“Harry Bolton, you say? I don’t I believe I know him. Do we know him, Sam?”
She frowned and said, “I don’t believe so, though the name’s rather familiar. Where would one have been likely to meet him, Luten? Did he go about in society much?”
“Not what one would call high society, the ton. I daresay he had his own set.”
The topic was winding down, and soon they would have to leave. When no one was looking at her, Corinne lifted her glass and tilted it on to her skirt, then jumped up. “Oh dear! I’m sorry, Samantha. I hope I haven’t stained your lovely carpet.”
“It’s all right, only a few drops. I’ll call a maid.”
She rang a bell and a maid almost immediately appeared, to be instructed to sponge up the spill.
“It’s your own skirt that’s caught most of the spill,”
Samantha said.
“Oh dear, and a new suit, too,”
Corinne said, examining her skirt. “Could I just nip into your room and see if I can get it out? A little cold water and a cloth ...”
“Of course. I’ll help you.”
Samantha rose at once.
“That’s not necessary,”
Corinne said. “You’d best stay and make sure the maid gets the carpet cleaned. That’s more valuable than my skirt. If you’ll just steer me to your room and have someone
bring some water and a cloth. I’ll take care of it.”
The butler was told to bring a basin of water and a cloth and show Lady Luten to the dressing room, which was just a few steps down the hall and reached through the bedchamber. Once in the room, Corinne didn’t waste a minute. The bedroom was elegant with hand-painted Chinese wallpaper and mahogany furnishings, but didn’t seem a likely spot for clues. No desk, just the big canopied bed and matching bed tables, an armoire, a pair of dressers and one comfortable chair by the window. On one bedside table sat a lamp and a copy of Byron’s
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,
on the other was a matching lamp and Reggie’s gothic novel. Reg would be interested to hear that. She wondered which one of them was reading Reggie’s book. She darted through the door into the adjoining room.
It was a small dressing room used by both husband and wife, as the flat wasn’t large. There in the corner sat a mahogany desk holding a blotter, a calendar, a few invitations, an address book, an ink bottle, pens and some stationery.
One sheet lay on the blotter. She ran over to it and saw that Samantha was writing to her mother. She drew open the one drawer and the first thing she saw was a little book with a red leather binding, much used to judge by the dog-eared condition of the pages. It had no title, and when she opened it, she didn’t know what to make of it. It seemed to be just a confusion of numbers and letters that didn’t form words, but after studying it for a few moments, she realized it was a code book! She quickly rifled through the one drawer but could find no further evidence of decoding —
or possibly coding messages for transfer to France.
When she heard a light footstep approaching from the hallway, she put the book back, closed the drawer, ran for the water basin, splashed some water on her skirt and was rubbing at it when Samantha came in.
“There, all done,”
she said, setting the cloth aside. “So clumsy of me. I
am
sorry. Is the carpet all right?”
“It’s fine. Don’t give it a thought. And I’ll have those invitations written by tomorrow. Shall I bring them to you?”
“I’m going out. I’ll pick them up,”
Corinne said, eager for another chance to get into the place and search for clues.
Luten was already standing when she returned. They took their leave and went to the carriage, glancing down the street to see Coffen was still at his carriage. Coffen saw them and spoke to Fitz.
“That was quick thinking, spilling your wine,”
Luten complimented, as they drove off. “Any luck in the bed chamber?”
“He’s a spy, Luten,”
she announced. “There was a code book in the desk.”
“Good God! So it’s true. I was suspicious about his trying for a position at the Horse Guards. Thank goodness he didn’t get it. Imagine the damage he could have done — a spy working for the French coding and decoding war messages.”
“A disaster! Will you report to Hopley?”
“I’m in charge of this particular case. Considering the way things are run at the Horse Guards, it might be better to keep it under our hats. I’ll wait until we catch him red-handed. Now that we know where to concentrate our efforts it won’t take long. We’ll have to keep a sharp eye on him to see he doesn’t do any harm in the meanwhile. Would you mind dropping me off at the House before you go home?”
“Of course. I wonder if Coffen will have any luck following Morgrave.”
“If there’s anything to learn, Coffen’s the man to do it. We’ll have this case solved in no time.”
Corinne just looked at him. Their cases never seemed to get solved that quickly or easily. “Optimist!”
she said.
