by Joan Smith
The occupants of the other tables were too busy flirting to pay any attention to them. They discussed the case over their ale, rehashing those same points they had discussed over dinner. They agreed that Cripps sounded the sort of weasel who would steal from a dead man. As the evening wore on, the wooings at the other tables rose to shrieks of laughter, intermingled with playful pinches and slaps and a few genuine protests from the women.
“We might be wise to leave before the fights break out,” Black suggested. “You don’t want Mr. Brown arresting you again when you’re out on bail. We can make another stop at Nile Street before we go back to the hotel and make sure our guards are awake. I got a whiff of ale off Fitz.”
“Good idea.”
As they were leaving the garden, a pair of young bucks were just arriving. Both were well set-up as to build and dressed in a style that suggested a lively taste in fashion and plenty of money to indulge it. The one in front was a blond with the usual blue eyes and pink-cheeked complexion that often accompany blond hair. The other was older, dark-haired, with a vaguely Slavic look due to his high cheekbones and gray eyes. Both wore jacket buttons too large, cravats too high on the neck and waistcoats too bright for gentlemen of good breeding, but the blonde one was the worst offender.
The entrance to the garden was through a narrow opening in a hornbeam hedge, which tempered the breeze from the water. It wasn’t Black’s custom to give way when he was closer to the opening. He went through first, with Coffen behind him. The blond young buck, who had obviously been drinking, barged in from outside, nearly knocking Coffen over as he tried to pass through.
“Here, watch what you’re about,” the fellow said, and gave Coffen a shove on the shoulder. Coffen shoved back. “Out of my way, lackey!” The blond man shoved again.
The dark-complexioned buck said, “This is an outrage! An uppity servant assaulting a gentleman!” He turned to Black. “You should keep better control over your servants, sir.”
“You should watch your tongue, lad,” Black shot back.
“It’s all right, Black,” Coffen said, eager to leave before the meeting came to blows. “He’s bosky.”
“If you say so,” Black said through gritted teeth.
“Did you say bosky?” the blond said angrily.
“The fellow called you a drunkard,” his dark friend informed him. Are you going to stand still for that?”
“Devil a bit of it.”
“So which is the master here?” the dark man asked. He turned to Black. “You take orders from your servant, sir?”
“Let us go,” Coffen said to Black, and took a pace forward towards the opening.
The blond buck reached for his shoulder and pulled him back. “You’ll leave when we say so.” He turned to his friend.
“Go on, demand satisfaction for the insult you’ve suffered at this footman’s scurvy hands,” the friend urged.
“I demand satisfaction,” the blond said. “Absholutely.”
“True, you oughtn’t to lower yourself to meet someone so obviously not your equal, but then this fellow,” he sneered in Black’s direction, “is no gentleman either.”
“Stand aside or I’ll knock your block off!” Black growled.
“What does it take to goad you into a duel?” the dark young buck said to Coffen, and pulling off his glove, he handed it to his friend with a commanding look. The blond took the glove and slapped it across Coffen’s face.
“Name your shecond, shir,” he said, slurring his words. “We shall meet in the court of twelve paces at dawn.”
“Now see here,” Black said, “if it’s a fight you’re after, just step outside this hedge and we’ll settle it, man to man.”
“Not speaking to you, cur!” the buck said.
His friend turned to Coffen. “Your name, my good man? It’s a little eccentricity of my friend’s. He likes to know who he’s killing.”
Coffen didn’t often lose his temper but a direct slap was enough to do it. “John Jones,” he said, hoping to at least keep his name out of it. Brown would certainly use it as an excuse to lock him up again if he got wind of it. He had said something about “keeping the peace” when Luten got him out of lockup.
“Mr. Jasper will represent me,” the buck said, nodding to his companion.
“I take it this great booby will be your second?” Mr. Jasper cast a disparaging glance at Black. “After we’ve had a few pints here, I shall do myself the honour of calling on your second to arrange details. Let us say one a.m. His address?”
