Wiles of a Stranger Read online

"Bertie is the name. If this doesn't work, then we'll come up with another stunt. I have dozens of ideas. Not to worry."

  "If worst comes to worst, you can always try your charms on Stella again."

  "Not an entirely unappetizing suggestion. She's a pretty thing, but not bright. It would serve her well if she put herself to ransom and Beaudel didn't buy her back. There would be a pretty pickle. If he had any wits, he'd pay the hussy to stay away, but when December mates with May, there is no saying what weather will ensue."

  "You'd better tell me the whole plan. Is that the idea, that you let her be kidnapped, and not pay to get her back?"

  "That is up to Beaudel. We have to let him see with his own eyes that she is being voluntarily abducted. I have some hopes Wiggins will drag a ladder to her window, and she leap into his arms. It will be impossible for Beaudel to refute such evidence as that. Then we'll sit tight and wait for the ransom note."

  "I wonder where he plans to take her—what place it was they had the Cantors hire. I wonder if she ever means to come back at all, after he pays."

  "We may never have the satisfaction of knowing that, as they won't get the money."

  "Will you have the law on hand, to witness the whole?"

  "If my man in London is on his toes, there should be one of Townsend's boys at the inn waiting for me. I told him to send a Bow Street Runner along. I'll have to arrange some device for having him at the Park tomorrow. We can always use another authenticator of gems, if our imagination fails us. Or let on Sacheverel sent a footman to the house with some message or other. A very confidential letter from the old boy himself might account for a private messenger. Papa may have heard unsettling rumors, and be writing to question Beaudel."

  "Poor Mr. Beaudel. It will be enough to give him a stroke. He wasn't far from it this afternoon."

  "I felt badly to upset him so, but it is necessary to our success that he be sufficiently upset to turn against Madam Wife."

  He had the carriage stopped at the edge of the main road, and walked with me up the walk, to prevent the sound of carriage wheels being heard in the house.

  "How will you get inside?” he asked.

  "By the kitchen door. It's nearly three hours since I left. I don't know what excuse to use, to explain my long absence."

  "Where did you say you were going?"

  "To town, to pick up something. I didn't say what."

  "They'll think it was a young man. Let them. A stranger to the area, you took the wrong turn and went a few miles along the road, before discovering your error."

  "I hope the gig is not far behind us. I can't go in without it."

  "It can't be far behind. We set a slow pace. I wanted to have you all to myself for a while. Not that we took much advantage of the privacy. I think I hear Dobbin coming down the lane now."

  When the gig caught up to us, I got in to take it around to the stable. “Come to our trysting window to let me know you got in without getting your ears boxed,” he said.

  "It won't be for a few minutes. I'll have to talk to cook for a while."

  "See if she has anything of interest to tell us while you're at it. About what the Beaudels are up to, I mean, and the handsome butler."

  Cook eyed me with the liveliest suspicion when I entered the kitchen. I asked if the Beaudels had been looking for me, and she said no.

  "I'll go up and see that Lucien is settled in comfortably,” I said, eager to get away before she started any hard questioning.

  Tess was just coming down from the servants’ quarters when I got upstairs. She assured me Lucien had gone to bed without any trouble. “The Beaudels didn't ask you about me?” I checked.

  "Not they. They were downstairs billing and cooing till an hour ago, then they came up—together. They're in his room now. He looks like death in a jacket, but she's trying to cheer him up. I'm surprised she'd bother."

  "Where's Wiggins?” I asked.

  She smiled slyly. “Didn't he come home with you? We know you were with him, Miss Stacey. The two of you darting out ten minutes apart, with no explanation. You're a fast worker. I've been rolling my eyes at him any time these six months."

  I cast down my eyes in a maidenly way, to encourage her along this line of thinking. I now had two choice bits of information for my accomplice. Before I went to the door to him, I went into my room for a moment. I was exhausted from the exertions of the day. I was also very hungry, and still worried about my father. It also occurred to me that the son, even the youngest son, of Lord Sacheverel would have no serious interest in a merchant's daughter. He enjoyed romance and melodrama, the theatrical gesture, but I must not let my head be turned. When he had finished his business here, he would go back to his father's castle, and I to my father's hired rooms on Upper Grosvenor Square.

