To Mourn a Murder (16 page)

"I'll call on Lady Jergen tomorrow and quiz her," Luten said. "You might come along, Corinne. Two sets of ears are better than one."

They were still talking when Black appeared at the door carrying a cane and a pair of crutches. He had eavesdropped and darted across the street to procure these items from Luten's butler to astound his beloved with his efficiency. "Will Mr. Pattle be wanting his lordship's Bath chair as well, milady?" he asked Corinne.

"Thankee, Black," Coffen said. "I'll see how I go on with the crutches first."

The sleeping draft soon began to take hold. As Coffen's eyelids began to sag, Corinne removed the cup from his hand before the tea tilted on to her sofa. There was no need to worry about his pantaloons. Although Doctor Croft had carefully slit them up the seam, Coffen's valet wouldn't know how to repair them. They decided to get Coffen to bed while he was still able to hobble. With Black on one side, Prance on the other and the cane to assist, he was taken upstairs and put to bed by Black, wearing one of Black's nightshirts. It was a foregone conclusion that his own valet would be no use.

When Prance returned belowstairs he asked Luten his opinion about the trip to Brighton. "Yes, I think you should go," Luten said.

"Shall I call on you in the morning to discuss what inquiries I should make? It's late, and I can see Corinne is longing for her bed now."

Luten looked at his fiancée. Between worry for Coffen and the lateness of the hour she did look fatigued. The darkening smudges beneath her eyes made her appear vulnerable, and more beautiful to him. Her fluttering around Coffen reminded him of how she had nursed himself after his accident. That gentle, womanly streak had come as a delightful surprise to him. It was almost worth the busted ankle to have discovered it.

"We'll let you get some sleep now, my dear," he said to her, and placed a light kiss on her cheek before leaving. This was an indulgence he didn't usually allow himself in front of others. Under her influence he, too, was beginning to mellow in his personal relations.

While Prance wended his reluctant way to Brighton the next morning, Luten and Corinne called on Lady Jergen to see what they could discover of her circle of friends. She appeared to be on intimate terms with the whole of polite London. While they were there Lady Callwood paid her friend a visit. She was a perfect vision of beauty, swathed in a fur-trimmed mantle and fur hat that gave her somewhat the air of a saucy Cossack.

"You'll never guess what I'm doing for Guy Fawkes night," she announced with a reckless smile. "Going to the Pantheon! Callwood would kill me if he knew. He has no use for the place. Of course it is déclassé but they're having a huge show of fireworks outdoors at midnight, and Callwood will likely be at this club till all hours. I do hope he doesn't change his mind and want me to attend some dull party with him."

"Who is taking you?" Lady Jergen asked. "You can't go to a place like that unattended."

"Of course not. I'm going with a large and respectable party. Lord Deveril has reserved a table for twelve. I hinted to his good lady and she invited me. Why don't you get someone to take you, Adele? That nephew of yours will be there, I expect."

"I daresay Danby will be going. Perhaps I'll hint and see if I'm as good at it as you."

"You know he never refuses you anything."

While they were still chatting, Mr. Danby was shown in. Lady Callwood, never one to hang back, said, "Danby, how auspiciously you have arrived. I was just telling your aunt she should get you to take her to the Pantheon for Guy Fawkes night. They're having fireworks. I'm going."

Danby lowered his brow. "I doubt my aunt would enjoy going to a place like that."

"Oh but I would love to go," his aunt promptly informed him. "And you know Jergen would sooner slit his throat than go to a place where people were having fun. Do take me, dear. Jergen won't mind as long as I'm with you. You needn't waste your whole evening dancing attendance on your old auntie. I'm sure everyone will be there. Lady Callwood is going with Deveril's party, so it won't be just lightskirts."

Lady Callwood cast an impish smile at Danby and said, "Would the presence of lightskirts bother you, Danby?" He drew his brows together in a heavy scowl, yet his eyes were bright with mischief.

Watching the little by-play, Corinne was struck with the idea that these two were closer friends than they acknowledged. Perhaps even lovers, or ex-lovers. It was that kind of look—intimate, mischievous, teasing. Was she, in fact, urging him to go for the purpose of meeting her there? She admitted having carried on with her employer before her marriage. Now that Corinne considered it, it was odd that none of the eager debs had nabbed Danby. Such a wealthy bachelor was a rare prize on the marriage mart. Was Lady Callwood the reason?

