Finessing Clarissa (5 page)

Clarissa was halfway up the stairs, holding a semi-conscious Hubbard and complaining, ‘You wretched fool. How could this happen? You only had half a bottle of champagne.’ Hubbard recovered consciousness again. ‘God bless His Majesty!’ she roared.

‘Let me help you,’ said Mr Epsom, coming down the stairs. ‘Here is your key.’

Hubbard had gone to sleep again. Clarissa shoved her body over the banisters, where it hung like a sack, and held out her hand for the key.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘If I take one side and you the other, we might be able to get her to bed.’

‘Gladly,’ he said with a smile.

Then Clarissa stopped and stood rigid, her eyes staring out into space. Mr Epsom looked at her anxiously. Foxed as well as her maid, he thought.

But Clarissa had noticed Mr Epsom’s gloves when he handed her the key. Those lavender gloves were streaked with black marks. They had not had a mark on them when he left the dining room. She had noticed them particularly, thinking them a very pretty shade of lavender.

She turned and looked down at him, her eyes blazing. ‘You have been in my jewel box,’ she said.

Mr Epsom turned pale. ‘Bless me, ma’am. As if I would. Is this the way you repay kindness – with mad accusations? Come, let me help you with your maid.’

‘Get away from me! Thief!’ said Clarissa, lashing out. She struck him a blow across the chest and, with a wail of surprise, he somersaulted down the stairs. There was a sickening crash as he hit the floor and then he lay still.

What have I done? thought Clarissa.

She ran down the stairs and searched frantically through Mr Epsom’s pockets. Not a single jewel. She leaned over him. He was breathing, but she did not know how long he would continue to breathe. The door opened and the colonel who had searched her carriage stood there, with some of his men behind him.

‘What has happened, ma’am?’ he asked, looking from Hubbard, slouched over the banisters, to Mr Epsom’s still form.

Clarissa’s one thought was that if she had killed this man, she would hang. If he had been trying to steal from her, then
he
would hang. And she could not bear either of those prospects. Despite the vast crowds which still turned out to see a public hanging, many malefactors still went scot-free, since a surprising number of people could not bring themselves to bear witness against them and so be the cause of their death. Hanging, instead of being a deterrent to the criminal, was rapidly becoming an impediment to the course of justice.

‘He was trying to help me get my maid to bed,’ said Clarissa, ‘and he fell and struck his head. Is he dead?’

The colonel knelt down by the fallen Mr Epsom. ‘No, ma’am, just unconscious. We’ll call the physician. I remember you, ma’am; we have already searched your bags and carriage.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘Here, two of you, carry this lady’s maid up to her room.’

Hubbard was lifted by two redcoats and carried up the stairs and dumped on the trucklebed in the corner of Clarissa’s room.

Clarissa waited until they had left and then she locked the door. She went to her jewel case and opened it. She saw at once that he had been in it. The rings were scattered about instead of being neatly arranged in their compartments. She lifted out the trays. Everything seemed to be there. To be sure, she counted everything carefully; so intent on counting the pieces of jewellery was she that she did not notice the flat black oilskin packet at the bottom of the box.

She put all the jewellery back in and slammed down the lid, washed her hands, and then looked down at her sleeping maid.

She can just sleep with her clothes on, thought Clarissa, for she is too heavy to undress.

Clarissa had a disturbed night. She was awakened by the groans of Hubbard and had to minister to her. She did not feel very well herself. Her head was hot and the bed showed an alarming tendency to run around the room every time she tried to lay her head on the pillow.

At least I know something, thought Clarissa dismally. Lots of drink is no fun at all. We must leave very early or that poor man will awake and try to charge me with assault. But, of course, he is a thief, so he will probably keep quiet. I suppose I should tell the authorities, for if he is not checked then he will try to thieve again. But that would mean a hanging and I could not bear that.

By seven in the morning, Clarissa had decided she’d had enough of the posting-house and its adventures. She went downstairs to order the carriage to be brought round and to pay her shot. She was ridiculously happy when the landlord told her it had already been paid by the Earl of Greystone. A small courtesy but one which gladdened Clarissa’s heart.

Mr Haddon called on the Tribbles two days after he had had dinner with them. To his dismay, there was no sign and no word of the Honourable Clarissa Vevian.

‘What if Georgina changed her mind?’ wailed Effy, too anguished to flirt. ‘What will we do?’

