Black Gold (24 page)

Saint-Martin picked up the black shoe from the floor. “A big man has lost it.”

Burton examined the shoe and put it in the bag he carried. “There's little doubt the person who was dragged to the back exit was Roach, but we don't know for certain if he was dead at the time.”

The three men stepped outside to inspect the fresh prints and tracks close to the door. Scattered bits of plaster indicated Anne had made molds of some of the clearer boot prints.

“The hoof prints are too small for a horse. Must be a donkey's,” Georges remarked. “And the tracks come from a two-wheeled cart.”

A few minutes later, they found a young beast in a nearby pasture, quite strong enough for the task they suspected she had performed. Her hooves matched the prints by the tennis hall. Her harness and cart were in an unlocked gardener's shed next to the pasture. The cart's wheels fitted the tracks.

“Servants rise early. They might have seen something,” suggested Georges. “I'll find out.” He left his companions in the tennis hall and hastened to the stables in Combe Park's west wing. The stablemaster was standing, arms crossed, overseeing the cleaning of a coach. Georges waited until the man appeared to be free, then asked him about the movements of the donkey and her cart. He shook his head, he had slept through the night. The two men working for him shrugged that they knew nothing.

As Georges turned to leave, he caught the eye of a young groom polishing a brass lantern at the rear of the coach. He was listening, knew something, Georges could tell, but was afraid to leave his work or had reason to be shy of the stablemaster.

Georges lingered in the stable, feeding oats to a horse, until the stablemaster left and the groom seemed free. Georges beckoned him. The young man came hesitantly. Georges promised to say nothing to the stablemaster and showed the young man a handful of pennies. He bit on his lower lip, his eyes on the money.

Then his tongue loosened. He had spent most of the previous night with one of the nymphs of Avon Street. Walking up the road to Combe Park before dawn, he heard someone coming toward him. He crouched in the brush off to one side. Two hooded men wrapped in long cloaks led a donkey and cart to within a few paces of his lair. It was too dark to see their faces or the large object they had in the cart. But he recognized Juliette.

“Juliette?” asked Georges.

“The donkey. I feed and brush her. Give her treats. As she passed, she sensed me. Balked and whinnied. I was afraid they'd find me.”

“What did the men do?”

“One of them stopped the cart. The other drew a sword and stared in my direction. I was terrified. The man stepped toward me, his head cocked, listening. I held my breath. Then he said, it must have been a rat scurrying into the brush. He sheathed his sword and told the other man to move on. When they were gone, I hurried back to Combe Park.”

“Can you identify the men?” Georges could easily guess who they were.

“Their voices sounded familiar. Irish, for sure.”

By this time, Georges and the groom had fed and brushed the horse and cleaned his stall. “Before we leave the stable, tell me the rest.”

Upon arriving back at Combe Park, the groom had checked the pasture and found Juliette missing, her cart gone from the shed. “It was none of my business,” he told Georges. “I went to bed in my room above the stable. But I couldn't sleep. I wondered what the hooded men were carrying down to the river. Finally, I got up and hid near the shed. In a few minutes the cart drew near. A hooded man led the donkey up to the door and unshuttered a lamp to find the latch. I recognized his face.”

“Who was it?”

“Captain Fitzroy's valet.”

“And the cart?”

“It was empty.”

Georges gave the young man his pennies and dashed back to the tennis hall. Dick Burton and Colonel Saint-Martin were in the training room. Breathless, he told them what he had learned from the young groom.

Burton frowned. “Fitzroy and his valet, beyond a doubt, leaving with Roach's body.” He gazed at Saint-Martin. “I believe we have a murder to solve.”

***

As he approached the house, Burton saw Sir Harry Rogers at the main entrance shaking the hand of a departing guest. A business partner, judging by the man's sober appearance and ample girth. Sir Harry smiled as he turned to go back inside, apparently pleased by a profitable deal. Then he noticed Burton approach. His smile faded at the sight of a stranger.

Burton tipped his hat, introduced himself, and began to explain his mission.

Sir Harry cut him off. “Come to my study. We'll talk there.”

