Murder and Misdeeds

by Joan Smith

  “Anything else?” Coffen asked.

  “Nothing important,” she said with a little frown.

  “Take a good look. You don’t know what might be important,” Coffen said.

  “I had a little tin box of lemon drops. They’re gone. Oh, and a sketch I had cut out of a magazine for a new bonnet.”

  “Aha! That sounds like a woman’s work. Sweets and bonnets, mirror and comb. If it were a man, he’d know enough to leave the rubbish behind and take the blunt.”

  “The mirror was not rubbish! But it does sound like the work of a woman,” Prance agreed.

  “Was there ever any doubt that the gown and shawl and silk stockings were taken for a woman?” Luten asked. “There is obviously a female involved. She took what suited her and sent the rest back, probably via her boyfriend.”

  “But since they’re thieves, why didn’t they keep my money?” Corinne asked, still rooting through her reticule. “Now, this is really strange! There is something here that doesn’t belong to me.”

  “What is it?” Coffen asked eagerly.

  “A box of headache powders. Not even the sort I use.” She held the box up. Everyone looked at it in confusion.

  “Then we’re looking for a woman who’s prone to headache,” Coffen said. “Possibly even with a headache, since she lost her powders in your reticule.”

  “It is certainly very odd,” Luten said, “but we mustn’t let it distract us from Susan.”

  Corinne felt a little sting of anger. Nothing must distract him from Susan! Of course, he was right, but it still hurt to hear him dismiss her little mystery as if it were no more than a nuisance.

  “Which of us do you want to go to the forest?” Prance asked, and prayed that he would not be the one selected.

  “I’ll go myself as soon as it’s dark,” Luten replied.

  “You’ll be there for hours,” Prance objected. “Eleven o’clock is plenty early enough.”

  “Well, say ten o’clock,” Luten said.

  “If you’re as fagged as I am after that trip, you’ll fall sound asleep,” Coffen said. “I could swear the pillow was stuffed with wood chips. It scratched my cheek.”

  “I’ll take a jug of coffee with me to keep awake.”

  “And a bite to eat,” Coffen added. “If your stomach takes to growling, they’ll hear you. Give the show away.”

  “A gentleman’s stomach does not growl,” Prance decreed. “And a lady, of course, does not have a stomach. Not in company at least.”

  They soon parted to dress for dinner. Corinne reviewed the strange events of the day as she dressed. The ransom note’s arriving so late was odd enough, almost as if it were an afterthought, but oddest of all was the return of her reticule with a few trifles removed and the money still there.

  She lifted the lid of the old Spanish chest with the flower carving and looked again at the lingerie stored in it. The unceremonious delivery of the ransom note through the study door suggested that the kidnapper was someone local, someone familiar with the house and the family. Perhaps someone who knew Otto would be asleep or drunk by late afternoon. The return of her purse to the back door also had an air of familiarity to it. Was it a local servant who had done it? It was even possible that Mrs. Malboeuf was involved, and/or her niece, Peggy.

  How could she spy on them? There was a curtained arch at the bottom of the servants’ stairs, leading to the kitchen. The door had been removed as it knocked against the china cabinet. Corinne glanced at her watch. She had a quarter of an hour before dinner. She hurried along the hall, tiptoed down the dark, narrow staircase, and put her ear to the curtain. Mrs. Malboeuf s trumpeting voice could have been heard through six inches of forged steel.

  “How are them potatoes coming along, Peg?” she asked in her gruff voice.

  There was the rattle of a lid, then Peggy replied, “Coming along nicely, Auntie. Should I take the meat out of the oven?”

  “Best see to the plum preserves. Scoop the top out of the bottle. It’s covered in green mold. Make sure you don’t get any of it in the bowl.”

  Corinne’s face screwed up in distaste. She’d not touch the plum preserves!

  “It’s odd about her ladyship’s reticule, ain’t it?” Peggy said.

  “There’s plenty of odd things going on in this house, but at least it seems we’ll be getting Miss Enderton back. Let us hope this lot go back where they come from and leave us in peace.”

  “I miss her ever so,” Peggy said, and began sniffling.

  Well, that didn’t sound very guilty. Corinne was about to tiptoe back upstairs when she heard a knock at the kitchen door.

