“I did everything he asked, and some of it went against the pluck I can tell you. Truth to tell, it’s not him I blame so much as milord Mucky-muck Luten and his uppity tame pup, Prance. I’m not the only one that don’t love his lordship. Treats his servants like dirt under his feet. His butler, a fellow named Evans, feels the same way.” With a tsk of pity he added, “Ah but like myself, he needs the work.” Evans had to be mentioned as he featured in the story Black had worked out.
“Good posts ain’t exactly thick on the ground,” Catchpole said forgivingly.
“If you can call bowing and scraping to his lordship a good thing. Mind you, there’s good pickings in a lord’s house. It’s Luten that’s turned Mr. Pattle against me. Not fancy and smooth-talking enough for him. I’d like to get even with him.” He took a slow pull on his ale and said softly, as if to himself, “But how can I do it? No, it’s too —”
Catchpole, wiping away at the counter with a dirty rag, listened and said leadingly, “I see they found some diamond necklace in Pattle’s house.”
“Yes, a bit of a shocker, eh? Now why couldn’t
I
have been the one to find it? The Czarina’s necklace, they call it. Seems it’s famous. I had an ale with my old pal Evans last night. He tells me they’ve got Townsend down from Bow Street to take care of it. He’s a twister all right.”
“Townsend?”
“Him as well, but I meant Luten. Oh there’s strange goings-on at Marine Parade, Catchpole. I wish Mr. Pattle was here, I could weasel what’s afoot out of
him
all right, for he’s not the brightest twinkler in the sky.”
“Why’d he go to London then? Business, was it, or fear of another duel?” This alternative was mentioned with a sly grin.
“ ‘Twas family business. That’s why Lady Carter came to town. Her and Pattle are kin. You might have seen it in the journal t’other day. Some rich uncle died, and there’s family business to deal with. More money for them as don’t need it. Lady Carter’s to join him in London in a day or so.”
Catchpole didn’t express much interest in this, but Black persisted. “She’s another mucky-muck if you like. Queer as Dick’s hat-band. Mr. Pattle told me she hates traveling. Was all cut up at having to go to London to inherit another fortune. What she does, she waits till night to leave, doses herself up with laudanum and snores all the way there.”
“Not afraid of highwaymen?”
“She don’t travel in a style to tempt the sons of Dick Turpin. Plain dark carriage, no bunch of footmen and what not. And if business was slow and one of them did stop her, he’d find no jewels and a purse as near as empty as makes no difference. She’d be a perfect –” Again he stopped.
Catchpole lifted an encouraging eyebrow, but Black pretended not to see it. He put his empty glass out for a refill and Catchpole was not slow to oblige him.
“You were saying she’d be a perfect –?”
“Just an idea Evans and me were talking over last night. Evans has taken the notion there’s something havey-cavey about Townsend’s visit. There’s talk of Townsend taking the necklace to London, with an announcement in the journals. It’s not Luten’s way to announce his plans publicly. Evans thinks it’s a ruse. Luten always keeps things under wraps, you see. Wouldn’t tell his own mother if he was marrying a princess.”
“Stands to reason they’d want to protect the necklace, though,” Catchpole said. “I doubt even Mad Jack would attack a caravan of Runners.”
“‘Twas just an idea, and with Mr. Pattle away, I’m what you might call persona un-grata at Marine Parade, so I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Happen your friend Evans could find out?” Catchpole said, batting at a fly on the counter to indicate his unconcern at this suggestion.
“I daresay he could. A sharp ear has Evans. He don’t miss much.”
“Might be interestin’ to know just what’s going on.”
“So it would, but I don’t see what good it would do me or Evans.”
“There’s others might be interested.”
Black gave him a cagey grin. “Interested enough to split the profits?”
“You never know.”
“I don’t do business without knowing what’s in it for me,” Black said bluntly.
“So far all you’ve got to sell is ‘maybe’. Now if you and your old pal Evans had something certain, I might know someone as’d be interested to the tune of a couple of hundred quid.”
Black decided this was his cue to arise and prepare his exit. “Cut line, Catchpole,” he said, fixing him with a commanding eye and adopting an altogether more businesslike air. “We both know we’re talking about a set of sparklers worth at least five thousand. I’d want more than a couple of hundred.”
