Dulcie Bligh

by Maggie MacKeever

  “How odd,” Livvy remarked, “that a highwayman should be so considerate of the proprieties.”

  If Sir John felt affinity with anyone in the crowded room, it was with Austin, who listened to this family conversation with uncomprehending awe. “The dressing gown!” he bellowed, and hit his desk with a violence that made Livvy flinch.

  “This seems an excessive interest in an unremarkable object,” Hubert said, with an obvious lack of any desire to assist Bow Street.

  “You wear it with an unmatched sash,” the Baroness prompted, in the tones she might have employed to inspire Austin to recite his alphabet.

  “Ah!” Hubert beamed. “That dressing gown! How clever of you to note, dear aunt, that the sash has been misplaced. Can this be the information that our good magistrate has been searching for? How much less time-consuming to have asked the question outright.”

  The antics of Dulcie’s clan did nothing to ease Sir John’s throbbing head. The Baroness rose and crossed the room to place healing fingers on his temples.

  “How long has this sash been missing?” asked the Chief Magistrate, striving vainly to ignore her cool touch.

  “Some few days, I believe.” Hubert was once more apologetic. “I’ve a poor head for details, I fear! I cannot think what happened to the accursed thing; it might as well have vanished into thin air.”

  Sir John dropped, as he thought, his explosive. “The item was found draped most artistically around the Countess Andrassy’s throat. Explain that, if you can!” Not a single member of his audience exhibited the least surprise.

  “Cousin Hubert is mighty careful of his person,” remarked Austin, branding himself irrevocably as one of Bligh blood, “and mighty careless about everything else. Even I could steal half his possessions and he’d never know the difference.”

  “Lamentable, but true.” Hubert regarded Austin appreciatively. “And very well-said, nephew.”

  “Enough!” Jael slid from her perch with a muffled thud of unshod feet on bare wood. The Chief Magistrate tensed as the icy-eyed gypsy approached him. With a comforting pat, Lady Bligh moved away, abandoning him to his fate. “Are you suggesting that Hubert had anything to do with that damned Gwyneth’s death?”

  “Damned she certainly must be,” Dulcie remarked, resuming her seat, “without any help from us.” Jael made an irritated gesture and even the Baroness subsided. The gypsy said, “Answer me!”

  Sir John wondered whether, if Jael gave way to violence, he would receive assistance from anyone in the room. It seemed extremely doubtful. “I am merely stating facts,” he equivocated. “Hubert was seen in urgent argument with the Countess Andrassy on the same day she was found strangled with the sash of his dressing gown. The conclusions are obvious.”

  Jael settled on the edge of his desk and proceeded to clean her nails with a wickedly sharp knife. “Equally obvious were the conclusions drawn from the presence of Lord Dorset’s belongings on the scene of a previous crime.”

  “A very astute observation,” commented Lady Bligh. “Someone appears to harbor a strong dislike of my family.”

  “Gwyneth emerged from her encounter with Hubert obviously unharmed,” Jael continued, “since she later called at Arbuthnot House. So much for your deductions!” Sir John found her smile was both smug and menacing. “You shan’t pin this on our fine fribble, for he spent the rest of the day with me.”

  Jael was as protective of Hubert as a bitch of her litter. “May I ask,” Sir John inquired politely, “why?”

  Livvy was in the process of developing an unsuitable admiration for the dangerous, insolent Jael. “Does Bow Street now mean to inquire into a lady’s more intimate moments? The shame of it, sir!”

  “Darling Livvy,” murmured the Earl. “You are a source of constant delight.”

  “For once,” commented Hubert, “I am inclined to agree with you.” He eyed Sir John, who appeared on the verge of choking. “It distresses me beyond description to refuse, but I believe I shall not answer that.”

  Jael was in no need of anyone’s defense. “Hubert is painting my portrait, and is devoting much time to the project. It is true that we were alone in the studio that day, but Hubert’s servants were very much aware of my presence.” Her smile was derisive. “They always are. You may verify the matter, if it suits you.” Livvy recalled the painting she had briefly glimpsed in Hubert’s studio, and the subject’s state of near undress. No wonder Jael had seemed familiar. It was a curious association, the gypsy and the fop.

