Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

P atience was hard-pressed not to giggle when they were shown into the drawing room. It was exactly as Aunt Rosemary had described, with Lady Fagge prostrate upon the chaise longue, with one daughter wafting smelling salts beneath her nose, and another plying a fan in her face. Her own hand was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

But the woman's son was dead, and even though Patience had not liked the man, she was sorry for what had happened to him. Sir Horace stood at their entrance, but did not speak. He looked as though he'd aged decades since she'd seen him a few days before.

"How kind of you to call, my lord. Forgive me for not rising, but I barely made it downstairs today," Lady Fagge said, then proceeded into a frenzy of heavy breathing and dabbing her eyes.

"I quite understand. Lady Westwood sends her condolences."

"That's very kind of her to think of us at a time like this. I trust she delivered?"

Westwood was obviously smitten by the look on his face, but he tried to mask it. "She did, and they are both well, my lady. Is there anything we may do for you?"

"No one can bring my son back, my lord." She began to wail, and the discomfort level in the room was unbearable. Sir Horace stood and waved for them to follow. Patience could have hugged the man because she had not really come to see Lady Fagge anyway.

"Lady Fagge is not herself," he said by way of explanation once they had reached safety.

"Of course, and we are sorry to cause her distress. May I have a word with you?"

Sir Horace looked acutely uncomfortable at the prospect, but he could hardly refuse. Whether Westwood was asking as a friend or the magistrate.

He nodded, and led them into a small study.

Patience went along because where else was she to go?

"I am sorry to also distress you as well, but there are some questions I must ask before the inquest so I can rule properly. I know you wish to have the funeral soon, so this must be resolved."

Sir Horace gave a reluctant nod.

"It seems your son was shot in the back. After speaking with the others involved, and where Rupert was positioned, they do not believe he was shot by accident."

Patience was watching the man's reactions closely. If it was possible for someone to look as pale as a ghost, then he did in that moment.

"How could they know that?" he muttered.

"He never turned around, and he was next to my brother," Westwood said gently.

Sir Horace just sat there and looked down.

"We have reason to believe Rupert might have been involved in some sort of scheme that got him killed. He confessed to Patience here at your dinner the other evening that he had recently come into a windfall. He even intimated to my brother that he would let him in on it in exchange for helping him advance his courtship with her."

Patience could see the man was about to break. His chin was quivering and his head began to shake back and forth as if denying it would make it go away.

"You think it was somehow related to the gang of thieves?" he asked.

"Possibly. Were you aware of what he was in on?"

"No, my lord, but he had been acting strange the last few months. All secretive and sure of himself and dressing like some popinjay with affectations to make your stomach sour. I knew he couldn't afford that lifestyle on the allowance I gave him."

"Did he confide anything at all to you that made you suspicious he was into something?"

"At first, it was just his puffed-up consequence. Then he was sneaking off at night. He'd never done that when he was home before. As man of the house, I don't sleep well and I hear what is going on."

"Did you ever follow to see where he went?"

The look on the man's face gave him away. "A time or two he went down to the local tavern. I suppose that's natural for any man, but he'd have to sneak away as his mother would never let him hear the end of it if he was carrying on with one of the barmaids." He hesitated. "Another couple of times he sneaked over to your land. I did not follow him any further than that. I'm sorry, my lord."

Patience could attest to that, but she had never been out at night alone and ran into him then.

"I never thought he could be involved."

"Do you know who he was associating with?"

Sir Horace shook his head. "All I know of was his two school chums, Layton and Beckett. Bad business the two of them, if you ask me. They used him as their punching bag and as a puppet to do their dirty work at school. Rupert was thrilled to be included and didn't see that they laughed at him. Beckett and Layton have the dash to pull it off. Rupert did not."

"When did you suspect that he was into something underhanded?"

"Not until that morning. He insisted on accompanying the prisoner's caravan. I could not talk him out of it. He was in a panic to do so, and let slip that if he didn't, something very bad would happen. I never thought he might be involved in smuggling."

Stuart had mentioned that he had told Sir Horace a brief account of the situation, but not all of the details. He knew that some goods had been stolen.

"Sir Horace, can you think of anywhere on your property that might be used to store the missing goods?"

"Aye, there are any number of places, but there is nothing there now. I looked. I think if they were there, then they are long gone."

"Did you shoot Rupert?" Patience asked.

Sir Horace looked pensive. "I couldn't let him shame the family. You must see that."

Westwood looked at her with disbelief.

"I didn't mean to kill him."

He lost his composure, and Westwood handed the man his handkerchief and they waited while he gathered himself.

"If you insist on making it public, at least give me a few moments alone first."

Westwood sighed loudly. "I do not know that it is necessary to make it public. Do not do anything rash while I think this over. We still need to discover who was directing Rupert in this scheme."

