There was a pause as they all considered that, then Sebastian uncrossed his long legs. “The only messenger you wouldn’t normally tip is a man employed by someone you know.” Sebastian looked at Finnegan. “For instance, I wouldn’t tip Finnegan if he brought me a message.”
Drake nodded. “And I wouldn’t tip one of the St. Ives grooms. So the messenger came from someone Chilburn knew. He was pleased to see the man, so he’d been expecting the message, and he was pleased by the contents of the message, too. And the messenger delivered something as well.”
“The messenger,” Cleo stated, “handed over the keys to Shepherd’s warehouse in Morgan’s Lane.”
“That must be it,” Michael said. “The timing fits. We know the warehouse foreman and the drivers who delivered the gunpowder to Morgan’s Lane were killed using a garrote. So it was the garrotter who took the keys off the warehouse foreman, O’Toole. But it was Chilburn who was in charge of the subsequent arrangements. He was the one who supervised moving the barrels out of Shepherd’s warehouse, so he had to have the keys.”
Drake tapped his steepled fingers together. “Yes, and the passing of those keys testifies to the link between our two killers, Chilburn and the garrotter.” He paused, then more dryly went on, “That side of things—the immediate past—now fits together neatly. Sadly, that doesn’t get us all that far with respect to the immediate future.”
After a moment of cogitation, he continued, “I still haven’t found hide nor hair of any gentleman willing to own to recent acquaintance with Chilburn. I checked with army headquarters. Chilburn had, indeed, served with the cavalry, but only a short stint. He sold out nearly eight years ago. Money, or the lack thereof, was a problem for him even then. I tracked down two officers who had known him. They hadn’t much to add—a good man in a fight, drank and gambled with the best of them, but always short of the ready. He’d borrowed from several sources and hadn’t paid them back, so wasn’t welcome at any of the main military clubs. I tried a few of the lower-ranking clubs, but the porters all denied he was a member or even a frequent guest, and I doubt any were lying.”
Drake paused, then said, “The picture we’re assembling is of a younger son with no income and fewer prospects, who his family have largely abandoned due to his rampant profligacy, but who otherwise has no real strikes against his name, not before this enterprise.”
Sebastian stirred. “It sounds as if he’s been steadily sinking through the social strata. That wouldn’t have been to his liking.”
Drake inclined his head. “No, indeed. His situation would, very likely, have made him easy to recruit if someone dangled the right carrot before his face. A carrot of sufficient funds to come about and live at the level to which he’d been born.”
No one disagreed.
After a moment, Louisa crisply stated, “So that’s Lawton Chilburn, but I can’t see that it gets us any further in identifying who he was working for—who it was who dangled the right carrot before him.”
“Or,” Drake added, “who sent him the warehouse keys—almost certainly the man we believe to be the garrotter.”
“And”—Michael grimaced—“we still haven’t a clue where the gunpowder is.”
“Or where it might be heading,” Sebastian grimly said.
Antonia looked at the others. “So what are we going to do next?”
Drake glanced around the circle and saw unwavering commitment in everyone’s face. Gripping his chair’s arms, he sat up. “As before, Cleo and Michael are pursuing the gunpowder. The rest of us are pursuing the villains. We have the mastermind and the garrotter in our sights. We need to identify them.”
Cleo blinked. “Brewers’ drays.” She looked at Michael. “The barrels were spirited away on brewers’ drays. We keep forgetting that.”
Drake nodded. “It’s too late now, but unless your old gunnery officer gives you any other clear direction, you should check the breweries inside our cordon.” He hesitated, then said, “You might ask if any of their men have gone missing.”
“You think Lawton’s four helpers have been killed?” The sharp question came from Louisa.
“I think it’s all too likely,” Drake grimly replied. “We may have removed Chilburn, but the garrotter is still out there. The way this plot has been run, I suspect he’ll be directed to eliminate all outstanding evidence before he or the mastermind feels all is satisfactorily in place to take the next step and make their next move.”
