by Clare Jayne
Lady Tinbough waved the girl away with a sharp movement of her fan and handed one earring to Miss Campbell and the other to Ewan. Miss Campbell scrutinised the delicate object and leaned over, filling the silence with the scraping sound of quill on parchment.
Lady Tinbough glanced from her to Ewan, who smiled, and politely said, “The jewellery is lovely – delicate but striking and undoubtedly the highest quality.”
Her frown retreated for a moment. “Yes. The necklace has some sentimental value to me...”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed.
“... But that is less important than the fact that someone thought they could get away with stealing from me. That is unacceptable and I wish the thief caught and punished.”
“Even if a member of society took it?” Miss Campbell asked, not looking up from her writing.
Lady Tinbough observed the profusion of red curls that were all that were visible of Miss Campbell’s head. “I suppose that is a possibility. Yes, if the thief is from a decent family, I would want them publicly shamed for their behaviour.”
Miss Campbell paused in her writing and glanced up briefly, a wry smile twisting rosebud lips, and Ewan remembered when she had said that a member of aristocratic society would never face criminal charges for the theft but a poor or middle-class person might hang for the crime. He had never considered such matters before but felt, through observing her reactions, a disturbing sense of injustice.
Miss Campbell lowered her head and the steady scratch of the quill once more sounded.
“Would you tell us when the necklace went missing?” Ewan asked.
“I wore it to a ball last week. Tuesday. I did not look for it until last night when I wanted it for Mrs Trent’s musical evening and it was not in its case.”
“Did your maid see it any time after last Tuesday?” Miss Campbell asked, looking over at the young girl who was fidgeting uncomfortably in a corner of the room by the door.
“Well, Ann, answer the question,” Lady Tinbough ordered.
The girl shook her head, eyes on those of Miss Campbell, who was giving her a reassuring smile. “No, Miss.”
“Did you see what happened to the necklace on Tuesday evening, Ann?” Miss Campbell asked.
“Yes, Miss. I unclasped it from Lady Tinbough’s neck and took each earring and put them all in their case, as always.” The poor girl gave a pleading glance at Lady Tinbough as she said this, as if she had already been blamed for the loss of the necklace and expected uniformed soldiers to burst through the door at any moment to arrest her.
“Yes, I do recall that they were put away on Tuesday night,” Lady Tinbough acknowledged grudgingly and the maid seemed to start breathing again.
“Could you tell us the names of anyone who knew where the necklace was kept or might have been left alone in your room long enough to find it?” Miss Campbell asked. “Visitors? Tradesmen? Servants?”
“I find it difficult to believe that any of my servants would betray my trust in such an abhorrent manner,” Lady Tinbough said, fanning herself. “I never employ anyone without thoroughly checking their background and morals. Ann is the only new member of staff, otherwise, the servants have all been in my employ for at least a year.” She turned to her maid who dashed forward at the silent summons. “Ann, speak to the housekeeper and butler and find out if there have been any tradesmen admitted to the house in the last week and a half. If so, we will need their names and details.”
“Yes, My Lady.” Ann curtsied and hurried out.
“I have admitted a number of people to my bed chamber, where my jewels are kept, for afternoon tea: Lady Huntly, of course; Mrs McRae, who usually brings her three oldest daughters; Mrs Abbott and her daughter; Lady Exton and her unmarried son and daughter; and His Grace, the Duke of Lothian. There might be a few others – it is difficult to recall who visited when, of course, my company is sought by a great many people, not all of whom I am at home to.”
“Naturally,” Ewan agreed, wondering how he and Miss Campbell could possibly question so many members of society about a robbery without offending them with the implication that they might be criminals.
“Do you know anything of your husband’s visitors?” Miss Campbell asked.
“He is seldom at home,” Lady Tinbough said shortly, confirming Lady Huntly’s impression that they did not get along.
“Does anyone else live here?” Miss Campbell said.
