The Baron at Bishops Avenue (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 9)

by Jason Blacker

  "I'm going to need a lot more."

  "How much?"

  "This much on a weekly basis."

  Quinn stared at Malone steadily. He wasn't sure he wanted to get into that much business with the Italian. But sixty thousand dollars a week would sure help him expand. He'd have to pay up front to his contact in Ireland. But it was manageable. At length Quinn nodded.

  "I can do that," he said. "But I'll have to miss a week in order to set it up. Fifty cases a week? You sure?"

  Malone nodded, still grinning.

  "I'll need half up front for good faith and to take care of the inspectors and the people on the other end."

  Malone nodded slowly.

  "It's in there already."

  Malone looked past Quinn to the suitcase that Dolan was just finishing up counting. Quinn looked behind at Dolan. Dolan closed the suitcase and nodded.

  "Ninety thousand like he promised," said Dolan to Quinn.

  Quinn looked back at the Italian.

  "I'm a man of my word when it comes to business," he said, then in a more somber tone. "You will be too."

  Quinn looked at him and nodded.

  "Always am."

  They shook hands and the heavily armed man standing next to Malone walked off towards the truck. He secured the cargo under a tarpaulin cover and climbed into the driver's seat. Malone walked back towards his Cadillac with the other heavily armed man walking back with him. Quinn watched Malone get into the back seat as his armed man got into the passenger side across from the driver. The truck started and then slowly rolled away. The Cadillac came to life and the lights blinded Quinn momentarily until they swept away. Malone waved casually at Quinn as they drove by. His cigar stuck firmly in his mouth. Quinn nodded.

  Dolan walked up to him and they watched the Italians drive away slowly until they were gone and there was no sight nor sound of them left. Quinn stared after them for a long while.

  "Think it's a good idea doing business with them, boss?" asked Dolan.

  Quinn didn't look at him. He stared straight ahead as if trying to see the future.

  "It's a good idea for now," he said. Then he turned around and started walking back towards the almost empty container.

  "Let's get the rest of the whisky into our cars and head on out of here before trouble starts coming to look for us. We've got some celebrating to do."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Marmalade Park

  THERE was a light rain falling in London on Monday when Lady Marmalade came down for breakfast. It was the day after Bloody Sunday. The twenty second of November. Eric was sitting at the table reading the paper. There were no plates in front of him. Either he had eaten already or he was waiting for Frances. He tucked the paper over itself as Frances came over to him and kissed him on the lips.

  "Good morning, darling," she said.

  "Morning, my love," he replied.

  "Have you eaten?" she asked.

  "No, I wasn't too hungry so I thought I'd wait for you."

  Frances smiled at him and took a seat to his left. She could see out into the garden. It was a grey day. Thick with mist and fog and the window pane was dotted with small droplets of rain. The grass was green but there weren't many flowers out in the garden.

  "Thank you for waiting, darling. What are we having?"

  Eric folded up the newspaper once more and put it to his right. Lady Marmalade could see part of the headline. Irish violence, or something like that, is what it said.

  "I've had Ginny cook up our regular. Bacon and eggs. Some toast. Anything else you might like?"

  "Sounds lovely."

  Alfred came up to her right.

  "Tea for my Lady?" he asked.

  Frances looked up at him, nodded and smiled.

  "Sounds lovely, Alfred," she said. "Looks like a creamy tea sort of day."

  "Quite right," he said, as he poured the rusty liquid into a teacup. After he was done, he moved away. Out of sight, but not out of reach. Frances poured some cream into her tea and added a sugar. She stirred it absentmindedly. Tea etiquette had never held much interest for her. Milk before the tea, or after, made no difference from what she could tell. But the cream, yes, that was the key.

  "I assume Declan and Amelia got off to school without a problem this morning?" Frances asked Eric.

  "Yes, Alfred just got back from dropping them off not too long ago. Declan seemed a little worried, he has an English exam today. Amelia was in good spirits."

