The Tainted Snuff Box (12 page)

“What think you of my costume?” he asked, holding his arms out to display his white coat.  I raised my quizzing glass.  His breeches were also white, and he sported a flaxen wig.  A white hat with a broad ribbon around the huge brim sat on the edge of the desk. 

“You are a pearl amongst men,” I prevaricated, letting the glass fall to my chest.

He bellowed with laughter.  “Ah, and you’re a knowing one.   I count many knowing ones among my acquaintances.”  He grinned, then his countenance sobered.  “But we’re here today on a matter that doesn’t induce mirth, does it?  Our Prince narrowly escaped being put to bed with a shovel—ah,” he interrupted himself. “Forgive me, I slip into cant too often.  I meant that but for the sacrifice of Sir Simon, an assassin would have accomplished his aim.”

A moan came from the bed.  Mrs. Fitzherbert patted Prinny’s hand.

Mr. Townsend nodded gravely.  “His Royal Highness insisted you be present during my questioning of the guests present, Mr. Brummell.  I’ve already discussed the poisoning with the good Doctor Pitcairn and know how Sir Simon died.  Now we need to find out who put the poison in the snuff box.  The Prince informs me that you are to help us discover the villain.”

“I shall do my best.”  The knowledge did not seem to affect the head of the Bow Street Police Office one way or another.  But then, as he had just said, Mr. Townsend likes associating with the upper circles of Society.

His colleague, on the other hand, did not seem in the least bit pleased at my arrival.  That man’s complexion turned a dull red, and the freckles on his face darkened.

“I’ve brought along a man from my office to assist us.  This is John Lavender,” Mr. Townsend informed me.  He gestured to the other side of the desk where the stockily-built Scotsman, whose bristly red hair was going to grey, stood. 

He need not have performed the introductions.  I am already acquainted with Mr. Lavender.  He was the Bow Street investigator assigned to the case of murder I had recently solved.  My involvement in that incident had chafed the Bow Street man, to put it mildly.  My acquaintance with his daughter did not sit well with the Scotsman either.

I hold a grudging respect for Mr. Lavender’s dedication to his work, but he has a way of shaking his finger at me, usually during a warning to stay out of his business, that I cannot like.  In addition, he always sports the same—unless he has a wardrobe full of them—salt and pepper game coat over worn corduroy breeches and scratched top boots.  Worse, he wears bushy side whiskers and an enormous mustache.  Frequently, a crumb of oatcake can be found in the latter.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lavender,” I said blandly.  I could not help but hope he held his tongue as to the nature of our past dealings.  I did not want it known in Society that I had worked with Bow Street.  My reputation as a foolish dandy might suffer, you know.

“Mr. Brummell,” the Scotsman said casually enough, but the slight burring of the “r” in my name gave away his annoyance at my presence.  Still, he seemed no more eager than I to reveal our knowledge of one another.

“Now, the first thing I need to know is who exactly was present at dinner last evening,” Mr. Townsend said, approaching the royal bed.

Mr. Lavender produced a tattered notebook. 

The Prince took a swallow of brandy.  “Hard to think clearly, Townsend.  I’ve been in a muddle since everything happened.”

Mr. Townsend nodded, the yellow curls remaining in stiff place.  “Understandable, sir, understandable.” 

“I can tell you,” I said.

Mr. Townsend swung around to face me.  “By all means, do so, Mr. Brummell,” he cried with a smile.

“To begin—” I started.

“We won’t be needing a description of what everyone was wearing.  Just their names,” Mr. Lavender interrupted, a stub of a pencil poised over the notebook.

As though I would resort to such an unnecessary narrative!  I took a deep breath.  “Besides his Royal Highness and myself, there was the Duchess of York, Lord and Lady Perry, Lady Bessborough—I am not going too quickly for you, Mr. Lavender, am I?”

“Continue,” was the terse reply.

“Lords Petersham and Munro, Signor Tallarico, Doctor Pitcairn, Arthur Ainsley, Lord and Lady St. Clair, and their two daughters.  Oh, and Sir Simon, of course.”

“The hero of the evening,” Mr. Townsend pronounced.

“God rest his soul,” the Prince murmured, then took another swallow of brandy.  Mrs. Fitzherbert removed the empty glass from his hand and put it firmly on the table.  Prinny might remember things a little better if sober.

“Is everyone on this list present at the Pavilion?” Mr. Lavender asked.