"Thank you, my lord. I don't know what's worse, though. I'll have to live every day knowing I killed my son. Can you at least spare Lady Fagge from knowing?"

"Unless it becomes necessary to the overall investigation. I believe knowing that your son is gone by your hand is enough punishment. Unfortunately, I will need to have a quick look through his things. If you show me where they are, we will be as discreet as possible."

Sir Horace did not argue, probably too relieved to be spared his life. He directed them up a staircase to the end of the hallway.

"We will show ourselves out when we are done," Westwood said and gave the man a sympathetic squeeze on the arm before Sir Horace hung his head and left them there.

Once they were back in the curricle on their way home, Westwood drove in silence until they reached the main road. They had found nothing of consequence in Rupert's room.

"How did you know, Patience? You seem to have a keen mind for this. I'd appreciate your thoughts."

"I think it is unfortunate that Rupert is dead. He would have been the key to unlocking this. He was not good at subterfuge and liked to boast. I think if Sir Horace had not killed him, then someone would have. He had become a liability."

"Why do you think he was desperate to accompany the prisoner that day?"

"That is an oddity. One would think he'd be relieved that Devil was gone. Perhaps he wanted to make certain. Or the attack by the gang was ordered, but went very wrong."

"I hope Major Stuart and Major Manners are having more luck than us since our biggest lead is dead."

"There has to be a connection with Layton and Beckett. I'm certain of it, but will we be able to catch them?"

"Let us hope they take the bait. Is Layton's father aware of the trap?"

"To my knowledge, only Lord Upton is aware. Let us hope the bait winds up in the right hands."

A cart pulled over to let them pass, and Westwood waved his thanks.

"I confess. I never expected something of this magnitude when I first brought Ashley into it. Who could have guessed there would be an arms smuggling ring somehow connected to our small village?"

Indeed. They were approaching the gates of Taywards and Patience thought she saw something in the hedge again. Perhaps it was her imagination since her horse had spooked earlier, but she placed a hand on Westwood's arm to alert him and angled her head.

He nodded acknowledgment and drew back on the reins to bring the horses to a walk. "What did you see?" he asked quietly.

"Someone is in the hedge."

"Do you think it's the same person?"

"It would be a great coincidence to have two people lurking in the hedge on your land in one day."

Westwood pulled the conveyance to a stop. "Who's there?"

They were met with silence, but Patience thought she detected a dark outline crouch down behind the foliage.

"Show yourself. We mean you no harm."

"Do you need help?" Patience called out.

There was a bit of rustling before a face emerged through the leaves.

He looked to be around fourteen years of age. Not a boy, not yet a man. This could have been who spooked Midnight.

"Do you need help?" she asked again.

"I'm looking for the soldier man. The one with the light 'air." The boy's voice shook with fear.

"He is my brother," Westwood said cautiously. "He is currently in London. Can I help you?"

The boy looked as though he were about to bolt. He was rightfully nervous, his eyes darting back and forth.

"What is your name?"

He hesitated a moment as if it were a trick question.

"Billy."

"Are you Devil's son?" Westwood asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you sneak away from the gang?"

He nodded as though he were terrified he'd be found and killed at any moment. "I 'eard 'em say my pa would be transported, and I was going to beg to go with 'im."

Westwood pretended to think about it for a moment before answering. "I believe that could be arranged, Billy. But I need your help."

"Anyfing. Anyfing at all." His face was so full of eager desperation, Patience could but wonder what he'd been through in his young life.

"Hop on the back and we will talk in a safe place."

Billy eagerly jumped up to the tiger's position and Westwood drove through the gates to the stables. If Patience had imagined how this adventure would go, that was one scenario she would not have imagined. Now there was one mystery solved. But unfortunately, only more questions remained.

"You were certain there was no recognition from Layton or Beckett?" Lord Upton asked once they had returned to report.

"Not at all. I would swear the only one who knew us was Singleton. How that family produced Chum, I will never know." Manners shook his head.

"What is your next step?"

Ashley explained the plans. "We will search Fagge's rooms today, then we will return to Taywards and review the information we have. Westwood was to question Sir Horace and search Rupert's rooms there."

"I feel like the gang leader must know something more he is not telling us."

"Likely. Baines, Fielding, and I have tried everything. I keep thinking perhaps we have not asked the right question, but nothing else has come to mind. He wore an expensive scent that overlaid the smell of tobacco. He never saw the man except for his hands. He wore a signet ring, but that hardly signifies as he could not identify it."

Upton scoffed and held up his own hand which bore the crest of his own marquessate.

"Indeed, even Singleton wore one last night. If it were not for Chum, I would love to pin this on him."

"We still need to know what they did with the cargo, and how the gang was approached. I would centre my efforts on that. Devil is the key to pinning our man down. The details of the shipment were posted and will be discussed at our committee meeting this morning. The bait is out there, so you'd best watch the game closely for contact."

