by Joan Smith
“Free as a bird,” Coffen said. He had utter confidence that Luten would arrange it. He had arranged trickier matters in the past.
On Berkeley Square, Prance glanced up from reading an article in Blackwood’s magazine on the deleterious effect of Lord Byron on contemporary poetry and noticed it was getting on to lunch time. Coffen and Black couldn’t be back yet, or Luten would have sent for him. He glanced out the window, rubbed his eyes and looked again. Besner! That was certainly Oliver Besner’s carriage.
Yes, there was his ugly coachman driving hell for leather. What could have happened? Prance was seized with a dreadful apprehension that Besner was coming to tell him that he, Besner, was the new president of the Society. Seconds later as the carriage passed his house and drew to a stop at Luten’s, he was wondering what Besner wanted with Luten. No, it wasn’t Besner getting out but Coffen.
His mind was in a whirl. What on earth could it mean? Without waiting to be summoned, he darted out the door to Luten’s house.
Chapter Thirty-one
Luten was no less shocked than Prance when Coffen, who looked as if he had been rolling in mud, came pelting in, accompanied by a squinty-eyed giant of a man.
“First thing before we tell you, Luten,” Coffen said, “we’ve got to get over to Mam’selle Marie’s place. Besner’s there, and he’s planning to make a run for it. We caught him dead to rights. Black’s keeping an eye on him. The carriage is outside.” He laid the bundle of tiles and the black beard on a table.
Luten glanced at them and without asking any questions said, “Let’s go.”
Corinne, listening from the doorway, said, “Take pistols with you. I’ll tell Evans to get them.”
Evans was not so deft an eavesdropper as Black, but he was not tardy to appear with a pair of pistols. He handed one to Luten. Prance reluctantly reached out and took the other, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn door at ten paces. He didn’t object when Coffen reached out and took it from him. As they darted out, Luten called to Corinne, “Send for Townsend to meet us there – at Mam’selle Marie’s.”
She called Evans, who sent a footman off with the message. She felt a pang of regret that she was not going with them this time but consoled herself that there would be other times. At least this outing didn’t sound too dangerous. Besner would be greatly outnumbered.
As Mullins drove the carriage hell for leather through town, scattering shoppers, nearly running down a stray dog and ignoring raised fists, Luten and Prance heard a jumbled account from Coffen of what he and Black had been doing that morning and what Mullins had told them. Prance, though delighted that Besner was out of the running for president of the Society, could hardly believe what he was hearing. One of the most prestigious fellows of the Society, nephew of Sir James Crow, was pillaging the site of a Roman villa? It was as if Wellington were selling military secrets to Bonaparte. Surely there was some misunderstanding.
“We wanted to go after Besner when he bolted, but Mullins wasn’t sure he was on our side yet, so he got away,” Coffen explained. “Luckily Mullins knew where he was headed. Oh, did I mention you have to keep Mullins out of gaol, Luten, and between us we’ll have to give him a hundred pounds? He saved our lives, mine and Black’s, plus he can give evidence about moving the relics from Ironmonger Lane.”
“How about evidence for Burnes’s murder?” Luten asked.
“Besner’s guilty for sure. He tried to bribe Mullins to do it. He wouldn’t do it and Besner went back to meet Burnes alone. Mullins didn’t hear no shot, but since we know Burnes was hit with something hard, he wouldn’t. Oh and he drove Besner to Burnes’s place to get his belongings. Mullins sold them to a rag and bone man. They’ll be all over London by now, but we won’t need them. It’s pretty good circumstantial evidence, eh?”
“Pretty good. Getting Mullins off shouldn’t be a problem. Driving a coach for a villain isn’t prison-worthy, considering that he didn’t know what Besner was up to. And now that he’s helping us I’ll do everything I can for him.”
“Whatever he did, Besner made him, because of stealing the ten pounds, which he didn’t even get to keep. You know all about that, Reg.”
“I?” Prance said, stiffening his neck in indignation. “I assure you I have never—”
“I mean d’ress vile. Cohesion—you told me about making people do what they don’t want to.”
