Let Me Be The One

by Jo Goodman

  "I wonder if it might have something to do with Adam and Eve," she said. "Their banishment was a fall from grace."

  "There's nothing like that here. Still lifes, landscapes, scenes of medieval life." There were religious themes, most notably depictions from the New Testament. None, though, seemed to fit the clue. "Beautiful, but not inspiring a solution."

  "Perhaps a garden."

  North considered this. "That one," he said, pointing to a large oil depicting a spring garden a few yards from where they stood. He examined the face of it for clues and then stood on tiptoe to run his hands along the gilt frame. "Nothing."

  Elizabeth frowned as North looked at his watch. "We haven't much time left, have we? I don't think Lady Battenburn means to give anything away."

  The same thing had occurred to Northam, but he was not discouraged. "There are some twenty minutes remaining. Time enough." He stepped back from the wall, taking up a place near the center of the gallery where he could better view the whole. He was pleased when Elizabeth joined him without any urging on his part. "Tell me what you see," he said.

  "Talent far exceeding anything my poor hand has put to paper."

  Northam smiled, remembering his comment about her watercolors. Apparently he was not entirely forgiven. "Still stings, does it?"

  "Hmm," she murmured noncommittally. She applied herself to the more important question. "That painting is by Hilliard. That one, a Brueghel. Those above them are the Dutch masters. The Battenburn collection is renowned for its breadth of styles. Titian. Durer. These works represent artists from all over the Continent and more than two centuries of history."

  "Impressive."

  "It is." She continued identifying the artists. "Raphael. Sir Charles Eden. Vermeer. De Troy."

  North impulsively grasped her hand again. "Show me the Eden."

  "What?" The jolt that had gone through her at his touch distracted her. She was looking at her hand, not the paintings.

  "The Eden," he repeated. "Which one is it?"

  It was then that Elizabeth caught his excitement. "Oh! The Eden. Of course. How clever!" She pulled him toward the oil of windswept cliffs and a turbulent sea. "This one. Shall I get you a chair? You can't reach it."

  He shook his head. "Read me the clue following this one."

  "Removes a face without a trace. I don't think I understand. The face of the cliff?"

  "I think the baroness was simply enamored of her own poetry. Isn't there another line that follows?"

  "Yes. Below one finds a simpler time. That doesn't mean very much to me either, I'm afraid. The last of it is this, A treasure trove to end the rhyme. That seems to promise that we have reached the end, wherever that is."

  "Hmm." Northam cupped his chin in one hand and considered the sum effect of the clues and the paintings. "I think better in a recline," he said when nothing came to him.

  "Perhaps I could fetch a sofa instead of a chair."

  He waved off the suggestion as if it had been made seriously. "Don't trouble yourself. It will come to me."

  She wasn't certain if he meant the sofa or an idea. One seemed no more unlikely than the other. Rather than divert his thinking, Elizabeth let the comment pass.

  Northam's eyes wandered to the oil painting under Eden's seascape. Below one finds a simpler time. It was a still life, the objects themselves unremarkable, as so they often were in such things. The surface of a scarred oaken table was the background for a partially open map, the edges of which were held down by a bottle of blue-black India ink, dividers, a sextant, and a sandglass lying on its side. It was the artist's rendering of these objects that made them seem far from ordinary. Light from an unseen window gilded the curved limb of the sextant, and where it was blocked by the ink bottle a shadow was cast across the map. Each grain of sand in the glass was perfectly realized.

  "What do you think of this one?" Northam asked, pointing to the one that had caught his interest.

  "Vermeer. You can tell by his exceptional use of light. It's called 'The Captain's Table.'"

  Northam did not ask to see the clues again. He recited from memory, "A fall from grace in this place, removes a face without a trace. Below one finds a simpler time. A treasure trove to end the rhyme. Perhaps her ladyship was not so captivated by her poetry as I thought. She really meant it to be a clue."

  "I am lamentably thickheaded," she said.

