“What!” Prance’s face didn’t pale as he’d been walking in the sunlight, but he was visibly shaken.
“Why was the constable looking for him?” Black barked.
“I assumed it was something to do with his driving. He seemed very anxious to find him.” He bit his lips and added, “I’m afraid I mentioned that he might find you here, Coffen.”
“Oh why did you say that, Reg?” Corinne moaned.
“I didn’t know anything about this Filmore person being murdered. What has her murder to do with Coffen anyway?”
“She’s not Mrs. Filmore, she’s Mary Scraggs,” Corinne said, and explained the situation. Prance just sat dumbfounded.
He was never silent for long, however, and soon said, “We can never escape murder, can we? We left London to get away from it, and it followed us here, like a shadow.”
“I hope Luten gets back before the constable gets here,” Corinne said.
“Why don’t me and Mr. Pattle leave?” Black suggested. “I’ll keep him safe somewhere till we hear from Luten.”
Coffen looked offended. “Why do you all act as if I’m guilty? I didn’t do anything wrong. I want to help them find who killed Mary.”
“You could do it better if you’re not locked up,” Black said bluntly.
Coffen blinked, nodded and got up. “I daresay you’re right.”
Even as he spoke, Evans appeared at the door and announced the constable to see Mr. Pattle. Black just shook his head at such a lack of gumption on the butler’s part, not only to admit to a constable that the party he sought was in the house, but to lead him to the very room before Mr. Pattle had a chance to escape. Gudgeon!
The constable was not the one who had been looking for Mad Jack at the tavern. This one was a little wisp of a man with a little wisp of brown hair and snuff brown eyes. He was wearing a bluejacket too big for him and a great air of consequence. “Sorry to intrude,” he said. “I am Mr. Brown and I wish to speak to Mr. Pattle
in re
the disappearance of Miss Harper.”
Coffen scowled and said, “Who? I don’t know any Miss Harper.”
“You’d be Mr. Pattle, then?” the constable said. “I believe I can explain. Mary’s been using the name Miss Harper this season. You might know the woman as Mary Higgins, or Filmore or Scraggs.”
After a quick glance at Black, he said, “I met a Mrs. Filmore yesterday.”
“Ah, was that the name she was using last night when you were out with her?”
“Yes, Mrs. Filmore.”
“You should be flattered! She only calls herself a widow with first class customers. Mary Scraggs has never got anyone to the altar yet.”
“I wasn’t a customer! Who told you I was with her?”
“Her brother, Willie Scraggs, has asked me to investigate. That’s her birth name, Mary Scraggs. Her landlady, old Mrs. Empey, told Mr. Scraggs that Mary didn’t make it home last night when he went to call on his sister this morning. Mr. Scraggs tells me she was planning to spend the evening with you. It happens Mary had told her brother where you were staying and I made enquiries at your hotel. You’re the last person to be seen with her, Mr. Pattle.”
“What of it?” Coffen growled. “I left her at the Albemarle Hotel around midnight.”
Mr. Brown didn’t quite laugh but he smirked. “The Albemarle? Are you sure it wasn’t the Prince’s pavilion?” He drew out a dog-eared notebook, wet a pencil with his tongue and wrote something down. “Last seen at Albemarle Hotel, midnight,” he muttered, with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Now perhaps you’d tell me why Mary Scraggs was afraid of you, Mr. Pattle.”
“She wasn’t afraid of me, and had no reason to be,” Coffen said. “Where did you get that story?”
“According to Mr. Scraggs, Mary says she didn’t want to go out with you, but she had no choice. She seemed frightened of you.”
“That’s foolishness,” Coffen said. “How could I
make
her go out with me if she didn’t want to?”
Everyone but Mr. Brown drew a sigh of relief when Luten stepped into the room. He pinched in his nostrils, looked down his nose and adopted the drawling voice and aristocratic mien he used when he was angry, or trying to intimidate someone. “My butler informs me you are a constable, Mr. Brown,” he said, making it sound like grave robber. “May I know why you’ve taken the extraordinary step of invading the sanctity of my home? I trust you have not come to arrest me?”
