Let's Talk of Murder Read Free

his own physique, and lavished much attention on its ornamentation. What pleased him less was his narrow face, that had more than once been likened to a greyhound. He acknowledged quite frankly, at least to himself, that he had a mean streak. But then he found his friends’ faults only added to their interest, and he was never slow to grant himself any indulgence granted to anyone else.
    When he saw the relieved look in Luten’s eyes, Prance added mischievously, “Or perhaps Corrine would have better luck with Byron, as he gets along so famously with the ladies.”
    The rogue in him enjoyed watching Luten squirm. Luten was almost as jealous of his fiancée as she was of him. The pair of idiots were madly in love, but whether they would ever actually get to the altar was becoming a moot point. Their engagement was of short duration, but for the three years since Lord deCoventry’s death they had been alternately squabbling and flirting and annoying each other with various love affairs. This was the result of Luten’s premature proposal during her mourning. Unprepared for it, she had uttered a nervous laugh and replied bluntly, “Good heavens, no.” Luten’ s pride had taken years to recover from the shock.
    “But then who would interview Lady Hertford?” Luten asked, refusing to reveal his annoyance. “I thought Corinne the proper one to speak to her.”
    “Me,” Coffen said. “Surely you ain’t suggesting Prinney would be jealous of me! I’m younger than her son. Who in his right mind would look twice at the Old Lady of Manchester Square anyway?”
    This was the nickname society had bestowed on Lady Hertford. “She is half a century old, and fat as a flawn. And churchy along with it.”
    “That’s the way Prinney likes his ladies,” Prance said.
    “Well it ain’t the way anyone in his right mind likes ‘em.”
    Prance shrugged. “Perhaps his affection for Rubenesque ladies is a vain effort to make himself appear less gargantuan.” His eyes made a disparaging tour of Coffen’s toilette, and added, “You, for instance, might appear less like a scarecrow if you associated with footpads and link-boys, rather than with gentlemen.”
    “And you might not be so hateful if you kept a civil tongue in your head,” Coffen riposted. “Tahrsome fellow.”
    Luten cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I think out of respect to the prince, we ought to have a lady speak to Lady Hertford.”
    “That leaves Henry Fogg for me,” Coffen said. “Do you know anything about him?”
    “Only that he’s some connection to Lady Hertford. You can get his address from her.”
    “I’ll ankle along with Corinne to Manchester Square, then. All a waste of time. It’s Prinney the fellow has some grudge against, depend upon it. The others won’t know anything about it. The real mystery is how he missed such a monstrous target. He must have been drunk as a Dane.”
    “Byron might very well have been the target,” Prance said, placing the tip of his finger against his lower lip. “Any gentleman who has seduced the half of London must have a host of enemies.”
    Coffen shook his head. “If they had any sense, they wouldn’t take a shot at him when he was with the prince. Bound to cause a ruckus. They’d wait until they got him alone in a dark alley.” As usual, he was ignored.
    “What will you do, Luten, while we trot about town, acting as your legs?” Corinne asked.
    “I shall send for Henry Brougham, and make plans for when we take over the government,” he replied in a gloating voice. “That is to be our reward, you recall. I want to discuss the affair with him. He has the sharpest mind in the party.”
    “Will he be the Prime Minister, or will you?” Coffen asked.
    “Surely Grey or Grenville?” said Prance, surprised. “Not to disparage your abilities, Luten, but you—and Brougham as well—are a little young for the post.”
    “Prinney made a point of mentioning my leadership qualities. Pitt was