  “See who that is,” Mrs. Malboeuf said to Peggy.

  The door was opened. Peggy said, “Oh, it’s you, Judy. How can you get away from the Hall so close to dinnertime?” Corinne assumed it was one of Blackmore’s servants. His was the only “Hall” in the immediate neighborhood.

  “His lordship don’t take dinner till eight. It eats up half the evening. I wish he’d eat at a decent hour like a Christian. I came to see if you’ve heard anything about Miss Enderton.”

  “The ransom note came,” Peggy said.

  “No! How much for?”

  “Twenty-five thousand. It’ll clean poor Miss Enderton out entirely. It’s every penny of her dot.”

  Corinne listened sharply. Susan actually had thirty-five thousand now, thanks to Otto’s wise investing. The kidnapper obviously wasn’t aware of it.

  “When’s it to be delivered?” Judy asked. “Did you hear?”

  “Tobin’s had his ear to the door. He says midnight, at the blasted oak. Of course, they didn’t tell us nothing, but Auntie heard them talking about it and put Tobin on the alert. I’d not go into that forest at midnight for all the tea in China. It wouldn’t surprise me none if the poor old gaffer didn’t have heart failure. There’s a cruel mind behind these doings, Judy.”

  “Oh, there is and all. We’re not safe in our beds. His lordship was at that inquest in town. It seems Jeremy Soames was the highwayman. Can you beat that?”

  “If he was the highwayman, then I’m a monkey’s aunt,” Mrs. Malboeuf said. “He was a gentleman, even if he hadn’t two pennies to rub together. Stop your chatter, Peggy. There’s work to be done.”

  “I’m leaving then,” Judy said. “I was just worried about poor Miss Enderton. I can’t stop thinking of her. It’s awful. So awful.”

  The door squeaked open; presumably Judy exited, for Mrs. Malboeuf said, “I don’t see what she’s got to sniffle about. It’s ourselves that are stuck with all the extra work, to say nothing of his lordship’s fancy-pants butler sticking his nose into what don’t concern him. He tells me he wants water boiling for coffee at nine-thirty. Now, what the deuce does his lordship want with coffee at such an hour? He’ll have had his tea a short while before. He’s up to something. Give me that platter for the roast, Peg.”

  Corinne tiptoed back upstairs, convinced that Mrs. Malboeuf and Peggy were innocent of any complicity in Susan’s disappearance, even if they did serve bad preserves.

  When she reached the upper landing, Luten was leaving his bedchamber. He had changed for dinner and looked elegant in a black jacket, with an immaculate cravat arranged in intricate tucks. A modest diamond pin sparkled in the folds of linen.

  “Don’t let that Malboeuf creature impose on you,” Luten said sternly. “If you want something, insist that the servants fetch it for you. You shouldn’t be using the servants’ stairs. What were you after?”

  “I was snooping,” she said. “It occurred to me that Malboeuf might have something to do with Susan’s abduction, but it can’t be true. She and Peggy are distraught over it. And so is Judy.”

  “Judy? Which one is she?”

  “She’s Blackmore’s servant. She dropped in to inquire for Susan.”

  “Now, that is interesting! Blackmore is sending his snoops into the house, is he?”

  “I don’t think he even knew she was here.”

&n
bsp; He took her arm, and they went to the front staircase. “Simon has been keeping his ears open,” Luten said. “He also thinks Malboeuf is innocent. This scheme is too ambitious for servants, though someone might have been making use of them.”

  “I expect you’re referring to Blackmore, but I don’t think he is responsible either. As he offered for Susan, he must have discussed financial matters with Otto. He knew she has thirty-five thousand, but the ransom demand is only for twenty-five.”

  “I fancy Blackmore is a little deeper than that. He would know common gossip pegs Susan’s dot at twenty-five. To ask for the whole sum would narrow the scope of possible abductors, probably to himself and Soames.”

  “We seem to be going around in circles,” she said. “Just when you think you’ve got something straight, you hit another curve. But at least we know the ransom note is legitimate, since Susan’s ring was with it. She always wore that ring. It belonged to her mama.”