"Actually," Luten said, "the place itself is still charming. Society should reclaim it and make proper use of it. I held a benefit there a while ago for Denise, the dancer who was retiring."

"I was there. It was a lovely party," Lady Callwood said. "A masquerade, as I recall."

"That's right. We raised a good sum for Denise."

Corinne's memories of that night were less pleasant. A valuable pearl necklace her late husband had bought her was stolen, snatched right from her throat. The court had decreed that it was entailed and was to be handed over to her brother-in-law in a few days. Recovering the necklace had brought her and Luten back together, and that made it all worthwhile.

Danby turned to Corinne. "What do you think, Lady deCoventry? If you are to attend, I shall take my aunt. You shall be the arbiter in the matter."

Her eyes flew to Luten. She would like very well to see the fireworks, but she knew Luten didn't like to take her to big public parties that could turn into brawls. "That will be up to Luten," she said.

"Oh fie!" Lady Callwood scoffed. "Make him take you. That's what I say."

"I notice you aren't making Callwood take you," Corinne replied.

"But we're married. Everyone knows a husband will never stir a finger to please his wife. A fiancé, on the other hand, must be more obliging."

"So, what is the verdict, milady?" Danby asked Corinne again.

"It must depend on how Luten is feeling," she said, and was unhappy with being made to look subservient. "His ankle still bothers him a good deal, you know," she added.

"I should be delighted to oblige my fiancée—if I feel up to it. We shall see," Luten said.

They escaped without giving a definite answer. The group chatted on a little longer. When Lady Callwood rose to leave, Luten and Corinne went with her. Danby remained behind with his aunt.

Luten accompanied Lady Callwood to her carriage. As he walked away, she lowered the window and called after him, "Have you heard from Miss Winchley yet?"

"No?" he said, his voice rising in a question.

"You will. I recommended you to her. Do help her if you can. She's such a dear."

"What is it about?" he called, but the carriage was already pulling away and she didn't hear.

He mentioned it to Corinne as they drove home. "Miss Winchley," she said. "She's some relation to you, isn't she?"

"A connection, not a relative. I wonder who she wants me to find a position for. That's what it will be."

When they discussed the meeting with Coffen later, he stared into the grate and said, "Pretty suspicious they were all so eager to find out if we'd be there, at the Pantheon." He had hobbled downstairs in a raffish scarlet robe borrowed from Black and sat in front of the fire, drinking cocoa and toasting his toes. "It'd be a dandy place for the Bee to strike again. The crowds and dominoes and all."

Corinne looked at Luten in alarm. "Oh dear, he's right," she said.

Luten rubbed his palm over his chin distractedly. "It's entirely possible. We'll go, just in case."

"Is Danby going?" Coffen asked.

"He was reluctant to commit himself, but Lady Callwood told him he must take his aunt, and he didn't disagree," Luten replied.

"I heard Lady Callwood asking him to save her a dance as we were leaving, so I assume he's capitulated–if there was really ever any doubt," Corinne added. "Did you notice she acted rather coy with Danby? I wonder if they're having an affair."

"I haven't heard anything of it."

"Guy Fawkes day is the night after tonight," Coffen said, in his usual jumbled way. "I'll be able to hobble about by then. I hope Prance is back. He'll fit me up with an outfit."

"He'll be back," Luten said. "He hates Brighton in the autumn."

"Who don't? All the same, I wish I was there," Coffen said, and poured himself another cup of cocoa.

Black appeared at the door and announced, "Miss Winchley to see Lord Luten. She called at Luten's place first. His lordship's butler directed her here since she said it was urgent. Do you want to see her?"

The three by the grate exchanged a questioning look. Miss Winchley would not come chasing after Luten at his fiancée’s house without a strong reason. There wasn't a doubt in any of their minds what that reason was. They were about to meet the Bee's latest victim.

"Send Miss Winchley in," Luten said in a tolerably calm voice.

While Black disposed of the lady's wrap in the hall, Corinne mentally reviewed what she knew of the young lady, and conjured what her problem could be. She was still unmarried at the ripe old age of five and twenty. With no husband to account to, she shouldn't have to worry unduly about billets doux or such romantic indiscretions, unless she had been very indiscreet indeed. Surely one would have heard?

