“Where do I find the Mercer sisters, Mrs. Partridge?” Luten asked his housekeeper in the morning when they were preparing to go to Nile Street.
“They’ll be waiting for you at Mr. Pattle’s house, your lordship. I gave them the directions,” Mrs. Partridge informed him.
“We could have arranged a drive. I hope it’s not too far for them to walk.”
“They have a dog cart,” she told him. It was his thoughtfulness that endeared Lord Luten to her. How many fine lords would give a thought to how a cleaning woman got to her work?
Two prim women of middle years both wearing blue poke bonnets, blue cotton gowns protected by striped pinafores of a sturdy material sat in a dogcart in front of the house when they reached Nile Street. Brooms, mops, tin pails and dust rags, soap and bottles of cleaning liquids were piled in the box behind them.
Corinne joined them as they climbed down and began removing their gear. Miss Mercer was tall, thin, sharp-looking and dark haired with a mole on her chin. She was spokeswoman for the pair. She introduced herself and her sister, Miss Betty, who was short, stout and fair.
Corinne turned to Coffen and asked, “Well, what do you think of Coffen’s house, Lady Carter?”
“Not much,” Coffen said gruffly. “Can we go inside?”
“Certainly.” She turned to Miss Mercer. “I see you brought your own equipment with you.”
“We always do, your ladyship, and our own lye soap, beeswax and vinegar and so on,” Miss Mercer said. “No telling that old — that Mr. Bolger would have proper supplies.”
Luten joined them and greeted the workers. “Well, shall we go in and see what needs to be done?” He didn’t wait for a reply but unlocked the kitchen door and led them inside. Coffen immediately darted into the drawing room to get away from the women. He felt like a dashed fool, and his head was itching like the devil.
“Where would you like us to start, your ladyship?” Miss Mercer asked, looking around the kitchen. When her ladyship seemed undecided, Miss Mercer said, “Betty usually starts in the kitchen while I do the drawing room.” She lowered her voice and added, “Betty don’t care for working around fine things. She can’t do much harm in the kitchen.”
“Just go on as you usually do,” Corinne said, then joined the gentlemen in the drawing room, while Miss Mercer pointed out to her sister what jobs she should do. “And mind you don’t drop the crockery.”
Prance soon joined the others in the drawing room. He foresaw a boring morning and said, “Why don’t I pop around and get the necklace from Boo? Then we can ‘find’ it wherever you like, Luten. It would add a touch of authenticity if we let Miss Mercer find it, n’est-ce pas?”
“Not a bad idea,” Luten said. “We don’t want to rush it. You have the case, Corinne?”
“Yes, in my reticule. Where would be a good place to hide it?”
“You folks settle that while I go to pick it up,” Prance said, and left.
As there was no hurry, he ambled along to the shopping district and enjoyed a half hour of ogling the young ladies and scrutinizing the gentlemen’s toilettes. He bought a pair of cotton knit summer gloves in a lemon yellow shade he had not seen in London. They wouldn’t do for London, but he liked novelty and here on the coast he had seen a few gentlemen wearing them. In a good mood, he picked up a pair for Villier as well, then put them back as he considered he could give his to Villier once they returned to London.
Across the street he spotted Black walking along. He had thought Black would be taking advantage of Luten’s mount or Coffen’s curricle on a day like this, which they called a fine day in Brighton. White skies and a moisture-laden breeze were not his notion of a fine day. Bored with window shopping, he sauntered along to Boo’s house. It was not in the best part of town, but was large, with a large ballroom that was now used almost entirely for rehearsing and sometimes staging amateur plays.
He was greeted warmly. “Oh, you’ve been shopping,” Boo said, when he espied the bag. “At Fillon’s,” he added, taking a closer peek at the little green bag.
Prance drew out the gloves. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Stunning,” Boo replied with a lifted eyebrow. “Everyone was wearing them last year.”
“I got them as a little present for Villier,” Prance said at once.
“Oh yes. Everyone’s valet is wearing them this year. What is the BB up to?”
“That necklace you offered to lend us yesterday –”
“Madame X is going to a ball!” Boo cried. “I heard Prinney was en route. Is he having a party?”
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” Prance answered coyly.
“Get him the necklace, Tony. The good one.”
“How is the play coming along?”
“Well, just entre nous, our Nell can’t sing for toffee. She should be the Duchess, who only has one number. I’m trying to think how I can switch roles without hurting Lady Anne’s feelings, and risking losing our theatre, for of course it’s to be staged in her ballroom. But it’s rather late to switch, and Tony is nurturing a tendre for her at the moment too, which makes it so difficult.”
“A pity she isn’t pretty at least,” Prance said.
“True, her ballroom is small enough that one will actually see her. We must see what magic we can perform with macquillage and a wig. The music is good and your help with the lyrics is most appreciated. Taffy MacDonald wrote the score. He’s so clever.”
Prance did not endorse that opinion. “It will be fine,” he said. “Folks can hardly expect a professional production. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“Feel free to invite your friends. It would be a real coup to have the BB in attendance. Bound to make the journals.”
Tony was back with the necklace. “Here we are. Doesn’t it look real? Boo’s aunt, Lady Penelope, had it made up when she had to sell her diamonds after her papa died. No one noticed the difference.”
