Free Murder Is Come Again by Joan Smith

to all Prance’s doings. “We’ll want flowers and linen for Mary’s shroud. The bottom sheet only. I don’t want the top sheet with my family crest on it to be found wrapped around a corpse.”
    “Not that corpse, certainly,” Villier said with a sniff. “What sort of flowers does one buy for a woman of that sort? Something gaudy, I assume?”
    “I was pondering that myself,” Prance replied. “Bearing in mind that Coffen fancied himself half in love with the trollop, don’t make it too common. Something big and white would do.”
    “Showy, but not too expensive.”
    “Exactly. I never have to explain things to you.” Prance smiled.
    When Villier returned with an enormous bouquet of various white flowers and a few yellow roses he said, “Yellow roses mean goodbye. I thought them appropriate. The hag selling them let me have them for an old song if I took the lot. Wanted to get home to her cup of tea, I expect.”
    “Excellent, as usual, Villier,” said Prance, and stuck his nose into the bouquet for a smell. “Better put them in water for the nonce,” he said, when his head emerged from the bouquet.
    * * *
    Daylight lingered late at the tail end of May. It was after nine when Prance drove to Marine Parade with the shroud and bouquet. Black and Coffen were already there dressed in rough clothes.
    “Where did you get the duds?” Prance asked, staring at their outmoded coats and boots out at the toe. “I didn’t realize we were to wear disguises.”
    “Black got them at some shop in the Lanes that sells old clothes and chipped dishes and dented pots and things,” Coffen said. “It’s in case there’s some sort of guard at the cemetery. We’ll let on we’re drunk and lure him away while you and Luten lay Mary out. What do you think, will we pass as roughians?”
    “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a back alley. I hope they’re not full of bugs.”
    “No, Black checked for that. He wouldn’t take any with bedbugs.”
    Corinne looked alarmed. “Are you sure, Black?”
    “Very sure, milady. I know a bedbug to see it. I checked their hiding places, seams and hems is where they lurk. I wouldn’t bring that affliction down on you.”
    Prance stared. “You are a veritable encyclopedia, Black,” he said. “Dare one ask where you come by such knowledge?”
    “He wasn’t born with a silver knife in his tongue like you,” Coffen said sharply.
    “You mean, perhaps, silver spoon in his mouth.”
    “Not even silver-plated,” Black said, with a fine air of nonchalance, which he found the best way of dealing with Sir Reginald.
    The uncomfortable moment passed and they talked until darkness had settled in, then Luten said, “Let us get Mary moved before Brown gets into the house. Is your carriage out front, Reg?”
    “No, but Pelkey is standing by outside. I asked him to come back.”
    “We’d best take your rig, then. My crest might be recognized, and Coffen’s curricle is obviously not big enough. It would take Fitz an age to get here with his carriage. You must let Pelkey know this is strictly confidential.”
    “My servants are completely trustworthy,” Prance assured him. He sent Pelkey off for his carriage. Prance had bought an expensive but anonymous black carriage during his spy phase. He disliked the thought of using it as a hearse, but he wasn’t entirely happy with the anonymous nature of the rig in any case and had been thinking of changing it for something more dashing. Something that would befit a highwayman when he was not mounted on his Arab gelding, robbing the rich and wooing an as yet unnamed heroine in distress.
    Corinne usually insisted on taking part in such excursions as this. To Luten’s surprise she said that as space in the carriage was limited, she didn’t mind passing up this one. She had seen enough corpses. The ghastly images haunted her for days afterwards.
    The removal of Mary’s corpse went smoothly. As her body was still as they had left it that afternoon,