Little Coquette (12 page)

“Put down your mask, Nancy, and let me see your lovely face.” He didn’t wait for her to do it, but reached out and took the mask from her.

He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes darting over her hair, her eyes, nose, and mouth. “You don’t look much like your sister,” he said.

“Who says I have a sister, and what is it to you?” she asked pertly.

“This mask says it,” he replied, running long, artistic fingers over the gleaming feathers. “I bought it for Prissie some years ago.”

“Then you’d be Dooley. I’ve heard my sister mention the name,” she said, but gave no idea what she may have heard of him, other than that he had given Prissie the mask.

“Priss and I were bosom bows,” he said. He kept watching her intently as they talked. “Where is she, Nancy? I thought she’d be here.”

Lydia allowed a frown to seize her brow. “I don’t know. I wrote and told her I was coining. She didn’t answer, so I came ahead. But when I got here, there wasn’t a sign of her. Sally thinks she’s off visiting her lad.”

“You’re staying at her place?”

“Just till I get rooms of my own.”

“Any special reason why you came at this time?”

“My ma figured it was time I started earning my living,” she said vaguely.

“How do you plan to do that? Following the family profession, are you?”

“What do you think?” she asked with a shrug.

“I think that with that face, you should do well.” He lifted his glass to her. “Here’s to your success. I might put you in the way of a well-inlaid gent.”

She gave a dismissive laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll need your help, thankee all the same.”

They drank a moment; then Dooley said, “Has Prissie sent anything home to her ma lately? Just before you left, it would be.”

Lydia came to attention. This suggested it was Dooley who had searched Prissie’s flat—and her room at the inn in Kesterly. It seemed he had not found what he was looking for, since he asked this question. “She sent some muslin,” she replied with a smile that suggested she knew more than she did.

“Nothing else? A smallish package it would be, heavy.”

They exchanged a long, measuring look. Lydia had an instinctive feeling Dooley would lose interest in her if he felt she didn’t know what he was talking about. A smallish, heavy something. What could it be?

“No, she didn’t,” she said. “Would she have taken the package with her when she went to see Richie?”

“Nay, I’ve already been to the Nevils’. I smashed that ken and a few other spots. They weren’t there.”

“I noticed you’d searched her flat as well,” she said, smiling knowingly.
They
weren’t there. At least she could stop calling the items “the package.”

“No grass growing under your feet.”

“Would she have given them to her fellow, Sir John?”

“I doubt she’d do that. He didn’t know what she was at, did he?” Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever “they” were, her papa was not mixed up in it. “Him a big shot in the government. He’s the last one she’d give them to.”

“That’s true,” she said. This suggested the “them” was something illegal. “Did you talk to Sally at all?”

“I know for a fact Prissie never told Sally about it. She didn’t tell any of her friends. Just me and Prissie—and you—are the only ones as know.”

“And we won’t tell,” Lydia said playfully.

Dooley didn’t smile. “Not if we know what’s good for us. Let’s get away from here and go somewhere we can talk business, Nancy,” he suggested. As the evening went on, the place became rowdier and noisier.

Lydia was delighted with the progress she was making with Dooley, yet she didn’t want to leave the safety of the crowded Pantheon with him to go to some isolated spot.

“I was with a gent,” she prevaricated. “He was going to take me out for a spin in his rig.”

“Tell him you’ve made other plans. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lydia considered his offer. She felt she really must go with Dooley, but not entirely alone. She’d tell Beaumont, and he could follow them.

“All right. Just give me back my mask,” she said.

Dooley handed her the mask. She lifted it to hide her face and went to look for Beaumont. He was loitering outside Dooley’s box.

“Did you hear what he was saying?” she asked.

“I did, and you’re not going anywhere alone with that hedgebird.”

“But he’s practically told me everything! I have only to learn what’s in the package and we shall discover who killed Prissie, and prove Papa had nothing to do with it. I am convinced Dooley is behind it all.”

“Of course he is. He’s killed Prissie, and he’ll kill you as well when he learns you can’t help him.”

She hesitated as this ominous possibility struck home, then firmed her resolve. “That’s why you must follow us. I’ll invite him back to Prissie’s place. He only wants a quiet place to talk. I’ll leave the door unlocked when we go in. If you hear me scream, come in and rescue me.”

