Let's Talk of Murder (21 page)

Prance gasped. “You don’t mean he was a— a sodomite!”

“He was certainly casting sheep’s eyes at me. You recall I just dropped in at Lady Hertford’s place to deliver a note. I disliked the way he leapt up to follow me when I left.”

“You’re too modest. He was just celebrity chasing.”

“He had the leer of invitation in his eyes, Prance. I’ve seen it before.”

“I had no idea!” When he recovered, he said, “Tell me, is Lord Clare inclined that way?”

“If he is, I’m not to his taste. He never made any advances to me. I have the impression he enjoys– er, other sexual diversions.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure. You know how these rumors spread. A wink here, a lifted eyebrow there.”

Prance was happy to be in the know, for once. He adopted a world-weary face and said, “Ah, you’re referring to that house of ill repute he runs across the river.”

“It’s more than a bawdy house. Voyeurism, I believe, is the lure. He puts on lascivious shows. All sorts of naughty things go on at that theater he’s set up in Lambeth.”

“Theater? But surely it’s a brothel?”

“That too, but more than that. I was never curious enough to investigate. Whatever goes on, I daresay I have seen worse in the east,” he said with a casual shrug. “There’s nothing new under the sun. Sodomy, bestiality, incest – all those sins are as old as the Bible. What’s the matter with the present generation that we can’t come up with any original sins?”

“I’m sure you’re working on it,” Prance said roguishly, and took his leave much earlier than he had planned to. In his haste to rush back to Berkeley Square and reveal his findings to the others, he neglected to retrieve the pages Byron had tossed aside.

As there were two carriages parked in front of Luten’s house, he went to Corinne’s and found Coffen there, with a magnifying glass in one hand and a gold ring in the other.

“You don’t mean you found it!” he cried.

“G’day, Reg. I did, but not the lock of hair. This was dumped not far from the Albany, just as Luten said. It’s a friendship band, I believe, with a jeweler’s mark but no initials. Red herring. It looks like there was no lady in the case at all.”

Prance wagged his head and let off his rocket. “There wouldn’t be, would there, as Fogg preferred boys?”

Coffen screwed up his face and said, “Eh?”

“He preferred boys, even for–”

“I know what you mean,” Coffen said, scowling and jerking his head in Corinne’s direction to indicate her ears were too tender for such revelations.

“So do I,” Corinne said. “I don’t live in a vacuum, Coffen. Well, this changes matters.”

“Aye, it seems we’ve had hold of the wrong end of the stick,” Coffen said. “Maybe that’s why he was killed. I mean to say, it’s a crime, ain’t it? I know it’s a sin at least, buried in one of those ‘shalt nots’ from the Bible.”

“It’s a hanging crime,” Prance informed him. “Rather like hanging a man for preferring fish to fowl, but there. We’re not writing the laws, merely conjecturing whether, and how, they might impinge on this case. If Fogg had done the killing to conceal his preference, it would make more sense. But is it enough to make him a victim? Society has many men with a similar taste— I could name a dozen. Thus far no one has killed them for that reason.”

“Crime
passionel
?” Coffen suggested. “Maybe his lover killed him.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “Could him and Clare have been doing the feather bed jig?”

“Byron thinks not.”

“So that’s where you heard all this. Are you sure it was Fogg he was talking about and not that Harold child he writes about?”

“Quite sure.”

“If it was a lover, you’d think he’d have kept the love tokens,” Coffen said. “Dash it, we’re back where we started, with Clare and Fanny and the Morgate Home. Corinne was telling me some people seem to think there’s some queer twists in Clare, but they won’t say what. Fellow ought to be on the stage. He conned you and Corinne properly. Corinne’s been bellowing his praises at the top of her lungs. Buttons wouldn’t melt in his mouth, to hear her.”

“Oh, that,” Prance said, with a bat of his hand, as if he had known it forever. “Byron thinks there are some strange goings on at the Lambeth house. Stranger than just providing willing members of the muslin company for lonesome men, I mean.”

“Like what?” Coffen demanded.

“Voyeurism.”

“Dash it, talk English, Reg.”

“That is English.”

“Not to me.”

“Well then, to put it in provincialese, it means he puts on naughty shows.”

Coffen nodded. “That’d explain the white wigs.”

Corinne listened, then said, “I don’t see why that should have gotten Fogg killed. Do you think he threatened to report it to Bow Street?”