  "That is certainly not true." Northam was not being gallant, merely factual. "I never would have thought of the Eden if you had not brought it to mind." He pointed back to that seascape. "A fall from grace is certainly referring to his work," he said. "But removes a face without a trace directs us elsewhere. To the one below." His hand dropped, index finger extended like a compass needle to the Vermeer. "The sandglass. A clock from an earlier time. One with no trace of a—"

  "Face!" Elizabeth finished triumphantly. She laughed. "I believe you are done dragging this horse to water, my lord. I am prepared to drink."

  He grinned. "Let's have a look at this painting more closely, shall we?" Northam carefully ran his fingers along the large ornate frame. "Nothing here. Do we dare remove it?"

  Elizabeth leaned toward the painting and Northam eagerly. "I think that is perhaps the only way we will know. Shall I help you?"

  Nodding, he lifted the lower edge of the frame. "Take the other. Let's only tilt it away from the wall. That's it. Just... enough... to let me... see. I do believe, Lady Elizabeth, that we have found ourselves a treasure." He slipped one hand under the frame and explored the wall. "Here it is." His fingers pressed and probed until they found the release. They both heard a spring uncoil. "Can you see? The opening is on your side."

  Elizabeth ducked her head under the back of the painting. "I can reach it." Balancing her corner of the frame in one palm, she slipped her other hand into the opening. "It is not so very big."

  "You sound disappointed."

  Elizabeth's hand closed over the prize. It fit comfortably into her fist. "Do you mean I was the only one hoping for an enormous jewel or a bag of sovereigns?"

  Southerton approached with Lady Powell on his arm. He noticed that at last her interest had been piqued. Southerton remained cynical. No doubt she was spending what she thought was her share. "What's this?" he asked. "Do you mean to say you've found a bag of gold under there?"

  Northam's head came out from behind the painting. "I think you would do well to lower your expectations."

  South smiled. Though North was speaking to him, he saw his friend was pointedly staring at Lady Powell. That avaricious gleam was enchanting."What do you have there, Lady Elizabeth?"

  North closed the panel and then eased the Vermeer back into place. "Go on," he encouraged her. "Show us the prize."

  Elizabeth turned to face the trio and held out her fist. She unfolded her hand, her fingers opening like the petals of a flower. They all saw the treasure revealed at the same time.

  At the center of Elizabeth's palm lay Lord Southerton's snuffbox.

  Lady Powell was the first to speak. "Oh my, may I see it? It's exquisite, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer she plucked it out of Elizabeth's hand. Holding it up to the candlelight pouring from the chandelier, Lady Powell could count the diamond chips embedded in the black enameled lid. The bottom was gold, not gilt over another metal, but solid gold. The box was not flat on its underside. It had a base that rested on the tiniest gold feet, each one shaped like a cat's paw. "This really is darling, quite unique. I've never seen the like before."

  "I have," said Southerton. He took the box from Lady Powell before she could close her fingers over it. "It's mine."

  Elizabeth's eyes shot to his face. "Yours? You mean the one that was stolen?"

  "This is it?" asked Lady Powell. As if she should have been privy to everything concerning him, she made a small moue. "You never mentioned it was such an exquisite piece."

  Southerton said nothing to that. "Was there anything else in the hiding place?" he asked.

  E
lizabeth shook head. "Nothing that I could feel."

  Northam returned to the Vermeer."Take the other corner, South. We'll have another look."

  Pocketing the snuffbox, Southerton stepped forward to help. A second search of the interior proved futile. There was no other prize waiting for them.

  "Damn peculiar," Southerton said, running four fingers through his hair. "Battenburn has an odd sense of humor."

  Elizabeth blinked. "Oh, you cannot believe the baron did this."

  "Then Lady Battenburn."

  "I refuse to countenance either suggestion."

  Southerton shrugged. He looked at North. "What do you think?"

  "I'd say the baron's warning about the Gentleman Thief was providential. He arrived at the treasure before us."

  "That is not possible," said Elizabeth. "He had no clues."

