Regency Masquerade Page 8

  “Is it possible Marchbank is the Black Ghost?”

  “Black elephant would be more like it. He is fat as a flawn, full of gout, and slow-moving. I doubt an elderly lord would put himself to so much bother and danger.”

  “What do you plan to do about it?” Mott asked.

  “As our card game this evening has been canceled for the assembly, I think I shall go ahead with the smuggling business. We could not hope to get fifteen thousand in one sitting at cards in any case, and we both want to finish the business as quickly as possible. I fancy Stanby will make a try for Lady Crieff’s jewelry. If he gets hold of it, he will be gone in short order. I wonder what that note to Lady Crieff said.”

  “I tried to get into her room, but I had no luck.”

  “What was Ponsonby up to?”

  “He and Stanby were out driving together. I would give a monkey to know what Ponsonby’s game is. Do you think Stanby imported him to use as a dupe during future card games?”

  “Stanby has always worked alone in the past.”

  “Ponsonby tries to give the impression he is from the very tip of the ton. He cannot speak without dropping a title. There was no mention in the journals of any duel in London recently. You recall that killing Noddy was his excuse for being here.”

  Hartly poured himself a glass of wine and went to the window, where he looked out at the estuary. “Stanby, Lady Crieff, and Ponsonby. Is it possible Ponsonby and Lady Crieff are working together, trying to peddle paste jewels? That would account for his dropping of titled names, to give an illusion of wealth and prestige.”

  “And they have selected Stanby as their victim, you mean?”

  “Yes, most unwisely. They’ll not put anything over on that wily customer. He will require a more likely investment than paste jewels. Now that I know how the smuggling hereabouts is handled, I think I can convince him to invest. We shall need a good reason for the Black Ghost to be retiring from such a profitable venture. Now, what local worthy shall we pretend is the Black Ghost?”

  “Why not Marchbank? He is elderly, I think you said?”

  “Not young, and with that gout . . . Yes, I think he might very well be ready to sell out—for a stiff price. We will need yet another Black Ghost to introduce to Stanby.”

  The men exchanged a laughing look.

  “They don’t come much blacker than your batman,” Mott said.

  “I shall send a message to London asking Gibbs to procure a black hat, domino, and mount and come at once. He was angry with me for not letting him come. He cannot put up here, but he must be close by. Snargate will do. I shall write to him now. And you, Mott, will call for hot water. It is time to give your master a shave. I must be in face for the assembly this evening.”

  “I shall ring for the water. I dare not show my worthless hide belowstairs. The malkin, Maggie, has forbidden me to darken the door of her kitchen—thank God.”

  Mott rang, and when the servant girl came, he wore his petulant face and used his fluting voice.

  “Hot water, mind, not lukewarm, as you sent up this morning. And remind Cook about the bread sauce.”

  “Forget the bread sauce,” Hartly said.

  Mott pouted. “But you adore my bread sauce!”

  The servant giggled and left.

  In her room, Moira espied the paper on the floor and picked it up, frowning. She opened it and read, “My Dear Lady Crieff: I pray you will forgive my interference on a matter that is none of my business. My only excuse is my greater years and experience, and concern for your position. It is widely bruited about the inn that you are traveling with a valuable collection of jewelry. With such unknown parties as a certain P*** staying here, I fear for their—and your—safety. I have undertaken to remove P*** from the inn during your absence. I strongly recommend that you put your jewels in a safe place. Bullion is boasting that they are in his safe. Perhaps your cousin, Lady Marchbank, would keep them for you? Once again, please forgive my interfering. I have only your welfare at heart. I look forward to the pleasure of standing up with you this evening. Yr. faithful servant, Stanby.”

  Moira sniffed and tossed the note aside. She saw through Stanby’s stunt. He was putting himself forward as her protector. She could not fathom, as yet, how he planned to end up with the jewels, but she knew as surely as she knew her name that that was his aim.

  The note suggested that he had fallen for the story, at least, and that was a good step forward.

