Royal Revels (21 page)

“The prime difference it will make is that Prinney despises Gilham and won’t be eager to call her friend and cohort his son. Then, too, we haven’t determined the relationship between the pair of them.”

“Haven’t determined there
is
a relationship actually,” Pronto reminded him.

“Let us assume, for the purpose of conjecture, that there is. Now what could the connection be? Relatives? Brother and sister? They don’t have a single feature in common, including their accents.”

“Cousins?” Pronto asked. “I don’t look a thing like that ugly turnip, Andrew Patton. They’re too young to be each other’s mother or father.”

“Husband and wife, perhaps?” Belami suggested with a flash of amusement.

“Smythe will kill you if he finds out what you was up to tonight, Dick,” Pronto exclaimed, taking the suggestion for fact.

“He doesn’t seem to be an Othello in that direction. He must have condoned Gilham’s arrangement with the prince. Wouldn’t it quench Prinney’s ardor for his
soi-disant
son if it were only true? It’s obvious Gilham has helpers. That note Deirdre was handed at the party for instance...” he said musingly.

“You’re never saying McMahon is in on it?” Pronto gasped.

“Lord, no. Was it McMahon who handed her the note?”

“It was a page boy, but we thought it must have come from McMahon. We didn’t ask him, though.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. Smythe was at the party as well. It was certainly Gilham who put him up to it if Smythe is the one who wrote that note. She did it for spite, to make a fool of me. Do you have the note on you?” Belami asked.

“Deirdre has the pieces in her purse. It got ripped.”

“Begin writing your list, Pronto. Number one, retrieve that note from Deirdre. Number two, get a sample of Smythe’s writing to compare with the note. Next we have to discover who the elderly gentleman is who calls at milady’s back door and where he took the loot. Any suggestions who he could be?”

“Elderly—could be some friend of Mrs. Morton. Moira Morton was said to have married an officer. Are you sure you can trust McMahon, Dick? He could have slipped the page that note.”

“I consider him above reproach. He’s the one who asked me to stop Smythe.”

“Red herring,” Pronto said. “Not the inn, McMahon’s asking you to help. Of course, if Moira Morton was married to McMahon, she’d be Moira McMahon.”

“And his wife, his real wife, would have something to say about it as well. He’s a solid family man,” Belami told him.

“We’re a pair of cloth heads, Dick. Moira Morton ain’t married at all or she wouldn’t be Moira Morton still. Have to take her husband’s name.”

“We can disregard the names they’re using. Professionals have a dozen aliases.”

“Why would Gilham’s chaperone let on she was a thieving maid? Furthermore, you can’t disregard Lady Gilham’s name, for that Lehman woman in London vouched for her story. I don’t know how it is, Dick, but this coffee seems to be making me very sharp,” Pronto added, and took another cup.

“I wish it had the same effect on me. My mind is all awry. I underestimated the adversary earlier. I wouldn’t be surprised now if Mrs. Lehman isn’t a part of their organization. A hasty note to her would tell her what to say. In fact, add another number to the list. We’ll have to send someone to London to double-check Lehman.”

“We’ll have to get a bigger paper for the list as well,” Pronto complained, writing along the edge.

“So what have we got?” Belami said, pacing the room to aid concentration. “We have Gilham blackmailing the prince, Smythe trying to gouge some cash out of him. He has no more desire to actually be a royal son and heir than I have. He only wants money. We have an elderly gentleman calling on Morton or Gilham. We have a possible tie-in with the woman who stole Fitzherbert’s ring. Possibly Mrs. Morton is that same Moira Morton, using her maiden name. But she was said to have married an officer. He could be the elderly man who calls at the back door and hauls away evidence.”

“Except we don’t know if Mrs. Morton’s name is Moira. Lady Gilham is Moira.”

“Mothers have given their daughters the same name as themselves before. Could Gilham be Mrs. Morton’s daughter? The age is right...” He stopped talking and conjured with all these jumbled thoughts.

“You mentioned Smythe must have some place he keeps stuff, too, since he don’t have Ben Franklin’s book in his hotel room,” Pronto said. When Belami gave him an approving smile, Pronto blushed and said, “It’s the coffee, Dick. Wonderful stuff.”

“If they’re all in league, Smythe, too, could have his effects stashed with the elderly gentleman. Since he called two days in a row on Gilham, I assume he lives nearby.”

“That includes a lot of old men. There’s old Humphreys, there’s the Captain Sharp who diddled me at cards...”

