The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

‘You hadn’t forgot that you and Doña Magdalena are due at our house for supper tonight, had you?’ Woods asked. ‘Betsy will be cross if you forget.’

Lavender smiled. He had forgotten but the prospect of an evening with Magdalena was a cheering thought. ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting Betsy down,’ he said. ‘Her home-cooked fare is the highlight of my existence.’

Woods grinned. ‘She said to tell you that the cobbler, Kinghorn and Naylor, is on the Strand.’

‘Please thank her for me, Ned. I will pay them a visit about those shoes and see if we can establish who they were made for.’

‘Do you think that those twins changed places again?’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ Lavender confessed. ‘The dead woman was clearly very ill – and Miss Clare took an unexpected break in her career last summer. When she finished work at Drury Lane Theatre last February she appears to have disappeared until the end of August when she asked Dorothy Jordan for an introduction to Jane Scott at the Sans Pareil. Was it ill health that forced her off the stage? Was the story of a sick aunt merely a lie to account for her absence and avoid speculation rising about her health? Yet Sir Richard seemed adamant that the woman whose body we recovered couldn’t have performed at the theatre last month.’

‘The gal lied to Mrs Jordan about where she had been,’ Woods said. ‘Lady Caroline was quite clear yesterday that them gals didn’t have any other family except her.’

‘And Sir Richard was also adamant that the dead girl had never borne a child – so the child in the Willoughby nursery must belong to the living sister.’

‘It seems to me that Sir Richard is adamant about quite a few things,’ Woods said coldly. ‘What if he’s wrong?’

Lavender paused for a moment and considered this option. A lively breeze began to clear the mist. It also stirred up the miasma from the murky waters beneath them. The stench of rotting vegetation reached his nostrils. He was well aware that Woods’ bias against the surgeon had prompted his last remark, but could it still have value? Did Woods’ prejudice make him more objective about the abilities of Sir Richard? Had Lavender placed too much store on the word of the surgeon?

Lavender shook his head. ‘If he’s wrong,’ he said, ‘then it will be the first time I have known it to happen. Sir Richard can be difficult and repulsive, I know, but I have never known him to be wrong.’

As the fog continued to clear and the weak sunlight pushed its way down to earth, the city took shape before them. The great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral dominated the skyline. Buildings were sprawled out endlessly along the curving riverbank. For once not obscured by clouds of smoke, the buildings glittered in the weak light. As far as the eye could see, there was a multitude of little boats criss-crossing the Thames like water-skaters and tall ships lying at anchor.

‘I will go back to see Mrs Willoughby again today,’ Lavender said. ‘And Lady Caroline. We need more information about April Clare. I will call back at the Sans Pareil this evening to speak to the other actors. Hopefully, someone today will be able to cast light on some part of this mystery.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Woods.

‘No. But can you follow up on the inquiries the other constables made at April’s lodgings? Magistrate Read promised me yesterday that he would send some men round to question the other tenants about the intrusion into April’s room. The more I think about it the more I’m come to the conclusion that the break-in is linked to the kidnapping. Those men were after something, and it doesn’t seem to be money.’

Woods nodded. ‘It sounds to me like she were mixed up in somethin’ dangerous.’

Lavender agreed. ‘God knows where this investigation will lead us.’ He turned up his collar against the cold and shivered. Below him a boatman hauled in oars dripping with slimy weed, and reached out for the swaying wooden ladder which led up to the jetty.

‘“Earth hath not anything to show more fair,”’ Lavender said. ‘“Dull would he be of soul who could pass by a sight so touching in its majesty . . .”’

‘You what?’ Woods’ eyes widened.

‘It’s part of a poem by William Wordsworth,’ Lavender explained. ‘It was written a few years ago about this view from Westminster Bridge. The same view that we can see now.’

Woods glanced about uneasily as if he half expected the poet to pop up behind them. ‘Wordsworth, eh?’ he said. ‘Wasn’t he one of those romantic poets who see pretty things in a pile of muck and a clump of daffydils?’

Lavender smiled. ‘Yes, he loves London and feels that this man-made terrain before us can be compared to nature’s grandest natural spectacles. He describes the river as the mighty heart of the city.’

Woods greying eyebrows rose cynically and the corner of his mouth twitched. ‘North Country lad, ain’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, speakin’ as one of those born within the stench and racket of the East India Docks, I could tell him a thing or two about our Mother Thames.’

