by Joan Smith
“I doubt it, Mr. Pattle,” Black said, retrieving the note and putting it in his pocket. “It’ll only be for a few days. I daresay it has to do with that load of silver and what not she’s collecting for the ball.”
“Ah, that’d be it. Get your hat and let’s go talk to her.”
Black’s step was light and his heart was lighter as they crossed the road to Lord Luten’s mansion. He handed his hat to Evans with a casual, “No need to announce us. We’re expected.”
When Corinne rushed forward with both hands outstretched to seize his and squeeze, he had a foretaste of heaven. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me,” she said, and drew them towards the library.
It was a fine rectangular room, thirty feet long and twenty wide. The walls were lined with oak bookshelves, topped with marble busts of famous men. There were no windows. Two French doors provided light and a view of the small garden beyond. Three tables with matching chairs ran down the centre of the room. The chairs had been stored against the wall and tables cleared of lamps and writing materials to hold the items for the auction.
She told them that Miss Lipman had let slip to the actors that the donations for the auction were here, and she feared that if word got out someone might try to steal them. “For there is no saying what sort of people actors associate with. Anyone with a decent jacket can get into the Green Room. The lesser actors have rooms near the theatres, where all sorts of lowlifes live. As to the actresses! Heaven knows who they associate with. There are thousands of pounds worth of goods here.”
She waved her hand towards a table piled high with fine silver and china. Another held statues, bibelots and a dozen boxes containing jewelry. Paintings leaned against the bookshelves. She shook her head in dismay. “We should never have allowed Prance to bring his people here. What should I do, Black?”
Black looked and listened. “You keep the doors locked, of course, and a guard on the place at night?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t seem enough. There are four doors in the room, two to the back garden and two into the hallway. No windows at least.”
“How many keys to the doors, and who has them?”
“Four keys in all. One key opens both inner doors, and one opens both outer doors. We have two copies of each. Evans usually has one, but I’m holding them while I have the goods here. Luten has the other.”
“Where do you keep them?”
“I’ve been keeping mine in my pocket. I don’t know where Luten keeps his. In the bedroom, I believe. There’s a big key ring in his dresser.”
“You both want to keep them where no one can get at them. A thief could take a wax impression, have a copy made in a minute, and put the original back so’s you’d never know it had gone missing.”
Black paced around the room, tried the doors, even stepped out one of the doors into the garden for a look around, shaking his head and muttering at bushes that offered concealment, to say nothing of that gate leading into the street. At least it opened inwards, so that could be taken care of. The properties on either side were separated by dense hedges that made invasion by that means unlikely.
“You’ll need two men during the day, and four at night,” he said when he had finished. “One outside and one inside during the day — both armed — and double it at night. Pity we can’t use dogs, but there’s no time to train them. You couldn’t have them in the house and they’d create a racket outside. I wouldn’t keep the jewelry here at all. Put it in your safe, or wherever you keep your own jewels.”
“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll move the jewelry right away. What do you consider the weakest points? Where someone could get in, I mean?”
“They’re like mice, they can squeak through any crack — check the doors and windows every night and morning, including the cellar. They’ll come at night, of course, and not early either. Just before dawn is when your professional ken smashers go to work. The guards are sleepy by then. They figure the danger has passed and relax. Now as to the back yard, you’ll not want to cut down them pretty shrubs, I daresay.”
“No, Luten’s mama planted those roses,” Corinne said.
“At the very least you’ll want some sort of barrier to prevent that gate to the street from being opened. It opens inwards, so all you’ll need is something heavy enough that it can’t be pushed open from outside. The hedges offer fair protection from coming in by the neighbours’ yards.”
They all looked worried at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, as if a thief might even then be approaching. It was Luten who stepped in. He stopped and stared to see the three of them in conclave, all looking extremely worried.
“What the devil’s going on?” he demanded in alarm, fearing some catastrophe had befallen the auction goods. His major concern for them was his wife’s involvement.
Corinne had not been born to wealth and privilege. She had been catapulted to it when his cousin, old Lord deCoventry, three times her age, had seen her riding on her father’s estate in Ireland, fallen in love with her, and bought her for five thousand pounds. He had married her, given her a quick coat of town bronze and presented her to society, where she soon gained a following.
Now as Lady Luten, her prestige had risen to new heights. She had been thrilled when she was selected for the committee of the prestigious Friends of the Orphans Ball. In social importance, the position was second only to being a hostess of Almack’s. Almack’s was a social club that provided balls and entertainment to the very tip of the ton. A ticket to Almack’s was an announcement that one had arrived. But it did nothing to help those in need. She preferred to donate her time and energy to a charitable cause.
“Do come in and help us, Luten,” she said, and explained why she had summoned Black. Luten nodded his approval. He knew from past experience that Black’s advice would be good.
“I should never have allowed Prance to bring his motley crew into the house at this time,” he said.
“And I should never have let Miss Lipman help me,” Corinne added.
“Are you not happy with her?”
“I’d like to wring her neck.” Luten blinked at this plain speaking from his wife. She sounded like the hoyden she had been when he first met her. “She announced to Prance’s actors that we have the auction goods stored here when I especially told her not to tell anyone.”
