To Mourn a Murder

by Joan Smith

  "So does Lady Jergen," Corinne said, "though if they didn't want to be recognized ..."

  "Who don't wear any finery is Mrs. Webber," Coffen continued. "Danby seems to have arranged an alibi but I wonder where Webber was when Mam'selle was killed. You mind, Corrie, you said Mrs. Webber was jealous of Lady Callwood because she had her eye on Danby herself."

  "It was just a casual remark. She's a widow, and unhappy living with her mother-in-law."

  "She seemed jealous of Lady Callwood, though?"

  "Yes, I had that impression."

  "I imagine she's desperate to get out from under old Mrs. Webber's thumb. Maybe desperate enough to take to extorting and murdering."

  Byron frowned. "Does anyone else get the uneasy feeling we're traducing a virgin, to speak of Mrs. Webber in these terms?"

  Coffen said, "Eh? Can't be a virgin. She has a son."

  "She's considered a sort of lay saint," Byron explained. "Earning her halo by taking an active interest in all the fashionable charities."

  "I never trust a saint," Coffen said. "The bald-faced truth is we're all sinners. If you have to be at pains to hide your sins, then they're probably the kind you have to be ashamed of. And before you tell me we should be ashamed of all our sins, Reg, what I mean is just a bit of drinking or womanizing or gambling don't slam any doors in your face. That's only human nature. A woman wanting to be prettier than the other girls or a man wanting to be smarter or better dressed than the rest of us, like you, is all right as well." Prance pokered up but got no chance to retaliate.

  Coffen continued, unaware of having given offence. "Folks may snicker behind his back, but no one really thinks the worse of a man for that. It's them other sins they have to hide under a halo. Sins like cheating at cards, or having kids before they're married or this sort of thing the Bee's been up to. I don't say Mrs. Webber killed Mam'selle, but mark my word, she has some vice she's ashamed of."

  "But haven't we all?" Byron asked. "I know I have my share. Haven't you?"

  His listeners all fell silent a moment, examining their consciences. Corinne mentally accused herself of selfishness that sometimes interfered with Luten's work. She didn't trust Luten an inch out of her sight, though he had proven marble constant thus far. Luten asked himself if his political aspirations were caused solely by a wish to better the world, or whether wanting the glory of seeing himself Prime Minister hadn't something to do with it. Prance acknowledged a rampant vanity, and simultaneously forgave himself. No one was perfect. It was Coffen who answered aloud.

  "I'm lazy and I'm overly fond of food and drink and actresses," he said, "but none of it's a secret."

  The rogue in Prance said, "How about you, Byron? What are your vices?"

  "Read my poetry," he replied and uttered a cynical laugh. "My vices are public knowledge. Even those I don't have. One must exaggerate a little to titillate the public into buying. Of course the more interesting ones are deep, dark secrets."

  Then he immediately cut this promising line of conversation short by saying, "I wonder if Lady Callwood had no criminal involvement with the Bee but had come to suspect Danby. Perhaps that's why she's been seeing him, trying to ferret out proof. She's just the lady who could do it too. A beautiful, clever woman like that, not overly encumbered with virtue, to judge by her past. What do you think, Luten?"

  "Are you suggesting she found her proof and sent him poisoned brandy?"

  "Just an idea. Really I hardly know what I meant."

  "It's all conjecture. We have no proof. Coffen had an interesting point." He turned to Coffen and smiled. "As usual. I'll get on to the police in Brighton and try for a better description of the second lady who visited Mam'selle's shop the morning she was killed."

  "And I'll get to work on the link-boys in the morning," Coffen added.

  "I'll speak to Jackson and Manton," Byron said.

  Prance raked his mind for some contribution he could make. Coffen, suspecting his problem, said, "Why don't you call on Lady Callwood and Mrs. Webber, Reg? Tell them about Danby's death, and see how they take it. You pride yourself on being able to read people's expressions. No point calling on Lady Jergen. She'll know already and have her face ready. The police will have notified the Jergens as next of kin."

  "Yes, I suggested it," Byron said.

  Prance agreed to do his bit. He had no appetite for calling on the sanctimonious Mrs. Webber but he would call on Lady Callwood. After more discussion the guests left and Coffen went upstairs to spend his last night in the comfort of his cousin's well run house. Luten remained behind a moment with his fiancée.

