Wiles of a Stranger Read online

  Morrison placed his elbow on his knee, his knuckles on his chin and listened politely to my charges. When I had finished, he said, “I really must get hold of a good history of the late war. To be tripped up so easily, and by a girl too.... Nothing is really changed, however. We are a pair of masqueraders with no ally but each other in the affair. And let me add,” he said with a bow from the waist, “I, for one, would not want any other. Our goals are not inimical, quite the contrary. We are both out to prove the Beaudels scoundrels, so let us work out a more effective campaign than presently prevails. We must have some reliable means of being in touch. I have my little scheme of sticking around on the pretext of inspecting a three-cell jailhouse for the next week or so, which puts my performance on an equal footing with other government employees. We don't want to race ourselves out of a soft job, you know. Is it easy for you to get into town?"

  "Easy? It is practically impossible. You have no idea the shifts I have been put to. No carriage, no mount, and no excuse. I cannot have another tooth drawn tomorrow."

  "You didn't resort to that! Poor girl. No wonder you are in such a bad skin. You must under no condition repeat that barbarous—"

  "I just told them at the Park I was going to the dentist. I didn't actually do it."

  "Thank goodness. Well, since you have no excuse and no carriage, it will be for me to go to you, unless an emergency should arise, in which case you grab the boy and run. To me."

  "An emergency? What do you mean? You sound as though..."

  "That is precisely the way I meant to sound. If Beaudel should discover we are investigating him, there is no saying what he will be pushed into doing."

  "He wouldn't harm Lucien. He is genuinely fond of his nephew."

  "I agree, or the boy would not be still with him. Still, there is no saying what a man won't do when he is cornered. A rat will turn and attack his attacker, under enough pressure. I'm not sure a mouse like Beaudel wouldn't do the same."

  "It's the cat I'm more suspicious of."

  "Why is that?"

  I told him about her meetings with Wiggins, the hiring of new servants, and Algernon's dissatisfaction with her running his home. “There was no trouble till she landed in at the Park,” I concluded.

  "I knew all that. Man-talk, while having ices on the cannons. You have not forgotten our delightful outing? My man is at Tunbridge Wells now, looking into her past, and Wiggins's, while he is there."

  "Major, are you a Bow Street Runner?” I asked, my heart lifting. “Did Sacheverel hire you to look into this affair?” I could think of no other explanation for what he had just told me.

  "I wish I could say yes, since the melodramatic idea appeals so strongly to you. Alas, I must disappoint you, my dear. But I am here at Sacheverel's request, if that cuts any ice."

  "It does. It's troubled me very much, wondering why you are here."

  "I am somewhat encouraged to learn it is only the ‘why', and not the being here itself that troubles you. Even gentlemen with whiskers have feelings, you know."

  "I should be getting back."

  "Yes, unfortunately you should. It hurts like the devil to have a tooth drawn, but it don't take long. We have not settled on some method of communicating. I don't care much for your style of letter writing,” he added with a bantering smile. “Is there some spot near the Park where I could meet you, some place we would not be seen? If Lucien is along, it's no matter."

  "He knows who you are, that his grandfather sent you?"

  "He knows Sacheverel sent me, but quizzing him for my name won't answer your other question."

  "I am to take Lucien to the meadow in the afternoons. We could meet there, unseen from the house."

  "What time. Two, three?"

  "Let us say two-thirty."

  "And on a rainy day? We don't want to lose track of each other, and there's no saying we won't get a week of rain, here in England."

  The last phrase hinted at his coming from another climate. He sounded as though comparing it to a different climate, is what I mean. “Unlike the Peninsula,” I mentioned, and looked for his reaction, which was only a faint smile.

  "I'll tell you what. That metal staircase outdoors at the end of the upper hallway—I'll be there around eleven at night, if I am not in the meadow in the afternoon. It's well removed from the family's chambers. You can meet me there, I take it, without any trouble?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Don't let your enthusiasm run away with you. You have no romance in your soul—a secret tryst with a dashing stranger. I left out the handsome on purpose, to save you the chore of contradicting it. Let's make it a nightly date, whether we meet in the meadow or not. It will enliven our dull evenings no end."