  Sir John was left with the wind taken out of his sails, a fact he did not appreciate. “My treasure!” cried Hubert, greatly moved. “At the risk of your own good name, you have absolved me of all suspicion of the iniquitous act! How can I ever express my gratitude?”

  “You might start,” Jael suggested sourly, “by refraining from behaving like a bloody fool!”

  “Truly a treasure,” said the Earl, as Hubert frowned. “Where did you find her, Dulcie?”

  “Rather,” replied the Baroness, “Jael found me.” She glanced at the doorway. “It is a tale that I will relate to you at some future time.”

  Crump hovered on the threshold, startled to find the Chief Magistrate presiding over such a large gathering. Jael paused in her nail scraping, the point of her evil dagger aimed at the Runner. Crump felt like a virgin sacrifice being sized up for the kill.

  Lady Bligh intervened. “Ah, Mr. Crump! We all wait with bated breath to learn of your latest discoveries.” The Runner cast a questioning eye at his superior. Resigned, Sir John indicated assent.

  “The Dragoon,” said Crump, “was absent from his lodgings, where he hadn’t been seen since yesterday. In the course of my investigations, I obtained a detailed description from the fence to whom Slippery Jim tried to sell Lady Arabella’s jewels, or the imitation gems. The description matches perfectly with those found in Dorset’s home.”

  “Very clever.” Jael flipped her dagger into the air and caught it artfully. “And very much a waste of time. I could have given you your description, had you thought to ask!”

  Livvy reached into her reticule. “I almost forgot. Lord Rumfoord kindly loaned us this likeness of his brother James.” She resolutely refused to look at Dickon, for Rumfoord had not been so obliging and Livvy had resorted to sleight of hand. She didn’t imagine that the Marquis would quickly miss his detested younger brother’s miniature.

  “To shorten a long story,” said the Earl, “there remains little doubt that Lord Rumfoord’s brother, Arabella’s first husband, Arabella’s mysterious cousin, and Slippery Jim are all one and the same man, and that the knave was Arabella’s blackmailer.”

  Crump seized the miniature, consoling himself that, were he not required to cope with the meddling of so many amateurs, he would have reached these conclusions on his own. “It doesn’t appear that Jimmie-boy knew the gems were paste, and was most anxious to dispose of them.”

  “Jimmie-boy,” murmured Hubert, “seems to have been a bit of a fool. What now, dear aunt? We return to the motive of robbery.”

  Sir John grew weary of allowing the Baroness to run the show. He gazed sternly at Jael, still seated impudently on the edge of his desk. “Those jewels, the real articles, must be placed in the custody of the law. As the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, I now call on you to deliver them up to me.”

  “You’re off, my covey!” Jael’s smile flashed as bright as her blade. “I’ve handed over the necklace and that’s all that came my way, and that honestly. You might as well save your breath; you’ve nothing on me!”

  “I’ve quite enough against both you and Hubert,” snapped Sir John. “If I choose to use it.”

  Crump cleared his throat. “After exhaustive investigation, “I did find the suspect.”

  “Out with it!” Sir John’s tone was no more genial. “Where is the scoundrel? Did you question him?”

  “More to the point,” interrupted Lady Bligh, “where did you find him?”

  Crump surveyed the Baro
ness more appreciatively, for she had given him the opening he desired. “I found him floating face down in the Thames. As result of a violent argument, last night, with a husky figure wrapped in a cloak and a large-brimmed hat.”

  “That lets me out,” observed Hubert. “Since I passed the evening with the Marylebone patrol. Over to you, dear cousin!”

  “Do you mean Papa is under suspicion again?” asked Austin. “Well, that can’t be! Papa spent last night with Livvy and me at Dulcie’s house, and there wasn’t an instant when he wasn’t safe by one of our sides.”

  “Dearest Lavender. Your efforts on behalf of the family are quite laudable.” Lady Bligh regarded her fascinated nephew. “I don’t mean to rush you, John, but wasn’t there some mention of Austin identifying Count Andrassy?”

  “See to it, Crump,” the Chief Magistrate sighed.

