The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (18 page)

‘You should have seen the local parson run when that bullock got behind him,’ Woods said. ‘He lifted his cassock above his knobbly knees and bolted down Cock Lane and round Pye Corner quicker than Nelson could scuttle a flamin’ French warship.’

Magdalena laughed.

‘Language, Ned – don’t you start cussin’,’ warned Betsy as she re-entered the room.

‘I’ll tell you what, Betsy, love,’ Woods said. ‘If sir will help me push back this damned table so you can get to the piano, we’ll have a song or two.’

‘Yes, Betsy – give us a song!’ Lavender said. Betsy was a wonderful singer with a wicked sense of humour. He rose to his feet and helped Woods push back the table to make some space in front on the piano.

Betsy blushed and refused but Magdalena was also delighted with the idea and urged her entertain to them. ‘Perhaps we should let our guest sing for us,’ Betsy said. ‘I’m sure that Magdalena is very accomplished.’

‘That’s right, Magdalena,’ Lavender said, with a wink. ‘It’s a British tradition that guests sing for their supper. You must pay your dues after that sumptuous meal.’

She gave him a sideways smile. ‘You tease me, Stephen,’ she said. ‘No, no. I’m a dreadful singer and a poor musician. Please play for us, Betsy.’

Finally persuaded, Betsy sat down on the stool in front of the instrument, placed a few pieces of sheet music in the rest and stretched her accomplished fingers out over the ivory keys. She trilled out a scale to warm up. Woods pulled up a chair next to her.

‘I’ll turn the page for you Betsy, my love,’ he slurred.

Betsy began gently with a Robbie Burns Scottish love ballad and her sweet, mellifluous voice held them enraptured. She paused dramatically after the first verse then, to the delight of her audience, she launched into the second verse – in a Scottish accent.

Magdalena rose from her own chair and sat down on the sofa next to Lavender. ‘She’s really talented!’ she whispered in his ear.

His arm slid surreptitiously behind her and rested on the back of the sofa. ‘Just wait until Ned joins in,’ he replied.

Sure enough, by the third verse Woods had added his own deep baritone to Betsy’s faultless soprano and made a passable job of keeping time with his wife and the melody. They had their backs to Lavender and Magdalena but he knew by their closeness and the occasional glance they exchanged that they were thoroughly enjoying their duet. Woods inevitably fumbled turning the page of sheet music but the slight delay only seemed to amuse Betsy. Their voices rose in harmony to a strong finish with the chorus.

‘Bravo! Bravo!’ Magdalena shouted.

Lavender pulled back his arm and applauded loudly. ‘Encore!’

‘Let’s sing “None Can Love Like an Irish Man”,’ Woods suggested.

Betsy cast a glance at Magdalena. ‘It’s a tad bawdy,’ she said.

‘Please! Please sing it to me,’ Magdalena said. ‘I love your music. This is better than a night at the theatre.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Betsy smiled at the compliment. ‘I don’t need the music for this one,’ she said and launched straight into the lively ditty.

‘The turbaned Turk, who scorns the world,

May strut about with his whiskers curled,

Keep a hundred wives under lock and key,

For nobody else for himself to see;

Yet long may he pray with his Alcoran;

Before he can love like an Irishman.’

Betsy switched to a strong Irish accent for the second verse and Woods’ booming voice joined her in the last line: ‘Before he can love like an Irishman!’

Magdalena laughed and clapped her hands in time with the lively rhythm.

Emboldened by the Madeira, Lavender slid his arms around her slender waist and pulled her closer to him. She started with surprise but didn’t resist. Meanwhile, the oblivious couple at the piano continued to belt out a rousing rendition of the popular song.

‘The London folks themselves beguile,

And think they please in a capital style,

Yet let them ask as they cross the street,

Of any young virgin they happen to meet,

And I know she’ll say, from behind her fan,

That there’s none can love like an Irishman.’

