Murder and Misdeeds (22 page)

“How far away was the barn?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Luten. I was blindfolded,” she said.

“How long did it take you to get there? Half an hour, an hour, a day?”

“A few hours, it seemed like. It was hard to tell when I was blindfolded.”

“Did he take you in a carriage?”

She hesitated a guilty length of time. “In a farm cart, with a blanket over me,” she said.

“Why didn’t you jump out? Were you tied?”

“Of course I was tied up,” she said angrily.

“Did you drive through East Grinstead?” .

“How should I know?”

“The fair was on that day. You would have heard the noise. Or did he plug your ears as well?” he asked satirically.

“He
...
I was doped,” she said.

“Luten!” Otto objected. “Have mercy on the poor child.”

Susan put her hand in her pocket and drew out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and to give her time to think. She might have known Luten would be horrid!

Corinne was also having doubts at this unlikely story. She glanced at the handkerchief, then looked again. The tatting along the edge looked familiar—like one of the set Mrs. Ballard had made for her for her birthday. She handed Susan her own fresh handkerchief and took the mussed one from her fingers. She examined it and ascertained that it was one of her own. It must have been taken from her purse, along with her comb and mirror and lemon drops. Susan was fond of sweets. The sugarplums Rufus had bought in town and pretended were for Sally’s birthday, the honey cake Rufus pretended he had eaten ... Susan had been at Rufus Stockwell’s house the whole time! And Rufus knew it!

She looked to Rufus and saw his brow was pleated in worry. He was pale and looked exceedingly uncomfortable. Luten was still pestering Susan with questions. Otto was clucking his objection.

“Do leave the poor child be, Luten,” she said. “Let her rest and recover her wits. I would like a word with you in Otto’s study. Perhaps you would join us, Mr. Stockwell?”

She gave Luten a commanding look. He knew she was on to something and went with her. Stockwell tagged along, with all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the tooth drawer.

In the study, Corinne said to Stockwell, “Now, let us have the real story, if you please. We know Susan has been in your attic all the while. Did you kidnap her, or— as I suspect—did she sneak in when you were not looking?”

Rufus lifted his chin and said firmly, “I kidnapped her.”

“But you were at the fair when she disappeared,” she said. “Cut line, Mr. Stockwell. The truth will out. Let us have it with no bark on.”

He met her gaze for a moment, then his eyes fell and his shoulders sagged. “Susan has been pest—hinting that she would like to marry me,” he said. “I told her it would not do. The disparity in our fortunes ... She got into the attic without anyone seeing her while I was at the fair. I knew nothing of it until dawn the next morning, when she crept down while I was still in bed. I was horrified! I didn’t know what to do. If anyone found out, she would be ruined. She refused to go home. I couldn’t let her starve. I had to feed her, and it was not easy, for I didn’t want Mrs. Dorman to know she was there.”

“How very unpleasant for you,” Corinne said, with every sign of sympathy. “And then what did you do?”

“My hope was that I could convince her to go home and pretend she had been injured, lying in a ditch. But she refused to budge. She is a lady—how could I use physical force? It was the deuce of a dilemma. Then you came to call, and I realized how worried Otto was—all of you, her friends. You mentioned, later, that he was afraid she was dead, since no ransom note had come. It seemed cruel to leave him suffering, so we decided we would pretend she had been kidnapped and sent the note. Just as a way of getting her home, you see. I had finally convinced her we couldn’t marry. It was her own money, so it did not really seem so bad.”

Luten breathed a sigh of relief. “So you have the money!”

Rufus cast a fearful eye on his inquisitors. “Not exactly,” he said. “Peggy came over to tell Sally about the ransom meeting, and how you, Lord Luten, planned to be there, hiding. Sally told me about it. I had a word with Susan, and we decided to take Sally and Peggy into our confidence, as they are both fond of Susan and we knew they would help us. It was arranged that Peggy would slip some laudanum into the water for your coffee. I’m sorry.”

Luten glared but held his tongue.

Rufus drew a deep breath and forged ahead with his story. “I’m afraid it gets worse. I collected the valise as arranged in the note. We meant to hide it in some barn or tree and pretend we had found it in a day or two.”

“What happened to the money?” Luten asked in a hollow voice.