“The Royal Crescent Hotel,” Coffen said.
“And his name?”
“Sir Reginald Prance,” Black said in a hollow voice, hoping the “Sir” might deter the rogue, and not quite daring to use Lord Luten’s name.
The blond buck bowed and said, “Henry Cripps.”
Mr. Jasper smiled. “We shall meet at dawn in the meadow behind the church yard on Dyke Road.”
Black and Coffen exchanged a startled glance at the familiar name. “We’ll be there, Cripps,” Coffen said.
Jasper smiled and herded his drunken friend to a table in the garden. Coffen and Black, caught between anger and fear and confusion, beat a hasty retreat to the curricle. Black looked around the stable, trying to ascertain how the bucks had got there from town. Coffen’s curricle was the finest rig there. It stood out from the few elderly rigs drawn by only one horse. There were a few mounts as well. Two of them were fine bits of blood, a bay and a black gelding with a white star on its nose and a white sock on its left front leg.
“So that’s Henry Cripps,” Coffen said, as they drove off. “Bottle bitten. Do you think he’ll remember he challenged me to a duel?”
“I doubt his friend will let him forget,” Black replied. “Jasper was mighty eager for this duel. You mind Mrs. Partridge called Cripps a coward. I daresay he’s been boasting to his friend how he’s been trying to kill you, and his friend was sober enough to give him his chance. They knew it was you, despite the names we gave them. He’s bound and bent to kill you one way or t’other, Mr. Pattle. You can’t meet him.”
“I’m a pretty good shot, Black. What I’m wondering is how they knew we were there. It’s not likely they’d have gone there by chance. They must have been following us.”
“I daresay Cripps was snooping around the house on Nile Street, waiting to sneak in, and followed us from there. But did he have the other fellow, Jasper, with him?”
“Cripps might have followed us to the tavern, then rushed back to town to enlist Jasper’s help,” Coffen said.
“That’s just what he did! He was afraid to tackle us alone. We were at the Shoreham for over an hour. I figure those two bits of blood, the bay and the black gelding, were their mounts. Well, we’ve had a look at Cripps now, and I don’t like what I see. I wager he’ll shoot to kill.”
“What could I do?” Coffen said with a sigh. “We all but apologized. He was determined to bring the thing to a head. A gentleman — which he was pretending to be — don’t meet a footman in a duel. Brown will clamp me in irons for sure.”
“We’ve got to get you out of it somehow. And me as well. What will Sir Reginald not say when he learns I’ve used his name!”
“Why did you, Black?”
“I hoped his fame might put them off. Sir Reginald is well known.”
“He’d not have been put off if you said Prince George. He went there for the purpose of arranging this duel.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “There’s no getting out of it.”
“There might be a way. Sir Reginald would know the in’s and out’s of that book about the rules of a duel.”
“The Code Duello,” Coffen said. We’ll have a word with Reg. Will you tell him you used his name?”
“I tremble to do it, but I must. He’s bound to find out sooner or later.”
“Pity it ain’t a duke I’m meeting, and he’d be thrilled to death at being caught up in something so daring, so long as he’s only my second, and not the v
ictim.”
They didn’t bother stopping at Nile Street but went straight back to the Royal Crescent. Sir Reginald had not yet returned, but before long they heard a knock on Coffen’s door and Reggie came in. “I’ve had an excellent evening with Boo and Tony. I was able to give them a few suggestions for the play — Good God! Why are you wearing that outfit, Coffen?”
“I told you I’m disguising myself as one of Luten’s footmen instead of wearing the wig and beard. It didn’t work.”
Prance sank down on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean? What didn’t work?”
“The livery.”
“Good God! Not another attempt at murdering you?”
“An indirect attempt,” Black said, and outlined their experience at the Shoreham Inn.
“You mean Cripps actually insisted on meeting a footman? It’s monstrous. You shan’t do it, of course.”
