Thick As Thieves

by Joan Smith

  That was the way the whole day went. Sauces turned thin or lumpy in the pan, cakes fell as flat as pancakes when they were removed from the oven, and the stove began belching smoke.

  It was really the outside of enough when Hennie, who had not lifted a finger to help all day, came to complain that Madame Drouin had made her gown a little snug around the waist.

  "Very likely you have put on weight since having it measured,” I snapped. “God knows the only exercise you have had is walking from the table to Lord Brockley's carriage. Go without lunch. That might help."

  She took me at my word, and refused to come to the table. By three-thirty some semblance of order had been achieved. Cook got a gallon or so of coffee into Tumble and assured me he had shaved and was nearly sober, but very cross. I found, to my consternation, that my new gown from Madame Drouin was also a trifle snug. I had not put on an ounce of weight, and could only conclude that the great Madame Drouin had no notion of fitting a gown. I would certainly take both it and Hennie's gown back for alterations at Madame's expense. My gown looked well, however. With my leghorn bonnet in place, I felt Richard might not find me repulsive, even without benefit of the fog.

  At a quarter to four I strolled out into the garden to see how things were shaping up, and uttered a howl of dismay. The table looked fine, the weather held up, but the garden was entirely stripped of blooms.

  What on earth had happened to the flowers? I rushed about from corner to corner, staring at a plentiful supply of leaves, but no blooms. I dashed to the rose garden. It told the story. Freshly cut stems stood out on every plant. That fiend of a Luke had purposely cut the flowers. I soon figured out why. He was selling them to some shop in Brighton, as he had the berries.

  I spotted him moving about in the doorway of the garden shed and stalked toward him, hands clenched, steam issuing from my nostrils. “What have you done to my garden?” I demanded.

  He gave me a witless, frightened smile. “I trimmed it up fresh first thing this morning, miss, for your party.” He had the audacity to lift the shears, to show me what he had used.

  I grabbed them from his hands. “Liar! You cut every single bloom, and sold it in Brighton. Don't bother to deny it, you brass-faced thief. I have a good mind to cut off your hand.” My voice echoed shrilly in the small wooden shed. I opened the shears and snapped them shut, to frighten him.

  He snatched his hand away as if I really meant to sever it from his arm. He cowered against the back of the shed. “Oh no, miss! I only trimmed the dead heads."

  "Get out of here, you lying, thieving villain. Get out of this house, and never show your face here again. I shall notify Lady Grieve what you have done. And don't expect to receive your salary either. I have a good mind to call the constable and have you thrown in jail."

  Luke looked over my shoulder with terror in his eyes. “She's gone mad!” he said, and ducked out past me. I turned to castigate him some more, and saw Richard's shocked face staring at me. His eyes flew to the shears, then he looked to Luke's fleeing back. He looked as frightened as Luke.

  "Have I arrived too early?” he asked, in a hollow voice. “I came to see if I could help, but I see you are managing on your own."

  It was the last straw, to be caught at the height of my shrewish behavior by Richard. Things could not possibly get any worse. I knew I was going to either strike him in frustration, or cry. I threw myself on his chest and bawled. “He has ruined my garden. Everything is going wrong. Tumble is drunk, and the cake fell, and my gown is too tight."

  He removed the shears from my hand and set them on the shelf, then drew me to a bench in a sequestered corner, where there used to be pretty pink and white flowers, with tall purplish ones behind. It was now a desolate waste. I just pointed to it and hiccuped a sob.

  "That whelp ought to be whipped,” he said angrily. I drew a sigh of relief. Good! He was blaming Luke, and not me.

  "I know perfectly well he cut them and sold them. It is not the first time either,” I said. “He stole the berries I promised Linda, and he sold them. My servant had to buy my own berries to give you. I recognized the boxes."

  His lips moved unsteadily. “There was no need to buy us berries. You should have told me what happened. It is a pity he decimated your garden, Eve, but it is not really the flowers folks are coming to see. It is you. You don't want them to see you like this."

