Murder Is Come Again

by Joan Smith

  Reg leapt up and went to the mirror, where he was extremely gratified to see there was indeed a lovely purple welt growing over his left temple, irrefutable evidence that he had been right in the thick of things. Wait till Boo and Tony saw that! “It’s nothing. Just a little tap on the temple from Mad Jack the other night,” he would say with a dismissing gesture. “The highwayman, you know. You might have heard of him?”

  “Luten’ll have to tell you, milady,” Black said. “I wasn’t there myself.”

  “Not there?” she demanded. “But why not? Where were you?”

  “At the hotel, knocked out cold.” They all stared and urged him for details, as they were unaware of his tale. “Someone was waiting for me in my room when I went to change, knocked me a wallop on the side of the head and when I came to I was bound up on the bed like a chicken for roasting, and with a gag in my mouth to boot so I couldn’t even holler for help. Took me a while to roll off the bed and to the door and kick till I was set free. I was afraid I’d missed all the fun. Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier, folks. I hope you didn’t take the notion I’d welched on you.” He gave a little laugh at this joke, which was vociferously shouted down by all those who had been wondering that very thing.

  His firm believer, Corinne, asked, “Do you think it was Mad Jack who did it?”

  “Nay, he hadn’t time. ‘Twas certainly Catchpole. He was after the five hundred advance he paid me for letting him in on the scheme.”

  “Thank God he didn’t kill you,” she said.

  “He didn’t have to. He knew it was safe to double-cross me. Who could I complain to? I could hardly tell Townsend or Luten I’d sold them out.”

  Before anyone thought to ask if Catchpole got the five hundred, Black rushed on to continue his story of hurrying to the meeting place, hearing the two approaching horses, seeing the low-hanging branch they would have to pass under, tethering his mount and climbing up the tree to lift Jack off his mount as he passed beneath. Imagine our shock when Mad Jack wasn’t Cripps.”

  “Not Cripps?” she said, shaking her head in confusion. “Then who was it?”

  “ ‘Twas Jasper,” Black replied.

  “That was quick-thinking, Black, to snatch Jack as he rode past,” Luten praised, and the others added their enthusiastic agreement.

  “I took a bit of a chance, for I didn’t really know it was Jack, but when I saw he was being chased I figured the odds were good, and no real harm done if I picked up the wrong man.”

  The rest of the story came out in bits and pieces — Townsend’s delay in shooting, and Luten’s efforts to get up and help being defeated by Jack shooting over his head at regular intervals. Corinne, seeing the gentlemen’s frustration with their inglorious part in the tale, didn’t ask many questions, but made a toast to the mission’s success, with a special smile for Black.

  “So Jasper was Mad Jack all along,” she said, “and not Cripps. I can well believe it, though Jasper actually looks more dangerous.”

  “I believe Cripps’s only interest was to find the necklace,” Coffen said. “And I wouldn’t be much surprised if Flora put him up to it. It seems Cripps knew of the tunnel, but it was Jasper that used it. When me and Black first saw that black gelding at the Seaside tavern, we thought it was Cripps’s mount, but of course it was Jasper’s. He was certainly using Cripps as his tool. It was Jasper that kept egging Cripps on for the duel, eh Black?”

  “True, and he had the wits to get Cripps oiled up before going to challenge you that night. He wanted you out of the way, but didn’t want to show himself up as the one anxious to be rid of you before you discovered your tunnel. I wonder if Cripps ever had any intention of meeting you for that duel.”

  “Jasper certainly meant for him to,” Coffen said. “He was there next morning, and tried to rearrange it for another time. I wager Catchpole sent Jasper word that Cripps was there, and likely sent Jasper’s mount along to give him time to get home and change for the duel. I’m wondering now if Jasper is the one that was shooting at me as well.”

  “Certainly he was,” Luten said. “We never actually got a look at the fellow. He’s the one who used the tunnel.” No mention was made of kidnapping Cripps and Flora as Townsend had not been told of this.

  “I wonder if he killed Mary too,” Coffen said.