  "I confess to missing them myself," Lady Powell interjected. "Are you seriously proposing the Gentleman stole one treasure and replaced it with another he is also supposed to have stolen?"

  Three heads turned on her and answered as one impatient chorus: "Precisely."

  Lady Powell took the tiniest step backward. "Oh."

  Elizabeth took pity on her. "It is difficult to believe," she said gently.

  Northam leaned one shoulder against the wall, not at all concerned that he was sharing space with Titian and Brueghel. "I confess, if it is the Gentleman's work the purpose eludes me."

  Southerton had been in deep study of the floor. His head came up as the clock in the main hall began to strike the hour. "I suppose we shall know soon enough if it is the work of the Gentleman or some odd whim of our hosts. It strikes me as a very peculiar manner in which to return something that was lost."

  "Stolen," North reminded him.

  "Just so. I mean, there was no way to predict that I would find the thing, was there?"

  "But you didn't find it," Lady Powell said sweetly."Dear Elizabeth did."

  Now it was Elizabeth who felt the force of all those eyes upon her. Unlike the other lady, she did not quail in the face of it. Her chin came up. "Only because Lord Northam could not reach it from his side. And I was hopelessly muddled about the riddles." Her glance swiveled in both directions, from North to South. "You each know it."

  "It's true," Southerton said, sighing. "She was muddled."

  Northam wasn't so certain, but then he had only been her partner at the end. He decided to reserve judgment. His chin lifted toward the massive gallery doors. "If I am not mistaken, Lord and Lady Battenburn will be leading the parade."

  He was not in error. The baron and baroness were at the forefront of the crowd that swept into the room.

  Lady Battenburn pressed her hands together gleefully. "See, what did I tell you, Battenburn?" she exclaimed. "I just knew when they did not return to the drawing room at midnight that we would find them here. You have located the treasure, have you not? Oh, please say it was before the clock struck the twelfth hour. His lordship is being very much a stickler about the rules. One would think we were offering up the crown jewels instead of a mere watch fob and pendant."

  * * *

  Lady Battenburn paced the floor of her bedchamber from window to door and back again. Her husband sighed. "Come, dear, sit down. You will wear yourself out."

  "I will not," she said stubbornly.

  "Then you shall wear out the carpet."

  This had no effect on her either. Her elbow-length gloves lay on the arm of a wing chair, her plumed turban at the foot of the bed. She was still wearing her evening gown.

  "Will you not at least allow Fitz to assist you in preparing for bed?"

  "I could not possibly sleep."

  Harrison looked toward the fireplace where Elizabeth stood. He shrugged, turning over his hands in a gesture meant to imply that he had made his attempt and was done now.

  Elizabeth drew a short breath. "Perhaps, Louise, it would—"

  The sound of Elizabeth's voice did what Harrison had been unable to do. Louise stopped cold. "Do not speak to me, Libby. You are a wicked, wicked girl. I can only think that you are responsible for what happened tonight. The Gentleman Thief! The very idea that such a thing could be done under my nose is not to be borne."

  Elizabeth met Louise's gaze but said nothing.

  "Oh, I cannot imagine what you were thinking when you removed that snuffbox."

  The baron leaned back in his chair. His valet was waiting in the adjoining bedchamber to help him out of his evening wear. He wondered what Pipkin did while he was waiting and amused himself with this line of thinking until Louise's spring wound down.

  "Did you consider my humiliation? Did you think how it would appear to my guests? I shouldn't wonder if they don't believe I am in league with the Gentleman Thief! Was that your intent?"

  There was a pause, but Elizabeth was not certain she was meant to fill it. Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed. Louise's anger did not seem likely to run its course quickly. She had had to contain herself too long in the gallery, first to recover from her own shock when Southerton held out his snuffbox, then to express her embarrassment that their game had been tampered with. Now Lady Battenburn's face was mottled with angry color and she looked very near tears.

  "Say something, Elizabeth," she said. "Can you comprehend our complete mortification?"