Brown’s Adam’s apple bounced up and down in his throat. He wasn’t entirely clear in his mind exactly who Lord Luten was, but he had read his name in the journals often enough to know that he was someone he shouldn’t get on the wrong side of. A friend of all the smarts and swells, even the Prince himself. He bowed a couple of times and began stammering. “Milord! It is not yourself I came to see. Mr. Pattle —”
“Mr. Pattle is my honoured guest. What are you accusing him of? Speeding with those grays of his? Surely that does not warrant hounding him to his friend’s home and upsetting Lady Luten and our guests?”
“Oh nossir! Just a few questions to clear up a missing person complaint.”
Luten turned to Coffen. “Do you know where this missing person is, Pattle?”
Black shot a warning glance at him. Coffen said, “Certainly not. Last I saw of her was last night at the Albemarle Hotel.”
Luten turned to the constable. “I trust that will be all, Mr. Brown?” Coffen was forgotten entirely. Mr. Brown turned bright pink, apologized two or three times, said he was sorry to have bothered them, bowed and turned tail. No one tried to stop him as he scuttled out the door.
When they heard the front door close, Luten said, “I’ve had a word with Evans. I assume this visit had to do with Mrs. Filmore. How did he know so soon that you knew her, Coffen?”
“Her brother reported her missing, said she was out with me last night and didn’t come home. He said she didn’t want to go with me and was afraid of me. I’ve no idea what he was talking about.”
“She practically shanghaied him,” Black snorted. He and Corinne gave more details of Brown’s visit. Prance came in for his share of foul looks for his part in the debacle.
When Luten had been fully informed, he said, “That settles it. We can’t let her body be found in your house, Coffen. Things were just as you and Black left them. No sign of the bonnet or reticule. I searched thoroughly. We’ll have to move the body before this brother leads Brown to Nile Street.” Far from expressing surprise at this outlandish idea, the others nodded their approval.
“Where can we put her?” Corinne asked.
“I wish I knew where Scraggs lives and I’d put her at his door,” Luten scowled.
Black said, “She’s not the sort of woman a brother would set the constable looking for if she didn’t turn up after one night. The landlady said she was often away overnight.”
“Do we know where Scraggs lives?” Luten asked.
“No. We ought to have asked Brown,” Black said. “He caught us off guard.”
“We’ll have to find Scraggs and scare the truth out of him. We’ll wait till dark to move her. We’ll need all available men. Are you on, Prance?”
“I had planned — but of course I’m on.” Why had Luten picked on him as the one who might not be eager to help? Not that he was at all eager. This was a disgracefully low case for the Berkeley Brigade. At least they weren’t going until after dark. No one would see them. “What time shall we meet, and where?”
“Here, after dark,” Luten said, “and I hope to God Scraggs hasn’t led the police to Nile Street before then. And Black, do you think –”
No one had to tell Black what needed doing. “That gives me time for a word with Catchpole,” he said. “He might know where Scraggs is to be found. And if he don’t, I’ll run along and have a word with Mother Empey, her that runs the rooming house where Mary stayed.”
“That would be helpful, Black,” Luten said. “Come right back and let us know. We’ll go after Scraggs and hold on to him till we’ve moved Mary, if you can find out where he lives.”
Black, on nettles to help Mr. Pattle, rushed off immediately. The crowd had not yet gathered at the tavern when he arrived. A few lethargic drunks sat around, nodding over their pints. Catchpole greeted his friend warmly. “Mr. Smith,” he said, pouring a drink without being asked and sliding it across the counter. “No one’s been asking after you yet.”
“Glad to hear it. I have a question for you, Catchpole.” To secure an answer he added a generous pourboire to the price of his ale. “Scraggs. Where would I find Willie Scraggs?”
“If he was in town, you’d find him in room three above, but his crew’s gone out an hour ago.”
“Gone where? What’s his line of work then?”
Catchpole looked around to see no one was listening and said, “He’s one of the Gentlemen. Is that your line of business as well, Mr. Smith?”
“No, it’s a different matter entirely. Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“Not for a day or so. His crew goes all the way. To France,” he added, when Black looked confused. “Not all the trade comes to us, Mr. Smith. Some of the Gentlemen cross the water to pick it up.”
“I see. Thank you, Catchpole. I’ll speak to him when he gets back.” Black hurried back to Marine Parade to relay the news. “At least he won’t be running to the constable before we have time to move Mary,” he said.
“And we know where to find him when he returns,” Luten added, with a scowl that boded ill for Willie Scraggs. “Good work, Black.”
