Black used his involvement in the case to pay a call on Lady Luten after his lunch with Coffen. Like any polite guest, he was shown into the rose salon with all the respect due an archbishop. Evans hoped to hear what was afoot before Black left. Over the years these two butlers, as different as salt and sugar in most ways, had become friends due to proximity and a shared interest in the welfare of the young couple. Black, ever alert, had begun to suspect, however, that beneath Evans’s smile lurked a dark green envy of Black’s rising favour with Luten.
When Black learned from Lady Luten that Morgrave’s wife’s plans for the afternoon left her husband free, he immediately declared that he would watch the flat. “His lordship mentioned sending for his plain black rig for me this evening, if you recall.”
“I’ll send for it this minute,” she replied. “There’s no telling Morgrave will spend the afternoon at that club, playing cards. He might go anywhere.”
“You don’t feel I’m overstepping myself then, milady?”
“Not in the least, Black. It’s what Luten would want. They plan to dine with Lord Sifton and attend the theatre this evening, so this might be our best chance to learn what he’s up to.”
“I’ll just nip home and make a few preparations. And may I make so bold as to say, madam, we miss you at the old house.” The “we” was himself and an elderly housekeeper who thoroughly enjoyed her new ease and comfort.
Lady Luten reached out and squeezed his fingers. “I miss you too, Black. We shall find some good placement for you when my little house is rented.”
It was at such moments as these that he was repaid for his extraordinary efforts on her behalf. There was a hint of Lord Blackwell in his manner when he replied, “I hope I shan’t have to move too far away, milady.”
“Brigade business, I take it,” Evans said as Black left. He was not as accomplished an eavesdropper as Black, but he was coming along.
“Just so, Evans. This is dangerous business.”
“Can I be of any assistance, Black?”
“Sorry, it’s confidential. Members only, you might say.”
Evans forced a grim-lipped smile and nodded his acceptance of this rebuff.
As the nature of the case was of national importance, Luten returned early to Berkeley Square to keep abreast of what the Brigade was doing. When his wife told him what she had discovered that morning, he was very glad he had come home.
“Studying a map of Spain, you say?” Luten said in alarm. “That indicates a suspiciously strong interest in the doings in the Peninsula.”
“And he was drinking brandy. You know where he got that!”
Luten had the grace to blush. “The same place I and half the town got it, of course, from the smugglers. Still, it is likely the smugglers who deliver the messages to and from France. And you sent Black to keep an eye on Morgrave this afternoon. That was good thinking.”
“It was his own idea. We really must do something for Black when we rent my house, Luten. He’s been so faithful to me all these years.”
“He’s a good man. I shall never forget that he saved your life on our first case. We don’t want to lose track of him. He’s been a great help to us on more than one occasion for that matter. We’ll find something suitable for him. We can’t reduce him to a footman after seven years as a butler. We can’t have two butlers, and I can’t very well turn Evans off after all these years either, nor would I like to lose him.”
When Corinne learned that Luten had skipped lunch, she asked Evans to arrange something in the morning parlour for him. They did not use the grand dining room that seated two dozen when they were alone. They were still at the table in the cosier morning parlour when Prance and Coffen darted over. When Evans announced that they were waiting in the rose salon, Luten told him to invite them to the morning parlour and bring two more cups.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Prance said. “We were afraid you’d go dashing back to the House if we waited too long.”
“We saw Black take off in your hunting carriage and wondered what was afoot,” Coffen added, scanning the sideboard for food, though he had enjoyed his lunch with Black. The hot dishes had been removed but a fruit compote and ginger cake were still on the sideboard.
No spoken words were necessary. Corinne nodded to the footman and Coffen was served dessert. Prance, who resented that eating was necessary at all, declined the offer with a shake of his head. As soon as Coffen had eaten and they had all had their coffee, they retired to the privacy of Luten’s study to be brought up to date.
