“We’re sticking to the plan, and no argument.” Dawkins’s glance was severe and chastening. “Anyway, there’s no point in making a play now. That place may look like a treasure-house from the outside, but inside it’s empty, nothing but a hollow shell, a show, a sham. The Marlboroughs had plenty of valuables once, but they’re all gone now.” He made a wry face. “Hadn’t been for that Vanderbilt woman, the Duke wouldn’t have a shilling in his pocket.”
“But what about the paintings?” Bulls-eye ventured. “Place is full of ’em. Crikey, they got to be worth something, a’n’t they? We could-”
“Paintings?” The red-bearded man laughed contemptuously. “Bloody huge things, and mostly family stuff that no one else wants.”
“All right, but what about the silver? Got to be plenty of that. Gold plate, too.”
Dawkins was emphatic. “I told you, Bulls-eye. Mister N surveyed the place when he went through on Tourist Day and decided there’s nothing in the lot worth the trouble. You know what he always says-there’s no more risk in stealing big than there is in stealing small, so we go for the big money. And there’s nothing big in the house until their Royal Flapdoodles get there, and all the fancy ladies with their fancy jewelry. That’s when we make our play and not a minute before. That’s how Mister N planned it, and that’s the way we’ll play it, and that’s that.”
At the mention of Mister N, Bulls-eye abandoned his objections. The N, he knew, stood for Napoleon-the Napoleon of crime. Of course, Bulls-eye didn’t know his real name and identity, and didn’t want to. No one knew it, in fact, so it was something of a mystery as to how the girl had found out. Some lucky chance, Bulls-eye guessed, or unlucky, rather.
Mister N, whoever he was, masterminded the entire Syndicate. He chose the targets, organized the members, and crafted the impeccable plans that made everything work. He sat at the top of his command network like a general ordering his troops to attack here and there, but a covert general, working in the shadows through various intermediaries, watchfully but anonymously overseeing all the details of half-a-dozen simultaneous operations-forgeries, frauds and swindles, thefts of registered mail from strongboxes carried by train, and (the Syndicate’s specialty) thefts of art objects and jewelry. The subordinate felons who carried out the chief felon’s orders knew only what they were supposed to do, and when, and how. What they never knew was the name of the man at the top, or even the name of the man just above them. Dawkins, for example, was probably not the real name of the red-bearded man sitting across the table from Bulls-eye at this very moment.
“So that’s the way of it,” Dawkins was saying emphatically. “We stick to the plan. Anyway, the girl’s replacement is already in and settled. Has been for over a week.”
Bulls-eye bristled angrily. “Whose idea was that?” He was supposed to be in charge of the Blenheim job, and here was Dawkins, pushing his way in. “And why didn’t I know anything about it?”
“Now, don’t get all frazzled,” Dawkins said in a more conciliatory tone. “It was Mr. N’s idea. When he heard about your little problem, he sent instructions. The replacement is the one he’s been grooming special, y’see, not your usu’l East End lurker, and accustomed to working in the best places. She’s been there over a week already. And as far as you not knowing,” he added blandly, “Mr. N thought it ’ud be best. The fewer who know, the better.”
Bulls-eye was not happy to hear what had been done behind his back, but did not feel that he was in a position to object. “I ’ope this one’s not goin’ to be any trouble,” he said in a grudging tone. “Not like the other one.”
“No trouble at all, I guarantee it,” Dawkins said soothingly. “She’s got a great deal more experience, and a cool head.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if imparting a secret. “And she’s a screwsman, to boot.”
“A screwsman!” Bulls-eye said, genuinely surprised. “A female screwsman?” A screwsman was a specialist in locks and keys-screws-and had the ability to make the wax impressions from which duplicate keys could be created. It was a useful skill, and Bulls-eye knew that a female screwsman would be a valuable asset in a country-house game.
“Yes, and a prime one at that,” Dawkins said smugly. “She can be depended upon to keep her trap shut and do what she’s told-and use her brain, too. She’ll see that we get the schedule of the weekend’s activities, the layout of the guest and family bedrooms, and the keys.”
“The keys’ll make all the diff’rence,” Bulls-eye said thoughtfully, beginning to see the merit in the plan. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep Alfred in the dark as well. The boy was young and inexperienced, and Bulls-eye suspected that he’d lost his head over the girl. Once that kind of thing got started, it caused problems for everybody.
“The keys’ll help,” Dawkins agreed. “But as I said, we’ll stick to the plan. There’ll be the usual commotion below-stairs when the guests arrive with all their servants and baggage. ’Specially the Royal Flapdoodles. They’ll have two dozen servants and a trainload of trunks, and nobody’ll know who’s who or what’s what. That’s when the rest of the crew’ll go in disguised as extra help. And when they come back out, they’ll be loaded with all the fine jewels those fine ladies have brought to show off to the King.”
Bulls-eye nodded. The plan sounded good. It always sounded good, and it always worked. He had been temporarily rattled, that was all. The girl had rattled him, and he was rattled thinking about her. He pushed the thought away, comforting himself with the idea of a female screwsman, especially groomed by Mr. N himself for jobs in the best places.
Dawkins smiled agreeably. “There, now, Bulls-eye. Feeling better?”
“I b’lieve I am,” Bulls-eye said.
“Well, good,” Dawkins said. His smile was gone. “Now, maybe we’d better talk about the other one. Alfred, is that his name?”
Bulls-eye sighed, feeling rattled again. It was time for another mug of ale.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
An American heiress who married an English Duke was more likely to be a character in a tragedy, rather than a fairy tale.
“You’re going to be put in a cage,” warns Ralph Touchett when Isabel Archer considers a European marriage in Henry James’s
The Portrait of a Lady, a warning that came true for too many.
For instance, Consuelo Vanderbilt Marlborough’s fabulous dowry came entirely under the control of her husband, and she had no funds of her own. But for Consuelo, even worse was her husband’s coldness toward her and the dismay she felt about Blenheim, the “monstrous house,” as she called it, which seemed to be her prison.
Kate had been only a little late for the luncheon, and as it turned out, there were just the two of them, Consuelo and herself. Charles had driven to Oxford, Winston had taken the pony cart to Woodstock, and the Duke had gone off with Mr. Meloy to have a look at a distant hay field. Botsy Northcote and Gladys Deacon were still absent.
Kate was tempted to share the results of her morning investigations with Consuelo, but she reluctantly decided against it. For one thing, she thought perhaps she ought to keep what she had discovered private until she had a chance to discuss it with Charles. For another, she wasn’t entirely sure that Marlborough was clear of suspicion, and until that was so, she ought not to involve his wife in what she (or Beryl, rather) was coming to think of as an investigation. And of course there were the servants, hovering over the luncheon table, taking in their every word. Kate did not feel comfortable mentioning Gladys’s name or bringing up anything of a personal nature.
After lunch, under the delicate shade of their lace parasols, Consuelo and Kate walked to the aviary, beyond the Italian Garden. There, hundreds of exotic birds collected from various parts of the British Empire, their bright feathers glowing like irridescent jewels, were confined within a two-story cage of wire netting. It stood adjacent to a heated building where the birds-most were from the tropics and would freeze in the Oxfordshire winters-spent the colder months. Today was very warm, however, and they were all in the outdoor cage.