The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (21 page)

‘Oh, aye?’ MacDonald said. The other men laughed and encouraged the youngster. Someone whistled. Lavender felt his right hand clench into a fist.

‘May I purchase you a cup of chocolate, Doña Magdalena?’ the young man asked.

Everyone turned to the blushing Magdalena for a reaction; she appeared to be lost for words. Lavender decided that it was time to make his presence known.

‘Stephen!’ she exclaimed in surprise when he stepped into the room. Magdalena looked pleased to see him.

‘Good afternoon, Lavender,’ MacDonald drawled in his familiar Scots accent. He shook Lavender’s hand. ‘What on earth brings a Bow Street detective to our fusty little school? They’re not sending you back to Cadiz, are they?’

‘Good afternoon, MacDonald,’ he replied. ‘No, I’m here to see Doña Magdalena. I wish to talk to her for a moment.’

‘Oh, aye?’ MacDonald said, and grinned across to his teacher. ‘You can wait your turn,’ he drawled. ‘There’s a few of us that would care to know this wee lass a bit more.’ Then his face became serious. He made a short bow in Magdalena’s direction. ‘It has been a pleasure, lassie,’ he said. ‘I have learnt more from you this afternoon than I have in the last month with old Quincy.’

MacDonald gestured to the younger man who had propositioned Magdalena and who was now scowling at the back of the room, desperate to get Magdalena alone. ‘Come on, Barrington. I’ll gan with you to the coffee house on Garrick Street – it would seem that Doña Magdalena has a prior appointment.’ He waved for Barrington to leave the room. ‘Away, laddie.’ For a moment it looked like the young man would stubbornly remain to press his suit on Magdalena but Lavender gave him a glowering stare and the Romeo finally retreated.

‘The lesson seems to have gone well,’ Lavender said once the door was closed behind them.

Magdalena’s eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, Stephen, I have really enjoyed myself. It isn’t easy – but I felt so, so challenged. It was such fun and I feel that I have been useful.’

‘I can understand that.’ He smiled, pleased to see her in such a good mood after the upset of the night before. ‘MacDonald seemed impressed by your teaching.’

‘He’s the most accomplished,’ she said. ‘His accent is excellent. I must go straight home, though. There is much preparation I need to do for tomorrow’s lesson.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I merely stopped by to ask how you were.’

‘That was most considerate of you, Stephen.’ She gave him a brilliant smile.

‘I also wondered if you wanted to accompany me to the funeral of Mrs Willoughby tomorrow morning. I know that Lady Caroline would appreciate the gesture and see it as a kindness.’

‘Of course!’ Concern flashed across her face mixed with a little guilt. ‘I had quite forgotten about poor Lady Caroline and her sad loss. Yes, of course I will go with you, Stephen. What time?’

‘I will call for you at nine o’clock in the morning. Afterwards, I would like you to accompany me somewhere else. I want to show you something.’

‘Show me what?’ Her dark eyes widened with curiosity. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ he said, smiling. ‘You will see tomorrow.’

Chapter Twenty-four

Magistrate Read, Captain Sackville and Constable Woods were waiting for Lavender back at Bow Street.

‘How did it go?’ Sackville asked.

‘Perfectly,’ Lavender replied. ‘Miss Clare is excited at the prospect of returning to her old life and keen to cooperate with our plan. I have left the shipping list with her. She will put it back into the folds of her play script and leave the whole manuscript on the table in the green room when she returns to work on Saturday night.’ He turned to Woods and smiled. ‘You start your new job as a caretaker at the theatre at ten o’clock in the morning.’

Woods nodded and grinned.

‘You have done well, Lavender,’ Read said.

‘Yes.’ Sackville laughed. ‘Yes, this bacon-brained scheme might actually work.’

Lavender pulled another sheet of paper out from his inside coat pocket. ‘It’s worth trying,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, Miss Scott has made me a list of all the actors, actresses, workers and visitors whom she remembers were present backstage at the theatre last Thursday night.’ He handed it over to Read.