Beaumont felt a lurch of fear for her. “We know Dooley’s our man. You don’t have to go with him. I’ll follow him, keep an eye on him.”

“He wouldn’t be as forthcoming with you as he is with Prissie’s sister. I must go, Beau. You can see that.”

He could see it, but he didn’t like it. He was coming to know Lydia well enough to realize she would go, with or without him. “Very well, but for God’s sake, be careful, Lydia. Dooley’s a dangerous man.”

“I am perfectly aware of it. I only wish I had a pistol.”

“I have one in my carriage. I’ll bring it along.”

“Thank you, Beau. What an excellent friend you are.” In her excitement and gratitude, she reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek before running back to Dooley. Beaumont stood scowling, wondering how he had gotten himself into this ridiculous position. If anything happened to her, he would be responsible. How could he explain it to Sir John and her mama if anything happened to her? How could he live with himself? He shouldn’t let her go, and he couldn’t stop her.

He hurried belowstairs and called for his carriage. Before it arrived, Dooley and Lydia came down and went out the front door. Dooley didn’t have a carriage. Beaumont overhead him say, “We’ll stroll along until we meet a hansom.”

They turned toward Maddox Street. He kept them in sight until his own carriage arrived, then followed slowly behind, taking care not to overtake them. When Dooley hailed a hansom, Beaumont followed behind it, wary lest it take a turn away from Prissie’s flat. It drove directly there, however, and stopped. Dooley helped Lydia from the rig, like a gentleman. Beaumont drove past, then drew his pistol from the side pocket, pulled the check string, and got out of his carriage.

“Drive on. Keep circling the block until I come out,” he said to his coachman.

As the carriage drove off, he stood in the street, wondering where he should post himself to protect Lydia. He wouldn’t be able to see or hear the parlor if he waited outside the kitchen window, which would give him easy access to the flat and concealment from the street. If he waited in the foyer outside Prissie’s parlor, Dooley would see him when he left. But that was the best spot to be if Lydia needed help. He strode into the house. The foyer was empty. He went on tiptoe to Prissie’s door and listened.

In the little parlor, Lydia perched nervously on the edge of a chair and Dooley took up the sofa opposite.

“What did you have in mind, then?” she asked bluntly.

Dooley sat, his dark brow furrowed. “I’m in a bit of a spot, Nancy. Prissie got some bee in her bonnet and ran off with what didn’t belong to her. I paid her a thousand pounds for her work and got nothing for my trouble. The wench said she deserved a bigger cut. She took the money and ran out on me. I don’t believe she took them with her. I’ve searched every place she’s been. I know she had them here last week. I saw them, and they were mighty good. Said she just wanted to do a little fine-tuning.”

“Can’t you wait till she comes back?”

“Who says she’s coming back?” She stared into his hard eyes. She could almost feel the evil emanate from him. She was sure he had killed Prissie—and he would kill her, too, if it suited him. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Dooley continued, “Wilkie and the boys are eager to get started. The distribution’s all set. We’ve been working on it for a year. You chat around to her pals. She must have given them to someone for safekeeping. They’ll hand them over to her sister. Find the plates, and there’s a thousand pounds in it for you. Have we got a bargain?”

Lydia considered it a moment. She was eager to agree and be rid of Dooley, but she felt Prissie’s sister would drive a harder bargain.

“Make it fifteen hundred and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done!” He reached out and shook her hand.

“Where can I reach you if I find them?”

“I’ll be in touch with you.”

He rose and she accompanied him to the front door. “Here’s a little something to tide you over,” he said, and stuffed a wad of crumpled bills into her fingers. “Don’t spend it all in one place, as the saying goes. Good advice in this case. I’m glad to see you’re a sensible gel, Nancy. I think me and you could get along just fine.”

Lydia’s instinct was to throw the money in his face, but she knew she had to play her role to the end. She snatched at the bills eagerly, with a quick glance to see their denomination.

“How’s about a little kiss before I go?” he asked, putting one arm around her waist.

She felt soiled to touch him. “Let’s not mix business with pleasure, Dooley.”

“It never stopped your sister.”

“I ain’t my sister,” she said, pushing him off. He reached for her again.