‘I fear you must advertise again,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘But give it a few more days. The roads can be treacherous. There may have been a storm. Then there has been a great fuss over some missing government papers, and all the inns and posting-houses and carriages are being searched. Say the thief was discovered to be in some town. The army might seal off that town and make a house-to-house search, and if that town was on the road from Bath, then this Miss Clarissa would be compelled to stay there.’

‘I know something awful has happened,’ said Effy. ‘Now I come to think of it, dear Georgina was always feckless and scatter-brained and flighty. She has no doubt forgotten our existence. Or what if she did not know of the wild events that have taken place here, and someone has now told her, and she has decided we are not fit chaperones for Clarissa?’

‘Oh, stop!’ said Amy, clutching her head. ‘We’ve had everything in this house arranged and rearranged and we’ve flown into a dither every time a carriage passes in the street below. I’m weary. I think I don’t like Clarissa or her family. We’re probably better off without her. She’s probably got a face on her like a pig’s arse.’

‘Miss Amy! Really!’ admonished Mr Haddon, showing that he, too, was upset at the non-arrival of Clarissa, for usually he let Amy’s vulgarities of speech pass without comment, knowing that Amy had been brought up in an age when coarseness was fashionable.

Amy blushed. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

A knock sounded on the door downstairs. ‘Don’t leap about, Effy,’ said Amy. ‘It’s probably a cheeky hawker, too lazy to go down the area steps.’

‘No, no,’ fluttered Effy. ‘I am sure it is something about Clarissa.’

She ran out. Amy tried to change the subject. ‘How is your friend from India getting along, Mr Haddon?’

‘Mr Randolph? Very well. He, too, finds London strange after India. I helped him to find lodgings yesterday. It is pleasant to have a companion of like interests.’

Amy felt jealous of this Mr Randolph. Now, perhaps, Mr Haddon would not call on them so much.

Effy came back into the room, looking flushed and happy. ‘It is a letter from the Earl of Greystone,’ she said.

‘And of what use is that?’ growled Amy.

‘Listen! He writes to say that Miss Clarissa Vevian had an accident to her carriage and will be delayed in arriving. He says – and this is most mysterious – that he holds himself responsible for the ruin of her carriage and loss of her baggage and will be calling on us before the end of the month to discuss payment. Well! Greystone . . . Greystone . . .’ Effy ran to the desk in the corner and took out her list of ‘eligibles’. ‘Ah, here he is. I knew I had heard the name recently. But it is in the ‘Not Likely’ column. He has recently inherited the title, lives near Marlborough, unwed, rich, but has not been seen in London yet. Do you think . . . ?’

‘No, I don’t think,’ said Amy. ‘Still, I’m glad the girl is still on her way here. Does this Greystone give any idea when she might reach London?’

‘He mentions she was staying a night with them. Let me see, she would need to break her journey again. With any luck, she should be here by late afternoon.’

Amy looked about her wearily. ‘Everything’s been done for her arrival that can be done. We can’t hire any tutors until we find out her deficiences. Oh, Lor’. I wish we didn’t have to have her.’

Amy was upset and bad tempered. She had a nagging ache in the small of her back and everything seemed to irritate her these days. Mr Haddon rose to take his leave. ‘Oh, I had forgot,’ he said. ‘A most momentous piece of news. Napoleon has escaped.’

‘And Queen Anne’s dead,’ said Amy rudely. ‘We heard that yesterday.

Mr Haddon’s thin face flushed slightly. He looked down at Amy, who had not risen to curtsy goodbye to him but was still slouched in an armchair.

‘I do not know what is wrong, Miss Amy,’ said Mr Haddon severely. ‘But of late, you have been snapping my head off. I thought we were friends. If I have done anything to offend you, please tell me.’

‘Oh, no!’ Amy shot to her feet and sent her chair flying. ‘Dear Mr Haddon. I am a bear! A veritable bear! Pray forgive me. I would not have you cross with me for anything in the world.’

Her eyes were shining with tears and her face was a picture of distress.

Mr Haddon bent and kissed her hand and then smiled into her eyes. ‘That’s better,’ he said softly. Amy looked at him in a dazed way and then slowly lifted the hand he had kissed to her bosom.

‘Humph!’ said Effy Tribble to no one in particular and threw a log on the fire with unnecessary force.

