by Clare Jayne
They all took sips of their tea then Ishbel looked once more at the time.
“Are we keeping you from an urgent appointment, Ishbel?” Harriette asked in a deadly tone.
Caught, she could only make the best of it and explain. Mr MacPherson would think her a lunatic. “I apologise for my inattention. Mr MacPherson, I am sorry to cut short our meeting but I fear I must leave to attend a lecture.” She watched his brow furrow in confusion.
“An appointment?” he suggested and she bit back a sigh.
“A lecture,” she repeated. “Women are not allowed to enrol at Edinburgh University but we are permitted to attend lectures. I have not missed any of Professor Black’s chemistry classes. Indeed, I spend much of my time at the College.”
A long silence ensued and she could read the mix of confusion and surprise in those clear green eyes. Eventually, he said, “How interesting. Your education must mean a great deal to you.”
It was the first time a gentleman had suggested something like that to her without intending it as condemnation. “Yes, it does.”
“Then perhaps you would allow me to accompany you.”
Now it was Ishbel’s turn to flounder for a response. It was out of the question. What if he talked and interrupted Professor Black? What if he was condescending towards her fellow students or, even worse, towards Professor Black himself? It did not bear thinking about.
“What a wonderful idea,” Harriette responded with a look that said this was Ishbel’s fault and she would, therefore, have to deal with the consequences.
“Are you certain you would not find it dull?” Ishbel asked him.
Harriette interrupted. “I am sure Mr MacPherson knows his own mind.” This was spoken with the irony of someone who has dismissed the majority of society as brainless imbeciles.
Mr MacPherson was once more looking from one woman to the other in a way that suggested he knew he was missing half the conversation but was not able to decipher the silent exchange. “I am sure I will find it most illuminating.”
“There we are then,” Harriette said, getting to her feet. “It is decided.”
Chapter Four
EWAN HAD not expected his first strong interest in a lady to be met with so little enthusiasm.
He mused on this, seated in his bedchamber, while his valet shaved him, keeping his head motionless as the deadly blade scraped at the skin across his jaw. He had thought at the trial that a mutual liking had sprung up between himself and Miss Campbell, or as much as was possible in their silent glances, but she had seemed more embarrassed than pleased when he had called upon her, although that could have been due to the presence of her intimidating cousin, Lady Huntly. However, in the four hours they were together in attendance at the university she seemed nervous and unhappy. He had done his best to be entertaining and to listen politely to the lectures – which had been intriguing in an incomprehensible kind of way – but the only time she showed any warmth was when he took his leave of her. Perhaps she simply did not like him.
He was sure most people saw him as a pleasant fellow so her reaction was hurtful. Perhaps he should accept her behaviour as a dismissal but, on the other hand, he told himself she could have simply been exhausted after a sleepless night spent at Brodie’s trial.
It was not simply her behaviour towards him that was unusual but that she should have a life spent attending university lectures and studying. Had she come from a poor or middle-class family then it would have made sense as he would have concluded that she wished to be a governess or school teacher but, coming from so grand and wealthy a family, she had no need to seek employment. While Scottish gentlemen were more likely than their English counterparts to take on a respectable profession, it was unthinkable for a wealthy lady to do so.
Her peculiarities should cool his interest in her but instead he was more fascinated than ever. He wanted to understand her and hear more of her strange views of the world. Ewan was used to spending his time with men who talked of clothes, horses and gambling, and ladies who talked of dinner parties, balls and marriage. Ewan was a master at such conversations; with Miss Campbell, though, he was at a complete loss.
His valet had cleaned and put away the shaving knife now and was patting Ewan’s face with a damp cloth. “Rabbie, in your honest opinion, do you find me to be an unintelligent man?”
“Of course not, sir!” Rabbie’s response was reassuringly heartfelt and prompt. “Surely one of your friends did not say such a thing?”