  We were approaching the Shipwalk again, having made a little circuit to one end of town and back. “My evenings are quite lively enough, thank you."

  "Is that a refusal? I would happily drive the five miles to see you, but to climb a staircase and look in at a vacant window, I'm not sure it's worth it. In fact, I'm sure it isn't worth it. I wouldn't have to leave Chelmsford for that sort of excitement. I'll be there. It's settled, starting tomorrow night."

  "All right."

  "Let yourself out the carriage door. There's no point in our being seen together any more than necessary. If they should hear, at the Park, that you were with me, don't deny it. Better to let them think you're throwing your bonnet at me than the truth. Maidenly blushes should divert suspicion,” he added, with a smile not far short of a laugh at my disgust.

  Distasteful as the suggestion was, I felt it a wise one. Just as he pulled the check string to stop the carriage, he leaned across to my side of the carriage and put his fingers on my cheek. I was startled at his doing so, as I had not encouraged his dallying remarks. He caressed my cheek a moment, gently, then pinched it hard enough to make me squeal. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “That looks more like a face that has undergone a trip to the dentist. Give it another rub before you get home."

  "You are very thorough,” I complimented him stiffly, and reached for the door.

  "Not really. That wasn't what I wanted to do at all."

  It was not necessary to ask his meaning. His bold eyes, staring at my lips, made his meaning quite clear.

  "There was something else I wanted to do too, Major,” I said, with a smile, and a modest glance at my fingers.

  "By all means, go ahead."

  "You're sure you won't mind?"

  "I would like it excessively."

  "How kind. I want you to find Mr. Kirby for me, and tell him I am very eager to see him. Try the Clarendon Hotel, in London. That is his last known address."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “I will be very happy to oblige you, miss."

  "Thank you. You are very kind. See you tomorrow."

  I let myself out and called for my gig, happy to see the trunk tied in place. The mood that descended on me as I returned to Glanbury Park was unsettling. I was drifting from my purpose, in going along with Morrison, but was not clever enough to clear father's name by myself.

  A professional investigator, he had resources that were beyond me to discover what was going on. The man at Tunbridge Wells, for instance, there was no way I could have done that. And if he worked for Sacheverel, he was not likely to run into trouble with the law. But how had he got that tropical tan? Where had he been that he was unaware of the recent great events that had shaken England?

  I remembered to give my cheek a rub before entering the house. I told them the tooth had not been drawn after all, but some oil of cloves put in it to ease the pain. I claimed to be feeling much better, to avoid having to go to bed.

  Lucien was waiting for me in the nursery. He came to my room with me while I unpacked my trunk and put my things away. “Did you really have the toothache?” he asked, with a piercing look in his shrewd eyes.

  "Why would I say I had if I hadn't?” I prevaricated.

  "If you were going to meet Major Mor
rison, I want to go with you. He is my special friend."

  "He told me all about it."

  "All about it?"

  "Yes, that Sacheverel has hired him to look after your interests."

  A youthful but still very superior laugh greeted my ears.

  "Is that what he told you? What a complete hand he is."

  "Lucien, what do you mean?” I demanded, in horrible alarm.

  "Don't be startled, Miss Stacey. He is helping me, but what a plumper to have told you—Sacheverel sent him."

  For several minutes I questioned him, but learned nothing more. So the major was still a mystery.

  Chapter Ten

  The evenings were long and dull at Glanbury Park. I never knew how long an evening could be, until I went there. Our evenings in London were not gay, mad revels to be sure, but we had callers, and were invited out, or if we stayed in, we amused ourselves with cards, or reading, or sewing. Mrs. Farell was a talented dame with her needle.