Antonia asked Cleo and Michael, “How many breweries are there in that area?”
“Three,” Cleo replied. “Four if you count the minnow.”
“Check all four.” Drake glanced at Louisa. “Meanwhile, in the morning, Louisa and I will return to the London Working Men’s Association in case Beam, the secretary there, has managed to turn up a clue.”
“Even if,” Louisa bleakly added, “it’s only that they’ve found more of their members missing.”
“Indeed.” After a moment, Drake said, “Missing men might well be our best signposts to where the gunpowder is and how the plotters have thought to disguise it.”
He paused.
The others looked at each other, their expressions clearly questioning whether there was anything else.
Drake grimaced and said, “Given we’ve been unable to turn up anything regarding Chilburn’s friends or even close family connections—anyone who might know who he’s been consorting with—I believe my next move should be to notify his family and release his body. That, and the funeral, might flush out someone or at least some information.”
Louisa frowned. “How, exactly, do you propose to do that—the notification and release?”
“I stopped at Scotland Yard earlier and had a word with Inspector Crawford.” To Michael and Cleo, he added in an aside, “Crawford has been put in charge of the entire case, which is fortuitous.” To the group at large, he continued, “Crawford agreed that it would be best for someone known to the family to break the news, meaning to tell them that Chilburn is believed to be dead based on an identification by his bootmaker, and that the body is in the morgue awaiting formal identification by one of the family.”
Louisa arched her brows. “By ‘someone known to the family,’ I assume Crawford means you?”
“Actually, I thought”—he looked at the others—“that it would be useful if we were all present. It will be to our advantage to gather as many of the family as possible and break the news to them all at once. As Louisa has verified, there are a lot of Chilburns, and we need as many observers as possible present to catch any telltale reaction, no matter how fleeting.” The others all looked keen. He glanced at Louisa. “I understand there’s a major ball tonight.”
She was frowning at the carpet, but nodded. “At the Herricks’.”
He drew breath and asked, “Will Lady Herrick mind us hijacking her function in such a fashion?”
Louisa raised her head and looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Good Lord, no! Such a happening is guaranteed to make all those who declined her invitation eat their feathers. If you like, I can speak to her now”—she glanced at the clock—“before dinner, and arrange everything without telling her what it’s actually about.”
He tried not to look overly impressed. He nodded. “Very well—do that. Then we’ll all attend the event, and at suppertime when everyone else is distracted, we’ll gather the attending Chilburns in some room and tell them of Lawton’s demise.” He glanced at Michael and Cleo. “I intend telling them that the body was found in an out-of-the-way spot in Mayfair, although it appeared he’d been killed elsewhere and the body dumped there. That should confuse things sufficiently.” He looked at Finnegan, then returned his gaze to Michael. “Finnegan removed Chilburn’s gun from your greatcoat the other morning. It’s obviously been discharged, and we’ll say that was found by the body.”
Antonia and Louisa had been conferring in hushed tones. Now Antonia asked, “You think that in the shock of the moment, someone will react or le
t something fall.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” Drake let his gaze travel the circle of faces. “We’ll need to spread ourselves and cover as many of the family members as we can. Be sympathetic and supportive, a shoulder to weep on—you all know how to do that—then let them tell you whatever they know of dearest Lawton.”
Louisa’s chin firmed. “I’ll sit with his youngest sister.”
“I’ll hold his other sisters’ hands,” Antonia said. “We’re distantly acquainted.”
Cleo looked from Louisa to Antonia. “Who should I focus on?”
“Not his sisters-in-law,” Louisa warned. “They have no time for Lawton and will probably be pleased that he, and any chance of family scandal, have turned into ghosts.” She considered Cleo, then said, “I think you might make his mother, the viscountess, your target. Aside from his sisters, Lady Hawesley would be the other one I would most suspect of knowing more than she will readily divulge.”
