by Clare Jayne
Amused at the man’s priorities, he said, “I appreciate that, Rabbie, but I believe we will surprise you all. We just have to find the right approach.”
“Aye, sir,” the valet said, regarding him with a deeply worried expression.
“You are very welcome to refuse this if you wish. I would certainly not hold it against you.”
“What is the task, sir?”
“I would like you to go to Lady Tinbough’s household with the excuse that you are seeking work and see if anyone will talk to you about the robbery. Anything you could find out would be useful but, as I say, if you would rather not do it then that is fine.”
“I can do that, sir.”
They discussed what sort of things the valet should ask then, Ewan having double-checked that Rabbie really did not object to this employment, the young man set out.
Miss Campbell would not yet be back from the university so Ewan took his time washing and getting changed. It took him a dozen tries on his own to get his neckcloth tied with any degree of elegance so it was lucky he was not in a hurry.
As he sat down to put on his polished silver-buckled shoes, he thought about Rabbie’s comments earlier as well as those of his friends last night. None of them seemed to believe he should be doing this task and Chiverton and McDonald both thought he was not sufficiently intelligent to suit Miss Campbell. Was he really such a fool? It was true that he had not achieved anything remarkable in his life so far but he lived in a similar way to most other wealthy men of his age. He had always supposed that if there was something he really wanted, whether a profession or acquiring a new skill, that if he worked hard he could achieve it. Now he began to doubt himself. He thought of asking Miss Campbell her opinion but did not want to put her in the awkward position of having to say that, yes, she did indeed think him dim-witted.
Ewan had attended the boys’ grammar school here in Edinburgh when he was younger. He had not excelled but he had not failed any of his classes and it had not been a case of him struggling to understand his lessons but, rather, a youthful lack of interest. If he wanted to impress Miss Campbell – and he found that he did – then he needed to show her he could pursue this theft business in an intelligent, methodical manner. He would do everything in his power to track down the thief.
Chapter Eleven
RABBIE, FRANKLY, had no idea what he was doing, but he had no intention of letting the master down so that was all there was to it. He found the house Mr MacPherson had described to him and it was even bigger and grander-looking than his own workplace. He wished he had stopped at a tavern for a snifter to give him the courage to go through with this but it was too late now and, anyway, the staff might not take to him if he had the smell of liqueur on his breath. He walked round the side of the house to the tradesman’s entrance and knocked on the door.
Five minutes later, after a sob story he could hardly believe had come from his own lips, the butler had invited him to join the staff for dinner and he was led into good-sized room where the staff were just about to begin the meal. He repeated his fictional tale of loss and hardship as he wondered if any of them was a thief.
They were a good-natured lot, even the butler, which in Rabbie’s experience was unusual. The footmen were both a bit older than Rabbie’s work colleagues so presumably they had been here for some time and they both seemed friendly enough. There were a few young women, all a bit shy of him, and a couple of older ones he took to be the cook and housekeeper. No one had the shifty look of a thief. Besides, if one of them had taken something so valuable as an emerald necklace surely they’d have scarpered and be in England by now?
“Have you all worked here a long time?” he asked.
“Ann is new,” the butler said, indicating a young lassie.
“And what is your job, Ann?”
Blushing furiously and looking no higher up than his shoulders, she said, “Lady’s maid, sir.”
He studied her with interest. She was the only one who would have handled the necklace regularly and had the best chance of taking it unseen but she would also be the first person suspected. She was certainly the last person he would imagine being a thief. She was no older than his little sister, May, who had just turned fifteen. The girl had a washed-out look: pale blonde hair; pale complexion; of average height but with a skinny, underfed bony appearance. “That must be nice – Her Ladyship must have beautiful clothes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are the Lord and Lady kind people to work for?” At once everyone was avoiding his eyes and the conversation briefly died.
The butler said firmly, “We have no complaints.”
“Of course not,” he agreed, wondering about the reactions. “A job in a good house like this is hard to get. I should know.”
“Quite so.”
“Did any of you follow the trial of William Brodie?” he asked. “What a shocking business, deceiving people like that.”
“There has been some unpleasantness of that nature in this house,” the housekeeper said. She was young to be running a place like this and had a posh accent, suggesting a middle-class family that had run out of money, forcing her to get a job. “The mistress has had a necklace stolen.”
“Aye.” The butler took a swallow from his glass of ale. “And none of us are exempt from suspicion.”
“How nasty for you,” Rabbie said. “Who do you think could have taken it?”
* * *
Ishbel had only been back in the house for five minutes when Mr MacPherson arrived. She had been impressed by his idea of getting his valet to visit Lady Tinbough’s household and had tried to come up with some strategies of her own, only to find that she had missed most of the lecture and only thought of the obvious next step of visiting the tradesmen who had called at Her Ladyship’s home.
She stood to curtsy when the butler led him into the library then almost forgot to do so, distracted by how well his evening clothes suited him. She had not yet grown used to how attractive he was and it was disconcerting.
After bowing to her he said, “My valet agreed to the subterfuge and will come here as soon as he finds anything out.”
“Good.”