Since Luten would not be home for hours, Corinne paid a call on
Reggie. He had enjoyed his few hours of pampering in bed and was eager to show off the eye patch Villier had devised for him. With that swollen and discoloured nose there was no hope of looking elegant, so he had gone for a
rougher, tougher look. Examining himself in the mirror before going
belowstairs, he thought the black velvet patch looked quite dashing. He tried it first on one eye, then on the other and settled on the left eye. He allowed a lock of hair, no longer screwed into a curl, to hang loose over his forehead, adding another touch of diablerie.
Leaning on a hefty blackthorn walking stick, he limped into the salon to greet her. The blackthorn stick was chosen for its size and rough texture. All this manliness was a completely new style for him. Lady Luten blinked in astonishment but was too aware of his thin skin to laugh.
“Oh Reg, don’t you look —
different,”
she said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, fine. Kind of you to inquire,”
Baron Wolfried replied brusquely. Prance had found a new role to act, a manly hero named Baron Wolfried. The Prussians were now England’s allies so there was nothing unpatriotic in the Germanic-sounding name, and he liked the touch of the wild in the Wolf part of it.
“A man can’t let a mere sprained leg and a few bruises hold him back from doing his duty. I’m ready to join the Brigade in its latest battle. What is new with our case?”
As he sat down he allowed a slight groan to show he was really in great pain.
“Your clue was a great help,”
she said. “It is indeed John Morgrave who is the spy and murderer.”
“Really! I find that hard to believe.”
“Well it’s true. Luten and I called on the Morgraves. Samantha let it slip before John arrived that he is
very
interested in the war. He’s getting the information from David Harley, at the Horse Guards. He even applied for a position at the Horse Guards himself, but he was turned down. But the clincher is, I found a decoding book hidden in his desk!”
“How on earth did you get into his desk? Did you break into his flat in broad daylight? Give me all the details.”
She described their visit and he listened, peppering her with questions.
“Pity about your skirt,”
he said when she had finished, before remembering that such details were as nothing to a man of action like Baron Wolfried. “So what does Luten plan to do next?”
“He had to go to the House, but we’ll be meeting this evening to discuss it. Meanwhile Coffen is watching Morgrave. It is vitally important that he not continue with his work. You can imagine the harm he could do. We’ll let you know what is decided.”
“Let me know?”
he asked, and uttered an ironic laugh. “I plan to be there. I told you, I’m back in action. And what exactly is Coffen doing to prevent further damage to state secrets?”
While she was still describing Coffen’s role of watching Morgrave’s flat, Coffen was announced. “By Jove, Reg, I didn’t think you’d be up and about so soon,”
he said, coming into the room. “What happened to your eye?”
Reg shrugged and batted his hand. “Knighton says a few broken blood vessels or some such thing. Just temporary. I shan’t lose the sight in it.”
“And your nose —
will it still work as well? It’d be a pity not to smell.”
“I trust I don’t
smell!
Never mind about my few scratches, why aren’t you watching Morgrave, now that we know what he’s up to?”
“Oh Coffen, you haven’t heard,”
Corinne said and told him about the code book.
“You shouldn’t have left him unguarded for a minute,”
Prance said.
“How did I know he was working on codes?”
“Did he leave the flat? Did you follow him? Where did he go?”
Prance demanded.
“He left not five minutes after Luten and Corrie. Headed straight to Arthur’s Club, I followed him in after a few minutes. He was sitting down with some fellows I didn’t recognize. Probably heavy betters. I heard them ordering dinner for six o’clock, so he’s safe there for now,”
“True,”
Prance said, nodding. “Foul deeds are usually done under cover of darkness.”
“Daresay he’ll lose his shirt, dark or daylight,”
Coffen said. “That’d be why he’s taken to selling our secrets to the Frenchies. He’s only a younger son. He can’t have much money to squander at cards.”
Prance listened, frowning. “His wife is well to grass, though. Samantha Sinclair had a dot of twenty thousand, if rumour is correct. They’ve only been married a few months. He can’t have run through all that so soon.”
“It might be tied up somehow,”
Coffen said vaguely.
“One doesn’t go to Arthur’s to lose his shirt,”
was Prance’s next objection. “White’s Club and Brookes’s are the places for that sort of game.”
