Shadow of Murder

by Joan Smith

  “I doubt that’d bother him much,” Black said, amazed at their strict notions of marriage. “He’d realize she has to put bread on the table whilst he’s away. They didn’t make a sou on the Russian job. And plus he’d like the notion of making gain at Dan’s expense. As to using Townsend to give him the word, however, that won’t fadge. He’d smell a rat a mile away.”

  Nothing definite was decided. Luten thought Townsend might be able to get the word to Father Maccles indirectly by using some other prisoner, and Black said he would continue his inquiries.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  Luten was just about to dissolve the meeting when Evans entered, handed him a note and waited to see if there was to be a reply. Luten opened it, hoping it wasn’t some political emergency that would require him to dash off to the House. He read it, blinked in astonishment, re-read it and said, “Where did you get this, Evans?”

  “I found it shoved under the front door, sir.”

  “You didn’t see who left it?’

  “I’m afraid not, sir. Whoever left it didn’t knock.”

  “I see. Very well, you may go.” Evans bowed and left, very reluctantly, for he had taken a peek at the note and knew there would be interesting discussions. He loitered outside the door, listening.

  “What is it, Luten?” Corinne demanded.

  He read it again, as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading, and handed it to her. “It’s a ransom note,” he said to the others.

  “Eh? Who have they kidnapped?” Coffen asked, looking around to see if any of the group was missing.

  “Not who, what,” Prance said. “I fancy they’re negotiating for the return of the stolen goods.”

  Corinne handed him the printed note and he read to Coffen: “Ten thousand pounds in cash, delivered by Mrs. Ballard to the Union Chapel in Blackfriars Road at midnight tonight. She must come alone, in a hired cab. She will not be harmed. She will be given a map showing where the goods are stored. No signature, of course.”

  Coffen examined the note for clues. Plain white paper, not the very cheapest kind but too common to hope to discover where it came from. The writing looked good, nicely formed letters and no splotches. No spelling mistakes, as far as he could tell.

  “A lady’s handwriting, would you say?” he asked, passing the note back to Prance.

  ‘‘Ladies don’t involve themselves in this sort of thing,” he said firmly. “But a woman’s, I think. Fairly literate.”

  “No spelling mistakes?”

  “None. I wouldn’t have thought the Maccles capable of this degree of communication.”

  “This is ludicrous,” Luten growled. “We have no guarantee they’ll give Mrs. Ballard the map. And we certainly can’t send that poor soul alone after dark to some out-of-the-way chapel. Where is this place, Union Chapel? I never heard of it.”

  Coffen said, “Blackfriars Road, like the note says.”

  “Some call it Great Surrey Street. It’s on the Surrey side of the Thames in St. George’s field. A marshy sort of place,” Black informed them. He turned to Prance. “You might remember St. George’s Fields Circus. It burnt down in ‘05 and a year later the Surrey Music Hall was built there. It shares space with the old Elephant and Castle Theatre, where they do melodramas.”

  Prance had never heard of it. He enjoyed the theatre in more polite surroundings, but as one claiming a keen interest in the theatre he said only, “Oh yes.”

  Black added, “Great Surrey Street’s a straight road less than a mile long. I believe the Union Chapel is a strange little church near the end of it, round but with straight sides.”

  Coffen blinked and said, “Have you been tippling, Black? There’s no such thing as a round building with straight sides. It’s either round or square.”

  “I mean the circle’s made up of short, straight lines, like so.” Black explained. He took out his patent pen and drew an outline.

  “Just so, an octagon,” Prance said, “or possibly a hexagon, depending on how many sides it has. Well, such an oddity shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “We can’t send Mrs. Ballard there alone,” Luten said. “They could kill her for all we know.”

  “And they’re demanding ten thousand pounds!” Corinne added, in high dudgeon. “That’s half what the goods are expected to bring at auction.”

