The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2)

by Karen Charlton

  ‘It is probably too late! My reputation is all I have left, Stephen.’

  He nodded. Magdalena was right: it was her reputation that would suffer if they weren’t more careful. He knew it was time for him to take action to resolve this situation and formalise their relationship. The awareness of this responsibility was sobering.

  ‘In a while,’ he said, ‘we will laugh about what happened tonight. My mother is a kindly, loving woman – as you will discover when you eventually meet her. And she married my father for love.’

  She seemed to stiffen at the suggestion. ‘You seem so close,’ she said. ‘I never realised that Ned and Betsy Woods were familiar with your family.’

  He sighed again. ‘We law-keepers are not popular in London,’ he said. ‘As a result, the families of the Bow Street police tend to be close to each other and support each other as best we can.’

  ‘It is a different world,’ Magdalena said sadly. ‘A world to which I do not belong.’

  Despite his best efforts, she refused to speak for the rest of the journey home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thursday 22nd February, 1810

  Captain Brandon Sackville’s long frame was sprawling in a chair opposite Magistrate Read’s desk when Lavender finally appeared at their meeting. It was just after midday and Lavender knew he was late. Woods was already there, perched on another chair. When Read introduced him, the captain retracted his booted legs from where they had been stretched out in front of him, stood up and shook Lavender’s hand.

  ‘Your reputation precedes you, Detective Lavender.’ He spoke slowly with the soft burr of a Devonshire accent. Even without his uniform he had the unmistakable bearing of a military officer.

  ‘As does yours, Captain Sackville.’ This was true. Still only in his late thirties, the blond, curly-haired naval officer had risen quickly through the naval ranks. He had an impressive reputation for leadership, navigational skill and bravery in battle. Briefly, Lavender wondered what had enticed him back on land to work in the fusty corridors of the Admiralty and Whitehall. The captain’s slow, measured way of talking obviously masked considerable intelligence.

  ‘You’re late, Lavender,’ Read said sharply.

  ‘Yes, my apologies for that,’ Lavender replied. ‘I had some private business to attend to this morning which took longer than I expected.’

  ‘Private business?’ Read frowned with displeasure.

  ‘Let’s get down to the issue in hand, gentlemen,’ said Sackville. He pulled out the innocuous sheet of paper that April Clare had found within her play script and spread it out on the desk. Lavender took the vacant chair beside him.

  ‘I will come straight to the point,’ Sackville said. ‘The document that you have recovered is very worrying.’

  ‘What is it, exactly?’ Lavender asked.

  ‘It didn’t take our decoders long to work it out,’ Sackville said. ‘The code is amateurish but it’s an alphabetical list of our fleet in the Indian Ocean. It gives their last known location with a few details about each ship’s artillery capability. Some of the entries have the number and poundage of the canons on each deck.’

  ‘That’ll be why the Victor was at the bottom of the list,’ said Woods. ‘Because it’s alphabetical.’

  The other men glanced up and Sackville smiled. ‘Exactly, Constable, and the fact that the Victor is mentioned suggests that the author of this document needed to update his reader that the Victor is no longer a British ship and is back in the hands of the French. They had a pattern to this code. I suspect that the author regularly provided this information.’

  A shiver ran down the back of Lavender’s neck at the implication of Sackville’s last sentence. ‘How much damage could this do to our fleet? Suppose we hadn’t been able to intercept it, what would have happened if it had found its way into the hands of the French?’

  Sackville shrugged his broad shoulders and flicked a speck of dust from the black velvet cuff of his burgundy coat. ‘It’s difficult to say. Our ships move around constantly, of course – unless they’re laid up for repair – and it would have taken several weeks for this information to have landed in the hands of the French. But the Indian Ocean is vast and anything that gives a general idea of the whereabouts of our vessels to our enemies is something that causes the Admiralty concern.’

  ‘Heaven and hell!’ exclaimed Woods. He slapped his hand down hard on Read’s desk and made them all jump. ‘We’ve uncovered a bloody spy ring!’

  Sackville smiled again. ‘So it would seem, Constable.’

