by Joan Smith
“How did the basket end up in the apple tree?”
“I had to wait ever so long to sneak into Greenleigh. Mrs. Dorman was doing the washing that day and kept going into the yard. By the time she was finished, I had eaten the lunch, so I just chucked the basket up into the tree. I didn’t want to leave it on the ground. The Jamieson boys sometimes play in the orchard, and they are such mischievous fellows, I was afraid they would destroy it or even steal it.”
“The basket is safe in your room,” Corinne assured her.
“Oh, good. Now, where was I? Oh yes, it was very scary and uncomfortable all alone in the attic, but luckily I fell asleep while reading that book you sent me. Then at dawn when I felt I was compromised, I went down to Rufus’s room to tell him I had been there all night. He was angry with me,” she said, greatly vexed at his lack of consideration. “He only thought of himself, saying everyone would put it in his dish and think he was after my money. I very nearly gave up on him, after all the trouble I had gone to and he didn’t appreciate it. But instead I cried, and he said he would see what we could do. You ought to try tears if you are having trouble bringing Luten up to scratch, Corinne,” she added with a sly smile that showed she had lost the last vestige of girlhood.
“I never thought of that,” Corinne said, chewing back a grin at the absurdity of it. Luten would tell her to stop being a watering pot and pull herself together. And she would think the better of him for it. She didn’t want such a biddable husband as Rufus Stockwell.
Susan continued her tale. “Rufus told Mrs. Dorman he was hunting bats in the attic to explain any little noises I might make and to make an excuse to spend some time with me, for it was horrid up there all alone. He was frightened to death when you and Luten called on him. He feared Luten was going to issue a challenge. After that, he just went about his work on the farm as usual during the day and only visited me at night. I told him he need not worry about Luten. He took no interest in my affairs,” she finished, with an angry sniff.
“Why had you been writing to Luten recently? Was it to do with marrying Rufus?”
“I wanted Luten to tell Rufus it was all right to marry me. I wrote to Luten and told him I had to speak to him most urgently and asked him to come to Appleby. He wrote back that my allowance was adequate and that if I really required an increase, I must speak to Otto. I wrote again and told him it was not about money, it was practically a matter of life and death, but still he did not come. I expect it was about then your pearls were stolen, and he was busy finding them for you.”
“Yes, it was,” Corinne said. So that was why Luten spoke of Susan’s disappearance weighing on his conscience, and why he wore that strained, white face. Because he felt he had forsaken her in her dire trouble, and if he had come, she would be safe at home. Perhaps he even worried that she had thrown herself into a river.
When Susan went on to apologize for having to cut three inches off the bottom of that sprigged muslin gown Rufus had picked up in error in the dark, Corinne was not in a mood to scold.
“Naturally you would not want to be tripping on the hem. As long as my cashmere shawl is all right—”
“Mrs. Dorman thinks she can get the cocoa stains out. And the little hole where I caught it on a nail will hardly show once it is mended. Oh, and I fear I broke that little mirror Prance gave you. Rufus accidentally stepped on it.”
“It is really of no importance at all,” Corinne said, “but I notice you are not wearing the little hand ring I sent you, nor was it in your room. Have you lost it?”
She gave a simpering smile. “I gave it to Rufus at the May Day party,” she said. “He was admiring it one day when I went to Greenleigh pretending Mrs. Malboeuf needed eggs for a cake. He wouldn’t accept it at first, but I told him the clasped hands made it a friendship ring, and if he wanted to be my friend, he must accept it. So he did. He bought a silver chain and wears it around his neck, next to his heart.”
From there the conversation turned to the wedding and trousseau. “I notice you have bought some new linen,” Corinne said.
“I need ever so many things. I shall be rid of Mrs. Malboeuf and have Mrs. Dorman be our housekeeper here at Appleby. It did not seem worthwhile finding someone to replace Malboeuf for a few months. I want to consult Rufus about what sort of carpets and curtains and things he would like before I replace them. It will be such fun, like playing house.”
A rosy dawn was showing in the eastern sky when the gentlemen returned to Appleby Court. The sound of footsteps sent the ladies racing into the hall to demand an accounting of what had been going on.
Chapter Twenty-six
Tobin, who had not gone to bed on this momentous night, went to the kitchen to rouse Mrs. Malboeuf to make coffee and sandwiches, and to give her a hand.
“Did you get my money?” Susan asked Luten.
He dumped the horse blanket on the sofa table. Bills tumbled out in heaps. “A few pounds might be blowing around the meadow. We haven’t counted it,” he said.
Rufus made a mental note to scour the meadow in the morning. Otto roused himself and began checking to see that each bill did indeed have a neatly hidden hole in its center, though it was not really important now. This done, he began to assemble the bills into neat piles for counting.
“Who had it?” Corinne asked.
“Blackmore and Prissy Trueheart,” Coffen announced.
“Who is Prissy Trueheart?” Susan asked.
“Mrs. Spencer.”
The story was told, with suitable oohs and ahs and praise for everyone’s bravery. Prance felt insufficient concern was shown for his close brush with death, but he was busy working it up into a harrowing tale for the more prestigious drawing rooms of London and let the others take their share of credit.
“So the highwayman was Blackmore?” Corinne asked.
“Eventually,” Luten said wearily, and poured himself a glass of wine.
“Don’t be tarsome, Luten. I’ll explain,” Coffen said. “It was Blackmore and Prissy. It started out being Prissy, dressed up in trousers. She had sunk to that, imagine! She used to be one of the lights of the London stage.”
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” Prance said.