Beaumont, still listening in the hall, had heard their footsteps approach the door. He’d intended to dart up the stairs when he heard Dooley leaving, but curiosity got the better of him. He could hear their voices within and some of their words. When he heard the conversation stop and scuffling sounds begin, he was afraid Lydia had run into trouble. He was glad to be there when it happened, and hoped it would cure her of this harebrained notion of pretending to be Prissie’s sister. After one sharp rap on the door, he strode in and directed a menacing stare at Dooley.

Dooley took one look at Beaumont’s angry face and shook his head at Lydia. “Crikey, you don’t waste much time,” he said, and strode out.

Beaumont slammed the door behind him, then turned his fulminating eyes on Lydia. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson! I heard that noise. Did he attack you?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to follow Dooley. “I’ll darken his daylights.”

“Don’t be so ... masculine, Beau,” she said, laughing at him. “That sound you heard was not me fighting for my virtue, but only the dance of negotiations.”

“Was he offering you money?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“Propositioning you, in other words!”

She smiled demurely. “In a way, I suppose he was.”

“I hope you put the hedgebird in his place.”

“It would have looked very odd if I had refused.”

“You mean you accepted money from him! Lydia, this is intolerable.”

She held up the wad of bills. “But such a lot of money! Fives and tens. It’s—it’s over fifty pounds, Beau. And I didn’t even let him kiss me.” She scowled at him. “Just how much does it cost you men to hire a woman, I should like to know.”

For quite thirty seconds he was beyond words. When he spoke, it was a command. “Change your clothes. I’m taking you home.”

“Don’t you want to hear what I learned? I am practically working with Dooley. He’s going to pay me fifteen hundred pounds.”

Beaumont was so incensed, he didn’t trust himself to speak. He took Lydia by the shoulders and marched her to the door of Prissie’s bedroom.

“Change, now. We’ll talk on the way home. I want to get you out of here in case he comes back.”

“He won’t. Not tonight. He thinks you’re my fellow.”

She laughed and flung the fistful of bills into the air, then went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Lydia came out of the bedroom a moment later wearing her own mantle, but the rouge was still on her cheeks and her hair was in an unaccustomed tousle of curls. She saw the money was still on the floor.

“We can’t leave this here,” she said, and began picking it up to stuff in her reticule. “I shall give it to Nessie for her orphans.”

Beaumont had managed to get his temper under control. “Well, what did you learn from Dooley?” he asked.

“Plates,” she said. “Prissie made some plates for him. He paid her a thousand pounds for them, but she demanded more, and when he refused to pay, she ran off with them.”

“Plates?” Beaumont asked, blinking in confusion. “Why would he pay so much for plates?”

“I don’t know. They must have been very special plates. Prissie does collect plates,” she said, glancing at the wall that held a motley arrangement of them.

They both went to examine the collection of tawdry plates for some hidden value. “If any of these are worth more than a shilling, I would be surprised,” he said, reading the inscriptions. “Tunbridge Wells, home of the famous Chalybeate Springs.” In the center of the plate, a shield held a picture of the Parade, with its row of lime trees. Another was of “Weymouth, the Royal Resort.” Beneath the inscription was a likeness of Gloucester House, where George III used to holiday before he ran mad.

“It can’t be this sort of plate,” Lydia said. “The ones Dooley spoke of were small. And heavy. I have been thinking about it. They must have been a forgery of some valuable historical memorial plates. The originals were probably in gold. I expect they’ve forged some in pinchbeck to sell to unwary victims.”

“Prissie painted. She didn’t work with metal. It would require a smelting works or some such thing to make gold plates.”

“He said plates.”

Beaumont stood a moment, brooding. “You must have misunderstood him. Perhaps it was rates, or gates, or—or weights,” he said, flinging out his hands.

“I am not deaf, Beau. He said plates. Furthermore, he would not pay her a thousand pounds for weights, and one could hardly wrap up a set of gates in a small parcel.”

Beaumont spotted one of the bills on the floor and reached to pick it up. He looked at it, frowning. “Let me see the other bills,” he said. She fished them out of her reticule and handed them to him. A slow grin spread across Beaumont’s face. “Plates,” he said, and laughed. “Of course. Plates.”