The Bloodied Cravat (22 page)

Had he been the one to erase it forever?

Our arrival in Bruton Street put a stop to my deductions. I alighted from the conveyance and opened the front door.

A single candle on the hall table provided a dim light.

Ned and Ted walked past me to put the chair away into a large cupboard towards the rear of the hall.

Thus I was alone when I turned to close the door and out of the shadows, a crouched figure leapt in front of me.

“Lionel!” I admonished. “Do not jump out of the shrubbery at people like that.”

“Sorry, sir,” the boy said, cowering under my reproach. “I been waitin’ for you. I expect I fells asleep.”

His demeanor brought to mind another boy. Myself. I well remember the times I squirmed under my father’s baleful gaze. I had never been able to please him, no matter what I did. Even though he has been dead since I was fifteen, I sometimes feel he lives by way of a nagging voice in my head, always critical.  He did not live to see me rise in Society. I often wonder what he would think of me now.

I softened my voice. “You should not be out at this late hour, halfling.” At that moment the watchman called, “Two of the clock and a clear night” as if to underline my point.

The boy grinned. “Now there’s where you’re wrong, sir. This time ‘o night is exactly when folks ‘ave been takin’ in lots of gin. Makes it easier to get whatever you want from them.”

I motioned for him to enter the hall. “What did you find out?”

Lionel did not answer at once. Even though the light in the hall was low, the boy’s awed gaze went over the black and white tiled floor, the polished mahogany table on which a vase containing fresh flowers rested, the unlit crystal chandelier, the gleaming banister which led upstairs.

“Lionel?” I prompted.

“Yes, sir,” he turned back to me, eager to tell all. “Man you’re lookin’ for goes by the name of Neal. ‘E don’t have no rooms, leastways not that anybody knows about. Spends time in the country for some reason.”

“He has business in the country upon occasion,” I explained.

“But when ‘e is in London, ‘e sleeps on the floor of The Jolly Cow tavern in Little White Lion Street,” the boy said naming a road in the Seven Dials area. He lowered his voice, “Word is, Neal’s an opium eater. Best have a care, iffen you’re gonna’ have dealings with the likes of ‘im.”

Lionel was right about that, I thought grimly. I pulled coins out of my pocket, an amount exceeding the sum I had given the boy earlier. “Here now, you have earned this extra. I am proud of you. Even in this dim light I can see that you have come to no harm over this night’s adventures.”

Lionel’s eyes gleamed at the coins. “Thank you, Mr. Brummell!”

“However, I shall not have you running back to Covent Garden alone at this time of night.”

“I’ll be bloody fine! Don’t you worry about me none.”

“Best not let Miss Lavender hear you use the word ‘bloody’. Most gentlemen do not, you know. Now wait here while I find Ned and Ted. They will carry you in my sedan-chair back to the Haven of Hope.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open.

A few minutes later when I returned with the twins and they pulled the chair from its cupboard, Lionel was the very picture of astonishment. “Odsbodikins! I’m to ride in that grand thing?”

“Yes,” I told him, smiling.

He entered the vehicle reverently, running his hands over the white satin seat and reaching down to touch the white fur that covered the floor. When he looked back at me, his eyes shone.

I gave instructions to Ned and Ted, commanding them to return without dallying about with Molly.

Before I closed the door, I studied Lionel. “You have been very brave tonight, prowling through the streets of Seven Dials for me. Why, now that I think of it, you remind me of a lion. Even the way you crouched in the shrubbery waiting for me makes me think you more a Lion then a Lionel. Do you care for the nickname?”

The boy’s face split into a wide grin. “I likes it!”

I nodded. “Very well. I shall call you Lion, henceforth.”

The door to the sedan-chair closed, and Ned and Ted went out carrying their charge.

I began climbing the stairs, only to see Robinson standing at the top, aghast at the scene he had witnessed. “Sir, you are not thinking of taking that urchin into our home, are you? We already have the feline and those two country yokels.”

“Ah, Robinson, as much as I think I would enjoy conversing with him, Lion belongs with Miss Lavender.”

“Very good, sir.”