“Just my son, the Viscount Inderly. He is, naturally, a popular and well-liked gentleman but none of his acquaintances would know anything about my jewellery.”
“Could we briefly speak to him?” Miss Campbell persisted.
“If he is here, I will see if he can spare you a few minutes,” Lady Tinbough said in a long-suffering manner and then the maid returned, bringing the butler with her and he confirmed that, no, the Viscount had not yet returned from a ride in the park with friends.
“I doubt he could tell you anything useful about this,” Lady Tinbough said dismissively, then asked her butler about visitors.
“Naturally I supervise any unknown tradesman who is employed by Your Ladyship or His Lordship,” he said, red-faced at being questioned over the matter, “but there were a couple of people who have worked here for a number of years, who I allowed liberty to carry on with their work: Pete, one of Mr Roberts’ boys – a chimney sweep – and Mr McDougal, the carpenter, who repaired the broken library chair.”
Miss Campbell wrote down the addresses of the work premises of the tradesmen, then thanked the butler in a polite manner that visibly soothed his discomfort.
“Sanders, Miss Campbell and Mr...”
“MacPherson,” Ewan supplied.
“... Mr MacPherson will need to question all the servants about the theft of the necklace. I imagine it would cause the least inconvenience if they did so when Lord Tinbough and I are out, so perhaps tomorrow afternoon would be best. After three.” She glanced at him and Miss Campbell for confirmation of this appointment.
Relegated to the position of unwanted tradesman, Ewan gave as courteous a smile as he could manage. “Of course, My Lady.”
Miss Campbell put away her writing materials and they left the house, pausing on the street outside, a large oak tree sheltering them from the brightness of the sun but not the excessive heat of the day. A coach pulled by two sleek black horses clattered past them.
“What an irritating woman,” Miss Campbell observed as she put on a black wide-rimmed hat, drawing Ewan’s eyes to her creamy skin and curls that were as bright as copper coins in the sunlight. “Anyone would think she was doing us a favour, not the other way around, and now I will miss a history lecture for this silly business.”
“Indeed,” Ewan agreed with a sinking sensation as he realised he would have to forego attending the birthday celebration of an acquaintance. His absence would not be missed by the host, Lord Judston, but Ewan had promised his friends, Chiverton and McDonald, that he would see them there.
“Oh, Mr MacPherson, I am so sorry,” Miss Campbell said, looking at him with an embarrassed expression that caught his full attention. “I have no right to complain when I am at least helping a friend of my family but you have no duty here. If you wish to leave this business to me and return to your life...”
“Not at all,” he quickly said, smiling at her. As much as he would love to walk away from this, he could hardly be so unchivalrous as to leave Miss Campbell in the awkward and potentially dangerous position of having to interview a group of people, including tradesmen, about a robbery. Anyone could take exception and turn violent. He wondered again how it was that they had become caught up in a matter so outside their normal life.
Miss Campbell was still looking up at him with an uncertain expression so he told her with more confidence than he felt, “We are in this together and I am sure we will swiftly find the culprit and the necklace.”
Chapter Seven
RABBIE, EWAN MacPherson’s valet, was appalled to learn that his
master had been imposed upon to do the same kind of menial work as a thief-catcher. Mr MacPherson was a society gentleman; he knew nothing of the real world nor the kind of people who inhabited it.
“It’s like throwing a duckling into a nest of vultures,” he told Simeon and Angus, the footmen, when Mr MacPherson had left to meet his friends for the evening. Betsy, the kitchen maid, darted about around them, putting out the cutlery and crockery for the staff dinner and the smell of cooking food wafted in and made Rabbie’s stomach rumble.
“If he goes around accusing people of theft, he’ll end up getting punched,” Simeon predicted, sitting on the table, one polished shoe swinging back and forth.
“I’m sure he has more sense than to do that,” Angus said in a doubtful tone and they exchanged worried looks.
