by Joan Smith
“Let him haggle you up to his thousand. What odds? He can go whistle for it, once we’ve got the sparklers.”
“He’ll not come across with the time and route without something up front.”
“Give him a hundred. I’ll get it back when we take care of him.”
“Since you’ll be getting it back, might as well make it a couple of hundred. But I don’t hold with murder, Jack. If Luten hears that Black’s been done in, he’ll figure out where the leak came from. That Pattle fellow likely knows Black’s been coming here. I don’t want the Berkeley Brigade outfit coming down on my tavern. And neither do you. They’ll find the tunnel. We’ll end up dancing on air. It ain’t worth it.”
“I won’t kill him. Just put the fear of God into him.”
“So now you’re God, are you?” Catchpole snorted.
“You worry too much, Catchpole. I’ll handle it discreetly. You just milk Black for all he knows, and I’ll do the rest.”
Black didn’t pay a visit to the tavern the next day. Knowing his usefulness to Mad Jack was over once he had told them what they wanted to know, he sent a note to Catchpole in the late afternoon saying he had the information and would give the details once he had his thousand pounds. He suggested Catchpole meet him in front of the Royal Crescent at ten o’clock that night with the money. Within an hour he had a reply suggesting the Old Ship Tavern, and an advance fee of five hundred pounds. Black was sure enough Mad Jack had taken the bait that he didn’t reply until nine o’clock. He insisted on the Royal Crescent, but agreed to the five hundred advance.
At five to ten he was standing by the window in the hotel lobby, eagerly watching the street. He was happy to see plenty of foot traffic. Catchpole wasn’t foolish enough to try anything in such a public place. Sir Reginald and Evans stood apart from him, hiding behind a potted palm, chatting as if old friends but also keeping a sharp eye on the street. At one minute after ten, Black recognized Catchpole, who had donned a blue jacket and curled beaver for the occasion and looked almost respectable. Black stood a moment, checking to see that he had come alone. When he was sure no one was lurking nearby, he nodded to Sir Reginald to be on the alert and strode out the door. Prance and Evans moved closer to the window and watched with increased urgency.
“Have you brought the readies?” Black asked Catchpole.
“Let’s hear the plan first.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“What route, and what time?”
“Not another word till I see the colour of your money.”
Catchpole handed over an envelope. Black opened it, counted the bills and nodded. “New London Road. Evans says they plan to leave at nine o’clock.”
“Where will they have hidden the sparklers?”
“Sewn into the crown of the old lady’s bonnet. She wears a great ugly lid with a forest of feathers on top. She won’t be wearing it in the carriage when she’s sleeping. It’ll likely be on the banquette beside her. Just nab it, make sure the sparklers are there, and let her go. There won’t be nothing else in the rig worth stealing. She won’t give you any trouble, and the dame with her is an old biddy who’ll likely faint in fright. Now about the second half of my money.”
“Meet me at the tavern around midnight tomorrow night.”
“I’ll tell Evans I’m going. I better come home safe, or there’ll be trouble.”
Catchpole sneered. “What kind of trouble? Is Evans going to tell his lordship what he done?”
Black allowed a menacing scowl to settle on his swarthy face. “I have friends you don’t want to tangle with,” he said.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get what’s coming to you. Mad Jack ain’t a welcher.” Catchpole nodded and left.
Black waited until he was out of sight, checked that no one was keeping an eye on him, then returned to the hotel lobby where Prance and Evans awaited him. The three men retired to Black’s room to discuss the meeting. Black’s first concern was to examine the bills and ascertain that they weren’t forgeries. Half his mind was on figuring how he could get to keep the five hundred. Surely even Luten wouldn’t be such a stickler that he’d want it returned to Mad Jack. Nossir, he stood to make five hundred on this deal. It put him in a good mood.
“What do you say to a drink, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Luten wanted us to report as soon as it was over,” Prance said. “Do you think it safe for us to go there now?”