They sat down and he said, “What was the subject of your lecture today at the university?”
She was warmed at his interest. Even her fellow students at the College had always seemed bewildered at the idea that she could share their love of learning, it being so ingrained in them that women could not have the intellect nor desire for such things. The men were used to her now but she knew that they would always think her strange and if they could not appreciate how she felt that she had believed no one could. “Materia Medica,” she answered him. “Professor Home discussed the plants that would be used to make medicines to treat a fever.” She had sufficient books on the subject that she could write up what she had missed due to her inattentiveness.
“If you do not mind my asking, do you have any relations who are – or were – academics?”
“My father taught chemistry at the College and of course Lord Huntly is a professor there teaching Latin.”
His startled expression suggested he had not known about Lord Huntly’s profession but what he said was, “Did you get your love of learning from your father?”
“Yes, I think so. I sometimes sat at the back of the room and listened to his lectures as a child.” She had fallen in love with the whole world of academia, everything from the smell of the books to the way it made her see the world as far more extraordinary than she had previously known.
“That must have pleased him.”
“No.” The memory came to her of her father’s sharp words and the bruising grip of his hand on her arm whenever he caught her there. “He... He wanted other things for me.”
“And what did your mother want?”
“I have no idea. I barely knew her.”
“She died when you were young?”
“No.” She had just never had the slightest interest in Ishbel.
“My father died first and she caught the consumption from him and died within two months of him. I was fourteen. Harriette and Lord Huntly have allowed me to reside with them since then so I have been fortunate.”
“My mother had been ill for years before she died,” he told her and she leaned forward to listen. “I was thirteen but I still miss her – I miss all of them. My father had a heart attack when I was seventeen.”
“You said all of them – did you have other family you lost?”
“No. Well, not in that sense. I had – have – an older sister, Matilda, I used to be close to but she married before my father’s death and has been living in London ever since. I must confess I felt very alone when he died and I inherited the estate – I had no idea how to run it but luckily I have an excellent manager who helped me learn everything I needed.”
“It must be a lot of work,” she said, seeing him in a new light as she realised everything he had had to deal with. It touched her that he would share this.
“Not really. Mr Insch handles all the day-to-day work. I only need to make a decision when there is some larger matter to deal with.”
There was a lot more she wanted to ask but the butler entered to say in a distressed manner, “There is a person by the name of Camran who is insisting on speaking to you, Miss.”
“Yes, we are expecting him,” she reassured Gallach. “Please show him in.”
“Yes, Miss.” With every sign of reluctance he led in a young, well-dressed but unmistakeably working class lad who grinned at Mr MacPherson and was responded to in kind.
“Thank you, Gallach,” she said and, as he departed, she let Mr MacPherson introduce her to his valet.
“We are very grateful to you for helping us with this matter, Mr Camran,” she said to him.
“Did you discover anything interesting, Rabbie?” asked Mr MacPherson.
“Aye, sir. I think I might have worked out who the thief is, although I don’t know how you’ll catch the culprit.”
Chapter Twelve
“WELL, THE staff think one person is the thief and I think it’s another,” said Rabbie Camran, the valet.
“Perhaps you should have a seat,” Ishbel told him, “and tell us everything from the time you arrived.”
“Thank you, Miss.” They all sat down and she saw his eyes dart round the library, taking in bookcases, velvet curtains and books on every available surface, including the floor. Then he focused on his master and began to speak. “I asked about work, as you said, and acted a bit hungry so they’d take pity on me. They said a suitable job might well come up soon so I know where to go if you kick me out, sir.” This last comment was made with another grin and Mr MacPherson laughed. She too smiled, glad to see a gentleman treating a servant like a real person and not expecting constant subservience. It occurred to her that she had not yet discovered anything she disliked in Mr MacPherson.
Mr Camran went on: “The staff let me have dinner with them and I asked if they had heard the verdict over Mr Brodie. They reacted as I hoped with the housekeeper bringing up the theft of the necklace then the general maid said she knew exactly who had taken it, but the butler shushed her at once and said she would lose her job saying such things without proof about a gentleman. She went quiet and the lady’s maid – the first lassie who’d spoken – was talking about being new to the household herself but that she was fairly paid. She was saying that because of what I’d said about getting a job there...”
“Yes, but what about the thief?” Mr MacPherson prompted.
“But that’s who I think it was.”
“The maid?” Ishbel asked, confused as to his reasoning.
“Aye. She just vanished. It was before the robbery took place but, because she knew the household and all the corridors and back stairs, I’m sure she could have sneaked in to Lady Tinbough’s room without being seen.”
“Who are you talking about?” Mr MacPherson asked, confusion that matched hers in his expressive eyes.
“The maid who this new lassie replaced. She worked in the house for more than a year then a week before the robbery she just disappeared. No letter of resignation. None of the staff even saw her go. She had a bedroom in the annex and, when she didn’t show up for breakfast one day, someone went to fetch her and all her clothes were gone and there was no sign of her. She must’ve split in the night, they reckon.”
“What makes you believe her to be the thief?” Ishbel asked.