  He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks. “It is not just the flowers, Richard. Tumble was drunk as a skunk this morning. He is sobering up now, but he is still cranky, and I have no doubt he will be foxed before an hour is up. I counted on him to keep an eye on things."

  "You should never count on Tumble,” he said. “He has let down every hostess who ever hired him. I shall send my butler over to give you a hand."

  "Would you?"

  "Consider it done. My Ruthven is a wizard. Now, what else disturbs you? You mentioned your gown—it looks charming."

  "It is not so very tight. If I don't eat anything, I daresay it won't split."

  "Your bonnet is fetching,” he said, flicking a finger against the broad brim.

  "Thank you.” I smiled wanly.

  He squeezed my fingers. “Is everything going to be all right now?” I nodded. “I expect it was just a case of last-minute fidgets. Linda is the same before a party. I keep the butcher knife well out of her way. I shall go and fetch Ruthven. Go and wash your face. Your guests will be here soon."

  "Thank you, Richard,” I said humbly. I felt a perfect fool, but much better. Especially I was grateful that my awful temper had not disgusted him. He had been very sweet. “I am not usually so horrid,” I said apologetically.

  "Don't apologize, my dear. It is best for us to know each other in all our moods before—ah, here is Brockley."

  "You greet him,” I said, and nipped into the house to bathe my eyes, and tell Hennie her beau had arrived.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I am happy to report the party was a success. Ruthven orchestrated the serving of refreshments and tended to a few minor catastrophes, such as Mrs. Jenkins tripping and spilling a glass of punch down the front of her gown. He did the whole smoothly and with such good humor, he quite put Tumble in the shade. The guests exchanged sly looks, to see Richard's butler taking orders from me. It seemed to suggest a more complete blending of our households in the future. Lady Collifer whispered in my ear it was “plain as the town pump I had nabbed myself a parti.” I blushed to my ears and stoutly denied anything of the sort.

  "There are no secrets, living in such a gazebo as Brighton.” She smiled.

  If anyone noticed the lack of flowers, they were too kind to say so. I mentioned Luke's trick to a few people, who just shook their heads and smiled. “Is that not always the way,” they would say offhandedly, and rush on to something else.

  Brockley said, “Aye, but he is a fine gardener after all. You must take the crust with the crumb. You are flower enough for us, Miss Denver.” Pleased with his compliment, he repeated it to Hennie ten minutes later.

  I must concede that Linda, in her new bonnet, took the prize for beauty, but I grant myself second place. She was in smiles that day as Harelson was attentive. I did overhear them arguing once, down by the shorn rose bushes. “You gave it to me,” she said, in a hurt tone.

  "Things are different now, Linda."

  "I have not changed my feelings. Have you?” she asked.

  "Of course not."

  "Well then."

  Grindley ambled along at that moment. “Jolly fine party, Miss Denver. See the awning is holding up."

  "You did a good job, Mr. Grindley. I saw you last night, over the fence of Lord Brockley's place. I don't believe I recognized the gentleman with you. You should have brought him along today."

  "Naismith,” he said.

  "Which Naismith? I understand there are several of them."

  "Clive."

  "Ah.” Robert, I said to myself. Why was he lying?

  "Couldn't h
ave come anyhow—Naismith. Back to Eastbourne—flat races today."

  "And what did you do last night?"

  He scratched his ear. “Had a few wets with Naismith. How was Brockley's do?"

  I took this quick question for an attempt to distract me, but did not pursue the subject further. I had not heard of any robberies by Tom last night. “It was a very nice party."

  "Place gives me the megrims. Too red, and too rich for my taste. But then, Brockley measures his blunt in bushels. Ah, there is Ruthven. A glass of wine, if you please. I am dry as a lime basket."

  I circulated among my guests, receiving compliments and polite smiles. I have no idea where Tumble spent the afternoon. Hennie told me he had taken a pet when Ruthven was brought in over his head, but I did not care for that. I meant to be rid of Tumble as soon as I could find a replacement. A gentleman might be able to handle a drunken butler; a lady would be a fool to attempt it.