It felt so good to have Magdalena’s warm body next to his. She leant into Lavender and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. He felt her soft hair brush against his cheek, its sweet perfume intoxicating. He raised a hand and stroked the smooth skin of her face, brushing back a glossy tendril of silky hair that had escaped from her hairpins. Unable to resist, he kissed her lightly on the top of her head. She glanced up at him and smiled, a mischievous light dancing in her dark eyes. A wicked smile played against the edges of her lips. She knew the effect she had on him.

‘Ehm, em.’

The music had stopped and Betsy was watching them quizzically from the piano stool. Beside her, his tipsy constable grinned from ear to ear and, unseen by his wife, he gave Lavender an exaggerated wink.

Magdalena saw it. She laughed, pulled away and smoothed down her gown. Lavender lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the sofa, above her shoulders.

‘My apologies Betsy,’ he said. ‘Your music filled me with such passion that I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed Doña Magdalena and I fear I may have compromised her.’

‘Well, you can put her down now, you devilish rake,’ Betsy said tartly. ‘And try to behave yourself. The poor gal doesn’t need to be pawed like that after a big meal.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Woods. ‘I think sir might have the right idea.’ Before his diminutive wife could protest, he scooped her up off her stool and into his own lap. He screwed up his eyes, pursed his lips and tried to force a kiss on her. She wriggled, shrieked and pummelled his chest with her fists to keep him at bay.

‘You great drunken fool!’ she shouted. ‘Now look what you’ve done, Stephen Lavender – you’ve set him off!’

Lavender and Magdalena burst out laughing. His arm encircled her waist once more and she made no effort to pull away. Betsy finally escaped Woods’ clutches by beating him across the head with a rolled-up sheet of music.

‘I think it may be time for us to go home, Stephen.’ Magdalena’s voice was husky, her skin still flushed and her pupils enlarged. Home. Home meant a cab ride with Magdalena – alone in the dark. He would pay the driver extra to take them the long, leisurely route back to her lodgings. The prospect excited him. Yes, it was time to leave.

Suddenly, the door opened and a slim, dark, pretty girl stood in the entrance. It was Elizabeth. Her quick eyes took in the scene and widened with surprise when she saw Magdalena sitting so close to Stephen, with his arm around her waist. A delighted smile spread across her young face. Magdalena shuffled nervously and tried to move away. Lavender relaxed his hold and reclaimed his arm.

Elizabeth grinned. ‘I’m off home now, Betsy,’ she said. ‘The children are asleep.’

‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ Betsy said. ‘We’re most grateful for your help tonight.’

‘It sounded like you’ve had a wonderful time,’ the young woman said. ‘I heard the laughter and the music upstairs. And look at you, Stephen,’ she added mischievously. ‘It’s not often we get to see you in your shirtsleeves with a woman by your side. Nice to meet you, ma’am.’

Magdalena nodded stiffly but didn’t reply.

‘Goodnight, Elizabeth,’ Lavender said.

‘Goodnight, everyone!’ the girl called as she turned and left.

Magdalena rose to her feet and smoothed down her dress. They heard the front door slam. ‘Well! Your nursemaid is rather forward,’ Magdalena declared, indignantly. ‘Is it normal for English servants to make such comments?’

Betsy laughed. ‘Oh, that’s not my nursemaid,’ she said. ‘That’s Elizabeth – Stephen’s youngest sister. I asked her to help keep the children out of our way tonight.’

‘Now you can see why I was often tempted to murder my sisters.’ Lavender smiled as he rose and fastened the buttons on his waistcoat.

‘That was your sister?’ Magdalena looked horrified.

‘Yes, don’t worry about it,’ he said as he reached for his coat. ‘Elizabeth is the best of the whole bunch.’

Magdalena clapped a hand to her mouth, her face contorted with distress. ‘I’m so sorry, Betsy,’ she wailed. ‘I have embarrassed you; that was so rude of me. I have made a fool of myself and ruined the whole evening.’