  Townsend had to be told all the details of Mary’s murder that were fit to tell. They omitted that they had found her body in Coffen’s house.

  “Her body was found at the graveyard on the Dyke Road,” Luten said. “Coffen was suspected of having killed her, as he’d taken her to dinner the night before. Her brother Willie ran to the constable with a story that she was afraid of him. He lives at the Brithelmston tavern. I shouldn’t be surprised if Catchpole put Willie up to it. I wager it was Jasper who planted her bonnet and reticule in Coffen’s curricle.”

  “They’ll both want looking into as well, then,” Townsend said.

  “Willie Scraggs is one of the Gentlemen. A smuggler,” Luten added. “He might help with evidence against Jack when he learns Jack murdered his sister.”

  “You figure Jasper killed her?” Townsend asked. “Why? Jealousy of her being with Pattle, was it?”

  “Very likely,” Luten said, with a repressive stare at Prance, who already had his mouth open and a sly look on his face. No mention had been made that Mary was a lightskirt.

  Coffen, unaware of this silent passage between the two, said, “I wonder now if she wasn’t in my house looking for the diamond necklace one night when Jack came creeping up from the tunnel, and roamed about till she learned the secret. She might have tried to make gain out of Jasper on it. He feared she’d tell me, and killed her.”

  “She sounds a wily sort of woman,” Townsend said with a frown at Coffen. “You ought to be leery of such women, Pattle, especially in a strange city. Did you know her before you came here?”

  “No, I’d just met her. She was going to rent my house.”

  “She don’t sound like the sort of person you should have had anything to do with.”

  “She was all right,” said Coffen, and gave a sad little sigh.

  They talked on for an hour. As Townsend was leaving, he said to Black in a quiet aside, “I expect Catchpole will deny ever getting that five hundred off you at the hotel, Black.”

  Black mentally weighed the situation regarding the five hundred. Catchpole would certainly insist he hadn’t got the money. Questions would be asked. The hotel clerk might be questioned. “About that five hundred,” he said reluctantly.

  Townsend spoke up before he could confess. “As you didn’t actually see Catchpole, we’ve no proof he’s the one was there and we shan’t pursue that matter. He’s certainly complicit in aiding and abetting a highwayman. That’ll keep him away from the public for some years.” He gave a knowing wink. “You earned it! More power to you. Prinney would only buy hisself another jacket or picture.” Black, stolid as an owl, nodded and wisely said nothing. “Like I said, any time you feel you want a change of work ... We work on commission, you know.”

  Black allowed himself a small smile. “I’ll bear it in mind, Townsend, but at the present I’m happy where I am.”

  “And the Brigade is happy — and lucky — to have you.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  After their busy night, the Berkeley Brigade slept in late the next morning. Prance treated Boo and Tony to lunch at the Royal Crescent, to thank them for their help. He explained that the gown would have to be cleaned and the bonnet and necklace they had so generously lent him would be required for evidence now that the BB’s latest case had been finished up. They were thrilled to be involved in the case, to even this small extent.

  “Then you can tell us all about it now!” Boo cried, in a voice loud enough to cause heads in the dining room to turn in a most gratifying way.

  “I wager that big purple bump on your forehead has something to do with it,” Tony said.

  Prance lifted his fingers to the bump, as i
f surprised to find it there. “Oh that! Yes, I fear Mad Jack was a little annoyed with me when I refused to turn over the Czarina’s necklace, which was, of course, the paste necklace you so generously loaned me.”

  “No! You met Mad Jack and lived to tell the tale!” Boo gasped. “What’s he like?”

  “A dashing rogue, but not chirping so merry this morning, down in the round-house,” Reg said, and picked at a suspect piece of lettuce in his salad. “Fellow named Jasper.”

  “Not the chap who bought Northbay!” Boo gasped. “Only think, Boo, we were thinking of asking him to join our theatrical group. I thought he’d make a marvelous villain.”

  “So he would,” Prance smiled, “though he might have killed you if he didn’t care for his role.”