“It was stolen by the highwayman,” Rufus said. “I came out of the forest with the bag tied to my saddle. I didn’t use the main road but went in by a little side path the poachers use. The highwayman came out of nowhere. He’d been waiting for me, I swear. Perhaps he followed me from Greenleigh, though I don’t see how he could know I was involved. More likely he was lurking about at the blasted oak and got out of the forest by a shorter route. In any case, he pointed a pistol at me and demanded the money. I had to give it to him. I hoped to follow him and get it back, but he ordered me to turn around and hit me over the back of my head with his pistol. I was out cold. When I woke up, I was on the ground.” He put his fingers to his head. They came away smeared with blood. “There, you see, that proves it. I am really extremely sorry.” He looked ready to burst into tears.

Corinne took pity on him and said, “Of course you are, Mr. Stockwell. You must get that wound looked at.”

Luten let off an extremely proficient stream of oaths. Having vented his anger, he said, “The bloodhounds! Let us hope they do the trick.”

“Bloodhounds?” Rufus said.

Corinne explained about Lafferty’s bloodhounds and the vanilla.

“Oh, I thought the valise had a nice smell,” he said. Then he cast a chastened look at Luten. “I know I’ve been a wretched fool, but I am indeed sorry, milord. What should I do?”

“You have two options, Stockwell. You may marry Miss Enderton, or meet me in the court of twelve paces. It is entirely up to you.” Then he strode out of the room to call for his mount.

Rufus said uncertainly, “Is he serious? Does he think I should marry Susan?”

“Oh, indeed, I think you must, Mr. Stockwell. Luten is an excellent shot. You don’t want Susan to have to bury you.” She tore out of the room after Luten.

Rufus sat down and drew a deep sigh of relief, which fast rose to delight. Then he went to join Susan in the saloon to tell her the good news. Otto was nearly as joyful as Susan.

“Now, if only we could get your money back,” he said, shaking his head and reaching for the wine bottle.

Chapter Twenty-four

“Where are you going, Luten?” Corinne demanded. “What are you going to do? I want to go with you.”

As the words left her mouth, the door closed behind him. He didn’t even bother to say she couldn’t accompany him. Despite his great hurry, he had no real idea where he was going. With luck, Pattle’s bloodhounds would take up the trail, but which direction had the thief taken? He thought of what Stockwell had said, that the highwayman must have followed him from the forest, as he was waiting for him when he came out. Who knew about the transaction besides the people at Appleby Court and Greenleigh? Blackmore’s servant had visited Peggy. Once a servant knew something, the household knew, and from there, it was not long before it was all over the parish.

Luten hopped on his mount and headed,
ventre à terre,
to Blackmore’s stable. A stableboy came out.

“I have to see Lord Blackmore, urgently,” Luten said.

“Sorry, your lordship, he ain’t at home tonight.”

“At Mrs. Spencer’s, is he?”

The stableboy looked worried. “That ain’t for me to say, your lordship.”

“It’s all right, lad. I know about his mistress.”

The boy grinned. “In that case, you might find him there.”

Prance had said Prissy Trueheart went back to London, but the servants might not know it yet. She made a good excuse to leave home at night in any case. Her house would be standing empty. A good place to hide the ransom money. No doubt the lease was in Blackmore’s pocket.

Thinking of the highwayman, it occurred to Luten that visiting the
soi-disant
Mrs. Spencer would have made a good excuse for late evening absences from home, while Blackmore held up carriages on the highway. Why had Blackmore taken up with the wench? He would certainly know a light-skirt from a lady, whatever act he had put on for Prance. But Blackmore couldn’t be the highwayman. He had been under Luten’s own observation the night the Turner ladies were held up.

Neither Luten nor anyone who knew Soames believed he was the highwayman. A second thought told Luten it was likely the real highwayman had stolen the ransom money. The next question was, where had he taken it? He would know the shepherd’s hut was safe, now that Hodden thought the highwayman was dead. Luten headed for it, taking the shortcut through Blackmore’s meadow.

* * * *

The bloodhounds soon took up the scent and set out through the forest at a great rate, picking a path through the trees, with Coffen and Prance following. All went exceedingly well until they came to a clearing in the forest, at which point the dogs went mad. They began tearing around in circles, yelping their heads off.