“Ah, coercion, yes. A sharp lawyer could do something with that, eh Luten?” It took him a moment to translate ‘d’ress vile’ into ‘durance vile’ and by then it was too late to explain.
“There’s Mam’selle’s place ahead,” Coffen said excitedly. “And there’s Black. Since he’s still there, you can be sure they’ve not got away.”
Mullins drew to a stop and hopped down to join the others. “I’m going with you,” he said. “This’ll be more fun than beating up the Watch.”
Coffen pulled at his elbow and said quietly, “You might want to keep that under your hat till Luten gets you off.”
Black rushed forward to join them. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “They sent out the workers but no sign of leaving themselves. Besner got here before me but one of the women he sent out told me he’s in there. I thought it best to wait for the rest of you before going in. I’ve stuck a wedge under the back door so they can’t get out that way. The windows don’t budge, and I’d hear if he busts the glass.”
Coffen shook his head in admiration. “Good thinking, Black,” he said, as proudly as if he were Black’s papa.
Mam’selle’s front door displayed a large white sign saying “Closed.” Three women were standing outside, two of them exchanging angry, excited remarks in French. The other, whom Mrs. Ballard could have told them was Agnes Hope, came bustling forward. She had already had a word with Black but recognized Luten as the one likely in command. His dandy jacket and dignified appearance told her he was somebody, even if he was holding a pistol. She approached him and said, “There’s something funny going on in there, sir. I’m glad to see you’re armed.”
“I understand you saw a dark-haired man go in?”
“You mean Monsieur Leclerc. I did, not fifteen minutes ago, like I told the other gentleman.” She nodded in Black’s direction. “Mam’selle was that mad I wouldn’t be surprised if she did him a mischief. We had two customers in the shop, one of them on the edge of buying an expensive bonnet, and he ordered them out. Then he ran back to the workroom and without so much as a by-your-leave he ordered us out. Don’t think Mam’selle took that laying down! She lit into him something awful. What’s afoot, eh?”
“Later,” Luten said, and tried the door, surprised to find it unlocked. He led the way into the shop with his pistol cocked. Coffen, Black and Mullins were right behind him with Prance bringing up the rear. He felt quite safe behind the broad back of Mullins. It would take a cannon ball to go through that solid wall of flesh.
The front of the shop was deserted but sounds came from the rear. They rushed on to the office, where Mam’selle was filling a canvas bag with paper money and some gold coins from the open safe. She wasn’t doing it quietly either, though even Prance, who spoke fluent French, didn’t know half the words she was using. Besner looked up, saw the four of them pointing pistols at him, stared silently a moment then held up his hands in surrender.
He soon turned a sardonic smile on Prance and said, “You win, Prance. You know less than nothing about Roman remains and relics, but thanks to your friends, you win. God help the Society.”
“At least I know enough not to pillage priceless ruins,” Prance replied.
“If it’s the money you’re after, take it!” Besner said, and put his hand in the safe, where a small pile of bills could still be seen. His hand came out holding not money but a pistol. He yanked Mam’selle in front of him, held the pistol to the back of her neck, snatched up the money bag with his other hand and said, “I’ll be running along now. If you don’t want this woman�
��s death on your head, you won’t try to stop me. Drop your guns and kick them over here.”
When they hesitated, he jabbed the nose of his pistol sharply into Mam’selle’s nape. They dropped their guns. He backed towards the door, holding Mam’selle, jabbering and gesticulating, in front of him.
The rescuers exchanged meaningful glances. Each was thinking that between the lot of them they could rush him and stop him when he reached the door Black had barred. He wouldn’t be expecting that. They waited, not wanting to make a move with poor Mam’selle’s beseeching eye on them. “Aidez-moi, je vous prie. Aidez-moi pour l’amour de Dieu,” she cried. “Ce cochon va me tuer. “
Besner, unaware that Black had barred the back door, hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether to go out through the rear door or the front of the shop. The carriage would be waiting in front. He’d best go out the front way. “One step after me and I shoot her,” he said, backing towards the doorway into the shop, and causing frustration to the other gentlemen. “They’ll hang me for killing Burnes in any case. As well hang for a sheep as a lamb.”
