Читать книгу A Corpse in Shining Armour - Caro Peacock, Caro Peacock - Страница 10

The next thirty-six hours were too busy to worry about whether I’d done the wrong thing: to a bank in the Strand to cash the lawyer’s draft, to a little shop in Soho for sketchpads, charcoal, a set of watercolours and brushes, to Bloomsbury for a quick visit to Daniel and Jenny to let them know I’d be away for a while, to a stage-coach office to take two inside seats on the Emerald, from the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch Street to the Bear at Maidenhead on Saturday morning. Of course, it should have been one seat inside the coach for me and one on the top outside for my maid. But I guessed that it would be the first time in Tabby’s life that she’d been outside London and I could hardly condemn her to a lurching and uncomfortable journey among total strangers. Besides, there was no telling what she might say to those strangers.

When I got back to Abel Yard, arms loaded with packages, she was waiting for me, face shining with cleanliness, hair damp and–from a not too close look–free of animal life. My grey dress was too long for her so she’d gathered it up at the waist with a piece of string. At least it was clean string. A strong smell of carbolic hung round her. She tried to give me back the diminished bar of soap.

‘I’m sorry, I used a lot of it.’

‘Don’t worry. Keep it.’

I checked that Mrs Martley was not at home and then took her upstairs to help pack. Naturally, Mr Lomax hadn’t given me any helpful details like whether the water bailiff’s cottage had its own linen, so I took some of our second-best sheets, pillowslips and towels and folded them into a trunk. By the time I’d added a tin of biscuits and a slab of portable soup, the spirit stove and kettle, my clothes, a few books and the painting materials, it was some weight. With difficulty, we manoeuvred it down the stairs together and put it near the gate to the yard, to be collected by a carter’s service as I’d arranged, and deposited to await our arrival at the Bear. There’d be no room for such bulky luggage on the stage. Then I took Tabby to my favourite secondhand clothes shop, where we fitted her out with another grey cotton dress nearer her own size, two white aprons, two white caps, a nightdress, and a carpet bag to carry them all. None of the second-hand shoes would do, so some of Mr Lomax’s money had to go on a pair of new black shoes from the cobbler’s shop. (I comforted myself that it all came from the Brinkburn family’s coal mines in the end, so I should feel no guilt.) The shoes looked lumpish and clumsy to me, but after the boots they seemed to her ridiculously light. She capered a few steps on the pavement.

‘I feel like my feet’s flying away from me.’

‘People are looking at us,’ I said.

I didn’t like to curb her exuberance, but in my business I often needed to blend into the background. A dancing lady’s maid wouldn’t help.

By the time I’d got her back to Abel Yard it was late afternoon. I remembered that Celia was expecting me to call, so dashed off a note to her saying that I’d be out of town for a few days. In case she wanted to write to me, letters could be addressed care of the mail office in Maidenhead. I gave the note to Tabby to deliver. That left just enough time for the most important part of my preparations. I went alone, crossing Park Lane, walking northwards through the park in golden sunlight, towards Bayswater Road. There weren’t many people in the park because the fashionable had finished their afternoon promenades on horseback or in carriages and gone home to change for dinner. That meant the end of the day’s work for their horses. By the time I reached the livery stables where Amos Legge worked and Rancie lodged, the grooms and boys were in the middle of the evening’s routine, cleaning tack, filling hay nets and water buckets. I asked for Mr Legge and was directed to the fodder room. He was measuring out buckets of oats, barley, bran and split peas to each horse’s individual needs, giving them to the boys to distribute as instructed. It was responsible work. Amos was one of the mainstays of the stable now, paid accordingly, as you could guess from the fine quality of his boots and breeches. I stood outside the fodder room until the last of the boys had gone. Amos put the lid down on the oat bin, secured it with a lead weight to keep out the rats, and turned to me, beaming.

‘Haven’t seen you for a few days, Miss Lane. You all right, then?’

He dusted down an old wooden chair and invited me to sit down.

‘Yes, thank you. I’ve been pretty busy.’

‘That business of the man in the crate? I heard you were there.’

Nothing escaped Amos. As long as society depended on horses, grooms would be at the hub of everything. They might be silent in front of their customers, but they listened and gossiped over their pints in the evening. Thanks to Amos, I had access to that network and often found out more there than in offices or drawing rooms.

‘What else did you hear?’ I said.

‘Not a lot. He was a bit of a bad ’un by most accounts–drink and so forth.’

‘Did you hear that from Miles Brinkburn?’

‘No. He didn’t talk about it and neither did I. Just what people are saying.’

‘You’ve met Miles Brinkburn since it happened, then?’

‘I was out at the Eyre Arms with him this morning, having another practice.’

‘How did he do?’

‘No better than middling. I had to hold back, otherwise I’d have had him out of the saddle again.’

‘Did he seem downcast or worried?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, no. His normal self, quite cheerful like.’

So Miles Brinkburn had good powers of recovery.

‘What kind of armour was he wearing?’

‘The same you saw him in, the suit he’d hired from Pratt’s. I took particular note of that.’

Because he knew I’d ask. It would have been callous of Miles Brinkburn to wear the ancestral armour after what had happened.

‘What about Stephen Brinkburn–was he there?’

‘No. I heard their friends have been trying to keep them apart, after what happened. I’ll be seeing Mr Stephen tomorrow. He wants me to look out for a couple of new horses for him.’

By common consent, we got up and strolled across the yard to Rancie’s box. She was eating her feed, but looked up and blew hrrrr through her nostrils when she saw me. Her black cat watched her, golden-eyed, from the hay manger.

‘I’m going out of town for a few days,’ I said to Amos.

‘So I hear. The Emerald to Bristol, seven o’clock tomorrow morning, getting down at Maidenhead. They’re trying out a new lead horse as far as Hounslow, so I hope you have a smooth journey.’

‘Now how did you know all that?’

‘I’ve got a friend helps out here sometimes, sold a horse to the man who works at the Spread Eagle. He knows the lad who’s a clerk in the office where they keep the passenger lists.’

No point in asking why the lad noticed my name. Amos’s network could probably tag each individual sparrow.

‘I don’t know how long I’ll be away,’ I said. ‘Do you think you could keep an eye on the Brinkburn brothers for me, and let me know if anything else happens?’

‘Surely. I can send word down by my friends as far as Maidenhead. Can you pick messages up from the Bear? If not, there’s probably a carter goes out to Brinkburn Hall.’