“We should’ve asked the postman if Vulch had got any interesting mail,” Coffen said, and made note of this for future cases.
“Eggars should have,” Luten added.
“In a small place like this, the postman would’ve known. He might even have known the letters were from Minnie. I daresay he’d be afraid to say so, if Vulch threatened him.”
“So the body is not Minnie’s and Vulch knew it,” Luten said. “I wager he lied about the missing tooth as well.”
“I fancy he was well paid for letting on the body was hers,” Coffen said. “He must have been worried that she’d come pouncing back to give the lie to his story. I wonder if he wrote to her, staving her off.”
“He must have had some plan to keep her away permanently. Either murder her or bribe her. Or perhaps he intended to take his money and join her in London. The question is, whose body was in that grave?”
“The only other missing girl we know of is that Nessie Landers, Lady Richardson’s maid. And she never was here, really.”
“We’ll give these letters to Eggars,” Luten said, sliding them into his pocket. “Whoever the poor girl was, her remains won’t be spending eternity next to Vulch at least."
They rode back to Newstead to relate their findings.
“If the body isn’t Minnie’s, it must be Nessie’s,” Prance said. “No other girl was missing at that time.”
“Not Nessie. The tooth,” Coffen said.
“We have only Lady Richardson’s word for Nessie’s full set of teeth,” Prance retorted. “Vulch knew somehow that the corpse on the island was missing a tooth, and claimed that Minnie had the same. How could he have known, if the murderer hadn’t told him?”
“He could know if he knew the girl well,” Luten mentioned, “though I agree it’s more likely he was in league with the murderer.”
Prance said, “Eggars claims the coroner kept that missing tooth a dark secret. The Richardsons are the only ones who would have known if Nessie was missing that molar.”
“She said Nessie had all her teeth. Why the deuce would she lie about it?” Coffen demanded, his frustration turning to anger. “Tarsome fellow. She has nothing to lose or gain, one way or t’other.”
Byron, afraid Coffen would revert to the women involved in his youthful orgy, said, “Vulch would have known about the missing tooth if he was the fellow Nessie ran off with.”
“Yes, by Jove, he would,” Coffen agreed readily. “I suspected that early on, if you recall.”
“Or it could be some poor girl who was just passing through the neighborhood and fell in with bad company,” Byron continued. Then after a frowning pause he added, “Some poor girl with a missing molar.”
“That Vulch knew about. Unlikelier and unlikelier.” Coffen made a scoffing noise and muttered, “Coincidence.”
“But why wasn’t she missed?” Prance asked. “Was the poor creature so alone in the world that no one, not one single, solitary soul bothered to ask about her when she disappeared?”
“Might have been a fallen woman,” Coffen said. “Or some poor girl like Minnie, running away from trouble at home. Frustratin’. How could we find out if Vulch was Nessie’s seducer now that he’s dead? There was no clues at his house. Anyone got an idea?”
“Who might know something is Minnie,” Corinne said. “She should be notified of Vulch’s death in any case. She can safely come home now.”
“By the living jingo, she’s right!” Coffen cried. “I expect she still lives on Wild Street.”
“She must be notified, certainly,” Luten said, “but I doubt Vulch would have told her if he was carrying on with Nessie. Still, it’s worth a try.”
“I’ll write and ask Black to ankle along and have a word with her,” Coffen said. Black was Corinne’s extremely efficient butler, totally dedicated to pleasing his mistress.
“Or p’raps you’d best do it, Corrie. I’m not much of a hand for writing. Black would wear himself to a bone for you.”
She agreed and wrote up her request immediately, giving Black a full outline of the doings at Newstead, to go out in the next morning’s post.
Eggars arrived after lunch to hear the details of Vulch’s murder, and to have the body removed for examination. Luten gave him the documents and letters and told him about the gold missing from the chest.
Eggars pierced Luten with a gooseberry green eye and said, “How do you know there was ever gold in the chest, milord?”
“I saw it. I was there one night.”
“Invited? Were you an acquaintance of Vulch?”
Luten looked down his aristocratic nose and leveled a haughty stare at his inquisitor. “Certainly not. I was not invited. In fact, Vulch wasn’t home at the time. I was endeavoring to help you with the investigation, as you were having so little success. You might, for instance, have enquired at the post office if Minnie Vulch had written to anyone.”