  The Runner was delighted at the prospect of scaring the accursed foreigner right out of his skin. Without even token protest, he took Austin in hand.

  Jael surveyed the various downcast countenances. “Don’t look so glum, the lot of you. Jimmie may be dead, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t your murderer, merely that he ran afoul of someone he should not.”

  The Chief Magistrate, almost as distressed as his companions at having this last suspect so conveniently removed. ““A good try, but I doubt the scoundrel had the wit to mastermind these crimes.”

  “Wit?” scoffed the gypsy. “When it’s been a comedy of errors from start to end? At least you’re rid of one nuisance, for it was Slippery Jim, not Hubert, who was The Gentleman.” Sir John frowned.

  “I am reluctant to confess to failure—” Hubert was not slow to catch a hint—”but, alas, it’s true. My career as a highwayman was excessively short lived. My first effort at highway robbery was in fact my last, and prompted solely by the exigencies of my situation and my empty purse.”

  “Oh?” The Chief Magistrate, who didn’t believe a word of this Banbury tale. “You’ve learned your lesson now, I suppose?”

  “A bold move, to be sure, Humbug,” Lord Dorset remarked.

  “Neither your murderer nor your highwayman,” Jael observed contemptuously, “merely a misguided aristo driven to desperate means. Look at him! Have you ever seen a less likely brigand?”

  Obligingly, Hubert quailed. Sir John thought it unnecessary to comment. “I might be willing to consider last night’s frolic as devilment and let it pass as such, if you in return give me a sworn and true account of your activities on the day of the Countess Andrassy’s death.”

  Hubert looked pained. “All of them?”

  “All.” Sir John was firm. With a watchful eye on Jael’s sharp knife, he brought forth paper and pen and indicated that Hubert should be seated at the desk.

  “If I must.” Hubert took Sir John’s chair. “How shall I begin?”

  “Given in the presence of Bow Street by me, and your name.”

  Hubert paused in his activities. “Dear creature,” he remarked to Jael, “I find I do not know your surname.”

  The gypsy nibbled thoughtfully at her dagger’s tip. “Leaman,” she said at length. “ ‘Twill serve as well as any other, I suppose.” Pained, Sir John closed his eyes.

  “You are mighty equable, my treasure.” Hubert regarded her speculatively. “I wonder why.”

  “I might as well hang for you as another.” Jael nipped her dagger in the air, dexterously catching it by the hilt.

  “We must hope it doesn’t come to that,” the Baroness commented. “We’re all in this together. If one swings, so will the rest.” Sir John wished briefly that this might come to pass; he’d not give a brass farthing for the lot of them, with the exception, of course, of Lady Bligh.

  The silence was broken only by the scratching of Hubert’s quill. Jael, who could not only read but could do so upside down, watched its progress intently, occasionally correcting a point.

  Crump returned, in obvious good spirits, with a grinning Austin skipping by his side. “You were successful,” the Baroness observed.

  “We had a grand game,” confided Austin, draping himself over the back of her chair. “That silly man was Mama’s husband, did you know? We told him I knew he’d been in on my kidnapping and could identify him.”

  “Could you?” asked Livvy, her character so far corrupted that she found nothing untoward in this dishonorable manipulation of the unfortunate Count.

  “No, but he didn’t know that.” Austin stared at Hubert, secure in the seat of authority. “Why is Cousin Humbug sitting there?”

  “Writing my memoirs, nephew,” replied Hubert, with a flourish of his pen. “Perhaps, if you are very good, you may read them some day.”

  “That reminds me.” The Baroness tapped a thoughtful finger against her lower lip. Despite the interest of her family, she said no more.

  Crump moved to the window. “Anything?” asked Sir John.

  The Runner shook his head. “He squawked like a plucked chicken, but nothing to the purpose. It’s my belief he truly doesn’t know anything about his wife’s murder.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Sir John lowered his voice so that only Crump could hear. “I want you to have a man follow Humboldt; I am going to release that damned fop”—Crump turned pink with barely suppressed indignation—”but I want him under surveillance at all times.”

  “There!” cried Hubert, with a final flourish. “I have told all! See how anxious I am to oblige? What is your next command?”