  "As soon as this is over we'll settle the arrangements for our wedding. A Christmas wedding would be nice," he said, drawing her into his arms.

  "As long as Prance doesn't decide to hold it in a manger and put us up in a stable," she said, smiling that smile that sent the blood throbbing through his veins.

  "That is hardly Prance's style."

  "Oh but he loves a theme." He stilled her lips with his. Black, guarding their privacy from the hall, averted his eyes. He knew she loved Luten, but he didn't have to subject himself to the torture of watching his beloved in another man's arms.

  * * *

  Chapter 30

  Prance called on the dashing Lady Callwood the next afternoon. He was disappointed, upon his arrival, to find her dressed in an ordinary afternoon gown. A closer examination told him that, on her, even mauve merino with a modest fichu looked extraordinary. Really her figure was admirable. Chin up, she drew her insouciant shoulders back and her chest thrust forward as she advanced. Below the waist, this military brio subsided to a gentle, feminine swaying of the hips.

  "To what do I owe the honour of this call, Sir Reginald?" she asked in a honeyed voice. She neither shook his hand nor curtsied. The violet eyes gazing into his, and especially the artful smile, implied the reason was bound to be deliciously naughty.

  He hated to disappoint her, yet to read her unguarded reaction to Danby's death, he must catch her off guard. "My reason for calling is to inform you of Mr. Danby's death," he announced, watching her like a miser watching his money. "I know you're a friend of his and could not like to think of your hearing it on the street." Her mobile face registered what Prance took for astonishment, tinged with annoyance. No more than that. No gasp of grief rehearsed in front of her mirror, which might indicate the murderess's prior knowledge. Certainly nothing like a lover's genuine grief. She didn't question the word 'friend'. Surely if she were his accomplice she would have insisted she was only an acquaintance.

  "Shocking!" she exclaimed. She took a seat and gestured for Prance to sit beside her on the narrow velvet sofa. "I saw him only yesterday afternoon. In fact he was kind enough to accompany me to my carriage when I met him on Bond Street. How did it happen? Was he thrown from a horse? He's a bruising rider."

  "No, he was murdered. Poisoned, actually," Prance said. It was a ruthless way to treat a lady, but with such a sterling excuse he had to admit he rather enjoyed playing the brute.

  Her violet eyes opened a shade wider." Murdered! But where was he? What was he doing? Poison–that doesn't sound like footpads or—"

  "Ah no, madam. He was minding his own business in his room at Stephens's Hotel. Someone sent him a bottle of brandy liberally laced with cyanide."

  Lady Callwood's white fingers fluttered to her breast in shocked horror. Then she leveled a sharp, intelligent gaze on Prance and said, "As you're aware of all the details, the Berkeley Brigade is obviously taking a special interest in his death. I must ask, was he the Bee, Sir Reginald?"

  "I admit it had occurred to me, but why should you think so, when he had the reputation of being a nabob?"

  She arched a shapely eyebrow in derision. "I've seen no evidence of this great wealth. He's generous in minor details–flowers for his aunt, that sort of thing. One never heard of this wealthy bachelor showering some fortunate woman with diamonds, for instance. And despite his love of riding he doesn't even own a mou
nt. He rides Jergen's. My husband–he's connected to the banking world–suspects the fortune is all a sham. I can tell you this, Mr. Danby's fortune is not deposited in any London bank, nor were any monies ever transferred from India. We don't always deserve our reputations, do we, Sir Reginald? Mrs. Webber gave me to understand that I am earning the reputation of a flirt, which is the strongest language she allowed herself to use, but she meant more."

  "What put such a pernicious notion in her head, I wonder?" he asked, gazing at her with an uneasy smile. Was she still flirting, vaunting her availability, or merely airing a grievance?

  "The fact that I flirt a little and don't deck myself out like a crow in honour of my husband's advanced years." The sting of anger in her accents suggested she was not flirting. "I am twenty-nine years of age, Sir Reginald. Callwood chose me because I was young and pretty and vivacious. Those are his words, by the way. I am not idly complimenting myself."

  "All of London would agree with you, madam. Your only error is to use the past tense."