“No.  Lord and Lady Perry have returned to their rented house in Brighton, as have Lords Petersham and Munro,” I responded.

Mr. Lavender’s bushy eyebrows came together.  “What a pity witnesses were allowed to leave the scene of the crime.” 

“Everyone is still in Brighton, I assure you.”

“Your assurances mean everything to me, Mr. Brummell,” Mr. Lavender said.  “Mr. Townsend, we’ll be questioning these people now, won’t we?”

“Yes, Lavender.  You,” he said pointing to a footman.  “You will consult with my associate, request the presence of all the people on the list, and have them assembled in the Long Gallery.  No sense in telling them they can’t talk to one another.  They’ve had all night.”

The footman hurried to Mr. Lavender’s side. 

Mr. Townsend addressed the Prince.  “We need not involve the local magistrate, Mr. Kearley, any further, had we?”

“No, indeed not,” the Prince proclaimed.  “He’s a simpleton and has his hands full with a local matter.  A drowned girl.”

“A murdered girl,” I reminded him.

Prinny looked annoyed.  “Brummell, how can you pick over small points when we are discussing an attempt on my life?”

I shook my head in a manner that suggested I could not possibly be in my right mind to have thought of anything but his Royal Highness. 

Mr. Townsend said, “Lord and Lady St. Clair visiting, eh?  I know his lordship, a fine orator in Parliament from all accounts.  I’d value his opinion on what is going on here.”

He had his opportunity a few minutes later as Lord and Lady St. Clair were escorted into the room.  Lady St. Clair, dressed impeccably, stood to the side as her husband greeted the men.  Amidst much bowing, Mr. Townsend managed to elicit Lord St. Clair’s opinions.

I took up a position next to the fireplace to listen, a short distance away from where Mr. Lavender stood with his notebook.

“I have thought this matter over carefully,” Lord St. Clair said slowly.  “And I find that I hesitate to point a finger at anyone without hard evidence of his or her guilt.  Doing so would be irresponsible, since I saw no one put anything in the snuff box.”

“Admirable sentiments, St. Clair,” Prinny said, impatiently.  “But give us your opinion anyway.”

Lord St. Clair could do naught but answer.  “Well, then, I think that though he seems the logical suspect, Lord Petersham cannot be responsible.  He simply has no motive.”

I gazed upon his lordship in admiration.  Thank God someone else would come to Petersham’s defense.

Lord St. Clair continued, “In light of the fact that Napoleon, already Emperor of France, crowned himself King of Italy last May, I say it is deuced odd to suddenly find an Italian, namely Victor Tallarico, in our midst.”

I repressed a groan.

The Prince and Mr. Townsend looked at one another.  “He has an excellent point, your Royal Highness,” the head of Bow Street said.

Prinny grimaced.  “I knew it!  Did I not tell you there were threats to me from foreign soil, Brummell?”

I struggled to maintain my famous cool countenance.  “You did, indeed, sir.  But in the case of Signor Tallarico, I must say that Lord St. Clair cannot be remembering that the Italian is Lord Perry’s cousin.”

“Unfortunately, I do remember,” Lord St. Clair said regretfully.  “And while I agree wholeheartedly that Tallarico is from a good family, I must point out that the two men have not seen each other for years.  That fact, combined with a lack of other suspects, forces me to consider him as suspect.  I grant you, though such an action might be repellent to Tallarico’s good bloodlines, perhaps the new environment of Napoleon’s influence may have been enough to sway a weak man to new opinions.”

“A wise deduction, my lord, and one that merits our scrutiny,” Mr. Townsend said approvingly.  “We are in your debt.”

Lord St. Clair held up a hand.  “Again, I must repeat that I have no evidence on which to base my speculations, and that they are merely that:  speculations.”

“We are grateful, St. Clair,” the Prince said, then turned to Lady St. Clair.  “Do you have anything to add to what your husband has told us?”

Lady St. Clair looked surprised to have her opinion consulted.  “No, your Royal Highness.”

“You will ask your daughters if they saw or heard anything that may be of use to us?” Mr. Townsend asked.

“I already have,” Lady St. Clair said in a tone that implied she would never do less than her duty.  “Neither Prudence nor Chastity observed anything suspicious.”

Lord and Lady Perry were brought in after the St. Clairs took their leave.  Lady Perry, I noticed, seemed extraordinarily pale, and clung heavily to her husband’s arm.  During the introductions, Perry glanced over the assembled company, his gaze suddenly shifting from me, then back to Mr. Lavender.  He probably remembered my mentioning Mr. Lavender during the previous murder investigation.