  When they had settled down from the horror of having avoided death, Prance allowed them to pry the story out of him, making such changes as drama required to augment his part in the arrest. “Yes, it’s been an interesting little diversion,” he allowed, “though truth to tell it has kept me from my etching lessons. Murray wanted me to do my own illustrations for my next book.”

  Boo and Tony exhaled deep sighs of wonder. “What a life you lead, Reggie. I hope you are keeping notes for your autobiography.”

  Prance tossed up his hands. “Who has time for that? I’m trying to squeeze in time to outline my new novel.” He drew out his watch. “En effet, I am even now late for a meeting chez Luten, but I shall definitely attend your performance, if I have to make a special trip back from London to do it.”

  * * *

  Black helped Coffen pack his bag for return to the hotel. Mrs. Partridge gathered up the black bombazine and decided it was good for another few years as a second best gown. She was disappointed that the dandy bonnet with the black and wine feathers didn’t get left behind, but Mr. Pattle was so generous in his pourboires that she could buy herself a dozen bonnets. Well, half a dozen. Partridge needed new boots.

  Luten went to the roundhouse with Townsend to make the necessary report and lay charges against Jasper. Jasper had got hold of a sharp lawyer and wasn’t saying much until Catchpole and Cripps were hauled in and a warrant was out for Scraggs’s arrest, at which time his lawyer and Townsend convinced him that helping the police might be his wisest choice.

  The story was much as had been outlined the night before at Marine Parade. Jasper had an arrangement with Bolger to use the tunnel. He wanted to keep its existence a secret, and to that end had tried to get Coffen to leave town. He had planned to buy the house, but Mary beat him to it by getting the rental from Pattle. He had two accomplices who knew of the tunnel, Cripps and Catchpole. He convinced Cripps that if he helped him, he’d tell him where Bolger had hidden the necklace. In fact, he didn’t actually know this, but felt he could find it. Whether he ever intended to turn it over to Cripps was a moot point.

  When his shots at Coffen — intending only to frighten him — hadn’t worked, he convinced Cripps to challenge Coffen to a duel. Jasper again insisted his intention was to only frighten Coffen, but Cripps told a different story. He was to shoot to kill, which was why he had no intention of ever showing up. When tied up in the cellar, he had managed to escape and go through the tunnel to the Brithelmston to get help from Catchpole, Jasper’s right hand. Catchpole insisted he didn’t hold with murder. He was already suspicious that Jasper had killed Mary. He had got Cripps drunk and put him to bed, notified Jasper who sent his mount off to the Brithelmston with orders to see that Cripps got to the duel on time. He told Catchpole that Cripps had orders not to shoot to kill. Cripps denied this, and was, in fact, relieved when he was captured by Luten and Prance.

  When charged with the murder of Mary Scraggs, Jasper insisted it was an accident. Said she had come at him with a knife when he caught her unaware in Pattle’s house, searching for the necklace, and took the knife from her. He had only meant to hold her off, but she came at him and charged into the knife. He hotly denied placing her body in the graveyard, but he had told so many lies that no one believed him.

  When Willlie Scraggs was hauled in, he admitted that Jasper had paid him to tell the constable that tale about Mary being afraid of Pattle and to plant her bonnet and reticule in his curricle. Of course he had no notion at the time that Mary was dead. She often disappeared for a day or two. He had a different story to tell when he heard Jasper had killed her. Jasper had invited Mary to the house at Nile Street, ostensibly for a romantic rendezvous, but Willie now felt he had every intention of murdering her, as she had wangled the renting of the house out of Pattle. He reported that Mary would never have taken a knife to Jasper as she was sweet on him. In his ire at learning the truth, Willie went on to add a few other black marks to Jasper’s character.

  As they left the roundhouse, Luten said to Townsend, “That seems to take care of things at this end. What do you think will happen to the necklace? Any word from the Duchess of Brampton?”

  “It seems she’s spent the money she got from Lloyd’s and isn’t eager to sell off any of her estate to reclaim it. Prinney is trying to weasel it out of them, but he’ll have uphill work of that. I imagine they’ll sell it. Are you interested in buying it for your lady?”