“Where is she now?” he asked.
“She’s gone back to her flat to get some more clothes. She’s dining out with friends.”
“Does she have a house key?” Black asked.
“No, she said she would be home early.”
“Don’t give her one. It’ll be one less to worry about. Any key lying about the house where someone might get at it?”
“Corinne and I have one,” Luten said. “Evans has the other. I’ll speak to him, see that he keeps it on him. Cook has the only key to the back door. I’ll see she keeps it safe.” Black nodded. “Well, Black, what do you suggest?”
He repeated his precautions, and that Luten shouldn’t leave any keys, especially to the library, where anyone could get at them. “And that’s just the start,” he continued. “The actors will want looking into. I hope you won’t take it amiss, your ladyship,” he said to Corinne, “but even Miss Lipman wants looking into. Or is she a special friends of yours?”
“Not at all. I know very little about her. Lady Cowper recommended her. She said she was reliable.”
“And Miss Lipman’s the one that told the actors about the goods being here. If she’s in on it, she might have done that on purpose to spread suspicion around, should the goods go missing.”
“You think of everything, Black,” Corinne said. “I did tell her not to mention it to anyone, and the first day she told the lot of them. That does look suspicious, though I think really she’s just a scatterbrain. Can you check up on the background of the actors, and I’ll see what I can discover about Miss Lipman?”
“I’ll do that, milady. I still know a few lads that might help me.”
>
Coffen looked all around and said, “If that’s all, me and Black will be going home.”
“No!” Corinne said in alarm. “I want Black to stay here till the ball’s over.”
Coffen’s blue eyes darkened and a rare scowl wrinkled his brow. “What am I to do for a butler in the meanwhile?” he demanded.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she said with a pleading look. “Perhaps if Black looked in here a couple of times a day, and was here at night... You can eat here if—” Before the advent of Black into his life, this would have been a clincher.
Black said to Coffen, “It’s not necessary to inconvenience her ladyship, Mr. Pattle.”
“She don’t mind inconveniencing me.”
“I’ll speak to the staff. They’ll behave themselves. Never you fear. You’ll be took good care of.”
“And what about your checking up on them actors?” Coffen persisted. “When will you be doing that?”
“I thought you might give me hand there,” Black said. He knew Coffen’s love of the Green Room. He’d drop Mr. Pattle off there to check up on the actors while he spoke to his erstwhile companions on the ken lay. Or better, Nappy Harper. He was the lad who’d know who was breaking into the big houses nowadays. If you hoped to peddle your hot merchandise for more than a couple of shillings on the pound, Nappy was the lad to go to.
“Daresay I could lend a hand there. But she just has you till the ball’s over,” Coffen said grudgingly.
“Of course,” Corinne hastened to assure him.
Luten listened, then said, “Is there any special reason why the donations can’t be kept at Elgin Hall, where the ball is to be held?”
“A very good reason,” Corinne told him. “The hall is used three or four times a week for all sorts of parties and meetings. People are running in and out all the time. We’ve only rented it for two days. We have to do our decorations and make other arrangements on the day of the ball, and we have it the day after to clean up. It wouldn’t be safe to move the donations there until the very day of the ball.”
“Yes, I see that would be a problem. Can we do without a couple of our footmen?”
“We could. We won’t be doing any entertaining until after the ball. Prance has offered the use of his,” she said. “He feels badly about this mishap.”
“I’d rather use our own,” Luten said. “Prance’s will spend their time drooling over the gewgaws and forget why they’re here.” Prance did tend to hire servants who shared his artistic interests.
Black turned to Mr. Pattle. “You could spare Paddy,” he said. “He’s the sharpest of your lot. Webb could take over his duties.”
Annoyed by the whole affair, Coffen indulged in another fit of sarcasm. “You will leave me my valet and groom, I hope?”
“Oh certainly, Mr. Pattle,” Black said in a consoling way. “Raven would be no use at all, and Fitz would be worse than useless.” Then he turned back to Luten and Corinne. “Mr. Pattle and me will be making a few enquiries tonight. I’ll be back around ten-thirty or eleven to check up on things here. You won’t forget to put them jewels in your safe, milady and look after your keys?”
“I’ll do it right now. Thank you, Black. I knew I could depend on you. And thank you, dear Coffen. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
“You can find me someone to take to the ball. Have a word with Miss Lipman. I don’t mind that she’ll have to work while she’s there. It’s just someone to walk in with,” he said, and ushered Black out before they could make any more demands on him.
* * *
Chapter 5
Raven had become so efficient under Black’s firm tutelage that he had his master’s evening clothes laid out when they returned from Luten’s and helped him dress. An excellent dinner of roast beef, a bottle of wine followed by apple tart put Coffen back in spirits. After dinner, Black called for the carriage and he and Coffen headed for the Green Room at Drury Lane. Fitz was so familiar with this route that he made it without going astray.
Black entered with Coffen to have a look around. Finding nothing of interest, he said, “You’ll do better than I will here. You chat up the girls and see what you can find out about young Chloe and Sean and Vance. I’ll pick you up in an hour or so.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just going to look up a few old chums. We’ll make better time if we work separate.”