  Chapter Nine

  The guests collected in the Great Room for dinner that evening were en grande toilette, with manners to match. Bows and curtseys assumed an elegance seldom seen at Owl House. Ponsonby had rigged himself out in a burgundy velvet jacket that set off his burnished curls to great advantage. He scraped a leg, simpered, and lifted the inevitable glass of water in Lady Crieff’s direction when she entered the room. Major Stanby went forward to greet her. He wore a sedate black jacket, with a fine diamond in his cravat.

  “You had my note?” he asked in a conspiratorial voice.

  “Indeed I did, Major. I thank you for your concern.” Her instinct, when she was with him, was always to get away as quickly as possible. This was too good an opening to miss, however, so she braced herself to do what was necessary. “It is a great worry, traveling with my jewelry. I am taking it to London to sell, you see, else I would have left it at Cove House, as you mentioned.”

  “It would be safest if you could proceed to London at once.”

  “Ah, well, there are some—problems,” she said, with a frowning pout. Then she turned to Jonathon. “Run along, David, and order us a bottle of champagne. We shall have champagne tonight for a special treat.”

  Jonathon left, and she inclined her head toward Stanby in a secretive way. “The fact is, Sir Aubrey’s lawyers are being quite horrid,” she told him. “The jewelry is the only thing he left me in his will, for Penworth, of course, is entailed on Sir David. Now the lawyers are trying to say my husband did not want me to have my own jewels, if you please! I thought it best to take them and run while I had the chance. I brought Sir David along to keep them from influencing him. He is so young and a regular greenhead. Sir David is in total agreement with me. He wants me to have the jewelry, but the lawyers say he cannot give it to me formally until he is one and twenty. He is only sixteen years old. How am I expected to live in the meanwhile? I do not want to stay at Penworth, with all the old cats squinting at me every time I step out.”

  “And you plan to sell the jewelry in London?” he asked, cutting through the rodomontade to the gist of the matter.

  “Yes. I have an agent from a jewelry firm coming here to meet me. I thought the lawyers might have been in touch with the larger firms, like Love and Wirgams and Rundell and Bridges, so I have a man from a smaller company coming. I do not plan to go to London until I have my money in my pocket. Once the collection is sold, the lawyers can hardly reclaim it, eh?” She allowed a cunning smile to alight on her lips.

  “I see,” Stanby said, nodding his approval. “An excellent notion, but you realize the jeweler will not give you a fair price when he sees your position.”

  “I am prepared for that,” she said. “I know I shall lose half their worth, but as that will still leave me with fifty thousand, I can manage. I am not greedy.”

  “When do you expect this jeweler to arrive?”

  “I was to write him when I reached Blaxstead. It was he who suggested meeting at this place.”

  Stanby saw a situation much to his liking. A hussy was running off with stolen valuables worth a fortune. She was exceedingly careless of both their safety and her own, to say nothing of the law. His eyes slid to the sapphires at her throat and ears. Worth a small fortune! If the rest of the stuff was of this quality . . . She was ready to take half of what the jewelry was worth—and with a little pressure, she might very well take half of half. Another possibility was simply to steal the jewels and make a run for it. Yet another idea was beginning to find approval. Lady Crieff wa
s a pretty hussy. He had not had a “wife” for a few years. It might be amusing. . . .

  “We shall speak of this again,” he said, as people were beginning to look at them.

  “Oh, yes, I do appreciate your interest, Major.” Her eyelashes fluttered shamelessly. “I have always felt so safe with older gentlemen. Not that you are as old as Sir Aubrey. Indeed, you are hardly old at all. It is just that I am so young and foolish.”

  When she joined Jonathon at the table, she was trembling but happy. The major had behaved exactly as she had foreseen. His eyes fairly glowed with greed. A few heads turned to admire the young widow as she passed, Hartly’s among them. He wondered at that tête-à-tête by the doorway. If Lady Crieff and Stanby were working together, he would not be so chummy with her in public, and it was he who had intercepted her, not vice versa.

