The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (28 page)

They dug their heels into the flanks of their horses and cantered out of the yard.

Chapter Thirty-two

Magdalena lay awake listening to the unfamiliar night sounds of the house in Bedford Square. A house was never silent. Roof tiles lifted and rocked above her head; small showers of soot fell down the chimneys; floorboards creaked and groaned of their own volition. Somewhere a mouse scuttled.

A feeble swathe of moonlight floated through the chink in her window drapes but the rest of the room was pitch-black. She saw the faint glimmer of candlelight beneath the bottom of her door as a footman passed by. She waited for a moment, and then heard him in the hallway downstairs, checking the security of the huge bolts on the front door. Silence fell. The only sound now was the noisy pounding of her heart.

‘The things I do for you, Sebastián,’ she whispered, as she pushed back the sheets and swung out of the bed. The thought of her son gave her strength. She would need it. She had told Teresa she didn’t need her help with undressing tonight – she was still fully clothed.

The house was thickly carpeted so she decided to risk wearing her boots. But she dared not risk a candle. Clutching her cloak over her arm, Magdalena slipped like a shadow onto the chilly landing and made her way towards Don Felipe’s bedroom. She paused with her hand on the door handle.

For a moment her courage failed her.
This is madness
, she thought. But another voice in her head drowned out the fear and urged her forward:
Sebastián. I need the money
.
The door was well oiled. It pushed open with only the faintest click. Menendez’s strong masculine scent wafted out of the room. She held her breath and only exhaled when Don Felipe continued the steady rhythm of his snoring.

Thankfully, his room was at the front of the house on Bedford Square and light from the street lanterns filtered through the windows. Leaving her cloak outside and ignoring the lump beneath the bedclothes, she glanced around for Menendez’s coat. It was thrown over a nearby chair. She stepped forward and slid her hand into the inside breast pocket where she knew he kept the key to his desk. She found it instantly. Silently, she backed out of the room.

So far this had been easier than she had expected. A lot easier. Don Gabriel’s suicide earlier in the evening had given her an excuse to shoot off the door lock to the study and now she had possession of the key to the desk drawers. Within seconds, she was inside the study and feeling braver, she lit the desk lamp. She yanked open the doors to the desk and flicked through Menendez’s private correspondence. It wasn’t long before she found documents that damned him. They made for a chilling read. Magistrate Read was right: Menendez was a traitor in the pay of the French. He was a spy.

‘Breeding will out,’ she muttered angrily through gritted teeth as she folded the letters and slid them down the front of her bodice.

‘Indeed it will, Magdalena,’ said a cold voice behind her. ‘Although, I’m surprised to find a daughter of the
hidalguía
has entered my bedchamber, stolen the key to my desk and riffled through my private papers like a common thief.’

She spun around. Menendez stood behind her; his hair still dishevelled from his bed and his shirt open at the neck. He twisted his cravat in his hands and his face was contorted with anger.
How did I not hear him enter the room?
She pushed herself back against the desk in alarm.

‘Did your detective lover persuade you to turn into an informer against your own countrymen?’ he demanded.

‘You’re a traitor!’ she yelled into his leering face. ‘You’re a dancing monkey for
los cerdos franceses
!’

He laughed bitterly and stepped closer. ‘I’m a realist,’ he snarled. ‘I know that collaboration with the French is the only way to end this accursed war and bring some normality back into our lives. But you, madam – you’re a hellcat and a whore.’

Menendez gripped her shoulders roughly, spun her round and forced her face down over the desk. Paperweights, inkbottles and quills flew onto the floor. He pressed down onto her with the weight of his body and whipped his cravat over her head. She opened her mouth to scream with fear and pain but he yanked the cravat into her mouth before she could make a sound and tied it behind her head. The gag cut painfully into the sides of her mouth.

Magdalena kicked out behind her but she was no match for Don Felipe’s strength. He had her firmly pinned down over the desk. Now his right hand began to roam over her body. She gasped in horror as she felt him lift her skirts and run his hands up her legs to the top of her stockings.
Does he intend to ravish me?

She screwed her eyes up and tried to block out the sensation of his mauling hands. Suddenly, he found what he was looking for. He whipped her pistol out from the top of her boots. He pressed the muzzle of the weapon into the side of her temple.

‘Did you reload it after you shot off my door lock?’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Shall I pull the trigger and end your life now? I’ve caught you red-handed trying to rob me.’

Magdalena froze.

‘No.’ Menendez laughed and pulled back the pistol. ‘You’re worth more to me alive than dead. I can think of a few other people who want to kill you – and they will pay me handsomely to return you to their clutches. Did you know that there is a reward out for your capture in Spain?’ He smoothed her skirts back down over her legs. She recoiled at his touch.