A particularly lively redhead in a green gown that showed off her fulsome figure spotted Coffen and came undulating forward. He had often chatted to Cherie and knew she kept up on all the gossip. “Very well,” he said to Black, and turned to greet the redhead, allowing Black to escape.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Pattle,” she said, latching on to his arm. “We’ve missed you around the place.” Coffen was well known at the Green Room as a generous, undemanding guest.
“Could I offer you a glass of wine, Cherie?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Her leering smile suggested there wasn’t much she would say no to.
After a little flirtation, Coffen remembered why he was there and said, “You wouldn’t happen to know a girl called Chloe Chalmers? She works on the costumes, I believe.”
“She used to, before she landed some good job with a nob. Whatever do you want to know her for?” she asked with a pout. “What’s wrong with me then?”
“Not a thing. It’s just business about Chloe,” he assured her. He noticed that Chloe had been boasting of working for Prance. She mustn’t have told his name though, or Cherie would have known it.
She gave a shrug of indifference. “She’s not an actress. Says she did some work with a touring company up north that nobody ever heard of. She just lends a hand once in a while when they need an extra needle downstairs for an excuse to hang around and try her luck here.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“I can tell you she has a fellow. Sean something, a handsome lad.”
“Sean Everett,” he supplied. “Know anything about him?”
“Just that he keeps a pretty sharp eye on Chloe, which don’t mean he ignores the rest of us. They ain’t what you’d call regulars here.”
“Did you ever hear where they’re from?”
“Here and there. Depends what day you ask them,” she sniffed. “Chloe thinks she’s too good for the rest of us. She’s only after gents, and the only ones she gives the time of day to are well-inlaid ones. Sean don’t seem to mind that.”
This sounded as though Chloe was just one more girl on the lookout for a rich patron. He wouldn’t have thought it to look at her. And apparently Sean had no objection. An ambitious pair trying to scramble up the slippery slope of success.
“Any trouble with the law?” he asked.
“They haven’t been caught yet,” she said, and laughed. Coffen’s blue eyes widened in interest. When she saw he had taken her joke seriously, she said, “Just funning, Mr. Pattle. It ain’t against the law for a pretty young girl to try to better herself, is it?”
“Devil a bit of it.”
She directed a sharp look at him. “What did you think I meant? Has she got herself in trouble with the law?”
“No, nothing like that. How about Vance Corbett? Do you know anything about him?” he asked.
She gave him a bold look. “I never heard you was interested in men, Mr. Pattle.”
“I ain’t. But about Vance—”
“He never comes here. They say he’s going places. A real good actor, but hard to get along with. Manages to come to cuffs with everyone he works with. He came within Ame’s ace of getting turfed out ofMeasure for Measure for cutting up stiff with the director.”
Coffen couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “Thanks, Cherie. I have to be running along.” He reached in his pocket and handed her a coin. “Here, buy yourself another drink. If you should happen to hear anything interesting about Chloe or Sean, let me know. You can send word to Berkeley Square, where I live.”
“Thanks ever so,” she
said, snatching the coin and looking around to see who else she might entertain.
He chatted to a couple of other actresses before leaving, but none of them had anything to add. As he thought, if there was anything interesting to be learned in the Green Room, Cherie would have known it. As Vance considered himself above the Green Room, however, Coffen decided to have a word with a producer he knew. He wandered about until he found Ted Brown’s office, a cubbyhole on a lower level. Brown was there, half hidden behind a pile of scripts the theatre was considering.
“Mr. Pattle,” he said with a smile, happy for an excuse to take a rest. “What brings you here? This isn’t your usual port of call at our humble theatre.”
“I’m after a spot of information, Ted. About a fellow called Vance Corbett. It’s for my friend, Reg Prance.”
“Prance is putting on a play, is he?”
“Rehearsing some scenes from one he’s writing. They want to make a play of his gothic novel. You might have heard.”
“I have indeed. I heard a rumour he was working on the script himself. Surely he’s not planning to cast it as well? He’ll catch cold at that.”
“Just rehearsing some scenes to see how it’ll work on the stage.”
“And he’s got an eye on Vance for the villain, of course. An excellent choice. He’s a fine actor, but with an actor’s temperament. Cuts up like a diva already, and he’s never had a starring part.”
“I heard he was a bit of a trouble-maker. Other than that, though, a sound fellow, is he?”
“He doesn’t drink overly much, is punctual, always knows his lines and doesn’t cause trouble with the ladies, unless they upstage him. If it weren’t for thinking he’s better than God, he’d be a star by now.”
“No vices at all?”
“As I said, a little encumbered with self-importance. He wouldn’t rub along with Prance at all.”
“What I’m trying to find out, Ted, he isn’t light-fingered? Not likely to walk off with the spoons in his pocket, so to speak.”
Brown seemed shocked at the idea. “No, no. Nothing to worry about there. He makes enough for his needs, but he’s a demon for trying to take over any play he’s in. He even argues with Shakespeare, says some of his lines aren’t playable. I ask you!”