‘Did she ask why you needed such a list?’ Sackville stood up and walked behind the magistrate’s chair in order to read the document over his shoulder.

‘Yes, but I said I couldn’t explain at the moment. She accepted this and promised to be discreet. I thought such information might be useful but Jane Scott has no idea whether the list is comprehensive or not.’

‘Well, it is something to start with,’ Sackville said. ‘I’ll take it now, thank you, Magistrate Read, and hand it over to the Home Department.’

Read didn’t look up. He continued to scan the list Lavender had provided. ‘I wonder what the Earl of Thornaby was doing backstage that night?’ he said. ‘Freddy has never struck me as a follower of culture and the arts.’

‘Miss Scott told me that Lord Thornaby is enamoured with the beautiful singing voice of Miss Helene Bologna, their Italian actress,’ Lavender said. ‘I understand that he hovers by the stage door at the theatre most nights hoping for an audience with the lady.’

‘And Baron Marsdon?’

Lavender hesitated. Lord Nicolas Marsdon was a judge at the Old Bailey and also an old friend of Read’s. ‘The same,’ he said.

Read looked up in alarm. ‘The same woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good grief! I wonder if his wife, Fanny, knows about this infatuation.’

‘Not if he has any sense,’ Woods said, wisely.

Read leant across the desk towards the constable. ‘Make sure that you take care of your morality while you’re working in this den of iniquity, Woods,’ Read said suddenly. He had two pink spots on his cheeks and Lavender realised that he was rattled by the news that a respected friend and colleague was behaving like a moonstruck calf over a foreign actress. ‘The place seems to be riddled with vice and sin festers within those walls like a putrefying sore. Those women are sirens, Ned. They have silken tongues and are skilled dissemblers. Don’t let them draw you into their sinful, ways.’

Woods’ eyes were round as saucers. ‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ he said.

‘Remember, you, too, have a wife.’

‘’Tis hard to forget that at times, sir.’

Smiling, Sackville gently eased the list out from beneath Read’s hand. ‘I will take this now and the Home Department will begin discreet inquiries into the people mentioned here. Did you remember to add Miss Scott and her father onto the list, Lavender?’

‘Yes,’ Lavender said. ‘There is one more thing, however.’

The other men glanced up.

‘Spit it out then, Stephen,’ Read snapped. He was still upset about Baron Marsdon.

‘You may have noticed that the Duke of Clarence and his party were also at the show on that night, and, as is their custom, they went backstage to congratulate the cast.’

‘So?’ Read’s voice cut through the shocked silence like ice. ‘What is the point you’re making?’

The other men were rooted to the spot. Lavender saw concern etched across Woods’ features. Time seemed to stand still. Lavender chose his next words carefully.

‘We’re looking for members of a spy ring that passes on naval information to the French. We can’t overlook the fact that because of his position as admiral in the navy, His Royal Highness, Prince William – and his staff – are privy to some extremely sensitive information.’

Woods whistled low under his breath.

Magistrate Read almost choked on his words. ‘Good God, Lavender!’ he spluttered. ‘This is the second time in two days that you have dared to make slanderous and treasonous comments about a member of the royal family! Do you dare to suggest that the king’s own son is a traitor and is passing on secrets to the French?’

‘Of course not,’ Lavender said.

But Read hadn’t heard him and continued to rage. ‘Are you aware of the enormity of what you’re implying? You’re an officer of the law, for God’s sake! Sworn to protect this realm! Even thinking such a thing about a member of the royal household could – and should – land you in the Tower!’

Lavender’s voice was calm and measured. ‘I’m merely pointing out that we seek someone in this nest of vipers who has a naval connection – and because of the gravity of the situation, I don’t think we can afford to dismiss anyone whose name appears on this list of potential suspects; nobility or commoners.’

