The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Malinferno coughed. ‘Sir Ralph, my name is Malinferno. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance by the name of Mrs Hattie Vaughan.’

The corpulent Member of Parliament paused in his trencherman efforts, and gave Joe a startled look. It took in his shabby coat, and grubby linen, and caused Malinferno to blush. St Germans chortled, revealing a mouthful of half-chewed food.

‘I hardly think she is an acquaintance of yours, sir. You would not presume to claim a propinquity, if you knew who she really was.’

Malinferno grinned wolfishly. ‘And you, sir, make a terrible mistake, if you think, on such a short acquaintance with me, that I do not know the lady is one who will soon be the subject of an enquiry involving yourself and your parliamentary colleagues.’

St Germans’ face turned bright purple, and he began to choke on the half-chewed beef he had just begun to swallow. As he coughed uproariously, Doll rose and politely patted him on the back to relieve his discomfort. Recovering, the fat man waved away the bewigged servants, who had rushed over to his side. They retreated to a more discreet distance, probably regretting being unable to listen in on a conversation that had caused such a reaction. St Germans wiped his mouth with his napkin.

‘You know it is she, by God. Then you can imagine why I was in her tent last night. Though I must say there was no impropriety involved.’ He glanced nervously at Doll. ‘Despite the rumours of her licentiousness, I am prepared to believe the best of her. My hope in speaking to her was to convince her that her best course of action was to give up her quest to be crowned alongside the King. He will not allow it, and neither will the Government. Needless to say, I was not successful in my campaign.’

‘And when you left, did you see the gentleman outside the tent? Mr Sacchi?’

St Germans looked puzzled by Malinferno’s enquiry, his beady eyes almost disappearing into his puffy face.

‘What of him?’

‘He was there when you entered, and when you left?’

‘Why, yes. When I arrived at the tent, I had to give him a guinea, or he would not have granted me access to the Quee-to Mrs Vaughan. Damned scoundrel is an Italian, you know. I should have kicked him up the backside, but I needed to speak with the lady. I cut him when I left, naturally.’

For a moment, Malinferno thought the MP meant he had been responsible for the murder. Then breathed a sigh as he realised St Germans was only employing the vernacular to point out his deliberate ignoring of the venal Italian. Swallowing yet another slight about his half-fellow countryman, he thanked the man for the information, and was about to get up, when St Germans leaned across the table. He peered at Malinferno, as if trying to gauge the man.

‘What is all this about Sacchi? Why are you so interested in him?’

Malinferno waved a hand in dismissal of the enquiry. ‘He has not been seen this morning, and Mrs Vaughan expressed some concern, that is all.’

St Germans pushed away from the table, causing a minor earthquake amongst the crockery on it, and rose ponderously.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised, if he has decamped with the duchess’s silver.’

He laughed and turned to leave. Then he paused, and looked back at Malinferno and Doll Pocket.

‘If you truly want to know his whereabouts, you would do no worse than ask Mr Powell. His carriage is still here, I believe. The Tilbury next to that infernal machine of the duchess’s.’

With no more explanation, the august Member for Plympton Erle waddled out of the marquee. Malinferno shot a look at Doll, who had remained silent during the whole interrogation of St Germans.

‘What do you think, Doll? Was he angry enough at Sacchi to have slit his throat?’

Doll shook her head, and slipped the last piece of beef from her plate into her mouth. She stared longingly at the Meissen plate, and then sighed.

‘We can’t steal them, can we?’

Malinferno cast a quick, frightened look around. The servants closest to them appeared not to have heard. He hissed at Doll, ‘Don’t even think it.’

She laughed. ‘Why not? You did, when you saw them. But in answer to your question, no, I don’t think he would have killed Sacchi for the man having extorted a guinea out of him.’

‘I agree. But who is this Powell he referred to? And why should he know about Sacchi’s movements?’

Doll tapped the side of her nose. ‘I think I have an idea about that. Eat up, and I’ll be back in a minute.’

She disappeared out of the marquee, and Malinferno continued to fill his belly. When he had finished, and Doll hadn’t returned, he shrugged and called for another glass of red wine. As he drank that down, she reappeared, wearing her demure poke bonnet that she only put on if she wished to play the part of his virginal sister, a role that was required normally only to win over suspicious landladies. She sat down beside Malinferno, and took off the bonnet, placing it on the table. She grinned.

‘He is coming to breakfast, so we must act quickly.’

Malinferno frowned. ‘Who is coming?’

Doll twirled the ribbons of her bonnet flirtatiously. ‘Why, Mr Powell, of course. Look, here he is.’

She nodded her head in the direction of a slim-built man, who at that moment had just entered the marquee. His clothes looked as rumpled as Malinferno’s, though being better cut, they had borne the night’s depredations more sturdily. His cravat was retied and elegantly chivvied into shape, unlike Malinferno’s, which hung limply under his chin and was now stained with gravy. He watched as the man chose an area of the tent well away from them, and the glare of the numerous candles. When he sat, Doll nudged Joe, and they rose from their place at the table.

‘Come on. We can search his gig now.’

Malinferno was still at a loss, but followed Doll, who clutched her bonnet to her bosom. He pointed at it.

‘Aren’t you going to put your bonnet back on, seeing as you went out of your way to fetch it?’

Doll grinned. ‘My bonnet is already well filled, Joe.’

She shook it slightly, and he heard the rattle of fine porcelain. He stopped her and peered in the bonnet. A red dragon lay curled in its straw and lace folds.

‘You stole them, after all. Two Meissen plates?’

‘Three. I took St Germans’ plate too. I wanted to allow for breakages.’

He stopped in his tracks, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hurrying ahead, Doll motioned for him to follow. ‘Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.’ She skipped across the grassy sward and past the Trevithick Flyer to an undistinguished-looking little gig with its hood pulled up.

‘Here, hold my bonnet.’

She thrust the headgear with its stolen goods into Malinferno’s hands, and clambered up the step of the Tilbury, and on to the bench seat. It was a small open gig, so there would be few places to hide what she was looking for safely. She poked around unsuccessfully at first. Malinferno, aware of the incriminating contents of Doll’s bonnet, and eager not to be seen with purloined goods, poked his head inside the gig.

‘What are you looking for? How do you know this is Powell’s carriage? And who is he?’

She ignored him, and finally, fumbling under the seat, she found a little compartment hidden away. She felt inside, and pulled out the writing slope she had seen the man using in the early hours of the morning. Opening it, she saw the notebook he had been writing in. She waved it in Malinferno’s face.

‘This proves it. When St Germans hinted that Powell would know Sacchi’s movements, he was telling us that Powell is the spy that Hattie feared had been dogging her footsteps. This carriage is drawn up behind ours, and must have arrived late. And after Hattie’s coach. When I walked past it in the early hours, there was a man in it, wrapped in a blanket as though he had nowhere to lay his head other than the gig. So I deduced he had not planned to be here. Until he found himself following his quarry from Bath.’