  I had thought my party would break up about seven. The last stragglers did not leave till eight o'clock. With no outing planned for that evening, I hoped Richard and I might finally have that quiet evening at home. Brockley and Richard were the only two remaining.

  "Let us go in and have a cup of tea,” Hennie suggested.

  I hoped our quiet evening would not end up a game of whist with her and Brockley.

  "I am promised to the pavilion for cards,” Brockley said. “Prinny landed in this afternoon and had his press gang shanghai a crew of us into service. Het or wet, snow or blow, he will have his game of cards. Difficult to refuse."

  "Of course, you must go, Timothy.” Hennie tossed a proud peep at me, as if to say, “See how high my beau flies."

  He left, and the three of us went inside for tea. “Should we invite Linda over?” I said to Richard.

  "She mentioned attending the play with Lady Collifer. I daresay Harelson will be of the party."

  "There is nothing like a nice cup of tea, after the turmoil of a party,” Hennie said. “It went pretty well after all, Eve. You worried too much about Luke cutting the flowers."

  I looked sheepishly to Richard. “It was my nerves."

  Ruthven, who was overseeing the cleanup operation, came to the door with a note for me. “It came by special delivery on the coach from London, madam,” he said.

  I tore it open and found myself looking at Polke's crabbed letters. “The house was broke into lass nite while I was visiting my fambly in Cheapside, Miss Denver. All the silver is gon, plus the dark old picshure of the man in the nightcap that was hanging over the new chest in the saloon. Should I call in Bow Street at all?"

  "I have been robbed!” I gasped. Richard grabbed the note. Hennie jumped up to read over his shoulder.

  "All the silver stolen!” she howled. “Lorene's good silver. Full table settings for twenty-four. I wonder if the serving dishes are gone as well."

  "That idiot, Polke, had not even the wits to call in Bow Street. I must go to London at once, Richard."

  "There is no point setting out in the middle of the night. We shall leave early in the morning and be there by noon hour."

  "Mercy, I must send a note off to Timothy,” Hennie said, and went to the study.

  "I shan't sleep a wink. I think I should go tonight,” I said. “Ironic that my London house should be robbed, after scheming to lure Tom into robbing me in Brighton. This was not the work of Tom, of course. He takes only money and jewelry."

  After a frowning pause, Richard said, “He might take other valuables, if he had time and privacy in an empty house. I don't rule Tom out. He knows you are safely in Brighton."

  "Grindley!” I exclaimed. “He had no real account to give of his whereabouts last night. And he lied about Naismith, too."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He said it was Clive Naismith he was with. I have reason to believe it was that scoundrel Robert."

  "But if Grindley and Naismith were here in Brighton...” He examined the note again. “Polke doesn't say at what hour the house was robbed. Did he stay the night with his family, I wonder, and only discover the robbery in the morning?"

  "I must get home and ask him these things."

  Richard reached out and placed his hand on my wrist. “Let me think a moment,” he said. I waited, and he began murmuring to himself. “It could be a ruse to get you back to London, to give Tom easy picking of this house."

  "Grindley was asking pointed questions about where I keep my jewelry. I did not tell him, of course. I think you are right. He is trying to get me out, so he can rob this house."

  "It looks that way. But then, he would not expect you to take your servants."

  "All the world knows my butler is a drunkard. The other servants would be asleep on the top floor at three or four in the morning. I wager the sly rogue is skulking in the shadows this minute, waiting to see if I leave. What should we do?"

  A sly smile curved his lips. “We shall oblige him."

  "I don't understand."

  "We shall leave, head for London, and sneak back, to catch him red-handed. We may not have another chance like this. We may be mistaken, but it is worth a try. What do you say?"

  After a very brief consideration, I said, “I can be ready in five minutes."