  She gave his fingers a familiar slap, pleased with the compliment. "I would feel I was not fulfilling my part of the marriage bargain if I suddenly took to acting like his mama. Why shouldn't I buy a bonnet with a scarlet flower on it if I wish? It's a very handsome bonnet. In fact Callwood complimented me on it. I showed it to Mrs. Webber when she called the other day. She said it made me look like a lightskirt. A lightskirt, imagine! I retaliated that at least I didn't look like a carrion crow. She sniffed and said she must be leaving, although she had heard me call for tea a moment before. She insisted she had only dropped in to let me know she would not be attending our meeting that week as some cousin or aunt at Colchester had fallen downstairs and needed her help,"

  "What meeting was that?"

  Lady Callwood batted a hand on which a large diamond flashed. "Somehow or other she roped me into one of her charities to provide shoes for orphans. Really it's very foolish. We could shod every orphan in the city for half the amount of money we spend hiring a hall and musicians and arranging dinner and buying gowns for the annual ball. But it would not be nearly so enjoyable, of course."

  "What day was the meeting scheduled for?"

  "It was Guy Fawkes day." Prance's hand gave an involuntary jerk. The day Mam'selle was murdered! Lady Callwood gave him a sharp look. "Why do you ask?"

  "Curiosity. I've caught it from my cat," he said, trying for a light tone to hide his excitement. He rattled on with tales of Petruchio's antics to beguile her out of her suspicion. Then he asked casually, "The meeting went forward without Mrs. Webber, did it?"

  "Oh yes. She is the leading light but there are eight of us on the committee. Such weighty matters as whether to serve milles feuilles or petits fours, and whether to decorate with palms or flowers requires an octet. Lady Jergen took Mrs. Webber's place as chair lady for that meeting and speeded things up somewhat as several of us wanted to prepare for the Pantheon."

  Prance made a mental note that both Lady Callwood and Lady Jergen were in London the day Mam'selle Grolier was murdered. Mrs. Webber, if she was telling the truth, was even farther from Brighton, at Colchester. How could they verify this?

  "It must be difficult for Mrs. Webber to get around when she doesn't have her own carriage," he said. "But of course for a mercy mission, the elder Mrs. Webber would lend her the rig."

  "Not she! Mrs. Webber had to take the ordinary stage. I wonder if she was hinting for the loan of my carriage. Perhaps that's why she was in such a horrid mood. I never even thought of it till this minute. What a selfish beast I am."

  "You're not a mind reader, milady. How could you know what she wanted if she didn't ask? Spiteful of the old lady not allowing her to use the family carriage. It must be hell living with someone like that. I'm surprised Mrs. Webber hasn't found herself another parti. Her husband has been dead some time now, and she's really quite handsome."

  "She has very exacting standards," Lady Callwood informed him with a satirical little grin. "We've all made quite a project of presenting gentlemen to her. She always finds some fault."

  "What is it she demands of a parti?"

  "Not what any normal lady would consider desirable. She cares nothing for face or fortune. She demands only the morals of a saint, the mind of a scholar and the charitable instincts of the Good Samaritan."

  "Yet Webber was no saint, if memory serves," Prance said.

  "No, nor Mrs. Webber either in those days, to judge by her fling with her doctor. I do feel her sanctity is only skin deep. True goodness wouldn't have such a spiteful tongue. Why don't you try your wiles on her, Sir Reginald?" she asked.

  He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. "I fear my morals make me ineligible. And in any case, I prefer vixens," he said, gazing into her eyes. To his astonishment, Lady Callwood gently but immediately retrieved her fingers. The lady was not open to such blatant advances as that. Perhaps she didn't deserve her racy reputation after all. She really shouldn't lead a gentleman on with those leering smiles if she didn't mean it. As soon as the tea was gone he took his leave. He called on Byron and learned he was out.

  The Berkeley Brigade, augmented by Lord Byron, met in Luten's drawing room late that afternoon to discuss their findings. Despite the fire blazing in the grate the room felt unwelcoming. It was too large to light properly, too formal, too stiff. They were to remain for dinner after the meeting. Corinne was acting as Luten's hostess. She had arranged the dinner with his cook in preparation for her role as Lady Luten.