‘Nonsense! We have had a wonderful time, haven’t we, Ned?’ Betsy smiled, stepped across the room and gave Magdalena an affectionate hug. ‘Please don’t worry about it, my dear. I often get mistaken for a woman who has servants.’

The men laughed but Magdalena still looked inconsolable.

The journey home wasn’t as Lavender had hoped. Magdalena resisted his attempts to pull her back into his arms when they took their seats in the cab.

‘I’m tired, Stephen, and must return home to sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow – and a lesson to prepare for my Spanish class.’

Sighing, he sat back and examined her strained profile in the semi-darkness of the cab. She had no need to still be embarrassed about her comment, as Betsy was amused rather than insulted. Something else must be bothering her.

‘Are you still upset by Elizabeth’s sudden appearance?’ he asked.

‘Of course!’ she snapped. ‘What must she think of me! I was nearly sat in your lap. Such intimacy seemed fine with Betsy and Constable Woods – they know of our, of our friendship. But in front of a perfect stranger? Your unmarried younger sister? Thank goodness she didn’t arrive a few moments earlier! No doubt she will go home and tell the rest of your family how she found us – so compromised.’

‘Please don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘My mother is always telling me that I work too hard and need to have more fun.’

‘Fun?’

He could have bitten his tongue off.

‘Is that what I am to you, Stephen?’ she yelled. ‘A lewd squeeze in a darkened room? A bit of fun?’ She half rose in the swaying vehicle and he thought for a minute that she might try to leap out of the moving carriage. He grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her back down but she shook him off.

‘You’re far more to me than that, Magdalena’ he said firmly. ‘And if you will give me some time, I will prove it to you. I’m incredibly fond of you – and my affection grows stronger by the day. What Elizabeth saw was just that, a demonstration of my affection. She will understand.’

Magdalena paused to consider his words but they didn’t have the softening effect he had hoped. ‘I doubt that your mother, a church dean’s daughter, will see it that way,’ she said icily.

‘Trust me, Magdalena. I will make this right. I will send a note to Elizabeth tomorrow. I will tell her to say nothing to anyone else.’

‘It is probably too late! My reputation is all I have left, Stephen.’

He nodded. Magdalena was right: it was her reputation that would suffer if they weren’t more careful. He knew it was time for him to take action to resolve this situation and formalise their relationship. The awareness of this responsibility was sobering.

‘In a while,’ he said, ‘we will laugh about what happened tonight. My mother is a kindly, loving woman – as you will discover when you eventually meet her. And she married my father for love.’

She seemed to stiffen at the suggestion. ‘You seem so close,’ she said. ‘I never realised that Ned and Betsy Woods were familiar with your family.’

He sighed again. ‘We law-keepers are not popular in London,’ he said. ‘As a result, the families of the Bow Street police tend to be close to each other and support each other as best we can.’

‘It is a different world,’ Magdalena said sadly. ‘A world to which I do not belong.’

Despite his best efforts, she refused to speak for the rest of the journey home.

Chapter Twenty-one

Thursday 22nd February, 1810

Captain Brandon Sackville’s long frame was sprawling in a chair opposite Magistrate Read’s desk when Lavender finally appeared at their meeting. It was just after midday and Lavender knew he was late. Woods was already there, perched on another chair. When Read introduced him, the captain retracted his booted legs from where they had been stretched out in front of him, stood up and shook Lavender’s hand.

‘Your reputation precedes you, Detective Lavender.’ He spoke slowly with the soft burr of a Devonshire accent. Even without his uniform he had the unmistakable bearing of a military officer.

‘As does yours, Captain Sackville.’ This was true. Still only in his late thirties, the blond, curly-haired naval officer had risen quickly through the naval ranks. He had an impressive reputation for leadership, navigational skill and bravery in battle. Briefly, Lavender wondered what had enticed him back on land to work in the fusty corridors of the Admiralty and Whitehall. The captain’s slow, measured way of talking obviously masked considerable intelligence.

‘You’re late, Lavender,’ Read said sharply.

