The Roguish Miss Penn (26 page)

He had called for a second cup of coffee when he saw Sidney. The young dandy entered with that friend of his, Rankin. The two gave a furtive glance about, then settled down at the only vacant table, not far from Philip. He blessed the poor light that helped conceal him, and shifted slightly so he might overhear what was said. It might be innocent conversation. On the other hand, he had learned nothing of interest this morning; perhaps their chitchat might prove of benefit.

The scrape of chairs was followed by a call for coffee. Once they’d been served, Sidney cleared his throat.

“You think ‘tis safe in here? To talk, I mean?”

Rankin looked about, nodded. “Who would listen to what we have to say? You worry overmuch.”

“I confess I am fearful. I have no liking for what I do. But I have no alternative, either. The chit shows no inclination in my direction and I cannot chance more time. We have failed three times so far. We cannot miss again. This time it must work. Old Harriette might pop off any moment. Does she, and it puts paid to any hope I have to gain the inheritance. As it stands, every penny of her lovely estate goes to my dear little cousin Katherine, the sweet and good.”

“Yet you’d have wed her,” Rankin reminded.

“What’s to that? A ceremony, then freedom in London. I’d not have taken her along,” Sidney exclaimed in horror before he remembered to keep his voice down. He glanced about him, then returned to the subject to hand. “Tonight, no longer.”

“Agreed. The business with the falling weight proved too cumbersome. There must be another way of doing her in,” Rankin said callously.

“The poison . . . Who’d have thought she would give that little sandwich to a stray cat? It would have done the trick.” Sidney sipped his cooling coffee, then shifted in his chair. “But what next?”

“The river? You could take her for a ride, then dump her over the side. A tap on the head would assure she don’t paddle to shore.” Rankin spoke with the assurance of one who has done away with unwanted kittens and puppies by the score.

“No, there are always people along the bank and the like. Just the other night some poor maid threw herself in the river. One of the fellows jumped in to save her, almost died in the rescue. She was nigh dead, but survived. Katherine seems strong. She’d live.” He shook his head in disgust of healthy females.

“I really thought that arrow would hit her,” Rankin mused while Sidney stared into the depths of his cup for an answer to his dilemma. “It would have done the deed, you know. Efficient things, arrows. Had she not stumbled just then, you’d be in clover by now, my friend.”

“Wouldn’t I just,” agreed Sidney sourly.

“No ideas?” Rankin probed.

“None. I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing.”

“And you think I am?”

“Well, I always wondered how it came that your uncle died just when you needed the blunt to pay off the duns or face Tangier.” Sidney’s reference to the room in Newgate where debtors were confined brought an angry flush to Rankin’s face.

“See here, Exton!”

“Sorry.” Sidney waved a placating hand in the air, then turned back to contemplating his cup.

“You might have to be bolder,” Rankin offered.

“I thought I had been bold,” Sidney snapped, his patience clearly tested. “Why she could not cooperate is beyond me.”

“Right,” Rankin agreed, then sipped his dark brew. “No poison in her tea?”

“Too easy to detect. I thought of that already.”

“Pity you couldn’t merely stab her in the back and be done with it.” Rankin traced a pattern on the table with the tip of his spoon.

Sidney sat up straight, snapped his fingers, nodded. “That is it, the very thing. There are any number of knives to be had in the booths at the fair. It will be a simple matter to purchase one and do the deed.”

Rankin looked at his friend with a grim smile. “Simple,” he agreed. “I can get my valet to buy the knife.”

Sidney turned a speculative gaze on Rankin, but said nothing. Valets were useful fellows and could turn a hand to almost anything, even assisting at a murder.

“I shall linger about this evening. When the cast is rushing about and dear little Katherine retires to the wings to watch, I can slip the knife silently into her back, and who will be the wiser?”

“Wear gloves; you can throw them away and not worry about blood on your hands,” Rankin advised.

“Excellent suggestion. Best to buy some ordinary sort, the kind worn by locals. No point in using my own.” Sidney shuddered at the thought of losing even one pair of the expensive gloves he had bespoke at a fashionable London glover’s.

‘Tis set, then?” Rankin pushed back his chair and rose.