  “I don’t believe she would want any memento of this case. This was supposed to be a holiday for us. Any chance of a reward for the women who found it? Mercer is the name.”

  “I think something might be done in that respect. Good publicity. It will encourage others with knowledge of such things to come forward.”

  Later, lingering over a leisurely lunch with his wife, Luten said, “You’ve not been so active as usual during this case, my dear. Dare I hope you’re losing your taste for adventure?”

  She turned pale, darted up from the table and bolted from the room. He sat stunned for a moment, then rose and started after her. He was stopped by Mrs. Partridge, just bringing in fresh coffee. “Let her be. Some things a lady prefers to do in private, your lordship,” she said with a coy smirk.

  “But she’s not well! She looked ill!”

  “Happens she’ll tell you why when she comes back. It often takes ladies that way the first few months.”

  “First few months of what?” He stopped, blinked and said, “Good God! And she didn’t tell me!”

  She told him when she returned, her pallor transformed to a delightful blush. “I didn’t want to tell you till I was sure,” she said. “After disappointing deCoventry in that respect, I feared there was something the matter with me, that I couldn’t have children. I’m pretty sure now that I can. And am.”

  Luten grabbed her and hugged her hard, then with a pang of conscience at such rough handling he released her. “We must get you to London at once. Croft is the man to handle the accouchement. I couldn’t be happier, my dear. Are you quite comfortable? Shall I get you a cushion?”

  “I’m fine, Luten. I’m not ill, just enceinte.”

  “Perhaps we should go to Southcote Abbey. You’ll have peace and quiet there. Or some more peaceful spot by the sea, perhaps. The sea air might help.”

  “That might be nice,” she said, and spoke on to distract him from further enhancements to the care of her delicate condition. “Did I tell you I had a call from Lady Norval this morning? They’re here for the summer, and she wanted her keys back. She thinks squirrels have got into her attic. Something about a trunk the servants had left open being all disarranged. I thought we had covered our tracks, but at least she doesn’t suspect us.”

  “That’s good,” he said, with no idea what she had just said. “Perhaps you’d be happier in Ireland, with your mama and Kate to help you.”

  When the door knocker sounded, she said, “If that’s Reg or Coffen, don’t tell them yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to — to keep it to ourselves for a while.”

  “Certainly, my dear, whatever you like,” he said. She feared she was in for several months of annoying solicitude.

  Reg, Coffen and Black had
met up at the hotel and arrived together.

  “Everything cleared up at the round-house?” Coffen asked Luten.

  “More or less. Townsend is taking the case to London. We’ll be required to give testimony, or at least a written statement.”

  “When?” Prance asked, patting the bump on his forehead. Rather dashing if it were still noticeable when he gave his testimony.

  “We’ll be notified. Townsend still has a few points to straighten out. Corinne and I are thinking of taking a little vacation.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Coffen said. “We all need one to rest up after this holiday. Where are we going?”

  “Perhaps to the seaside.”

  “We’re already there,” Coffen pointed out.

  “A more quiet part of the coast. Or possibly to Ireland. We haven’t decided.”

  “Well, let us know,” Coffen said. “How about Bath? It has nice hills. I’m thinking of my curricle. It’d like that.”

  Luten looked a question at his wife. “Perhaps Bath would be good for you. I mean us,” he said.

  “It would certainly be quiet,” she said, although she had no intention of going to Bath.

  “You are looking a bit peaky,” Coffen said, staring at his cousin. “Likely something you ate. I was feeling a bit funny myself after that second dish of blancmange at the hotel.”

  “When will we be leaving Brighton?” Prance asked. “I promised Boo I would be here for his grand opening. He’d like you all to come.”

  “When is it?” Corinne asked.

  “Tomorrow evening. Boo’s been so generous helping us with props, it would be a nice gesture to all go, en masse. He’s given me five tickets.” He nodded at Black to indicate that he was included.

  “We’d love to go,” Corinne said, with no fear that Luten would disagree at this time. He’d agree if she said she wanted to go to Timbuctoo.

  “We were wondering what will happen to Jack’s gelding,” Coffen said. “The reason I ask, Black wants to buy a mount.”