‘If such an accusation against the Duke of Clarence were even whispered abroad,’ Read warned, ‘it could bring down the House of Hanover! Last summer the press was full of rumours that the jezebel, Mrs Mary Anne Clark, had used her sexual influence over the Duke of York when she was his mistress to secure army commissions for money. How much more do you think the British public will take? Do you want to see our country ripped apart by revolution like the French? Shall there be guillotines in Hyde Park to decapitate the royal household? Do you wish to see the rise of British despots like Bonaparte?’ Read paused dramatically while the other men absorbed his words.

‘I just want to get to the bottom of why an innocent woman was kidnapped and scared to death in a freezing, derelict building, miles from her home and loved ones,’ Lavender said. ‘I want justice for Harriet Willoughby – and yes, I will take that at any cost. I have sworn to uphold the law, not the House of Hanover.’

‘We all want justice for the damned woman!’ Read yelled. ‘But you go too far sometimes, Lavender.’

‘Do I?’ Lavender said. ‘Well, to be honest, my instincts tell me that Prince William is not involved.’

‘Well, thank God for that!’ Read snapped.

There was a short silence. The relief in the room was palpable. Sackville and Woods had watched the angry exchange between the two men like the spectators at a tennis match, their heads turning from one player to the other, their mouths gaping open.

Now Lavender pointed at the list in Sackville’s hand. ‘However, I wouldn’t trust Sir Lawrence Forsyth, as far as I can toss the poisonous little dwarf.’

‘Bit of a whiddler, is he, sir?’ Woods asked.

Now it was Sackville’s turn to look startled. ‘Sir Lawrence Forsyth is a highly respected lieutenant in His Majesty’s navy,’ he said, ‘and a trusted employee. The poor man’s ship went down and he was held by the French as a prisoner of war for years in despicable conditions. I can’t see him trading secrets with Boney. The fellow must hate the French more than we do – and he has been commended for his bravery!’

Lavender frowned. The news that Forsyth had had such an illustrious and well-respected career in the navy explained why he was now in a position of such great trust. But Sackville’s suggestion that Forsyth was brave didn’t seem right. As far as he was concerned, the man was sly. Thinking back to their conversation at Bushy House, Lavender also realised that Forsyth was easily intimidated. These weren’t characteristics of a ‘brave’ man; they were the weaknesses of a man who could be pressured or bullied into betraying his country.

‘I know what this is about.’ Read smirked and slammed his fist down on his desk with jubilation. ‘It’s personal, isn’t it, Stephen? Forsyth came to me telling tales about your relationship with that Spanish widow. He’s got your back up and you want revenge.’

Lavender shrugged. He wasn’t going to give Read the pleasure of rising to his bait. He just hoped that his comments had planted the seed of suspicion in Sackville’s mind. ‘I don’t like the fellow but that doesn’t cloud my judgement. Captain Sackville is right. Everyone on this list needs to be investigated. I was merely airing my concerns that we shouldn’t overlook anyone who was backstage at the Sans Pareil last Thursday – no matter what their rank or military exploits.’

The Menendez carriage was again waiting on the street outside her lodgings when Magdalena arrived home. She grimaced. The last thing she wanted right now was to spend another boring hour with Juana and Olaya Menendez. She needed some time to herself to think about her first experience teaching; to consider Magistrate Read’s offer; and to muse about the secret trip Stephen had in store for her tomorrow.

To her surprise it was Felipe Menendez who stepped out of the carriage to greet her, not his sisters. Tall, and swathed in a voluminous greatcoat with three tiers of capes, he cut a striking figure of wealth and elegance against the backdrop of her dilapidated street with its piles of refuse, ragged inhabitants and peeling paintwork.

He bowed low over her hand. ‘Please forgive the intrusion, Doña Magdalena,’ he said in Spanish. ‘However, when Juana told me about the conditions and circumstances you had to endure through living in this area’ – he paused and cast a disdainful glance across to the shabby market stalls with their drooping awnings – ‘I was so alarmed, that I had to come and see for myself.’

‘How kind of you,’ she replied and felt obliged to add, ‘Would you care to come up to my rooms and take a coffee with us?’

