Murder on Charing Cross Road (22 page)

“Is he leaving? Should we follow him?”
Prance asked.

“He’s ordered another round. I fancy he’s just paying a visit to the necessary,”
Black replied. As Alphonse soon returned, they assumed Black was right, as usual.

The Frenchmen drank their second round, then all got up and left together. They went out the front door, indicating they were leaving the inn. “We’d best follow them,”
Black said, leaping up. “I’ll watch and see which way they go. You bring our mounts around, Pattle.”
The niceties of
Mr.
Pattle were forgotten in his excitement.

Prance stood a moment undecided, then went after Coffen to help with the mounts. It would be hard to say which of them was the more surprised — Coffen and Prance to see their mounts were gone, or Black to see the Frenchmen riding off on them.

He hollered after them, but his voice was drowned out by the clatter of hooves and raucous laughter from the retreating riders. He watched to see if they left the road to cut across a field, but they just charged straight ahead, until even the cloud of dust they caused had faded away.

Prance and Coffen soon joined him, and heard the news they half expected. “They’ve done it again,”
Black said, too shocked and dismayed to utter the curses that welled up in his throat. “Alphonse must have got hold of our nags when he left the table.”

“I don’t see how they spotted us,”
Coffen said. “You don’t suppose Tess tipped them the clue? She served them their ales.”

“She must have done,”
Black conceded, knowing in his heart she had. She’d accepted a bribe from him, why not from them? She wasn’t happy with the size of the tip either. He’d ought to have made it a guinea.

“And after you paid her too,”
Prance snipped. Black said not a word about the inadequacy of the bribe. “How do we get home?”

“How do we tell Luten?”
Coffen said.

“How do I tell
her
I’ve lost her mount?”
was Black’s concern.

They had one small piece of good luck that evening. A pair of city bucks out for a night of mischief arrived roaring drunk in a hackney five minutes later. The driver was happy to pick up fares for a return to London. Hardly a word was spoken as the three were jostled about in the coach. Each was mulling over how to recount this disaster to Luten and Lady Luten. Black had the added worry of wondering if he would be expected to replace Lady Luten’s mount.

No legal way of making a couple of hundred pounds occurred to him. He had told Luten he was now an honest man, and meant it. If worse came to worst, he figured Pattle would lend him the money but he hated to ask, unaware that borrowing was a way of life for many of the upper classes.

As the hackney drew into Berkeley Square, the echo of a church bell chimed twelve times. “The witching hour,”
Prance murmured.

“P’raps they’ll have gone to bed,”
Coffen said. He squinted out the window. “Nope, no such luck. The house is still lit up.”
He called their destination up to the driver.

When the carriage had drawn to a stop, Black said, “Might as well get it over with,”
and opened the door. They alit, Prance paid off the driver and they went, silently, reluctantly up to Luten’s door, gently tapped the knocker and were admitted by Evans.

“His lordship is awaiting your return in the rose salon.”
He added in a low voice aside to Black, “Any luck?”

“Plenty. All of it bad,”
Black replied. Evans disguised his smile of satisfaction with a sympathetic frown. He used to like Black, but there were limits to his good nature. To see that counter-jumper riding about in a dandy chaise, and sitting down to dine with lords and ladies!

Luten heard their arrival and went to the door to greet them. “Come in and tell us all about it. Corinne has had some food prepared against your return, Coffen.”

He led them into the salon, where a cozy fire blazed in the grate and wine glasses twinkled enticingly. Four decanters of wine stood at the ready. Even before they were seated, Evans appeared with platters of cold cuts, cheeses, breads and a plate of sweets.

“I doubt I could eat a bite,”
Coffen said, and sank into a chair by the grate without even looking at the food. The others followed suit.

“What happened?”
Corinne asked in alarm. Her eyes darted to Black, who couldn’t meet her gaze. No one answered her.

“That bad, was it?”
Luten said, but in no condemning way. “I knew by your expressions something was amiss. Did the Frenchies not shown up?”

“If only that were true!”
Prance sighed. “Alas, they were there, all three of them. Not Martin though. At least we didn’t see him.”

“But what happened?”
Corinne demanded again. “I heard a carriage stop out front. Did you come home in a hackney?”