“We were wondering if you could get me out of it on a technicality. The Code Duello ...”
“I don’t have my copy here, and I doubt it would deter Cripps in any case. He’s obviously determined to kill you.”
Black rubbed his chin and said with an air of abject apology. “There’s one other little point, Sir Reginald. I’m afraid I took your name in vain.”
Reg gave a gasp of alarm. “In what way, Black?”
“I’m to be Mr. Pattle’s second. I gave your name, hoping such a famous name might cause him to back off, but it didn’t.”
Prance was much mollified by that “such a famous name,” especially as Black was only the second in the matter. No disgrace in that, rather dashing, actually, and he wouldn’t even have to be there. “No point crying over spilt milk, Black. What we must do is figure how to get Coffen out of this mess. Does Luten know?”
“Not yet,” Coffen said.
“Let us go, then. We haven’t much time. The duel is to take place at dawn. When are the seconds to meet, or did Cripps dispense with that necessity in his eagerness to kill you?”
“He said here, at one a.m. Oh, and I called myself John Jones, but it didn’t fool them. We have an hour. It’s pretty late to call on Luten. They might have retired.”
“Then Evans will have to wake them up. This is an emergency. Let us go. Dare we walk, do you think, or will Cripps be out waiting for another chance?”
“I doubt it,” Coffen said. “He’ll be home oiling his pistol to shoot me tomorrow morning.”
They went out and walked the short distance to Luten’s house, looking over their shoulders every few steps. No one accosted them. When they arrived, the many lighted windows told them the Lutens had not retired.
Chapter Sixteen
Luten and Corinne were having a cup of chamomile tea before retiring. The long case clock in the corner began emitting twelve dolorous chimes. Before the last note sounded, the door-knocker rattled peremptorily. Corinne and Luten exchanged a weary, resigned glance. “Sounds like all three of them,” Luten said, as the footsteps advanced towards the drawing room.
“Good gracious!” Corinne exclaimed when she saw their worried, apologetic faces. “What brings you all here at this time of night?”
“A thousand apologies,” Sir Reginald said, “but we felt you ought to know.”
“Afraid there’s a bit of a problem,” Coffen said in his usual blunt way, and ambled in to sit down. “I’m to meet Cripps for a duel tomorrow at dawn.”
Corinne turned pale, Luten just stared, then rang and asked Evans to bring brandy for Mr. Pattle, and wine for the others. “How did this come about?” he asked in a reasonably calm voice.
Evans poured brandy for Coffen and Black, wine for Prance while Black gave a brief but full account of their evening, even revealing his use of Sir Reginald’s name, and the reason for it. Evans lingered as long as possible to hear every word. He was green with envy of Black, and hoped to think of some plan to worm his way into the Brigade, as he had on another never-to-be-forgotten occasion. When he could dally no longer, he had to listen to the rest from outside the door.
“And Cripps insisted on meeting a footman?” Luten asked in disbelief. “What was he thinking?”
“He was pretty bosky,” Black said. “His friend Jasper egging him on every step of the way.”
“He knew perfectly well Coffen wasn’t a footman,” Corinne said. “Cripps is no better than our footmen himself, come to that. In fact a good deal worse.”
“Footmen do not have duels,” Prance sniffed. “They poke one another on the nose and go back to their duties. And a sensible thing it is, too.”
“Well, it seems Cripps was in the Peninsula for a spell, so perhaps he passes for a gentleman in Brighton,” Luten said. “And of course he knew perfectly well Coffen isn’t a footman.”
“What a farce it is,” Prance scolded. “And the Code Duello is no use. He’s obviously not interested in following any rules but his own. And by the by, Jasper is calling on Black at one this morning to settle the details. That gives us less than forty-five minutes to come up with something.”
“No,” Luten said. “The duel is not till dawn. We can go along with this farce till then. Black will have to be back at the hotel at one, but that won’t take long. It still gives us close to five or six hours. What about pistols?”