“Captain Stack!” Belami exclaimed with a eureka look. “Did I happen to mention that Smythe had a similarly marked deck in his pockets?”

“No! Dick, you should have told me! I might have been skinned alive. I wouldn’t put it an inch past that old bird, Stack.”

“An army man, of the right age...” Belami said, his expression a calculating smile. “I wonder where he lives. He mentioned a cottage north of town. Didn’t Humphreys say Devil’s Dyke? He’d be staggering out of the card room at the Old Ship right about now.”

Belami drew out his watch and glanced at it, put down his cup of coffee, and headed for the door.

“Wait for me!” Pronto hollered and darted after him.

They took Pronto’s carriage and alit outside the inn, but had the carriage drive ahead fifty yards, ready to follow when necessary. A peep through the hotel window showed them that Captain Stack was still at the table. It was a cold wait in the damp night air.

“I wish I’d brought the brandy,” Belami said, slapping his hands against his arms.

“We could go in and have a wee drop,” Pronto suggested at once.

“No, we’ll wait for him out here. We need clear heads.”

It was twenty minutes before the captain arose from the table, patted his pockets with satisfaction, and left the room.

“He drives a broken-down old whiskey,” Pronto said out of the side of his mouth, his customary manner of speaking when he was doing spy duty.

When the rig issued from the stable, they darted swiftly to their carriage and followed it at a safe distance. It took the Queen’s Road north toward Devil’s Dyke and stopped at a little thatched cottage in a secluded area.

“Do we go in now and snaffle the goods?” Pronto asked, not at all liking the notion of doing it, but feeling he owed his friend some extraordinary support.

“Not now. We know where to find it. I mean to confirm that he is the elderly caller,” Belami said pensively.

“How can you find out for sure?”

“Need you ask? By deduction, of course. We’ll go back to town and lay our plans. Plans that won’t go awry this time,” he added, still angry with his own gullibility.

“Just thought of something,” Pronto said as the carriage jogged along.

“Me too. The gloves—you mentioned the captain’s were out at the thumb. Lady Gilham’s caller, the first time I went to see her, sported the same style. Also she mentioned Mrs. Morton was always away on Wednesday—she visited a friend out by Devil’s Dyke. She had no reason to lie to me at that time. She didn’t know I was investigating Smythe. I think we’ll call that confirmation,” Belami decided.

“Must be—too much coincidence,” Pronto agreed, happy to have the matter settled. “Does this mean I can go home to bed?”

“No, it means we can have that brandy now. I’ll stop off at the Old Ship with you and walk the rest of the way home.”

They went to Pronto’s room for privacy and ordered a bottle of brandy. “Why do I feel so miserable?” Belami asked Pronto as he swished the amber liquid around in his glass. “The investigation is going well.”

“Both know dashed well what ails you. Deirdre,” Pronto answered, and tipped his glass.

“And the duchess,” Belami added. “She’s never liked me. I’ll be stapped if I know why she ever accepted me in the first place.”

“Best thing to do is forget Deirdre.”

“How can I? She’s become a part of me, the better part. I’ve treated her badly, Pronto. I’ve excluded her from the investigation. How could I do otherwise, dealing with such rakes and rattles as Gilham and Smythe?”

“You can’t suck and blow at the same time, Dick. Finish up the case, then go after her,” Pronto advised.

“Every minute we’re at odds, Charney will be feeding her stories against me. If it comes to a choice, I’ll drop the case. Yet, we’re so close to having it solved.”

“Then you’ll have to include Deirdre in the rest of it. If you’d told her what was afoot, this could all have been avoided,” Pronto said.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong! That’s the injustice of it.’’

“I’ll tell her you said so if I happen to meet her around.”

“You’ll have to go and see her,” Belami said.

“I promised I wouldn’t, Dick. Like to give you a hand, but I promised.”

“You didn’t promise me. Who did you promise?”

“God,” Pronto told him. “Made a deal. He kept his end of the bargain—you didn’t kill me. Mind you, I only promised I’d let up on courting her.”

“This won’t be a courting call. Old Charney can be talked around with Prinney’s help,” Belami said, throwing himself into solving his other major problem.

“True, she fair dotes on him. Disgusting to see her bearing her yellow fangs at the old blister. Don’t worry, I’ll patch it up with Deirdre for you.”

This promise gave Belami all the reassurance of a scream in the night. “But wait till I invent a plan first, Pronto.”

