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

by Karen Charlton

  ‘Why do you think Gomez killed himself?’ Lavender asked.

  The Spaniard gave a low laugh. ‘How do any of us know what goes on in another man’s mind?’ he asked.

  ‘Was he melancholic?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Was he in trouble or afraid of something or someone, perhaps?’

  ‘I have no idea, Detective.’ Irritation flickered across the Spaniard’s face. ‘Like many Spaniards he had fled his home country in fear of his life. But perhaps you can answer a question for me, Lavender. Perhaps you can explain why you and your constable were on my doorstep when the poor fellow decided to take his own life?’

  The ensuing silence weighed heavily in the room. Menendez’s face darkened to a scowl. ‘I’m not stupid enough to imagine for one minute that you were here to do some late night courting with Doña Magdalena, Lavender – not with your constable in tow. So why are you here? Have you followed and intimidated Don Gabriel?’ Lavender and Woods said nothing. ‘Was he running from the two of you when he dashed into the house and shot himself?’ Menendez asked.

  Lavender said nothing.

  ‘Your silence damns you, Detective,’ he snarled. ‘You two fools have driven this poor man to his death!’

  ‘That is for an inquest to decide,’ Lavender said, calmly. ‘In the meantime, I would be grateful if you could let us into Don Gabriel’s room. There may be more evidence in there about his state of mind.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  While they waited for the undertaker to arrive, Menendez grudgingly allowed Lavender and Woods into Gomez’s bedchamber. But a thorough search of the room revealed nothing except a few letters from his sister back in Spain. ‘He had no other family,’ Menendez told them.

  It was bitterly cold when Lavender and Woods finally left Bedford Square but the wind had dropped. A full moon rode high in the night sky illuminating their path back to Bow Street. Lavender was exhausted and dejected; it had been a long day and their undercover operation in the theatre had not ended up how they had hoped. Gomez’s suicide was a disappointment. The young cab driver, Alfie Tummins, had told Woods that three or four men had held up his coach and kidnapped Harriet Willoughby. So there were still more of the gang at large in the city. He had hoped that Gomez would lead him to them, but with his death the trail had gone cold.

  Lavender was also uneasy at the thought that Magdalena still remained in that house. She had ignored his suggestion that she returned to her own lodgings and he had not seen her since he handed her over to the care of the Menendez sisters. He assumed she had retired for the night. He would call first thing in the morning and escort her and Teresa safely back to their lodgings. He would perform this last act of friendship for her, at least.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ Woods said as they trudged back towards Covent Garden. It was quieter on the streets now although shadowy figures still lurked in the maze of dank alleys that led off Shaftesbury Avenue. ‘Where did that ruddy list of code end up? We watched Gomez every step of the way back from the theatre. He didn’t stop anywhere and he spoke to no one. He walked through the door of that house, straight into the study – again without speakin’ to anyone – then he locked the door, pulled out a pistol and shot himself.’

  ‘He must have destroyed it,’ Lavender said.

  ‘But when? And why?’

  ‘He probably threw the list onto the fire in the grate just before he shot himself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To destroy the evidence of his involvement in the espionage,’ Lavender said. He carefully sidestepped a sleeping beggar whose limbs protruded dangerously from a shop doorway. ‘Gomez knew we were following him and he seems to have panicked.’

  ‘I’ll swear blind he were talkin’ to someone in that study when we saw him at the window,’ Woods said. ‘His lips definitely moved.’

  Lavender frowned. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘He had locked himself into the study. He was alone.’

  ‘Gawd’s teeth!’ Woods stopped abruptly, his horrified expression visible in the pearlescent glow of the moon. ‘Suppose he did manage to pass along the code?’ he said. ‘Suppose we missed somethin’ and he handed it over to another agent back on Shaftesbury Avenue while we were trailin’ him? All it would have taken was a sleight of hand – we wouldn’t have seen him do it.’

  ‘I don’t think he realised he was being followed until he reached the corner of Bedford Square.’ Distracted from his own thoughts, Lavender tried to work out where this new concern of Woods’ was leading.