“If he did that, Clare could threaten to report him for being– what he was,” Coffen said. “Pointe non plus.”

“Back to basics, then,” said Prance. “Cui bono?”

“There doesn’t seem to be a single kooey bono in Fogg’s death,” was Coffen’s comment.

Prance winced. “Ungrammatical, but true.”

“Thing to do, talk it over with Luten. He’s long-headed.” Coffen turned to Corinne. “I don’t expect you’ll care to come along, seeing as how you’re back to sparring with Luten?”

“No, I shan’t go.” She turner to Prance. “Do you have a message for me, Reg?”

“Indeed I do. The answer is
oui
.”

“That ain’t a message. We what?” Coffen demanded.

“Oui, avec plaisir.”

Prance handed her the note.

“Tahrsome fellow. It better not have anything to do with that demmed poet or Luten will have your head on a spike. And yours, too,” he added to Corinne. “Serve the pair of you right.”

“Oh, hadn’t you heard? Luten and Corinne are no longer a couple,” Prance said. “She’s free to see whomever she likes.”

Coffen glared at him like an owl with a toothache. “Yes, since you stuck your oar in, making Luten jealous.”

“A little jealousy is good for the soul,” Prance informed him, with great condescension.

“I disagree. You’re jealous as a green cow of Byron, and it hasn’t made your soul any better.”

“I was speaking of amorous jealousy. Jealousy will be the card that brings Luten back to his true love.”

“It’ll take more than a card to bring him back. A team of wild horses is what she’ll need by the time you’re through with her. You can’t maneuver Luten with your tawdry stunts, so don’t think you can.”

“I shall leave the maneuvering to Byron, one of the greatest if not the greatest man of our age.”

“What’s so great about making yourself a byword for lechery? Just because he’s a cripple with a club foot don’t change matters.”

“I shall ignore that ridiculous tautology and say in words even you can understand, I was referring to his well known way with the ladies. A man would have to be an anchorite not to be jealous of him.”

Coffen, not recognizing the word anchorite, said, “If Byron’s a great man, I’m Apollo,” and sauntered out the door.

Prance said in a loud voice to his retreating back, “Did he say Apollo or appalling?” As Coffen didn’t respond, he turned to Corinne. “What does his note say?”

As soon as Coffen saw Luten’s callers leave, he walked across the street to reveal the day’s findings. Luten listened with interest. It didn’t take him a second to notice something the rest of them had missed.

“You’re assuming Clare knew of Fogg’s preference for men. It wasn’t generally known. If Clare was unaware of it, then he didn’t have Fogg at pointe non plus, did he?”

Coffen’s brow crumpled in thought. “That’s right. And it would explain why he took the lock of hair and the ring, to make it look as if a lady had done it. That’s the sentimental sort of tomfoolery a lady might get up to– kill a fellow, then want a keepsake.”

“I believe you overestimate the ladies’ sentimentality, but never mind.” Coffen read into this a reference to Corinne. “Let us see how this could have come about. If Fanny told Fogg what went on at the house in Lambeth, and Fogg charged Clare with it, Clare might very well have fallen into a panic and shot him.”

“There you are, then. A dandy motive. A motive with bells on it. Mind you, it was foolish of him to try it the first time when Prinney was so nearby.”

“It was dark. He probably didn’t recognize Prinney. I expect Fogg often visited Lady Hertford. She was some connection to him, the reason he was in London, in fact. Clare waited outside and shot as soon as he saw Fogg step out the door. After he missed the first shot, he followed him home and finished the job.”

Coffen sensed that his friend’s mind was half on other matters. Corinne, very likely. What he didn’t want was to dredge her name up if he was thinking about politics. To test the water, he said, “Anything new going on at the House?”

Luten replied, “We’ve got the Cabinet pretty well sorted out. Grey wants me to ask Corinne’s friend, Byron, to act as a Minister without portfolio.”

“That seems a shabby, second best sort of offer. Why won’t they let him have a portfolio?” Coffen asked, in some confusion. A portfolio couldn’t cost much.

“It’s his lack of experience, along with a lack of interest– on Byron’s part, I mean. We like his political views and he’s an excellent speaker. You could hear a pin drop when he made his maiden speech on the Luddite riots. Unfortunately, he hasn’t taken much interest since then. He’d be a valuable addition to the party if he’d apply himself and keep out of scrapes with the ladies.”