“So where do we take Mary’s body?” Coffen asked, looking around for a suggestion. “We can’t leave her at the tavern. We’d never get the body up to her brother’s room. I don’t want to put her there, or in that wretched hovel where she lived either.”
Corinne always had a soft spot for unfortunate women. Luten’s mercy extended to all the poor and disenfranchised, but Corinne felt a particular sympathy for the women. She remembered those desperate, despairing days when she had learned she had to marry deCoventry or the family would lose their home. She had thought of running away, and what would have become of her if she had? Mary certainly seemed to have been unscrupulous, but perhaps she had tried to live a better life. There were so few opportunities for women to better themselves and so many pitfalls in their way. Who was she to judge? If she was pretty besides, men would always be pestering her, trying to take advantage of her.
She said, “No, we certainly can’t put her in either of those places.” When Luten turned to speak to her she added, “And don’t suggest bringing her here, Luten, for there
are
limits after all. Your career would be in tatters if she were found here.”
Luten looked around to his team to cover his gene. “Does anyone have an idea?” he asked. “The beach, perhaps?”
Prance said with a waft of his hand, “Why not put her in the cemetery, where a corpse belongs?”
“You mean bury her?” Coffen asked, interested. “We’d have to get hold of a coffin. Brown might hear of it. Bound to make him suspicious.”
After a moment while they all considered it, he said, “No, I want the police to find her, and find out who killed her. And the sooner the better, before the trail grows cold.”
“I didn’t mean bury her, actually. Just lay her out on the ground. We could wrap her decently in a shroud and say a prayer over her. Put some flowers too, if you like. Someone’s bound to notice her within a few hours.”
Coffen thought it over. He didn’t like it — animals could get at her, but time was short, and he couldn’t think of a better plan.
“An excellent idea!” Corinne said. “Well, good enough,” she added as Coffen’s concern occurred to her as well.
Luten agreed. “We have to move her very soon. It will certainly occur to Brown to search Coffen’s house before long. He wouldn’t dare to break in. He’ll try Weir for a key.”
“He’ll not get one,” Black said with satisfaction. “We changed the locks.”
“Good. We’ll do it after dark.”
Prance said, “Then we’ll meet back here after sunset. I shall bring a shroud for Mary. I always travel with my own linen. I’ll donate a sheet — the finest linen, and some flowers. I’ll just dash off and see to the flowers now.”
“That’s good of you, Reg,” Coffen said. Reg could be hard to take at times, but there was a kind streak mixed up in all his spite and showing off as well.
“Pas du tout,”
Prance said, rising to leave.
He went to the hotel and informed Villier of the situation. Villier and Prance were as close as inkleweavers. Villier was party to all Prance’s doings. “We’ll want flowers and linen for Mary’s shroud. The bottom sheet only. I don’t want the top sheet with my family crest on it to be found wrapped around a corpse.”
“Not
that
corpse, certainly,” Villier said with a sniff. “What sort of flowers does one buy for a woman of that sort? Something gaudy, I assume?”
“I was pondering that myself,” Prance replied. “Bearing in mind that Coffen fancied himself half in love with the trollop, don’t make it too common. Something big and white would do.”
“Showy, but not too expensive.”
“Exactly. I never have to explain things to you.” Prance smiled.
When Villier returned with an enormous bouquet of various white flowers and a few yellow roses he said, “Yellow roses mean goodbye. I thought them appropriate. The hag selling them let me have them for an old song if I took the lot. Wanted to get home to her cup of tea, I expect.”
“Excellent, as usual, Villier,” said Prance, and stuck his nose into the bouquet for a smell. “Better put them in water for the nonce,” he said, when his head emerged from the bouquet.
* * *
Daylight lingered late at the tail end of May. It was after nine when Prance drove to Marine Parade with the shroud and bouquet. Black and Coffen were already there dressed in rough clothes.
“Where did you get the duds?” Prance asked, staring at their outmoded coats and boots out at the toe. “I didn’t realize we were to wear disguises.”
“Black got them at some shop in the Lanes that sells old clothes and chipped dishes and dented pots and things,” Coffen said. “It’s in case there’s some sort of guard at the cemetery. We’ll let on we’re drunk and lure him away while you and Luten lay Mary out. What do you think, will we pass as roughians?”