“Is that why you call him evil? I thought townsfolk commonly turned a blind eye to smuggling, some even participating in it.”
“No, warn’t his dealin’ with the Frenchies, was the other.”
“What ‘other?’“ I persisted.
“Peculiar things, evil things, that’s what,” the farmer said, raising his voice. “Things no real gentleman would involve hisself with. Sir Simon was no gentleman. And if ye were a gentleman ye wouldn’t be tryin’ to find his house.”
With that, the farmer shut the door in my face. Damn and blast! I mounted my horse and set off at a near gallop down the moonlit road the farmer had indicated, cursing each new delay. The farmer had neglected to tell me the road branched into two on the way. I grant you he could not have known about the fallen tree. After I took a false turn, and a bone-rattling jump over the tree, the house finally came into view down a tree-lined lane.
I slowed my horse to a halt, taking in the lay of the land. A long, circular drive of crushed shells led to a large brick manor. The house looked respectable enough from the outside, with well tended lawns and shrubbery. Light could be seen coming from within. The problem was where to leave my horse so I might approach the house on foot without being seen.
Glancing around, I noted a thicket of trees to the right and behind the house. Slowly, and as quietly as I could, I led the horse to this area, dismounted and secured him to a tree.
“Don’t move, I have a pistol.”
I froze, my fist closing around my dog’s head stick, then recognizing the voice, I relaxed. “What you ought to have is a good pair of spectacles.”
“Who is that?”
“If you would put that gun away and come closer you would see it is I, George Brummell, Miss Lavender.”
She stepped out from behind a nearby tree, leaves rustling under her booted feet, and I caught my breath. Seeing a lady with her hair down, after all, is a husband’s privilege. Her auburn hair streamed out from around her face in a tangled mass of curls that hung halfway down her back. The glossy strands gleamed sensuously in the moonlight.
Perceiving my scrutiny, she raised her chin. By way of explanation she said, “I had to ride on the outside of the coach that brought me to Hove. Not all of us can afford to pay the price for an inside seat.”
“Your hair is—is quite lovely,” I said, suppressing a sudden desire to touch those soft tresses. I cannot like the effect Miss Lavender sometimes has on my senses.
“I lost my pins in the wind, otherwise I would have attempted to constrain it. But never mind my hair. What are you doing here, Mr. Brummell? I thought you too busy with dinner parties and your social life to involve yourself in my problems.”
“You wound me,” I said, placing a hand over my heart. “Here I have ridden
ventra à terre
to come to your aid and . . . er, I say, could you put that gun away? Does your father know you possess such a weapon?”
“Who do you think taught me to shoot?” she replied, lowering the gun.
“Does he know you are nearsighted?”
“I am not nearsighted!”
“Yes, you are. What prevents you from wearing spectacles?”
“The fact that I don’t need them,” she said in a voice one might use to speak to a dim-wit.
“Perhaps you care for what is fashionable after all,” I mused aloud.
And perhaps Mr. Lavell, the grocer, would not care for a wife with spectacles, I thought.
“That’s not true,” she said hotly. “Unlike you, I cannot waste my time trying to dress and look flawless.”
“Dressing well is not a waste of time.”
“Yet you suffer from boredom, don’t you? Else you would not be involved in yet another murder investigation would you now, Mr. Brummell? That’s all right,” she said before I could answer. “There’s no need for you to admit it. You strike me as a man too intelligent to be satisfied with merely having perfected the knot in his neckcloth.”
I bowed. “Your generosity when it comes to my character warms my heart. It grieves me to tell you I cannot return the compliment in the matter of your own intelligence. Or perhaps intelligence is not the proper term, for you are knowledgeable. Common sense is the commodity of which you are in short supply.”
“What!”
“Do not shout. An educated female, which no doubt you are, who journeys from London to Brighton alone, without the company of even a maid, can only be thought of as hen-witted.”
“How dare you? I ought to rub dirt on your neckcloth!”
“I beg you will restrain yourself. Come now, let us cry friends, and indeed, allies, since we are here for a similar purpose. How long has it been since you arrived?”
