Duplicity

by Sara Rosett

  “I think that’s unlikely, sir. We haven’t had any reports of tramps or prowlers, except the intruder the young lady and gentleman mentioned. They scared off the chap last night. I doubt someone would return again the next day and take a picture—and in broad daylight too. It’s hard to imagine a thief would take one painting without anything else. After all, there were two nice big silver candlesticks on the table near the painting, not to mention that fancy clock. None of those things were touched, and the locks were intact. No one forced their way in.”

  “You think someone here took the painting?”

  “Seems the most likely possibility. My constable had a look around the old stable in case someone stashed it there out of sight until they could cart it away, but there was nothing there.”

  The stables had been converted to a garage, and that’s where Jasper’s motor was parked.

  The sergeant continued, “No recent tire tracks on the drive either, except for the ones we made on our way in. No, it’s most likely an inside job. Someone took the picture and walked out to meet an accomplice—somewhere on the grounds or along the lane, most likely. Then the accomplice beetled off to London, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  As Carter sputtered a protest, Jasper murmured, “Mr. Carter seems to have severely underestimated the interest of the local constabulary.”

  “And their intelligence,” Olive added.

  The police sergeant said to Carter, “What can you tell me about Hendricks?”

  “Hendricks?”

  “Yes. Seemed a bit nervy.”

  “He’s been employed by the Blakely family for over two decades. You’re new to the village, aren’t you, Sergeant?”

  “Assigned here last summer, sir.” The sergeant’s tone was mild. He continued speaking before Carter could go on. “I’ll keep an eye on Hendricks. It may be the toff or the lady you have visiting who stole the picture, but that doesn’t seem likely. They’re still here. If they’d taken it, I think they’d have hopped in their motor and left, quick-like. No, I’m confident our best course of action is to send this up the chain of command. I’ll ring my superior. He can pass the information along to London. They’ll alert the antique shops and pawn—”

  “No. As I said, no need for that. Best keep it quiet.”

  “But sir, it’s unlikely that the picture is still in this area. Your best chance of recovering it is to get the word out.”

  “That’s exactly what we don’t want to happen. Let me have a quiet word with Mr. Blakely. I’ll let you know how he wants to handle it. Don’t do anything until I contact you. I’ll ring you first thing in the morning, after I’ve spoken to Mr. Blakely.”

  “But we’re letting time slip away. The longer it goes—”

  “As I said, not a word of this goes farther until tomorrow morning.” Carter’s tone was commanding.

  There was a pause. Olive opened her eyes and shifted so she could see out the opening. The police sergeant scratched his ear. His expression was doubtful. “I suppose I could delay informing my superior until tomorrow morning, seeing as how you’re not the actual owner of the picture and you want to speak to him.”

  Carter clapped his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. “Good man.” Carter maneuvered him outside. “Excellent work this evening. Very—um—extensive. I’ll be in touch in the morning.”

  Olive and Jasper backed away from the door, bumping into each other. They gripped each other’s arms to steady themselves, then zigzagged back through the furnishings.

  By the time Carter joined them in the drawing room a moment later, Olive was seated on the couch, and Jasper was standing by the fire, his hands clasped behind him. Olive tried to discreetly draw in a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Nothing like a little eavesdropping to get the heart racing—or being so near a man, she thought as she glanced at Jasper. Carter went directly to the drinks cart. “What an ordeal.” He poured himself a whiskey, then looked toward Jasper with raised eyebrows. “Care to join me? Need a pick-me-up?”

  “No, I find I’m feeling quite perky this evening already,” Jasper said with a look at Olive that made her heart flutter.

  Carter took a swig of his drink. “Quite shocking, the whole thing.” The crystal stopper clattered against the decanter as he replaced it. He collapsed into his armchair by the fire and took a long drink.

  Olive waited a moment. She expected him to set down his glass and go to the telephone in the hallway, but he only shifted his hips and settled deeper into the cushion.

