The Mischievous Miss Murphy (22 page)

Tony, who had been about to toss his friend out and be on his way himself, stopped dead in his tracks at Will’s last words. “Would you mind running that by me again, old sport?”

“Certainly,” Will said, agreeable to repeating what he thought was a stunning display of his own intelligence. “Geoff showed me an advertisement in the
Times
last week about an expedition to Scotland to dig for opals. As if anyone would believe there were opals in such a godforsaken place. I mean, after all—”

“Will, would you please have the goodness to come to the point,” Tony interrupted, images of Budge-Budge beginning to dance in his head.

Will rummaged in his pocket and brought out a scrap of newspaper. “Here. Read it for yourself. Geoff thought it would be whacking great fun, but I told him—”

Tony had made a grab for the paper and made quick work of reading the advertisement. The notice announced the formation of an expedition to an undisclosed location in Scotland where, so stated the notice, reliable evidence pointing to the existence of vast deposits of opal-bearing rock had recently been unearthed. The stones were there for the picking—if one but knew where to look; which is why the exact location could be divulged solely to sincere investors, and then only once the expedition was on its way north.

“God give me patience!” Tony spat, waving the paper in Will’s face. “And you mean to say you believed this claptrap?”

“You don’t half listen, do you, Tony? I never said that. I said Geoff and his friends believed it. Though I must say Mr. MacAdam was most convincing,” Will added, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “Did you read it all?”

Tony hadn’t, but proceeded to do so after splashing a liberal amount of wine into his glass. A deposit of one hundred pounds (“One hundred pounds!” he repeated aloud) was to be used for mining supplies, travel expenses, and living accommodations while at the mine as well as serving to reserve the enterprising young gentleman’s place in the expedition, slated to set off in exactly one week from the date of the advertisement from The White Horse in Fetter Lane.

Bank drafts, Tony read with a small sneer appearing on his face, were discouraged, as the use of currency would expedite supply procurement, and Mr. Malcolm P. MacAdam, Esquire, agent for the prestigious Peerless Engineering Company, would be at The King’s Arms in Bishopgate for this one day only to answer questions and interview candidates for investment.

Crushing the advertisement into a ball and sending it sailing toward the fireplace, Tony turned to face his friend. “Start at the beginning, Will, if you please, and tell me exactly what happened between the time Geoff read you that notice and the moment you stepped inside my door today to gloat over what I am sure is your friend’s misfortune. Leave nothing out.”

Will looked at Coniston and said, rather testily, “Well, o’course I will, isn’t that what I came here for in the first place? Honestly, Tony, although you never were an easy fellow to read, since you met Miss Murphy you’ve become nigh impossible to figure out. One minute hot, one minute cold, next minute—”

“Will! You’ve run out of minutes, just as I am running out of patience. Now start talking!”

“The least you could do is offer a fellow a drink,” Will ended weakly.

Once holding a glass filled nearly to the brim (so, Tony reasoned, the story wouldn’t be interrupted while the fool asked for a refill), Will told his story, beginning it, much to Coniston’s gratification, at the point where he and Geoff had entered The King’s Arms and met Mr. MacAdam.

“Geoff signed up straight away,” he clucked reprovingly, “but I could sense something havey-cavey about the bugger—though he did have the most fantastic bright red mustache—and held back. Nothing much to talk about happened between then and yesterday, the day the fellows were all to meet up with MacAdam at The White Horse.”

“Let me guess,” Tony broke in, sniffing. “MacAdam never appeared, right?”

“Who’s telling this tale, Betancourt, you or me?” Will asked, upset at being upstaged before he could make his own dramatic announcement. “Anyway, there they were, twenty-four disgruntled opal barons, cluttering up the departure yard at The White Horse all the day long, waiting for the man.

“After a time most of them went away, moaning and groaning, while Geoff and a few others decided to go back to The King’s Arms and ask if anyone there knew the MacAdam’s whereabouts. That’s when they fell into a little piece of luck. One of the barmaids had found a letter or something the man had forgotten and saved it.”