“No, no one did. Or, at least, Lady Huntly hinted at it but I doubt anyone meets her favour so that does not trouble me. It is her cousin, Miss Campbell. The young lady studies extensively and I fear I have not made a good impression on her.”
“I gather young ladies of that level like to be thought accomplished,” Rabbie said as he put the bowl of water and damp towel to one side and picked up the cravat to affix around Ewan’s neck.
“Not in this way. This is the seeking of knowledge to a degree I have never encountered before. She attends lectures at the university. Indeed, she is there so often that most of the students and professors greeted her by name.”
“How bizarre. But you like her?”
“Very much.”
“My oldest sister read novels for a while but then she married and gave up such nonsense.”
“I learned to play the flute,” Ewan recalled, “but lost interest after about a year.”
Rabbie shuddered. “Yes, sir.” He stepped back to survey the neckcloth then walked forward to adjust its folds slightly before moving away and Ewan bent down to pick up his orange-and-yellow waistcoat and put it on, doing up the gold buttons as he said, “I think I will call again on her and, if she still shows no pleasure in my company, then I will accept it and stay away. I will take some flowers and write a poem for her.”
Rabbie twisted his lips and said hesitantly, “Don’t you think that a lassie who has studied books...” He tailed off but Ewan caught where he was going.
“You think she might be critical of an amateur offering. Yes, you are right, it is better not to take that chance. I will just buy a bouquet of flowers.”
Rabbie helped him on with his coat, ensuring that the lace of his shirt at the wrists was visible below the tight sleeves, although not too much as the current fashions demanded a less ostentatious style of outfit than previously. He slipped his stockinged feet into buckled shoes, accepted the tricorne hat Rabbie was holding out and was ready to leave.
His curricle arrived at Lady Huntly’s residence at ten in the morning, a far earlier time than he would have usually dreamt of paying a call on someone, indeed an hour when he was often just beginning breakfast, but he had been led to understand that Miss Campbell often attended lectures in the morning as well as the afternoon. He wanted to be there before she left but, now he was here, he worried he might disturb the family before they were dressed.
He paused on the well-scrubbed steps before knocking quietly on the door. When a butler answered it, Ewan said, “I was hoping to see Miss Campbell but if the family does not usually admit visitors as such an hour then I can of course return later.”
The butler gave him the blank look that seemed to be a requirement of the job and said, “Not at all, sir. Please come this way.”
He followed the dark-clad servant through the hall and into a stately drawing room, which housed not just Miss Campbell but Lord and Lady Huntly as well. They were all seated on elegant, uncomfortable-looking chairs and Lord Huntly and Miss Campbell both held books while Lady Huntly had been sorting through calling cards. They got to their feet to bow or curtsy and Ewan bowed back and offered a smile. “I am relieved that I have not interrupted your breakfast.”
“Good lord, no,” said Lord Huntly. He was a man in his forties, his clothes smart but old-fashioned and overly plain. Ewan had seen him at various evenings out but Lord Huntly seemed to converse only with society’s intellectuals so they had never spoken. “We are always finished before eight.”
In the morning? No wonder Miss Campbell had some strange habits when coming from such an odd family. He held out the posy of flowers to Miss Campbell. “I saw these and their loveliness struck me as almost equal to your own.”
She accepted them with a smile and murmur to gratitude, while Lord Huntly watched this with bemusement and Lady Huntly, with a sardonic gleam in her dark eyes. Miss Campbell rang the bell, requesting the servant to bring a vase of water for the flowers, then asked Ewan if he would care for a cup of chocolate or coffee.
“Chocolate would be pleasant, thank you.”
They all sat down and Lady Huntly began asking him questions, less in the manner of making conversation than looking for a reason to eject him from her home. “Is Lady Morrelly well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Do you have other family?”
“Just a married sister but she lives in London.”
“Her husband is..?”
