Reluctant Bride Page 7

  Reuben was almost sober when we arrived. He had a large bottle of cheap wine at his elbow, but had not drunk more than the half of it. He was alert enough to demand a stiff price for obliging us in the business. He looked like a wizened, spiteful elf. He had black hair that had receded in two moons from a narrow face. His eyes were black, his nose sharp, his teeth mostly missing. They were represented by two eyeteeth on top, and one front projection on the bottom. Chewing, I should think, was impossible for him, which might account for his liquid diet.

  “A body don't like to be pelting all the way back into town at the end of a hard day. What will happen is that I'll be too fagged to go back in the morning. Miss a half day's earnings.” He sniffed, and lifted his dirty tumbler to his lips.

  “How much?” Sir Edmund asked.

  “No saying either when we get there that the diamonds will be them you're after. Very fine diamonds they are. I paid the walleyed feller a hundred guineas for them."

  “They're worth a lot...” Edmund began. I gave his ankle a sharp kick to hush him up, before the man tumbled to it they were worth fifty times that sum. “Why did you leave them in the window, if they are so valuable?” he asked instead.

  “To lure in the carriage trade,” Reuben answered, with a challenging light in his black eyes. “Yessir, I paid him one hundred guineas. Then there'll be the half day's earnings to be made up. My valu'ble time yanked away from me.” He looked forlornly at the bottle. I reached out and removed it to the far side of the table.

  Mitzi growled at him. “Nice doggie,” Reuben said, then spat on the filthy floor, very close to her.

  “We're in a hurry, Reuben,” Sir Edmund said. “If you want to sell the necklace, you must come with us tonight. Now."

  “Take an hour to go, then to be coming back at midnight..."

  “I'll stand you to a room at the inn. You can come in my carriage. The trip won't take long."

  After a half dozen more put-offs, Edmund resorted to saying the necklace was stolen anyway, and he would go to the constable if he had to wait till morning. This finally got Reuben up on his pegs. As it turned out, he had no intention of coming in our carriage. He hitched up his mule and arrived at his shop very shortly after we did ourselves. He made the trip down the crinkum-crankum path faster; we made up the time on the surfaced road. He let us into a pitch black shop, lit a few rush lights, then clambered into the window to get out the necklace. I reached out eagerly for it.

  I knew as soon as I held it in my hands that it was not mine. It looked like it; the design was identical, but it did not feel like it. Seeing my puzzlement, Sir Edmund lifted it and carried it into a light.

  “Got a loupe?” he asked Reuben.

  He had one, but was reluctant to produce it. I soon knew why.

  “These aren't diamonds,” Blount said, after a cursory examination.

  “If they ain't, I was bilked out of a hundred guineas,” Reuben answered staunchly, while his black eyes began shifting around his crabbed, jumbled heap of a place.

  “You were bilked,” Blount told him, quite jubilantly, thinking only of revenge and not of my plight. “I am taking them next door to the coffee shop for a better light. Come along if you like.” Reuben accompanied him. As I had no wish to remain alone in his shop, I tagged along as well.

  “Not even a good copy,” Blount said, tossing the necklace on to the table. “These aren't worth a guinea."

  “One guinea? I paid two!” Reuben howled.

  I exchanged a tacit look with Sir Edmund, who shook his head ruefully at the corruption of mankind. “Do you want them?” he asked me.

  “I don't know. Yes, they might be handy to show the Bow Street Runners what they are looking for, I suppose. I shall have to make a formal statement to them. We can't find the diamonds alone. We need help."

  The words sent Reuben into a tizzy. “Don't be dragging the Runners down on my head. I want no truck with them. I don't know nothing about the walleyed feller who sold me the necklace. He laid the piece on the wood, said he had no more use for ‘em and what price would they fetch. I give him two guineas, and that's all I know."

  “You said you gave him a hundred, and that they were diamonds,” I reminded him.

