by Joan Smith
“Flora may be Cripps’s dupe in all this,” Corinne said.
“That hellcat anyone’s dupe!” Black cried. “I’d sooner trust a rattle snake. Don’t you go feeling sorry for her, milady.”
“Well, I hope she loves that rascal enough to protect him by not revealing too much about last night.”
“It seems it’s safe for me to go out in my own duds today,” Coffen said, setting down his cup. “I believe I’ll just stroll around, see if I can spot that mount that Cripps was planning to ride. A black gelding with a white star and one white stocking wasn’t it?”
“Right,” Prance said. “Left foreleg.”
“That’s two white stockings,” Coffen pointed out.
“No, just the one, the left foreleg.”
“You said right.”
“I meant correct. It was the left foreleg,” Prance explained, with eye-rolling patience.
“That’s what he was riding last night,” Black said. “We saw it at the Shoreham Inn. I’ll go with you, Mr. Pattle. We might just make a stop at your house and see that the cellar door is still locked as well.”
“At least he can’t say you were the one who locked him up, Coffen,” Prance said. “You and Black have an alibi, though I wouldn’t want to take it into court.”
“I’d admit I took your name in vain if it came to court, Sir Reginald,” Black said.
“That was not my meaning! I meant dueling is illegal.”
“So’s murder,” Coffen said, his mind reverting to Mary.
“None of this will ever come to court,” Luten said. “I’m going up to have a bath and shave and clean shirt.”
“I shall soak until my skin is puckered,” Prance said, rising. “I only took time to change my shirt. I’d hate to be seen in these rags. Villier will scold at the condition of my buckskins and boots.”
“That’s what you pay him for, keeping you tidy,” Black said.
“Oh Villier is more than just my valet. He’ll be worried about me. When do you want to see us again, Luten? The reason I ask, I thought I might catch a few hours rest.”
“Come for dinner, all of you,” Corinne said. “We must free our captives tonight, you recall.”
Prance pouted. “You have just murdered sleep, Macbeth,” he said, and swanned out.
“Shakespeare,” Coffen explained. “He’s used that line before. Always quotes William when he wants to be smart. That’s what he calls Shakespeare — William. We’re off then. Thankee for breakfast, Corrie.” He turned to Luten. “And thank you for — everything. We’ll meet you back here for dinner. Come on, Black.”
Chapter Twenty
Coffen and Black took the curricle to Nile Street, where they found all in order. The doors were locked and no windows broken. They entered but didn’t go down to the cellar. Some light thumping sounds from below told them that Cripps was still there.
“He’ll do there till midnight,” Black said with satisfaction.
“Let us see if we can find that mount he was planning to ride,” was Coffen’s next idea. Horses and clue-hunting promised a thoroughly enjoyable way of passing the day. He was familiar with the mews and stables of London, but Brighton was pretty well virgin territory to him. He had interesting chats with a dozen grooms and ostlers, received high praise on his frisky grays, discovered where to hire a good mount should it prove necessary and viewed half a dozen mounts that resembled the black horse with white markings that he was looking for. Not having had more than a glance at the mount at the Shoreham stable the night before, however, he couldn’t make a positive identification. Coffen did learn the owners of all but one of them. The only name he recognized was Willie Scraggs.
“This hasn’t been much of a holiday for you,” said Black, who did not share his love of horseflesh.
“At least today is fun.”
“We’ve pretty well finished the job. Why don’t we just go for a nice jaunt in the countryside, give these grays a workout, and give you more practice handling the ribbons?”
“Sounds perfect,” Coffen agreed. “We’ll stop at some country place for a bite and a few pints.”
The weather was fine. The sky, usually more white than blue on the coast, was full of brilliant sunshine, with a few opalescent white clouds wafting overhead. The countryside was a patchwork of shades of green, with flowers spangling the hedgerows and birds warbling as they swooped about from tree top to tree top, then swooped down to earth after a worm, or a bit of dry grass for a nest.