Cleo nodded and turned to the three men. Having been shown the way, they put their heads together and in short order had identified the males of the family who, in their estimation, were most likely to let fall information hitherto held close.
“Mind you”—Drake rose as the ladies gathered their reticules and prepared to depart—“that’s assuming they’ll all be there.”
“Most if not all will be.” Louisa rose and led the way to the door. “The Chilburns are connections of the Herricks.”
Drake exchanged a look with Sebastian and Michael; all three were mentally shaking their heads at the sort of mind required to absorb and keep straight the myriad crossings of the many branches that existed in most ton families’ trees.
The other two ladies strolled after Louisa. Drake waved Sebastian and Michael on and followed.
In the front hall, Louisa had paused, a frown marring the beauty of her face. “Damn. I’m going to have to go home for my cloak and bonnet before I call on Lady Herrick.” She smiled at Hamilton. “I’d better get on.”
As Hamilton moved majestically to open the front door, Drake said, “If Lady Herrick has any qualms, send for me.”
Louisa laughed and stepped out of the door. Without turning, she replied, “She won’t, but if she does, I’ll threaten to do so.” Her voice carried a definite hint of amusement. With a wave, she hurried down the steps.
Drake inwardly shook his head. He turned to the other four. “It appears we’ll meet later at Lady Herrick’s ball.”
The others nodded. With “At Lady Herrick’s” and “Until then,” they followed Louisa down the steps.
CHAPTER 16
G riswade knew he wasn’t as accomplished in the art of charming men as Lawton. He had to rely on appearances and on simple deceit.
He sat nursing a pint of ale in the small tavern in Parish Street, a cobbled way not much larger than a lane that ran south off the end of Tooley Street. He would have preferred to meet his soon-to-be-latest recruits on the other side of the river, farther from the sites of his recent mopping-up operations, but these two would have grown suspicious if he hadn’t come “looking for them” and met them outside their place of work.
A place he was now very familiar with, but they weren’t to know that.
As usual, the old man’s intelligence was nothing short of uncanny; of all the many men who worked in that place, these two were definitely the right ones for the old man’s purpose. Griswade had approached cautiously, feeling his way, but the instant he’d asked if the pair would like to make a little money on the side, no risk to them, he’d seen the avarice gleaming in their eyes and known he would have their cooperation.
Now, idly sipping, he waited for them to join him. Given the story he’d concocted for their edification, the attributes that still marked him as ex-military, indeed, as an ex-guardsman, would, for once, work to his advantage.
They arrived, as he’d been sure they would, more or less on time. The bells had rung for five o’clock about ten minutes ago. It would have taken them ten minutes to walk there from the brewery, which meant they’d come there directly, eager to hear his proposition.
As they made their way to the table at which he sat, Griswade beckoned the serving girl. She arrived along with the men, took their orders, and was back with their pints by the time Griswade had exchanged names and handshakes with his latest assistants.
Both were middle aged, of average height, large and heavyset, with barrel chests and strong, muscular arms and legs.
“So”—the one named Herbert settled on the bench opposite—“what’s this job you’ve got going, then?”
Griswade allowed his lips to ease in a gesture that would pass for a smile. “I’ll tell it to you straight—it’s a practical joke of sorts.”
The other, slightly older man, Martin, didn’t look impressed.
Ignoring him, Griswade continued, “I’m here on behalf of my regiment—we want to play a joke on a company of our brothers-in-arms.”
“How so?” Martin took a long swallow, his eyes on Griswade’s face.
“It’s simple. When you come to make your next delivery to Hunstable’s across the river—”
“That’d be tomorrow.” Herbert exchanged a glance with Martin, then looked at Griswade. “You mean our usual Friday run?”
“Yes.” Griswade hated being interrupted, but reined in his temper and continued, “When you load up for Hunstable’s, one group of barrels, fifteen of them, will feel different. That’s because some of my friends arranged with the brewer to have his best ale replaced with sand. I won’t go into the details, but there’s a reason for that—a point to be made, a score to settle, if you like, with this other regiment. The barrels are destined for their mess, you see.”