“So is he likely to end up marrying this lassie who got him mixed up in all this?” Simeon stole a slice of bread, causing Betsy to tut him, and began munching on it. “If so, who knows what she’ll involve him in next.”
“He does seem taken with her,” Rabbie said, reminded of this other difficulty. Were Mr MacPherson to marry poorly it would have a disastrous effect on the staff, who would then be under this odd woman’s control. “She reads. Books. Not even novels, which is bad enough, but university books.”
“Mr MacPherson knows nothing of books,” Simeon said. “It will nae last.”
“I believe he was not a bad scholar at school,” Rabbie felt compelled to admit.
“But he has nae looked at a book since he left school, just as a sensible man shouldn’t,” Simeon insisted.
Rabbie forebore to mention that Mr MacPherson regularly read the accounts books for his estate, not wanting to damage his master’s good name amongst the other staff. “I fear it will end badly.”
“Aye,” said Simeon while Angus just nodded his head and sighed.
Rabbie’s parents lived nearby so he left to have dinner with them rather than at the house. The food was not as fine but he liked to take the chance to see them regularly. He headed down the street in the direction of the Luckenbooths shops then took a side road and a rank-smelling alley to their street, greeting acquaintances on the way.
Rabbie had worked for Mr MacPherson for six years now and, from the start, had liked the easy-going gentleman but Mr MacPherson was sheltered at home and among his aristocratic friends from all the rough, violent things that went on in the world around him. He was kind to everyone, including his servants, but this whole nasty situation had made Rabbie see how someone could take advantage of the master or how he could get hurt. And what sort of lassie got a man involved in such a disturbing business? That was the result of books. It made people come up with daft ideas. The master should find himself a nice placid lass who did normal things and could settle him back in the comfortable world where he belonged.
Rabbie let himself into the family house and blinked a couple of times to get used to the dim interior, then headed through the plain unlit hall to the kitchen which was lit to an orange glow by both fire and a candle in the centre of the table.
“Did you wipe your muddy shoes on the mat?” his mother demanded.
“Aye, Ma.”
“Well, dinnae stand there getting in my way. Sit down.”
“Yes, Ma.” He did so, then sniffed the air. “Is that a cherry pie?”
“It is.” She smiled and, spoon in one hand, leaned over to pat his head.
He grinned at her and let the welcome thought of food distract him from his concerns.
* * *
Ishbel looked at her reflection in the full length mirror in her bedchamber and gave a heavy sigh. The Robe de Cour was far too big and grand to suit her, with its mountain of gathered skirts and revealingly low cut bodice, the whole concoction covered in lace and silly bows. Her hair had also been dressed in an elaborate style, pulled high above her head but with curls falling down behind her, powdered and decorated with large feathers. She looked ridiculous.
“You look lovely, Miss,” her maid, Lucy, said firmly. “I am sure you will have a wonderful time.”
“Lucy, I have never enjoyed a ball in my life!”
“This time will be different. Mr MacPherson will be there to dance with you and pay you compliments.”
“Yes,” Ishbel said, brightening. “We need to question the people who were in Lady Tinbough’s house when her necklace was stolen. It will be different – I will have a useful purpose tonight.”
Lucy’s expression said this was not what she had meant but she ignored her. Ishbel had always felt like an insect pinned to a board and waiting to be dissected in front of all the critical aristocrats at balls. The women stood about making insults veiled in smiles and the men – from schoolboys to wrinkled old men – would stare at her chest and try to force her to dance with them. And if she managed to find someone from the College to have an intellectual conversation with, Harriette would drag her away, berating her about how unseemly it was for Ishbel to appear intelligent.
Holding the train of her dress so it would not trip her up, Ishbel left her room and walked carefully downstairs, the high heels of her shoes making her movements unsteady and her wide skirts barely fitting through doorways.
Harriette must have begun getting ready an hour before Ishbel as she was already waiting downstairs, Lord Huntly beside her and looking as excited about the ball as Ishbel felt.
