Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
Petty Treason (20 page)
Boyse crossed his arms on his chest and looked down at Miss Tolerance. She was a tall woman, but he was at least a head taller than she. Speaking to him was rather like addressing a bad-tempered mountain. “Ask your questions. Here and nowhere else.”
“Very well. I understand that you have evidence against Mrs. d’Aubigny?”
The constable smiled. “I do.”
“May I ask what that evidence is?”
“You can ask if you like.” The big man smiled. Miss Tolerance understood at once that she would get nothing from him except by trickery or payment. She was not ready to try the latter in the hallways of the magistrate’s court.
“Physical evidence?” she essayed.
“Might could be,” Boyse said easily. His eyes were steady; Miss Tolerance was certain that he lied.
“Or perhaps some poisonous nonsense that was whispered to you in a tavern somewhere. Yes, I suppose that is more likely. There are many men who would say anything for a part of the forty-pound murderer’s bounty.”
Boyse’s eyes flickered. Had she hit upon it? “Whatever it is, I ain’t telling you.”
Miss Tolerance trod carefully. “If someone had told a Canterbury tale in hopes of getting his part of the bounty—well, I’m sure Mrs. d’Aubigny’s brother would pay just as well for the truth. You might let your informant know it.”
Boyse considered for a moment and then, apparently by decision, glowered at her. “You suggesting a bribe? Right here, in front of witnesses?” Boyse’s face was red. He swept his arm out to include Cotler and Greenwillow.
“Not in the least, sir. I’m sorry you should imagine it. Like you, my object is only that the truth be known.” Miss Tolerance smiled politely and did not back away, although the constable’s looming, wrathful presence was oppressive. “You can tell me nothing? I shall have to see what I can do for my client elsewhere.”
“I ought to have—” the constable began. He broke off, running his hand through his hair again, and looked crestfallen. Then he turned, growled something to Greenwillow, and stomped back down the hall. Miss Tolerance did not stay him; she was now reasonably sure that the information upon which Heddison intended to base his case came from a paid informant. If she could discover the source she could discredit the informer or his information. Physical evidence in hand would have been harder to discover and disprove.
She turned to Mr. Greenwillow, who had watched the interview blank-faced.
“
You
believe that matters do not look well for my client?”
You
believe that matters do not look well for my client?”
Greenwillow appeared surprised to be appealed to. “Aye, miss. And you should know that if she’s held over she’ll need—”
“Money.” Miss Tolerance called Sophia over. “Take my purse, Sophia. If, as Mr. Greenwillow fears, they do not finish their questions tonight, Mrs. d’Aubigny will need to pay garnish at the prison.”
“Garnish?”
“Fees. For food and a bed and a little privacy,” Miss Tolerance explained. “Anything that this doesn’t cover, you may promise that Mr. Colcannon will pay for.”
“But where will you be, miss?” Sophia asked a little wildly. Greenwillow looked uncommonly interested in the answer.
“There are some people I need to speak with,” Miss Tolerance said coolly. “As it appears we are to meet with very little cooperation here, my time is better used elsewhere, learning what I can of this spurious evidence. When you see your mistress, Sophia, tell her I hope to have her home again very shortly. With all the goodwill in the world, sir, I must say that this has been very badly done.”
Greenwillow’s natural sympathy for the widow had put him off his guard. Now his posture straightened and his expression was glacial. “You may think so, miss,” he said. “We are only doing our duty.”
Miss Tolerance left the Public Office to find that night had fallen. She was in a restless mood and longed to walk some of that energy off, but she was not dressed to walk through darkened London streets, or to defend herself should someone make another attempt upon her. She stood for a few minutes on the steps of the building, thinking what next to do. At last she hailed a hansom and directed it toward Covent Garden and Bow Street. Her first case must be to find out the nature of the information which had convinced Heddison to bring Anne d’Aubigny to Great Marlborough Street. The quickest way to do that was to enlist help. She was not certain, however, that help would be easily secured.
At the offices of the Bow Street Magistracy, she was led away
from the public hall and taken down a long, low-ceilinged hallway to a small square chamber. The room was gloomy, lit by two lamps whose light reflected off the dull white of the walls. In the center of the room was a large table; a straight back chair was set before it and there were two more chairs against one wall. A large chest stood against the wall, its top open, disclosing stacks of paper and ledgers. On the table papers and books were strewn, and amid this chaos Sir Walter Mandif was at work covering a page with his neat, square script. He looked up as she entered.
from the public hall and taken down a long, low-ceilinged hallway to a small square chamber. The room was gloomy, lit by two lamps whose light reflected off the dull white of the walls. In the center of the room was a large table; a straight back chair was set before it and there were two more chairs against one wall. A large chest stood against the wall, its top open, disclosing stacks of paper and ledgers. On the table papers and books were strewn, and amid this chaos Sir Walter Mandif was at work covering a page with his neat, square script. He looked up as she entered.