  A quick glance at the reflection in the mirror did little to renew my confidence. I looked as hagged as he had told me I looked. I braced myself for one final exertion before the day was done. He was waiting at the door.

  "You made it. Good. Any trouble?” he asked.

  "None. Wiggins accidentally provided me with an excuse. They think I was with him. I wonder where he really was."

  "Conspiring with the Cantors, perhaps."

  "Stella has spent the evening reinstalling herself in Beaudel's good graces, so he'll be sure to ransom her. She's with him now, in his bedchamber."

  "Have you been peeking in keyholes, Anna?” he asked, laughing.

  "Certainly not. Tess told me. Servants all keep an eye on their master and mistress."

  "We must remember that. One doesn't want his servants keeping too close an eye on him. We'll stuff the keyholes with sealing wax.

  "I assure you that won't be necessary,” I said, shocked at his free talk, and too tired to find it amusing.

  "That's what you think. I don't want any chits of servants spying on us. Puts ideas into their heads. They're hard enough to keep in line as it is. Of course we won't have so handsome a butler as Wiggins."

  "We're not—"

  "No, we're not, and it's time we were. I'm already late for my appointment.” On this speech he pulled me beyond view of the door and tried to kiss me. I struggled against him, becoming angry. Gentlemen did not take this form of freedom with ladies, not ones they were serious about. He mistook my reaction for coquettishness, or modesty, and overcame my resistance. I was crushed in a passionate embrace that went on and on, until I forgot the implicit insult, the possibility of being seen by a prying servant, or any external consideration. For those moments, the world stopped at the perimeter of his arms. Inside it was a tumultuous ecstasy. He was worth the coiffeur, and the powdered nose, but they would be of no avail. Lord Bertie wasn't serious about Diamond Dutch's daughter. I pushed him away, and heard a hiccup, or sob, escape my bruised lips.

  "Anna, what's the matter?” he exclaimed, staring at me, puzzled.

  "You—everything. I—I'm worried about my father,” I added, as an excuse for my condition.

  He closed his arms around me, but gently, soothingly.

  "Poor girl, you have been through the mill. And I haven't helped either, have I? I didn't mean to vex you so."

  I swallowed down my feelings, willed them to abeyance, until he was gone. “I'm overwrought. I have to get to bed."

  "And I have to leave you—again. It becomes harder to do each time I'm with you. Au revoir."

  "As they say in Paris,” I added sarcastically.

  "Actually I haven't been to Paris yet. Nice spot for a honeymoon, I should think. Happy dreams.” He waved a kiss. “By the bye, did I remember to tell you what I found out?"

  "What's that?"

  "What we were discussing the other day, about kerseymere. It has nothing to do with Kersey, but is a corruption of cassimere. I told you I would look into it. Ah good, you are smiling. That's how I like to leave you."

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a disturbed, unsatisfactory sleep, I awoke next morning to be greeted by dull gray skies. There was no
unusual bustle of activity going on at Glanbury Park. Lucien and I breakfasted in the nursery, as usual.

  "Is anything interesting happening downstairs?” I asked Tess, when she brought the tray.

  "Missing your beau, are you, Miss Stacey?” she answered with a pert smile. “You'll be happy to hear Wiggins is sitting in the kitchen polishing silver, looking every bit as blue as you do yourself. Where did you two go last night?"

  "I didn't say I was with Wiggins,” I answered primly.

  "No, and didn't say he came in the back door not ten minutes after you either, but I have eyes in my head. I can see a romance going on underneath my very nose.

  She tossed her saucy head and left. As I ate, it occurred to me that unless the weather cleared, I would not be able to see Bertie, whom I could not think of as anyone but the major, in the meadow that day. Depending on the hour he was to come to the Park, he might not be at our usual assignation, which cast a cloud over my breakfast. When Tess came to remove the tray, she was smiling.

  "Wait till you see the caller just arrived,” she exclaimed. “I may not bother trying to steal Wiggins from you. I think I like Sacheverel's messenger better. Not nearly so handsome, but more gallant, I think. He'll be coming up to see Master Lucien. He has a present for you, lad."