“Lord Picton, an English gentleman.” He had not thought the man good enough for his sister and they had argued but she had been sure of her feelings, so he had accepted the marriage, wishing only that the couple had not settled so far away.
Lady Huntly said, “Are you acquainted with Lady Tinbough?”
The name was familiar but he could not bring to mind a face to match it. “No, My Lady.”
“She is a good friend of mine and I learnt yesterday that she has had an emerald necklace stolen from her. If you are planning on calling here on a regular basis then you can make yourself useful and find it for her.”
Ewan thought at first that she was being humorous but her expression remained severe. The other inhabitants of the room looked as confused as he was. “How would I possibly find a missing necklace?”
“You found Ishbel,” she pointed out. “Finding a necklace should be no more difficult.”
“I obtained Miss Campbell’s name and address by speaking to my aunt, Lady Morrelly. She knows all about eligible young ladies but I would be quite astonished if she knew the names of thieves.”
“If you believe those two types of people are mutually exclusive then you are more of a fool than you appear.”
Ewan had never encountered this level of rudeness in a lady before and was at a loss as to how to react. He looked to his host for inspiration but Lord Huntly had buried himself behind the latest volume of Edinburgh University’s new Encyclopaedia Britannica at the start of the conversation and showed no sign of emerging from its depths. “You think the culprit could be a woman?”
“Of course. The thief most likely works in the house or visited it; a maid or someone invited to call. It could be a man but that seems less likely. I know Lady Tinbough and she has little enough patience for her husband; she would hardly encourage any other male attention.”
He began to see the harmony of spirit that had caused Lady Huntly and Lady Tinbough to become friends. Unfortunately, he was also starting to realise that Lady Huntly shared her cousin’s alarming intelligence since her assessment of the crime and its perpetrator was far in advance of his own. He did not see why she or Lady Tinbough could not solve the matter themselves but could hardly say so to a lady.
“Ishbel can assist you,” Lady Huntly decreed and took a sip of coffee.
Ewan looked at Miss Campbell who accepted this with the same degree of consternation that must be visible on his own face. Although the task seemed an impossible one, he could think of no good excuse for refusing a request from a lady. “Very well.”
As he and Miss Campbell looked at each other helplessly, Ewan thought that if this was the kind of work Lady Huntly set all her guests, then the household must receive very few callers.
Chapter Five
“ARE YOU certain that Lady Huntly genuinely expects us to find the thief?” Mr MacPherson asked, regarding her with a degree of hope she fervently wished she could satisfy, for both their sakes, but Harriette never made requests without fully expecting them to be carried out. She would be scathing beyond all reason if they failed and, while Ishbel was used to Harriette’s bad moods, she did not want to inflict them upon Mr MacPherson.
“Yes, unfortunately she does,” she said and read the concern on his face. She shared it. Ishbel had always prided herself that she was intelligent enough to deal with any problem but she had no idea how to find and catch a thief. They had come into the library to discuss the matter, Ishbel not bothering to call for her maid to chaperone them since she had no concerns about improper behaviour from Mr MacPherson. Amazingly, no one – meaning Harriette – had yet scolded her on this lack of propriety.
She took a seat on one of the rigidly upholstered chairs and automatically reached for a book, enjoying the solid, reassuring feel of it in her hands. Mr MacPherson sat down on the other side of a mahogany dropleaf table, turning the chair so he faced her.
“Then we should seek assistance from someone knowledgeable in these matters,” he said. “There must be professional people who do such work.”
“I believe one can advertise in the newspaper for what is called a thief taker but such people are usually criminals themselves and will make a deal that will get themselves and the thief the best reward.” She had heard talk of this dubious business at the university and could not see Harriette or Lady Tinbough agreeing to it. “Perhaps the Government employs similar people?”
“I know only of the Town Guard,” he said with a grimace and she gave up on that idea. Even without their reputation for incompetence, the Town Guard did not hunt criminals down: they simply arrested people who were openly engaging in unlawful behaviour or whom others had caught.