From the inflection in his voice, he might as well have said, “Thank God in heaven, sir.” I ascended the stairs and strode past him into my bedchamber. The first thing I noticed was that Chakkri stood looking out the window into the darkness. His tail lashed back and forth. At my entrance, he turned with a “reow” and jumped on the bed.

“Good evening, old boy. Or should I say good morning?”

“Goodbye forever is even better,” Robinson muttered.

I swung around to face him. “Have you quite recovered from your earlier ailment?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, a touch of guilt in his voice. “I shall just get your nightclothes out of the wardrobe.”

Contrite, was he? Well, that was as it should be. Taking a tisane from his lady friend and then being unable to perform his duties. Bah!

The valet helped me ready myself for bed with exceptional care. His last act was to hand me a small glass of well-aged brandy. Wonderful stuff!

“Robinson,” I said after taking a sip. “When we were at Oatlands, did you ever hear about a man called Neal? He is known to have a reddish birthmark on his cheek.”

“Why, yes, sir,” Robinson said, replacing the brandy decanter on a side table. “Quite a bit of gossip about him ran through the servants’ hall.”

I eyed him sharply. “Tell me everything.”

“This Neal person worked for Doctor Wendell.”

“Doctor Wendell!” I exclaimed. My theory of the loyal doctor helping Miss Cranworth kill Lord Kendrick suddenly looked stronger, much to my dismay.

“Indeed, sir. Doctor Wendell employed him as a sort of messenger between Weybridge and the London apothecaries. I expect there were some medicines and compounds Doctor Wendell could not get locally.”

“Go on,” I said, thinking what a convenient job for an opium eater to work for a doctor.

“It seems Doctor Wendell found out Neal was stealing from him, though. He fired him over six months ago. Talk at Oatlands was that no one could understand why Roger Cranworth then hired the thief as his man of all work.”

“Roger Cranworth? Are you absolutely certain, Robinson?”

“Yes, sir. I saw Neal several times around Oatlands. You must have as well, though no one ever notices servants much.” This last was said in a pious tone.

“What? Who is putting such ideas in your head? Is it that lady friend of yours?”

Robinson stood with a stubborn expression on his face.

“Never mind now. What else do you know about Neal?”

“Once, when I went to the kitchens, he was taking as much food as he could from the larder. Cook clucked her tongue, but Neal’s a mean-looking fellow. I gained the impression she was afraid of him.”

“As well she should be. Robinson, I have reason to believe Neal is the very one who held up your coach.”

“He is the highwayman?” Robinson gasped. “You said you thought Lord Kendrick had been responsible.”

“I am certain he was, but as we both know, he would hardly do the dirty work himself. Remember you told me it was no member of the nobility who held up your coach.”

“That is correct, sir. Do you think Lord Kendrick and Mr. Cranworth were partners?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Will this help you find her Royal Highness’s letter?”

“I believe it will. Leave me now, Robinson. I must think.”

“Very well. Good night, sir.”

I sat up in bed, my mind working furiously. Neal was the one Roger and Lord Kendrick had actually doing the thievery. Then, I imagined, Neal would bring the bounty back to his employers. Probably kept an item or two for himself to pay for his opium.

 Chakkri moved across the bed to sit beside me. His dark blue eyes looked into mine.

“Let us think back now, Chakkri. The first night of the house party, which was the day Robinson was held up, I overheard that conversation between Cecily and Roger. At the end of it, Roger said he was going out for a walk. He might have pre-arranged a nightly meeting with Neal. The trio must have known many coaches would be coming to Oatlands for the house party and would be ripe for the plucking. Why had they not robbed anyone else?”

Chakkri placed a paw on my arm.

Absently, I stroked the top of the cat’s head.

“Because once it was shown to him, Lord Kendrick realised the value of Freddie’s letter to me, that is why. There was no reason to keep up the highwayman scheme with such a plum in hand. But I am getting ahead of myself.

“Going back to that first night, let us say Neal meets Roger outside the grounds of Oatlands. I can imagine Neal’s conversation with Roger. He was disappointed there had been no jewellry in the coach he had robbed—mine—but there were some very fine clothes. And this book covered in blue velvet.”

“Reow,” said Chakkri, pushing his head into my hand. I had momentarily stopped petting him, a crime in his view.

“Roger takes the blue velvet scrapbook. He tells Neal to go back to London and sell the clothes, then return for further instructions.