With a thought to how her ladyship would praise him, Black said, “They’ve got what they wanted from me. I doubt they’ll bother following me now. P’raps you ought to go on alone first, Sir Reginald. They know me and Evans are friends, so they won’t be surprised if they see us together, not that they’ll be watching.”
Prance was happy enough to disassociate himself from them. One never knew, that big bruiser of a Catchpole just might be lurking about. He let Black and Evans leave first, however. If anyone were followed, it would be Black. He left soon after and noticed with relief that Black was not being followed. Black and Evans entered by the back door. Prance used the front door. Luten, Townsend, Corinne and Coffen, in full female attire, were in the drawing room when they all arrived. The window hangings were drawn for privacy’s sake, lest Mad Jack should decide to come spying.
“I judge from your smiles it was a successful venture, Black?” Townsend said.
“Entirely successful,” Black said. Evans, hoping to remain for the meeting, slid quietly into a chair while Black related the meeting.
Partridge, looking uncomfortable in the role, had assumed the butler’s duties and approached with a tray holding a wine decanter and glasses. Once Evans got a glass in his hand he felt he was safe and relaxed. Prance gave him a questioning look, for he didn’t really like this incursion into the Brigade of butlers, but he said nothing. Evans had paid him flattering attention while they had been together that evening. Quite a civilized chap, for a butler. He had expressed disbelief that the journals had made no mention of Sir Reginald’s marvelous novels.
“You got the money all right?” Townsend asked, with a sharp eye at Black.
“I did, sir. And it ain’t counterfeit.”
“We’ll want that for evidence when the case comes to trial,” Townsend said.
Black swallowed a mouthful of bile, said “You’ll get it,” but he didn’t produce the five hundred.
“I’ve been out the New Road and I believe I know exactly where Mad Jack will be lurking,” Townsend said.
Black, who had also been reconnoitering, said, “Behind that stand of hornbeam bushes just at the first turn in the road. And you and I, Townsend, can take cover a few yards away on t’other side. We ought to be there early.”
“Exactly. You are awake on all suits, Black, as I was telling Luten. Any time you feel like a change of job, you know where to come.”
Coffen jerked forward. “Here, Townsend! No poaching. Black works for me.”
“Heh heh, my little joke, Pattle. So I set out for London with my crew tomorrow morning, and hotfoot it back here as soon as I’ve turned the stones over to Lloyd. Then tomorrow night Lady Carter,” he nodded to Coffen, “drives forth with her companion. I don’t look for any extreme violence at that point. Just let him take the bonnet, and whilst he’s checking to see the jewels are in the bonnet where Black said, Black and I dart out and catch him, red-handed. Lady Carter and her companion can join us if there’s any trouble, but I have no doubt Black and I can handle him.”
“So it seems my role is to grovel in the mud with Pelkey,” Luten said, unhappily. His wife smiled and patted his hand. “They also serve who only grovel and wait, Luten.”
“What about moi?” Prance asked. “Do I just flutter and swoon and act scared to death?”
“Exactly. I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job,” Townsend said.
“I shall take that as a compliment on my acting ability,” Prance sniffed.
Coffen said, “It seems I have the easiest job of all. I only have to sleep.”
Chapter Thirty
Brighton treated the journey of the Czarina’s necklace to London as a public holiday. Even the weather joined in the festive mood and allowed the sun to show dimly through the coastal cloud cover. The crowd gathered in front of the bank from which the trip was to begin were in high spirits. Street vendors milled about, doing a brisk trade in the sale of lemonade and ices and lollypops for the kiddies. A fiddler stood on one corner with his hat at his feet, trying to make his music heard over the roar of voices. A few youngsters were indulging their high spirits in dancing, and others in fisticuffs.
Black, fearing he might be watched, did not join the Berkeley Brigade when they went to see Townsend set out for London the next morning. The carriage carrying the necklace was stiff with armed Officers, drawn by a team of four matched bays. Two Officers rode in advance, two on either side of the carriage and two more behind. Townsend performed a royal wave from the window, like a popular monarch out to view his subjects.
