“Not at all,” Luten said.
“Who is taking care of young Willie?” Corinne asked.
“His nurse will stay with him until his uncle arrives. Willie is used to her and seems to like her. I shouldn’t be surprised if the uncle keeps her on. I daresay he will remove here to Redley Hall. His son can take over his own little place in Surrey for him. Someone must look after Willie’s estate. It will be a full time job.
“I shall call on the vicar to let him know he has two more funerals to perform. An odd thing he told me, t’other day.” A tension crept over the listening group, but Eggars didn’t notice. “Sir William and Lady Richardson have asked their lawyer to have the body found on your island buried in their family plot, Lord Byron. When they learned it was not Minnie Vulch, they believed it may be Nessie, Lady Richardson’s maid who disappeared. She must have had that molar extracted after she ran off on them. That was kind of them. I expect death was weighing heavily on their minds even then, knowing Sir William was so ill. There will be just room to slip her into a small grave on Sir William’s left side, with Lady Richardson on his right. We shan’t put any name on the tombstone, however. What a start it would give Nessie Landers if the body is not hers, and she ever came this way and saw her name on a tombstone!”
After a little more conversation, Eggars rose to leave. “Thank you for informing us about all this, Eggars,” Byron said, and accompanied him to the door.
When he returned he tossed up his hands.
“Voila!
The thing is done. I had no idea this is how the Berkeley Brigade goes about solving murders. Lying yourselves blue in the face, moving bodies, concealing evidence, creating evidence. I feel right at home. “
“Our leader is not a politician for nothing,” Prance said, with a smirk at Luten, who acknowledged the hit with a shrug and a smile.
“One does what one must to see justice done,” he said.
Coffen expanded on this. “We don’t so much just solve murders as try to see that justice is done, especially to the innocent. It ain’t always the same thing. Nice of Sir William to have arranged for his real wife to be buried alongside him. Just as well she’s simple, or she might resent Nessie being on his right side. So when are you and Corinne going to tie the noose, Luten?”
“Knot, Coffen,” Prance said with a shake of his head.
“Eh?” Coffen gave a wild look. “You mean it’s off again? What the deuce happened?”
“Not the noose, the knot.”
“Of course you have to knot it or it don’t work. Tarsome fellow.”
Prance lost his patience. “Of for goodness sake! Why can’t you say what you mean?”
“ 'Cause there’s a lady present,” Coffen glared back. “Now let’s get down to more important business.”
“He’s hungry — again,” Prance explained to their host.
“Nothing of the sort,” Coffen objected. “About them ghosts, Byron. I ain’t sure I’ve seen a real live one yet. There’ll be a few more about if Vulch and Minnie and Nessie and the rest of them decide to perform. I’ll take a stroll about the grounds tonight.”
“By all means,” Byron said, “but please don’t find any more dead bodies.”
“Don’t worry. Ghosts don’t have bodies. Prance tells me they’re incorporated.”
“Ah, going into business, are they?”
“Incorporeal, Pattle,” Prance said. “The word is incorporeal.”
Coffen nodded. “A dandy word, but don’t go putting it into that book you’re writing. It was all them big words that spoiled your
Rondeaux."
He stopped, rubbed his stomach and frowned. “Was you saying something just now about eating, Prance? I believe I could do with a nibble.”
Black realized his hours of joy were over. He resumed his role of servant and said, “Let me take care of it for you, Mr. Pattle.”
“Good man. Just a crust of bread and a piece of cheese will see me through till lunch.”
Prance was satisfied that Black was back in his place, Luten and Corinne were off in a corner with their heads together, and he had Byron to himself. He turned to his host and said, “About that Black Monk, Byron, you were going to tell me of your experiences the night he visited you in your bed chamber. I want all the chilling details for my gothic novel.”
“I wrote an account of it at the time. I’ll have a look about and see if I can find it.”
As they strolled off together, Prance lifted his arm to place over Byron’s shoulder, then lost his nerve and lowered it. As far as Prance was concerned, the real holiday was just beginning. There would be time for the delightful intimacies of discussing poetry, their projected trip to Greece, and perhaps to hint Byron into writing a forward for his novel. He must also find time to organize the nuptials of Luten and Corinne. It looked like a busy year ahead.
Joan Smith is a graduate of Queen's University in Kingston, Ontario, and the Ontario College of Education. She has taught French and English in high school and English in college. When she began writing, her interest in Jane Austen and Lord Byron led to her first choice of genre, the Regency, which she especially liked for its wit and humor.
She is the author of over a hundred books, including Regencies, many with a background of mystery, for Fawcett and Walker, contemporary mysteries for Berkley, historical mysteries for Fawcett and St. Martin's, romances for Silhouette, along with a few historicals and gothics. She has had books in the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, had one book condensed in a magazine, and has been on Walden's Bestseller list.
Her favorite travel destination is England, where she researches her books. Her hobbies are gardening, painting, sculpture and reading. She is married and has three children. A prolific writer, she is currently working on Regencies and various mysteries at her home in Georgetown, Ontario.
Copyright © 2013 by Joan Smith
Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.