Read When the Devil Drives Online
Authors: Caro Peacock
When the Devil Drives (32 page)
I was unreasonably pleased that my voice might have spared the snipe, but sorry that this hint of self-doubt had crept back into his mind. I'd been right not to let him tie himself down to an impulsive decision he might have regretted. I went all the way down the stairs to check that there was nobody waiting, then back upstairs to my letter.
Three days later.
Oh my dear, I wish even more that you were here so you could tell me I'm a fool. This evening, after dinner:
Alice: Sarah's going to lose a guinea over you.
Self: I'm very sorry for it. Was she backing me at bringing home the biggest bag of snipe?
Alice: Michael's bet her a guinea you won't ride in the race tomorrow.
Self: What race would that be?
Alice: The gentlemen are having a race to Kibble End. They're going to draw for horses.
Self: So why should Sarah lose her guinea?
Alice: You mean you'll ride?
Self: Indeed I'll ride.
So two idiocies in one. First, I committed myself to a race over a couple of miles of rough country against a dozen or so Irish centaurs. Second, I confirmed Alice's belief that I was romantically attracted to sister Sarah, to the extent that I was prepared to risk my neck to save her a slight injury to the purse.
I sat with the page unturned, annoyed with myself for being so annoyed. Silly girls, with nothing to fill their time but gossip and matchmaking. I imagined them, with their beautiful dark hair and laughing eyes. I turned the page and read on.
The horse I drew was one Bucephalus, stable name Boozy. When his name came out of the punch bowl I was congratulated by the other gentlemen on having a possible winner with âa mouth like a granite tombstone, but won't stop this side of Kilkenny.' They didn't add that he was getting on for eighteen hands high, a fact I found out for myself in the stable yard in the grey drizzle next morning. Our starting line-up was far from regular and Boozy, spinning like a top from excitement, was facing the wrong way when the order was given. He whirled round and caught up with the rest in two or three giant strides, over the first fence before I saw it coming then across ploughland with the air so full of flying clods that I don't suppose any of us could see where we were going. After the first two or three fences, something struck me â that Boozy and I were up with the leaders and I was enjoying this. Of course, I'd ridden over fences before, but not banks. Have you jumped a bank? If so, you know that amazing feeling when your horse touches down on the top then flies off the other side as if he'd abandoned the earth entirely.
Yes, I have. I know it. I'm aching to be there riding with you. I'm laughing too, out loud with a release from tension, as if I really were galloping beside you, with clods of ploughland flying round us.
âVisitors.'
The call of the son-in-law, coming up from the yard. Then a knock on the door and Mr Calloway's voice.
âMiss Lane? May we come up please?'
We. So he'd brought somebody with him as I'd asked, the person of importance. And that person's introduction to me, as he came into the yard, would have been the sound of a woman's laughter through the open window. He'd take me for a lunatic, if the thought weren't in his mind already. I looked out on Calloway's upturned face and the top of the hat of a man standing beside him.
âCome up,' I said. âThe door's unlatched.'
Mr Calloway came into the room first. âMiss Lane, may I introduce . . .'
The other man had taken off his hat and was looking at me, his face giving nothing away. I needn't have worried about the impression my laughter had made on him because this wasn't our first encounter after all. Mr Calloway's senior colleague from the Foreign Office had visited my house before to try to bribe or bully me and I strongly suspected he'd had a hand in trying to burn it down. I was looking at Stone Man.
TWENTY-ONE
C
alloway probably expected us to shake hands. He repeated the introduction, which was just as well because, in my surprise, I hadn't caught the name.
alloway probably expected us to shake hands. He repeated the introduction, which was just as well because, in my surprise, I hadn't caught the name.
âMay I introduce Sir Francis Downton.'
âThank you, Calloway. We have met before. You may leave us now,' Stone Man said.
Calloway showed a spark of rebellion in insisting on civil manners. âWill you excuse me then, Miss Lane?'