  Luten frowned. “Yes, she used to wear it on the third finger of her left hand.”

  “That’s the only finger it fit.”

  “The strange thing is, she wasn’t wearing it last February. I noticed she was wearing a little silver ring with clasped hands holding a heart. She wore it on her third finger, left hand.”

  “Was she? I gave it to her myself. It’s Irish. A Claddagh, it is called. Did she not say I had given it to her?”

  “No, I would have remembered if she had. Of course, that doesn’t mean she had stopped wearing the pearl ring altogether. She wore a silver shawl that evening, so perhaps that is why she chose the silver ring. You might look in her dresser after dinner and see if the Irish ring is there.”

  “I’ll do it this minute!” Corinne exclaimed, and ran back upstairs, with Luten hard at her heels. She was not surprised that Luten had noticed what shawl Susan had been wearing and what ring. He took some interest in ladies’ toilettes, but that he should remember it months later seemed strange. As if Susan had been much on his mind. And it was the third finger of her left hand—why had he been paying particular attention to that interesting digit?

  They darted to Susan’s room, to her dresser, and began searching through the little box of minor treasures she kept out of the safe for daily wear. The Irish ring wasn’t there.

  “She wouldn’t keep it in the safe,” Corinne said. “It wasn’t that valuable, just a trinket.”

  “I’ll speak to Otto, but I shan’t tell him what we fear.”

  They rushed back downstairs. Otto opened the safe for them and drew out a small wooden chest with the lid inlaid in nacre and the segmented cavity lined in deep blue velvet. The jewels glimmered like a miniature pirate’s treasure chest. The family sapphires were there, the small necklace of diamonds and matching earrings, a ruby and pearl pin, and a few other items, each in its own compartment. The Irish ring was not there.

  “Did she usually wear her pearl ring, Otto?” Luten asked.

  “I’m pretty sure she did. She was fond of the little hand ring you gave her, Lady deCoventry. She wore it a good deal as well, but I hadn’t seen it on her lately. She hadn’t lost the pearl ring, or she would have mentioned it. She was likely wearing both of them, one on each hand. She liked baubles.”

  “Yes, that must be it,” Corinne said. Luten merely frowned.

  When they had left Otto, she said, “What is bothering you, Luten?”

  “I don’t like to invent another curve, but... might the pearl ring have been stolen the night the intruder was in Susan’s room? Was he rummaging around at her toilet table?”

  “I believe he was. But ... are you suggesting that the theft of my gown and reticule and Susan’s abduction were both done by the same man?”

  “I think I’m suggesting something quite different,” he said hesitantly. “That some clever scoundrel decided to steal some personal belonging of Susan’s to convince us that he has her. Any of the locals would know no ransom note has been received. He might be exploiting the affair, using the ring to convince us he has her. Being an amateur, he couldn’t resist a few other easy pickings while he was about it. Or perhaps he took the reticule and gown to make it look like an ordinary ken smashing.”

  “Then who does have her?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He took a crippling grip on her elbow, as if he feared she, too, might disappear, and led her to the saloon.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Dinner was a quiet meal. Everyone was wrapped up in his own thoughts. Otto turned his wineglass upside down, indicating his intention to remain sober until Susan was recovered. The others pushed the dry mutton and wet potatoes around their plates and drank lightly. Corinne did take one taste of the plum preserves and noticed a sharp bite indicating they had begun to ferment. After dinner, Otto went into the garden to blow a cloud, perhaps to remove himself from the temptation of the wine decanter.

  This was the first opportunity Luten and Corinne had to tell the others of their findings regarding the two rings. They had decided not to trouble Otto with their fear, lest it drive him to drink.

  “You have got to tell Otto, Luten,” Prance said, after the thing had been discussed. “He might be handing Susan’s money over to some opportunist who doesn’t have Susan but has only snatched her ring from the dresser. The broadsheets have put the idea into his head that there is real money to be made out of it. Otto will have lost niece and money. It will be the death of him. And what if the real kidnapper makes his demand after the blunt is gone? No, it’s too dangerous.”

  “I was just thinking,” Coffen said, “if this demand is a fake, then who has got Susan, and why hasn’t he come forward? I don’t say it’s so or think it, but it could even have been Soames. That would account for not getting a ransom note. Since he’s dead, you see. And likely Susan is, too, by now. Starved to death, poor child.”

