Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal (29 page)

Crowe looked at him, sharing a thought which the two men preferred not to speak. They made their way back to the gothic porch with its steep flight of steps in the cavernous shadows of Wall Street. The Treasury officials had escorted the gold coins off the premises and were just clearing up as the guards admitted Verity and Crowe to the vault below the level of the street. One of the bank's vice-presidents, with a bundle of keys, was looking forlornly at the rows of boxes awaiting return to their niches.

'That one!' Verity nudged Crowe. 'Been on my mind all afternoon. See that graining - sort of flame pattern in the wood? Dead ringer for the one you opened and found Lieutenant Dacre's cracksman tools in. Them two boxes must a-bin made of the same wood, the same time.'

'Oliver Baynham, Esquire,' said Crowe, reading the name on the lid. 'Ain't likely, Verity, the initials don't fit.'

'Course not. This one wasn't to be opened even if we found the gold. What's in there could 'ang a man. It's Lieutenant Dacre's box, however. Look at it, Mr Crowe! See for yerself!'

The man with the collection of keys came forward, deprecating the noise.

'My good sir, this bank has been more than willing to assist the servants of the Treasury in recovering the stolen coin. But it will not be party to breaking faith with its customers by prying into their secrets. You have your gold, sir. There is no more to be said.'

'You open that box, my man!' said Verity, his large head thrust forward in the manner of a fighting cock.

'Quite out of the question, sir!'

'Then what you'll be,' said Verity darkly, 'is a necessary after the fact.'

'The word, sir, is
accessory.''

'No it ain't!' Verity's voice quivered with the deep menace of it. 'The word is
murder!'
Crowe separated the two men.

'More important than the gold,' he said, 'is a young person, Miss Jolly, abducted by Lieutenant Dacre for criminal purposes. Now, sir, the boxes made to order for Lieutenant Dacre were of the same wood as this. There could hardly be a more convenient coffin than this nor a more secret vault than yours.'

'Claptrap!' said the banker shrilly. 'My first duty is to the property of my clients.'

'You client ain't going to like the appearance of his box so well once I've 'ad it open on the hinge side!' said Verity in pink anger.

'Be quiet!' snapped Crowe, and turned again to the banker. 'Now, sir, that box will be opened. Be sure of it. It may be done discreetly now, or with some publicity by the New York Police Department. What we find now shall not be made known. But where police officers go the press must follow.'

The banker looked about him helplessly and then adjusted a key to the lock. It failed. He tried another, and then another. After half a dozen attempts, he turned the iron shaft and there was a click. He raised the lid and the vault seemed to fill with the fragrance of orange and spice. Verity and Crowe stepped forward to look. Preserved in the dry air by the tight seal of the lid, the face of Joey Morant-Barham stared with gaping mouth and sightless eyes at the plaster mouldings of the bank ceiling.

CIPHER                                           
British Embassy

Washington 17th of October 1860

Further to his telegraph of last evening, Lord Lyons is able to confirm the recovery, almost in full, of the gold coin reserve removed from the Federal Mint at Philadelphia on the 9th instant. The perpetrator of the outrage is assumed to be Lieutenant Verney Dacre, a British subject, who remains at large. Lord Lyons considers that this continued evasion, though lamentable in the strict moral respect, may not be unconducive to British diplomatic interests. Where there is no arrest and no trial, the outrage against United States security cannot be brought home to one of Her Majesty's subjects.

It is perhaps fortunate that the United States Treasury should have employed as an agent a young woman of British nationality, though of doubtful moral reputation. This young person has been abducted by the suspected robber and her fate gives cause for concern. However, in the apportionment of blame as a whole, Her Majesty's ministers must insist that the American authorities accept their share for the manner in which a young Englishwoman was sent to her fate by them.

Lord Lyons is also obliged to add that since Lieutenant Dacre is certified by a coroner's inquest to have died in 1857, any approach by the United States government might first be answered by this evidence and by the suggestion that the robbery at Philadelphia must be the work of an impersonator, probably an American citizen.

