“I shan’t read it to him,” he said with a coy smile. “I’ll wait till it’s in print, and surprise him. I’ve practically finished.”

“Dash it, I’m talking about Lady Dunn, Reg. You’re supposed to be finding out what Byron has to say about her. And it better not be anything good, or we’ll have Corrie running around with her to spite Luten, making him mad. And you know what
that
means. We’ll have to get them back together.”

“Do you know, Coffen, I had forgotten all about it. I’ve been deep in the throes of composition.”

“It’s time you throw yourself into what you said you’d do last night.”

“I shall dash Byron off a note this very moment. Don’t worry I plan to make mischief between the lovers. I’m too busy with Lorraine.”

“Have you got yourself tangled up with some lady?”

“Lady Lorraine, my heroine — in my book,” he added, as Coffen showed no sign of recognition.

“Ah, her. That’s all right then. I’ll leave you to it, but don’t forget to write to Byron. Or better, go and see him. There’s no time to waste.”

* * * *

Lord Luten was also concerned at the turn his last conversation with Corinne had taken and spent a busy morning making discreet enquiries about Grafton’s fiancée. What he heard made him more determined than ever that Corinne should drop the connection. Byron did not often frequent the House, but he dropped in that morning as he wanted a word with Lord Brougham, who was urging him to make another speech in the House. Luten invited him to his office to share a bottle.

After a little political chat, Luten said, “I hear you’ve been seeing Lady Dunn. Take care or you’ll have Grafton calling you out.”

“Falling down on his knees and thanking me is more like it,” Byron said. “He’d be happy enough to dump the lady, but he’ll not dump her in my lap. I refused her invitation to a quiet little luncheon, just we two, to discuss poetry, and told her I was much too busy to enjoy the other outings she had in mind.

“That trip to Somerset House that is making the rounds was not prearranged. She wrote inviting me to tea, I invented a meeting with my man of business. Later that afternoon, as I was out walking, she drew up beside me in her tilbury and asked where I was going. When I told her Somerset House, she said she was on her way there, though she was headed in the opposite direction, and invited me to accompany her. It was cold and I was deuced tired, so I accepted. That’s what you meant by my ‘seeing her,' I assume, since it’s the only time I have seen her since that party we went to.”

“Someone did mention Somerset House,” Luten replied. “Why do you say Grafton wants to be rid of her?”

“Oh it’s the greatest secret in town, Luten. Everyone’s talking about it. I heard the tale at Melbourne House. It seems she applied to Grafton for a loan — a largish one, I understand. He suggested she sell her house, since they would have no need for it after the wedding. She said she had it for sale, but no takers thus far. So to surprise her, he spoke to the house agent, planning to buy it himself and rent it out. To his astonishment, he discovered she doesn’t own the house. She just rents it. He dug a little deeper and learned she’s hobbled with debts. She’s been using her engagement to him as security. He hinted at other misdemeanors but was too shy or too much of a gentleman to share them, which makes one suspect she had other gentlemen friends. I believe he’d jilt her in a minute if he didn’t fear a breach of promise suit.”

“Good God! I had no idea it was that bad.”

“Yes, it seems she has the gambling bug. The word is that she frequents gaming hells that cater to females as well as males. But you needn’t fear she’ll be pursuing me, Luten. She’ll be after some simple minded, well-inlaid gent. I meet the first requirement but you know my pockets are to let — unfurnished, as they say. It’s yourself who must watch out. She doesn’t know how long-headed you are. Perhaps you’re the reason Lady Dunn is laying siege to Corinne.”

Byron thought Luten’s smile was caused by this little joke. They had another glass of wine, then Luten was called away to a meeting.

Luten pondered how to present his discovery to his fiancée. He didn’t want to give her the idea he’d been asking questions about Lady Dunn. He knew that presenting an ultimatum would throw her into Lady Dunn’s arms, yet it was imperative that she not be running around town with the wretched woman. He didn’t like to ask Byron to tell her either. That would smack of cowardice.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry. Prance was only too happy to carry the tale, once he had it of Byron. “Not at all the thing, my pet,” he told her. “You don’t want to sully your reputation, and Luten’s, by associating with a near criminal, a hardened gambler in debt to her ears. She’ll be dunning you for money next thing we know, or worse, taking you to gaming hells.”

“Yes, I can see you’re right. Yet I do pity her, you know. She’s the sort of lady who loves beautiful things. Like you, Reg. I wonder what lengths you would go to, if you were poor I mean, to have fine things.”

“I would stop short of lying to my friends, I trust.”

“Yes, of course you would. Well, I shan’t continue going about with her.”

She truly did feel sorry for Mavis. She didn’t
seem
like an evil woman, or like one who was worried either. She was light-hearted, happy, looking forward to her fine house and pretty gowns after she married Grafton. He was older than she, of course, but then deCoventry had been much older than herself, and they had been happy. Her family had more or less forced the match on her. Papa had needed the five thousand deCoventry paid for her and that was that.

It was hardly a new thing. Perhaps Mavis had a family who were behind this marriage, although she had denied it. The whole unsavory matter preyed on her mind. She knew that Mavis was planning to become her bosom bow, and she certainly didn’t want that. But she wouldn’t just coldly snub her. She would see her once more and try to soften the blow, give her some friendly advice. If she confessed all to Grafton and promised to give up her gambling, he might forgive her. Meanwhile she would put Luten’s mind at ease. He had only been looking out for her best interest after all.

Luten knew his beloved did not take well to an outright order. Neither would she be susceptible to a bribe, so his first notion of taking her some jewelry was quickly abandoned. Flowers and sympathy, he decided, were his best chance of success in talking her into dropping her new acquaintance. He regularly had flowers sent from his conservatory at Southcote to adorn his London mansion. He asked his housekeeper to select a basket of her favourite fragrant hyacinths in shades of pink and lavender and carried them across the street to call on her. His butler was not quite as observant as Black, but Evans was able to inform his master that Lady deCoventry was alone at the moment. Luten didn’t want to meet her with Prance there to cause mischief.

He was quite amazed that she met him with a smile, and expressed what appeared to be genuine gratitude for his thoughtfulness. “What a lovely idea, Luten,” she said. “They smell heavenly, a foretaste of spring. Just the thing to brighten this dreary day.” She even stood on tiptoe and placed a playful kiss on his cheek. She gave the basket a place of honour on a table beneath a Fragonard Prance had chosen for her. She poured Luten a glass of his wine and they sat before the fire.