Harriette examined Ishbel’s outfit with lowered brows and a deep line across her forehead. “You are not wearing any makeup, Isobel.”
“No,” she agreed, ignoring the English version of her name her cousin insisted on using. Harriette’s own face was painted white as well as having rouge over the cheekbones and a black beauty mark stuck in place, her gown even more elaborate than Ishbel’s and coloured a deep wine red. The makeup and whitened hair made her look not quite human.
“We hardly ask much of you in return for the home and comforts we provide...”
Ishbel stiffened at the reminder that she was only here on her cousin’s charity and had no home of her own. She dropped her eyes and swallowed. “Do you want me to go and put some makeup on?”
“No, there is no time,” Harriette snapped. “Come along.”
The evening was still light and warm as they descended down the front steps onto the street to the Huntly carriage, the family crest displayed prominently on each side. The residential street smelt of trees and flowers and Ishbel could hear birds singing. She thought longingly of just walking away, taking a stroll through the peaceful streets, then she dismissed the fantasy and let the footman take her hand and help her into the dim interior of the carriage, shutting the door behind her. She sat opposite Lord and Lady Huntly, facing backwards as the carriage lurched into movement.
Harriette gave her usual advice to Ishbel: “If any gentleman should actually wish to speak to you, keep your mouth shut and smile as often as possible.”
Ishbel nodded meekly and, as usual, had not the slightest intention of doing as she was bid. Her goal was to speak about the robbery and find out as much information as possible. After that she would allow herself the respite of hiding in a corner and thinking about books. “Harriette, would you tell me something of Lady Tinbough?”
“I suppose I can do that.” Harriette fanned herself in a measured way. “I have known her for all my adult life. She was born on an estate outside Edinburgh to an excellent family – she is niece to the Duke of Metherton and her brother, Lord Callen, is a well-known Whig and is friends with the Prime Minister. I do not know how she came to marry Lord Tinbough but she heartily dislikes him, his flirtations a source of embarrassment to her. They have one child and heir: the Viscount Inderly, a non-descript boy of marriageable age. She is an intelligent, well-respected member of society with a bluntness I find refreshing.”
They arrived at their destination and the conversation ended. They had barely got inside the Assembly Rooms when she caught sight of Mr MacPherson and a moment later he saw her and headed over with
two other men. He gave a wide toothy smile and swept down in a bow to them all. For some reason the sight of him filled Ishbel with relief, dispelling some of the butterflies in her stomach. He greeted them all warmly, then introduced his companions: Mr Chiverton was a handsome gentleman with a quick smile and courteous manners while Mr McDonald looked a little older, with pinched features and a more serious countenance. All three men wore formal outfits every bit as grand and elaborate as those of the women, Mr MacPherson resplendent in emerald velvet trimmed with silver and wearing a powdered wig for the occasion. The clothes brought out the vivid green of his eyes and he wore them with an ease Ishbel had never felt when wearing such ostentatious court outfits.
Harriette was waved over to another part of the room by some acquaintances so she and Lord Huntly left Ishbel alone with the gentlemen, unusual behaviour that either meant Harriette was sorry for her sharpness earlier or that she hoped with three men around her, Ishbel might finally find a husband. It was difficult to tell her reasons but Harriette was not as heartless as she often seemed. At least, not all the time.
Eager to get to the work of the evening, Ishbel was disappointed when Mr MacPherson said to her, “I believe you promised to dance with me when I first called at your home.”
Harriette’s home, not hers, as she had recently been reminded. “I recall agreeing with the caveat that you would regret it when you saw how poor my dancing skills are.”
“I could never regret time spent with so fair a companion.”
“Then perhaps the minuet?” At least it would be the first dance so she could get the embarrassment out of the way.
“A perfect start to the evening.”
She doubted he would think so for long. “After that we should really think of a way to talk to people of the missing emeralds.”