Her spinsterhood wasn't due to a lack of either fortune, breeding or looks. The family was not titled. In fact, Sir Edgar Winchley had a foot in trade and had only recently been knighted for his success in the lumber business, but his wife's blood was a bright, Tory blue. She was kin to half a dozen noble families, including that connection with Luten. Miss Winchley's younger sister had recently made an excellent match with an earl's younger son.

Corinne watched the doorway with sharp interest to refresh her memory of the girl's appearance. Her first impression was of an extremely self-possessed young lady. She was tall and carried herself with almost a military bearing. It would take something very serious indeed to rattle this one. But as the girl's eyes turned from Luten to herself, Corinne saw the shadow of fear in them and noticed how pale she was. Her composure was an act.

Miss Winchley was attractive without claiming that degree of perfection necessary to rank as an Incomparable. Her dark hair was not quite dark enough to be called chestnut, her blue eyes were not quite large and lustrous enough to be likened to sapphires. Her figure, taller than the average, fell just short of being compared to a ladder. With a dowry in five figures she was usually called handsome, and was by no means considered glued to the shelf yet. She was known to have rejected an offer from an eligible baronet just last spring.

After the usual greetings and introduction to Coffen, Corinne said, "Would you like to be alone with Luten, Miss Winchley? You can use my study, Luten, as Coffen can't easily move."

Miss Winchley looked at Coffen, who tapped his knee and said, "Took a tumble from Nellie. Nellie is my mount," he added hastily, then blushed.

"I'm sorry to hear it, Mr. Pattle." Turning to Corinne she added, "We can speak here, milady. I understand from Lady Callwood that you are all involved in this business. I've had a letter from the man who signs himself with a bee. Lady Callwood indicated you might be able to help me?" She looked uncertainly from one to the other as she spoke.

"We will certainly try, ma'am," Luten replied. "About the letter, when and how was it delivered?"

"In this morning's post. I had an appointment with Lady Callwood to visit a milliner. When I received this," and she drew out the familiar white sheet, "I forgot all about it. She found me sitting like a moonling, staring at it. I asked her what I should do, and she told me about her own trouble, and that you were looking into the whole matter."

She handed the letter, limp from handling, to Luten. He read: "Miss Winchley, does Lord Egremont know about the summer of 1805 and Brighton, and the pearls? Do you want him to read Lady Winchley's letter to Mr. Goodman? (copy enclosed) To recover the original, place five thousand pounds in bank notes in a plain brown paper bag and take them to the Pantheon's Guy Fawkes party. Wear a green domino. I will find you." In lieu of a signature, the familiar sketch of a bee was at the bottom of the page.

"What letter from your mama is this that he refers to? You may rely on our discretion," Luten said. The date, seven years before and the Brighton location had been noticed by them all.

Miss Winchley held her head high and spoke in a clear, firm voice. "A letter regarding a pearl necklace I stole from Goodman's Jewelry shop," she said. The shame she tried to hide revealed itself in the sudden pallor of her cheeks. She moistened her lips and said in a weaker voice, "Do you think–might I have a glass of wine?" She held out a trembling hand, as if asking for mercy.

Black, ever on the alert, rushed in with the wine and passed it to them all. Miss Winchley took a few sips and looked at her listeners with a sad, bewildered face.

"I would like to explain. I'm not really a common thief. I think I was a little mad that year," she said. With gentle urgings, the story came out that she had been in love with her brother's tutor. Her parents had forbidden the match and packed the young man off. Miss Winchley, feeling angry and deprived, had begun taking things.

"Things that didn't belong to me," she said. "From shops, I mean. Just foolish little things that I didn't want or need and could easily have paid for. Embroidery threads, a book, even a man's razor from the everything store. At Lewes, where we lived, Mama knew all the shopkeepers. She would return the things saying I had picked them up by accident and forgot to put them back. Mama was very understanding about it."

Coffen blinked away a tear and said gruffly, "I've heard of this sort of thing before. Had an uncle used to fill his pockets with buttons and threads. Not really stealing, or he'd have taken something sensible, like snuff or pipes. He had no more notion how to sew than I have myself."