  ‘What do you want us to do? Lavender asked.

  ‘Well, it is quite obvious that someone at the Sans Pareil feeds information to our enemies,’ Sackville said. ‘As Constable Woods has said, we have a spy in our midst. The list accidentally became mixed up in Miss Clare’s play script last Thursday and was missed by its owner virtually immediately. Less than a day later, her poor sister was kidnapped in an effort to retrieve this document. Somebody in that green room last Thursday night had a connection with this piece of paper. They had either put it on that table – or they had arranged to collect it from there. We need to find this spy.’

  Lavender frowned. ‘I shall obtain the names of everyone who was in the theatre last Thursday. Jane Scott, or her father, will be able to provide those easily enough but I suspect it will be a long list. There are not only the actors and actresses but also the stagehands to investigate – and possibly visitors . . .’

  ‘Remember, Stephen,’ Read warned, ‘even Miss Scott and her father are suspects at this point of the investigation.’

  Lavender’s frown deepened. ‘Yes, it will be a slow process to rule out everyone from our inquiries . . .’ His voice trailed away as his mind explored other possibilities.

  ‘Well, that would be a good place to begin,’ Sackville said.

  ‘Unless we took another approach to the investigation.’

  ‘You’ve got that funny look in your eye,’ Woods said to Lavender. ‘Like you’re about to hatch a plot.’

  They all stared at Lavender in silence while he thought.

  ‘Spit it out, man,’ Read said, eventually. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m concerned that if Bow Street officers investigate the cast and crew of the Sans Pareil, then we might scare off our quarry,’ Lavender explained. ‘If he gets wind of our investigation, he will be on the next boat to France before we can identify him.’

  ‘That would be unfortunate,’ Sackville said. ‘We need to smash this operation and round up the perpetrators. Do you have a suggestion?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do,’ Lavender said slowly. The plan was still only half formed in his mind but it grew by the second. ‘I think we need to flush out this infiltrator. Let him reveal himself to us.’

  ‘That’s assumin’ the spy is a man, sir,’ Woods said. ‘From what I’ve learnt about women this week, I wouldn’t be surprised if this sneaky budge wasn’t a gal.’ His face was rigid with indignation.

  The other men stared at Woods. For a moment it looked like Read was about to ask Woods to explain his last comment but then the magistrate obviously thought better of the idea. He turned back to Lavender. ‘How do you propose to do this, Lavender?’ he asked. ‘How will you flush out him – or her?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure just yet; I need to think some more. But I do believe that it might be time for the dead actress, Miss April Divine, to rise up from the ashes like a phoenix.’

  Lavender sensed the stony atmosphere between the two women as soon as he was shown into the late Mrs Willoughby’s drawing room in Wandsworth. Swathed in their organza mourning gowns, Lady Caroline and April Clare sat stiff-backed and silent on opposite sofas by the fire like a pair of black-ash bookends. Their forced intimacy had taken its toll on their fragile relationship. Both looked angry, as if they had been arguing.

  Relief flashed across Lady Caroline’s face when the maid announced Lavender.

  ‘Oh, Detective Lavender �
�� thank goodness you’re here! We had begun to think that you had forgotten about us.’ The jewels in her rings flashed as she offered him her hand.

  He raised it to his lips. ‘How can any man forget about you, Lady Caroline?’ he said, smiling.

  ‘You must be serious, Lavender,’ she admonished. ‘We have a lot to discuss.’ But a faint pink spot had appeared on her high cheekbones.

  He turned to April Clare and bowed politely. She didn’t offer her hand and appeared to be further angered by his banter with her stepmother. April’s pretty face darkened.

  ‘We have done as you asked,’ Lady Caroline said. She waved him over to the empty chair he had occupied the day before. He sat down. ‘We have arranged a quiet and discreet funeral for poor Harriet tomorrow morning. And I have written to Captain Willoughby – and his lawyer here in England – to apprise him of the sad news of the death of his wife.’

  ‘Quiet and discreet!’ snapped Miss Clare. ‘You have notified half of London!’ She turned angrily to Lavender. ‘I had to stop her placing an announcement in The Times, Detective!’