“They’ve sent Lady Caroline off to the country, haven’t they?”

“She’s not the only lady he’s involved with,” he said grimly.

So it was the fight with Corrie that was really bothering him.

He said, “Well, if Prance is pulling one of his stunts, I’ll keep an eye on Corinne for you.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Lady deCoventry in particular,” Luten said, growing stiffer by the minute. “Byron has a sad tendency to run into comic opera intrigues with various ladies.” But the way Luten was bending a letter in his tense fingers told Coffen he was shamming it. Luten cleared his throat and said, “Have you any reason to think she’s seeing Byron?”

“Only that Prance went to visit him today— that’s where he found out about Fogg being a solomite, and Clare running some sort of horror show at the Lambeth house. As I was about to leave, she asked Prance if he had a message for her, which he did. Other than that, no reason in the world.”

“Oh, is that all?” Luten asked with heavy irony.

“Like I said, that’s all, so you’ve no cause to worry.”

“When I see a weasel skulking about the hen house, I find cause to worry.”

Coffen nodded. “Yes, or a fox either. Foxes are bad that way.” Then he looked at Luten, and realized Luten was tacitly asking him for help. Too proud to put it into words, of course, but he was jealous as a green cow and sick with worry. And Coffen had an inkling he was right to be worried. He had to tread the fine line of reassuring Luten without offending his pride. “I’ll keep an eye on the hen house,” he muttered. “I’m a pretty fair shot.”

Luten looked at him in alarm. “Good God, I don’t want you to kill him!”

“No, no. Just keep an eye on him– her. Them. Heh heh, that’ll teach me to be smart, trying to talk in riddles like Reg. What I mean is, I’ll let you know what happens.”

Luten swallowed his pride and said in a stiff, unnatural voice, “I would like to know before something happens, if possible.”

“Ah! Right. An ounce of prevention in time saves nine. She didn’t ask me to dinner tonight. Thought she might as you two are on the outs and she won’t be eating with you. I’m beginning to feel a bit encroaching, inviting myself to her place so often. Thing to do, I’ll follow her if she leaves. I’ll have Fitz bring my rig and keep it close by, but not right in front of the house. Around the corner.”

Having got over the hurdle of humbly asking for help, Luten decided he might as well make the help effectual. “I’ll have my unmarked carriage waiting in front of my house. There have been so many carriages there lately no one will notice in the dark that it’s mine. When she leaves, you hop into it and follow her.”

“With your coachman?”

“Yes, we want to make sure you don’t lose her.”

Coffen nodded, unoffended. “A good idea.”

* * * *

For the first time since Luten’s accident, the four members of the Berkeley Brigade dined alone at their four separate tables. Corinne did not even have Mrs. Ballard for company. She had recovered from having her tooth drawn and was invited to dine with her whist club. Prance declined to dine with Corinne as he was already half regretting his part in the Byron scheme and wished to distance himself from it. He invited Coffen to dinner but Coffen intended to eat his mutton standing at the drawing room window so as not to miss a thing next door, and declined. They were all on nettles and unhappy, deprived of each other’s company.

Corinne was beginning to have grave doubts as to the wisdom of going out with Lord Byron. Luten would forgive her seeing anyone else, but would he forgive her seeing Byron? Would he not retaliate by taking up with some beautiful young lightskirt, or worse, some eligible lady? Most ladies married at seventeen or eighteen. She was pushing twenty-five, and a widow besides, which reduced her attraction and her chances of marriage. Her fortune was no more than a competence. And she did love Luten so!

Across the road, Luten was wrestling with his own demons. How did a mere mortal compete with a living legend like Byron? And what did all his fame amount to? A book of lurid poems hinting at past scandals that ought to have given society a disgust of him, and would have done had he been old and ugly instead of a handsome young lord. Since Byron had made that speech in the House, Luten hadn’t even the consolation of thinking him a foolish poseur. The man did have genuine feelings for the dispossessed. But he also had a wretched reputation for philandering.

To lure his mind from his dark broodings, Luten tried to discover a way to prove that Clare had killed Fogg. Fanny Rowan seemed the likeliest one to know. And she had vanished from the Morgate Home, very likely for that reason. He sincerely hoped she had had the sense to get out of town, because if Clare had kidnapped her, it was four pence to a groat she was dead.