The coaching inns chosen to bait the horses along the way had been put on the alert to have fresh teams standing by. As the caravan disappeared out of sight, the crowd slowly dispersed. A reporter, recognizing Luten, began talking to him. Prance joined them, ready to give his view on whatever was being discussed. Coffen, still in his disguise, nudged Corinne’s elbow and said, “That’s Cripps, over there with Flora.”
Corinne leaned forward and peeked. “So that’s the infamous Mad Jack. He looks like a Bartholomew Baby. I see he’s sweet-talked Flora into forgiving him for his behaviour the other night.”
“P’raps he’s promised her the necklace. I wonder why he bothered coming, seeing as he thinks it’s only the paste necklace making the trip.”
“It’s like a party here. I fancy Flora made him bring her. See, she’s sent him off to get her an ice. He doesn’t seem so dangerous to me. He’s tied to her apron strings.”
“Don’t let that pink face fool you. He’s dangerous enough for two men. Hold on — there’s Jasper joining him. And Flora’s impatient for her ice. She’s joined him as well.”
“Jasper’s a scoundrel if I ever saw one. Looks like a stage villain.”
Luten soon joined them, leaving Prance to give the reporter an interview, and Corinne pointed out Cripps and Flora and Jasper. They didn’t recognize Catchpole when he joined them but Black, across the street, saw him. Catchpole didn’t remain long as his tavern would be busy with the crowd who’d been watching Townsend begin his journey. He watched as Cripps accompanied Flora to the tourist shop and Jasper went off with Catchpole to wet his whistle.
Luten took Corinne’s arm and said, “We’re free until this evening. What would you like to do?”
“Let us all do something together,” she suggested. “Perhaps a picnic. Oh dear, Mrs. Partridge won’t be prepared for that. We’ve kept her so busy I dislike to add to her work. Let us go for a drive along the water and take lunch at some seaside inn.”
Prance took no interest in this. He had more or less promised Boo he would help him set up the stage for the musical play, and Coffen said he just wanted to go back to Marine Parade and see if Black came around. He also wanted to take off the demmed wig. His head was that itchy he feared he had caught lice.
In the end, they arranged to meet at Luten’s house for dinner at seven and went their separate ways. Luten and Corinne went home with Coffen and spent a restless day. Luten oiled his pistol and tried on his footman’s livery and went over the house with Partridge to see if any repairs or upkeep work were necessary.
Corinne sent a note to the hotel asking Black if he could sneak around to join them for dinner. She then found a copy of Evelina in the bookshelf in the spare room, a book much admired by her mama, and tried to read it. Finding it didn’t suit her mood, she wrote to her sister Kate instead and told her something she had not yet mentioned to the others. She felt she might be enceinte, and if she was, and if the baby was a girl, although Luten would prefer a son and heir, she would call her Kate, and Kate must come to London and stand godmother. But pray don’t tell Mama yet as she wasn’t sure.
Black found time dragging without the company of Mr. Pattle and his friends. He didn’t know anyone else in town. He took the grays out to exercize them and was very happy to find Lady Luten’s invitation awaiting him when he returned to the hotel. He changed into his good evening clothes and kept a sharp eye out to ensure he wasn’t followed to Marine Parade.
Prance was there. He had brought his costume with him and went upstairs after dinner to change and practise feminine gestures in front of the mirror. When he returned belowstairs, Townsend had arrived back from London after a grueling ride practically non-stop there and back. He announced the safe delivery of the necklace to Lloyd’s. He and Black were each to ride one of Luten’s mounts to the prearranged spot on the New London Road.
“I’ll drop around the stable now and head out while it’s light enough to see,” Townsend said.
“I’ll meet you there,” Black said. “I’ve familiarized myself with the place. I’m going back to the hotel to change first. I never wear my decent clothes when I’m on the job.” Black had only one good jacket, and took great care of it.
“I’ll whistle when I see you pass,” Townsend said. “Don’t be too long.”