  “You are going to contact Sebastian, aren’t you?” Olive asked.

  “Sebastian’s never home in the evening. He’ll be at a play or a dinner party, something of that sort.” Carter rubbed his palm across his forehead, smoothing down his hair. “No, it will wait until morning.” Carter took another sip of his drink, then his tone became hearty. “Well, enough of this nonsense. Let’s speak of something else.” They made stilted conversation for a little while, then Olive made her excuses and retired for the evening.

  Jasper caught up with her on the stairs. She waited until they were on the landing, then said, “I can’t believe Mr. Carter has put off ringing Sebastian.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Carter doesn’t like the idea of word getting back to Sebastian that someone broke into the house yesterday and he did nothing about it.”

  They reached the top of the stairs, and Olive paused, her hand on the newel post. “I think I know where the painting might be.”

  “And you’re going to look for it right now.”

  “Of course. Well, after I change into sturdier shoes. I think it’s in the little shed that I saw this morning. It’s definitely worth a look. Are you coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. You know how I love midnight strolls around the countryside.”

  “Glad to hear it. Meet you back here in a few moments.”

  26

  When Olive returned to the top of the stairs, Jasper was trotting up them. “Where have you been?”

  Jasper removed a key from his waistcoat pocket. “A spot of pilfering in the kitchen while Mrs. Lum was speaking to Mr. Carter in the drawing room. Can’t have us locked out.”

  “Good thinking. How will you get it back?”

  “That’s a problem for later. I’ll think of something.” Jasper gave an approving nod at the torch in her hand. “Did you come prepared, or did you find that somewhere around here?”

  “I brought it with me. I’ve learned there are a few essentials a girl needs on hand.”

  “I would think that would run more along the lines of lipstick and powder.”

  “A working girl.”

  “I see. Shows how out-of-touch I am. Well, topping idea. We won’t have to use my lighter to see the way.”

  As they descended the stairs, Olive said, “I think we should go out the French doors in the small sitting room.”

  “Retrace the intruder’s steps? Unlike our village police chap, you think the intruder and the theft of the painting are connected.”

  “It seems the logical place to start.”

  “I agree. The police didn’t seal off the room, so I don’t see why we can’t do it.”

  They didn’t switch on any lights when they entered the small sitting room. Olive paused for a second, remembering the blinding beam of light that had flashed across her face. But tonight, the air had a trace of mustiness instead of the scent of fresh air. No movement came from within the room, and Olive navigated across it, managing to avoid the sofas and chairs. She pushed back the drape, which had been pulled in front of the French doors. Jasper swung one open. “Allow me.”

  The thick hedge towered to Olive’s left, a blocky chunk of darkness against the trees and sky. The cool air traced over Olive’s bare arms, a refreshing change from the rather dank atmosphere of Hawthorne House. They set off across the lawn, moving toward the back of the house. The sky was clear, and light from the stars allowed them to pick their way through the hedges and ornamental shrubbery. Olive sidestepped
a low Boxwood. “No need for the torch here.”

  “I agree. Best to leave it switched off.”

  They made their way across the expanse of lawn that ran down to the belt of trees. Olive glanced back at the house a few times, but no lights were on in the back windows. As she swept her gaze along the rows of blank unlit windows, Olive again felt that pressing ominous sensation that had come over her when she looked out over the vast emptiness behind the house. She’d taken a few sideways steps as she looked over her shoulder, but now she turned her back to Hawthorne House and quickened her steps as they closed in on the shed.

  “You should have worn a hat,” Olive said. “Your fair hair is shining like a beacon in the middle of the Channel.”

  “Unfortunately, I left my burglar kit in London. Next time, let me know before we depart, and I’ll have Grigsby pack it in my luggage.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be critical. I’m a little jittery.” The tall shrubbery enclosed two sides of the shed, shielding it from the house. They walked to a rough wooden door on the far side with a metal lock on the latch. Olive asked, “Can you pick it?”

  “Why would you think I’d be able to do that?”