“We did, we were lucky that way,”
Coffen said.

“What happened to your mounts? Oh dear, did one of you have an accident?”
She looked in vain for signs of broken limbs. They had all walked in unaided. There were no visible wounds, or even scratches.

“You tell them, Prance,”
Coffen said. “You like a good story.”

“This is not a good story,”
Prance said. “Have you any brandy, Luten? This night calls for brandy.”

“Wine’ll do,”
Coffen said and filled his glass. The wine was passed around, Luten sent for brandy, and still no one told him what had happened.

“At least you’re all back, alive and well,”
he said, to encourage them.

“And not tied to trees in some godforsaken wilderness," Corinne added, striving for a touch of levity.

Black girded his loins to do what had to be done. “I’ll replace Jezebel, milady. It’s my fault entirely that I —
she —
I didn’t ride her home.”

“They stole her!”
Corinne exclaimed, and from their shamed faces, she knew she had hit on the truth. She looked to Prance and Coffen. “They got away with
all
the mounts? How on earth did that happen?”

“The fat one, Alphonse — we thought he was just going to the — just nipping away from the table for a minute,”
Coffen blurted out. “That must be when they got hold of our nags.”

“Then when they all got up and left together, we followed them,”
Prance continued. “We hoped to discover their lair.”

“‘Twas Tess that tipped them off,”
Black added.

“Who on earth is Tess?”
she asked him.

“The lass serving at the inn,”
Coffen said. “She tipped Black the wink they’d come, and we sat watching them from a dark corner, like you said, Luten, only we figure she must’ve told them we were there, for when we went to get our mounts to follow them, they were gone. The mounts, I mean. The men as well. The Frenchies were just riding off on our horses.”

“There was no hope of catching up with them on foot,”
Black added. “I’m very sorry about Jezebel, milady. Naturally I’ll replace her.”

When the story was finally pieced together, Luten sat back and said, “At least we know where we’ll find the mounts.”

Black was the first to catch his meaning. “Ned Sparks, you mean? Aye, I wouldn’t be surprised, though it galls to buy what’s rightfully yours.”

“I didn’t mean we’d
buy
the mounts,”
Luten said. “Why not intercept them on their way to Ned’s stable?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re there already,”
Black told him. “Stolen goods ain’t usually delivered by daylight.”

“Then we’ll go now and rescue them,”
Luten said.

Prance, who wanted nothing so much as to go home and put himself in Villier’s hands, said, “I wonder, though, whether Ned isn’t in on the whole thing. They might foresee our plan, and be waiting for us.”

“I hope they are! This time, we’ll be prepared,”
Luten said.

“I think myself Ned’s an honest thief,”
Black said.

Prance lifted an eyebrow in derision and said, “Surely that is an oxymoron.”

Black had no more idea what an oxymoron was than Coffen, but he wouldn’t satisfy Prance to ask. “I doubt he’s consorting with the Frenchies, except in the way of business is what I mean,”
he explained.

“If we have reason to believe three French spies are going to be at that stable tonight — and we do — it’s our duty to catch them,”
Luten said. “We’ll take them to Bow Street. Townsend can arrest them as horse thieves, with us to lay charges and give evidence. Once they’re in custody, he’ll get more information from them. With luck, it will lead us to Martin.”

“We’d best get to it then,”
Black said, finishing off his wine and rising with a businesslike air.

“You all have your pistols?”
Luten asked, and was answered with three nods.

“What we ought to have done is shoot the blighters,”
Coffen said.

“I, for one, would prefer not to shoot a man in the back,”
Prance declared. He wondered how Wolfried would feel about that.

Coffen picked up bread and meat and made a sandwich, “I’m ready to go. Er —
how do we get there?”

Luten called Evans to have a footman send for his carriage. “Shall I follow in another carriage to rescue you?”
Corinne asked her husband.

“There’s no point telling you not to. Follow if you must, but for God’s sake, keep out of the line of fire. And take a footman with you. Take two. Armed.”

Coffen said, “And a knife, in case —"

“In case I have to cut you loose. I’ll do that, Coffen.”
She darted out to tell the footman to send her carriage as well, and to ask the two bravest footmen to accompany her, and bring pistols, and to get her a knife from the kitchen.