  “Business,” he explained, as though I were a fool not to realize it. “A man's got to make a living, don't he? I don't know nothing about diamonds. This gentleman told me they was diamonds. They could have been diamonds for all me or the walleyed feller knew. If it happened they was, why should I give them away for two guineas, eh?"

  “Do you know anything about the fellow—have you dealt with him before?” Sir Edmund asked.

  “I see him from time to time. He don't live in town, I'm pretty sure, but he can't live far from it. I see him maybe once a month. He hawks gimcrack stuff, not real jewels."

  “Watches, rings?” Edmund pressed on.

  “No, I don't think he's a gallows bird. Not the sort of thing you'd snaffle from a fellow's pocket. A bit of lady's junk, but mostly house stuff. A small fancy table or picture. I allus reckoned he worked for gentry folks and did a bit of pilfering from the attic, where they'd not miss it."

  “If he shows up again, call the constable,” Blount ordered. “Give them this card. I want to be notified.” He gave Reuben one of his cards.

  “I will,” Reuben promised at once, but of course he would not. He would sooner call in Satan than the Law.

  The glass necklace was paid for, with an extra guinea thrown in for his trouble. As we were going toward the door, Blount turned and went back toward Reuben, to have another word with him.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  “I told him what hotel we are staying at, in case Greenie turns up at his door again. You've got the necklace, have you?"

  “No, you've got it."

  “So I have,” he said, patting his pocket. He seemed a little distracted, but we were talking about the oddness of finding the replica in his shop, and I soon forgot it as we hastened toward the inn.

  He accompanied me to Maisie's room. She was still up and dressed, so she invited him in. “Did you get it?” she asked.

  “No, it was only a copy,” he said, handing it to her. “You're sure this isn't the one you brought from home?” he asked me.

  “My original was heavier, much better made. This would not have fooled me, even through a window, if it had not been coming on dark."

  “You mentioned your Uncle Weston had a copy made some ten years ago."

  “Yes, this must be it,” I said, puzzling over it. “I wonder if Greenie works for Uncle—pinched it from him."

  “I am bound to say that is not the interpretation I placed on it,” Sir Edmund disagreed. “Reuben said the fellow lives not far from here. Fareham is not far from here. We know Greenie stole your necklace. We know he pawned a copy for which he had no more use—he told Reuben so. It looks to me as though your Uncle Weston gave him the copy to be able to identify the original and steal it. No one but your uncle knew you would have the necklace with you. Two ladies, unprotected on the open road, were an easy mark. If Greenie were only some chance pickpocket, he would not have had the copy. This was planned. He knew you were coming. How should he have known it if your uncle did not tell him? The accident facilitated the theft, of course, but I come to believe you would never have reached Fareham with it in any case."

  “I am sure my uncle had nothing to do with it!” I objected at once.

  “I never liked him above half,” Maisie said, as though her personal preference had anything to do with it.

  “You never thought he was a thief!” I pointed out scornfully.

  “Maybe I didn't, but I'm not one bit surprised. He always coveted that necklace, Lizzie."

  “He offered to pay for it!"

  “How could it have been done without his contrivance?” Blount asked, with a smug look on his face. “It is too much coincidence that Greenie stole first the copy from your uncle, then the original from you. There is some connectio
n between the two."

  “No, there is not,” I insisted mulishly, though I was coming to wonder if he were not right. It was not far from dishonesty to shave fifteen hundred from the first price offered, when he knew I must accept it.

  “What do you want to do?” Blount asked.

  “I am going to a constable in the morning."

  “That you are not!” Maisie responded, huffing in indignation. “A fine thing, dragging your uncle into court. It is best to settle it quietly."

  “I do not believe Weston is guilty."

  “If you mean that, why do you not go to him and tell him what has happened?” Sir Edmund suggested. “It is possible he can throw some light on the matter. He may know something about the fellow in the green jacket."