  “But what if the note is genuine?” Corinne said. “Can we risk not taking the money and possibly cause her death?”

  “What we’ve got to do is follow the oiler,” Coffen said. “You go on ahead at ten as you planned, Luten. Me and Prance will be lurking about, one on either side of the road to follow the scoundrel when he comes out of the forest. Cosh him on the head, steal the money back, force him to lead us to Susan.”

  “The man is not a fool. He will have thought of that and taken precautions,” Prance said.

  “Dash it, what precautions can he take? He can’t fly away from the forest. We’d ought to get Hodden in on it as well. Form a circle around the whole forest.”

  “He’ll disappear into the trees,” Prance said. “Hide the money in a hole somewhere and come back for it later. I daresay the woods are full of poachers. We won’t know which man is the kidnapper.”

  “I’ll know,” Luten said. “I won’t let him out of my sight.”

  “Then you had best have a mount tethered nearby,” Corinne said. “He’ll be mounted for a fast getaway.”

  “I hadn’t planned to walk to the forest. It’s a few miles away,” Luten replied. “Coffen’s idea of lurking outside the forest but nearby is not a bad one. We don’t know how many of them are in on it. It could be a whole gang, but I doubt more than one or two will come to pick up the money. If you see them come out of the forest, follow them. If they disappear into it, I shall follow, with my pistol charged and ready to fire. One way or the other, we’ll get him—or them, as the case may be.”

  Country hours were kept at Appleby Court. It was still only eight-thirty, with time to kill before leaving. Prance decided to pay a call on Blackmore, to taunt him about Mrs. Spencer, née Prissy Trueheart. He had doodled up a new design for the dinnerware featuring a satyr in lieu of the lion, with petticoats flouncing all around it. “All in jest,” he said.

  “Be sure you’re back before ten,” Coffen said.

  “Probably by nine,” Prance replied, laughing. “I doubt he will welcome me with open arms, but I cannot resist my little gibe.”

  Luten was pacing bac
k and forth. “I’d best change,” he said, and left to speak to his valet.

  “What will you be doing while we’re gone?” Coffen asked Corinne.

  “Waiting and worrying. What else can I do?”

  “You could say a few prayers.”

  “That, too.”

  “I have a little errand to run myself.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, with only mild interest.

  “Bloodhounds. There’s a fellow near East Grinstead— Lafferty—who has a couple of dandy ones. Hodden used them early on, but he could get no trace of Susan. I’ll see if Lafferty will lend them to me. I didn’t mention it to Luten. He’d only worry about their barking and giving the show away.”

  “They probably would.”

  “Lafferty says he’s trained ‘em to silence, but I’ll muzzle ‘em. Shan’t be long. If Luten’s looking for me, tell him ... tell him I went out for a walk.”

  Corinne was left alone, with a foretaste of the long evening to come. She foresaw a hundred possibilities for this scheme to go wrong. What if the men knocked Luten out and disappeared into the depths of the forest with the money? What if Susan wasn’t returned after? Or what if she returned and had been violated? Beaten, raped—anything was possible.

  To escape her thoughts, and to make sure that Otto wasn’t drinking, she went to his study and began a game of chess with him. He was the better player, but he was so distraught that neither of them made a good showing. When she heard the front door open, she used it as an excuse to abandon the game. Otto showed no interest in drink that evening. He had had the temptation removed from his study.

  She went to see who had returned. It was Prance. He looked somewhat crestfallen.

  “He had already found out about Prissy and given her her congé,” he said. “Lord Henry Dalyrymple, an aging roué who used to spend a deal of time at the theaters, saw her on the High Street yesterday. He called on Blackmore and mentioned seeing Prissy Trueheart. Blackmore was not tardy to put two and two together. She’s left East Grinstead, gone back to London to try her luck there. She had conned Blackmore entirely. He thought she was a respectable married lady whose husband had run off to London and left her penniless. Well, relatively respectable. Certainly not a prostitute and a known thief. He asked me to keep his secret. Of course, I shall, except to you, cara mia. I have no secrets from you.”