“You can lose money any place if you know what you’re doing,”
said Coffen.
Prance just shook his head. “I daresay a man of your genius could do just that, Coffen.”
“Why thankee, Reg.”
“Not at all. And Fitz managed to get you home all right, did he?”
“I took a hackney. I’ve no idea where Fitz is. There was no sign of my rig when I came out of Arthur’s.”
“I don’t know why you bother keeping a carriage. Or to be more precise, why you keep Fitz.”
“He means well,”
Coffen said. “He’s just not much good at finding places. I’m the same myself. Anyhow, I’ll tell Luten tonight what I found out and let you know what we plan to do.”
“Why do you all act as though I’m some sort of helpless invalid?”
Reg asked, in well-simulated annoyance.
“Because you are,”
Coffen said. “You won’t want to go about looking like some sort of a bruiser. You have your reputation as a dandy to consider.”
It was precisely the look Prance was striving for, and he was thrilled with it. “If you can go about looking like an unmade bed, I can go about looking like a bruiser.”
“He’ll only be going to our place,”
Corinne said to Coffen. “No one will see him. Has there been any word from Black?”
“I haven’t been home. He was to keep in touch. I’ll dash home and see. I’ll be back.”
He left, and to save time, Prance ordered sandwiches and coffee while he was gone. Naturally Coffen would want to be fed. In his role as Baron Wolfried, Prance also ordered one of his footmen to go to Arthur’s, gave him a description of Morgrave and ordered him to follow Morgrave when he came out
Corinne said, “If Black has found the Frenchies Morgrave was working with, the case will be solved. We’ll just have to follow Morgrave and catch him red-handed. I do feel sorry for Samantha.”
“Aye, if she’s not in it with him,”
Prance said with a cynical little laugh.
Coffen returned before the sandwiches arrived, carrying with him a note. “Black’s had no luck. No good luck, that is. He got friendly with a bar maid and found out there
was
a group of Frenchies staying at the Sheepwalk, and they were meeting up with the fellow that sounds like Morgrave, but they all checked out last night. Looks like they feared Bolton’s death might get connected to them and have gone into hiding. Black asks what he should do. I’ll ask Luten tonight. He might want him to stay another day in case they come back.”
“Black is actually putting up at the inn?”
Reg asked.
“Easier to find out what’s going on that way,”
Coffen explained. “Really no need for him to stay there now, though. Luten will likely have a job for him here, tailing Morgrave. Black could just nip out to the inn from time to time to check up.”
“Yes, meanwhile I have set one of my men to keep a sharp eye on Morgrave,”
Prance said.
“One of what men?”
Coffen asked.
“He means one of his footmen,”
Corinne translated.
“Ah, right. Well done, Reg.”
“Morgrave is obviously the one to watch. Perhaps I’ll drop in at Arthur’s tonight,”
Prance said. “If Morgrave’s still there, I’ll ask him for a game.”
“See if you can get him bosky,”
Coffen suggested. “He might let something slip if he’s in his cups. And we’ll follow him when he leaves. I’ll go with you.”
With a memory of the awful attack at Long Acre, Prance made no objection to this. He had dispensed with the notion of hiring a bodyguard. It would be beneath Wolfried’s dignity. He knew from past experience that Coffen was brave as a lion in a fight. The sandwiches arrived and were soon consumed. Coffen and Corinne left together.
As he accompanied her home, he said, “Did you notice Prance wasn’t acting like himself today? He actually nibbled a ham sandwich. You know he never eats pig. Says once he smelled a pig sty it put him off pork.”
“Yes, and it wasn’t like him to belittle his wounds either.”
“That eye patch —
I didn’t notice his eye being red last night. I believe he’s taken on a new role. I wonder what it is.”
“It will soon become clear, I expect.”
“I hope it gets rid of them dashed grey curtains in his saloon, and the cape and funny looking hat.”
These same matters were troubling Reggie as he sat in his saloon, trying to figure out how master spy, Baron Wolfried, would dress, and how he would furnish his home. He was having no luck with planning a new gothic novel. He had never cared for the genre. It was his visit to Newstead Abbey that had inspired him. There was really only one plot — a young, innocent maiden menaced by a villain. He had done that, done the definitive version, to quote one astute reviewer.