  ‘It is only fitting,’ Lady Caroline wailed. ‘Poor Harriet was the daughter of a baron! It is terrible to have to make her funeral such a cloak-and-dagger affair!’

  ‘It would be even more terrible if the kidnappers discovered their mistake and came after me again! You might as well place an announcement that Miss April Clare is still alive – come to Wandsworth and kill her now!’

  ‘Really, April!’ Lady Caroline said, exasperated. ‘I begin to think that you don’t care one jot about what has happened to poor Harriet – all I hear from you is concern for yourself.’

  ‘Now, now, ladies,’ Lavender said quickly. ‘I have some good news – and a plan – which I think might help.’ Both women turned to stare at him. April Clare still looked like she would explode with anger but she remained silent.

  ‘There has been a development,’ he said. He took the list out of his coat pocket and laid it on the occasional table beside the actress. ‘I now know what this document contains, and yes, I have to report that it is as serious as I suspected.’

  ‘Good grief!’ Lady Caroline said. ‘You mean it is classified naval information?’

  ‘Yes, and I have no doubt that Mrs Willoughby was kidnapped in an attempt to retrieve this piece of paper – and your lodgings, Miss Clare, were ransacked for the same reason.’ The actress paled and she sank back in her chair as if to put as much distance between the document and herself as possible.

  ‘However, I have a plan, which, if it works, will mean that the kidnappers leave you alone for good – and will allow you to resume your life.’ April Clare sat up straighter, tilted her head and listened.

  ‘It is time, Miss Clare, for April Divine to rise from the ashes of death and strut the boards of the stage of the Sans Pareil once more.’

  Lady Caroline gave a short laugh. ‘The detective plans to resurrect you like Lazarus,’ she said. ‘How intriguing! Do tell us more.’

  Carefully, Lavender explained the plan he had worked out earlier with Sackville, Read and Woods.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Thursday 22nd February, 1810

  Despite his wife’s instruction that he was to remain objective when dealing with the fascinating Spanish señora, Magistrate Read allowed himself a moment or two to appreciate Doña Magdalena’s elegance and beauty when she glided into his office. He could understand why Stephen Lavender was so besotted with the damned woman. She was stunningly attractive, with a curvaceous figure, a flawless golden complexion and wide, luminous eyes fringed with long dark lashes. Glossy black ringlets and curls framed her pretty face and intelligence shone in her eyes. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties but he knew that she had an eight-year-old son away at boarding school so he suspected she was probably a little older, possibly in her late twenties – a year or two younger than Lavender. He cleared his throat, bade her take a seat and tried to force his mind back onto the business that lay ahead.

  ‘Thank you for the teaching position, Magistrate Read. ’ Magdalena smiled at him like an old friend, and revealed two perfect rows of small, pearly teeth. ‘And I have to confess that I’m intrigued by the mention in your note of the confidential matter we needed to discuss.’

  Her English was excellent, Read noted. Her voice was deep and her accent slight. He was due in court in twenty minutes and was wearing his wig and sombre black gown. Most people found his official garb intimidating but not Doña Magdalena, it seemed. The woman was obviously made of strong stuff. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in ten minutes, madam, Read thought.

  ‘Does Detective Lavender know you’re here in my office at this moment?’

  Her smile dropped from her lips and was replaced by a slight look of confusion. ‘No. You said in your note that this was a confidential matter; I felt it wise to tell no one of our appointment. As you can see, I have even travelled without my maid.’

  Good, she has passed the first test, at least.

  ‘I will come straight to the point, Doña Magdalena,’ he said. ‘I may have another proposition to put to you, which may be more lucrative than Spanish lessons.’ Her dark eyebrows arched upwards. ‘However, first, we need to discuss your politics.’

  She gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘My politics?’

  ‘Yes, madam, I’m curious about where your sympathies lie. Are you an Absolutionist, a Liberal, a Godoyista or a Fernadista? Speak plainly.’

  ‘I tended to leave matters of state to my late husband,’ she said warily.