  ‘But if he did pass it along – then all that confidential information about the naval fleet in the Indian Ocean is now in our enemies’ hands!’ Woods said dramatically. His tired eyes were wide and distressed. ‘We may have put the lives of thousands of sailors and officers in danger!’

  Lavender stopped. He placed a comforting hand on Woods’ arm and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Ned. It wasn’t the original list.’

  ‘It wasn’t?’

  ‘No, Sackville gave us a false list of code to return to April Clare. He knew there was a risk that this plan could go wrong; he never intended to jeopardise the safety our fleet.’

  ‘So this document was false?’

  ‘Yes, and if it does find its way into the wrong hands, then it will lead the French on a merry goose chase around the Indian Ocean.’

  Woods sighed with relief and managed a weak grin. ‘Well, thank goodness for that!’

  The streets were busier now they neared Covent Garden. Cabs sped by, spraying up filth from the gutter. Staggering drunks slowly weaved their way home after a noisy night in the taverns and gin shops.

  They approached a nightwatchman huddled around a glowing brazier. He clutched his lantern and stout stick in his gloved hands. The smoky charcoal fumes of the fire made him cough. Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, his eyes narrowed as Woods and Lavender approached then widened with relief and recognition: ‘Evening, Detective. Evening Constable.’ They returned the old man’s nod.

  ‘Does this mean that this case is now over for us?’ Woods asked as they turned onto Long Acre.

  ‘Yes – apart from the report I’ve got to write,’ Lavender said. ‘Forsyth is in the gentle care of Captain Sackville and the Admiralty. A dangerous French spy ring has been uncovered and their operation foiled. April Clare is out of danger and back in her beloved theatre – and most importantly, at least two of the men responsible for the kidnapping and death of Harriet Willoughby have been identified: one of them is dead and the other is detained. If there are any more French spies or villains still at large, I suspect that Captain Sackville will take care of them.’

  ‘That’s a good result,’ Woods said. ‘We’ve done well.’ A sly grin spread over the constable’s broad face. ‘You’ll have more time now to spend on that “private business” of yours.’

  Lavender grimaced and turned away to hide his misery and pain. Time was the last thing he needed right now. Spare time would hang like a leaden weight in his heart as he brooded over Magdalena’s rejection of his marriage proposal. He would ask Read for a case that took him out of the city for a while. He needed to keep occupied and put some distance between them both.

  But Woods obviously didn’t intend to let this matter drop. ‘I’ve been wonderin’ for days what it were, this “private business” of yours.’

  ‘I have bought a house,’ Lavender said wearily, ‘in Marylebone.’

  ‘Oh.’ Woods glanced across at him. ‘That’s excellent news. Does Doña Magdalena like this house?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied bitterly. ‘She likes the house – but she doesn’t like me. Well, not well enough to marry me, anyway.’

  Woods stopped dead in his tracks. His face etched with concern. ‘She’s turned you down?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ Woods thought for a moment then his voice assumed that deep, patronising tone he always employed when he was about to impart some great wisdom about the mysterious fairer sex.
‘I thought that somethin’ were up when I saw the two of you together back at Bedford Square. Well, don’t worry about it, sir – I’m sure she’ll say yes the next time you ask her.’

  ‘There won’t be a next time.’ Lavender was desperate to get back to Bow Street and retire to his bed for the night but Woods seemed rooted to the spot – and suddenly burst out laughing.

  ‘This is not the sympathetic response I expected,’ Lavender snapped.

  ‘Oh heaven and hell, man!’ Woods said between the snorts of amusement. ‘You can’t give up askin’ the gal just because she’s said no once! You really don’t know nothin’ about women, do you?’

  ‘Well, you’re always telling me I don’t.’

  ‘Ask her again, sir.’

  ‘She seemed adamant, Ned; she said that this was her final decision.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Woods exclaimed. ‘It often takes several goes to persuade ’em. It took me half a dozen times of askin’ to get Betsy to wed me.’

  This was a genuine surprise. ‘Why?’ Lavender asked.