  “You know how to touch-type. Perhaps lock-picking is another of your skills?”

  “While I’m flattered you think I’m a man of many talents, sadly, they don’t extend to lock-picking.”

  “Pity.”

  Olive switched on the torch, shielding the light with her hand so it wouldn’t blind them.

  “Oh, I say. We are in luck.” Jasper flicked the lock around and removed it from the latch. “It wasn’t fastened. It was only for show.”

  “Hendricks must feel that there’s no need to lock up. It is rather deserted around here.”

  “Yes. Probably saves him carrying around a key.” Jasper opened the door, and Olive aimed the light inside. Gardening tools of all sizes ranged around the walls. Pots and hand tools sat on a rough wooden counter, which was dotted with traces of soil. Several burlap sacks sagged in one corner. A few had crumpled over onto the hard-packed earthen floor, and a wheelbarrow was propped up against another section of the wall.

  A cursory examination was all it took to see the painting was not in the shed. Olive traced the light over the pile of burlap sacks, which had soft bulging contours. “No painting here. I was completely wrong.”

  “It was a good idea to look, though.”

  In the corner, a single empty burlap sack was draped over a box-like shape. Olive stepped into the shed and cautiously lifted an edge of the burlap, expecting to see pots or gardening tools or—worse—a rodent nest. But there was only a crate under the sack. “Jasper, look at this.” He peered over her shoulder as she trained the torch on several expensive leather books. The gold lettering on their spines glittered under the bright stream of light.

  Olive handed the torch to Jasper and picked up the one on top. “It’s Pride and Prejudice. And Northanger Abbey as well.” She stood up, the books in her hands. “Mr. Hendricks is stealing books from Hawthorne House?”

  A voice behind them said, “No. I’m reading them.”

  Startled, Olive dropped one of the books. She spun around as Jasper cut the light toward the door. Mr. Hendricks stood there, squinting, one hand thrown up to block the light. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  Olive picked up the book—a copy of Pride and Prejudice—and brushed off the cover. “You enjoy reading Jane Austen?”

  Jasper lowered the torch so it wasn’t in Hendricks’ eyes. He stepped inside the shed and removed his flat cap. “Oh yes, miss. Her books are a right treat, they are.” He twisted the fabric of his cap. “And I’ll return it. I promise you, I will.” Hendricks looked down at the packed ground. “I would like to finish it, if I may.” His Adam’s apple worked up and down, then he spoke quickly. “I want to find out what happens between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.”

  “Completely understandable,” Jasper said. “Excellent choice of reading material, old boy. How did you come upon it?”

  “There was an old copy of Northanger Abbey in my quarters.” He loosened his grip on his cap long enough to gesture in the direction of the converted stables. “There’s a bookshelf with stacks of books. I tend to read in the evenings. Robinson Crusoe and Sherlock Holmes. I like a good yarn.”

  “Everyone enjoys a good story.”

  Hendricks’ shoulders relaxed a bit at Jasper’s words, but his grip on his cap remained tight. “There was one book in my quarters that I hadn’t read. I finally picked it up. It was Northanger Abbey—not that one there, miss. A different copy.” A smile briefly crossed his face. “Well, it was a corker. And once I finished it, I decided to look around the house to see if there were any more by this Miss Austen.”

  “And you’re enjoying Pride and Prejudice as much as Northanger Abbey?” Olive asked.

  “Oh yes, miss. I’d hate to not know how it ended.”

  “I can assure you that you’re going to enjoy the ending,” Olive said. “I certainly won’t take it away from you.”

  Hendricks looked at Jasper, who said, “I’d never interrupt a man’s reading. That would be uncivilized.”

  Relief flooded Hendricks’ face. “Thank you, Mr. Rimington, Miss Belgrave.”

  “Perhaps you were looking for reading material last evening and we interrupted you?” Olive asked.

  “No, it’s the other way around. I’d—um—borrowed the copy of Northanger Abbey earlier that afternoon.”