“Miss Tolerance! I am delighted to see you.” Sir Walter’s smile lit his narrow, foxy face. “What brings you here? I do not recall that you have ever called in Bow Street before.” He put down his pen, covered the inkpot, and rose to his feet.
“I have never had a need to before.” Face to face with Sir Walter, Miss Tolerance was surprised by a welling up of anger. She knew it was unlikely in the highest degree that Mandif had even known of Anne d’Aubigny’s detention: the little communication there was among the magistrates and public offices of London was reputed to be more suspicious than collegial. No effort was made to work together or share information and, given the rewards mandated by Parliament for the conviction of murderers, Great Marlborough Street was unlikely to inform Bow Street or Whitechapel or Hatton Gardens of how its investigations fared. Miss Tolerance knew it was irrational to feel that Sir Walter
should
have known and
should
have told her, and yet she did feel that way.
should
have known and
should
have told her, and yet she did feel that way.
“This afternoon Anne d’Aubigny was taken by Mr. Heddison’s constables and brought to Great Marlborough Street for question-ring.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Sir Walter said.
“So was I. For that matter, I expect she was as well. Mr. Heddison’s tame constables will not tell me what the evidence is that convinced Mr. Heddison to take such a step—”
“It must have been convincing—”
“To a man who was already half-convinced, I don’t doubt it was.”
Sir Walter frowned. “Do you believe this information is unreliable?”
“I do. I think someone has laid information in hopes of sharing
in the damnable murder-bounty.” Sir Walter’s mild shock at hearing such language from her heightened Miss Tolerance’s own irritation.
in the damnable murder-bounty.” Sir Walter’s mild shock at hearing such language from her heightened Miss Tolerance’s own irritation.
“That may be so, but have you proof that the information is wrong?”
“I do not know what the information is, so I cannot refute it! But everything I know of Mrs. d’Aubigny says that the information must be wrong. Good God, Sir Walter, I could as readily believe a nursing baby guilty of treason as I can believe Anne d’Aubigny killed her husband. She doesn’t even know how her kitchen door locks.”
“That, in itself, is not proof infallible that she is innocent,” Mandif said lightly.
Miss Tolerance refused to be humored.
“I mention it only because it is indicative of her—” She sought the word. “Her childish reliance upon everyone around her. This is not a woman who would commit murder; she would have no idea how. And in any case, she was drugged asleep when her husband died. But this is beside the point, Mandif. If Heddison has such faith in Mrs. D’Aubigny’s guilt, why does he not make the evidence known? Because it might blow a hole in his neat case and force him to do the work to catch the real killer.”
“That is a very weighty accusation against a seasoned magistrate.”
She had offended him. Miss Tolerance drew a long breath.
“I mean no disrespect to the man or his office. But, Sir Walter, you said that
you
were not certain that Heddison was up to the pressures of this investigation. How easy might it be to throw Anne d’Aubigny to her fate on the basis of a casual information from an unnamed source! And they marched her out of her house before the mob. The mob roared! It was a fine show, so fine I doubt anyone is refining overmuch about the truth. But I was hired to be Mrs. d’Aubigny’s protector, and this information stinks of falsity to me. If I am too hot, I apologize. But until I know what the evidence is, I shall not know how to refute it.”
you
were not certain that Heddison was up to the pressures of this investigation. How easy might it be to throw Anne d’Aubigny to her fate on the basis of a casual information from an unnamed source! And they marched her out of her house before the mob. The mob roared! It was a fine show, so fine I doubt anyone is refining overmuch about the truth. But I was hired to be Mrs. d’Aubigny’s protector, and this information stinks of falsity to me. If I am too hot, I apologize. But until I know what the evidence is, I shall not know how to refute it.”
“Ah.” Sir Walter sat down and crossed his arms. “You have come in hopes that I can learn that for you.”
Miss Tolerance drew a breath and nodded. Her smile was apologetic. “I’m afraid that is so.”
“You know it would be difficult for me to do so. And Heddison would not appreciate it if I did tell you.”
“Does that mean that you will not do it?”
“I mean that it will be difficult. And that it will render any future attempts of mine to discover information—on my own account or on yours—more difficult if Heddison believes I betrayed professional confidences to you. You may wish to think if you want to spend your coin in this fashion.”
