“Mr. Gordon, why would the messenger say I’d sent the shrimps?”
To find her mind running in the same channels was disconcerting. In his experience, most people tried to ignore troubling questions.
“Whoever had him deliver them told him to give that message? As you have undoubtedly realized, the intention was to implicate you.”
“And implicated, I would almost certainly have been brought to trial and hanged, without your help.”
He shrugged, a little embarrassed. He had done very little on his own. “The only help I supplied was in providing to Sir Thomas de Veil a letter from a higher authority. I did not receive it in time to show it to the coroner before the inquest. Which might have caused him to limit the testimony.”
“You also assured me I was safe, which was a source of great comfort at the inquest and afterward.” She frowned abstractedly. “Unfortunately, you cannot meet Rupert at present.”
“No?”
“He has gone to Plymouth with friends.”
“It seems an odd time to leave Town.”
She bit her lip. “My uncle’s murder has made everything very uncomfortable. My father is irascible and snaps at the servants. I think Rupert’s friends either made sport of him about it or began avoiding him. My stepmother is certain everyone is talking, and I’m sure she’s correct. It made Rupert sullen half the time and inclined to stupid jokes about it the other half, which annoyed my father still more. Rupert’s friend, Charles Pleasaunce, had to escort his mother and sister, who is Rupert’s fiancée, to visit a relative near Plymouth, and Mr. Pleasaunce asked if Rupert might accompany them. My father and Mr. Pleasaunce have been friends since they were boys, and Rupert and Charles fairly live in each other’s pockets. Papa gave his permission.”
“Did Mistress Pleasaunce’s family come from Devonshire, then?” he asked, casually. There was said to be a good deal of smuggling in Devonshire. “It’s said to have a pleasant climate.”
“So I understand, though Mistress Pleasaunce’s mother’s family came from France originally. I suppose this lady—an aunt, I think—married a man with property in that part of the country. Or perhaps mercantile interests, for I believe Plymouth is quite a center for the shipping trade. I don’t recall the Pleasaunces mentioning her before, though they used to visit their cousins in France. I was quite envious. Mr. Pleasaunce’s family came of French stock, too. Before the current unpleasantness made travel to the Continent impossible, we thought they might take Rupert with them some time, or he and Charles could even make the Grand Tour together. But that has been impossible since Rupert was old enough. It would have been very convenient, as Charles is a little older than he and more level-headed. Now Rupert is pleased to visit Devon,” she added wryly, “although I do think it’s mostly because of our current social embarrassment.”
Alex smiled inwardly. A lady who could describe a war involving much of Europe as “the current unpleasantness” would hardly be overset by any family crisis. “I see. It’s a pity I can’t meet your brother, but probably it’s not important.”
Jane was silent for several minutes. He glanced at her face and wondered whether to probe or let her come to a decision unprompted. Clearly, she was pondering something. At last she said, “Mr. Gordon…what is a nine-pounder? Or an eight-pounder?”
It took him a moment to reply to a question so unexpected. The one he had anticipated was, Did Rupert kill my uncle?
“A nine-pounder is a small cannon. An eight-pounder sounds as if it might be a cannon also—the weight refers to the size of the ball fired—but it’s not one I’ve heard of before. What odd books young ladies must read these days, to be asking about cannon. I’m sure my mama never gave such things a thought.”
That earned a laugh, although a nervous one. “It must seem quite peculiar of me, sir. Mmmm, is the name ‘Charleville’ familiar to you?”
Gordon stopped short. “Mistress Jane, where are we going?”
“I thought to go to the milliner in Middle Row to purchase some alamode silk to replace a lining and some black ribbon.”
“Ah. Let us postpone our discussion of, hmmm, places in France until after your errand. There are quite a number of people on the street here.”
Judging from her look, she understood he did not wish to be overheard.