  Here in the country, country hours were kept. Dinner was over long before dark. There was the short visit belowstairs with Lucien, but he was in bed at nine. I could have joined the servants in the kitchen, but the governess, being born a lady, was not really welcome there. I could almost pity Mrs. Beaudel, who was as bored as I was myself, with her aging husband sitting across from her, rustling the newspaper and occasionally smiling at her from above his spectacles. You could fairly hear her teeth grind when he did it.

  It must have been infinitely dull for her. She was stuck with this existence until her husband should die, whereas I would be released as soon as I proved my father innocent. One could not condone her carrying on with the butler and casual visitors, but I was coming to understand it.

  With no butler to entertain me, I was left with my own indifferent company. My thoughts invariably turned on my situation, and how I could bring the business to a head quickly. It all hinged on proving there was a thief in the house, of course. It now looked as though the thief were Mr. Beaudel, who had, unfortunately, the means to conceal his crime. As this was the case, I wondered how Sacheverel, an old man, and far away, had come to suspect there was anything amiss, and sent Morrison to investigate. It was not the diamonds stuffed into Papa's pocket that had brought him. He had arrived too soon after the event for Sacheverel to have learned of it, and sent him. So there had to be more than that going on.

  The star of the Beaudel collection was the Jaipur, the rose diamond. I decided that it was some irregularity with regard to this fabulous thing that had instigated Sacheverel's investigation. There was great secrecy regarding its whereabouts. Papa had not been allowed to see it; Morrison had not seen it. To my knowledge, no one had seen it.

  One could hardly avoid wondering whether it were around to be seen. It was the Jaipur that Kirby had particularly asked my father to examine and evaluate, so he must have had some reason to suppose it was for sale. The mystery nagged too, that Kirby had never come forward, after asking us to let him know if there was any trouble.

  Once I had convinced myself the Jaipur was at the foundation of all the mysterious doings, anything else seemed like time wasted. The thing to do was to discover whether the gem was still in Beaudel's possession at all. Lucien, I knew, thought he still had the stone in safekeeping for his maturity. No point disturbing him by the question. I would tackle Beaudel himself—ask him if I could see it. He would think me forward, which bothered me not in the least. Even if he refused to show it to me, I might be able to judge from his demeanor whether he had it.

  The next morning, before speaking to Beaudel, I asked Lucien what the Jaipur looked like.

  "It's this big,” he said, making a circle with his thumb and index finger. “It's all pink and shiny."

  "When is the last time you saw it?"

  "At Christmas. Uncle Charles had it out then and showed it to me and Algernon; Algernon asked to see it."

  "Had it out from where?” I asked.

  "Out of where he hides it, upstairs,” he answered, “but I don't know where, exactly, so you need not bother asking me. Miss Little thought he got it from his own room, but I think he went up to the attic. You can go to the attic from Uncle Charles's bedroom. It is the only way you can go to the tower room. Uncle Charles's room is on the east front, where the tower is. I wish I could have it."

  "Do you see your rose diamond very often?” I went on, taking mental note of all his answers, for possible future use.

  "Usually on my birthday, and at Christmas."

  "When is your birthday, Lucien?"

  "In September. I will be seven."

  September was much too long to wait. I was determined to put my request to Beaudel that very day, but was prevented by the fact of his going away. He received some letter that appeared to upset him, had the carriage harnessed up, and went flying off. His wife, bored with her loneliness, invited Lucien and myself to join her for luncheon.

  "Where is Uncle Charles?” Lucien asked, in his grave, polite voice.

  "Gone to London, leaving me all alone,” she pouted.

  "Why didn't you go with him?"

  "He is gone on business, and will be back tomorrow."

  "What business?” Lucien persisted.

  "What a Nosey Parker it is!” she chided. “Your business, Mr. Curiosity. He has gone to arrange some profitable investment for your money.

  "He doesn't have to go to London to buy Consols,” Lucien told her sagely. “Algernon says you can buy them from an agent in any town."