“Well, the timing, Miss. Someone must’ve upset her to make her leave in that way and if that person was Lady Tinbough then she would’ve had a grudge. She could’ve gone back to get the necklace out of revenge and the need for money.”
“Working in the house, she would have known where the necklace was kept,” Mr MacPherson said.
“Did you find out her name?” Ishbel asked, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment from a stack and unstoppering the bottle of ink.
“Aileas Jones, Miss.”
“Thank you,” she said as she picked up a quill. “That was very well reasoned.”
“Yes, well done,” Mr MacPherson said enthusiastically, then paused and added, “but what of this other suspect? You said the lady’s maid thought a gentleman was the thief?”
“Aye, sir. I managed to ask her about it before I left. She thought the Duke of Lothian was responsible. Apparently he was at the house all the time, telling all the ladies and gentlemen how broke he was.”
“But he could not possibly have known where the jewels were kept,” Mr MacPherson pointed out and she liked hearing the intelligent way he viewed matters now he was taking the case seriously. He was like a different person.
“That’s not true, sir. The lady’s maid said he had been in Lady Tinbough’s bed chamber with a couple of other people when Her Ladyship was putting on the necklace for a ball. The maid was certain he had seen where it was kept.”
“Then either one of them could have done it,” Ishbel said, writing the duke’s name below that of the missing maid.
“My money’s on the girl,” Mr Camran said. “She had a reason – if Lady Tinbough was unkind which, I gather, is sometimes the case – and she would have found it easier than a duke to sneak about unnoticed. Besides, would a duke stoop to stealing a necklace?”
Ishbel put down the quill and stoppered the ink, surprised that he should have a higher opinion of the upper classes than she did.
“If he was badly enough in debt,” Mr MacPherson was saying, “he might have taken advantage of a visit to the house to steal. I think we should look into both possibilities.”
“I agree,” Ishbel said, her mind on the maid. Something must have distressed her a great deal for her to leave without a word in the middle of the night. If she had committed the theft perhaps she had been desperate. Even if she had done it out of anger, the possibility that she could hang for the crime was unacceptable.
If the maid was the thief then they had to find a way to help her.
Chapter Thirteen
“I CAN see now why you’re so smitten with Miss Campbell, sir,” Rabbie said, helping Ewan into his coat the next morning. “She isn’t how I expected her to be.”
“I am not smitten, Rabbie.” Ewan stood still as his valet checked his outfit and made a few small adjustments to it. “So what did you expect her to be like?”
“A lot more serious. She was much more friendly and much prettier than I’d thought, although you can tell she’s smart. You could certainly do a great deal worse.”
“I am working with Miss Campbell, not courting her and you say that as if you expect me to choose someone unsuitable.”
“I do if you’re going to use a word like that. That’s a weak, insp... ins...”
“Insipid?” Ewan suggested, sitting on the bed so Rabbie could help him get his boots on.
“Yes. It’s an insipid word meaning someone suits everyone else but you don’t feel any passion for her. There’s no point in marrying someone who doesn’t set your blood on fire.”
“So, in your great experience of marriage...”
“I may be a bachelor like you, sir, but I’ll know when I meet the right lassie and she can be as unsuitable as she likes as long as she turns my head until I can’t see anyone else.”
With these words in his ears, Ewan headed downstairs. He was not surprised that Miss Campbell had made such a good impression on Rabbie. For some strange reason, she seemed more comfortable talking with working class people than her own set – she had been confident, the charming woman he had always found her to be, talking to Rabbie whereas, at the ball the evening before, she had been nervous and uneasy, as if constantly expecting criticism. He frowned, wondering if this was Lady Huntly’s doing.
In the hallway his butler held out his hat and gloves.
As Ewan put them on he said, “MacCuaig, could one of the footmen be spared for the morning? I want him to do some asking around for me about a missing maid.”
The lines in the butler’s forehead deepened and he pursed his lips. “Of course, although if sir wishes the staff to be put to such uses in the future, perhaps he would like me to hire some miscreants for that purpose.”
Ewan ignored the sarcasm. “You can send him into the dining room for instructions.”
He headed into the room and was quickly joined by Angus Smith, who had been a footman here for about five years and was only slightly older than Ewan. Angus seemed to have adopted MacCuaig’s liking for blank expressions but, thankfully, had not yet caught his sarcasm. Ewan told the footman what Rabbie had discovered and asked if he could try to find out more about the maid. “I will be in this afternoon so if any of the caddies know anything of her would you send them to talk to me?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you, Angus.”
He left the house, walking the familiar route to the main shopping area with its mix of shops, stalls and a few people selling flowers and other light items from a basket.
He thought over last evening as he strode along, a cool breeze reducing the August heat. He had not had the chance to ask Miss Campbell if she had been joking about never marrying and it was something that was still on his mind, bothering him. On the other hand, he was not utterly certain yet that he wished to court her, although his feelings grew more fixed by the day, so perhaps it would have given an unfair impression to have raised the subject again. It would be unthinkable to make her anticipate an offer from him that he then failed to make. Of course it would also be highly unpleasant for him to decide to make her an offer that she had no interest in even considering.