‘Yes, my apologies for that,’ Lavender replied. ‘I had some private business to attend to this morning which took longer than I expected.’

‘Private business?’ Read frowned with displeasure.

‘Let’s get down to the issue in hand, gentlemen,’ said Sackville. He pulled out the innocuous sheet of paper that April Clare had found within her play script and spread it out on the desk. Lavender took the vacant chair beside him.

‘I will come straight to the point,’ Sackville said. ‘The document that you have recovered is very worrying.’

‘What is it, exactly?’ Lavender asked.

‘It didn’t take our decoders long to work it out,’ Sackville said. ‘The code is amateurish but it’s an alphabetical list of our fleet in the Indian Ocean. It gives their last known location with a few details about each ship’s artillery capability. Some of the entries have the number and poundage of the canons on each deck.’

‘That’ll be why the
Victor
was at the bottom of the list,’ said Woods. ‘Because it’s alphabetical.’

The other men glanced up and Sackville smiled. ‘Exactly, Constable, and the fact that the
Victor
is mentioned suggests that the author of this document needed to update his reader that the
Victor
is no longer a British ship and is back in the hands of the French. They had a pattern to this code. I suspect that the author regularly provided this information.’

A shiver ran down the back of Lavender’s neck at the implication of Sackville’s last sentence. ‘How much damage could this do to our fleet? Suppose we hadn’t been able to intercept it, what would have happened if it had found its way into the hands of the French?’

Sackville shrugged his broad shoulders and flicked a speck of dust from the black velvet cuff of his burgundy coat. ‘It’s difficult to say. Our ships move around constantly, of course – unless they’re laid up for repair – and it would have taken several weeks for this information to have landed in the hands of the French. But the Indian Ocean is vast and anything that gives a general idea of the whereabouts of our vessels to our enemies is something that causes the Admiralty concern.’

‘Heaven and hell!’ exclaimed Woods. He slapped his hand down hard on Read’s desk and made them all jump. ‘We’ve uncovered a bloody spy ring!’

Sackville smiled again. ‘So it would seem, Constable.’

‘What do you want us to do? Lavender asked.

‘Well, it is quite obvious that someone at the Sans Pareil feeds information to our enemies,’ Sackville said. ‘As Constable Woods has said, we have a spy in our midst. The list accidentally became mixed up in Miss Clare’s play script last Thursday and was missed by its owner virtually immediately. Less than a day later, her poor sister was kidnapped in an effort to retrieve this document. Somebody in that green room last Thursday night had a connection with this piece of paper. They had either put it on that table – or they had arranged to collect it from there. We need to find this spy.’

Lavender frowned. ‘I shall obtain the names of everyone who was in the theatre last Thursday. Jane Scott, or her father, will be able to provide those easily enough but I suspect it will be a long list. There are not only the actors and actresses but also the stagehands to investigate – and possibly visitors . . .’

‘Remember, Stephen,’ Read warned, ‘even Miss Scott and her father are suspects at this point of the investigation.’

Lavender’s frown deepened. ‘Yes, it will be a slow process to rule out everyone from our inquiries . . .’ His voice trailed away as his mind explored other possibilities.

‘Well, that would be a good place to begin,’ Sackville said.

‘Unless we took another approach to the investigation.’

‘You’ve got that funny look in your eye,’ Woods said to Lavender. ‘Like you’re about to hatch a plot.’

They all stared at Lavender in silence while he thought.

‘Spit it out, man,’ Read said, eventually. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m concerned that if Bow Street officers investigate the cast and crew of the Sans Pareil, then we might scare off our quarry,’ Lavender explained. ‘If he gets wind of our investigation, he will be on the next boat to France before we can identify him.’

‘That would be unfortunate,’ Sackville said. ‘We need to smash this operation and round up the perpetrators. Do you have a suggestion?’

‘Yes, I think I do,’ Lavender said slowly. The plan was still only half formed in his mind but it grew by the second. ‘I think we need to flush out this infiltrator. Let him reveal himself to us.’