Prance thanked them and slipped it into the bag with Villier’s gloves.
“Do let us know how Prinney likes Madame X,” Tony teased as Prance took his reluctant leave. He had not confirmed that the diamonds were to be worn at the Prince’s pavilion, but he had not denied it either. Prance would have enjoyed to spend the morning at the rehearsal. He hadn’t actually heard Lady Anne sing. It would be awful — and amusing — if she spoiled the musical, after all their work. He must remember to send her flowers before the performance. Or would Tony take it amiss? Surely not if he sent flowers to Cissy St. Clair, the Duchess of Portsmouth, as well.
The Lutens and Coffen were finding it boring to poke around the house, looking for a likely hiding place to hide the necklace. It must be hidden in a spot that Miss Mercer would be cleaning.
“Put it under his mattress and have done with it,” Coffen said. “Everybody hides things under the mattress.”
“We could do that,” Corinne agreed. “I shall suggest that they turn the mattresses.”
“Cripps would have looked there. We could cut a slit and put it inside the mattress. Let us see if Cripps has already tried that.” The mattress seemed to be intact. Coffen produced a hasp knife and they cut a slit in it.
“Good. We don’t have to stay here all morning,” Luten decided. “We’ll do it after lunch when Prance brings the necklace. Let us go for a walk.”
“I can’t walk in this,” Coffen said, with an impatient bat at his skirts.
“A drive, then,” Corinne suggested. They escaped and left the Mercers to their thankless chores.
Prance was annoyed to find they had left when he returned. He went to the hotel to give Villier his present.
“Thank you, Sir Reginald,” Villier said icily. “Too kind of you. I’ve noticed all the better class of valet are wearing them this year.”
Villier, though a valet, prided himself on dressing like a gentleman. Being the same size and shape as his master, he was heir to all Sir Reginald’s cast-offs, and Sir Reginald’s cast-offs were by no means threadbare. He bought jackets the way some gentlemen bought pocket handkerchiefs.
Prance hung his head in shame. “Quite right, Villier. I’m sorry. I noticed them in a few shop windows and was struck with the novelty of the colour and material. You shall have a new pair of York tan gloves when we return to civilization.”
Villier was appeased. “These will do for dusting the bibelots at home. Handier than using a dust cloth,” he said, and put them back in the bag. He heard a light clinking in the bag and said, “What’s this? Good God! A diamond necklace! Have you taken a mistress without telling me, Sir Reginald?”
“Jamais!” Prance assured him. “They’re paste.”
“Ah, Brigade business.” He held the necklace up to twinkle in the light from the window and examined it. “A facsimile of the Czarina’s necklace, I assume?”
“You’re too sharp for your own good. Mum’s the word. I shall take these along to Luten.”
“Exciting!” Villier cried. “Can you tell me more?”
“Very soon, Villier. Very soon. Luten has decreed we are not to breathe a word to anyone. You shall be the first to know after the embargo is lifted.”
“Very well. I shan’t tease you. If you won’t be needing me this afternoon, I thought I’d get out and have a good root through the shops.”
“Go ahead. I shan’t change till dinner time.”
Prance assumed the others had gone back to Luten’s house and he was waiting for them there when they arrived. He showed them the paste necklace. They agreed that it was good enough to fool all but a jeweler. Corinne produced the purple velvet box and Prance arranged the necklace in it. She put it in her reticule to take to Nile Street. Prance was invited to remain for lunch, after which they would return to Nile Street to hide the necklace.
“I wonder what Black’s doing with himself,” Coffen said.
“I saw him this morning on King Street,” Prance said. “He was walking across the street. He didn’t see me.”
“I should have asked him to join us,” Corinne said. “I expect he’ll drop around Nile Street this afternoon.”
They saw him before that. He called as they were leaving the table. He had taken lunch at the hotel and come to report that he had found where Cripps stabled his mount.
“There’s a small stable on the street behind his house there on Market Street. It stables four mounts. I stopped to ask if the fellow — his name’s Duncan — had room for another. I could see he hadn’t, so it was safe to ask. I recognized the black gelding with the white markings. I didn’t blow the gaffe by asking whose mount it was. I didn’t have to. The markings were just as you described them, Sir Reginald.”
“The location is certainly right, close to the tavern,” Luten said. “Good, Black. It might come in handy to know that.”
“And to clinch it, I spotted a can of soot and a bunch of blackened rags at the back of the stall. He covers up the white marking by soot, as I figured.”
“But how does he get the mount to return to the stable while he bolts into the Brithelmston?” Corinne asked.
“He’s trained it to go there when he hops off,” Luten said. “Leaves a pail of oats out for it, I fancy. I had a mount at home that always returned to the stable by itself, sometimes at the most inconvenient moments. It had to be tethered tightly to keep it from going. I discovered it had been trained that way by the fellow I bought it from.”
“I didn’t know that trick,” Black said, surprised at this lapse on his part.
“Then we’ve taught you something, for a change,” Luten said with a smile. “Shall we go to Nile Street? The sooner we get this plan afoot, the better.”
The afternoon did not go exactly as planned. It went even better.