“You’d need solid information for that.”
“I might be able to provide it, if the price was right.” He leaned over the counter and said in a lower voice, so the fly wouldn’t hear, “A thousand would just about do it.”
“A thousand! You’re mad. He’d never go for it.”
“Tell Mad Jack a thousand, take it or leave it. I’d have to share with Evans. Luten would be suspicious. He might turn Evans off.” He began drawing on his gloves.
Since the name was now in the open, Catchpole said, “I’ll mention it to Jack, if I happen to see him.”
“You do that. And don’t wait too long to see him, for I’ve a feeling the goods will be going soon. Very soon.” He rammed his hat on his head and left.
He hadn’t gone far before he realized the boy who had been sweeping the floor was following him. He returned to his hotel. After half an hour, he continued on to Marine Parade and checked to confirm that he was still being followed. He had the excuse of seeing Evans, so that was all right, but he took the precaution of using the back door, since he’d said he wasn’t welcome at Luten’s house.
Lady Luten was watching for him at the front window. When she saw him go to the back door, she rushed to the kitchen. “How did it go, Black?” she asked eagerly.
“I believe we’ve hooked our fish, milady. I’ll go back tomorrow and fill Catchpole in.”
“I believe you were being followed,” she warned.
“I was, which is why I used the back door.”
She laughed. “You don’t miss a trick, Black.”
They went to tell Luten, who was with Coffen in the study. Townsend had gone to meet the coach his men would be arriving on, to direct them to a cheap hotel and to fill them in on their duties. Black repeated his conversation with Catchpole to Luten and Coffen.
“Do you think he swallowed it?” Coffen, gowned but not bewigged, asked, when he had finished.
“Hook, line and sinker. He squawked at a thousand, of course, but he didn’t say no. I had to blacken your character, Luten.”
“You’re not the first. I can’t work up much worry over what a scoundrel like Mad Jack thinks of me.”
“I was followed when I left, which is why I came in by the kitchen. I’ve let them think I’m not welcome here.”
“Then I expect you can’t stay to dinner,” Corinne said with an air of regret that pleased him.
“Best not. It might be a good idea if me and Evans are seen together outside the house tonight, though. Since I’ve given them the notion Evans is in on it with me, we ought to be seen together away from the house. It will have to be late at night when his duties here are done.”
“He’ll be thrilled,” Corinne said. “I think he feels left out of things.”
“It’s not likely they’ll accost him,” Black said at once. Thrilling Evans, and particularly including him on a case, was no thrill to Black, but he tried to conceal it.
Black had a word with Evans before leaving. Evans was indeed thrilled to be asked to meet Black at his hotel around midnight. “And don’t worry if you’re followed,” Black said, as if it happened every day. “He won’t harm you. He’ll just want to know where you’re going.”
“I’ll take a pistol,” Evans said.
“Well, don’t kill him. We want him to take back a report that we’ve met.”
Evans agreed that he wouldn’t shoot to kill.
The next morning’s journal carried the continuing story of the Czarina’s necklace, including the interview with Townsend outlining the strenuous precautions being taken for its safety during delivery to London. A description of the necklace and its history, obtained from an “unnamed source” (a back issue of the journal) was limited to carats and value. He trusted that Mad Jack’s memory was not good enough to recognize the paste necklace as a fake in the dark.
Prance was happy to read his name and description of the finding of the necklace, until he saw himself described as the author of
The Round Table Rondeaux,
and not a mention of
Shadows on the Wall,
and
his spy story, soon to appear in bookstores. The
Rondeaux,
a tedious, liberally footnoted, book-length poem in blank verse about King Arthur had been the sort of failure usually described by friendly reviewers as a critical success, meaning there might be something in it, but no one could figure it out, and very few bothered trying.
Brighton was boiling with excitement. The Runners, commonly called Robin Redbreasts in honour of their distinguishing garb, who had been brought in for the occasion were objects of great interest. A few local dandies bought red vests and strutted about town, hoping to be mistaken for London policemen. Among the most interested readers of the newspaper were Mad Jack and Catchpole.
“You think this Black character is on the level?” Mad Jack asked his colleague, when they met that night after the tavern was closed.