‘That’s assumin’ the spy is a man, sir,’ Woods said. ‘From what I’ve learnt about women this week, I wouldn’t be surprised if this sneaky budge wasn’t a gal.’ His face was rigid with indignation.

The other men stared at Woods. For a moment it looked like Read was about to ask Woods to explain his last comment but then the magistrate obviously thought better of the idea. He turned back to Lavender. ‘How do you propose to do this, Lavender?’ he asked. ‘How will you flush out him – or her?’

‘I’m not quite sure just yet; I need to think some more. But I do believe that it might be time for the dead actress, Miss April Divine, to rise up from the ashes like a phoenix.’

Lavender sensed the stony atmosphere between the two women as soon as he was shown into the late Mrs Willoughby’s drawing room in Wandsworth. Swathed in their organza mourning gowns, Lady Caroline and April Clare sat stiff-backed and silent on opposite sofas by the fire like a pair of black-ash bookends. Their forced intimacy had taken its toll on their fragile relationship. Both looked angry, as if they had been arguing.

Relief flashed across Lady Caroline’s face when the maid announced Lavender.

‘Oh, Detective Lavender – thank goodness you’re here! We had begun to think that you had forgotten about us.’ The jewels in her rings flashed as she offered him her hand.

He raised it to his lips. ‘How can any man forget about you, Lady Caroline?’ he said, smiling.

‘You must be serious, Lavender,’ she admonished. ‘We have a lot to discuss.’ But a faint pink spot had appeared on her high cheekbones.

He turned to April Clare and bowed politely. She didn’t offer her hand and appeared to be further angered by his banter with her stepmother. April’s pretty face darkened.

‘We have done as you asked,’ Lady Caroline said. She waved him over to the empty chair he had occupied the day before. He sat down. ‘We have arranged a quiet and discreet funeral for poor Harriet tomorrow morning. And I have written to Captain Willoughby – and his lawyer here in England – to apprise him of the sad news of the death of his wife.’

‘Quiet and discreet!’ snapped Miss Clare. ‘You have notified half of London!’ She turned angrily to Lavender. ‘I had to stop her placing an announcement in
The Times
, Detective!’

‘It is only fitting,’ Lady Caroline wailed. ‘Poor Harriet was the daughter of a baron! It is terrible to have to make her funeral such a cloak-and-dagger affair!’

‘It would be even more terrible if the kidnappers discovered their mistake and came after me again! You might as well place an announcement that Miss April Clare is still alive – come to Wandsworth and kill her now!’

‘Really, April!’ Lady Caroline said, exasperated. ‘I begin to think that you don’t care one jot about what has happened to poor Harriet – all I hear from you is concern for yourself.’

‘Now, now, ladies,’ Lavender said quickly. ‘I have some good news – and a plan – which I think might help.’ Both women turned to stare at him. April Clare still looked like she would explode with anger but she remained silent.

‘There has been a development,’ he said. He took the list out of his coat pocket and laid it on the occasional table beside the actress. ‘I now know what this document contains, and yes, I have to report that it is as serious as I suspected.’

‘Good grief!’ Lady Caroline said. ‘You mean it is classified naval information?’

‘Yes, and I have no doubt that Mrs Willoughby was kidnapped in an attempt to retrieve this piece of paper – and your lodgings, Miss Clare, were ransacked for the same reason.’ The actress paled and she sank back in her chair as if to put as much distance between the document and herself as possible.

‘However, I have a plan, which, if it works, will mean that the kidnappers leave you alone for good – and will allow you to resume your life.’ April Clare sat up straighter, tilted her head and listened.

‘It is time, Miss Clare, for April Divine to rise from the ashes of death and strut the boards of the stage of the Sans Pareil once more.’

Lady Caroline gave a short laugh. ‘The detective plans to resurrect you like Lazarus,’ she said. ‘How intriguing! Do tell us more.’

Carefully, Lavender explained the plan he had worked out earlier with Sackville, Read and Woods.