  She was looking particularly lovely this evening. A deep green gown of lutestring provided a dramatic contrast to her ivory skin. It shone in the lamplight, highlighting the lithe body beneath it. The gown was, unfortunately, somewhat overembellished with gold ribbons. The coiffure, as well, was too ornate for a young lady. Those whirls were seen on no one but lightskirts in London, but it would take more than a bad coiffure to destroy that face. The sapphires were not the optimum choice of jewels to wear with a green gown. He had heard that the Crieff collection included emeralds—why did she not wear them? Or diamonds. Diamonds were the champagne of jewelry; they went with anything.

  He bowed when she passed his table. She stopped for a word, and Hartly rose.

  “We will not be making depredations on your excellent wine this evening, Mr. Hartly. I am allowing Sir David to order champagne, in honor of the assembly. I am looking forward to it—the assembly, I mean.”

  “As I am, madam. I daresay Stanby has beaten me to the first dance?”

  “No, we were speaking of something else.” She allowed her fingers to play with the sapphires, to indicate in a seemingly unconscious way what they had been discussing. “Shall I give you the first dance?”

  “I would be honored.”

  “It is settled, then. How horrid of me to interrupt your dinner. There is nothing so unappetizing as cold mutton. Do sit down, Mr. Hartly.”

  She waved and moved along, nodding to Ponsonby on the way.

  “Am I allowed to have just one glass of wine with dinner?” he asked playfully.

  “You shall have a glass of my champagne as a reward for being a good lad,” she replied in the same spirit, and called Wilf to fill a glass for Mr. Ponsonby.

  It was only a small assembly at a village inn, but still Moira felt the evening held the promise of some pleasure. The champagne lent a festive atmosphere, and the gentlemen were all done up in their best jackets. Mr. Hartly was the only one with any real claim to looks, of course. She would flirt with him and see if he let anything slip about his being a Revenueman.

  Jonathon carried the burden of conversation at dinner. He waxed enthusiastic about Firefly and told Moira he had found a suitable ride for them to take the next morning.

  “There is a church big enough to hold a couple of thousand people,” he said, “which is strange, for there aren’t above three dozen houses in the whole village. I daresay Blaxstead must have been a larger place once. I wonder what happened to all the people?”

  “I have no idea,” she said distractedly. Her mind was working on how she could get Stanby to offer to buy the jewels.

  When dinner was over, Bullion began to harry the servants into clearing the room of tables and chairs for the assembly. The gentlemen removed to the small room, but as there was a liberal sprinkling of undesirables there, Moira elected to await Cousin Vera in her room abovestairs. Jonathon remained below to watch and listen.

  Lady Marchbank arrived shortly after eight.

  “Have you learned anything about Hartly?” was her first question. “John is worried to death about him. I feared Jonathon might have mentioned all the barrels in the caves. That is where John stores his spare cargo.”

  “Jonathon did mention it, but Hartly suggested that the smugglers were using the caves without your knowledge.”

  “Ah, that is good! That is what we shall say if he asks. John disliked to remove them, for the cave is so handy. I shall tell him Hartly is onto that hiding place. The stream would be safer. Did Hartly do anything about the lad who stole money from him here at the inn?”

  “What are you talking about, cousin?”

  “He did not tell you someone took money from his room?”

  “I heard nothing of it.”

  “Then John is right,” she said grimly. “He made the story up on the spot. It was a ruse to confirm that John is the magistrate. We could be in a dreadful pickle if Hartly takes that tale to London. When anyone lays a charge against the Gentlemen, John always dismisses it for lack of evidence—after he has disposed of the evidence, of course. I fear Hartly is working with the Customs people. Dear me, how can we get rid of him? Do you think he might be susceptible to a bribe?”

  “That would only make your position worse, if he refused the bribe,” Moira said.

  “So it would. You could always marry him” was her next notion. “He would not report his own family. He is really quite handsome and gentlemanlike. Not in the style of your usual Preventive man.”

  “Marriage is a little drastic—and besides, he has not asked me. Jonathon and I shall watch him closely, cousin, and if he appears to be looking for evidence, we shall get word to you at once.”

  “There is a good lass. Bullion is keeping an eye peeled for us as well. Now, shall we go below? I feel like a jig tonight, but with my bad knees, I shall have to make do with a game of whist by the grate.”