  Frances smiled. Declan was a studious young boy, if not a bit too serious. Though he did have the marks to show for it.

  "Are you off to work today or to parliament?" asked Frances.

  Eric leaned onto the table and shook his head.

  "I think I'll be off to work. I don't think I can stomach much more posturing from the Lords this morning. Have you seen the news?"

  Frances shook her head.

  "No, obviously not good though. Irish problems again?"

  "That's putting it lightly. They've murdered fourteen men. Twelve British Army members, an informant and a member of the Royal Irish Constabulary."

  Eric leaned back as Ginny came in carrying a large silver tray of the food. Frances caught a whiff of the bacon and eggs before she saw her. Ginny placed the tray on a dumb waiter and then served them up. She put a plate with four rashers of bacon and one fried egg in front of Lady Marmalade, then she put a plate with six rashers of bacon and two fried eggs in front of Lord Marmalade. Then she placed a rack of toast with four pieces between them along with the butter and marmalade.

  "Thank you, Ginny," said Frances, smiling and looking at her.

  Ginny smiled back, bowed and went back to the kitchen to her duties and chores. Frances sipped her tea and hummed.

  "Smells delicious," she said. "I didn't realize how famished I was."

  "You can always have her cook up some more if you'd like."

  "I don't think it'll be necessary," she said. "Not with the toast as well."

  Eric and Frances went to eating their food for a while in silence. Frances sipped her tea and looked out the window at the grey day.

  "What are the Irish up to do you think, darling?" she asked.

  Eric looked up from his plate. He put his fork and knife down and shook his head wearily.

  "I know exactly what they're up to. They want independence from the crown. Thing is, it's not going to happen. Not if they carry on like they are. I'm certain there'll be a huge and excessive response in the coming days."

  Frances shook her head. She found the whole thing quite tragic.

  "Are you sure?"

  Eric nodded slowly and sadly.

  "It came up in Parliament," he said. "Lord Loughty wanted to bring a motion forward which wasn't ever going to happen and so they killed it."

  "What did he want?"

  "He wanted a motion passed that required the government to set up a commission or committee to meet with the IRM and Ceann Daoine. Nothing radical really. But you know how the Lords can get. Stick in the muds the bunch of them."

  "And I suppose that Loughty's background being Irish didn't endear him to anyone either," said Frances, smiling and then sipping at her tea.

  Eric nodded and smiled at her.

  "Of course not. I think some of them, Lord Paussage in particular, did it almost out of spite."

  "I never did like him. Quite the temper, a big drinker and all round unpleasant pompous sod."

  Eric laughed out loud and slapped the table.

  "You're quite right, and quite honest too."

  Frances smiled and ate some egg.

  "I could tell Loughty was upset by the whole thing. But he put on a brave face. You know, my love, I sometimes wonder why I ever even attend these sorts of things. If it wasn't for the Commons I fear England would be driven off a cliff if just out of the sheer incompetence of these entitled men."

  Eric put his head down and studied his food for a moment. Then he went to eating once again. He put a piece of bacon on h
is fork and then pierced on a piece of egg.

  "I for one, just don't understand," said Frances, "why our government is so bent on war when we just narrowly won the last one. Do lessons never get learnt?"

  Eric looked up at her. He reached for the salt shaker and shook more salt on his eggs and bacon. He reached for the pepper grinder and did the same.

  "It appears we have incompetent nincompoops running the show," he said without any sign of irony. "And they're intent to drive us into debt, destitution or death. Perhaps all three."

  Frances nodded and put more egg into her mouth. She chewed carefully and slowly as if in rhythm to her thoughts.

  "I don't see the harm in at least talking with them. If it were to save just one life it would be worth it. In fact, if truth be told, I don't know why we don't just meet with them and hammer out their secession."

  "I agree," said Eric, "though I think I understand why men don't want to."

  "Why?"

  "Egos primarily, and concern that this might start a cascade of Scotland and Wales looking for the same."