Ahead, a wigmaker’s apprentice stood on the sidewalk, powdering a wig. Better to let the excess fall to the ground or blow away than to dust every surface inside. An elderly gentleman gave the young man a spiteful look, realizing that his sleeve now bore traces of flour. Alex and Jane traded glances and stopped to inspect the treats in a confectioner’s gleaming bow window before proceeding. Ratafia biscuits, rock sugar, chocolate almonds flavored with musk, iced almond cakes, jellies, coriander seed biscuits, preserved fruit.
“Do you need anything here?”
“No,” Jane said decidedly. “Our cook makes most of these very well. More cheaply, too, of course.”
The apprentice, satisfied with his work, retreated into the shop with the wig. They proceeded on their way.
At Middle Row, Alex shied at the door of the milliner’s shop, rather like a horse refusing a fence, he supposed. But the shop was small and as full as it could be of silk and lace and ribbons and the like.
Jane laughed. “I won’t be long. I know exactly what I want. You might look in that shop with gentlemen’s accessories.” She was still smiling as she turned to go inside.
She emerged only a few minutes later with a parcel tucked into the basket.
“Do you have any other shopping to do?” he asked. He hoped not.
“No, Mr. Gordon. If I had not needed the black ribbon, I would have postponed this errand in favor of continuing our earlier discussion.”
“Then perhaps we might walk in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Your questions pose a number of others, and I fear the matter may be urgent.”
Jane assented. She seemed less surprised than might have been expected.
There were a good many people about Lincoln’s Inn, most of them hurrying on a cool, gray day, and many of them, Alex assumed, with weighty legal questions on their minds. No one showed any interest in a young couple strolling.
“Where did you encounter those terms? Charleville, and the other things?”
“The invitation to travel with the Pleasaunces came at short notice. Rupert’s valet packed hurriedly, and Rupert was busy, too, writing notes to excuse himself from various social obligations. They left very early this morning.”
Gordon nodded.
“The chambermaid came to me with a scrap of paper she’d found under his pillow when she stripped the bed. She can’t read, but she thought it might be important. The words conveyed nothing to me, and that is why I found it worrisome.” She brought a small square of paper out of her pocket. “I wanted to think about it this morning and try to decide what I should do, if anything. If it had been something obvious, like a shopping list, or the stages of their journey, I would have thought little of it. But it’s not Rupert’s handwriting, and…and…” She gave a little shrug and handed it to him.
9-pounder/8-pounder? None. Charleville 1717 2500
Open pans
Handle cart
Tear cart
Prime
Shut pans
Load
Cart in
Draw ram
Ram down
Return ram
“It has a rather agricultural sound,” Jane commented, “but I don’t know what it can mean. Except it worries me.”
“I should think it might.”
“Do you know what it signifies then, Mr. Gordon?”
“Yes—at least, I know what it refers to, if not its precise significance. The last time I read the words in the list, they were in the French language. It’s the orders for loading a musket. The writer has abbreviated some of the words: ‘cart’ for cartridge, ‘ram’ for ramrod. I used to take an interest in military matters when I was younger. I thought I would like
the army as a career.”
“But you decided against it, or—” She stopped in midsentence. “I’m sorry. It’s no business of mine.”
“Oh, my father could have bought me a commission, but he was convinced I was not well-suited to the profession of arms. I’ve come to believe he was correct.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t like following orders, unless I chance to agree with them,” he confessed cheerfully.
“Yes, that would be a difficulty. I understand there are apt to be a great many orders in the army.”
“So we have here the loading drill, and the name ‘Charleville’ which refers to a French arsenal. Charleville is also sometimes applied to the musket French troops use, as our soldiers’ weapon is the ‘Brown Bess.’ The numbers…the Charleville musket made its appearance in 1717 and was replaced by another model in 1728. It may be there are some of the older model for sale.”
She gazed at him, waiting.
“You mentioned lists, Mistress Jane. I think this is a shopping list.”
“If you are correct, it’s a disturbing thought.”