  Most of Woods’ face was still in the shadows but Lavender had the distinct impression that his constable blushed. ‘Because she were worried about me size.’

  ‘Your size?’ Lavender choked back a laugh of his own. ‘Is that what she said? What on earth did she mean?’

  Woods struggled to find the words. ‘She didn’t rightly say but I always thought that it were something a bit awkward.’ Lavender was confused. ‘I thought she were worried that we might not fit.’

  ‘Might not fit?’

  ‘Yes, with me being so big like – and her being so small and delicate.’

  For a moment Lavender was baffled then an unwanted image leapt into his mind. A strangled laugh escaped his throat as he held up a hand to stop Woods in his tracks.

  ‘Good God, Ned. Stop. I don’t want to know anything more about you and Betsy “fitting”.’

  ‘Well, I were just sayin’, sir.’

  ‘I know you were. Let’s leave it there, shall we? Personally, I suspect that any qualms Betsy may have had about your size and marrying you were more to do with the rumours of your legendary appetite. Betsy was probably worried that she wouldn’t be able to feed you or would wear herself out in the attempt.’

  Woods seemed a little disappointed with this suggestion but soon regained his good humour. ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘By the way, how did you retrieve your pistol? I thought that Betsy had hidden it.’

  ‘Oh I know all her secret places,’ Woods said.

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Lavender said wryly. ‘And you have four children to prove it.’

  They paused for a moment as a large drunken and noisy crowd of both men and women staggered past them.

  ‘I would ask Doña Magdalena again,’ Woods said. ‘Women are Contrary Marys at the best of times.’

  Lavender smiled and realised that Woods, with his gentle humour and his homespun philosophy, had lifted the lid on some of his misery. Maybe his constable was right. Perhaps a bit of persistence was all that was needed to persuade the woman of his dreams that she should be his wife.

  The night clerk smiled at Lavender and Woods as they entered the grim hallway of Bow Street police office. He had been bent over a document on the desk, straining to read it by the weak light of a few lanterns and the tallow candles in the wall sconces. The place was cold and unwelcoming in daylight; at night it was downright dismal. But the clerk seemed far from disheartened by his grim surroundings. ‘Good evening, Lavender,’ he said cheerfully, ‘Evening, Constable Woods.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that anything much will happen tomorrow, with it being the Sabbath,’ Lavender said. He reached across the high wooden desk for the inkwell and quill that stood idle by the clerk’s hands. ‘I’ll leave a note for Magistrate Read and tell him about tonight’s events. I’ll call on Captain Sackville first thing on Monday morning and come here later. You get yourself off home, Ned and have a good rest tomorrow – you’ve deserved it.’

  Woods glanced around the near-empty hallway. ‘It’s quiet in here tonight,’ he said. ‘Normally this place writhes with the scum and tag-rag of the Seven Dials and the rookery of St Giles.’

  The clerk nodded. ‘It’s not often we can see the floorboards. There’s a few tosspots chirpin’ merrily in the cells out the back but I think the cold ’as kept most of the felons indoors tonight – apart from that drunkard over there behind the door.’ He waved in the direction of a snoring heap of rags across the hallway. ‘I can’t move ’im on my own. So I’ve just left ’im where ’e passed out. Riley will be along in a bit; we’ll shift ’im together.’

  ‘Behind the door,’ Lavender said. He choked on his own words. He felt like someone had just poured a pail of icy water over his head.

  The clerk pointed again. ‘Yes, over there.’

  ‘Behind the door.’ Lavender cursed his own stupidity. Beneath the white muslin of his starched cravat, a vein began to throb.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Woods blinked at him, concern etched across his broad features.

  Lavender threw down the quill and swore loudly. ‘He was behind the door all the time! Behind the bloody door!’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘Menendez!’ Lavender shouted. ‘It’s the oldest trick in the damned book – and we’ve just fallen for it. Quick, Ned! The stables – we need to ride back to Bedford Square and arrest Menendez.’

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’ Alarmed, Woods fell into step beside Lavender as they strode back through the corridors, hurling the internal doors aside. ‘What does Menendez have to do with this spy ring?’