  Frances furrowed her eyebrows.

  "I can't really see that happening," she said. "Scotland and Wales have been part of the kingdom for hundreds of years. Over three hundred for Scotland and almost five hundred for Wales if I remember my history lessons."

  "I'll take your word for it, my love, and I think you're right. I don't see any independence movement in either of those countries. I'm just offering what I think are some of the political reasons for those in government not wanting to sit down with the IRM."

  "Or perhaps it could be pure apathy," said Frances with a sparkle in her eye.

  Eric laughed again and drank some tea. He looked over at Alfred standing quietly and stoically off to the side against the wall.

  "I think we should ask our resident Irishman," he said.

  Frances shook her head.

  "I don't think Alfred wants to get involved in our discussion."

  "Well, I for one am curious on his insights," said Eric. "What do you think, Alfred?"

  Alfred came forward and smiled at Eric.

  "Of what my Lord?"

  "Of this Irish War of Independence."

  "I try to stay out of politics, my Lord, a dirty business, if you'll pardon me for saying so," said Alfred.

  Alfred was just a year older than Lady Marmalade, though he had been in England for almost as long as he had been in Ireland.

  "I agree wholeheartedly. It is a dirty business, though not as dirty as war, don't you agree?" asked Eric.

  Alfred nodded.

  "Yes, sir," he said.

  "Go on then," said Eric, "give us your thoughts."

  "Well to be honest, my Lord, I consider England to be my home. I've been here almost as long as I was born and raised in Ireland." Alfred paused for a moment. "If I could be quite honest."

  Eric nodded.

  "I expect nothing less."

  "Well, sir, I find war abhorrent. Nothing good comes of it, as we've seen from the Great one we just had. Even though we won it, I wouldn't say it improved things much for most of us."

  "I quite agree," said Eric.

  "I fear, my Lord, that the same outcome will come of the IRM's War of Independence. I understand the Irish people are a proud people. We're proud of our land, but I think that joining with the rest of the United Kingdom would do us more favors than it would hurt."

  "That's a reasoned decision, Alfred. I wish half the Lords had as much common sense as you do."

  "I don't disagree with Alfred," said Frances, looking at her husband, "but that's not really our decision to make. If the Irish want to determine their own future as part of the United Kingdom or not, then we ought to honor that."

  Eric ate more of his eggs and bacon. Then he sipped on the tea.

  "I agree. Fourteen lives lost in yesterday's attack. Both British and Irish. For what? Not much that I can see. I agree with you, my love, that we should let the Irish have a referendum on the idea. Though I wonder if we did, and it didn't pass that these terrorists might still continue the fight for freedom. The stubbornness of the zealot if you will."

  "Quite possibly, darling, but isn't that a risk we take for living in a democracy?"

  Frances spread butter and then marmalade on a slice of toast. She took a bite of it. Eric put the last forkful of eggs and bacon in his mouth. As he chewed, he buttered his toast and then slathered large chunks of the marmalade on top.

  "Yes, you're right," he said. "These are just some of the fears of the Lords who are antagonistic towards this idea."

  "Well, I suppose they'll have to get over it. Another reason why the House of Lords should be elected and not merely appointed," said Frances.

  Eric looked up at her and smiled.

  "I'd never get in," he said, grinning at her.

  "Nonsense," said Frances, holding her toast in front of her as she used it to gesture as she spoke. "I'm sure you'd get in. In fact, I know I'd certainly vote for you."

  Frances took another bite of toast.

  "How kind," said Eric, grinning sarcastically, "I'm comforted by your largesse."

  Frances frowned at him.

  "You really would get elected, I'm sure of it," she said.

  "Yes, perhaps you're right. However, I don't see that happening anytime soon. There is a long and rich history of Lords being appointed, and I don't see the powers that be changing that anytime soon."

  "Three hundred odd years does not a history make," said Frances. "It is merely a convenience, and an ill conceived one at that. But then again, I suppose one should never hope for the King to abdicate voluntarily. So too would the Lords never want to go quietly into becoming accountable. Heaven forbid."