“Studying a map of Spain, you say!” Coffen exclaimed. “That pretty well clinches it.”
“Rather indiscreet of him, doing it in his drawing room, where any caller could see,” Prance said.
“That’s easily explained though,” Luten said. “Everyone is interested in our progress in Spain. Taking a keen interest almost lends him the air of a patriot.”
“Did you learn anything about him at the House?” Prance asked.
“No unsavoury rumours are floating about. No debts worth speaking of, no suspicious friends. The family is influential, of course. In these cases one often hears nothing until the final catastrophe. I’ll keep an ear to the ground.”
It was decided that Prance and Coffen would visit Arthur’s as planned that afternoon and report back after dinner, or before if they learned anything of importance. They took Coffen’s carriage as Prance’s coachman had taken his to Newman’s Stable to be sold “as is”, with the lining torn apart. Fitz could not be trusted to drive, so they borrowed Corinne’s groom.
For an hour they sat in a smoke-filled room, drinking ale. As they wanted to be free to join Morgrave’s table if he came, Prance sat with a group who were chatting before the grate. Coffen picked up a journal and stationed himself in a chair with a view of the doorway where he could see the gentlemen as they entered the parlour.
At three on the dot Morgrave stepped in. Coffen watched him scanning the room to see if he was looking for anyone in particular. This could be a good clue as to who he had come to meet. He hadn’t removed his coat, which suggested he might plan to leave right away. Morgrave didn’t seem interested in anyone in particular, however.
When he turned around and strolled out, Coffen followed him, but he just went to the coat rack and hung up his coat. Coffen made a note of which coat was Morgrave’s, third from the right hand side. Morgrave proceeded into the card parlour but he didn’t play cards. He joined a group who were just looking out the window, drinking wine and chatting.
Prance used his acquaintance with one of the men as an excuse to join them. Morgrave’s friends didn’t seem the least bit suspicious. A retired judge, a minor aristocrat and James Freewell, the younger fellow Prance was acquainted with. Freewell was a writer, like himself. Well, not quite like himself, a journalist actually. The first conversation dealt with Prance’s eye patch and cane, which gave him an opportunity to practice the recounting of his vicious attack at Long Acre. The gentlemen all expressed outrage at this.
Freewell soon asked him the old familiar question, “What are you working on now, Prance? Another gothic to turn our hair gray?”
“Something entirely different, actually,” Prance said.
“Ah, another poem, like your Arthurian rondeau?”
In his new success, Prance was now confident enough to laugh at that early failure. “I’ve learned the hard way I am no poet, Freewell. No, it’s not poetry, but another novel.”
He was teased to reveal the great secret, but remained mysteriously evasive. After a little bantering, the subject of the war came up. Margrave seemed more interested in this than in literature. He was well informed too. His tone regarding the conduct of the war was quite critical.
“I see you take a strong interest in the Spanish campaign, Morgrave,” Prance said.
“Naturally. I follow it closely. Doesn’t everyone?”
“To be sure, though I must admit I haven’t quite your grasp of the details.”
“Well, Sam tells me you are a dashed good writer in any case. Pleased to see you here. You’re not a regular. I was talking to Lady Luten this morning. She called on my wife. I meant to ask her if you chaps were having any luck with your latest case. It’s the murder of young Bolton you’re looking into, I understand.”
“Luten’s looking into it for a relative. Bolton was some connection of his. It’s hardly a matter for the Brigade.”
The old judge muttered, “Shocking,” and the subject moved on to Prinney’s latest outrages.
It seemed a long, tedious afternoon. They sat talking and imbibing for a solid hour while Coffen glanced over the latest race results. He made a few trips in the direction of the coat rack, but didn’t achieve enough privacy to search Morgrave’s coat pockets.
