Free To Mourn a Murder by Joan Smith

if you don't mind my asking? You mentioned neither you nor Hale had any money."
    "I managed to save a little from the allowance Mr. Webber gave me. I invested–oh not in Consols!–in a shipbuilding company a friend recommended. It proved to be an excellent investment. Webber was not ungenerous when he was alive," she said, her voice hardening. "It was only after he died that I learned my fate. He left me nothing! It seemed the money was all his mama's. He only managed it for her. Her fortune is to go to my son, little Harold, when he reaches his maturity and in the interval is under her control. I have to go to her for every sou I spend."
    That explained the dowdy clothes to Coffen's satisfaction.
    "That's intolerable," Prance cried.
    "Indeed it is, and if she ever suspected for one instant that her son was not little Harold's papa, she would cut us both off without a cent."
    "Do you think he is Andrew Hale's son?" Byron asked. "Can you tell from his appearance?"
    She shook her head. "I think Webber is his papa. Both gentlemen were of middle size with dark hair and eyes. Andrew had a sweeter look about him which is lacking in little Harold, though I love him dearly! He has the Webber mouth. I'm morally certain Webber is his papa, but frankly I don't really care. I love him either way and would hate to see him lose his patrimony. It's not for myself that I worry. I hope you don't think me so selfish. I did wrong and am willing to pay the price, but to see my son cheated for my sins! It is almost more than a mother can bear."
    At the end of this speech she broke down into hard sobbing. Lady Jergen patted her shoulder and the gentlemen looked uncomfortable. When Mrs. Webber had her emotions under control she apologized. "I don't know what you must think of me," she said, again directing her words to Byron, who assured her that he admired both her courage and generosity of spirit.
    His own mama had lacked any maternal instincts. Her notion of mothering was to attack him with poker and tongs, or throw a jug at him and send him off to boarding school.
    "About your warning from the Bee," Byron said, "do you happen to have the letter with you?"
    She drew it from her reticule and handed it to him. Lady Jergen gave him her second letter to compare. Both letters were on the same sort of anonymous white note paper, both written in the same rounded handwriting, both signed with a sketch of a bee.
    "What does it say?" Coffen asked, peering to get a look.
    Byron read: Madam, does your mother-in-law know where you spent the night of July 5, 1805? I do, and I have proof. If you care to purchase these valuable items from me, come alone to the corner of Bedford Place and Great Russell Street at midnight tomorrow night with five thousand pounds. There will be a hackney waiting. Get in, and we shall exchange valuables. " He looked around at the others.
    Coffen reached out and took the letters to examine for clues. "Certainly written by the same fellow," was his unstartling conclusion. "Signed with the bee and all. This address, Mrs. Webber, is it close to where you live?"
    "Only a block away. I live on Montague Street. I'm surprised he was so considerate. I don't have a carriage, you see, and Mrs. Webber is rather mean about lending me hers." Heads shook in sympathy.
    "It's his usual modus operandi," Prance explained to Coffen.
    Coffen had, by this time, a hazy understanding of the phrase. "Anyhow, he's played right into our hands," he said. "We'll be there to meet him." He turned a harsh face to the ladies and said, "Mind you don't tell a soul! And let us know toot sweet if he pushes the meeting forward."
    "I've spoken to my man about arranging the funds," Mrs. Webber said. "Should I go to meet this Bee person?"
    "Go right along as if you intended to pay him, but we'll be there waiting to see he doesn't get your blunt," Coffen said. "We'll haul him off to Bow Street for you."
    Mrs. Webber turned her pale face, anxious with worry, to Byron. "My