‘The French don’t forgive,’ he continued. ‘They have offered a large reward for the return of the woman who shot four of their officers – and I will need that money now. Now that you have spoiled my little operation here in London.’

She swallowed hard and tried to scream but it came out as a strangled gurgle.

‘Yes, I think we’ll take a little trip back to Spain together.’ He dragged her over to the windows and, using the cords that usually tied back the drapes, he bound her hands behind her back. Next he pushed her to the floor and tied up her ankles. She was completely helpless.

‘Of course, they will play with you for a while before they execute you,’ he said. ‘They will torture you for information and despoil you.’

Sebastián’s cheeky, smiling little face came into Magdalena’s mind. As tears streamed from her eyes, she forced herself to think of his laugh and his sweet, wet kiss on her cheek.
Stephen will take care of him now. Please God, Stephen would never let her son starve.

She was vaguely aware that Menendez left the room. The waiting seemed interminable. The ormolu clock on the fireplace taunted her with its ticking as it measured out some of the last minutes of her life. It was over. Only misery and horror lay ahead for her now.

Fresh tears seeped unbidden out of the corner of her eyes.
What a fool I have been! To risk everything – for this?
Part of her wished that Menendez would shoot her in the head there and then. She shivered at the thought of the unspeakable horrors the French would make her suffer.
But at least Sebastián is safe.

Menendez returned in his outdoor coat with its voluminous capes. He untied the rope around her ankles and dragged her roughly to her feet. ‘Your carriage awaits you madam,’ he snarled. He wrapped her own cloak around her shoulders, fastened it, pulled up her hood and dragged her into the cold hallway and out of the open front door.

For a moment, he left her standing on the doorstep while he spoke to the coach driver who was loading a small trunk onto the roof. Menendez had made a mistake. She stood in a pool of light beneath the oil lamp on the wall of the house. A few yards behind the Menendez coach a cab had drawn up at one of the neighbouring houses. The young driver looked curiously in their direction.

She shook her head vigorously and the loose-fitting hood fell back. Now her head, her face and the white gag that silenced her were clearly visible in the lamplight.

Menendez bounded up the steps and whipped the hood back over her head. ‘You whore!’ he hissed as he tried to drag her towards the coach. She resisted him as much as she could, refusing to use her legs to walk. Desperately, she prayed that the young cabby could see her resistance.

The coach door slammed shut behind them. Menendez threw her down into a seat then leant down and slapped her hard across her face. Tears sprang from her eyes at the pain. But a sense of triumph rose inside her along with renewed hope.

‘Don’t think that anyone will come to your aid, now you two-faced trollop! Your stupid, precious lover is tucked up in his bed and snoring his head off – and no one else cares for you. Do you hear me, you whore? You’re just another Spanish refugee and no one gives a damn. No one cares!’ The carriage jerked as it pulled away from the kerb.

Behind her gag, Magdalena mouthed the worst obscenity she knew in Menendez’s direction.

Chapter Thirty-three

Lavender and Woods thundered around the corner into Bedford Square and pulled up sharply in front of the Menendez house. Throwing the reins over the park railings, they raced up the steps. Lavender hammered on the door with a ferocity that should have wakened the dead, never mind the Menendez household. Neither of them paid attention to the pale and startled coachman sat on his cab.

A dishevelled footman, with no wig and his waistcoat flapping open over yesterday’s creased shirt, finally answered the door. He opened his mouth to protest at their noisy intrusion but he never managed to utter his complaint. Woods pushed him roughly to one side as the two men strode into the dim hallway.

Juana Menendez was halfway down the staircase, a lamp in her hand and a shawl thrown loosely over the shoulders of her billowing nightgown.

‘Detective! How dare you force your way in here – again!’ She was furious.

‘Where is your brother, Señorita Menendez?’

‘Felipe? Why?’

‘Where is he?’

‘He has gone out for a while. His room is empty.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘I don’t know!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not privy to his business.’

Lavender hesitated for a moment. He saw Juana’s plump sister lurking nervously on the upstairs landing in the shadows but where was Magdalena? Surely they had made enough noise to awaken the entire household?

‘I need to see his room,’ Lavender said.

‘You most certainly shall not! How dare you! Andreo’ – she waved a furious hand at the footman, gesturing him towards the detectives – ‘Andreo! Remove these persons from our house immediately.’

Woods turned to face the manservant. ‘I wouldn’t try anythin’ on if I were you, fellah,’ he growled.

Andreo took a step back.