âNot yet,' I said. âCan you confirm that Sir Francis is known to you and is from the Foreign Office?'
The other man made an impatient noise. Calloway flushed but stood his ground.
âYes. Sir Francis holds a senior position in the foreign secretary's private office.'
So, Lord Palmerston's right-hand man. From the expression on Stone Man's face, he thought Calloway was giving me too much information.
âThank you,' I said to Calloway. âIf you need to go, of course you must. But I'm grateful to you.'
Calloway walked to the door, then turned. âI shall wait for you downstairs, Miss Lane.'
Which was downright heroic and I guessed he was waving away any chance of standing high in Sir Francis' favour.
âSit down, if you like,' I said to Sir Francis. âI'd apologize for the smell of soot, except it's probably your fault.'
âMy fault!' He seemed genuinely astonished. âHow am I to blame for the deficiencies of your chimney sweep?'
âSomebody tried to burn this building down soon after your last visit.'
He sat down heavily in a chair by the cold fireplace. He looked more strained than I'd seen him five days ago, with a nervous twitch of the left eyebrow.
âI assure you, it had nothing to do with me. I tried to warn you that you were playing a dangerous game.'
âYou accused me of spreading scandalous rumours,' I said. âI didn't know what you meant then, but I do now. That's why I asked Mr Calloway to introduce me to somebody senior from the Foreign Office. He knows nothing about any of this. He's simply an acquaintance doing me a favour.'
I took the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. Sir Francis sat, buttoned up in his overcoat, staring at me. Then he sighed as if he'd come to an unhappy decision.
âMiss Lane, I assume you've summoned me because you want to tell me something you believe you've discovered.'
âYes.'
âThen I'll spare you the trouble of telling me the story. You have evidence, or believe you have, that a certain very distinguished visitor to this country is involved in a series of unlawful incidents.'
âThat Prince Ernest of Saxe Coburg and members of his household are responsible for at least three murders of young women and possibly more?' I said.
He'd been expecting that, and didn't blink. âBut that's hardly a great discovery on your part is it, Miss Lane, seeing that several grubby scandal sheets have been hinting at it for a week or more.'
âBut they only have part of the story. Do they know the girl found by the Achilles was a housemaid from Limehouse? Do they know about the ice barges? Do they know that the devil's chariot has been spotted outside the White Lion at Egham, by Windsor Great Park?'
The outside edge of his left eyebrow went into uncontrollable spasm. All this was new to him.
âAnother thing the scandal sheets don't know yet,' I said. âThe woman found dead by the Copper Horse yesterday morning claimed to be an intimate acquaintance of Prince Ernest.'
âWho are you working for?' He'd asked the same question on his first visit, trying to bully and bribe. Now he was simply weary, so I told him.
âHe said his name was Mr Clyde â a false name of course. I'm not working for him any more. He had the contessa killed, probably the others as well.'
I told Sir Francis about Mr Clyde's approach to me, to his story of the contessa's mission, and what followed.
âI honestly believed he was trying to prevent a scandal,' I said. âEither he or the contessa knew about the prince's plans in advance. She knew he'd be making a private visit that night in Kensington when I gave him her letter.'
His look made me hesitate.
âOr are you going to tell me that it wasn't really Prince Ernest I saw?'
âYes, it was the prince.'
Some kind of barrier had been crossed. He didn't trust me, but he wasn't insulting me any more. I was glad about that because I'd decided to tell him most of what I knew or guessed.
âI think this business of delivering a letter to him was so that I could see the prince and identify him as being in London that day,' I said. âThe man who called himself Clyde kept insisting on secrecy, but I was really meant to tell people all about it.'
A nod from Sir Francis.
âI suppose I was credulous,' I said. âI believed that Clyde was trying to prevent a scandal. But it was quite the reverse. He wanted to create one. What he thought he'd found in me was a woman who had contacts in society, whose services might be hired. Perhaps he'd found out enough about me to know I had friends in the press as well.'