“I’ll tell my man to find the, er, item?” He chose to be discreet, aware of others nearby who might hear them.

“Set,” Sidney agreed. “I’m off to find a pair of those gloves. Perhaps my man can do that deed for me as well. Shall we meet for oysters later?”

The two paid their shot, then walked purposefully from the little coffee house.

Philip dared to take a breath, then shifted so he could see out of one of the spotlessly clean sashed windows. Rankin headed off toward town, Sidney in the direction of Garlic Row.

A wave of anger swept over Philip. It was his Katherine they spoke of callously murdering. His hands clenched as he fought back a desire to tear after Exton and choke the life from his worthless body. Then he forced himself to remain seated. He could not kill the man, not unless it came to actually defending Katherine’s life on the spot. There had to be another way around it.

He dropped some coins on the table, then sauntered from the coffee house deep in thought. The booths along the row had little interest for him until he caught sight of a Punch and Judy. She battered poor Punch over the head while children and adults alike chuckled at his plight.

A puppet, he thought. The idea took root. Philip hurried along Garlic Row, taking care to avoid being seen by Exton. Once at the theater, he approached one of the cast who happened to be there, running through his lines. Philip pretended he planned a joke, something played in good nature on a friend.

The fellow grinned and allowed as how it would be a simple matter to manage. Philip begged he come along to help plan the prank. They settled down to chat over a pint of home-brewed at the nearest tavern in town, Philip feeling the farther from the fair they got, the better. He kept a wary eye out for Rankin. He also kept the talk as careful as possible. No one who might listen in to the conversation would get an inkling of the import of it.

Once the discussion concluded, Philip paid the shot, then offered a piece of gold to the actor. It was not a coin often seen by the man, and he took it with a raise of an eyebrow. When they parted outside the tavern, he said, “Aye, some joke this will be. And I’ll take good care to keep my tongue between my teeth, my lord.”

Philip watched him head back toward the fair, then he turned toward the Penn house. Somehow he had to obtain a gown that belonged to Kate. And where might he find a wig? There was nothing to do but take his sister into his confidence. He’d have need of her wise head. When she learned Exton was the source of Katherine’s threat, she’d be wanting to do all she could to bring the man to justice.

“Katherine has gone with Amelia to run a few errands, my lord,” Cousin Sophia announced when he begged a word with her.

“That is just as well. I have need of your help on Katherine’s behalf. I wish to borrow a gown of hers. Just a prank,” he added, recalling the words of the actor from the fair.

“Which one?” Sophia was not stupid. She well knew that his lordship would not request something so outrageous if he had not a sound reason.

He almost said the yellow one, then hated to see it torn. “One people might recognize as hers. A familiar one.”

“Well, there is little problem with that. Her father forgets she needs new gowns and she is never one to fuss about such. Had I my way of things, her lot would be different. When one is on the fringe of the family, it is not always best to speak up, you see. She rose from her chair in the morning room, dropping the acanthus needlework on a bench as she walked past. “I shall be but a few minutes; there is little to choose from.”

Philip paced impatiently up and down the room during the ensuing silence. He turned with gratitude when Cousin Sophia returned, a soft-rose gown draped over her arms. “Ah, good.”

“This is not one of her favorites. I gather she might not see it again?”

“You are as shrewd as she has said. I promise that my Kate shall have a pretty gown to replace this. Will that please you?” He hurried from the house and sped off toward Fairfax Hall.

Cousin Sophie smiled. Perhaps she might be spared another winter in Cambridge, after all. Her thoughts turned to sunshine and flowers and the mist from the sea. It would have been nice, she considered, to know what that young man intended to do with Katherine’s gown.

Chapter 15

Philip bounded up the front steps of his home, then threw open the door, an astounded Kendall hastening to meet him. Kendall’s reproving frown was quickly concealed.

“Where is my sister? There is no time to lose.”

The unruffled butler bowed his head, then gestured toward the saloon. “I believe Lady Gisela is in the saloon.”

Philip checked a moment to note the change of address. He marched into the saloon, where he found his sister staring out at the Gothic Tower, a bemused expression on her face.