As matters stand, the United States government seems intent on maintaining financial confidence by complete secrecy over the entire unfortunate incident. Three minor conspirators, all of them American, are to be tried on capital charges not directly related to the robbery or requiring public disclosure of it. Lord Lyons is strongly of the opinion that Her Majesty's government should now withdraw from participation in the matter, since further involvement can only exacerbate a problem already too delicate. In conclusion, Lord Lyons begs to remain etc.

The Right Hon. Lord John Russell Secretary of State, Foreign Office, London, W.

18

'Course I knew 'im!' said Verity scornfully. 'So'd you have done, Mr Crowe, if you'd had a beat down Haymarket. And then calling himself Major Morant! Prime give-away that was! 'e was young Mr Morant-Barham, dragoon officer. Ran a plump young doxy who did plastic poses on the stage and called herself Janet Bond the Female Hussar. That's a-cos she wore them very tight things. Dark hair all piled on her head, and them tights! Talk about smuggling a couple of jellies in a sack!'

He sniggered, and then coloured slightly, as if conscious of his own vulgarity. The two sergeants gazed out from their curtained alcove into the grand ballroom which had been made in the theatre of the New York Academy of Music. The auditorium with its tiers of boxes, red plush and cream paint, was gaudily fresco'd and resembled the opera house at Philadelphia. But on this occasion, the improvised ballroom floor was jammed with New York society in all its reckless magnificence. On the silk dresses of the women in the stalls, boxes and galleries, a profusion of diamonds sparkled like dew-laden banks of flowers in bright sunlight. The mass of men and women surged and seethed toward the far end of the room, where the Prince and his party were virtually besieged in the small space roped off for them by crimson cord. The floor had already given way at the centre under the weight of the crowd, and the grand ball was interrupted while carpenters repaired the damage. Now, to the strains of a Strauss quadrille, the Prince was to open the dancing with Mrs Morgan, wife of the Governor of New York.

The two sergeants watched through the chink in the curtains, Verity frowning with disapproval at the arrangements as he once more realized the impossibility of getting to the Prince's side in the event of danger. Presently, the little door behind them opened and Major Teesdale appeared. There was an envelope in his hand.

'Sergeant Verity,' he said waving the envelope irritably, 'what the devil is the meaning of this?'

'Meaning o' what, sir? With respect, sir.'

'The meaning, dammit, of having your billet-doux delivered here as though you might be some society belle?'

'Billy dues, sir?'

'Letters!' snapped Teesdale. 'Correspondence! I shall not expect a repetition of this, sergeant, do you understand me?'

'Yessir. Very sorry, sir. No idea 'ow it could have happen, sir. Ain't in the habit of receiving letters meself.'

Teesdale held out the blue envelope at arm's length, as though it might be contaminated, and Verity took it. Immediately he drew himself up at attention, as if waiting to receive the remainder of Major Teesdale's reprimand. But Teesdale swung round and closed the door noisily after him.

'Did I understand you to tell me, back in Philadelphia, that you were a free man?' inquired Crowe sceptically.

'Mr Crowe, 'oo in 'ell would be writing letters to me? I don't know a living soul in this place.'

He tore open the envelope and drew out a small white card. His eyes widened as he read it and his face assumed an expression of plump consternation.

'Oh Lor', Mr Crowe! 'ere, you have a read of this, quick.'

'The Passing of Miss Jolly’ The performance of this amusing melodrama will commence tomorrow evening at 8 sharp and will be prolonged until a little after midnight. An unrepeatable spectacle.

' 'e's a bloody murdering lunatic, Mr Crowe! 'e ain't half-way rational! And didn't I tell you he gotta be somewhere in New York?'

Half an hour later, Crowe turned again to his companion.

'For the tenth time, Mr Verity, you were taken off the case, your people want no more to do with it, and you'd best keep your nose out.'

'Mr Crowe, there's murder to be done tomorrow evening!

Ain't it plain to you? And not only murder. He's going to kill that young person as slow as he knows how!' Crowe shrugged defensively.

'You don't know for certain that the card came from Dacre. It could be someone's notion of a joke.'