  As Crump left the room on reluctant feet, Sir John wearily took the document. “Do you swear this to be the truth, by Almighty God?”

  “If I must,” said Hubert.

  “I’ll swear to anything you like,” offered Jael magnanimously, dangling a slender foot. “It’s no skin off my nose!”

  “Then so write, and sign,” said Sir John. Hubert complied.

  Austin turned suddenly to the Chief Magistrate. “I thought you wanted to talk to Papa. Have you changed your mind?” Livvy winced and the Earl awarded his son a stern glance.

  “He has,” answered Lady Bligh. “Dear John has come to realize that our family is only circumstantially connected with this thing.”

  “That’s as may be,” growled the Chief Magistrate, as he reclaimed his chair. “I freely admit that there’s something very disturbing about the way clues point so determinedly and indiscriminately to one or the other of you. Not that I exonerate any of you from all blame; if nothing else, you have done your combined best to thwart Bow Street at every turn.”

  “Fiddlestick!” Dulcie was impossible to chastise. “We have been of great service to you.”

  “I would be more appreciative had you presented me with the murderer!” Then he noticed Lady Bligh’s expression. “Dulcie, what are you up to now?”

  “Do not abandon hope just yet.” Dulcie smiled. “You may recall that in the last century a Scotch court accepted the supernal testimony of a murdered man’s ghost.”

  “A ghost!” Austin’s eyes were round. “Can you conjure up Mama?” He did not appear pleased at the prospect.

  “Gwyneth? No.” Dulcie patted his curly head. “Even I have no influence where she’s gone.”

  Sir John felt as though someone had taken a woodsman’s axe to his weary brow. “My aunt will not explain herself,” Lord Dorset explained kindly. “Nor are you alone in your misgivings, but she will listen to none of us.”

  Hubert had little interest in Dulcie’s future plans. He eyed Sir John. “May one assume that one is to be released from custody?”

  “One may,” the Chief Magistrate conceded grudgingly. “You are strongly advised to speedily mend your ways. If you are ever brought before me again on any pretext whatsoever, I will show you no mercy. The penalty for highway robbery can be hanging or at least transportation, and you may be sure of that, if you are again apprehended in that activity, I will speedily commit you for trial, with perhaps a flogging in the bargain, gentleman or no!”

  “Extremely wel
l said,” approved the Baroness, gathering up her various belongings. “I hope you realize, Hubert, what an extremely narrow escape you have had.”

  “Oh, I do!” Hubert shook Sir John’s hand with vigorous enthusiasm. “ I am overwhelmed by my good fortune, so much so that I am going to make our good magistrate the present of some information that may prove of use to him.”

  Jael slid from the desktop. “A wise man would be content to leave well enough alone. “

  “How little you know Humbug,” commented the Earl. “My cousin brings to mind the adage that fools rush in where angels fear to tread, only Hubert’s case is so extreme that he would venture even on quicksand were there a possibility of doing mischief thereby.”

  “That was also well stated,” remarked Hubert, “but this once I was serious. Ah, I see you all wait anxiously for the pearls of wisdom that I may let fall.”

  Jael snorted. “Out with it!” demanded the Baroness.

  Ignoring his unappreciative audience, Hubert addressed Sir John. “You earlier mentioned a diamond necklace that Jael most generously handed over to the law. I can tell you more about that item, if you’re interested.”

  “I gave it to the Baroness,” Jael amended. “Damned if I’d give it up to the law!”

  “I’m interested, all right,” said Sir John. “What do you know about the gems?”

  “Quite a bit. Since it was I who gave them to Jael.”

  “Addle-brain,” muttered the gypsy. “We no sooner extricate you from one mess than you land yourself in another.”

  “Silence, wench! I am being cooperative.” Hubert gazed blandly upon Sir John. “I had it from a jeweler. You will be interested to learn that he purchased it in good faith, with no idea that there was anything questionable about the deal.”

  “Why,” inquired Austin, “did you give it to her?” He regarded the gypsy with bright curiosity. Jael tossed her head.

  “I will explain that to you later,” the Baroness intervened, to Hubert’s relief. “Now, don’t interrupt.”