Chapter 37
Some Convenient Arrangement
“… and from that moment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in his visits there. But there was another, and an earlier, which I will now explain.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Before they left the Kinsdales’ house, Duggin found Adam and presented him with a burlap sack. “Your ashes, sir,” he said. His tone was dubious. Clearly, even for one who had seen all manner of behaviors on the part of the “quality,” this one was beyond the pale.
Adam offered no explanation. He just thanked the young man and slung the sack casually over his shoulder.
Outside, the night remained mild. Light shone gently from the windows around them. The only sounds were distant—a carriage’s rattle, a random shout. They walked down the steps to the cobbles.
“I thought it best we conduct our search where we couldn’t be interrupted,” he said in answer to the question she hadn’t asked.
“I thought it might be something of the kind.” Rosalind meant to sound amused, but was aware she only sounded distant.
“Tired?” Adam asked her.
“A little,” Rosalind confessed. “And yet I find I am not ready to sleep.”
“Neither am I. Shall we walk a ways?”
“Gladly.” But even as she said this, Rosalind looked back over her shoulder. The draperies on Kinsdale House were tightly closed, as if the house was determined to shut itself away from the rest of world.
Or shield itself?
She turned again, and saw Adam offering her his free arm. She took it gratefully and let him lead her around the curve of the Circus and out to the high street.
Whenever Rosalind found herself in the middle of some complex matter, she walked.
The exercise allowed her to breathe and settle her mind.
Adam had maintained a similar habit during all his time as an officer in London.
Now, they walked together frequently, enjoying the quiet companionship as much as the time to think.
Church bells sounded the hour of ten. Bath remained busy.
Its streets filled with carriages and its walks full of young men, and not a few young women, in search of their next amusement.
With Adam on her arm, the general run of roustabouts and ruffians would not trouble Rosalind, so she could let her attention drift back to all that had happened in the past two days.
Has it only been two days? That idea alone was enough to start her tired head aching.
Rosalind set this aside. It would do no good. “Do you really believe someone entered the house through the scullery last night?” she asked.
“I really believe I don’t know,” replied Adam, and she heard the combination of weariness and frustration under his words. “Schemes, especially the big ones, can turn ugly in a hurry, and I’m afraid honor among thieves is something that mostly exists in the minds of novelists.”
“I’ll warn Alice.”
A tiny smile flickered across Adam’s face. “The question is, why would someone take the risk? And why choose Sir Anthony for their victim?”
“If someone did not know the whole story, it would be easy to assume it was Sir Anthony who was in charge of the scheme,” suggested Rosalind. “And he was the host at the party.”
“Or, if someone wanted to utterly ruin Mrs. Lynn and her whole cohort, this would be the way to do it.”
Rosalind was silent for a long moment. Could someone be driven to the point where they were willing to take one life to destroy another? If she was being completely objective, she knew it was possible.
“If that is the case,” she said slowly, “it does not need to have been someone from outside the house.”
“No,” agreed Adam. “It does not.”
The Green Briar was brightly lit when they arrived. Patrons filled the courtyard and the common rooms. Laughter and snatches of song rose up through the fog of tobacco smoke.
Despite the crowd, Rosalind and Adam easily picked out two familiar faces.
“Goutier! Tauton!” Adam hailed the Bow Street men.
“There you are!” cried Mr. Goutier as he and Tauton shouldered their way through the crowd to come stand in front of them.
“We were just about to send out a search party! Miss Thorne, delighted to see you again.” Both men bowed and Rosalind returned a solemn curtsy. Then, Mr. Goutier turned to Adam.
“Where on earth have you been?”
“With the Kinsdales, and Lord Casselmaine,” Adam told them. “Come up and we’ll give you the full story.”
“Gladly,” said Mr. Tauton. “I’ve breathed enough smoke today to last me a month or more.”
The window of the private parlor had been closed against the night air, and Rosalind was inclined to leave it, so as to dampen at least some of the noise from the common room and the yard.
She’d spoken with one of the serving men, so shortly after Adam and their guests had hung up their hats and she’d removed her bonnet and gloves, a waiter arrived with a pitcher of beer and tankards, as well as bread and cheese and an apple tart and a pot of tea.
“Please do help yourself, Mr. Goutier, Mr. Tauton,” Rosalind said, falling at once into the role of hostess.
When they’d all filled their plates, acquired their drinks, and ranged themselves about the room, Mr. Tauton pointed his fork at Adam.