  Prance glanced at the note again and said, “Chapels aren’t open at midnight, are they? I wonder if it’s a Papist chapel. Aren’t their churches open at all hours? Union, the name doesn’t sound like a Papist chapel.”

  “If the door’s locked, they’d have no trouble getting it open,” Black said with the patient air of one who knows, and feels the others ought to know as well.

  Coffen read the note again and said, “It don’t say in the chapel. They mean outside, at the door.”

  “We might be able to catch them there,” Black said. “They’ll have to get that map to Mrs. Ballard. We could follow whoever brings it.”

  “The map could be there waiting for her,” Luten said.

  “They wouldn’t leave it there much before midnight, or someone else might get hold of it,” Black said.

  “It’ll be a link-boy that brings it,” Coffen said, “and he won’t be able to tell us a thing. Some nondescript fellow will have hired him to deliver it. Could be anyone.”

  “Or the map might not come at all,” Black pointed out.

  “True,” Coffen agreed. “They end up with the loot and ten thousand pounds. Kill two birds without using one single stone.”

  Corinne puzzled over this new development. Before long it occurred to her that if they didn’t recover the goods before the ball, she would not only have to face the disgrace of her incompetence, but honour would impel her to pay the twenty thousand pounds, which would leave her with only five thousand to her name. Luten was right that they couldn’t send Mrs. Ballard, but at night in a dark gown and shawl, one lady would look much like another. In other words, she would go disguised as Mrs. Ballard.

  “They’ve left no room for negotiation. I wonder what they’ll do if we don’t pay up,” Prance said.

  “What they won’t do is return the goods,” Corinne said. “Luten, I’ve been thinking —”

  “No!” he howled. “You’re not going yourself.”

  “But it must be a lady who goes. They’d know you or any of the others aren’t Mrs. Ballard. I wonder why they set on her?”

  “Because they know she’s old and timid,” Coffen said. “Corbett must have told them she wouldn’t give them any trouble. Never says boo to a goose. And not too bright along with it, except for knowing her Bible. You have to grant her that.”

  “So what should we do?” Corinne asked, looking around for an answer.

  Black cleared his throat and said, “I think it’s plain one or two of us ought to be there at midnight, just to see what’s going on. Well before twelve, in fact. As Mr. Pattle said, like as not they’ll send a message by a link-boy. We might catch them at it. With a theatre nearby, I wager there’d be a link-boy or two working the area.”

  Corinne turned to her husband. “What do you think, Luten?”

  “We’ll do that much, certainly. I daresay it wouldn’t do any harm to get the ransom money ready, in case some new development... Well, it’s cheaper than the twenty thousand we’ll have to pay if we don’t recover the goods. Really the problem is sending Mrs. Ballard to meet them.”

  “But what if they don’t produce the map?” Coffen said.

  “I did mention that,” Black said, “but on second thought I believe they’d be tickled pink to unload the lot for such a price. It’d be hard selling the goods. There’d be descriptions in the journals and circulated to the pawnshops. No one would want to touch them, and Townsend would find them eventually. Why they’d be lucky to get five thousand, let alone ten. Three is more like it.”

  Mrs. Ballard tapped on the door and came tripping into the room. “Sorry to intrude,” she said in her soft voice,
“but I have had a strange communication, Lord Luten. Evans tells me he found it shoved under the door with one for you. I thought I ought to show it to you. Naturally I shall be more than willing to play my part.”

  He took the note and read. Mrs. Ballard, don’t fail your mistress if you want her to recover the stolen goods. Go to the Union Chapel in Blackfriars Road at midnight. No harm will come to you.” He passed the note to Corinne, who read it and passed it along.

  “Same paper and writing as the other,” Coffen said.

  “Naturally,” Prance said, rolling his eyes. “Did you think two different groups were trying to extort money from us?”

  “There was talk of the Maccles working with Dan,” Coffen said.

  “Working together. Together being the operative word.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Ballard,” Corinne said. “We have no intention of sending you on this dangerous mission.”