“Evidently, Neal never returned to Weybridge. He probably kept some of the money from Mr. Kirkhead’s rag shop and bought more opium for himself.

“As for Roger, once he glanced through the pages, he must have known the blue velvet book was mine. My name appeared on the first page, on the letters, at the bottom of poems authored by me, on the drawings. Why did he not come to Freddie or me after reading Freddie’s letter, demanding money?”

Chakkri mumbled a reply through purrs.

“Of course! Roger must not understand French! Freddie’s letter was written in French. So then what?” Excited, I got out of bed and began to pace.

Chakkri shook himself.

“Roger has the blue velvet book. Lord Kendrick and Roger Cranworth are at odds over the fact the marquess will not marry Cecily. They argue. Perhaps Roger threatens to reveal Lord Kendrick’s participation in the highwayman scheme if the marquess continues to refuse to marry Cecily.”

I thought hard. What exactly had Freddie reported overhearing during the argument between the two men in her drawing room? I snapped my fingers. “Lord Kendrick told Roger that if he dared make any accusations or went against him, he would go to Squire Oxberry. I had thought at the time the men were arguing over a breach of promise suit, but I was wrong. Lord Kendrick must have threatened to tell the Squire that
Roger
had been behind the robberies. That would neatly serve two purposes: make the marquess look the part of a hero, and absolve him from any suspicion. For who would believe Roger if he tried to incriminate Lord Kendrick once the marquess had pointed the finger at him?”

Chakkri sat on his hind legs at the edge of the bed watching me.

“That must be what happened, old boy. Roger must have been scared. But he had my blue velvet book. As a last ditch effort, he must have told the marquess about it, ignorant of the book’s true value, but hoping to keep the marquess in the game. Remember? Freddie said that Roger had asked Lord Kendrick to come up to his room, that he had something to show him.”

“Reow!”

“Yes, it all makes sense. Lord Kendrick, being better educated, must have read Freddie’s letter, understood it, and immediately hatched the plan to blackmail her. But he certainly did not tell Roger Cranworth. Why would he? He would not have wanted to share this golden egg dropped into his lap. I imagine he may have even slipped the letter into his pocket and thrown the book back to Roger saying it was worthless. That way, Lord Kendrick could keep his blackmail scheme to himself, and Roger still had no hold over him regarding the marquess’s promise to marry Cecily.

“Now Lord Kendrick did not have to obey Freddie’s command to leave Oatlands. He felt in control of her, and me. He began exercising that control immediately when he told Freddie he had the letter, and later when he boasted to me during the picnic.”

I stopped pacing and looked at the cat. “But I cannot be certain that Lord Kendrick separated Freddie’s letter from the blue velvet book. I have no evidence that he did. The letter might still be tucked away in the blue velvet book.”

The question remained: Where was the letter?

My brain galloped along. Roger had been so smug at Lady Salisbury’s party. He had asked me for my direction. He had said he would be calling on me. Most importantly, he had asked if Freddie had arrived in London! Could it be?

“I think so, Chakkri. Roger must have somehow—and I know not how—found out about the importance of the letter and its contents.”

The cat lowered his head and licked a spot on his chest.

I felt a strong measure of frustration mixed with success. I might have deduced that Roger had the letter—perhaps it even now rested back inside the pages of the blue velvet book—but how long would it be before Freddie and I were put in immediate danger again? For who knew what Roger’s demands would be? I would have to get the letter from Roger. But how?

If I barged into his lodgings and demanded it, there could be a nasty scene, probably resulting in fisticuffs. I could best him, I knew, but if he and I were subsequently both seen publicly sporting bruises, that would not do. Timing and discretion in this entire matter were paramount.

Wait a moment. Perhaps there was another avenue to explore first. Why not approach Neal—plenty of coins in hand—and see if he might be able to return the blue velvet book and letter to me and foil Roger’s plans? Why not indeed.

I climbed into bed. One vital question still remained: Was Roger Cranworth angry enough at Lord Kendrick for ruining all his plans that he drove that sharp length of jet into the marquess’s neck?

“I believe I have the killer, Chakkri.”

“Reow!” said Chakkri, curling his tail into a “C.”