“I have a pair in London,” Coffen said. “I didn’t bring them.”
“I have a pair here.”
“That’s not important,” Corrine said. “Coffen is not meeting him. On top of everything else, if Brown gets wind of this he’ll lock Coffen up. You must do something, Luten. Tell Brown. He’ll put a stop to it. Duels are illegal now. Oh dear, I daresay we can’t tell Brown as dueling is illegal.”
Coffen shook his head and said, “He’d jump at a chance to get me back in gaol. He warned me to watch my step.”
“Cripps would only start shooting at him again when he got out,” Luten said. After a frowning pause he added, “We could kidnap Cripps, but that involves finding some place to stash him, and someone to keep an eye on him.”
“Coffen should go back to London,” Corinne suggested.
“No,” Coffen objected. “That’s what he wants, to get at my house without me here to watch it.”
“I could take care of that for you, Mr. Pattle,” Black offered.
“Kind of you, Black, but they’d only take to killing you then.”
“You mentioned Brown, Corinne,” Prance said. “No, I don’t mean report the duel. I was thinking it would be a neat solution if we could get Cripps arrested. Preferably till we can find what’s hidden in the house.”
“How can we? We don’t even know where he lives,” Coffen said.
“We’ll find out that much at least when we follow Jasper after he calls on you, Black,” Luten said. “He’ll certainly go back and report to Cripps.”
Black thought this over a moment, then said, “You plan to disable his pistols?”
“That is irrelevant, since Coffen is not going to meet him,” Corinne said firmly. “He’s obviously determined to do away with Coffen, and an ex-soldier would know how to shoot to kill. I think Coffen should just disappear. A better disguise, or — I don’t know. Something.”
“He’ll think I’m afraid,” Coffen said. “Just the sort who’d broadcast it all over town. Ruin my reputation.”
Corinne turned to her last resort in times of crisis. “Black, can you think of anything?”
“I did have one little idea. I don’t know what you all might think of it.” They were all keen to hear what he had to say. “You mentioned kidnapping Cripps, Luten, and the bother of keeping him locked up. But if we just kidnapped him till after the duel, wouldn’t that kill the duel?” He turned to Prance.
“It would forfeit the duel, certainly,” Prance said. “I remember a case a few years ago where Rawlins got so drunk he couldn’t make it, and had to forfeit the duel. Cripps may disregard the rules, but I fancy Sir Reginald Prance might insist on that point.” He turned a coy smile on Black. “What say you, Sir Reginal
d?”
“I’m all for anything that works.”
“You can afford to be lenient and give Cripps an hour to show up, since we know he won’t be coming at all. That establishes your bona fides.
At that point you turn to Jasper in disgust and say you consider the duel won by Mr. Pattle –”
“Jones,” Coffen said. “I called myself John Jones.”
“Won by Mr. Jones by default,” Prance continued, “as Cripps has forfeited it by not coming. Jasper may try for another date, but you tell him Mr. Jones has better things to do with his time than to dally about some godforsaken meadow cooling his heels. It’s not a permanent solution, but it will give us time to think of another plan.”
“There’ll be repercussions when Cripps is set free,” Luten pointed out. “We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t get a look at our faces.”
“I doubt he’ll ever admit he was kidnapped,” Black said.
“And by a footman at that!” Prance said, smiling.
Luten turned to Coffen. “It’s your decision, Coffen. What do you say?”
“I’ll meet him. Feel a coward if I didn’t.”
He was loudly talked down by them all. It was Corinne’s reason that turned the trick. “If he kills you, you’ll never find out who murdered Mary,” she said.
“I daresay you’re right, Corrie. I forgot about poor Mary. Kidnapping will have to do. Now how do we go about nabbing him, and what do we do with him?”
“Since he’s so fond of Nile Street, why don’t we lock him up in the cellar there?” Prance suggested. “A nice unoccupied space, securely locked and guarded. We have every excuse to be there. No one will question it if we go in from time to time.”