  "No hurry. Tom has no way of knowing you have received that note from Brighton. Although he would know the evening coach does bring special delivery messages from London. As you did not mention the theft at your party, he might have been on the qui vive to see if a messenger from the London coach came here. I am assuming Tom is either one of our friends, or has access to them."

  "I do not consider Grindley a good friend by any means, but somehow or other, he always shows up every place, including my own party. When shall we leave?"

  "Let us give it, say, an hour, to make sure Tom gets his message.” I noticed he avoided using Grindley's name.

  "Brockley has got himself an ironclad alibi. He is playing cards with Prinny at the pavilion tonight,” I mentioned.

  He gave me a disparaging look. “Do you think your aunt is also involved, Eve?"

  "No, I think she is being duped entirely by the old tar."

  I refilled our teacups. “This is not the sort of quiet evening I had in mind when we spoke of it earlier,” Richard said, which at least showed me he regretted missing that treat.

  "There will be plenty of evenings."

  He looked at me askance, causing me to fear I had assumed too much. But when he spoke, it was not of that. “I have something to confess,” he said, rather humbly. “It was not Linda who inserted that advertisement announcing your departure for Brighton. I did it myself, for the purpose of informing the world, and Tom, that you would be here. That was my plan, to use you for bait, from the minute you mentioned coming to Brighton. I didn't know you then.... I put you into this dreadful house for that sole reason. I never intended for you to actually be robbed, of course, but this is my fault nevertheless, and I shall replace whatever has been stolen."

  Other than telling me it was he and not Linda who had inserted the advertisement, the only new twist here was that word “sole.” He had implied earlier that he found me attractive, that he wished to have me living next door for my own sake.

  "That is not news to me. I suspected as much all along,” I said, feigning indifference.

  "I am truly sorry, Eve."

  "If I am Tom's victim, I have no one to blame but myself. I started this whole thing by taking Lady Dormere's ring."

  We sipped tea for a while in silence, both thinking our own thoughts. “I shall change into a more comfortable gown before we leave. I wonder what is keeping Hennie. We shall take her with us, of course. Tom will be more likely to break in if none of the family is at home."

  "I don't like to subject an older lady to such a tiring night. We will have to walk back to your house from some distance, so that Tom does not see our carriage. Perhaps she would prefer to spend the night at my house. I'll ask her, while you change."

  It was a relief to get o
ut of that tight gown. I chose an older, dark gown—older in case it got soiled, and dark for concealment in the shadows. Of course, Richard's admission that he had not immediately been smitten with my beauty rankled, but I felt confident things had changed since then. He had not been acting last night in the fog. I regretted the loss of Lorene's silver, but I had high hopes of recovering it. Overall, this Brighton visit had been a wonderfully exciting adventure. I did not regret it a bit, even if I never saw the silver again.

  Hennie came bustling into my room as I tidied my hair. “I am going to spend the night at Dalton's, Eve,” she said. “I don't relish a dart to London in the middle of the night if you don't need me. I added a line on the bottom of my note to Timothy, in case he comes."

  Brockley was by no means off my list of suspects. “Have you sent the note yet?” I asked.

  "Dalton is taking care of it for me."

  I nipped smartly downstairs. “About that note, Richard. Do you think we should send it?"

  "Why not? In the unlikely case that Brockley is involved, he won't let Mrs. Henderson's presence next door stop him. In fact, it implies we trust him."

  "That's true. She believes we are really going to London. I did not tell her the difference."

  He nodded. “We'll take my carriage. My team are faster."

  "And you have a gun."

  "Let us hope it does not come to that."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Both back and front doors of Lady Grieve's house were much in use during the next hour. We wanted Tom, if he was watching, to see that some commotion was going forth to alert him that we had received the note, and were preparing to flee to London. Ruthven went out by the front door to summon the carriage. Richard accompanied Hennie to his house, and brought back his own overnight case. All this activity was to distract Tom from observing the back door, where a footman was dispatched for the Bow Street officer, and where the officer appeared in person thirty minutes later, wearing the livery of Richard's footmen. Did I mention it was a dark bottle green livery, very handsome?