Another nod.
âWhoever's employing Clyde, it's somebody who doesn't wish the Saxe Coburgs well,' I said. âThey're determined to prevent that engagement becoming official. They'd do anything, spend anything to stop that.'
âYes.'
He'd committed himself. I pressed for more.
âThe contessa â did she really know Prince Ernest?'
âShe was not a contessa.'
âBut she knew him?'
âYes.'
âIn the way she implied?'
âThey had met.'
âMore than met?'
âYes.'
âSo who was she?'
âAn actress, from a theatre in Dresden. Part German, part Italian. The prince's circle in Dresden did associate with theatre people and such. It's quite possible she had convinced herself that her association with His Highness was of a more lasting nature than was likely in reality.'
âIn other words, she was just another discarded mistress and the man who called himself Mr Clyde was making use of her,' I said. He'd made use of me as well, and I'd admired his fine, sad eyes and pitied him. But I didn't intend to admit that to the man from the Foreign Office.
Sir Francis stirred in his chair. âDo you know where the man who calls himself Clyde is now?'
âNo. If the Foreign Office knew so much, why weren't you having him followed?'
No answer but an annoyed look.
âDoes that mean you were, and you've lost him?'
âI'm not at liberty to discuss operations with you.'
I assumed that meant yes.
âSo there were at least two strands to this plot to discredit the Saxe Coburgs,' I said. âOne was to have Prince Ernest embarrassed by a discarded mistress. Then there was another that was much more serious. At some point, they came together. Perhaps their contessa wasn't proving as useful as they'd hoped. So they disposed of her.'
The false contessa, with her injured ankle, was handicapped in making public scenes. In that case, simply use her for other purposes.
âPeople had to know that Prince Ernest was in London the night before the bodies were discovered by the Monument and the Apollo statue,' I said. âMy seeing him was only a small part of that. They'll have made sure there are plenty of others who notice the coincidence. It's probably only a matter of time before hints start appearing in papers or being whispered around the clubs.'
âThey've started already. This Copper Horse business can't be kept quiet.' He said it in a half tone, sounding weary.
âYou mean not like Janet Priest or Peggy Brown?' I said.
He looked puzzled. âPeggy Brown?'
âThat was the real name of the girl at the Achilles statue,' I said. âAt least, the nearest thing she ever had to a real name. She was the housemaid from Limehouse, though I don't suppose you care one way or the other about that.'
Even though he wasn't to blame for her death, he lived in a world where the likes of Janet Priest and Peggy Brown were of little account.
âYou talked about ice barges,' he said.
âYou didn't know then, you and your men? Peggy Brown from Limehouse and Janet Priest from the City Road died because they lived near the route of the canal barges that bring ice into London. Mr Clyde and his friends had them killed and stored them at the ice house in Cumberland Market till they were needed, as if they were no more than the carcasses of animals.'
âHow did you find that out?' He was sitting forward in his chair, surprised into near humanity.
âBecause Mr Clyde or the men controlling him were too clever. Two clients came to me at much the same time: Mr Clyde with his worries about the contessa and another man looking for his fiancée. At first, they seemed unconnected. They might even have stayed unconnected, except Mr Clyde saw an opportunity to weave two strands of the plot together. Even when the body found by the Achilles statue matched the description of the missing fiancée, I thought at first it might be a coincidence. But it was too much of a coincidence. Somebody wanted the world to know about that body, whatever steps the authorities might take to hide it. The decision to adjourn the inquest on the Achilles body must have been taken at a high level. I'm sure you knew about it.'
At least he didn't waste time in denying it.
âI dare say the government were in quite a panic by then,' I said. âThe public were talking about the devil's chariot and somebody was dropping hints that it involved Prince Ernest's household. The press were hinting at it â the foreign voices, the uniforms. It was only a matter of time before the rumours came out openly, and meanwhile the queen was becoming more and more attached to Prince Ernest's brother.'
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