“He
is
on close terms with Luten’s butler. They met in private late last night. Mind he’s no Johnnie Raw, Jack. He knows what the tip is worth. He laughed at the couple of hundred quid I offered.”
“Let him haggle you up to his thousand. What odds? He can go whistle for it, once we’ve got the sparklers.”
“He’ll not come across with the time and route without something up front.”
“Give him a hundred. I’ll get it back when we take care of him.”
“Since you’ll be getting it back, might as well make it a couple of hundred. But I don’t hold with murder, Jack. If Luten hears that Black’s been done in, he’ll figure out where the leak came from. That Pattle fellow likely knows Black’s been coming here. I don’t want the Berkeley Brigade outfit coming down on my tavern. And neither do you. They’ll find the tunnel. We’ll end up dancing on air. It ain’t worth it.”
“I won’t kill him. Just put the fear of God into him.”
“So now you’re God, are you?” Catchpole snorted.
“You worry too much, Catchpole. I’ll handle it discreetly. You just milk Black for all he knows, and I’ll do the rest.”
Black didn’t pay a visit to the tavern the next day. Knowing his usefulness to Mad Jack was over once he had told them what they wanted to know, he sent a note to Catchpole in the late afternoon saying he had the information and would give the details once he had his thousand pounds. He suggested Catchpole meet him in front of the Royal Crescent at ten o’clock that night with the money. Within an hour he had a reply suggesting the Old Ship Tavern, and an advance fee of five hundred pounds. Black was sure enough Mad Jack had taken the bait that he didn’t reply until nine o’clock. He insisted on the Royal Crescent, but agreed to the five hundred advance.
At five to ten he was standing by the window in the hotel lobby, eagerly watching the street. He was happy to see plenty of foot traffic. Catchpole wasn’t foolish enough to try anything in such a public place. Sir Reginald and Evans stood apart from him, hiding behind a potted palm, chatting as if old friends but also keeping a sharp eye on the street. At one minute after ten, Black recognized Catchpole, who had donned a blue jacket and curled beaver for the occasion and looked almost respectable. Black stood a moment, checking to see that he had come alone. When he was sure no one was lurking nearby, he nodded to Sir Reginald to be on the alert and strode out the door. Prance and Evans moved closer to the window and watched with increased urgency.
“Have you brought the readies?” Black asked Catchpole.
“Let’s hear the plan first.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“What route, and what time?”
“Not another word till I see the colour of your money.”
Catchpole handed over an envelope. Black opened it, counted the bills and nodded. “New London Road. Evans says they plan to leave at nine o’clock.”
“Where will they have hidden the sparklers?”
“Sewn into the crown of the old lady’s bonnet. She wears a great ugly lid with a forest of feathers on top. She won’t be wearing it in the carriage when she’s sleeping. It’ll likely be on the banquette beside her. Just nab it, make sure the sparklers are there, and let her go. There won’t be nothing else in the rig worth stealing. She won’t give you any trouble, and the dame with her is an old biddy who’ll likely faint in fright. Now about the second half of my money.”
“Meet me at the tavern around midnight tomorrow night.”
“I’ll tell Evans I’m going. I better come home safe, or there’ll be trouble.”
Catchpole sneered. “What kind of trouble? Is Evans going to tell his lordship what he done?”
Black allowed a menacing scowl to settle on his swarthy face. “I have friends you don’t want to tangle with,” he said.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get what’s coming to you. Mad Jack ain’t a welcher.” Catchpole nodded and left.
Black waited until he was out of sight, checked that no one was keeping an eye on him, then returned to the hotel lobby where Prance and Evans awaited him. The three men retired to Black’s room to discuss the meeting. Black’s first concern was to examine the bills and ascertain that they weren’t forgeries. Half his mind was on figuring how he could get to keep the five hundred. Surely even Luten wouldn’t be such a stickler that he’d want it returned to Mad Jack. Nossir, he stood to make five hundred on this deal. It put him in a good mood.
“What do you say to a drink, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Luten wanted us to report as soon as it was over,” Prance said. “Do you think it safe for us to go there now?”
With a thought to how her ladyship would praise him, Black said, “They’ve got what they wanted from me. I doubt they’ll bother following me now. P’raps you ought to go on alone first, Sir Reginald. They know me and Evans are friends, so they won’t be surprised if they see us together, not that they’ll be watching.”