Tony’s heart sank a little at this piece of news. Strange, he hadn’t thought Max could be so clumsy. “Did this letter give them any clues?”

“That it did,” Will reported, cocking his head as he looked at Tony, who didn’t seem to be enjoying the tale as much as he should. “There was an address on the letter and the fellows took a Runner from Bow Street with them to see if they could find out anything about the man who had taken their blunt. And would you believe it? The man was just coming out of this place on Half Moon Street, calm as you please, as they stepped from their carriage.”

Ah, Max, I do believe the luck of the Irish just took it full in the eye, Tony thought, wincing. “And then what, Will? Did he give them their money back?”

Will chuckled. “No, Geoff was too late for that. I guess the man lost it all gambling or wenching or something. They had to settle for having the bloke hauled off to the guardhouse. Hey! Where d’you think you’re going? Don’t you want to hear how I roasted Geoff for being so deuced gullible? Taken in like a real Johnny Raw, he was. Hey, Tony! Come back here!”

Already halfway out the door, Tony called back over his shoulder, “Be a good fellow and go to my sister’s. Tell Miss Murphy her uncle and I will be dining with them tonight. Move it man, Candie must be worried.”

Will nodded his head absently in assent but did not rush to do his friend’s bidding, but rather sat a few moments more, trying to convince himself that his friend hadn’t completely lost his mind. “It’s women, that’s what it is,” he decided at last. “Get yourself tied up with a woman and the first thing you know your wits are all addled. Shame,” he mused, shaking his head sorrowfully, “Tony was a good man. Hate to see him taking such a bad turn.”

It was a woebegone, worse for wear Maximilien P. Murphy who looked up at his visitor as the cell door scraped open and the jailer, a dirty, toothless creature, announced, “One o’the quality ta see ya. Step sharply now!”

“Ah, boyo, ‘tis you,” Max said, relief evident in his voice. “And here I was just sitting here thinking as to how I could get word to you.”

“‘Ere now,” the guard warned, “that’s no way ta talk to gentry coves. Watch yer mouth, ‘ear, else it’ll go bad fer ya.”

Murphy watched the guard depart and then turned to Tony. “What an ugly puss that fellow has,” he began conversationally. “And has a smell of garlic about him strong enough to hang your hat on, don’t you know.” Then, dismissing the guard from his mind, he waved Tony to a seat and asked, “Now, what is it I could do for you, for you’ve the look of a man with a mission.”

Tony eyed the rickety chair skeptically before gingerly testing it with his weight. “I’ve been looking for you, Max, but it seems you’ve been playing bo-peep with me. I’d not be here yet if it weren’t for Will Merritt, who told me of your new address—not that he knows he did, you understand.”

Max nodded his head. “That one! There’s a slate or two off that boy’s roof, don’t you know. What a devil of a time I had talking him out of investing in my opal scheme. I guess he told you all about that. Ended up settling for only twenty-three shares, seeing as how I had to tell the boy I was all sold out. Wanted two subscriptions, mind you. If ever there was a fella wanting to be taken to the fair, it’s that one. So, I guess you know I’ve gone and done it this time?”

“I didn’t think you were here on holiday,” Tony said, tongue in cheek as his eyes scanned the filthy room. “As you’re still wearing that horse tail on your upper lip—Will thought very highly of your mustache, by the by—I assume you haven’t given them your real name.”

“What d’you take me for, a raw greenhorn? O’course I haven’t. Can’t take the chance of involving my Candie, can I? This was my scheme, more’s the pity, and I’ll take the fall alone.”

Max settled back against the wall and sighed. “Ah, lad, I feel just like my father, don’t you know. He was always in the field when luck was on the road. A bit of gambling on the wrong dice, a bit of carelessness in leaving a trace of myself behind, a bit of greed in trying to run the same rig twice in one week—I was on my way to another inn to meet another group of investors, don’t you know—and I had pushed my luck too far.”