  "Then he must be investing your money in something else, must he not?” she countered, her patience wearing thin. She turned away from Lucien and regaled me with some story she had been reading about a pig-faced lady in London. “Some saucy fellows dressed up a trotter in a bonnet and gown, certainly, and tried to pass it off for a lady,” she decided. “Only fancy people being taken in so easily, but it says in the article folks believed it. Well, it doesn't surprise me."

  "It surprises me,” Lucien said, wide-eyed with this tale.

  "I daresay it surprised the gentleman the pig bit too. They had to send off for a sawbones to tend his wound. What fun they must have in London,” she finished, with a wistful sigh.

  She was attending a flower show that afternoon. With this to make a grande toilette for, Lucien and I were allowed to leave as soon as we had finished luncheon. “Are you ready for your ride?” I asked him.

  He was always ready to throw his leg over a pony. “Are you coming with me, or does your tooth hurt?” he asked.

  "I'm coming with you."

  "Stay home if you don't feel well,” he offered, with the instincts of a gentleman. I remembered it had not occurred to his aunt to enquire for my health.

  Curious to learn what the major had to say, I went with him. Morrison was there at the appointed spot at the appointed hour. He had come mounted, as his curricle could not negotiate fences and rough meadows. A fine chestnut gelding was chomping the grass beneath a tree, while the major busied himself spreading a white cloth on the ground, and placing two glasses on it. Lucien ran to him to have his silken curls mauled, a form of condescension he did not really like, but he liked the major, so tolerated it.

  "You didn't bring a glass for me!” Lucien said, looking at the stemmed glasses on the cloth.

  "Wine and sugarplums go very badly together,” he replied, producing a small bag of sweets for the boy.

  "Are we having a party, Major?” I asked.

  "There is no need to deprive ourselves of the amenities of a polite call, only because we are forced to meet outdoors like gypsies,” he answered, stepping back to admire his work. “Flowers would be nice,” he said consideringly. “I racked my brain to discover some means of transporting tables and chairs, but the lack of a carriage defeated me in the end. Which seat do you prefer, Miss Stacey? The rock is cleaner, I believe, but no doubt the fallen log is softer,” he suggested, conning this problem with polite interest, and finally suggesting the rock.

  As I had already take
n a step toward the log, I sat on it instead, looking about for what was to go into the glasses. “It is chilling, in yonder stream,” he said, before I voiced the question. “I have brought a rather good sherry. I hope it meets with your approval.” He strolled to retrieve the bottle, and pried out the cork with a penknife.

  "There was no need to go to all this trouble,” I told him, smiling at the formal manner he had adopted.

  "True, we could have drunk it from the bottle, as we soldiers did in the Peninsula, but when a lady is present, one likes to observe the customs."

  He picked up the two glasses, balancing them between the fingers of his left hand, as he poured with the right. He walked to the log and extended the glasses to me. I took both, to allow him to reinsert the cork and set down the bottle.

  "To your very good health,” he said, accepting one glass and raising it in a toast. “You are looking charming today,” he continued, after taking a sip.

  "Thank you. Ought I to say something about the weather now?” I enquired, to show my appreciation of his efforts.

  "That usually precedes the requisite compliment on a lady's toilette—no matter what lack of pains her appearance displays,” he replied, but with no actual disparaging glance at my toilette. “Shall we rush right along to a query for the health and wellbeing of the family?"

  "By all means, for it is of prime interest to me. How is my father?"

  "He is fine, but you ought more properly to enquire after my father, n'est-ce pas?"

  "Do you have one?"

  "Oh yes, and a mother too. They were married. To each other. I am not the sort of social outcast you think me."

  "Uncle Charles has gone to London,” Lucien piped in, always wanting to be included in adult conversation.

  "We see you, Lucien. That is quite enough. There is no need for us to hear you as well,” the major said sternly. “In fact, we could see you equally well if you decided to take off your shoes and socks and have a wade in the stream. There are tadpoles in there."