  "Heaven forbid indeed," said Eric. "The government might actually get some things done. Your gentle opinions are one of the things that I love about you. You are a forceful woman."

  "Only because I voice my mind. Pity the women that remain as timid as kept pets. No wonder we haven't yet won suffrage."

  Eric looked up and sighed.

  "The right to vote is not the great equalizer that some might think."

  "Of course not, darling, but it would be a start. Unless we're treated equally as men by all levels of government, we'll never undo sexism and misogyny."

  "I know," said Eric, biting at his toast. "It's coming. The movements are forming and strengthening. Already women have won the vote at the local level for some time. And you've had the chance to vote for two years now."

  "Thanks to my age and position of wealth," she said.

  Eric nodded.

  "Still, it is a start. And amongst the peers there is growing, albeit begrudging, support."

  "How comforting," said Frances.

  Eric laughed aloud. Frances put the last piece of toast in her mouth.

  "You are a rapscallion," said Eric.

  They sat in silence for a while. Drinking tea while Frances slowly finished her meal.

  "Back to our original conversation," she said. "What do you think the real chances are of averting more tragedies over the Irish issue?"

  Eric looked up at her.

  "Not good, my love," he said. "They won't talk, and I fear that without dialogue, men will resort to the blunt instrument of violence."

  Frances smiled insincerely. It was as she had feared. Outside the rain still came down. Slow and steady, like the shuffling of old men. It was a day marked by sadness, and the weather was adamant to remind you of such. Frances buttered another slice of toast and put marmalade on it. She poured herself more tea. Added more cream and sugar and stirred it absentmindedly. She continued to look outside.

  "You think that the government will move forcefully against the IRM on this recent attack?" she asked Eric, not looking at him.

  "I'm certain of it," said Eric, leaning back, cradling his teacup and saucer in front of him, looking at his wife quizzically.

  "Then I am certain that the Irish problem as some would like to call it,
will become an English problem soon enough."

  "What do you mean?" asked Eric.

  Frances looked over at her husband. She took the spoon out of her tea and placed it on the saucer.

  "Well, so far, the IRM has not been very antagonistic towards England. All of these attacks have taken place on Irish soil. If England goes into Ireland, and as we are wont to do, with too heavy a hand, I can foresee the Irish coming over to England to make their voices heard more loudly."

  "You mean to suggest that the next attack might actually be on English soil?"

  Frances looked at her husband and turned her mouth down. She nodded sadly.

  "That is exactly what I fear," she said.

  Eric looked at Lady Marmalade steadily for a while, over the rim of his teacup. He took a slow sip. The tea was barely lukewarm.

  "I will try and suggest that outcome to the Lords," said Eric. Though quietly in his mind he knew that would likely be a difficulty he wasn't sure he had the stamina for.

  "I can't say for certain," said Lady Marmalade, "but that would be my suspicion. Though as you know, my dear, I'd love to be wrong. In fact, I desperately hope that I'm wrong."

  Frances sipped her tea over the barely audible tapping of the rain agains the windowpane. She wondered if the rain was going to continue throughout the day or if sunny skies might come out later. If her mind was any indication, she felt the latter was likely out of the question.

  "I hope you're wrong too, my love," said Eric. "Though I've always given your opinions heavy weighting, for you are not often wrong."

  He smiled ruefully.

  "Perhaps I should attend the House of Lords after all," he added.

  Frances looked over at him and smiled.

  "You could always speak to Baron Marphallow tonight. Perhaps calling on him at home might be a better approach. You have a way with persuading others when you're in a more intimate setting."

  Eric nodded.

  "Yes, I think that will be a better idea."

  Eric drained his tea and sat the cup and saucer back on the table. He stood up and came over to Lady Marmalade's side. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

  "I'll be off then," he said. "Don't get up my love, I'll see myself out."

  "Have a good day, my darling," said Frances.