  The Great Room had been cleared of all but two of its tables. They were set up near the grate for the older guests to play cards. A small platform had been brought in to hold the three musicians. The inn did not boast a pianoforte, but two fiddlers and one man with a cello were tuning their instruments.

  The limited space available and the small smattering of guests were only sufficient to make up four squares, three of them composed of the local gentry. Moira took her place with Hartly for the quadrille, Jonathon stood up with a local belle, and Ponsonby and Stanby found partners to complete the square.

  Hartly paid a trite compliment to Moira on her appearance. Soon he moved on to more interesting matters. “It is a pity Lord Marchbank did not come to the assembly,” he said. “He seemed well enough this afternoon.”

  “The gout comes and goes. He must have had an attack,” she replied. She wondered if Marchbank was even then engaged in his illicit business, and if Hartly was prying to discover it.

  She noticed that Hartly was examining her sapphires. “I daresay I should not wear my jewels at a public place like this, but if one does not wear them to parties, what good are they? Of course, I would not wear the Crieff emeralds to a place like this. They are much too valuable.”

  “It might be wise to leave them with the Marchbanks while you are at the inn,” he suggested.

  “That is odd! Major Stanby gave me exactly the same advice.”

  “Did he indeed!” Hartly was surprised to hear it. If Stanby meant to steal them, it would be more easily done from the inn. Was it possible the old goat had something different in mind . . . like offering for Lady Crieff?

  “You and the major are becoming fast friends, I see.”

  “He is quite a father to me.”

  “I doubt if that is the relationship he has in mind. But of course Lady Crieff needs no advice on how to handle amorous gentlemen,” he said, with a deprecating smile.

  “Amorous! It is not that sort of friendship, I assure you. He is old as the hills,” she said lightly, without a thought to her alleged old husband, Sir Aubrey.

  Hartly smiled blandly. “Then may I consider Stanby is not among the competition?” he asked boldly. “That leaves only Ponsonby and myself.”

  “Stiff competition for you indeed!” she r
eplied, with a laughing sideways glance from her silver eyes.

  “I enjoy a fair competition, but I trust you will not put me on a water diet, as you have Ponsonby.”

  “There is no need. You handle your wine like a proper gentleman. Then, too, if I forbid you to have wine at your table, you could not share it with me. I should be forced to drink Bullion’s vinegar. Why does he serve such awful stuff, I wonder?”

  “Because he is not accustomed to serving such out-and-outers as you and me, Lady Crieff, who can discern the difference.”

  “I am no connoisseur of wine, but I agree the clientele leaves something to be desired. Present company excepted—when he behaves himself.”

  “If that is a compliment, I thank you. You said the length of your stay was undecided, Lady Crieff. Have you come to any conclusion yet?”

  “Why, Mr. Hartly, you sound as if you are trying to get rid of me.”

  “You would have to be shatter-brained to come to that conclusion—and you are not shatter-brained. My concern is that I must be off to London soon, and I wondered when I might expect to see you there. I should like to call on you, if you permit.”

  Moira’s happiness at hearing he wished to continue the acquaintance was diluted with fear. Was he darting off to London to report to his superiors? “I have not decided when I shall go, nor where I shall stay. If you would give me your direction, I could let you know when I arrive.”

  “Alas, like yourself, I shall be putting up at whatever hotel has a room vacant. Is there no friend or relative I might apply to, to discover your address?”

  “I have not decided whether I shall be in touch with Sir Aubrey’s relatives or not. I have never met them. They might be horrid. It would be best if you gave me the name of someone I could notify when I arrive.”

  After a brief pause, Hartly said, “I shall be calling on my cousin, Lord Daniel Parrish, at Hanover Square. You could write to me there.”

  She blinked to hear him calmly drop a title into the conversation. Hartly must indeed be related to the gentleman, or he could not use his address. Lord Daniel might very well have got his cousin appointed to the plum position of Revenue inspector. It was beginning to seem that Cousin Vera was right, and Mr. Hartly was here at the behest of the government to snoop into smuggling. While this was vexing, it was better than having him allied with Stanby. She concluded that Hartly was a decent, respectable, handsome young gentleman—and he was receiving a wretched opinion of her.