Luten managed to palm a pair of scissors from a table and watched for a chance to use them. Coffen had to be content with a hat pin, but it was a good long one. Mam’selle’s ranting concealed the slight sounds from the front of the shop but the others saw the woman who had been outside raising her arm. Besner had no idea what hit him when a plaster head that had been holding a Leghorn straw bonnet came crashing down on his head, rendering him unconscious.
Agatha Hope looked down at him and said with satisfaction, “There now, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” She looked as if she might take a swipe at Mam’selle as well, but Mam’selle threw herself into Luten’s arms and began sobbing out her thanks. That quickly she had selected her preferred saviour and hopefully future patron. When Luten held her off, she grabbed the bag of money and began gathering up the spilt coins.
Coffen reached down and grabbed Besner’s gun, then picked up the others and distributed them. “We’d ought to tie him up till Townsend gets here,” he said.
Mam’selle cast an assessing eye over the remaining group and said to Prance, “Il y a des rubans dans l’autre chambre. Suivez-moi, Monsieur.”
Prance understood that all right and followed what Black would call her swinging rump into the area where the hats were trimmed. But before they returned with bolts of dainty ribbons Mrs. Hope had produced a sturdier length of cord. Black darted forward to help her tie up Besner’s hands. He liked a woman who kept her wits about her. “Who’s your friends then?” she asked, and he was proud to give names and titles.
“I could see you was a bunch of swells,” she said. “I expect you’re a lord as well?”
“Just plain Mr. Black at the moment. And yourself, Madam?”
“Mrs. Hope. A widow,” she added. “P’raps you could tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s a long story, Mrs. Hope. I’d be honoured to drop around some evening and tell you all about it.” Her encouraging smile prodded him to say, “Any chance you’re free this evening?”
“Do come. I’m fair bursting with curiosity.”
The flirtation continued until Townsend arrived. He looked at Besner’s prostrate form on the ground and said, “Not another corpse! The town ought to tax you fellows for littering. Good God! It’s Besner. What’s the story here, Luten?”
“Not dead, just knocked on the head.”
Townsend, looking all about, caught a sight of Joe Mullins, who was trying to hide behind Coffen and said, “Joe, nice to see you again. Run out of kens to smash? Taken to robbing shops, have you?”
“Joe’s been a great help to us in capturing this murderer, Besner,” Luten said. “He’ll also be a star witness, so don’t go sullying his reputation. I’ll accompany you to Bow Street and tell you all about it.”
“I didn’t see your carriage out front. I’ve just got my gig.”
“Joe will drive Besner’s rig. A couple of the others can go and keep an eye on Besner.”
To everyone’s surprise Prance said, “I’ll go.” He was on thorns to learn what had caused Besner to stray. Obviously Mam’selle was part of it, but there must be more.
“There’s room for us all,” Coffen said. Seeing Black was making headway with the widow, he added, “Unless you’d rather take a hackney, Black.”
“No, I didn’t ask Tipper to wait. I’ll go with you,” Black said at once. He had already set the date up for the evening and didn’t want to miss anything. Between them they carried Besner to the rig and laid him out on one banquette with his legs hanging down.
Townsend took a look around the shop before leaving and said, “We’d best lock the place up or there won’t be a bonnet left on the shelves.” Mam’selle introduced herself and said she would stay.
“We’ll need Mam’selle as a witness as well,” Luten said. Mam’selle didn’t object, but she made sure to put the money back in the safe, lock it and put the key in her reticule before leaving. With the addition of Mam’selle to the passengers, Besner’s carriage was crowded. She wedged herself in between Black and Prance – closer to Prance actually. Coffen squeezed in on the opposite banquette with Besner’s head and shoulders leaning against him.
Aggie Hope was given the key and deputized to lock up the shop. She had never had such an exciting day in her life. Samuel would never believe it. She was sorry that nice Miss Perkins wasn’t there for all the excitement. Whatever could have happened to her? She had seemed happy to get the job.