  Olive thought of the square bulge in Hendricks’ pocket and the way he’d tried to cover it with his hand when Carter appeared in the door behind him.

  Hendricks dipped his head toward the expensive volume in Olive’s hand. “The copy at Hawthorne House has pictures, you see. I wanted to take a look at them. The book in my quarters is only words. I looked through the one with pictures yesterday afternoon and was returning it when you came into the small sitting room. I’m very sorry if I startled you, Miss Belgrave. I intended to slip in, put the book back on the shelf, and be gone in only a moment.”

  “Did you see anyone skulking around the grounds last evening?” Jasper asked.

  “No, sir. And I would know if someone had been around. With all the rain, they’d have left tracks in the mud. I was all over the grounds this morning and didn’t see anything.”

  “And what about today?” Olive asked.

  “No one, miss. And I was out all day, cleaning out the leaves from the drain spouts, except when I had my tea. I have my cuppa out here and have a bit of a read.”

  Olive handed the books to Hendricks. “Well, you don’t have to worry about us telling your secret. Enjoy your reading, Mr. Hendricks.”

  27

  Olive

  7 November, 1923

  Hawthorne House

  * * *

  The next morning, Olive again found Jasper in the dining room before her.

  “Good morning, Olive, old bean,” Jasper said. “Sleep well?”

  Olive had thought she’d have a difficult time getting to sleep after their encounter with Hendricks, but she’d dropped off to sleep almost immediately. “Surprisingly, yes.”

  “I find a brisk walk outdoors often produces that effect.”

  Tromping around the grounds coupled with the heightened atmosphere of trying to keep their activities secret must have been more of a strain than she realized. “And you?” Olive inquired. “How was the rest of your evening?”

  “Slept like a babe.” Jasper poured himself a cup of coffee, then one for Olive as she took a seat across from him with her plate. “What are your plans for today? Other ideas on where the painting might be stashed?”

  “No. And considering my brilliant thought turned out to be completely wrong, I think we should focus on the inventory.”

  “What rooms are on the agenda for today?”

  “Let’s move up to the second floor.”

  “Jolly good. I’ll bring the typewriter.” Jasper took a sip of his coffee an
d looked across the room. “Perhaps I should consider an attempt to parlay touch-typing into a regular activity. I could place an advertisement.” He swept his palm across the air as if he were reading a sign. “Have typewriter, will travel.”

  Olive spread marmalade across her toast. “Become a secretary-typist for hire? I’m sure the society ladies would mow each other down to hire you.” She grinned at him. “I do realize you’re teasing me. You can’t quite hide the glint in your eye.”

  “True. I only type for you, my dear.”

  “And the War Office.”

  “In a pinch.” Jasper put down his cup. “All right. On to the next floor.”

  “And once we’re done there, the inventory will be complete.”

  Jasper paused, his hands on the back of his chair as he pushed it under the table. “Don’t forget—there are still the attics.”

  “Oh, you’re right.” Olive suppressed a sigh. “I hadn’t thought of those. I’ll have to check with Sebastian and see if he wants them inventoried as well. Has Mr. Carter made an appearance this morning? Perhaps I can speak to Sebastian when Mr. Carter rings him about the missing painting.”

  “No sign of him. Late riser, remember.”

  “Yes, but one would think he’d want to report the news of the theft first thing.”

  “One would think, but it’s apparent Mr. Carter wants to put it off as long as possible. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll gather the typewriter, carbons, and paper.”

  “I’ll meet you upstairs as soon as I finish here.”

  The bedrooms had a more limited number of paintings, and they moved through them at a quick pace. Olive was writing down the dimensions of a portrait of a young boy on a pony when the noise of a throat clearing sounded behind her. Mrs. Lum stood in the doorway, a frown replacing her usual sour expression. “Begging your pardon,” she said hesitantly.

  The rapid cadence of the typewriter keys broke off. Jasper said, “Hello, Mrs. Lum. How can we help you?”