  ‘He’s up to his neck in it. He’s probably the ringleader.’

  Woods let out a curse. ‘How did you work that out?’

  For a brief moment Lavender stopped in his tracks and turned to face Woods who had jerked to a halt beside him. ‘When Gomez dashed into the house and went into the Menendez’s study, he didn’t go in there to kill himself. I think that Menendez was already in the study and Gomez went to tell him that we had followed him.’

  ‘Do you think that Gomez gave that list of code to Menendez?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he did. I also think that Menendez realised that if Gomez was arrested and interrogated that he would soon reveal the names of the rest of the conspirators.’

  ‘Gawd’s teeth!’ Woods’ mouth dropped open.

  ‘Menendez had to cover his own involvement with the gang – and quickly,’ Lavender said. ‘When Gomez turned his back to look out of the window, Menendez saw his opportunity. He locked the door and reached behind the books for his pistol.’

  ‘I knew that Gomez was talking’ to someone else in that room!’

  ‘Seconds later, Menendez shot him.’

  Woods let out a low whistle. ‘But he wasn’t in the room when Doña Magdalena burst in.’

  ‘Menendez stepped back behind the door and waited until someone found the spare key and burst into the room. He didn’t anticipate that Magdalena would shoot off the lock – he expected that his sisters would arrive with the spare key – but the effect was the same. Once the women entered the room their attention was riveted on the shocking sight of the dead man on the floor – none of them were aware that Menendez was behind the door. All he had to do was step forward and they would assume that he had followed them into the room.’

  ‘Heaven and hell!’ Woods exclaimed. They reached the stable block. With the help of a groom, they hastily threw saddles onto a couple of the horses and tightened up the girths.

  ‘Remember,’ Lavender said as he swung up into the stirrups, ‘Sackville will want us to arrest Menendez – not shoot him.’

  ‘We’ve left Doña Magdalena alone in that house with a murderer,’ Woods said. ‘Let’s hope she’ll be safe.’

  Lavender’s gut twisted as he gathered up the reins. ‘If she’s not,’ he said grimly, ‘if Menendez does anything to hurt her – or Teresa – then sod Sackville’s instructions, I�
�ll strangle the bastard with my own hands.’

  They dug their heels into the flanks of their horses and cantered out of the yard.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Magdalena lay awake listening to the unfamiliar night sounds of the house in Bedford Square. A house was never silent. Roof tiles lifted and rocked above her head; small showers of soot fell down the chimneys; floorboards creaked and groaned of their own volition. Somewhere a mouse scuttled.

  A feeble swathe of moonlight floated through the chink in her window drapes but the rest of the room was pitch-black. She saw the faint glimmer of candlelight beneath the bottom of her door as a footman passed by. She waited for a moment, and then heard him in the hallway downstairs, checking the security of the huge bolts on the front door. Silence fell. The only sound now was the noisy pounding of her heart.

  ‘The things I do for you, Sebastián,’ she whispered, as she pushed back the sheets and swung out of the bed. The thought of her son gave her strength. She would need it. She had told Teresa she didn’t need her help with undressing tonight – she was still fully clothed.

  The house was thickly carpeted so she decided to risk wearing her boots. But she dared not risk a candle. Clutching her cloak over her arm, Magdalena slipped like a shadow onto the chilly landing and made her way towards Don Felipe’s bedroom. She paused with her hand on the door handle.

  For a moment her courage failed her. This is madness, she thought. But another voice in her head drowned out the fear and urged her forward: Sebastián. I need the money. The door was well oiled. It pushed open with only the faintest click. Menendez’s strong masculine scent wafted out of the room. She held her breath and only exhaled when Don Felipe continued the steady rhythm of his snoring.

  Thankfully, his room was at the front of the house on Bedford Square and light from the street lanterns filtered through the windows. Leaving her cloak outside and ignoring the lump beneath the bedclothes, she glanced around for Menendez’s coat. It was thrown over a nearby chair. She stepped forward and slid her hand into the inside breast pocket where she knew he kept the key to his desk. She found it instantly. Silently, she backed out of the room.