  It sounded a sensible idea. “Yes, I'll do that,” I answered.

  “We shall continue on toward Fareham in the morning then?” he confirmed.

  “There is no need for you to go any farther out of your way, Sir Edmund. I feel badly we have inconvenienced you as much as we have."

  “I have come this far. I might as well see it through to the end. Besides, you do not have a carriage."

  Maisie was looking around the room, frowning, while Edmund picked up the glass jewelry and stuck it into his pocket. “Where is the dog?” she asked suddenly.

  After having finally remembered to keep a thought on my diamonds, I had forgotten my dog. I could not remember having seen her since we were at Reuben's shop. “Sir Edmund, we have left her at Reuben's, or the coffee shop. We must go and get her."

  “It is not far away. She'll find her way back,” he said.

  “No, I must get her. In a strange place..."

  I turned and dashed out the door. He came darting after me. “Don't bother. She's not there,” he said.

  “She has to be at one place or the other. I hope she is not locked in at Reuben's place. She'll have her little nose against the window, looking for me.” The forlorn image caused me to hurry my steps down the stairs, across the lobby.

  At the doorway, Blount put up an arm to stop me. “This is a wild goosechase. She'll be gone by now."

  “No, she won't. She's locked in. She'll be petrified. I must get her."

  I was suddenly aware of a wary, reluctant expression on his face. My concern for Mitzi had distracted my attention. “She is not there,” he stated firmly.

  “What do you mean? Sir Edmund, have you done something with her?” I demanded, suspicion rapidly shifting to certainty, as he grew more embarrassed by the moment.

  “Reuben took her home,” he said, with a pugnacious lift of the chin, to try to hide his shame.

  “Took her, or you gave her to him? That's why you went back to speak to him, wasn't it? You sold her to him!"

  "Sold her? I had to give him another guinea to take her!"

  “You monster!" I charged, in a loud, accusing voice.

  The man behind the desk glanced up, disliking an altercation to greet his patrons at the doorway. “Is there some trouble, ma'am?” he asked, with a leery glance toward Blount.

  “Yes, there is something very much wrong. This—this creature stole my dog!"

  “Is this true?” he asked Blount, in very timid accents.

  “You might accept the word of a lady!” I told him, very much on my high ropes.

  “I merely placed the dog with a friend, as I did not like having it snarling around the inn, disturbing the patrons,” Blount answered, making his reply pleasing to the clerk.

  “She only snarls when you kick her!” I reminded him, with a stormy look.

  “I did not kick her. Even when she bit my leg, I did not kick her."

  “If you would not mind, pray continue this spat in your room,” the clerk begged.

  “I am not going to my room till I get Mitzi back."

  “I am not setting a toe out the door again tonight,” Blount replied.

  “Very well, I shall go alone."

  “Not in my carriage you won't!"

  “These marital squabbles are best conducted in private,” the poor clerk said, beginning to wring his hands in consternation.

  “Marital squabbles? We are not married!” I said angrily, while Sir Edmund shouted something similar in a louder voice. I believe I heard the words “the last woman in the world I would marry,” or something of the sort.

  “Brothers and sisters are worse! Pray do not make a scene in public. The proprietor will be furious with me. It is my first night on the job,” the harried clerk implored. I could not squelch a shred of pity for the fellow.

  I had to either storm out the door alone into the dark night, or turn tail and go back to my room without Mitzi. It was a hard decision to make. My pride urged me out the door, where Blount would surely follow, if he had any claims at all to the name of gentleman. Still, I was by no means certain he would follow, nor was I at all eager to repeat that long, annoying journey to Reuben's shack, certainly not on foot. I was tired, angry and becoming embarrassed as a few customers with nothing better to do had begun to clump themselves around us for the show.

  “Very well, I shall leave Mitzi with that cruel, drunken crook for tonight, but if anything has happened to her by morning, Sir Edmund, I shall hold you personally responsible."