Chapter Thirty-two
The afternoon was well advanced before the Berkeley Brigade was driven home to Berkeley Square in a hackney. Knowing they would have had no lunch, Corinne sent Evans to the kitchen for sandwiches, and to ask Mrs. Ballard to join them. She knew by their smiles the outing had been successful, and knew her companion would want to hear the outcome.
She poured wine and as there was no tea, Mrs. Ballard daringly accepted a small glass. “Now, tell us all about it,” Corinne said to Luten.
“Besner sang like a bird,” Luten said with satisfaction.
Prance felt this was his story and spoke quickly. “Besner is a fraud,” he announced with ill-concealed glee. “Oh he knows something about Roman relics – a good deal actually, but he has no genuine interest in them per se. He was raised by a maternal uncle, the well-known archaeologist, Sir James Crow, acted as a sort of amanuensis for him. His main interest was his uncle’s rants regarding rogue collectors who would pay any price for a genuine relic. When Sir James died, Besner got hold of his uncle’s research having to do with exactly where the Romans were active in London, and was on the lookout for unguarded sites to pillage. He’s actually plundered two or three before Ironmonger Lane.
“He didn’t want to reveal just where he got his relics, and didn’t want to sell them from his own house, so he opened the toy shop and peddled them out the back door there, using the alias of Mr. Greene when he opened the shop, then hitting on the notion of the beard and becoming the bearded Frenchman, Monsieur Leclerc, as Mr. Greene bore an uncomfortable resemblance to himself.
“The business was going swimmingly until Burnes got the lease on those empty houses on Ironmonger Lane and I opened my atelier. He was in the midst of dismantling that significant site when Burnes discovered what was going on and reported it to the British Museum. Burnes wanted my atelier to complete the holding. He planned to sell the three leases to the Museum and felt they would pay him a better price if he had all three.”
Corinne, always interested in the women in their cases, said, “Where did Mam’selle come into it, and what will happen to her?”
“She was his mistress and in my opinion was in on the whole thing from day one, encouraging him every step of the way,” Luten told her. “She had hopes he would divorce his wife. Divorce is easier in France, and not so looked down on as it is here. I don’t believe he ever had the least notion of marrying Mam’selle.”
Mrs. Ballard, who was
feeling the effects of the wine, said aside to Lady Luten, “As ye sow, so shall you reap.”
“He couldn’t have loved her, to treat her the way he did,” Prance said, and described his using Mam’selle as a shield, hoping to escape. “Mind you she wasn’t much better. She was only after was the money as well. She talked him into opening the millinery shop for her, and made a good thing of it financially, sharing the proceeds fifty-fifty. She’s got herself a lawyer and may keep out of gaol, and possibly end up with the shop as well. She claims not to know anything about the relics, but of course she is lying. You and I, Corinne, saw her in Ironmonger Lane in his carriage, and she picked him up at the tavern where he met Thomson.”
Corinne said, “What was she doing there, if she knew nothing of the scheme?”
Prance frowned and said, “That is hardly evidence that she was actively involved. I haven’t a doubt of her guilt, but proving it will be next to impossible. To give her the benefit of the doubt, she could be telling the truth if she were simple-minded, which she most assuredly is not.”
“It’s awful what folks will do for money,” Coffen said, and all the well-to-do gentlemen nodded.
Mrs. Ballard, with hardly a penny to her name, heartily agreed. “The root of all evil,” she said, and took another sip of her wine.
Black, considering his shady past, said nothing, but he was extremely glad those desperate days were over for him. He had little thought, when he rescued Lord deCoventry from a pair of footpads a decade ago, that he would be so handsomely repaid. He had only done it as he wanted deCoventry’s watch and purse for himself.
And when deCoventry had asked his protection to accompany him home, he had gone to see what he could pick up in the house. He often wondered if the old boy knew it. He was no angel himself. Black had never figured out exactly what he was mixed up in, but whatever it was, he required a bodyguard, and the job fell into Black’s lap. He was well treated and well paid. He had never looked back.