With some annoyance, Perry said, “Look here, I do not mind answering any questions, but my wife is in a delicate condition.”

Lady Perry turned to him.  “It is all right, Anthony.  Please, Mr. Townsend, ask us what you wish to know.”

“Anything you can think of, dear lady, to help us determine who put the poison in the snuff box with the intention of killing the Prince.”

A choking sound came from the area of the bed. Mrs. Fitzherbert relented and poured Prinny a small amount of brandy.  He downed it in one gulp.

“I saw nothing, not even the effect the contents of the snuff box had on poor Sir Simon,” Lady Perry said.  “The ladies had already withdrawn to the Saloon.”

“Poor Sir Simon?” her husband repeated.  “The man was a blackguard.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mr. Lavender broke in. 

Perry paused.  I think he realized that he would now have to explain how he had challenged Sir Simon to a duel after the baronet had made disparaging remarks about pregnant women.  He looked at his wife in dismay.  Likely, he could not bring himself to speak of something so callous in front of Lady Perry.  He said, “I could not like the way the man was such a sycophant where his Royal Highness was concerned.”

“He saved my life!” Prinny cried.

“Of course we must be grateful to him for that,” Perry allowed.

“Lord Perry, I’d like to ask a few questions about your cousin, Victor Tallarico,” Mr. Townsend said.

“Victor?  Why Victor?” Lady Perry inquired, her hand going to her throat.  “What about him?”

“Nothing to be alarmed about,” Mr. Townsend hastened to assure her. “We just don’t know much about him since he’s new to England, isn’t he?”

Lord Perry was not fooled.  He seemed to perceive at once in what direction the Bow Street man’s thoughts were going, and spoke in a manner that let Mr. Townsend know he was speaking to an earl with three income-producing estates.  “Victor Tallarico is a rogue with the ladies.  Nothing more.  He has no political ambitions.  Neither my wife nor I saw anyone put anything in that snuff box.  We know of no one who would wish the Prince of Wales harm.  Should you have further questions, you may contact me at my Town house in Grosvenor Square.  The air in Brighton no longer seems beneficial to my wife’s health.”

Without another word, Perry bowed to the Prince, then took his wife’s arm and led her from the room.

“Defensive, wasn’t he?” Prinny asked the company in general.

“Very much so,” Mr. Lavender concurred.

“He may have been insulted.  Or he is hiding something about that cousin of his,” Mr. Townsend mused.  “You will question him further, Lavender.”

“Count on it,” the Scotsman replied.

“Sir,” I said, addressing the Prince.  “What of Arthur Ainsley?”

“Who?”  Mr. Townsend asked.

“Let us first speak to Victor Tallarico, then we can deal with the others,” Prinny said, dismissing Mr. Ainsley for the moment.

When Tallarico walked in the room, I could not prevent a wince when I saw he wore yet another pink waistcoat.  Obviously, it was some sort of personal trademark.

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and caught a glimpse of Mr. Lavender’s mocking gaze.  He must have comprehended my disapproval at the Italian’s choice in waistcoats.

Mr. Townsend took the direct approach with Signor Tallarico.  “State your business in England, sir.”

With a twinkle in his eye, the Italian gave the Bow Street man an elaborate bow, complete with several flourishes.  “I am here to enjoy the lovely seaside, the lovely countryside, and,” here he gave that smile of his that shows off his white teeth, “the lovely English women.”

“To what sovereign are you loyal?”  Mr. Townsend demanded.

“Venus,” the flamboyant Signor Tallarico responded promptly.

My God!

I meant that as an expletive, not literally. 

Mr. Townsend surprised me by laughing.  “If Mrs. Fitzherbert will forgive my speaking plainly in front of a lady, I’ll say that sentiment is shared by me.  But, you know very well I am inquiring as to your politics, sir.” 

My admiration for Mr. Townsend’s way of handling people grew.  He is a shrewd man, make no mistake.

Tallarico’s countenance changed.  He spoke in a low, serious voice.  “We’ll get our country back from that monster with help from our English friends.”  He turned toward the Prince of Wales and bowed.  This time, it was a respectful gesture, not like the comical demonstration he had given Mr. Townsend earlier.

 “Are you planning on staying in England long?” Mr. Lavender asked.

Tallarico shrugged.  “I do not know.  I plan to join my cousin, Lord Perry, in London.  I’ll see how things go there.”