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware that Señor Garcia de Aviles had political ambition. But surely you had an opinion of your own, an intelligent woman like yourself? I understand that you had an uncle in one of the Cortes Generales. Politics is in the lifeblood of your family. You can’t be immune to it.’

  Magdalena’s face registered surprise and her eyes flitted to the innocuous dun-coloured folder that lay on Read’s desk beneath his folded hands. ‘I see that you’re well informed about my background, Magistrate Read,’ she said slowly. The thought didn’t seem to alarm her. ‘Yes, Antonio was ambitious. My family’s political connections were part of the attraction when his father approached my father about our marriage.’

  ‘Your marriage was arranged?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Her calmness with the convention of an arranged marriage was unnerving. It sounded so cold, unemotional and alien to him. However, when he allowed his memory to return to the hazy days of his own courtship and marriage to Charity he was vaguely aware that he had little to do with it. He remembered mentioning to his mother that Miss Charity Gilroy had a pretty smile and nice eyes and the next moment he was betrothed. Charity and his mother had ‘arranged’ everything between them – even their introduction in that ballroom. He suspected that he wasn’t the first man to be waltzed into a marriage he didn’t see coming. But he took comfort that such a strong affection had grown up between him and Charity over the years; he knew they had an amicable and supportive relationship.

  ‘Were you happily married?’ This had nothing to do with her politics, of course but he was curious.

  She waved an elegant gloved hand in the air, dismissively. ‘We were as content as any other married couple in the world, Magistrate. Antonio was a kind husband, if a little distant. We spent the first few years of our marriage in Madrid. After our son, Sebastián, was born, I lived quietly with Antonio’s parents on their estate near Oviedo. My own father was dying and I needed to be close to him at that time. Antonio was often away in Madrid. After Sebastián was sent away to school, I found it too quiet and dull in the country. I wasn’t happy; I missed the excitement of the city and I missed my son.

  ‘I went briefly to Madrid but the capital was now a dangerous place. Bonaparte imprisoned our foolish king and put his own brother on the Spanish throne; riots and mutinies broke out all over the country – especially in Madrid. I had only just left the city when Murat’s cavalry trampled thousands o
f innocent men, women and children in the streets and shot to death thousands of others. It was carnage.’

  ‘How did you feel about these events?’

  ‘How did I feel?’ she snapped. Her face flushed with anger. ‘How does any right-minded person feel about such acts of atrocity?’ she demanded. ‘But I had a foreboding that things would go wrong from the moment our inept government and foolish king allowed Bonaparte and his French dogs to march across our land to invade Portugal. Even I, a mere woman, could see that this would be a disaster. It was only a matter of time before the despotic tyrant and his dogs turned around to bite us.’

  ‘I see you have no love for the French, Doña Magdalena. But do you hold any particular affection for your deposed kings and Godoy?’

  ‘No, none. You asked me earlier which faction of Spanish politics I favoured,’ she said. ‘I think I can answer your question now: none of them. You would probably call me a realistic, Magistrate Read, rather than a devoted follower of one group or other. My main concern has always been the safety of my son. His future well-being and happiness were placed in danger by the foolish actions of our leaders. Of course, Antonio immediately allied himself with the rebels. He fought against the French at the battle of Bailén and glorified in our Spanish victory. He also allied himself with the Cádiz Cortes, the government in exile.’

  ‘My sources tell me that Don Antonio was quite vocal in his opposition to the French invasion of your country and earned a well-deserved reputation for gallantry and bravery in battle. That must be of some comfort to you.’

  She looked anything but comforted. A tendril of hair had escaped from her pins. She angrily pushed it back up into her bonnet. ‘In an occupied country, reputations for gallantry in battle impress men and silly young girls,’ she said. ‘They do not protect the terrified wives and children left back at home at the mercy of the invaders.’

  This was a perspective that he had never considered before and he suspected that it wasn’t one that entered the thoughts of most Englishmen or women. After all, they had not been invaded by the French. Well, not yet anyway. Every coastal town and port in Britain was on high alert.