  “But I insist!” she said. “They said no harm would come to me. And why should they hurt me? I am only doing what they ask. You have been good to me for nearly a decade, milady, and I assure you I am actually relieved to have some small way to repay you for your kindness.”

  “No, really, we wouldn’t even consider it.”

  Mrs. Ballard was shy, she was timid, but she was scrupulous to a fault, and after a session with her Bible, she had decided God had given her this way to repay her mistress. Being clothed in righteousness, she felt invulnerable.

  “Naturally I dislike to go against your wishes, milady, but I must follow my conscience in this matter, or I’d never be able to face myself. I plan to be at that church at midnight. I consulted my Bible. Just opened it at random for guidance you know, and read ‘Be strong, and of a good courage; be not afraid.’ From the book of Joshua. It is God’s will.”

  “No, Mrs. Ballard. It is the thieves’ will, and we have no way of knowing they will keep their word.”

  “I shall be there,” she said firmly. Then she turned on her heel and left the room, trembling in every fibre, and more determined than ever that she would do as God ordained.

  Prance just shook his head. “She seems to be overlooking the fact that she’ll be there with her pockets empty.”

  Luten stared at his wife in dismay “What do we do with her? Lock her up?”

  “We can’t do that. She’s quite determined to go. When she starts talking about God’s will, you argue in vain, Luten. What we must do is make sure no harm comes to her. We’ll have to be there to protect her.”

  “I really don’t see why they should harm her provided she takes the money,” Prance said, looking around to judge their reaction. “What would be the point of adding murder to their crimes?”

  “Dan’s already been murdered,” Coffen said.

  “But not by the Maccles. The question, surely, is whether you send the ten thousand ransom money with her, Luten.”

  “It’d be downright foolish to let her go without the blunt,” Black said. “They’ll want an exchange, the money for the location. A map was mentioned. If she don’t have the blunt —” He drew a hand across his throat to let them know her likely fate.

  Corinne turned to her trusted friend, who had so often helped her in the past. “What do you think we should do then, Black?”

  “It’s your money,” he said, “but if she goes, we must take every precaution to see no harm befalls her.”

  “You think it over, Corinne,” Luten said. “I’ll go and arrange the money, just in case we decide to let her go.”

  “My money!” Corinne said. “It’s my fault. I want to pay.”

  “We can argue about that later,” Luten said, and dashed out. He felt equally liable. Prance, of course, seemed to think it had nothing to do with him. It was himself, however, who had brought this down on their heads by allowing Prance to bring his actors into the house. What was he thinking? He had also urged Corinne to take on the job for the Friends of the Orphans Committee, for his good as well as her own. The wives of cabinet ministers had their role to play in the game of politics, provided they had social stature. The ladies wielded a deal of influence, despite not holding any offices. They had their little ways of discovering what the opposition was up to. And on top of it all, she wanted so badly for the auction to be a success.

  With Luten gone, Black took over the meeting. “What we have to decide is who goes to investigate the Union Chapel area, and when, and where we hide.”

  It was a foregone conclusion that even the Dragoons couldn’t hold Coffen back, and equally certain that Black would go with him. They thought Luten would want to go, and knew he would forbid Corinne from going, which didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t be there. Really the only uncertainty was whether Prance would volunteer.

  Prance was uncertain himself and said, “We’ll discuss that when Luten returns. Meanwhile we ought to drive there in daylight and reconnoitre the environs.”

  “And check out the ransom site,” said Coffen, who had no idea what reconnoitre might mean, or environs for that matter.

  “I’ll wait for Luten to come back,” Corinne said. “Do come and let us know what you find out, Black. And you too, of course, Prance,” she added as an afterthought. She didn’t have to give Coffen an invitation. He’d be here.

