When charged with the murder of Mary Scraggs, Jasper insisted it was an accident. Said she had come at him with a knife when he caught her unaware in Pattle’s house, searching for the necklace, and took the knife from her. He had only meant to hold her off, but she came at him and charged into the knife. He hotly denied placing her body in the graveyard, but he had told so many lies that no one believed him.
When Willlie Scraggs was hauled in, he admitted that Jasper had paid him to tell the constable that tale about Mary being afraid of Pattle and to plant her bonnet and reticule in his curricle. Of course he had no notion at the time that Mary was dead. She often disappeared for a day or two. He had a different story to tell when he heard Jasper had killed her. Jasper had invited Mary to the house at Nile Street, ostensibly for a romantic rendezvous, but Willie now felt he had every intention of murdering her, as she had wangled the renting of the house out of Pattle. He reported that Mary would never have taken a knife to Jasper as she was sweet on him. In his ire at learning the truth, Willie went on to add a few other black marks to Jasper’s character.
As they left the roundhouse, Luten said to Townsend, “That seems to take care of things at this end. What do you think will happen to the necklace? Any word from the Duchess of Brampton?”
“It seems she’s spent the money she got from Lloyd’s and isn’t eager to sell off any of her estate to reclaim it. Prinney is trying to weasel it out of them, but he’ll have uphill work of that. I imagine they’ll sell it. Are you interested in buying it for your lady?”
“I don’t believe she would want any memento of this case. This was supposed to be a holiday for us. Any chance of a reward for the women who found it? Mercer is the name.”
“I think something might be done in that respect. Good publicity. It will encourage others with knowledge of such things to come forward.”
Later, lingering over a leisurely lunch with his wife, Luten said, “You’ve not been so active as usual during this case, my dear. Dare I hope you’re losing your taste for adventure?”
She turned pale, darted up from the table and bolted from the room. He sat stunned for a moment, then rose and started after her. He was stopped by Mrs. Partridge, just bringing in fresh coffee. “Let her be. Some things a lady prefers to do in private, your lordship,” she said with a coy smirk.
“But she’s not well! She looked ill!”
“Happens she’ll tell you why when she comes back. It often takes ladies that way the first few months.”
“First few months of what?” He stopped, blinked and said, “Good God! And she didn’t
tell
me!”
She told him when she returned, her pallor transformed to a delightful blush. “I didn’t want to tell you till I was sure,” she said. “After disappointing deCoventry in that respect, I feared there was something the matter with me, that I couldn’t have children. I’m pretty sure now that I can. And am.”
Luten grabbed her and hugged her hard, then with a pang of conscience at such rough handling he released her. “We must get you to London at once. Croft is the man to handle the
accouchement.
I couldn’t be happier, my dear. Are you quite comfortable? Shall I get you a cushion?”
“I’m fine, Luten. I’m not ill, just enceinte.”
“Perhaps we should go to Southcote Abbey. You’ll have peace and quiet there. Or some more peaceful spot by the sea, perhaps. The sea air might help.”
“That might be nice,” she said, and spoke on to distract him from further enhancements to the care of her delicate condition. “Did I tell you I had a call from Lady Norval this morning? They’re here for the summer, and she wanted her keys back. She thinks squirrels have got into her attic. Something about a trunk the servants had left open being all disarranged. I thought we had covered our tracks, but at least she doesn’t suspect us.”
“That’s good,” he said, with no idea what she had just said. “Perhaps you’d be happier in Ireland, with your mama and Kate to help you.”
When the door knocker sounded, she said, “If that’s Reg or Coffen, don’t tell them yet.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just want to — to keep it to ourselves for a while.”
“Certainly, my dear, whatever you like,” he said. She feared she was in for several months of annoying solicitude.
Reg, Coffen and Black had met up at the hotel and arrived together.
“Everything cleared up at the round-house?” Coffen asked Luten.
“More or less. Townsend is taking the case to London. We’ll be required to give testimony, or at least a written statement.”
“When?” Prance asked, patting the bump on his forehead. Rather dashing if it were still noticeable when he gave his testimony.
“We’ll be notified. Townsend still has a few points to straighten out. Corinne and I are thinking of taking a little vacation.”
“Don’t blame you,” Coffen said. “We all need one to rest up after this holiday. Where are we going?”
“Perhaps to the seaside.”
“We’re already there,” Coffen pointed out.
“A more quiet part of the coast. Or possibly to Ireland. We haven’t decided.”