“This is how I imagined our holiday would be,” Coffen said with perfect contentment.
Black, who preferred city life, enjoyed it too, but at the back of his mind he kept wondering what would happen when Cripps and Flora were released. They wouldn’t just stop harassing Mr. Pattle. In fact, it was more than likely they’d be after him, buckle and thong.
Much the same thoughts were in Luten’s mind as he and Corinne enjoyed a drive to Preston Manor to view the beautiful rose gardens and lily ponds. Prance managed to put the whole business out of his mind by visiting Boo and Tony, and damning with faint praise the songs they were rehearsing. “It’s difficult to find a good rhyme for Charles, isn’t it?” he commiserated. “I should have just used ‘king’ myself. Dozens of rhymes there — sing, sting, ring, cling.”
“True,” Boo said. “And he does give her a ring, and they do cling. Oh I must change it.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Prance said modestly. He also enjoyed dropping mysterious hints as to wicked doings the night before.
They all met back on Marine Parade for dinner. Black and Coffen remained after to play cards with the Lutens. Prance had been flattered into helping Boo enliven the lyrics of one of Nell’s ditties, but he would be back by eleven.
When the group met that night to finalize their plan, Luten said, “Let us free them both at the same time. Two of us can free Flora, the other two will go to Nile Street. I hardly know which of them will give us more trouble. Does anyone have a preference?”
“Cripps for me,” Coffen said. He turned to his friend, “Black?”
“I’m with you, Mr. Pattle.”
“That leaves Flora for us, Prance. Any idea how we can keep from getting our eyes scratched out?”
“A chair and a whip are the usual implements for taming wild cats, are they not?” Prance suggested archly.
“She’ll be in no shape to put up a fight,” said Corinne, who could see Luten had no relish for the job of manhandling a woman. “She hasn’t had a bite for twenty-four hours. She’ll be frightened too. I’ll go with you and talk to her.”
“Not necessary, my dear,” Luten said. She just stared at him a moment. The sparkle in her green eyes told him she meant to go.
“Let her come,” Prance urged. “It can’t do any harm.”
“Very well. It would take an age to untie those knots. We’ll take a butcher knife.”
“That’ll put the fear of the lord in her!” Corinne objected. “To see masked men with a big knife! She’ll think you’re going to kill her.”
“She won’t see it unless she’s worked off her bandage,” Prance pointed out. It flashed into his mind that in his new novel the heroine would indeed see the villain coming at her with a knife, whose razor-sharp blade glinted coldly in the moonlight. It gave him a delightful shudder of fear.
“She’ll hear men’s heavy footsteps,” Corinne pointed out. “In the dark that will be almost more frightening than seeing you. Let me have a word with her first, explain we’re setting her free.”
“We should take her away from Norval’s place before we remove the eye bandage,” Luten said. “We don’t want her to know where she’s been. Too close to home. We’ll drive around a while to confuse her before leaving her at her own place.” Then he turned to Black and Coffen. “How do you plan to handle Cripps?”
“Since he knows where he’s been tied up, we’ll free his legs, march him up to the back door, take off the eye bandage and let him go with his hands tied and
his mouth shut,” Black said. “He’ll leg it to the tavern. We’ll let them finish the job.”
“That might be best,” Luten said, chewing back a grin. Leave it to Black to come up with the solution.
Freeing Flora was not so awful a job as they had feared, although she had managed to work off her gag and the covering over her eyes had slipped down to her nose. She was as terrified as Prance’s heroine would be when she saw her masked abductors return, one of them carrying a long knife, that glittered in the shadow. She stared, the whites of her eyes indicating mute horror. Prance made a mental note of this. Her silence was more effective than invective. Just so would his heroine behave when the highwayman freed his ladylove. And he, the hero, would suffer remorse for adding this modicum of pain to her ordeal. His gentle female readers had especially appreciated that touch of sensitivity in his heroes.
