Murder Is Come Again (Berkeley Brigade Regency Mysteries Book 11) by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Crime
ISBN: 9781610849340
Publisher: Belgrave House/Regency Reads
Published: 2015-12-31T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 18

Brighton’s season was not yet at its peak. Only a few of the summer merry-makers who kept the roads busy till dawn were to be seen. As Pelkey drove the carriage to the less desirable residential area he met only an elderly man out walking his dog, and one servant running at break-neck speed, perhaps seeking a doctor for a dying master or sick child. Or possibly running off with whatever of his master’s valuables he could put in his pockets. On Market Street, when they reached it, a pale white moon floating in the star-sprinkled sky overhead shone on the cobblestones of an empty street.

“Looks like he’s gone to bed,” Black said, peering out the window to examine Cripps’s modest wooden cottage.

“He’ll be out like a light the night before a duel,” Prance assured them. He had never fought a duel himself, but had heard from friends that the only way to endure the eve of a duel was to drink oneself into a stupor, preferably in the company of one or more friends. They knew Jasper had left, so Cripps would be alone. And he’d already been drinking when he made the challenge. Even if he felt he could handle Coffen, there was always the possibility of some mischance. “We may have to rouse him out of his bed.”

“No, I tell a lie,” said Black, who hadn’t been paying any heed to Prance. “There’s one light abovestairs. That’s good. The neighbours might hear if we had to knock loud enough to wake him up.”

“Get your masks on,” Luten said. “Prance, you get your pistol out but stand at the carriage door. Black and I will take Cripps. Remember, not a word. Coffen, you stay behind us so he doesn’t recognize your build, but be ready to jump in if it looks like he’s getting away.”

When they were all masked and Prance armed, they went to the door. Luten gave one firm rattle of the door knocker. In no longer than it takes for a man to run downstairs, they heard footsteps approaching from within. It seemed he was not yet dead drunk. The door was flung open, and there stood Flora Snoad — in her nightgown, the hoyden, with her hair all tousled. Not a sign of Cripps. That soon the first plan had to be abandoned, for they’d have to speak to ask her to call Cripps.

The next thing that went wrong was that she opened her mouth and began screaming fit to raise the dead and tried to close the door before they got inside. Black reached out his long arms and grabbed her, covering her mouth with one hand. Luten, at Black’s heels, gagged her with the gag they had prepared for Cripps and dragged her further into the relative privacy of the house. Coffen came uncertainly into the hallway. He noticed she was taking in everything she could of their appearance, no doubt to describe them to Brown. At least she couldn’t see much in the darkness.

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