Coffen decided he’d best stop and see what had set them off. One of them was pawing at an old box. With his luck, it would be a box that had held vanilla beans, left abandoned.

“It’s the valise!” Prance exclaimed. “Is the money in it?” They both hopped down and ran to retrieve the valise.

“Empty,” Coffen said, pulling it from the dog’s mouth and shaking it upside down. The larger of the bloodhounds thought it a game and leapt into the air, snapping at it. “Watch it, Caesar! That’s my fingers you’re nipping.”

Nero, the other hound, was running in circles. The ropes holding the two became entwined.

“What ails the cur?” Prance asked. “He acts mad. He’s got something between his teeth. What is it?”

“I’ll be dashed if I’ll try to get it from him. Caesar has already taken a bite out of me.”

Prance went up to the hound, murmuring, “Nice doggie. Here, boy. Nice, doggie.”

Nero spat the thing at him. He picked it up warily and leapt back from those alarming teeth, then examined his prize.

“It’s a ten-pound note!” he exclaimed.

The hounds were off on another frenzied chase. With their ropes entwined, they could not run as far as they wanted. They strained at their leashes, yapping.

“Here, you take one lead,” Prance said, and began untangling the ropes.

Eventually each of them had one lead. The hounds immediately took off in two separate directions, pulling a reluctant Prance and Coffen after them.

“Another note!” Coffen exclaimed.

“Mine has one, too!” Prance called.

Other notes were seen blowing through the meadow. Each fresh breeze sent the hounds off on a merry chase. When ten notes had been collected, the hounds returned to the valise and began attacking it with renewed vigor.

“Did the highwayman drop the valise, I wonder, and all Susan’s money is out floating on the breeze?” Prance asked.

“Dashed careless of him. There’d ought to be a lot more bills floating around if that is what happened.” Coffen’s face pinched with the effort of thought. “What it is,” he said a moment later, “the kidnapper smelled the vanilla and figured out what I was up to. He dumped the money into something—his jacket or a horse blanket—and left the valise and a few bills to distract the bloodhounds.”

“A clever stunt,” Prance said. “I believe you’re right, Pattle. The question is, what do we do next?”

Coffen lifted his nose and sniffed the breeze, looked at the trees to confirm which way the wind blew, and said, “We go that way.” He pointed toward East Grinstead. “The hounds will soon lose the scent of the valise. The wind is blowing from Grinstead, blowing the smell away from them. If they pick up the scent in that direction, we follow them.”

“I doubt the scent will be on the bills.”

“Dogs can smell out the weakest scent a mile away. My old hound, Jackie, used to go into conniptions when Mrs. Armstead took a roast out of the oven. She lived two miles away.”

“Who is to say the kidnapper went toward Grinstead?”

“He didn’t come out by the forest road where we were waiting for Otto. He wouldn’t bother going deep into the forest after he’d got rid of Luten. If he went the other direction, he’s heading for Appleby Court. I doubt he’d do that. It’s the shepherd’s hut I’m thinking of. He might have hidden the blunt there, or thereabouts.”

“He would know by now that Hodden suspects the hut.”

“Hodden hasn’t got a guard on it. He thinks Jeremy was the highwayman. The hut is safe as a church. Mind you, I’m not saying it’s in the hut. That area would be handy for him, is all I mean. Out of the way. He might have dumped the blunt into the stream to kill the smell.”

Prance, having nothing better to put forward, said, “Let us go.”

The hounds were reluctant to leave. Between the taste of the leather valise and the sweet attraction of vanilla, they were rapidly chewing the corners of the case to shreds. It took some minutes to convince them their job was not done.

They left the clearing and began tracking rather at random through the forest. It was clear they had lost the scent.

When they came out of the forest onto the main road, Prance said, “Now what? Do we go on to the hut, despite the hounds’ lack of interest in it?”

“Might as well have a look while we’re this close.”

He waved the vanilla-scented handkerchief under the dogs’ noses. For half a mile they continued with no encouraging signs. Suddenly Nero began to sniff the ground with a renewed interest. Caesar soon took up the scent. The two sleek animals left the road, ran behind the hedgerow that edged the road, and began to run faster, faster, with Coffen and Prance keeping pace on their mounts. Their route was parallel to the road, hidden by the hedgerow.