Corinne rushed forward. “We’re not going to harm you,” she said. “Just be quiet. We’re going to free you, but if you start acting up —”
Flora didn’t shout. Nothing but a weak sniffle came from her. She just nodded her capitulation. “I’m going to put the cover back over your eyes and the gag over your mouth,” Corinne said, and did it. She was afraid Flora would bite her, or at least begin hollering once she was out of the house. Luten cut the ropes, the hands first, then the ankles. Flora rubbed her wrists, and waited a moment. As no one tried to stop her, she arose, stiff in every joint and teetering. Corinne steadied her till she could stand by herself.
“We’ll take you home now,” Corinne said, and led her to the stairway.
To conceal from the Norvals that their house had been used, Luten hastily stuffed the bedding of old clothes back in the trunk, nodded to Prance to pick up the ropes and closed the attic door after they had descended. They went out the back door, then on to Prance’s waiting carriage. There wasn’t an ounce of fight left in Flora. She cowered beside Corinne on one banquette with Luten and Prance facing them on the opposite side. They drove up and down a few streets then to Market Street. Her house was quiet and all in darkness when they reached it. The door was unlocked. They led her inside, settled her on the sofa and left.
“Poor thing,” Corinne said. “She was frightened to death.”
“Quite tamed from when we picked her up twenty-four hours ago,” Luten said, not without a qualm of his own. “Shall we drop around Nile Street and see if the others have left yet?”
“They’re still here,” Prance said when they arrived. “That’s Coffen’s carriage and team. I expect he wore his grays into the ground this afternoon and didn’t want to use them again.”
“I wonder if they’ve set Cripps free yet,” Corinne said.
“We’ll wait a moment and see,” Luten suggested. When neither Cripps nor Black and Coffen had come out after five minutes, Luten decreed that something must have gone wrong.
“Go in and see, Luten,” Corinne said.
“You can see through the kitchen window from outside,” Prance said. “He was in the cellar, see if the cellar door’s open. If it is, that’s likely where they are.”
A feeling of tension was rising amongst them. Luten was the first one at the window. There was no one in the room. “The door’s open. I’m going in,” he said.
Prance handed him his pistol, which he’d brought from the carriage. “Best take this.”
Corinne scampered back to the carriage to get Luten’s pistol. By the time she returned, the others had gone in. By standing on her tiptoes she could see the top part of the kitchen and four heads. Black and Coffen must have come up from the cellar. But there was no sign of Cripps. Luten and Black were talking in an excited way. Black tossed up his hands in a gesture of anger or futility. Coffen was just shaking his head. She went to the back door which Luten had left hanging open and listened. “It’s impossible!” Luten was saying, and the others were all jabbering. She went in.
“What’s happened?” she demanded.
“He’s gone,” Coffen said. “Cripps escaped.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? You were going to set him free in any case. I daresay he’s gone home. He’ll find Flora waiting for him.”
“No, but it’s impossible,” Coffen said. “We’ve been over the whole house. All the doors were locked when we got here. Black had set a wedge under them on the outside so they couldn’t be opened from the inside. The wedges were in place and all the windows closed and the bolt still on the cellar door, so how the deuce did he escape?”
“He must have worked a wedge loose and stuck it back in after he got out,” she said.
“Why would he bother to replace it?” Luten said. “We’d know he’d escaped when he wasn’t inside.”
“He never got out a door,” Black insisted. “I drove them wedges in so hard I could scarcely pry them out from the outside.”
“Did you search the cellar?” she asked.
“The cellar door was locked, and bolted as well,” Black said. “The only way he could have got through that door is by busting the bolts off the door, and they’ve not even been loosened.”
“But did you search the cellar?” she asked.
“We looked all around, certainly.”
“He didn’t walk through the bolted door,” she insisted. “He must be hiding downstairs.”
Black considered it, frowned, and said to Coffen, “By Jove, she could be right! We didn’t really search the place. And in the dark ... He’s hidden himself behind something. He’s still down there!”