'Joke, Mr Crowe? You got a lot of people in New York with that sense of fun, 'ave you? You got any idea how many of 'em could tell you enough about this whole caper to write a note like this? 'ave some sense, Mr Crowe! It gotta be Dacre. And he ain't a few miles away from us! 'e could be dancing with all them swells this minute, for all we know.'

Crowe gave his friend a moment to cool down. In his mind, Verity heard the sounds of a nameless room. He heard Miss Jolly's voice, high and fluting, almost childlike in its clear lilting. He heard the monosyllables drawn out in protest or dismay, the first cries and the soprano frenzy of her last ordeal.

'Look,' said Crowe reasonably, 'the card's from Dacre, all right? But can't you see, for God's sake, that it's no job for you ?'

Verity glared at his friend.

'No I can't, Mr Crowe. I fought Lieutenant Dacre and his kind before, and I ain't going to show 'cm me backside now by running from danger.'

'You goddam fool!' Crowe slapped one fist into his other palm. 'That's all he wants! Miss Jolly could be dead days ago, or she might have come to terms and spread her legs for him. The only use of that card is to get you coming after him where he can lie in wait. He sure as hell needs you dead, even more than he needs Jolly!'

'He never does, Mr Crowe!'

'Verity,' said Crowe softly, 'how long is it since that little matter on the after-deck of the
Fidele?’

'Not the same thing, Mr Crowe, with respect. I might be killed or I might not. But that young piece Jolly got under his skin somehow. If you'd a-seen how he made his bullies in London take off her things and bend her over that rocking-horse, and then tan Miss Jolly's bottom for her, you'd understand.' Crowe sighed.

'No, Verity. I guess it's you that can't understand. It's not a secret that Miss Jolly was a whore, like most of her kind. She mayn't have liked what Dacre did to her, but if he beat her like a puppy-bitch she might still whimper and make up to him like one. It's you he's after this time. Think it through. With Jolly bought, and you dead, there's not a living soul that could ever identify Dacre as being the cracksman who was in Albemarle Street three years ago and in Philadelphia this month.'

'Then what's the game we must play, Mr Crowe?'

'The game,' said Crowe firmly, 'is for the Treasury to play. We hired the girl, and we must get her back if anyone does.'

He held out his hand for the white card. 'Oh, Mr Crowe!' said Verity, as if deeply disappointed by his comrade, 'Oh, Mr Crowe!'

‘I think you'll be glad I came along this far,' said Verity cheerfully on the following morning. They crossed the road in front of the massive Pharonic structure of the Tombs prison.

And this is as far as it goes,' said Crowe quietly.

‘I dunno, Mr Crowe. I felt I owed this much to the Bull-Peg person. After all, 'e ain't got much to sing about. He may have turned evidence for you over poor young Captain Moore, but there's all them other little matters.'

'Ten minutes,' said Crowe sternly, 'that's all. I'll be stood outside the cell. And Miss Jolly is Treasury business now. See?'

'Why, Mr Crowe, 'oo could worry himself over Jolly when he might have this Bull-Peg person in prospect?'

The damp cell, with its opening like a furnace door, was in the very row where Verity had been held on his first night in America. Leaving Crowe outside, he closed the door after him and confronted Bull-Peg. The massive body seemed more blubbery than Verity remembered it, as the prisoner crouched in one corner, his back to the wall, his wrists and ankles chained. He glared at Verity and made a sound that was midway between a bellow and a whine. Verity sat down on the wooden ledge of the bed.

'Right, my man,' he said, 'I'm 'ere as your friend. I ain't got no reason to like you but I'm bound for old England again in a day or two more. I got no cause to make things worse for you than they are.'

'I'm a evidence!' The voice was a booming grizzle.

'Course you are,' said Verity reasonably, 'in the matter of Captain Moore's death. They can't touch you for that. Just the matter of ravishing Miss Jennifer. . .'

'Plantation girl!'

'British subject,' said Verity grandly, 'ravished by you in the state of Missouri.'

'Looked like plantation girl.'

'Looks is sometimes deceptive, Mr Bull-Peg. And now o' course, 'ere in New York, the murder of Mr Morant-Barham. Bullet in the back of the neck. . .'