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  “It was very thoughtless of them to choose such an out-of-the-way place for an exchange,” Prance griped, as they crossed over the bridge to the Surrey side. Through the window he looked down at the shimmering light on the river, barely visible through patches of fog. At least it wasn’t raining. They still had some distance to go.

  Even Prance’s excellent groom, Pelkey, had trouble finding the place. He seldom had occasion to drive his master to such shabby districts with ugly little houses, costers’ shops and stables, each causing a deal of traffic. Once he found Blackfriars Road the driving was easy. A nice, straight metalled road, just as he and his team liked. Ahead he saw the rounded bulk of the Union Chapel on the right and drew to a stop when he reached it.

  The occupants of the carriage got out and stared at the chapel, limned against the gray sky. It was a small building, an octagon with two rows of windows, one above the other, rather than one tall window as was more usual with church architecture. The slanting roof was capped with a cupola, the cupola with a spire. It was not exactly ugly, but did not inspire, as a place of worship ought to do. It looked more suited to commerce or amusement than devotion.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Coffen asked. “Don’t look much like a church.”

  Black pointed to the name on a plaque by the front door. He walked up to the door and tried it. It was locked. “That answers our question as to where Mrs. Ballard’s to meet them. I fancy the exchange will take place right here, outside the front door. It’ll be private enough at midnight.”

  Prance repeated his old complaint, “I don’t see why they couldn’t have arranged to meet on the other side of the river.”

  “Because this is a better place to hide the loot,” Black explained. We ought to drive around and see if we spot a likely building. A warehouse, a shop that’s gone out of business. Even an unoccupied house.”

  Coffen had been examining the surroundings and said, “There’s no good hiding nearby. No trees. A doorway across the street is the best we can do. And no taverns or what not nearby to cause foot traffic. Nossir, I don’t like to think of poor Mrs. Ballard meeting villains here at midnight.”

  “Let’s drive about and see if we can find a likely place for them to have the goods stored,” Black said.

  As usual, they did as he suggested. There was no shortage of such places, but how to determine whether the good were concealed in the derelict mansion whose blackened brick suggested it had undergone a fire, or the costermonger’s shop that had gone out of business and covered its windows with brown paper, or the lumber yard that was housed in a large, barn-like building?

  “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Bla
ck grouched. “And now I consider it, it ain’t likely the goods are here anyhow, unless they’ve moved them since the night they took them. It’s too far away from Berkeley Square. According to the few hours that passed between the time they looted the house and returned the wagon to Newman’s stable, they could hardly have brought the goods this far. No, we’re wasting time. Let us go home and see if Luten got the money, and if he plans to let the old malkin go through with the exchange.”

  Luten had got the money, and Mrs. Ballard, despite every exertion on the Lutens’ part, insisted she would go to the Union Chapel at midnight. The next order of business was to decide who would be there before her, and who would follow her. “Since she’s to go in a hired cab,” Black said, “I could be the driver.”

  “Excellent, Black,” Luten said. “And the rest of us will be there earlier.”

  “We can’t loiter about the streets dressed like gentlemen,” Prance said. “We’d stand out like peacocks in a chicken coop. I didn’t see a decent jacket the whole time we were there. Anyone loitering about the street would be suspect in any case. There’s no tavern nearby, or any shop that’s likely to be open at midnight to afford a pretext.”

  “One or more of us could hide in the cab with Mrs. Ballard,” Luten suggested.

  “One of us has to be there early, to see if we can spot the fellow giving the link-boy the map,” Coffen said. “If he gets it to her that way, I mean.” He volunteered to go early, dressed like a labourer, and walk around the neighbourhood looking for a link-boy. If someone gave the boy a map, Coffen would snatch it.

  “No, better to follow the man who gives it to him,” Luten said. “It might not be the map, but just directions to some other place to get the map, and if he sees you attack the link-boy, they’ll call the whole deal off. Follow him and ten to one we’ll catch the whole crew there. Prance and I will go in the cab with Mrs. Ballard.”