Entering the room, Burton smelled the fresh aroma of fine Virginia pipe tobacco. A bottle of port and two empty glasses stood on a small table by the window. A scent of dinner still lingered in the air. And perhaps the sound of music—the harpsichord was uncovered. Burton applauded inwardly. Sir Harry treated his partners well, one of the reasons he was so successful.

He nodded to a couple of chairs by the fireplace and they sat down. “You started to speak about Jack Roach, I believe.” Sir Harry appeared annoyed.

Burton knew Rogers had engaged Roach to spy on his wife. Hardly an unusual practice in London or Bath. Could the two men have had a disagreement that became violent? Burton watched Rogers' face. “Sir, I believe that Roach has met with foul play at Combe Park.”

Rogers drew back, mouth open, as if someone had suddenly struck him. “He was supposed to bring a report to my office last night on some work he was doing for me, but he never came. A footman said Roach had walked out toward the tennis hall. I looked there but couldn't find him.” Sir Harry slumped down in his chair, confusion in his eyes, his hands nervously rubbing the arms of his chair.

Burton wondered about Rogers' obvious distress. A great deal had hung on Roach's report. It might have contained evidence for a divorce that Rogers desired passionately. If provoked by Roach, he could have reacted violently. But, until Roach's body was found, it was premature to probe him any further. Burton stirred as if preparing to leave. “I'll need to speak to servants and members of the family who might shed light on Roach's disappearance.”

Distracted, Rogers didn't respond at first, then looked up and nodded. “Of course. The steward will show you around.”

***

The parlor seemed like the best place for the informal interrogation Burton had in mind. He had sent a footman to summon Captain Fitzroy but had not indicated his purpose. That he was an officer of the Bow Street Court in London was usually enough to encourage a prompt response. Burton was standing by the fireplace, leaning on his cane, when the Irishman entered the room. He walked toward the officer with uneasy nonchalance. Curiosity and apprehension blended with his arrogance. Burton gestured to the chairs near the fire and they sat facing one another.

“Word may already have reached you, Captain, that Mr. Jack Roach has disappeared.”

Fitzroy raised an eyebrow. “I hadn't heard. Should I care?”

“It happened under suspicious circumstances, such that I think he may have been murdered.” Burton leaned forward, meeting Fitzroy's eye. “And, I think you
should
care. Mr. Roach entered the tennis hall approximately twenty minutes before you and Lady Margaret. You two may have been the last persons to have seen him alive last night.”

“Wrong assumption,” observed Fitzroy, unruffled. “It's true we went to the tennis hall. Mr. Roach had asked us to meet him there. I presumed Roach would beg for money, for he had lost heavily at yesterday's boxing match. But when we arrived, we found no one. We waited for perhaps a quarter of an hour, then returned to the house.”

“Captain Fitzroy, is it likely Mr. Roach would have wanted to
borrow
money from you? He'd more likely have
demanded
it. He also knew you had lost as much as he had.”

The Irishman appeared momentarily speechless.

“I believe you are more involved in Roach's disappearance than you have just led me to believe. I have taken the liberty of examining your boots.”

Fitzroy appeared surprised, then outraged. “What insolence!”

“No insult intended, Captain. I shall do the same to several other men. It appears someone found Roach in the training room and moved him during the early morning hours. There are boot prints outside the back door of the tennis hall. They match yours.”

Burton opened a package on a nearby table, revealing the plaster models Miss Cartier had made during the morning. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back, head to one side, watching Fitzroy.

Fitzroy glanced skeptically at the models. “They might fit many boots besides mine. I don't see any distinguishing marks or distinctive shapes.”

“Furthermore,” said Burton, pleased to have rattled the Irishman, “during the early hours of the morning, a witness observed you and your valet going down the road to the river with a heavily laden donkey cart.” Burton realized he was stretching the facts slightly.

“
Observed
in the dark of night?” countered Fitzroy with contempt. “Absurd!”

“Your voice gave you away, Captain, when you thought a rat had startled the donkey. About an hour later, your valet was recognized as he returned the cart to its shed and the donkey to its pasture. Can you explain what you were doing? Or, must I draw the truth from your valet?”