“Well, let us know,” Coffen said. “How about Bath? It has nice hills. I’m thinking of my curricle. It’d like that.”
Luten looked a question at his wife. “Perhaps Bath would be good for you. I mean us,” he said.
“It would certainly be quiet,” she said, although she had no intention of going to Bath.
“You are looking a bit peaky,” Coffen said, staring at his cousin. “Likely something you ate. I was feeling a bit funny myself after that second dish of blancmange at the hotel.”
“When will we be leaving Brighton?” Prance asked. “I promised Boo I would be here for his grand opening. He’d like you all to come.”
“When is it?” Corinne asked.
“Tomorrow evening. Boo’s been so generous helping us with props, it would be a nice gesture to all go, en masse. He’s given me five tickets.” He nodded at Black to indicate that he was included.
“We’d love to go,” Corinne said, with no fear that Luten would disagree at this time. He’d agree if she said she wanted to go to Timbuctoo.
“We were wondering what will happen to Jack’s gelding,” Coffen said. “The reason I ask, Black wants to buy a mount.”
“Surely not that one!” Prance exclaimed. “I’d be scared to death to put a leg over it.”
“It was just an idea,” Black said. “I figure he’d be going cheap since Jasper won’t be keeping him. Mind you, he
was
pretty frisky.”
But he meant to buy some handsome mount. He had got decent clothes now, and was learning French. He couldn’t afford a carriage yet, and didn’t need one with Mr. Pattle having two since he set up his curricle. But that five hundred would more than pay for a handsome gentleman’s mount of some sort. He’d come a long way. As he looked around at his friends, he could hardly believe it. He might as easily have ended up in gaol, or on the gibbet.
Prance turned to Coffen. “What will you do with your inheritance, the house on Nile Street, Coffen?”
“Sell it, if I can find anyone fool enough to buy it.”
“After
you fill in the tunnel and brick up the opening,” Luten said. “That sort of thing is just asking for trouble.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Prance said. “I think it’s rather romantic — in a gothic sort of way.”
“A piece of rubbish,” Coffen said. “I never want to see it again. I’ll let Weir handle the selling of it.”
Luten looked at his wife and said, “Would you like a rest, my dear? All this excitement isn’t good for you.”
“I’m fine, Luten.”
A quick frown seized Prance’s face. He subjected Corinne to a close scrutiny and said to Coffen, “I think it’s time for us to leave. Shall we see you this evening, folks?”
“Not tonight,” Luten said at once. “But we’ll definitely attend your friend’s play tomorrow evening.”
“A demain soir, donc,”
Prance said, and herded the others out.
Corinne looked at Luten and said, “No, I don’t want to have a lie down, Luten. But I shall take
Evelina
out to the garden for a bit.”
“You think it’s a girl? You’ve named her already? Why Evelina?”
“Evelina
is a novel, Luten. I shall try very hard to give you a son and heir, and I shan’t name him without consulting you.”
“Ah, excellent. I’ll join you in the garden.” She gave a despairing sigh. The hovering had begun.
As they walked along Marine Parade Prance said, “She’s enceinte.”
“I’ve thought so since we got here,” Black said. “Not pushing herself into the middle of things as she usually does. Very quiet, for her.”
“And that remark about having a rest in the middle of the day. The mention of going to Ireland. Not a doubt in my mind.”
“Who are you talking about?” Coffen asked.
“Corinne. She’s enceinte.”
“What, having a
baby?”
“Certainly a baby. She will hardly give birth to a mountain, or a tree.”
Black scowled. Coffen said, “I didn’t hear that! When did she tell you?”
“She didn’t,” Prance replied. “It must be a vast relief for her, after having failed to perform all those years for deCoventry. I wonder when we’ll be allowed to know.”
“We know now,” Coffen said. “Are we sure?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure. The question is, do we let on we don’t know?”
“Why?” Coffen said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a perfectly natural thing. They’re married after all.”
“Yes, but they haven’t told us yet,” Prance said. “We don’t want to seem to
pry.
They can’t keep it a secret for long. It must be a relief to her and Luten.”
Black didn’t add anything to this discussion. He was wondering how being a father would work into his phantasy life as Lord Blackmore, until it occurred to him that he still hadn’t emptied that keg of brandy in the cellar of Coffen’s house. Now where could he get hold of a dozen bottles? Very likely Mrs. Partridge could help him.
Copyright © 2015 by Joan Smith
Electronically published in 2015 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads [ISBN 9781610849340]
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.