Suddenly, there was a flash of white linen and Teresa flew across the landing in her nightgown, boots and a cheap woollen shawl. Her loose frizzy hair flew out behind her. ‘Señor the detective! Señor the detective!’ she screamed as she raced down the stairs.

‘How dare you, you slut!’ Juana Menendez screamed in Spanish. She grabbed Teresa by the hair and jerked the girl to an abrupt halt. Teresa shrieked in pain and burst into tears. ‘Go back to the servants’ quarters – now!’

Lavender leapt up the stairs to Teresa’s rescue. The footman stepped forward at the same time – only to find his way barred by Woods’ bulky figure. ‘Easy fellah.’

Lavender pulled Teresa away from Juana Menendez’s clutches and led the sobbing maid back down the stairs to safety. ‘She has gone, Señor the detective!’ Teresa wailed. ‘She has gone!’

Lavender’s gut wrenched again and he felt the bile rise in his throat. ‘Who has gone Teresa?’ he asked gently. But he knew the answer already.

‘Doña Magdalena – she’s not in her bed.’ She buried her head in his chest and sobbed.

‘There! See you have your answer!’ Juana Menendez yelled. ‘Your precious Señora Morales is out on a midnight assignation – unchaperoned – with my brother. The filthy whore!’

‘No!’ Teresa suddenly came back to life. She stamped her foot and swung back in fury to face the triumphant mistress of the house. ‘No. Doña Magdalena, she loves Señor the detective! She tell me!’

‘Well, where is she then?’ Juana goaded. ‘She’s not with him now, is she? She’s with my brother? Explain that!’

‘I know where they are,’ squeaked a nervous male voice from behind them.

Startled, everyone spun round. They stared in disbelief at the skinny young cab driver framed in the open doorway and backlit by the moonlight. Swathed in scarves against the cold, with his hat pulled low over his eyes, he clutched his whip tightly in his gloved hands.

‘Alfie!’ Woods exclaimed. ‘Is it Alfie?’

‘Evening, Constable Woods.’ The lad touched the brim of his hat respectfully. ‘I thought I recognised you.’

‘You know him?’ Lavender asked.

‘Of course I do,’ Woods said. ‘This is Master Alfie Tummins from the cabby company in Wandsworth.’

‘Oh yes?’ Lavender said, icily. ‘This is the young man who let kidnappers steal away poor Harriet Willoughby from his cab?’

‘Well – as Constable Woods knows – I’m right sorry about that.’ Tummins swallowed anxiously. ‘But I can ’elp yer tonight, Constable, I can. I knows where that man took that woman.’

‘How so?’ Lavender demanded. Even Teresa looked up from Lavender’s chest.

‘I ’eard ’im tell the coach driver to take them to the wharf at Smith’s timber yard next to Westminster Bridge.’

The Lambeth docks? What the hell was Menendez going to do with Magdalena at the docks?

‘Are you sure, man?’ Woods asked the timid coach driver.

‘Very sure,’ the lad replied. ‘I were watchin’ them closely and listenin’ on account of the woman, you see.’

‘The woman?’

‘Yes, the pretty, dark one. She were gagged and all trussed up. She fought like a fiend but that foreign geezer dragged ’er into the coach.’

‘These are lies!’ Juana Menendez screamed down the stairs. ‘Foul calumny!’

‘Why didn’t you go to help?’ Lavender snapped.

‘There wasn’t time. They were aboard and the driver ’ad cracked the whip and set off before I could think.’

‘When was this?’

‘About ten minutes ago.’

Ten minutes! There was still chance to catch them.

‘The next thing I knew, you and Constable Woods rode round the corner like the devil were after you. I thought the two events were connected so I leapt down from me cab and came ’ere.’

‘You’ve done well, Alfie,’ Woods said. Even in the dim light they watched the young coachman’s cheeks flush red with pleasure.

‘You’ll tell me da?’

‘Yes, lad, I will.’ Woods pulled Teresa away from where she was still clung onto Lavender and pushed her towards the young coachman. ‘I need you to do me another favour, son. I want you take this young gal safely to my wife on Oak Road. Tell my wife to look after her until I get home.’ He gave Tummins the address and tossed him a few coins. ‘You’ll be all right, treacle,’ he said to Teresa. ‘Young Alfie here and Mrs Woods will take care of you.’

Juana Menendez’s curses rang in their ears as they leapt down the steps and grabbed the reins of their tethered horses.

‘Menendez has got Magdalena,’ Lavender said as he swung himself up into the saddle. Fear strangled his voice in his throat.

‘Not for long,’ Woods reassured him. He turned his horse to face south. ‘They’re in a carriage – and only have ten minutes on us. We’ll be at that wharf ahead of them!’