Miss Lavender’s eyes smoldered, but at last she said, “Only a few minutes. I had to walk all the way out here from where the coach stopped in the town centre. I believe this to be the house the Frenchwoman described.”
“Yes, Marie said it had a brass jackal’s head for a door knocker, and this one does,” I said. Suddenly, I remembered the animal-shaped patch Sir Simon wore near his mouth. It could very well have been the shape of a jackal. And I thought I had seen that shape on a ring, but I could not recall who had been wearing it.
“Marie? Who is Marie?”
“Oh, I have not had a chance to tell you, have I?” I said, my thoughts returning to the matter at hand. “I paid a visit to your shelter, and the Frenchwoman spoke to me. Her name is Marie.”
Miss Lavender’s lips parted in surprise. Diverted by the action, I had to ask her to repeat the question. She said, “How did you get her to talk?”
“Chakkri, my cat, helped. You see, Marie has a fondness for cats.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed she spends a lot of time petting Marmalade.”
“Indeed, I observed the same thing. I thought if I were to go home, collect Chakkri, and bring him along, the Frenchwoman might relax enough to speak to me. The notion proved a good one. Marie revealed not only her name, but the fact that her young lady had died. I believe Marie was a governess or companion to a French lady of genteel birth.”
Miss Lavender shivered in the night air. “Goodness, that is terrible, but would the death of a young girl account for the severely shocked state Marie is in?”
“It would if the young lady was murdered,” I said grimly. Then I told Miss Lavender about the body Freddie and I had found on the Brighton beach, how the doctor had proclaimed that she had died of a blow to the head, and how the cross the unfortunate girl wore was a larger, more expensive version of the one Marie held clutched in her hand.
Miss Lavender shook her head sadly. “This is appalling. Do you think Marie witnessed the murder?”
“I do not know. She became upset again before I could question her further. There is more, though.”
“Faith! What else?”
“On my way here, I stopped to ask directions of a farmer. He told me who this house belonged to. Does the name Sir Simon mean anything to you?”
“He’s the hero who died testing snuff for the Prince of Wales!” she exclaimed.
“Wrong. He did die after inhaling snuff at the Prince’s table. However, I cannot believe he is a hero. He was a smuggler who had used this house as a base of operation for his free-trading, and for some other nefarious doings.”
“But he saved the Prince’s life. Father told me so.”
“I believe Sir Simon was the intended victim of the poisoning all along. A view scoffed at by Bow Street, I might add.”
“Why? Why don’t you believe the Prince’s life was at risk?”
“Because of a simple lack of credible suspects. Ones who had the necessary motive along with the opportunity the dinner at the Pavilion presented. I have given this matter a great deal of time and thought. No one there that night disliked the Prince enough to want to kill him.”
“But who might want to kill Sir Simon?”
“That is a question I have not yet had time to explore.”
“Do you feel a smuggling partner who felt cheated might be responsible?”
“I cannot say, but no one of that nature was at the Prince’s table the night Sir Simon died. Mayhaps the killer’s reason for murder had nothing to do with the smuggling nature of his enterprise. The farmer I spoke to hinted at some other, even more unsavoury activities that Sir Simon was involved in.”
“What activities?”
I took a deep breath. “I have some ugly suspicions, Miss Lavender, and for that reason, I want to escort you back to Brighton. Then, I shall come back here and see if I can gain entry to that house.”
“You’ll do no such thing! What do you think I’m here for?”
“I realise you came out here with the intention of helping Marie. But this is more complicated than you thought. The situation could be very dangerous. We will find a respectable inn where you might partake of a meal while I find out what is going on.”
“No!” she exclaimed, a stubborn look on her face. “I’m staying with you. I shan’t be tucked away like a child.”
Gazing at the disheveled woman before me, I thought she hardly resembled a child. A Scottish temptress would be a more apt description.
Still, I could not allow her to place herself in any further danger. I opened my mouth to tell her so, when the sound of a gunshot startled both of us.
“It came from the house!” Miss Lavender said. She lifted her skirts and ran out of the copse of trees we had been standing in before I could stop her.
I dashed after her, silently cursing her impetuous nature.