  Byron went first. "Danby was at Jackson's Parlour those days he claimed to be and at Manton's in the afternoons. I asked around and he was also in and out at Alfred's every evening except one, when he attended Drury Lane with a friend. I couldn't get an exact account of what hours he was at Alfred's the night of the robbery at the Pantheon. He could have left well before midnight."

  Prance gave his report next. "Lady Callwood was at a meeting at Lady Jergen's the morning of Mam'selle's murder. That lets them both out. Mrs. Webber begged off, the excuse being that an aunt or cousin in Colchester had taken a tumble and needed help."

  "Did you get the aunt's name?" Coffen asked.

  Prance felt a stab of annoyance. He knew he was ten times as smart as Coffen. How was it possible Coffen could always make him feel inadequate in these matters? "No, Lady Callwood was becoming suspicious at the nature of the questions. I did learn, however, that Mrs. Webber took the stage to visit this aunt."

  "It'll be a job checking up on that," Coffen grumbled.

  "Had you any luck with the link-boys?" Prance asked to deflect further questions.

  "I did. The bottle was given to Joey, that's the fellow who delivered it, by a pretty lady wearing a black bonnet with a red flower on it, not too blocks from Stephens's."

  "But that's amazing!" Prance cried. "Lady Callwood mentioned buying just such a bonnet when I was with her this morning. At least the red flower. I don't believe she gave the colour of the bonnet. She's far too clever to have mentioned it at all if it could tie her to Danby's murder."

  "I ain't finished," Coffen said. "The woman with the brandy told Joey to leave it at the desk and say it was for Danby. He thought p'raps the woman was an actress. She wore rouge and powder."

  Prance sat, frowning. "Lady Callwood paints, but too delicately for a link-boy to tell."

  A frown pleated Luten's brow. "I sent a footman down to Brighton last night," he said. "He returned half an hour ago. The tobacconist Coffen spoke of described the second lady who went into Mam'selle's shop as being severely dressed in black. A widow, he thought. It doesn't sound like the painted lady in the red bonnet,"

  "Red flower. Black bonnet," Coffen reminded him. "All we're talking about is a bonnet and rouge, though. Both easy to put on or take off. I wonder if Mrs. Webber knew about that bonnet with the red flower."

  "She did!" Prance cried, becoming excited. "In fact, she disparaged it and told Lady Callwood she was gaining herself a bad reputation, wearing such things."


  "Then it's clear as glass that Mrs. Webber went to Brighton, not Colchester, wore her own duds into Mam'selle's shop and killed her. Rushed home, stuck a red flower on her bonnet to let on she was Lady Callwood and sent the brandy to Danby. She still had time to make it to the fireworks."

  "But why would she kill Mam'selle?" Corinne asked. "Was Danby having an affair with the milliner? If Mrs. Webber was jealous, then she must be involved with Danby herself. Romantically involved, I mean."

  "More likely it had to do with Mam'selle knowing Danby cleaned out Goodman's jewelry shop," Luten said. "With Prance there asking questions, they got nervous."

  "How would they know Prance was there?" Corinne asked.

  "They knew we were looking into the whole business and would get to Brighton eventually," Coffen explained. "Slicing that page out of the register at the George proves they were nervous. Danby must have known his uncle was seeing Mam'selle that summer and could finger him."

  Luten summed up the situation. "It seems Danby and Mrs. Webber were still on good terms at that time, or she wouldn't have killed Mam'selle for him. The falling out must have occurred later. I wonder what caused it."

  "His flirting with Lady Callwood," Corinne said, aware of the folly jealousy could lead a person into. "Or perhaps she feared we would eventually tie Danby to the Bee through the letter he got at Goodman's, and decided to kill him before he could talk and drag her into it."

  "And since the money wasn't in his room, she must have it," Luten said. "I expect he kept the necklace as it was his job to sell it."

  "That's cleared up something that's been plaguing me," Coffen said. "Bath, and Webber's letter that she let on was stolen there. There never was such a letter. She made it up to look like a victim so we wouldn't suspect her, and for an excuse to keep an oar in on our investigation. Hit herself on the head that night she let on she was robbed, or had Danby do it."

  "It answers another question as well,” Luten said.

  "It accounts for the Bee knowing about Lady Callwood snitching the brooch. Webber lived near Shepton," Coffen supplied.