When Prance ordered another round, Coffen knew he was in for another long wait. He made yet another trip to the coat rack and this time he had the place to himself. He headed straight to Morgrave’s coat, third from the right, and began delving into his pockets. The first one held only a bill from Hamlet’s for repairs to a necklace clasp — that’d be Samantha’s, and a couple of his own calling cards. In the other pocket, he found what he was after. He felt soft leather, and drew out a gentleman’s purse. Not just any purse, it was Prance’s! The one stolen the night he was attacked in Long Acre. There was no mistaking it.
Like all Prance’s possessions, it was unique. He had designed it himself, with his family motto etched into the soft leather in gold and black. Three lions walking and something, probably the family motto, written in Latin. Coffen stood a moment, his heart thumping in excitement and his mind whirling with indecision. Should he take it as proof of what he’d found? Or should he leave it so Morgrave didn’t suspect he’d been found out? He soon decided discretion demanded that he not remove it. But he did open it, and noticed it held only a few shillings. The bleater had spent the ten pounds Prance had mentioned were in the purse.
He returned the purse to Morgrave’s coat pocket and returned to the card room. The group was finally breaking up. Morgrave was the first to rise.
“I’d best be getting home,” he said. “Sam and I are dining at my brother’s place tonight.”
“I must be dashing too,” Prance said at once, and shook hands all around.
Coffen and Prance managed to get out the door before Morgrave and hastened to their carriage to follow Morgrave when he left. The groom already had his orders.
“He wouldn’t have to leave this early to get ready for dinner,” Prance said. “We’ll follow him.”
“You’ll never guess what I discovered,” Coffen said, his chest swollen with importance. “Your purse, Reg, the one that was stolen by them roughians at Long Acre. It was in Morgrave’s coat pocket. The ninnyhammer didn’t know enough to discard it after stealing your ten pounds. Still green behind the ears.”
In the excitement of this announcement, Prance didn’t even notice Coffen’s latest mangling of the King’s English. “Are you sure it’s mine. Let me see it.”
“I didn’t take it. I didn’t want him to know we were on to him. As you often say, discretion is the better part of value. I’m positive it’s yours. It’s the only sharkskin purse in town with three gold lions going for a stroll.”
“You’re right. Best to leave it there. There he goes!” Prance cried, as Morgrave’s carriage took off. They followed it at a discreet distance, and were greatly disappointed when it went straight to Morgrave’s home.
“We can go on home,” Coffen said. “There’s Luten's hunting carriage just rounding the bend. Black’s on the job. He must have followed him to Arthur’s and been waiting all afternoon. He sticks tighter than a barnacle.”
“This was a good afternoon’s work,” Prance said. “Morgrave must be the ring leader. Those roughs who beat me up obviously handed their ill-got gains over to him, or how does he come to have my purse?”
“Are you sure he wasn’t one of them? You mentioned one of them was big.”
“No, he was a heavier set man entirely.”
“Do you think we should send Luten a note?”
“He’ll be home soon enough. Morgrave isn’t on the move, and Black is there to follow him if he does leave. Pelkey is having a new carriage brought around for me to look at.”
Prance, like most young men, was greatly interested in horses and carriages. “Dandy! Is it a curricle? I’m after one of them sporting rigs myself.”
“No, just a carriage,” Prance said, and rather wondered if he shouldn’t be getting a dashing curricle instead.
He was very happy with the plain black carriage with silver appointments glinting in the fading sunlight that stood in front of his house when they arrived. Pelkey jumped down from the box when he saw them approach.
“Perfect,” Prance said. “Just what I wanted. This is the one, Pelkey.”
“Pretty plain. For you, I mean,” was Coffen’s opinion. “I’m beginning to think that beating knocked some sense into you, Reg. I notice you’ve left off wearing that funny hat and cape. You’re wearing a plainer cravat as well, and you’ve quit curling your hair. Other than the eye patch and bruised nose, you look almost normal.”
“Now if only we could do something about your toilette,” Prance riposted. He was not offended, however. He liked to have his appearance noticed and commented upon.