“In point of fact, Max, you left behind a rather large bit of carelessness—an envelope with your address on it.”

Again Max nodded. “An invitation to dine in Portman Square,” he clarified. “That was no great help to me, and no mistake. See, lad, what mixing in high society will bring you to? If it weren’t for Candie’s being in Portman Square there’d have been no need for a letter. If it weren’t for you proposing to my Candie and her hiding it from me there’d have been no need for me to bury my sorrows in that gaming hell—not that I wasn’t itching for a run with the ivories anyway. And if it weren’t for losing all my money and needing to run a rig and get it back before Candie got wind of it and rang a mighty peal over my head, I wouldn’t have been so careless. Do you know,” he ended, looking meaningfully at Coniston, “I do believe that if it weren’t for you, laddie, I shouldn’t be here at all!”

Tony threw back his head and roared his amusement. “I knew you’d find a way to lay this whole thing at my door, you wily Irishman.”

“Needs must when the Devil drives,” Max quipped, his eyes twinkling merrily. “But I’m not complaining, you understand. I’ve had a fine run at life, boyo, and if I didn’t knock it down, I staggered it. But, like my father, I’m not done yet. I’ll be out of here somehow, mark my word, and Maximilien P. Murphy will be even better than before. I’m like my father that way, pluck to the end. Why, Paddy Murphy was such a never-say-die that, even now, if you was to throw a halter in his grave he’d start up and steal a horse.”

“I believe you,” Tony swore, glad to see Murphy regaining a bit of his humor.

“Ah, lad,” Max said with a wink, “believe me and who’ll believe you?”

That brought Tony back to his senses. He already knew someone who would believe him—Candie, when he told her that her uncle was in the guardhouse awaiting transportation to Newgate. “This has been most enjoyable, Max, sitting here chatting while the rats forage in the corners, but we must put our heads together and think up some way to get you shed of this place. It’s only a matter of time before someone starts digging into your past and comes up with Candie and Budge-Budge and heaven only knows what else.”

“You don’t want to know what else,” Max put in, wincing a bit at the memory of Ivy Dillingham’s face. “But don’t worry your head about me. I’ll not spill the soup about my own niece. No, the only problem I have now is settling Candie so that I can go to my fate without her on my mind. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. Lad, I have to ask you a favor. Would you take it upon yourself to care for my Candice until—well, just until?”

“Funny you should mention that, Max,” Tony began, ready to tell the man just why he had been searching for him in the first place, but Murphy interrupted him.

“She’s a good girl, my lord,” Max said with unfamiliar formality, “and it’s not her fault that she was handed a rapscallion like myself as guardian after her dear mother, bless her soul, passed on.”

Hearing the pain of an old sadness in Murphy’s voice, Tony urged quietly, “It must have been very hard for you both. Tell me about it, Max, won’t you?”

“It seems so long ago, don’t you know, but it also seems like yesterday,” Max mused as if to himself. “It was in the fall of the year, and the whole county was overrun with English milords on the hunt for both four-legged and two-legged game, if you take my meaning. Brigette, my baby sister, became the prey of one of the hunters—a vile, oily creature who could weave lies as fast as a horse could trot. It was no time at all before he had Brigette believing he wanted to marry her and carry her off to his home in England.”

Tony, his eyes narrowed in acknowledgement of the man’s deviousness, drawled icily, “A name, Max. Give me a name.”

“Lord Henry Blakestone,” Max gritted and then went on to paint a verbal picture of the man that was unflattering, to say the least. The fair-haired, handsome Lord Blakestone, Max revealed, besides fathering bastards in any locality he chanced to visit in above the space of two hours, was a mean drunk, an even meaner landlord to the unfortunate tenants on his estate in Sussex, and was, in total, a truly soulless creature with all the charm of an adder and the tender heart of a Covent Garden pimp.