Eggars quickly scanned the wisdom of coming to cuffs with Luten and more importantly to him, Lord Byron, and came down on the side of caution. “So it seems the gold was the reason for Vulch’s murder,” was all he said.
“That is one explanation. It leaves unanswered the question of why Vulch claimed the body was his wife’s, when he knew perfectly well she was still alive. Why would he do it, except for money? What you must discover is the identity of the body that was on the island, and who killed the girl.”
“But no one is missing! She’s not from around here. And it was so long ago.”
“There is no statute of limitations on murder, Eggars. If you feel out of your depth, we can send to London for a Bow Street officer to take over the case.”
“I’ll have a go at it first. Can you take me to see Vulch now?”
“You’ll want to do something about Diablo as well,” Coffen said to Eggars. “Vulch’s mount. You can’t leave him abandoned in a filthy stall. His milcher wants seeing to as well.”
“I’ll arrange something. Any farmer will look after the cow for the free milk. Diablo will be sold to pay for Vulch’s funeral,” was Eggars’ reply.
He was turned over to the butler, who turned him over to a footman, who led him along corridors to where the body lay on a table, covered with a blanket.
“I am sick to death of murder,” Prance said, and sighed. “Shall we begin decorating the hall to cheer ourselves up?” No one expressed interest in this. It seemed inappropriate to be preparing for a party when there was a corpse in the house.
“Then I shall run into Nottingham and see how the choir robes are coming along. Are you interested, Corrie?” he said, turning to her.
She did not particularly want to return to Nottingham, but she felt Mrs. Ballard deserved an outing, and Mrs. Ballard would certainly not go with Reggie alone.
“What do you say, Mrs. Ballard?” she said. “Shall we go for a spin? You haven’t been to Nottingham.”
Mrs. Ballard’s sparkling eyes belied her uncertain answer. “If you like, milady, I would be happy to accompany you.”
Prance was happy too. Mrs. Ballard would certainly want to visit the shops, which would leave him time to pay a call on Miss Challoner without Corinne’s company.
Luten and Byron remained behind to show Eggars where the body was discovered, and to discuss the case further with him. Coffen went back to the forest with them, and stayed to search again for clues, and to think about those he already had.
Prance’s carriage no sooner arrived in Nottingham than Mrs. Ballard remembered she required new stockings for the Christmas party. Mrs. Ballard was no squeaky wheel to demand oil or anything else, but her speech was recognized as a hint that she would like to tour the High Street and browse through the shops. This and her weekly whist game with her crones in London for a penny a point were her idea of high times. Her winnings, if any, were donated to charity to counteract the wickedness of gambling. Her losses were absorbed without complaint.
“I shall want your opinion on the robes, Mrs. Ballard,” Prance lied. “Why don’t I just run along and have a word with Miss Challoner and meet you two at Mrs. Addams’s house in — say, an hour?”
This was agreed upon and they parted, the ladies to buy the stockings (black, lisle) and poke through the fabrics, laces, ribbons and buttons at the drapery shop, finishing with a quick pick through the wares at the everything store on the corner, where Mrs. Ballard was seduced into buying a packet of hair pins. Meanwhile, Prance tried his luck with Miss Challoner, whom he found knee deep in linen, stitching away at one of the robes. She was delighted to have the tedium of a dull winter’s afternoon alleviated by an eligible male visitor, and made him so welcome he feared she had set her cap for him, and left earlier than he intended. With half an hour to kill, he looked around for a rare book for Byron, but he found nothing to match the Alexander Pope.
The ladies were already with Mrs. Addams when he arrived at the appointed time. She had interrupted her work to serve them tea.
“The robes are coming along splendidly, Reg,” Corinne said, showing him the fine stitching on the one Mrs. Addams had been working on.
He examined it and expressed himself more than satisfied.
“I make all Lady Richardson’s gowns,” she said, smiling proudly, “and she, you must know, is extremely fussy.” Prance and Corinne exchanged a knowing smile.
“You do her proud, Mrs. Addams,” he said, “She is always smartly turned out.”