Black walked quickly back to the hotel, keeping an eye over his shoulder. He had no fear that he was being watched to see he had dined at Marine Parade. Catchpole had no interest in him now that he’d got what he wanted. It was the five hundred pounds in his pocket that concerned him, but he didn’t feel it was safe in an unguarded hotel room. A good hotel like the Royal Crescent must have some arrangement for the safe deposit of ladies’ jewels and such. He’d deposit it there and be sure to get a receipt from them.
He stopped at the desk as he entered, looked over his shoulder to see he wasn’t overheard, and had a word with the clerk. “I’ve a largish sum of cash I don’t like carrying about with me. Do you have some safe place I could stash it?”
“Certainly, Mr. Black,” the clerk said. “You may put it in our safe. I’ll sign a receipt, which you must present when you want to take it out.”
“That sounds a dandy arrangement,” Black said with relief.
“As it’s a cash deposit, we like to count it. Perhaps you would like to step into the office for privacy’s sake. The manager is at dinner, but I shall be happy to do the honours.”
Black felt like a lord when he was ushered into the office and drew forth the magnificent sum. The clerk counted it, wrote up a receipt, signed it and put the money in the safe, right in front of his eyes. Then he handed Black the receipt. Black figured it would take a professional thief about two minutes to get the safe open, but he’d have to get past the guard in the lobby and the clerk on the desk and leave a dozen or so witnesses. No, not much chance of the safe being smashed.
He was chirping merry as he went up to his room to change. His door was locked, so he wasn’t expecting any trouble from within. Darkness had fallen. Enough light still came in at the window to show him the lamp on his bedside table. He took two steps towards it, and was knocked on the head by a blow that sent him to the floor, while a shower of red and yellow stars careened inside his head. He had no idea how much time had passed before he came to later, with a head that felt as if St. Paul’s had fallen on it. The room was darker than before. He tried to make a move to draw out his watch, and realized he was trussed up leg and wing. And when he tried to swear, he discovered his mouth was gagged so tightly his jaws ached.
The only ray of light in his jet-black frustration and anger was that he had got the five hundred into the hotel safe. That’s what Catchpole was after, of course — and who was to say they hadn’t got it, so far as Townsend was concerned? That put a rosier hue on his predicament. He wasn’t green enough to think he’d ever see the other promised five hundred. In fact he had no intention of returning to the Brithelmston as arranged.
But his main concern was that he should be on
the New London Road with Townsend. He and Townsend were to tackle Mad Jack when he held up the carriage. Could Townsend handle him alone? Mad Jack was known as a wild man. He might just turn and shoot when he heard a step behind him. He’d soon twig to it that it was a setup, and there was Mr. Pattle with only Sir Reginald to protect him, for Luten and Pelkey would be on the ground.
Much good that fop of a Prance would be! Now if Luten could manage to scramble up —
He worked feverishly at his bindings, and soon realized he had been trussed up by a professional. Catchpole, of course. Jack would be busy applying soot to his mount. If he could make a racket he might attract the attention of someone in the hallway. He couldn’t shout; it was hard to make any noise at all when he was lying on a feather tick. He could kick till his legs were worn out, and not make a sound. Ever inventive, it soon occurred to him that if he could roll off the bed and roll to the door, he could lift his two legs and kick the door until someone heard him.
No sooner thought of than done, within seconds he was on the floor, with the shoulder he’d landed on aching like a bad tooth. Despite the pain, he rolled to the door, hoisted up his tethered legs and began kicking, causing his innards to feel as if they were in a vise. When he heard footsteps in the hallway he kicked harder. “Shocking!” a man’s indignant voice said, loud and clear. “This is supposed to be a good hotel.” The footsteps receded and Black rested his legs and rested his gut until he heard the next footstep in the corridor. He kicked again. There was a gentle tap on the door and a quiet female voice said, “Is there something the matter in there?” Black kicked the door till it shook. “Lawks! It sounds like a brawl, Robbie. You got to do something,” the female voice said.
A man’s voice, noticeably genteel compared to the woman’s, said, “Come along, my dear. “This is none of our concern.”
“But Bobbie! The poor soul might be in trouble.” The last speech died away as the gent pulled his bit of muslin away.