“And the boss agreed?” Martin looked surprised.
Griswade nodded. “That he did—well, he was well paid to do so. But the thing is, he wants to be able to say he and the brewery had nothing to do with it—that the barrels that left the brewery were full of ale as ordered.” Griswade looked Martin, then Herbert in the eye. “It was your boss who told me about you two—he said you’d be the crew to make the delivery to Hunstable’s. Anyone in the business would know that experienced men like you would know if barrels didn’t contain ale the instant you lifted them—”
“Oh, aye.” Herbert nodded. “We’d know.”
“Precisely.” Griswade bit off the word, then drew a swift breath and continued, “That’s why your boss thought it should be you two—because if later the other side comes asking about what happened, no one would think the pair of you could load barrels of sand without knowing. And your boss felt you both would be agreeable to doing my regiment the favor of overlooking the oddness of the barrels for the other regiment—for a suitable consideration, of course.”
Martin and Herbert exchanged a long look, then Herbert turned back to Griswade. “That’s all very well, but what about Hunstable? If we deliver doctored barrels to him and he passes them on—”
“He already knows.” Griswade grinned at their surprised expressions. “Well, think of it—he would have to know, wouldn’t he? Just like you, his deliverymen will realize something’s off the instant they lift the first barrel. But he and his men are already in—we’ve paid them well to turn a blind eye and deliver the doctored barrels to our brother-regiment’s mess. Of course, like your boss, Hunstable wants to be able to say he knows nothing of it, so you’ll want to keep mum when you’re doing the delivery.” Griswade looked at Martin, then at Herbert. “We’ve paid them, just as we’re willing to pay you.” He waited a heartbeat, then asked, “So what about it?”
Martin looked at Herbert.
Herbert looked back and shrugged. “No skin off our noses if the bosses are in on it.”
Martin stared into his ale mug, then raised his gaze and fixed it on Griswade’s face. “I’m thinking that five guineas would cover it.”
Herbert blinked, but quickly nodded. “Aye—that seems fair.”
Griswade straightened and
pushed back from the table. “Two,” he said. After a second, he added, “Each.”
Herbert and Martin exchanged another glance, then nodded.
“Done.” Martin slapped the table.
Griswade reached into his pocket and drew out two shiny gold guineas. He laid them on the table, one in front of each man, then pushed them across the pitted surface. “Half now, half later. I’ll meet you here tomorrow night, say about ten o’clock, and pay you the rest.”
Two weathered hands reached out, and the guineas disappeared. Herbert and Martin engaged in another wordless exchange, then Martin said, “If’n you come from t’other side of the river, and it sounds as if you might, we’d take it kindly if we could meet somewhere over there.” Martin grinned conspiratorially. “Our deliveries finish that side, see, and with your money in our pockets, well, we’ve no need to hurry back this side, where the entertainment’s not so great. No sense us going back and forth for no reason.”
Griswade hid a wolfish grin; these two were making his job ridiculously easy. His lips curving in easy acquiescence, he shrugged. “That suits me. What say we meet at the Crown and Anchor in Castle Street. Do you know it?”
“Oh, aye—we know it,” Herbert assured him.
“That would suit us fine,” Martin said.
“Good.” Griswade pushed back his stool. “In that case, I’ll see you in the Crown and Anchor at about ten tomorrow night.” He stood, nodded genially to the pair, and headed for the door.
Easy and done.
As Griswade stepped into the darkening street, he reviewed the events he had scheduled for the next day—and now, into the next night. With any luck, by an hour or so after ten o’clock tomorrow night, the fog would be up, and Castle Street helpfully angled as it descended toward the river, so much so that the riverbank was out of sight of the Crown and Anchor’s door.
All in all, matters could not have fallen out more fortuitously.