“You are a very remarkable young lady,” he said. “Most would either utter a little scream or titter and demand, ‘Whatever could anyone want with such things?’ ”
“Yes, I’m utterly lacking in sensibility. My stepmother says I will never marry.” Then she blushed.
“Your stepmama is mistaken.”
She was eying him covertly. “Why did my brother have such a thing?”
“Perhaps he picked it up somewhere, and, like you, wondered about it. May I keep it? There is someone who should see the original and not merely a copy.”
“But what if he writes and asks about it?”
“Then I think you should tell him the maid gave it to you, and you threw it away, not seeing any sense in it. But I don’t think he will mention it.”
“It can’t be Rupert’s. It’s not his hand, and where would he get enough money for things like this? If it is a shopping list. He has to apply to my father regularly to pay his tailor’s bill. Besides, he has no interest in military affairs. Even when he was little, he never wanted to be a soldier.”
“If it’s not his, it may belong to someone he knows. If it were a bit of trash he’d picked up, I doubt it would be under his pillow. What did he play at?”
“He pretended he was a knight of the Round Table. Or one of William the Conqueror’s men. He’s outgrown such childishness now, naturally.”
“I’m sure he has.” Alex tucked the note into his pocket. “May I walk you home?”
She was silent as they went. In sight of her door he said, without knowing if it would help or hurt, “The French soldiers drill until the best of them can load and fire three times in a minute. Two a minute is commonplace. I believe some can do four.”
“As much as that?” She sounded appalled.
“Not every ball kills or wounds enough to incapacitate or even hits its target. Misfires are not uncommon. And sometimes after the first volley, the opposing lines meet, and the bayonet is employed as the primary weapon.” Not that that thought was likely to mitigate her horror. Yet she should realize the importance of what she had found. More to the point, that whoever meant to buy those guns and cannons, whoever knew about it and did nothing, was guilty of assisting in the deaths and maiming they might cause.
“Who could possibly want to buy so many guns?” she asked, pausing a little short of the door.
He shrugged uneasily. “Speculation would be idle at this point. How may I contact you, Mistress Jane? In case your half brother does write, or you discover something else?”
“I think I shall form the habit of walking out every morning at nine. Unless it rains, of course, for it is difficult to justify going out for exercise in a downpour. My stepmother is not an early riser, and my father reads and writes letters in his study until he goes out to his club or the coffeehouse.”
“Good. If you need to speak to me more urgently, write under cover to Miss Eliza Fairford. Her address is…”
Afterward, he took the first hackney coach he saw to report his findings. He must certainly remember to visit his sisters’ old governess and warn her she might receive a letter addressed to her but meant for him.
Chapter 7
“A very nice piece of work,” Anthony Lattimer said. “For our purposes, you have proven Markham may have been murdered because he knew about O’Brien’s work in ’15 which might lead someone to wonder what he was doing now. And knowing what his cargo is likely to be…you haven’t left much for official channels to do. I will pass this on to, er, someone who will no doubt put a man on the French end now. Damme, the thought of so many muskets in Jacobite hands makes my blood run cold. Yes, good work indeed.
“Have you given any thought to my suggestions for your career? If you won’t reconsider the law, you certainly have the wits for banking or any sort of business. I could arrange to have you taken into a merchant house or shipping firm. Times are changing, and by all accounts—ha ha!—the import business can be quite exciting. Markham enjoyed it very much, poor fellow.”
“I really don’t think I’m any better suited to the law than to the army, sir. The other might not be so bad. But couldn’t I go north and poke around a little? If Captain O’Brien has connections in the Isle of Man, I might be able to garner a little more information. Perhaps names of contacts he has in Scotland; that would be useful, surely.”
“Someone will be looking into that, but it won’t be you. It’s time for the career men to take over; that’s what they draw their pay for. With luck, the navy will intercept the Sea Mew.”