Menendez nodded and Magdalena led the way. Her room was freezing but Teresa hurriedly lit a fire and busied herself making coffee. Menendez politely enquired after her health and that of Sebastián and they made some small talk about their neighbours back in Spain, the poor harvest on their estates and the effect of the interminable war. Then Menendez took a leisurely look around the inside of her home. She realised by the way the nostrils twitched below his long nose that he didn’t like what he saw. While he examined every cobwebbed corner of her lodgings she amused herself by examining him. Despite her reservations about the Menendez’s character she couldn’t help but admire his prominent cheekbones and the sleek sheen of his ebony hair. He was a very attractive man with intelligent and slightly hooded eyes. It was such a shame for Juana and Olaya, she thought. Felipe had inherited all of the family’s good looks and left none for them. It was also a shame that he didn’t smile more often; he and Juana shared a certain sourness of expression in their unguarded moments.

‘I’m sorry to see that your circumstances are so reduced now, Doña Magdalena,’ he said. ‘Don Antonio would be distressed that he had left you in such squalor.’

She bristled at his impertinence; she preferred to believe that she lived in simplicity rather than squalor. Besides which, she knew that Antonio had been so angry with her in the final months of his life that he wouldn’t have cared a damn about her blessed circumstances.

‘How much did Don Antonio leave you?’ he asked, suddenly.

She wasn’t sure that she had had heard him correctly and asked him to repeat the question.

‘How much money have you got?’ he said with a hint of irritation. ‘How many
reals
do you own?’

She lowered her eyelashes to hide the anger in her eyes while she considered how best to respond to such base rudeness. ‘Not many in England,’ she finally said. ‘Most of what I own is back in Spain in the hands of the French.’

‘Does that include your late father’s estate in Langreo? Do the French have that too?’

Deciding that vagueness was probably the best policy to deflect him, she sighed and threw her hands in the air in a gesture of confusion. ‘I have no idea. You will have to excuse me, Don Felipe. Antonio dealt with issues of money and finance. I really have no idea – and I’m struggling to find out about what is left of my property and wealth in Spain.’

He lowered the veiled lids further over his eyes. She sensed that his mind was calculating something. ‘You will need help when the war is over, to reclaim what is yours.’

‘Most probably.’

‘You women are foolish when it comes to money and inheritance,’ he continued dismissively. ‘None of you ever know what it is you own. People will try to cheat you all the time.’

She forced a look of bewildered sadness onto her face. ‘Yes, you’re right, Don Felipe. I will probably need help to put my affairs into order once we return to a liberated Spain. I just find the whole thing upsetting. Thank you for your concern.’

‘I would see it as my duty to help you in these matters, Doña Magdalena. Don Antonio would have expected no less from me.’

‘Again, that is kind of you, Don Felipe. Very neighbourly.’

A broad grin of satisfaction spread across his handsome face. Suddenly he leant forward and took her hand in his. She tried to pull it away but his grip was like iron. ‘Perhaps we should consider the possibility that we can be more than neighbours?’

‘What—What do you mean?’

Fortunately, Teresa appeared at that moment, with a tray of steaming coffee and mismatched china crockery.

Don Felipe released Magdalena’s hand and took his cup without a glance at or a word of thanks to Teresa. He sat back in the chair. Across from him, Magdalena shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, conscious that his eyes were lazily undressing her.

‘You’re a mature and very beautiful woman, Doña Magdalena,’ he said. A lascivious smile now played on his lips as his veiled eyes once again shamelessly travelled over her breasts, her curvaceous hips and long legs. Magdalena felt like a prize heifer in a cattle market.

‘Thank you, Don Felipe,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘But you’re also a realist. You know how the world works. Your estates, which border mine, are extensive. Then there is your father’s estate to consider. A woman could never manage such responsibility alone.’ His voice assumed a businesslike tone. ‘You will need a man, a protector, when you return to Spain. Firstly, you will need to re-establish your right to your land – and then you will need help to manage the estates, someone to handle the finances and make the decisions.’