They exchanged a sheepish look. Coffen took up a lamp and the four men headed to the cellar. They were soon back up. “He’s gone,” Coffen announced. “We searched the trunks and any place he could possibly squeeze into. He’s gone without a trace.”
“He’s a magician then,” Black said. “Are you sure them ropes were tied the way I showed you, Luten?”
“As nearly as I could remember. It was dark — but even if he did get the ropes off how did he get out of a locked cellar and house?”
“There must be a priest’s hole in the cellar,” Prance said.
“There’s no such a thing,” Coffen scowled. “Me and Black combed that cellar with a fine tooth. He’s bested us, the scoundrel. I wonder how long he’s been gone.”
“At least he didn’t make it to the duel,” Corinne said, in an effort to console him. “Let us go home and think about it. We’ll come back tomorrow and do a thorough search in daylight. It’s one o’clock. You’re all dead tired. No sleep last night, and all the worry.”
“Happen you’re right,” Black said.
“Yes,” Luten agreed. “The thing’s impossible on the face of it, but he did it, and we must figure out how.”
They discussed it for nearly an hour at Luten’s house before the others went to their hotel. The only decision they reached was that they would all go to Nile Street in the morning and try to solve the mystery.
None of them mentioned it, but they didn’t forget either that with Cripps free and in no good mood, he would likely take steps to gain revenge on Coffen. There was no point wearing the livery, he was on to that.
“Take your closed carriage in the morning, Coffen,” Luten said, as they left.
“Going to rain, is it?” Coffen said. “Pity, that’ll ruin any footprints. What we need is a clue.”
Over his head, Black nodded to show Luten he understood the reason for the closed carriage, and would see that it was used tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-one
A heavy sky and a brisk breeze the next morning promised rain. Already the air was so moisture-laden it dampened clothing and left the skin feeling clammy. Swells of waves crashed on the shingle beach and farther out white caps promised rough sailing for the few fishing vessels braving the winds.
“At least Coffen won’t have talked Black into letting him take his curricle,” Corinne said to Luten, as they hurried out to the carriage. She was on pins and needles until they reached Nile Street and saw Coffen’s closed carriage parked outside wi
th a few urchins examining it. Fitz watched them to see they didn’t pull any stunts. Looking around for Prance’s carriage, she noticed he hadn’t arrived yet, unless he came with Coffen.
Finding the front door was still wedged shut, the Lutens went around to enter the back way into the kitchen. The door to the cellar was open.
Luten called down and Coffen answered in an excited voice. “We’re down here, Luten. Come down quick. We’ve found something.”
“Oh lord, I hope Cripps isn’t dead,” Corinne said, which sent Luten bucketing down the staircase with his wife following reluctantly behind him.
“What is it, Coffen?” she demanded. No dead body lay on the floor, nor anything else that appeared interesting at first glance. “What have you found?”
One lantern sat on the floor, Coffen held the other in one hand. He raised his other hand holding the ropes that had bound Cripps. Black was holding the eye bandage.
“We found these under the papers in one of the trunks,” Black said. “It’s odd. I don’t see the mouth gag. He’d not leave that in place when he had his hands free.”
“Have you looked about for it?” Luten asked.
“We have. I don’t see a sign of it.” He took the lantern from the floor and began searching around in corners.”
“Very likely he just pulled it down around his neck and hurried off,” Corinne said. She saw by their scowls they disliked this sensible suggestion. “Is there another lantern?” she asked with a shudder as she looked around the dark, dirty cellar at the scuttling black beetles.
“There’s a couple in the kitchen,” Coffen said. She scampered upstairs, found a tinderbox, lit two lamps and took them down. She handed Luten one and they both joined the search for any sign of how Cripps might have escaped.
It was Corinne who made the discovery. She lifted her skirts, crouched down and shone her lamp into the dark cavity under the stairs. A bit of something white was just visible against the age-darkened boxes holding the petrified potatoes. “There’s something here,” she called, and the others joined her.