  I felt Morrison had arranged the present to allow the Bow Street Runner an excuse to speak to myself, and was highly curious to hear what he had to say.

  When a young man dressed in dark green livery entered the room, I was surprised, though of course some disguise was necessary.

  "Mullins, from Danely Hall,” he said, bowing. He was of medium height, with a shaggy crop of reddish curls. He must have exercised some outstanding gallantry toward Tess, to have weaned her affection from the handsome Wiggins. I smiled to see how ill his livery fitted him. There was room for two of him in the jacket. It was strange to think of Major Morrison having liveried servants at his beck and call. He had not the pompous air one associates with the nobility.

  "Your grandpa sent you this here gift, boy,” he said, stuffing a wrapped parcel into Lucien's eager hands. The boy sat at the table to unwrap it, leaving me free to beckon the Runner to a corner for some private conversation.

  "You are a friend of Mr. Townsend, I believe?” I asked.

  "That's it, miss. The major sent me to have a look about the premises. Have you noticed aught amiss?"

  "Nothing, but I haven't been downstairs."

  "The Mrs. is all but spooning his tea into the old fellow. It might be as good a time as any to have a look about her room."

  "What for?” I asked.

  "Clues,” he answered grandly. “To find out where the place is they hired, and if she has a bit of a bag packed up."

  Without more talk, he slithered out the door, as though he hadn't a bone in his body. He moved glidingly, like water.

  After scanning the hallway for traffic, he asked me to point out her chamber. He flowed to it, and soon disappeared from sight. While awaiting his return, I went to praise Lucien's present. It was a boxed set of animals, carved in ivory. I smiled to think of Bertie's thoughtfulness in having brought them from India for his nephew. Lucien was busy setting out dainty elephants, tigers, horses, dogs and other specimens.

  "I don't know whether to make a zoo or a jungle,” he said, staring at them, and moving them about. “Which shall we make, Miss Stacey?"

  "We don't want the poor creatures locked up. Let them roam free, as they did in India. It was thoughtful of your Uncle Bertie to—send them to you."

  "I don't have any Uncle Bertie,” he told me. “It is my Uncle Sheldon who is in India, and he never sends me anything. He doesn't even know me."

  "You must be mistaken!” I exclaimed, thrown into confusion.

  He looked at me as though I were mad, or a moron. “I know my own uncles’ names, Miss Stacey. Yes, I shall make a jungle. We'll get some plants from the park,” he decided, but in the interim he was content to let the crushed brown wrapping be their lair, and I had to be content to assure myself Sheldon, for some reason, preferred the nickname of Bertie.

  I hovered near the door, craning my neck out to look for Mullins, or more precariously, Mrs. Beaudel or a servant going to her chamber.

  My vigil was soon rewarded. Mullins's carrot top peeped out from the door, then glided towards me. “She has nothing packed. She could hardly do so. It would be as good as a declaration she knew what was to happen."

  "Nothing to tell you where the hired house is either?"

  "Not in plain view. I hadn't time to give it a good rifle. I'll slip below and watch her. If she comes upstairs, you are to keep your eyes sharp, Miss, and your ears. If you hear her window slide open, or anything of a suspicious nature, dart down to the kitchen and notify me. Keep a lookout on the yard as well,” he added, flowing to the window. “Aye, this is as good a spot as any for you to stay today."

  "Do you know what time Morrison is coming?” I asked.

  "He's sending a note asking for an interview at two. If it is not granted, he will let me know. We figure the snatch will be made right after his visit, when she knows Beaudel has got the check in his fingers."

  "You don't think they might wait a few days, Mullins?"

  "Nay, it would complicate matters, if he got the blunt invested and then had to pull it out. It takes time. They'll strike while the iron is hot. Time's running out for them, with this Sir Algernon fellow coming home soon."

  This forecast made a tedious day for me, sitting cooped up in the nursery, with not even my rendezvous in the meadow.

  "You'll look out for Wiggins below?” I asked.