Mr Epsom recovered consciousness and opened his eyes to find a physician bending over him.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘You had a fall down the stairs and banged your head,’ said the physician. ‘I have bled you and told the landlord to let you lie here quietly for a few days until your strength returns.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Epsom weakly. He furrowed his brow. ‘Oh, I remember, tall girl. Helped her get her drunk maid up the stairs to . . . her . . . room . . .’ His voice trailed away as memory came flooding back. The papers!

‘I must get up!’ He tried to leap out of bed, but the room whirled about him.

‘Now, now, sir,’ said the physician, pressing him back against the pillows. ‘You will do yourself a mischief.’

Mr Epsom closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then he opened them again and said, ‘Please ask the tall lady with the red hair to step along and see me. She is a guest here. Don’t know her name but should be easy to find. Gigantic female.’

‘Do you think that wise? I—’

‘Get her,’ said Mr Epsom savagely.

He closed his eyes again and waited. But it was the landlord who reappeared after what seemed an age.

‘Beg pardon, Mr Epsom, sir,’ he said, ‘but the lady you was asking about left early this morning.’

Mr Epsom groaned. Then he asked, ‘Who was she?’

The landlord scratched his wig. ‘Don’t rightly know, sir. The room was ordered and paid for by the Earl of Greystone, so I suppose the young lady must have been a member of his family.’

There came a light knock at the door and then a voice Mr Epsom knew only too well demanded, ‘I hear my dear friend, Mr Epsom, is ill. Leave us, landlord. We wish to be private.’

The landlord bowed low before the finely dressed visitor.

The visitor waited until the landlord had left and then turned the key in the lock. He strolled up to the bed and said in a silky voice, ‘Sorry to see you in such a coil. The ague?’

‘No, was pushed down the stairs and knocked unconscious. Damned physician bled me while I was out and I’m as weak as a kitten.’

‘Before I find out who it was who attacked you, may I know whether you have the papers safe?’

‘They’re gone,’ whispered Mr Epsom.

The visitor drew a pistol from his pocket and levelled it at Mr Epsom’s head. ‘Any more last words?’ he asked pleasantly.

‘No! Spare me. All may not be yet lost. Listen! You must listen. The soldiers were here last night searching the place. I was at my wit’s end. I offered to help a red-haired female in the dining room who was having trouble with her tipsy maid. I asked her for the key to her room and volunteered to go ahead and open the door for her. She gave me the key. I ran up and hid the papers in the bottom of the jewel box, meaning to retrieve them later. We were on the stairs when this red-haired giantess suddenly stares at my gloves and accuses me of having been at her jewellery. I tried to protest and she struck me and that’s the last I know. She is of Greystone’s family. The papers can be retrieved before she ever finds them.’

‘I think, my friend, I had better help you out of here in case the militia return. She may have discovered them already. She obviously fears she might have killed you, for she has not reported you as a thief. What was it about your gloves that alerted her?’

‘I don’t know. They must be with my clothes. Lavender pair. Kid.’

The visitor walked across the room and searched until he found the gloves. ‘They’re smeared with black, as if they’d touched something which had been in a fire,’ he said. ‘Either she smeared her jewels with the stuff or they have been in a fire. In any case, the sooner we’re on our way, the better.’

He called for the landlord and started to make preparations to have Mr Epsom carried to his carriage. Soon Mr Epsom was stretched along one of the seats. ‘Drink this,’ said his friend, holding a flask of brandy to his mouth. ‘You will feel better.’

Mr Epsom drank deeply and lay back. Then his face turned blue, and his heels slid from the seat and performed a mad tattoo on the floor. Quite soon after he died from the poisoned brandy he had drunk.

The carriage drove on and on until night fell. ‘Stop here!’ called the murderer, opening the trap in the roof.

He climbed out and looked up at a gibbet silhouetted against the moon. Three corpses in various stages of decomposition swung dismally on their chains. ‘No one will notice an extra body, John,’ he said to his coachman. ‘I’ll hand you up the body and you stand on the top of the coach and tie it up.’

His villainous coachman was too well trained and too well paid to ask such stupid questions as ‘What body?’

Mr Epsom’s corpse was undressed down to the breeches and shirt. They spattered and dirtied his shirt and tousled and muddied his hair until he looked like a common felon. Then, standing on top of the coach while his master steadied the horses, the coachman chained up the body alongside the other three.