“You’ll think of something. Always do. Talked them both around before. Pity old Bessler ain’t out of Newgate and you could have him mesmerize the pair of them. Think I might know how to do it myself, in a pinch. Bessler used his monocle, remember?”

“I remember,” Dick said sadly, staring into space. “But I’ll need a fresh trick this time. Deirdre’s onto that one. Give me the night to sleep on it. Some of my best ideas come in bed.”

A smirking “heh, heh” into his collar earned Pronto a slap on the shoulder and a command to lift his mind above the gutter.

“I will then, but just before I scramble out, how was Gilham?” he asked, then waited impatiently to hear.

“The most forward wench who ever called herself a lady. She damned near pulled the clothes off my back. I had uphill work of it keeping her from raping me,” Belami said, trying to hide his approval.

“Preventing?” Pronto inquired, his eyes narrowed.

“You heard me. I’m an engaged man, whether my fiancée knows it or not. I’m going home now, Pronto. You’ll have to get Deirdre’s note and a sample of Smythe’s handwriting, but don’t see Deirdre till we’ve discussed it further.”

“Can get Smythe’s handwriting at the registration desk.”

“By God, I must be disguised! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Pronto gave a cavalier toss of his head. “Can’t be deducing all the time. Stands to reason you’ll slip up on the odd thing. Like not getting the goods from Gilham, and swallowing that story of Lehman’s from London, and not twigging to it that Captain Stack’s in on it. Quite a botch you’ve made of it, one way and the other.”

“Thank you for that crushing assessment of my abilities. And good night to you.”

“By jingo, your upper story’s to let, Dick. What good will it do you to have a look at Smythe’s John Bull? You didn’t see Deirdre’s note. I’m the one who can verify if it’s Smythe’s writing or not. I’ll take care of it for you, as usual,” he added with a satisfied sniff as he pulled himself up from the chair.

Belami held in all his bile and waited for Pronto to swagger down to the desk. He examined Smythe’s signature for a long time, tracing his finger around loops and circles. “Same writing,” he finally decided. “Not a doubt of it. A bold, broad hand—the ‘t’ crossed crooked.”

“And nothing like McMahon’s. His is like a lady’s penmanship, neat and small.”

“That really proves it then,” Pronto said.

“The whole band of them are acting together. That makes things much easier,” Belami said, always happy to have his thoughts confirmed.

“You’ve got a plan, Dick. I can tell by the way your shoulders are swaggering, and you ain’t even walking. A dead giveaway. Let’s hear it.”

“I have some details to work out tonight in bed, but I can tell you one thing, my best of friends,” Belami said, gripping Pronto’s arm. “Your services will be absolutely essential—as usual.”

“Of course,” Pronto agreed magnanimously. “Just give me the word.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

With a wave of his hand, Belami was off, whistling himself out the door in a way that Pronto felt ill-befitted a man who had just lost the sweetest girl in the kingdom.

Chapter Fourteen

Belami lay in his great canopied bed, surrounded by blazing tapers, with no thought in the world of sleeping. He had a problem of an extremely complex and delightful magnitude to consider. Some weaker part of his mind wanted to worry about Deirdre, but he knew well enough her face would float before his eyes once the candles were out and he was alone in the dark. In this artificial daylight, he would solve the more immediate problem and allow himself the luxury of undisturbed repining later.

Some poetic streak in him decreed that the punishment of the various miscreants in the case ought to fit the crime. They had been universally guilty of unconscionable greed, and their greed would be turned against them. He thought and thought till he came up with a scheme that would have made Machiavelli green with envy.

Lady Gilham’s price was five thousand pounds—that would do for a start. Smythe, he felt, had stumbled into his scheme quite by accident. The traveling band of rogues had come to Brighton with the plan of compromising His Highness. Their housing arrangements suggested it, setting Lady Gilham up in town with an obliging chaperone who disappeared at the proper moment. The others, he thought, were only hanging around on the periphery waiting for her trap to spring.

No actual, overt effort had been made by Stack to attract the prince’s attention. McMahon had just happened upon him at the inn and invited him to the Pavilion. It was the merest chance that the whimsical prince had developed a fondness for Smythe. The ring, he believed, was an afterthought. Smythe hadn’t worn it the first few times, but when he was to be alone with the prince, it had been brought forth. It must have been sitting idle for years, then its original source was recalled. It must have seemed worth a try.