Murder's Sad Tale by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Mystery
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2013-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

With good weather and hard driving, they reached London late that same evening. Coffen’s snoring in the carriage made it impossible for Prance to sleep. He wrapped his scarf around his head to subdue the racket and spent the trip thinking about his novel. He would have do some research on tigers. Perhaps a trip to Exeter Exchange to view the real thing, though he hated the idea of caged animals, to say nothing of the smell. Did they still have a tiger at the Exchange? He hadn’t been there for years. He remembered the hippo that everyone thought looked like Liverpool.

But was a fully-grown tiger really what he wanted for his novel? Would a smallish tiger be frightening enough to scare off Lorraine’s attacker, and more importantly, send goose-bumps up the spines of his readers? Was the whole idea too outré? Nonsense! He wanted something shocking. He would make the tiger a creature of chained power, pacing sinuously back and forth in his cage with fulminating eye due to his frustration. Then roaring and snarling and straining at the leash when occasionally taken out for a walk.

Perhaps a little foreshadowing with Malvain wondering what would happen if the wild thing should ever break free. And how would the necessary breaking free occur? That would take some thinking. If some dusty intellectual wanted to see the tiger as a symbol for the Luddites, so be it. He certainly wouldn’t mention such an idea to Coffen, who despised symbolism without actually knowing what it was.

The jarring of the carriage when they reached Berkeley Square woke Coffen up. “We’re here,” Prance said. “I hope you had a good nap.”

“Slept like a log,” Coffen replied, searching around the seat for his hat and gloves and Russell’s hat.

“Not that quietly, actually.”

The well-trained post-boy was already getting his bag down. He carried it to the door for Coffen, who was astonished at this degree of condescension. He felt he ought to give the fellow a pourboire, but couldn’t find any change in his pocket, so said, “Thankee kindly,” and went into the house. Prance, watching from the sidewalk, noticed that he didn’t have to unlock the door. Really it was unconscionable what his servants got away with. Not that there was much left in the house that was worth stealing after their years of unchecked depredations.

Coffen set his bag down and lit a lamp. Ah, good. There was a bit of wine left in the decanter. He’d have a glass to wake him up before heading off to Green Park for a word with Mickey. He’d be there till dawn. He wanted to find out if the fellow who killed Russell had a limp. You’d think he would have mentioned it if he had. But then the killer would be skulking, probably bending down, which would tend to hide the limp. He took a couple of coins from the ginger jug for Mickey, noticing there were considerably fewer there than when he left. He’d have to get a new hiding place.

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