Miss Tolerance spoke slowly. “I would not ask this if I did not consider it absolutely necessary. If I did not believe Anne d’Aubigny to be innocent. I see no objection to spending my coin in such a cause. But if you think my judgment is so questionable—”
Sir Walter’s eyebrows, so fair they were almost invisible in the lamplight, drew down in a frown. “I do not wish to offend you. But what you ask will have repercussions, and I wished to make that plain. The next time—”
“The next time will take care of itself,” Miss Tolerance said flatly. “Please, Sir Walter. I pressed at Great Marlborough Street, but your friend Heddison could not be spared to speak to me. I have no legal standing, no way to pressure or bribe my way in.” She sniffed. “You may think Boyse is corruptible, but I assure you that he is not corruptible by
me
.”
me
.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” Sir Walter smiled, and for a moment Miss Tolerance felt a return of something like their usual cordial understanding. After several minutes of thought he nodded, as if making a resolution to himself. “Very well, Miss Tolerance. I will do my best to learn what the evidence is. I will send a note round to Manchester Square if I can discover anything.”
Miss Tolerance smiled. “Thank you, Sir Walter. In the end, it will mean a greater credit for Heddison, you know. He would not want to be known for having the wrong person in custody.”
“I imagine he would not,” Mandif agreed drily. “May I give you a glass of wine and ask how your aunt does?”
Miss Tolerance was guiltily aware that she had not thought of
Mrs. Brereton all day. “I have not been back in Manchester Square since I saw you this morning.”
Mrs. Brereton all day. “I have not been back in Manchester Square since I saw you this morning.”
“You have been very busy.”
“And I have not the temperament for the sickroom.” Miss Tolerance shook her head. “No wine, thank you, Sir Walter. Now that you have reminded me of my duty, I must go home and inquire after my aunt. You will let me know what Heddison says?”
Sir Walter stood. “I will. I hope you will not place too much reliance upon my ability to ferret out the informant. Heddison and I are not friends, and he may look askance at my curiosity; the habit of professional secrecy dies hard between the magistracies.”
“You have told me that you will do what you can. I place every reliance upon that.” Miss Tolerance smiled with warmth and offered her hand. “I am sorry if my anxiety for Anne d’Aubigny should have—”
“Your enthusiasm is one of your greatest charms.” Sir Walter bowed over her hand.
Miss Tolerance flushed. “I look to hear from you.” She took her hand from his and turned for the door. Mandif called her back.
“What will you do if the information truly implicates. the widow?”
She shook her head. “I’ll do what I must. But I am sure it cannot. Thank you, Sir Walter.” She curtsied and left him.
T
he light from the house on Manchester Square glowed in the dark street as Miss Tolerance alit from her hansom carriage. She did not trouble to walk around the corner to Spanish Place, but knocked on the door and was admitted by Keefe. Song of a particularly riotous sort issued from one of the parlors. Miss Tolerance rolled her eyes and inquired after her aunt; Keefe informed her that Mrs. Brereton appeared to be on the mend, and had left word that her niece should call in the morning. Miss Tolerance thanked Keefe and was about to proceed toward the garden steps when she was stopped by a crowd of merrymakers who erupted into the hallway, surrounding her. The men looked alike in dark coats and pale breeches, the evening uniform of the fashionable
male; the women, all recognizable as Mrs. Brereton’s whores, wore a variety of garb from formal evening dress to transparent chemise. The entire party appeared in a state of merriment, playing a parody of that nursery staple, blindman’s buff. First among them was Miss Tolerance’s particular friend, Marianne Touchwell.
he light from the house on Manchester Square glowed in the dark street as Miss Tolerance alit from her hansom carriage. She did not trouble to walk around the corner to Spanish Place, but knocked on the door and was admitted by Keefe. Song of a particularly riotous sort issued from one of the parlors. Miss Tolerance rolled her eyes and inquired after her aunt; Keefe informed her that Mrs. Brereton appeared to be on the mend, and had left word that her niece should call in the morning. Miss Tolerance thanked Keefe and was about to proceed toward the garden steps when she was stopped by a crowd of merrymakers who erupted into the hallway, surrounding her. The men looked alike in dark coats and pale breeches, the evening uniform of the fashionable
male; the women, all recognizable as Mrs. Brereton’s whores, wore a variety of garb from formal evening dress to transparent chemise. The entire party appeared in a state of merriment, playing a parody of that nursery staple, blindman’s buff. First among them was Miss Tolerance’s particular friend, Marianne Touchwell.
Miss Tolerance was uncomfortably aware that she might be mistaken for one of the whores. She felt as well some awkwardness at the sight of her friend, flushed and laughing, playing at using her fan to protect her from the importunities of one of the men. She did not often encounter Marianne at work.
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