Lavender grinned. ‘What would you tell him?’

‘That there is nothin’ “fair” about Mother Thames. She’s a foul open sewer and a deep and treacherous bitch. If he took a leap into her arms, she would drag him under within seconds and then poison him for the hell of it.’

Lavender smiled again. ‘Well, it’s not Shakespeare, but I do believe we’ll make a poet of you yet, Ned. Your grasp of personification is excellent.’

Alarm flashed across Woods’ features. ‘My what?’

‘Never mind. Come on, back to work.’

Chapter Sixteen

Magdalena was surprised but delighted when Stephen called round that morning. He apologised for his unexpected arrival and handed her the purse, which he said the Duke of Clarence had given to him at Bushy House the previous day. She poured the coins out into her palm and was pleased to see that there were two guineas in the purse as well as a few copper coins. The presence of the copper coins was curious but she dismissed them from her mind as soon as she saw them.

‘This is wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘How generous the duke has been! I will be able to buy two pairs of new boots with this money – and a pair for Teresa. Would you like a new pair of boots, Teresa?’

The little maid said nothing but flushed pink with excitement.

Stephen smiled at their delight, but Magdalena saw in his eyes that he was troubled by something. He looked as smart as ever in his pristine cravat, brushed black coat and gleaming leather boots, but he was obviously upset about something. She wondered if there were problems with the case of the dead actress. Stephen had told her about the connection between the two women and it had saddened her nearly as much as it had saddened him. She had already written a letter of condolence to Lady Caroline.

‘Fetch our cloaks, Teresa,’ she said in Spanish. ‘We shall visit the cobblers immediately.’ Teresa raced off towards their closet, behind the ragged curtain that discreetly hid the bed at the other end of the room.

‘Would you mind if I accompanied you?’ Stephen asked. ‘I’m on my way to Wandsworth but need to visit a shoemakers called Kinghorn and Naylor on the Strand, with reference to my case. That may a good place for you and Teresa to purchase some boots.’

She tilted her head on one side, lowered her lashes and smiled at him through half-closed eyes. ‘Why Teresa!’ she said. ‘I do believe that the detective wants to see our ankles.’

Stephen’s lips curled into a smile. ‘Alas, you have discovered my devious motive, Doña Magdalena,’ he said.

‘Well, maybe just this once you may view our ankles, Detective Lavender,’ she replied with mock grandeur. ‘It is your reward for bringing me the duke’s money. But you must not make a habit of it. No doubt, you will ask to see our elbows next.’

‘You’re so kind to a poor flesh-starved man,’ he said and winked roguishly at Teresa who had just reappeared from behind the curtain with their cloaks over her arm. The maid let out a strangled squeak and suddenly seemed unstable on her legs.

Magdalena laughed. ‘You must behave with Teresa, Stephen,’ she said. ‘Or she will have an attack of the vapours and I will have to revive her with the sal volatile. She’s most fond of you.’

‘Well, I’m glad there are some women who still are pleased at the sight of me.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve feel like I’ve been the harbinger of bad news for half the female population of London over the last few days.’

Magdalena patted his arm reassuringly. ‘But you will be the bringer of good news when you solve the mystery of the poor girl’s death – which you will do, eventually.’ She turned away as Teresa held up her cloak.

He smiled and pulled a dusty woman’s shoe out of his coat pocket. ‘This is the reason I want to visit Messers Kinghorn and Naylor.’

‘
Dios mío
!
’ Magdalena froze. ‘Is that the dead girl’s shoe?’

Confusion flashed across Stephen’s face. He hastily replaced the shoe in his pocket. ‘My apologies, I shouldn’t have brought it to your attention.’

Magdalena relaxed, laughed and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Do not worry, Stephen. Teresa and I are not as – how do you English say it? – squeamish about death in the way of most our sex. Unfortunately, we have seen too much of it in our short lives. We’re grateful for your kindness and will happily allow you to take us to the shoemakers. However, we also have to visit the shop of Mistress Evans on Long Acre. Mrs Jordan was most particular in that recommendation.’

Their cab driver frowned when they asked him to take them to Mistress Evans’ shoe establishment on Long Acre.

‘Do you not know of it?’ Lavender asked.

‘Yes, I know the old scold well enough,’ the man replied. ‘But yer may change yer mind and want to stay in the cab with the ladies.’

‘What did he mean?’ Magdalena asked as the three of them squashed themselves in the rocking vehicle.