"I'll return to my post as soon as we are finished this morning," Manners said.

"If you'd like me to return to Taywards now to pass something on, I can," Carew offered.

"That would be a great help. I will write quick notes if you could see them in the hands of Westwood and the colonel."

That done, Ashley and Manners saw Carew off, then headed to Rupert's chambers at a respectable rooming house for gentlemen. It was not the calibre of The Albany, but still situated near Pall Mall.

It did not take much convincing for the landlord to open Rupert's door for them.

"We are here on behalf of Mr. Fagge's family. He has met with an unfortunate accident, and we have been asked to collect his belongings." In addition, a little charm and a little mention of the service he would be doing for His Majesty, and they were inside.

Manners let out a low whistle at the scene of destruction before them. "Someone beat us here."

Ashley doubted there would be anything left to find, but a search had to be conducted nonetheless. Thankfully, Carew had taken the messages on or they would be unaccountably rushed. By the time they had sorted and packed Rupert's belongings into a trunk, two hours had passed.

"I've looked through every pocket," Manners said. "We would be doing the world a favour were we to burn this." He indicated the trunk of brightly coloured clothing.

"I've been through all of his bills. There is nothing beyond the outrageous cost of those ridiculous garments."

"I detected no loose boards in the floor for hiding things. Whoever was searching would have looked there. If I were Rupert, where would I hide something?" Manners asked.

"Was he smart enough to retain any evidence? Carew swears he was a keen card player. He must not have been as big a fool as he behaved."

"What of keys? Perhaps a deposit box at the bank?" Manners continued to question before they left London.

They sat on the sofa contemplating. The room was now bare.

"It is hard to think there is nothing at all here to help, though it all could be in the country. Was there not a case we had where a lady hid something in her shoe?"

"I do not recall such a one, but I did look in his shoes, ghastly things. I never could abide a man in pumps. With his physique, it's a wonder he could walk in them."

Ashley was already rummaging through the recently packed trunk.

There were four pairs of shoes, heeled pumps with brightly jewelled buckles. Ashley turned them over and worked at the sole of the heel. He tossed a pair to Manners, who did the same.

One slipped off more easily than the others and a small key slipped out. "Voilà."

"Excellent, now to what does it belong?"

"I do not think we will discover that quickly. Let us return to Greenwich and perhaps Westwood can discover from Sir Horace where Rupert banked."

They left instructions with the landlord for where to have Rupert's belongings delivered, then rode hard and fast back to the village. They found Chum twiddling his thumbs at the tavern near the East India docks. His face brightened when he saw them. "I'm waiting for our fellows to gather here after work. You should try the pies. They are the best I've ever tasted."

"I do not need convincing. I am a famished." Ashley held up his hand and ordered pies and ale for himself and Manners did the same.

"Anything new?" Ashley asked, letting Chum talk while he chewed.

"One of the men was winged pretty good when Fielding shot the gun out of his hand. Unfortunately, that had to happen or one of our own men would be dead."

"Was he the only one?"

"The only one I noticed. His arm is in a sling. He's lucky he did not lose it. Yet, at least. The boy ran away, apparently. He hasn't been seen since the hold up."

"Do you think he ran away?"

"I couldn't say for certain," Chum answered thoughtfully. "Where would he go?"

"Maybe he chased after his father?"

"It's possible. We will keep a lookout," Manners said. "I think we should follow them from the docks today. The shipment information has been disseminated and if anyone is going to try to contact them, it will be soon."

"Excellent. I am ready to catch this weasel. Did you find anything in London?" Chum asked.

"Very little. I cannot think Layton and Beckett at the helm on this. Neither did they seem to recognize us, nor did they seem to have anything on their consciences."

"Some people are consummate actors."

"The only thing on their mind was the cards. It gives me the creeps to watch a man possessed over the turn of a card or toss of the dice."

"By the by, we ran into Singleton. We sought out Layton and Beckett at Inferno, and Carew played cards against him. He made up the fourth at their table."

Chum seemed unsurprised by this knowledge. "Did he cheat his way to winning?"

"Carew bested him. If there was cheating, it was smoother than I could detect." Not that Ashley had been looking too closely.

"I wonder what he had to lose since he already lost his unintended estate." Chum's tone was laced with well-placed bitterness.

"We found a key hidden in one of Rupert's shoes. We have no idea what it belongs to other than possibly a bank box. Something to have Westwood ask about."

Ashley drained the rest of his ale and stood. "I will be off to Taywards then. If anything changes, we will send word."

Ashley found Caesar and made his way back to Taywards, trying to consider everything they had learned. It felt like they were vultures circling in the air waiting for their prey to show themselves. Unfortunately, time was running out, and if this trap did not work, he was afraid they might lose this one for good.