  Elizabeth glanced at the baron, since he had now been included in the humiliation. For a time it seemed that Louise had no intention of sharing martyrdom. "No one blames you for the work of the thief," she said quietly. "When I reached behind the Vermeer I removed what was there."

  "You certainly did."

  "Lord Northam would have found it if I had not."

  Louise actually stamped a slippered foot. "I am so out of patience with you."

  "I defended you and Harrison," said Elizabeth.

  Harrison came out of his reverie to cock his head at Elizabeth. "Did you?" he asked dryly, pinning her back with a cool blue study of her face. "That was good of you. Really, Louise, it was good of her to defend us."

  "It was the least she could do. The very least."

  The baron nodded slowly. "Yes, well, there is that."

  Elizabeth's fingers curled at her sides. "It was a gracious gesture for the thief to return the snuffbox. Why can you not consider that?"

  "Because I have no liking for interference in my plans!"

  "Perhaps the fob and pendant will be returned."

  "They'd better be," Louise said severely.

  Harrison waved his hand, dismissing this notion. "They were trifles, dear. Not treasures."

  Louise's satin gown rustled as she began pacing again. "Out of my sight!" she snapped. When Harrison and Elizabeth only exchanged questioning looks, she added, "Both of you. I am completely overwrought."

  Harrison stood, caught his wife's proffered cheek as she passed, nodded vaguely in Elizabeth's direction, and left the room for the quiet and comfort of his own bedchamber. Elizabeth's hand was on the doorknob when Louise called to her. She only turned her head to regard Lady Battenburn.

  "We are not finished," Louise said.

  "But you said—"

  "I am speaking of the future, not of this moment. You may go anywhere you like now, but you must know we are not finished. There will be consequences, Elizabeth. You may depend upon it."

  Elizabeth's palm was damp on the knob. It required two attempts for her to open the door, an effort she was certain was not lost on her hostess, the Honorable Lady Battenburn.

  * * *

  Elizabeth lay on top of her rumpled bedcovers and stared at the ceiling. She wished she had even one of the sleeping powders she had pretended to take a few days earlier. Restless did not begin to describe what she was feeling now. Trepidation had given way to the proverbial ball of dread. It was indeed lodged heavily in the pit of her stomach.

  She had not needed to hear Louise remind her things were unfinished between them. Elizabeth had never once considered this evening's harangue would be the end of i
t. But Louise did not do something without reason, even when she was in a rage, so her parting words had been intended to make Elizabeth know that the retribution would be stiff. It was this thought that was keeping Elizabeth sleepless. There were so many ways in which she was vulnerable. From which direction would Louise attack?

  Elizabeth rose from the bed and went to the window. She pushed it open and leaned out. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and made her skin prickle. She forced herself to look down. Could a fall from here kill her? she wondered. Or would she only be maimed? And how could that be worse than what she contended with now?

  But if she died...

  She came in through the opening slowly, knowing full well she would never throw herself through it. An accident could accomplish what she was unable to bring herself to do, but she could not set about the thing deliberately. The hands she always felt pressing at her back, pushing her, guiding her, would have to be there in fact, not fiction.

  Her stomach lurched when she heard the panel in the wainscoting sliding open. She had not expected Louise to have arrived at a plan so soon. In a way it would be a relief, Elizabeth thought, to have the matter between them over quickly, to have this terrible strain eliminated.

  She turned, the words calmly leaving her mouth before she realized she meant them for someone else. "I was not expecting you."

  "It never occurred to me that you would be." Northam stood, brushing himself off. He was dressed as he had been earlier in the evening: a black frock coat with tails, dark gray trousers, and a perfectly white shirt with starched collar points and an intricately tied stock; and he was none the worse for his journey through the passage. "But it begs the obvious question: Who else were you not expecting?"

  "Get out."

  "I noticed the vanity is no longer a barricade to the entrance. I take it that was in anticipation of a visit by someone other than me. I know Lady Battenburn uses the passage from time to time, but does her husband?"

  As if struck, Elizabeth stepped backward. "Leave."