‘I don’t know,’ Lavender replied.

The cab driver pointed out Mistress Evans to them from a distance. Her ‘establishment’ wasn’t a shop but a wooden stall on the pavement on one of the seedier stretches of Long Acre. It displayed a dismal selection of worn-down, second-hand shoes and boots and factory clogs. The clientele who gathered around her were some of the poorest women of London, including several of the Covent Garden Nuns. Mistress Evans herself was unclean, slatternly and obese. She sat on an upturned barrel next to her stall with a tankard of ale in her hand. From her disjointed movements and glazed eyes, it was obviously not the first drink she had imbibed that morning.

‘Ah, as the duke reminded me yesterday,’ Stephen said, sharply. ‘Mrs Jordan has a great reputation as a comedienne.’

If this was Dorothy Jordan’s idea of a joke, Magdalena decided it wasn’t very funny.

‘Drive on,’ Stephen instructed the cabbie. ‘Take us to Kinghorn and Naylor on the Strand.’ Magdalena could see that Stephen felt the insult as keenly as she did.

‘Why did she do that?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why did Mrs Jordan recommend that dreadful woman to me?’

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She liked his touch. ‘An attempt at humour, perhaps?’ he suggested.

‘Don’t lie to me, Stephen.’

He sighed. ‘She was probably jealous of the attention the duke paid you and thought she’d have a little revenge. I saw the look of anger and envy she gave you at the theatre.’

‘I did nothing! I don’t want her silly old duke.’

‘No, you didn’t do anything,’ Lavender said wisely. ‘But Dorothy Jordan becomes less and less secure about her position as the duke’s mistress. Every beautiful and attractive young woman is a threat to her.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are rumours that the duke will be forced into marriage to try and secure the succession to the throne.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘The Duke of Clarence has two older brothers and a niece who are before him in line to the British throne.’

‘Yes, but both of those two elder brothers are estranged from their wives and every hope for the House of Hanover rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl. The old king and queen had fifteen children but they only have one grandchild: Princess Charlotte. There is talk that the Duke of Clarence and his brother, the Duke of Kent, may be soon obliged to marry to provide more heirs.’

Despite her disappointment, Magdalena felt herself smile. She knew he was trying his best to distract her from Dorothy Jordan’s little trick.

He turned around and stared straight into her eyes. ‘Besides which, Magdalena, you’re young, beautiful and vibrant – everything that the faded actress no longer is.’

‘I’m beautiful, am I, Stephen?’ she asked, quietly.

‘Very beautiful,’ he confirmed. ‘Very beautiful.’ Then he winked, leant forward and kissed her lightly on her lips.

Beside them, Teresa squeaked with surprise.

Their visit to Kinghorn and Naylor was far more successful. The shoemakers’ names were carved in elaborate script across the lintel of the low door of their tall, timber-framed establishment. Either side of the door were large bow windows: one displayed men’s footwear, the other women’s. Magdalena paused before the wonderful arrangement of brightly coloured women’s court shoes and slippers and let herself be distracted for a moment by their loveliness. The satin slippers, delicately dyed in pale lavenders and pinks, had no heels and sat next to others made from leather of robin’s-egg blue. Some had ribbon laces and ties, some didn’t. She was especially attracted to a pair in yellow leather that had been cut away to reveal an insert of white satin, embroidered in blue, pink and green. Stephen smiled and waited patiently.

Magdalena tore her eyes away from the delicate shoes to the lines of boots which were displayed in a row behind the colourful slippers. She was pleased to see that they were also attractive and of good quality.

‘Is this shop more to my lady’s liking?’ Lavender asked.

She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Most definitely, kind sir. Although I suspect that once we enter the premises we will have trouble persuading Teresa to leave.’

‘Only Teresa?’ he asked. His eyes twinkled with humour.

She smiled and pointed to a corner of the window. ‘Look at those, Stephen!’ At the edge of the display was a pair of high-heeled, embroidered brocade evening shoes with silver buckles. Apart from the filth, they were identical to the one he had shown her earlier. ‘I think that we will all find what we need for at Messers Kinghorn and Naylor.’

He frowned. ‘Mmm, I had hoped that the shoes were individually made for patrons of this shop. It would appear that they’re not this unique.’

‘Well, let’s find out,’ she said as she pushed open the door. A tiny bell tinkled above their heads as they entered.