  “Nothing will happen to her,” he said, relieved at the squabble coming to this decent halt. “I'll take you to your room now."

  I turned, stiff as a ramrod, to mount the stairs with him at my heels. His taste of victory proved sweet enough that he decided to push his luck a bit farther. “Reuben is not cruel, and he is not a total drunkard. He is interested in keeping Mitzi, as a guard dog at his shack when he is at work. I thought we could leave her there permanently. She will be well cared for, happy as a grig, running around the fields all day. It is a perfect solution to this problem."

  "This problem, as you call it, is of your devising. I do not intend to leave Winchester without Mitzi. You are more than welcome to desert us. We can manage perfectly well without your helpful presence, overturning our carriage and creating scenes everywhere we go. If it is a choice between the two, I choose the dog. That rids us of the real problem."

  “As you wish,” he said, with a short bow, biting in all his vituperation, as there was a couple coming along the hallway.

  He turned and went downstairs, his face tight and pink with anger, as I entered Maisie's room.

  “What's eating you?” she asked. “Where's Mitzi?"

  “Blount gave her to a blackguard shopkeeper, who has taken her off into the country. I won't be able to get her till morning. I am not leaving without her. In fact, I don't know how we are to leave at all. Blount is not coming any further on the trip."

  “What did you say to him?” she demanded in an accusing way.

  “I told him if he does not like my dog, he can go away."

  “Went into one of your fine rants, did you? You've done a good job of landing us in the suds this time. Lost your diamond necklace, given Sir Edmund, who is a very eligible gentleman, a disgust of you and got us stranded in this dump of a place with very little money."

  “We have enough to take the stage to Fareham."

  “Aye, to land ourselves at Weston's doorstep without the diamonds, which are our reason for going, and which he stole in the first place."

  “He won't be much surprised if we don't have them then, will he?” I asked curtly. Maisie is becoming very short-tempered lately, since old Beattie offered for me.

  "I think you should run along to Sir Edmund's room and make it up with him."

  “He is not in his room, and I would not go if he were."

  “Where is he?"

  “Downstairs, probably inquiring for the lightskirt's room, or trying if he can find her sitting in a corner, rolling her eyes at prospective customers. How should I know?"

  “That coarse, vulgar talk is very unbecoming, Lizzie. Edmund's eyes very nearly left his head today when you called yourself a bitch."

  “I did nothing of the so
rt. He was hoping she'd jump down from the perch then, when he insisted on making her drive out in the cold wind, and she soaking wet. If she doesn't catch pneumonia I'll be much surprised."

  “Too bad if she don't, nasty-tempered animal. Seems a shame to lose out on such an excellent parti as Edmund..

  “He is not an excellent parti. He hates women—ladies that is,” I corrected. “He is fond enough of the other sort."

  “He was asking all kinds of questions about you, Lizzie, any time I was alone with him for a minute. I think he's interested in you."

  “He loathes me, and so do I hate him. Pray tell him so if he asks any more questions. What sort of thing was he asking?"

  “He asked if you are always so high-spirited, and just mentioning casually whether you had many beaux and so on. The very kind of question he would ask if he liked you. So have we seen the last of him?"

  “Yes he does not continue with us."

  “Is it definitely settled?"

  “I told you so, didn't I?"

  She looked dissatisfied. She sat biting her lips for three or four minutes, then spoke up. “He's got the paste necklace, Lizzie."

  I knew it was no more than an excuse to get me to call on him. “He paid for it. He's welcome to it. I suppose he will leave it at the desk for us when he departs."

  “He'll never go without saying goodbye to us."

  “I do not expect to see him again."

  "One of us has to thank him for all his outstanding kindness—doing so much more than he had to. I'm sure he only did it for you, Lizzie, as an excuse to hang around and get to know you better."

  ''He knows me pretty well now."

  “I'll have to drag my poor pulsating limb down the hall then,” she began in a weary way, half rising from her chair.