“Or I could go to Scotland and look into matters there. I can sound like a Lowlander. You know I’m good at that.”
“Inquisitive, like your mother, yes. I prefer you not to practice your talents where some Jacobite might cut your throat or knock you on the head and drop you in the Solway. Why not go out to the West Indies or New England? Your Grand Tour was cut short, but a visit to our American colonies might be interesting.”
“I think I’ll stay in Town for a while to pursue my acquaintance with Mistress Jane Stowe, sir.”
“A pretty young woman’s ability to cast a spell over a man is almost enough to make one believe in witchcraft,” Lattimer observed, tolerantly. “However, I trust your intentions are not serious. There’s bad blood on her father’s side. Her mother died very young, so it’s his attitudes that will have shaped her.”
“May I point out that you married a Scottish lady, sir?”
“Your mother’s family were not Jacobites. Not her immediate family, anyway.” He scowled and blew out an exasperated breath. “The Stowes were, even if it never came out. Not that I think she supports the Young Pretender. If she did, she would not have given you that list. The murder is a different matter, Alex. Isn’t it possible she connived with her brother to poison Markham? Young Stowe’s motive would be to protect his cause, hers would be for the inheritance, either to repair the Stowes’ fortunes, or because she would like to be rich? There’s ample motive for murder.”
“I’ve met her, sir. I don’t believe it.”
“Not even for a fortune which would get her a titled husband? She’s an aging spinster, and it does not appear her family is able to make a marriage for her. She may be desperate. And from what you’ve told me, she shows signs of wanting to shield her wretched brother, whatever mischief he may be about.”
“I think she wants to believe he is not involved, or only in the most tangential way, and especially that he would not try to have her hanged.”
“She’ll be disappointed, then, because as sure as the sun rises, he’s up to his neck in some plot. But he can’t have solicited the murder for the purpose of inheriting. This girl is the heir, but under the law, if she killed Markham, she couldn’t inherit. She wouldn’t necessarily realize that, of course, which is why she’s a very credible suspect. I don’t know enough law myself to know if her nearest relative,
her father, would inherit when she was executed, though I shouldn’t think so. Furthermore, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“She’s not an ordinary young lady. She might be aware of the slayer rule. Even I know about it.”
His father snorted. “If she’s an exceptional young lady, that makes her more likely to be a murderess than if she were a gentle, meek, uninformed miss.”
Alex went on, “I wonder if Rupert Stowe knows a murderer can’t profit from his victim? He may not be stupid—though I suspect he is—but from one thing and another, I would wager he doesn’t think very far ahead.”
Lattimer gazed at him thoughtfully. “It’s a pity we can’t find you work that would make use of your brains, Alex. Your perception is almost equal to your ability to dig out information. I will never forget your mother’s face when you explained to her in your Aunt Geneva’s presence, no less—at eight years of age!—why Geneva disliked her. Thank God you eventually learned not to air your observations so freely.”
“She didn’t dislike her, sir, she loathed her. I’ve never understood why you didn’t realize it.” How could his father have so little perception about women he knew well when he was so keen-witted about men’s motivations?
“I thought they were quite friendly.”
“Aunt Geneva meant that you should marry that friend of hers, I think, and so resented Mama ever after. Mama knew, of course, but luckily was amused rather than distressed.”
“Well…well…women’s minds are a mystery, though you think yourself able to fathom them. You ought to apply that skill to the Pomeroy girl. If you won’t settle to a profession of some sort, you could at least marry some young lady with an excellent dowry. She’s really a very pleasant girl, when you get to know her.”
“She may be, sir, but one would have to put up with such a spate of chatter about parties and fripperies and other young ladies’ beaux.” Alex grinned. “Before I go, may I ask why you didn’t give me a hint about the direction of Mr. Markham’s and your suspicions? You must have had a fair notion of the truth, given what he told you. It took me some time, because 1715 is almost a whole lifetime in the past.”
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