A matronly assistant with a severe hairstyle, a sombre brown gown and a shoehorn dangling from a chain at her waist, moved to assist them. ‘Good morning, madam – and sir,’ she said. ‘Is it shoes for the lady you require?’

‘Boots,’ Magdalena informed her.

‘This way, please madam.’ The woman led her away behind a pretty but discreet curtain, which divided up half the shop. The curtain was there to ensure that no prying eyes could watch the female patrons as they hitched up their dresses and revealed their stockings while trying on footwear. She smiled to herself at the thought of Stephen’s disappointment on the other side of the barrier; his ‘reward’ had been denied him. However, she soon heard him in conversation with one of the male proprietors of the shop. The two men disappeared into the cobbling workshop at the rear of the premises.

Seated comfortably on a padded gilt chair, with Teresa beside her, Magdalena decided on a pair of brown kid leather ankle boots for herself. They were decorated with a rose-coloured rosette just below the laces. She chose a plain, black pair for her delighted maid. The total cost for both pairs of boots came to ten shillings and sixpence. She handed over one of the guinea pieces given to her by the duke and pondered about whether or not to treat herself to a pretty pair of striped silk dancing slippers with a black leather-covered heel and black silk trim. She eventually decided against the purchase, as her financial situation was so precarious she dared not risk frittering her money away on a pair of slippers she might never wear.

Stephen reappeared at her side. She knew by the frown on his face that he had not gained the information he sought.

‘This shoe is one of the most successful items of footwear made by Mr Kinghorn,’ Lavender explained, as they walked out into the cold street. ‘And its popularity goes back over several seasons. He does make them for individual clients but he also made several pairs for display in the shop and in the window. I checked through his records but didn’t recognise any of the names of the women for whom he had a commission to make these shoes. And he has no idea of the names of any of the ladies who may have bought one of the pairs on display.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Magdalena said.

‘Nor has he ever heard of the actress, April Divine. He’s not aware if she’s one of his regular customers. Nor does he have any idea why her shoes no longer fitted her.’ His face was dark with disappointment when he led them back out into the busy street. Three hansoms went past them, nose to tail, while a cart and four horses clattered by in the opposite direction. He flagged down the last cab, which was for hire, and helped Magdalena and Teresa up into the vehicle.

‘Perhaps she purchased the shoes from one of the second-hand stalls in the market,’ Magdalena suggested. ‘That may account for why they didn’t fit her properly. I had also wondered if they might have been defective and simply stretched out of shape.’

‘Those are good suggestions,’ Lavender replied as he sank down into the seat beside Magdalena. ‘Though according to Mr Kinghorn, he has never had a complaint or a pair returned to him.’ He sighed. ‘I have a niggling feeling that these ill-fitting shoes are important to this case. But I might be wrong. I’ll take you home and then continue on to Wandsworth to see Mrs Willoughby again.’

‘Never mind,’ Magdalena said. ‘At least Teresa and I have had a successful outing.’

Lavender smiled. ‘You are happy with your purchases?’

‘Oh yes, my new boots are beautiful. However, I was a little disappointed that I had to take a pair in a bigger size. My feet grew when I carried Sebastián and they never returned to their normal size after his birth . . .’ She paused as a strange look flashed across his handsome face. His head snapped up and his eyes widened. ‘Stephen? What is the matter?’

‘Of course!’ he yelled. He leapt to his feet and rapped loudly on the roof of the cab with his gloved fist. He looked like he would explode. ‘Magdalena, you’re a genius!’

‘Stephen? What is it?’

The cab jerked to a halt and he reached for the door handle. Before he stood up, he fished in his pocket for some change and dropped it in her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I must ride out to Wandsworth immediately. Take this cab home – I’ll get another back to Bow Street and collect my horse.’ His eyes gleamed with excitement. Then he was gone.

Instinctively, Magdalena leapt to her feet and followed him. ‘Stephen! Wait!’ Holding onto the door for support, she stepped down into the cold street after him. The crowds on the pavement hurried past, veering to avoid them. ‘Stephen, what is it?’

He smiled and stepped back towards her. ‘You have just solved a mystery that has been bothering me for days.’ Then without warning he leant down, pulled her forward and kissed her full on the mouth. The speed and passion of the kiss took her breath away and her body exploded in a flush of pent-up desire. Groaning slightly, she tilted her head back, willing him to ravish her face and her throat. Disappointment swamped her when he pulled away as quickly as he had accosted her.