“Now then, Harkness, what did you find?” he demanded around a mouthful of apple tart and cheese.
“We found that the lock on the scullery door at the Kinsdales’ house has been broken for some time,” said Adam. “Meaning anybody who wanted to get into or out of that house at any point would have a way to do it.”
“We also found that Sir Anthony died without a will,” said Rosalind. “And no known male heirs.”
Mr. Goutier raised his eyes to heaven, praying for patience. Mr. Tauton took a long swallow of beer.
“Any sign of what Sir Anthony was up to before that?” Mr. Tauton asked.
“I doubt he was up to anything more than keeping up appearances,” said Adam. “But there was certainly plenty more than that going on around him.”
“I take it you’re referring to the famous Mrs. Lynn,” said Mr. Goutier.
Adam nodded. “It’s looking like she was organizing a racing scheme that I can only describe as sprawling, and she’s probably getting help from at least one of the Kinsdale daughters.”
That was enough to make both men forget their food, and their drink.
The officers leaned forward. Adam carefully outlined the “lookalike scheme,” to them.
He talked about how the card parties were used to pay the bills and find the marks, and how Miss Smith and her entrée into London’s gaming clubs shunted yet more money into the scheme.
When Adam finished, Mr. Tauton slouched backward.
“Well, I’ll be … jiggered,” he said, apparently remembering Rosalind’s presence at the last minute.
“I thought I’d heard it all, but this one …
” He shook his head. “I don’t mind telling you, Harkness, this may be the biggest fraud I’ve ever come across. ”
“It does fit with what Foote was telling us at the stables,” said Mr. Goutier. “That no one was to be allowed near the horse without special permission. He, or she, would be trying to make the pigeons feel like they were being let in on a secret.”
“It’s almost a pity how it’s all turned out.” Mr. Tauton poured himself some more beer, and topped off Mr. Goutier’s tankard for good measure.
“Did you find something?” Adam asked.
“Well now.” Mr. Tauton took a swallow of beer.
“I don’t know if your man has had time to tell you, Miss Thorne, but this morning we decided I should take myself round to the coffeehouses, see if I could maybe follow those obliging chaps from your card party who were helping those who had run short to some extra cash. ”
“Were you successful?” she asked.
“Eventually. Knowing something of Bath and its habits, I decided our best chances to hear that sort of news would be either the Silk Road or the Venetian. The Silk Road proved a disappointment, on our business anyway. But I did hear about some goods going up for sale that might have escaped the notice of the customhouse.” Mr. Tauton chuckled softly.
“So, maybe not a complete waste of time, at that.
“However, when I got to the Venetian, it turned out my luck was in.” Mr. Tauton folded his hands across his stomach, clearly relishing his narrative.
“I come into the common room just in time to find two rather down at the heels gentlemen arguing with a big, bald fellow whom I take to be the landlord, on account of his apron, you see.” He tapped the side of his nose, and smiled at his little joke.
“Well, I listen for a bit, and what I hear is that the two gents want to get into a room. The problem is, the room’s not theirs. ”
Rosalind felt her brows arch. Mr. Tauton nodded solemnly.
“Now, that is not the landlord’s problem. His problem is that the person the rooms belong to has scarpered, without payment, and he wants his money. If they won’t pay what’s owed, he says, he won’t let them, or anyone else, near the room.
“The gents hold fast. They tell him that the money they’d need to pay that rent is inside the room.” Tauton spread his hands. “This is what we in the trade call ‘an impasse.’”
“Who did the rooms belong to?” asked Adam.
“Some bloke named Wallace.”
“Wallace?” exclaimed Rosalind. “When I spoke to Mrs. Lynn, she told me her maiden name was Wallace.”
“Did she now?” Mr. Tauton whistled.
“I wonder. …” Rosalind turned to Adam. “At the beginning of all this, Miss Smith said sometimes her mother’s man of business came to her school—”
“And that he might also have been her uncle.” Adam considered. “But the part about her being in school was a lie.”
“It is now, but that might not always have been the case,” put in Rosalind. “She was trained in parlor manners somewhere. And it would make sense that her mother would send a trusted family member to keep an eye on her.”
“And it most definitely would not be the first time a whole family made theft and fraud their business,” said Mr. Goutier.
Rosalind found she did not like the way her mind turned at once to Clara and her sisters.