The Irishman walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back and stood there silent for a minute. Finally, he turned around and glared at Burton. “It's true, my valet and I moved Roach's body in the donkey cart. You've already discovered that. But I didn't kill him. He was lying sprawled on the training room floor, already dead, when Lady Margaret and I arrived between eleven and twelve. I didn't want his body to be found on her estate. So I hid him in a closet, then later took him down to the Quay and dumped him into the river.”

“It seems fair to say, Captain, you moved Roach's body because, if it were discovered at Combe Park, the public would leap to the conclusion you had killed him to save Lady Margaret's honor.”

Fitzroy shrugged. “As good a reason as any I can think of.”

Burton pressed on. “How would you describe your relationship with Roach? I recall you slapping his face at the Fancy Ball.”

“It's common knowledge in Bath, Mr. Burton, that I despised the man, as did many others. The truth is, he threatened to expose a non-existent love affair between me and my cousin Lady Margaret. I would have gladly shot him in a duel, but he was much too cowardly to accept my challenge. I went to meet him last night because he claimed he would show me some new incriminating evidence he had gathered against Lady Margaret. The brazen cad!” Fitzroy drew himself up as if insulted. “Even under such provocation, sir, I would not have stooped to murdering him in the dark of night.”

Burton believed the Irishman might be telling the truth. But, he might also be an accomplished liar. His appeal to honor was suspect. It had not restrained him from beating women on at least two occasions. Burton leaned back in his chair. “No more questions for now, Captain, but I must ask you to remain in Bath until I have discovered all the particulars of Mr. Roach's death. You have made that task more difficult by throwing his body into the river.”

***

Saint-Martin entered the parlor, Georges Charpentier in his wake. Dick Burton had called for them and was sitting at a table set for three. He rose to greet them cordially, then stretched, swung his cane back and forth. A footman brought them a tray of tea and biscuits, poured for them, and withdrew.

“Fitzroy has admitted to moving Roach's body,” Burton began. “I would also have liked to question Mr. Critchley, but he was out of the house. Probably at Spring Gardens. And, Lady Margaret. But she was indisposed. I'll talk to her later.”

He paused to spread butter on a biscuit and took a bite. Then he turned to Saint-Martin. “Fitzroy's the prime suspect, wouldn't you agree? He had opportunity and motives for killing Roach.”

“A suspect, of course,” replied Saint-Martin, apprehensive lest Burton reach a hasty conclusion. “But not the only one. The killer could have been lying in wait when Roach entered the tennis hall, killed him, then fled when Fitzroy arrived. Any number of persons could and would have done it.”

“Do you have a particular person in mind?” asked Burton, his tone slightly waspish.

“It's really too early to name one among many. But, I could point out that even Sir Harry had opportunity and motive.”

Burton looked doubtful.

“He could have slipped out of his study unobserved and surprised Roach in the tennis hall. Or, they might have agreed to meet there. Rogers badly wants to end his marriage with Lady Margaret. If Roach had offered the needed evidence but demanded too much, Sir Harry could have grown desperate enough to kill for it.”

Burton shook his head. “I spoke to Rogers a half-hour ago. He appeared genuinely distressed, like a man who has lost a business partner on whom he was depending.”

“Facial expressions are difficult to interpret,” Saint-Martin countered. “Business men are often skilled liars.” He added, “We should include on the list of suspects the many friends and relatives of the smugglers whom Roach betrayed to the excisemen, as well as the ladies and gentlemen of Bath whose scandals he exploited. With little effort and less compunction, any of them could have hired a couple of assassins to surprise Jack Roach last night when he entered the training room.”

“Allow me to make a suggestion,” Georges said respectfully. “I think Critchley should be considered. I saw him leave the dining room a little before eleven and he didn't return. He also had a strong motive—to free himself from Roach's grip. And, they were quarrelling about something Critchley had stolen from Lady Margaret, something that Roach desperately wanted. Critchley could have met Roach in the tennis hall, been cheated by him, and killed him.”