Approaching the house, I caught up to her, grasping her arm and spinning her around to face me. “Go back to the relative safety of those trees!”
She tugged her arm out of my grip. “No!”
“Fine, but you are putting me at the mercy of your father’s wrath should anything untoward happen to you,” I said. “I shall not thank you if he has me drawn and quartered. At least stay behind me,” I said. With that, I strode toward where light revealed a set of tall glass doors swinging open into the night air. Then, the sound of hoofbeats caused me to fling a protective arm in front of Miss Lavender.
We hurried along the side of the house in time to see a masked rider galloping into the night on horseback.
“He’s away,” Miss Lavender said.
“Yes, let us see what he left behind. Allow me to go in first,” I cautioned.
Stepping through the open glass doors, I found myself behind a large desk in a study. Moaning could be heard from the other side.
I advanced into the room.
The body of a large man lay on the floor, a bright red spot growing in the centre of his chest.
“Heaven save us!” gasped Miss Lavender.
“Go outside,” I told her, but she did not obey. Why was I not surprised?
I moved closer to the man, whom I recognized as one of Sir Simon’s brutish footmen. A muscular, bald fellow, he lay bleeding. When he saw me, he tried to raise his arm.
“ ‘Elp me. Oi’m shot.”
Crouching down next to him, I saw the ball had entered in the region of his heart. While I am no doctor, it was clear nothing could save him. Still, I reached around his neck and untied his dirty neckcloth. “Who are you?” I asked. “Who did this?”
He pressed his hand to the wound, perhaps to try to stanch the flow of blood, but it was pointless. “Wheeler. Jemmy Wheeler. Oi’m shot. ‘Elp me.”
“Who shot you?” I asked.
He looked at me and blinked. “Know you. That night, in the alley . . . ‘e ordered it done.”
Good God, he was one of the men who had attacked me. “Who gave the order?” I demanded.
But the man was in shock, losing blood fast. “Oi can’t believe ‘e shot me. ‘E never shot Sir Simon.”
“Tell me who did this,” I commanded again, more urgently. “Why would he shoot Sir Simon?”
“Blackmail. Sir Simon blackmailed ‘im.” Wheeler looked puzzled. “‘E never shot Sir Simon,” he said, his breath rattling in his throat.
My voice rose along with my frustration. “What man? What man blackmailed Sir Simon?”
“The fine gentleman what killed the virgin girl,” Wheeler said in a weak voice. Then his head rolled to one side, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the desk. I would get no more information from him.
“Oh, Lord,” Miss Lavender moaned.
I stood and walked to her side. “There was nothing we could have done for him. And he did not do enough for us.”
“Aren’t you being rather callous? The man has just lost his life!” Miss Lavender’s eyes were wide, and she leaned against the side of the desk. Another female might have fainted at the events unfolding.
“He and a partner beat me senseless the other night. And for all we know, he was involved in a blackmail scheme. No, I have little pity for Wheeler. I am more concerned for your well-being.”
“I am fine,” Miss Lavender said.
Her hands clutched her cloak tightly around her chest. Noting they were steady, I looked about the room. Intent on finding out what Sir Simon had been involved in, I walked around Miss Lavender to the desk and began pulling drawers open.
“What are you doing? Shouldn’t we be sending for help, the magistrate, perhaps?”
“Spoken like a true Bow Street investigator’s daughter. We shall send for help, but not until I have some answers.” I thrust my hand into the back of a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Scanning the lines, I determined it was a list of goods brought in on a ship from France.
The contents of the other drawers revealed nothing more than household papers, a few bills—I raised an eyebrow at one from Sir Simon’s tailor, noting the man’s name so I could avoid
him—and a letter from a hopeful sea captain wishing to join Sir Simon’s organization.
Sitting back in the leather chair behind the desk, I pondered over where Sir Simon might have kept his secret papers. Why, in a secret drawer, of course.
“What are you doing under the desk?” Miss Lavender asked a moment later.
“Searching for—ah, here it is.” I released the mechanism hidden behind one of the drawers. A small compartment opened, releasing its contents to the carpet. I gathered them up, tossed them on the top of the desk, and seated myself in the chair once more.