“Lady Gisela? Since when have you allowed yourself to be styled thus? Our parents will be pleased,” he said with what had to be the understatement of the year.

“Oh,” she replied with an embarrassed dip of her head, “I thought it time to change my ways. Mr. Cheney is long gone and there is no reason I may not indulge myself, especially if it makes everyone happy.” She peeped up to see his reaction, then caught sight of the rose muslin gown draped over his arm. “But what is this?”

“I have need of your help. I know who is trying to kill Katherine.”

Gisela jumped up from her chair, rushing to his side. “Who? I shall shoot him myself.” She ignored the interesting fact that she did not know how to load a gun, much less fire one.

“Peagoose.” He eyed her with fondness. “Cousin Sidney, our elegant dandy, is the culprit. Seems our modest little Kate is a great heiress. I did a bit of investigation on Lady Winstanley. She married some nabob baronet who’d amassed a fortune in India, then popped off once he returned to England. Upon her death all her money goes to Katherine. Sidney expects he’ll be the one to inherit if Kate is out of his way. He intends to plant a knife in our Kate’s back tonight.”

“Murder for money!” Gisela inhaled sharply. “I fear it is done all too often,” she said, horrified at the thought. “But our Kate?”

“Sidney seems to have found himself an expert on the subject.” Philip recalled the conversation when Rankin almost admitted he’d done away with his uncle, and shuddered.

“What do you intend to do? You plan to trap him and hand him over to the authorities?” Gisela tilted her head in perplexity.

“Perhaps. But I wonder if our justice is adequate for him?”

“What else is there?” scoffed Gisela.

“There is another choice, for I have no wish to commit murder. Could you see Sidney arrayed in all his splendor in the wilds of Australia?”

“How cruel, and to such a dandy as he,” she declared with a touch of irony coloring her voice.

“There is little we can do to prove that Sidney has been behind all the near attacks on Katherine’s life. He might well get free and arrange a more deadly revenge on her, not to mention my own person."

“Oh, Philip, you must see to it he cannot harm either of you ever again.” Gisela placed an anxious hand on her brother’s arm.

“I might be able to arrange transportation for Sidney Exton, provided I can keep Kate safe until then. That is where you come in, my sweet.”

‘Anything! Just tell me what to do.”

“First, help me create a puppet, using Kate’s gown.” He thrust the rose muslin at his sister, then rang for Kendall. He issued several orders in succession, then turned to his sister again. “Where we can get a blond wig?”

“In the attics. I saw one in a trunk up there when we were hunting for costumes. What is your scheme?” She shook out the gown, then turned to him, a frown marring her forehead. “I do not see how you intend to make a puppet.”

The housekeeper entered the room. Philip consulted with her, joined by Gisela, who grew more enthusiastic as they spoke.

“Oh, famous,” she crowed. “All you have to do is convince Katherine to hide out while you capture Sidney, knife-handed, so to speak.”

“There’s the rub. Can you imagine her sitting tamely at home while the rest of us are at the theater snabbling Sidney? I fear if she is there, she might get hurt.”

“And she means a great deal to you, does she not?” Gisela inquired gently.

“Aye,” he replied, then turned with relief as the housekeeper bustled into the saloon with some old sheets. Behind her a footman carried a bundle of straw, his nose twitching with curiosity.

“The idea,” Philip explained to an intrigued Mrs. Stedman, “is to create a somewhat plausible body. It must seem to be the figure of a woman, at least in half-light.”

Gisela danced from the room, relieved to be actually doing something. Her humming could be heard all the way up the stairwell as she rushed to the attics to fetch the blond wig and a likely bonnet.

It took about two hours for the three of them to assemble a life-sized puppet. Once Gisela plopped the blond wig on the head, they all sat back to study the figure. Philip placed the puppet on a chair across the room. He tied on the bonnet as a finishing touch.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked of Kendall, who had entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits.

The butler glanced at the housekeeper. He set the tray down, then stood back, studying the results while judiciously rubbing his jaw. “Very good, my lord. If you will permit me?” He crossed the hall, then returned with a large shawl. This he draped over the puppet’s shoulders. It was the final touch needed.