After she ran upstairs to change into older clothes, Evans said, “One footman, Roberts.
I
shall accompany her ladyship.”

“You?”
Roberts asked, gaping.

“You heard me.”

“Yessir. Can I go too?”

“Why not? I doubt you’ll be required to replace me on the door at this hour of the night. But I’ll bring John up from the kitchen just in case. I’ll get the knife and pistols while you dart off for the carriages.”

While awaiting the carriages, Luten outlined the plan. “We’ll draw to a stop and leave the carriage down the road from Ned’s place and proceed quietly on foot. Corinne, you draw in behind us and wait in the carriage.”

She nodded but had no intention of obeying him. How would she know they were in trouble if she weren’t there to see? She’d follow behind them when they left the carriage, but far enough behind that Luten couldn’t see her.

The carriages were soon flying through the night to St. John’s Wood with high hopes that the case would soon be over.

Traffic kept the two carriages headed to St. John’s Wood to a slower pace than the coachmen liked until they reached the open countryside. Then the team was given its head and Luten’s carriage bolted forward at a pace that left Corinne’s behind. No lights beamed in the farmhouses they shot past. The road was dark and empty and ill paved, causing the passengers to bounce about, jostling each other, and Luten to fear for his team. Black alerted Luten when they were nearing the entrance to Ned Sparks’s stable.

“We’ll go beyond the entrance so they don’t spot our carriages as they approach,”
Luten said.

He pulled the draw cord and directed his coachman to pull into the shadows of a group of trees up ahead. They waited for Corinne to come up behind them before leaving. Luten retrieved the dark lantern from the carriage and reminded her once more to wait in the carriage, which she did until they were nearly out of sight. They didn’t approach the stable by the road, but cut through the fields at an angle. They could see from some distance that the stable was all in darkness.

“They can’t have done their business and left already. They haven’t arrived yet,”
Luten said. “And there’s no light in that little cottage beside the barn. Does Sparks live there, Black?”

“He does. They’ll rouse him up when they come.”

“Let’s go into the stable, make sure the mounts aren’t already there. There’ll be a stable hand watching the horses, I expect.”

“I’m not sure, with Ned living so close by,”
Black replied. “But best go softly, in case.”

They crept nearer, looking about to make sure that moving form to left or right was a bush stirring in the breeze, and not a man waiting to pounce on them. The stable door was locked, which told them there was no stable hand watching the nags within.

Luten picked up a rock and broke the lock. They went inside. The horses, alarmed at their arrival, stirred in their loose boxes and uttered surprised neighs. When he was sure there was no stable hand there, Luten lifted the glass of his dark lantern and toured the loose boxes. It was soon clear their mounts had not arrived yet.

Prance, who still wanted to go home, said, “They’ve had ample time to get here. It seems they aren’t coming until tomorrow. Is there any point waiting?”

“Black says Henri and Guy were staying at a rooming house. They wouldn’t have any place to stable the nags,”
Luten said. “I think they’ll bring them here tonight.”

“They’ve likely stopped along the way to have a few wets to celebrate,”
Coffen said. “With luck they’ll be foxed and we’ll have easy work of them.”

“Or they might have taken them to Martin. We don’t know where he lives. He might have stabling,”
Prance persisted.

“We’ll wait a while and see,”
Luten decreed. “Black, you go out and keep an eye on the road. Let us know at once if you hear anyone approaching.”

“Aye, aye,”
Black said, reverting momentarily to his brief sojourn aboard a ship bound for Jamaica. He had jumped ship at Dover as he figured the law wouldn’t be looking for him there.

It was a long wait, with only desultory conversation. Coffen was half asleep when they heard it, even before Black came darting back. The Frenchmen were singing raucously. They’d obviously stopped for a drink en route. “They’re coming!”
Black cried. “Do we go out to meet them, milord, or wait till they bring the nags in?”

“We’ll tackle them in here, after they’ve dismounted. Our eyes are accustomed to the darkness, we’ll have an advantage. Black, you take the lantern and shine it on them when I say so.”