“Then the matter is in our hands,” she said, trying to sound confident, then she fell silent as she thought over the few details they knew so far about the crime. “I cannot agree with Harriette that the thief is likely to be someone employed in Lady Tinbough’s home. As we both know, thieves are treated harshly by the law: branded, mutilated or even hanged. A working-class person with a good job would not be likely to risk so much.”
“But look at Mr Brodie’s actions,” he said, brow furrowed. “People do not always act rationally or consider the possible consequences of criminal behaviour and an emerald necklace would be worth a fortune.”
“Only if it could be safely disposed of which, surely, would be difficult for something so distinctive?” Again she was not certain where someone would sell a stolen item and the lack of knowledge was irritating.
“Who else could be the thief?” he asked. “A tradesman?”
“Perhaps but I think a member of society the most likely culprit...”
“Surely not!” he exclaimed, eyes widening at the idea.
“Someone from a respectable family – as Mr Brodie was – is far more likely to think they could get away with such a theft, that even if they were found out they would be let off with an apology whereas someone of lesser standing would face the harsh judgement of the law. There are certainly plenty of aristocratic families who have little money and high debts.” Both ladies and gentlemen gambled to a degree that often shocked Ishbel, Harriette herself having once come home from a dinner party to announce that she had lost ten pounds at faro. Ishbel had said that such a sum could feed a working class family for a year, a fact which had failed to make any impression on her cousin.
“I suppose that is true,” Mr MacPherson said. “Desperation might make a respectable person do something foolhardy.”
Ishbel was tempted to say that no upper class member of society knew the meaning of the word desperation when compared to what the working classes endured, working an average of fifteen hours a day in jobs that might destroy their health, but she did not wish him to think her as critical as Harriette and, in her experience, it was unlikely that he would mind about such things. Instead she focused on the matter in hand: the missing necklace. “Perhaps if we speak to Lady Tinbough we will find that there is a simple answer to this.”
“Aye,” he agreed with another of his e
ngaging smiles. “That is an excellent plan.”
Chapter Six
LADY TINBOUGH received them in the large, airy drawing room of her four-storey house. She was a woman of around forty – a few years older than Lady Huntly, Ewan would guess – who wore a purple dress covered in lace and ribbons and wielded her fan like a weapon.
“Harriette asked Mr MacPherson and I to call and endeavour to help find your missing emerald necklace, My Lady,” Miss Campbell explained in her quiet lilting voice. She sat with her hands clasped and a slight stiffness in her body, as though uncomfortable, which was not surprising given their strange role in coming here.
Lady Tinbough, by contrast, reclined in a theatrical pose on the chaise longue with a regal expression and a frown that seemed to be permanent. “How kind of Harriette.”
“Would you permit us to ask you some questions about the necklace and when it vanished?” Miss Campbell opened a plain reticule and removed from it several sheets of parchment, a quill and ink. Ewan was beginning to think that she wrote about everything she encountered in life.
“Very well,” Lady Tinbough said, as if bestowing a favour on them rather than letting them help her.
“Can you describe the necklace in detail?” Miss Campbell asked, leaning at a sideways angle – an uncomfortable-looking position that made Ewan smile – so she could rest her parchment on an ornate coffee table.
“The necklace has been in my family for several generations. It is part of a set with matching earrings.” Lady Tinbough rang a bell and, when the butler came in, told him to tell her maid to fetch the earrings. The maid, a nervous-looking girl of no more than fifteen, arrived with the earrings a few minutes later and presented them to her mistress with a curtsy and, Ewan noticed, shaking hands. He did not know if that was a sign of guilt or fear but was inclined to think the latter. Would a thief have remained in the household? He thought not but perhaps the thief had known someone instantly leaving would be the first person suspected of the theft. If that was the case, they would have to possess strong will-power to face Lady Tinbough after committing this crime and he could not imagine the nervous maid capable of it.