  "That I will. The lad's as nervous as a cat on a griddle. He's polished the same teapot three times. Not a bit happy to see me land in on him either, but I don't believe he suspects anything amiss. I've been prosing his ears off with stories from Sacheverel's place."

  "Morrison supplied you with an ill-fitting suit from Danely Hall,” I mentioned, wondering if the runner knew Morrison was in reality Lord Sheldon.

  "He didn't supply it. Bow Street has a wardrobe. Morrison just told us the color. The buttons ain't right, he says, but they'd not know that here."

  "Morrison, of course, would know,” I said, hoping for some confirmation from Bow Street that he was indeed Sacheverel's son.

  "Aye,” he said, but in an unthinking way.

  "What excuse have you made for remaining the whole day?” I asked.

  "There was questions in the letter I brought that want answers. The old gent is in the fidgets, and hasn't got round to writing his reply up yet. It would make no sense to set out in the afternoon, so it looks as though I've got my excuse right and tight."

  We went to the table and chatted to Lucien for a while. Mullins was soon in charge of the elephant and some smaller animals, concealing them in folds of the brown paper, to repel attack from the tiger and hyena.

  He was running up and down from kitchen to nursery all that morning. On one visit, he informed me Morrison's letter had come, and Beaudel had agreed to the hour for the visit.

  "How did you find out?” I asked.

  "We have our ways, Miss,” he said grandly. “If you're interested in the business at all, what I done is this. I lingered at the end of the hallway when I saw the letter arrive, and within ten minutes the old boy rung for Wiggins. Wiggins went straight to the kitchen and give a footboy a letter to go to the Shipwalk. So was it a yes or no, you are thinking. I know it was telling the major to come ahead, for Wiggins said he'd best get on with his silver polishing, as Beaudel was expecting a caller at two, and he'd have to be out of his apron to catch the door. Induction, you see. Or possibly deduction, but plain logical thinking is the trick."

  The skies cleared as the long morning progressed. On different trips, Mullins informed me that Beaudel had locked his office door, which his logical thinking told him the collection was being removed and examined. He had seen Mrs. Beaudel talking to Wiggins, a lively discussion he described it, and took
it for an omen of the pending kidnapping. At lunch, he brought up the tray for Tess, which no doubt raised him even higher in her esteem.

  "I've had a word from Morrison. We agreed beforehand I'd saunter out to the stable at eleven, to pass on my report to him, and hear what he had to say, if anything. He's decided you can take the wee lad down to the meadow as you usually do. ‘Twill be better to have you and him out of the way of possible harm, do you see?"

  "But I was going to help—help spy for him."

  "You've already done that. We wouldn't want no harm to come to the lad, now would we, miss?"

  "No, of course not,” I said reluctantly.

  "There'll be me here, to see her sneaking out of the house by her own volition, and report same to Bow Street at the proper time, so you take the lad out, as the major advises."

  I had been listening to hear if Mullins ever referred to Morrison as Lord Sheldon, and noticed he had not. I decided it was time to clarify it, and set my mind at rest. “Did Lord Sheldon ask you to refer to him as Major Morrison?” I asked.

  "We agreed it was for the best. It's the name he goes by in this house, and to make sure I don't let anything slip to the contrary, I just call his lordship Major."

  "How did he prove to you that he actually is Sacheverel's son?"

  "Why bless my soul, he never proved nothing to me, ma'am. He dealt with Mr. Townsend direct. He satisfied the chief, and that's got to be good enough for me. Have you doubts, then?” he asked, with quick interest.

  "Just curious."

  "Ah, ‘tis an interesting business, being with Bow Street. Folks always do ask us a million questions, how we trap criminals and all. Logic—there's the secret."

  It seemed hard to miss the excitement after my tedious morning, but Lucien's safety was paramount, and in the end I agreed to it.

  There was one opportunity to gauge Mrs. Beaudel's mental state for myself. She went to her room to freshen herself for luncheon, and stopped in at the nursery for a moment.

  "I hear your Uncle Sacheverel sent you a gift, Lucien,” she said, her muddy green eyes searching the room for it. “Carved animals. How pretty they are. Sheldon must have sent them to you from India."