“I dress her better than when she arrived, if I do say so myself. But from Jamaica, of course. They would know nothing about dressmaking there. Her ladyship’s gown was ill-fitting, tighter across the bodice than English ladies favor. Mind you she said she had gained weight since having it made, but still, she hadn’t grown taller, had she? And the gown was six inches above her ankles! ‘That’s the way we wear them in Jamaica because of the heat, Mrs. Addams,’ she told me. ‘Oh that will never do
here,
madam,’ says I. ‘English ladies don’t walk about with their ankles exposed.’ I made her up two days gowns and two evening gowns and a riding habit and I don’t know what all. In a great rush she was, for she didn’t dare to show her nose in public until she had something decent to wear. Then when her condition began to show — she was enceinte at the time — I had to make her up a few more gowns. She’s been very good for business. She sends all her friends to me.”
“It almost sounds as if she was wearing someone else’s gowns when she arrived,” Prance said, shooting a glance at Corinne, who was listening with close attention and a questioning look in her eyes.
“It was certainly a lady’s gown. Well made, and of good material. A little lighter than we would wear here, you know, because of the climate. A good enough gown, but they just didn’t know how to fit them in Jamaica.”
“She was fortunate to find you, and so were we,” Prance said. They finished their tea and soon left, for they were bursting to discuss what they had heard.
“Is it possible Lady Richardson is an
impostor?”
Corinne gasped.
“I know just what you’re thinking, and the same thing occurred to me,” Prance said at once. “She murdered Lady Richardson and has taken her place. The body on the island was Lady Richardson, and
she
is someone else.”
“She’s Nessie!” Mrs. Ballard squeaked, and covered her mouth in shock at what had come out of it.
“Exactly!” Prance crowed. “Nessie is the only person who accompanied them from Jamaica, so there was no one to point out the exchange of identities.”
“There was Sir William,” Corinne said. “He must be in on it too.”
“Of course he is,” Prance said. “He’s in it up to his ears. He’s probably the one who killed Lady Richardson. I can’t see the person he calls his wife hauling the body about and digging that grave. Vulch found out somehow, and has been holding them to ransom. It explains everything — why Vulch let on the body was Minnie’s, and where his gold came from, and why they killed him.”
“It all fits,” Corinne said. “But with Vulch dead, how can we prove it? He was the only one who knew. Well, except for people in Jamaica.”
“Vulch might have told Minnie,” Prance said. “We must make sure no one tells them Black is going to see her.”
Mrs. Ballard spoke without being spoken to again, which was something she seldom did. “If there’s anything to be learned from her, Black will ferret it out,” she said, meaning no compliment. She considered Black a nosy upstart.
They discussed this new turn of events all the way back to Newstead. The more they discussed it, the more the details fell into place. Redley Hall had been in Lady Richardson’s family for hundreds of years, so of course they would know all about Newstead Abbey, and the abandoned folly on the island, where the body was buried.
Lady Richardson had attempted to keep Corinne away from Mrs. Addams to prevent her learning that she had arrived in England in gowns that didn’t fit her.
“It also explains why that social climber calling herself Lady Richardson doesn’t insist on a season in London,” Prance said. “She’s afraid she’ll run into someone who knew them in Jamaica,”
They discussed the case all the way home, without finding one single item that didn’t jibe with their theory. They passed Eggars leaving in his jig as they turned off the main road to the abbey road. Shortly behind him was a wagon carrying Vulch’s body, covered in blankets. Twilight had already fallen in the short days of December. The other members of the party were in the salon, enjoying tea. In the normal way, Mrs. Ballard would have darted up to her room, but on this occasion she was so curious she sidled into the salon and sat quietly, listening.
Byron looked up and smiled. When he realized he was staring at Corinne, he said hastily, “The robes must be progressing satisfactorily, Prance. You have the gleam of success in your eyes.”
“The robes are fine, just fine, but that is not what puts the gleam in my eyes. It is something much more important.” He allowed his audience a few moments’ silence for imagination to soar, wondering what he could have discovered. Whatever they thought, he knew his announcement would eclipse it in wonder.
“Don’t stand there like a bloated frog, Reg. Tell us,” Coffen urged.
“We have discovered that Lady Richardson is not, in fact, Lady Richardson. We believe she is none other than Nessie Landers.”