“I daresay one would get sick of it,” Coffen said. “It turns out her papa and brother are both scamps, so she comes by her dishonesty honestly. She made the mistake of holding up Blackmore one night. He soon outwitted her and had her mask off.”
“And a few other items of apparel, I shouldn’t wonder,” Prance said coyly.
Coffen frowned. “Behave yourself, Reg. There’s ladies present. Before you could say Jack Robinson, they were in league. When Prissy told him how easy it was, Blackmore took over the actual robbing. All a hum, that business of him inheriting from a Scottish aunt. It was stolen rhino he was using to fix up the Hall. ‘Twas Blackmore who held us up, Corinne. Got my watch back.” He drew it out and smiled at it before continuing.
“Prissy had it hidden with a bunch of other things to take to London. She is the Mrs. Bewley who hawked the other items. Hodden mentioned her; she said she was from up north somewhere. They didn’t plan to rob any more coaches. Since Jeremy was blamed for it, they figured it was a good time to stop. Their scheme was to make one last haul by stealing Susan’s ransom money, then dart off to London with their pockets jingling.”
He gazed fondly at his watch again. Prance shivered in revulsion. He despised turnip watches. One might as well carry a clock and have done with it.
“Prissy occasionally handled a job by herself when Blackmore was at a dinner party or what have you, to make him look innocent,” Coffen continued. “And he did the same for her. Take it up and down and all around, a tidy little racket they had going.”
“Blackmore’s servant told him that Mr. Marchbank was delivering the money tonight?” Corinne asked.
Prance nodded. “Just so. He sent her down, pretending he wanted to learn if there was any news of Susan. Blackmore knew the very spot, by the blaste
d oak, and went early, though not so early as Luten. He did not know that Luten planned to be there, nor did he ever realize that he was resting in the arms of Morpheus behind the tree the whole time.”
Coffen was on his feet. “Now, see here, Prance, that is going a good deal too far. Luten wasn’t with a woman. He was knocked out cold.”
“Morpheus is a he, my dear ignoramus. The us ending would have told you so, had you spent more than a few weeks at Cambridge.”
“A he! This goes from bad to worse!”
“Sleep, Coffen.”
“I ain’t tired. Luten, are you going to sit there and let him—”
“Morpheus is just another word for sleep. C’est tout,” Prance said, and tossed his hands up in resignation for the obtuseness of Pattle.
“Well, why the devil didn’t you say so?” Coffen grumbled. “And how did the laudanum get into his coffee anyhow, I should like to know.”
“Peggy did it for me,” Susan explained, smiling at her cleverness. “I asked her to, when I learned that Luten planned to unmask Rufus when he went to collect my money.”
“May I continue?” Prance asked, with heavy irony.
“Go ahead, but no more of that funny talk,” Coffen warned.
“Now, where was I? When Stockwell had collected the money, Blackmore waited until he saw which route he was taking out of the forest, then slipped out to the road by a shorter route and was waiting for him. He feared the poachers might come to Rufus’s help if he did it in the forest. Blackmore knows the forest like the back of his hand from his highwayman activities. Excellent hiding there, of course.”
The sandwiches and coffee arrived, and they all discussed their adventure until the food and drink were gone.
A rosy glow lit the sky when Tobin came to assist Otto to bed. Rufus blushingly asked Susan if she would like to see him to the door, and she was not tardy to oblige him. They stepped outside for maximum privacy.
Coffen rose, stretched, and said, “I’m for the feather tick. We’ve earned our rest. We can all hang our heads high. We rescued Susan. When will we be getting back to London, folks? We’ll not make the trip after dark, I trust?”
“Let us have one day to rest and leave tomorrow morning,” Prance said. “We are in no shape to travel today.”
“I promised Susan I would spend a few days with her to help her with her trousseau and wedding plans,” Corinne said.
Luten added, “I told Hodden I would call on him tomorrow and help him with his report. I’ll attend Jeremy’s funeral as well.”
“We should all stay for that,” Coffen said. He was in a pensive mood. He had thought he would be brokenhearted at Susan’s betrothal to Rufus, but all things considered, he was relieved. Susan was no longer a nice, simple girl. A devilish hoyden, she had become, putting everyone through such an ordeal, just to foist herself on a fellow who didn’t want her when all was said and done. The sliest lady in the parish.
Prance sat massaging his chin. “As we are to remain a few days, I shall see who inherits Blackmore Hall. There are a few items there I shouldn’t mind buying. That scrivania would just suit my bedroom.”
“That what?” Coffen asked.
“Desk, Coffen.”
“You already have one. What do you want another for?”
“For a sculpture,” Prance said, thinking he was delivering a leveler. “Pity Angelica’s marvelous mural couldn’t be removed and sent to London, but the thing cannot be done.” He stretched, looked at Coffen, and said, “Time for bed.”
“It’s too late to go to bed, and too early to get up.”
“True, but let us be nice and leave these two lovebirds to make up their differences.”
“What differences?” Coffen asked, in his usual blunt way.
Prance took him by the elbow and led him from the room. “You have not observed the chill in the air since Luten failed to come up to scratch in time for my party?”
“Nothing of the sort. You can’t expect a fellow to shackle himself for life just to give a point to one of your parties.”
“You are putting the cart before the horse. I planned the party because it was clear as glass that Luten was on the point of proposing.”
“You’d ought to have waited until he did it.”
“I shall, next time. Oh, I know I said I would not give them another party, but when true love calls, I fly to do her bidding. Besides, I have had a stunning idea for a theme. Tell me what you think of it, Pattle. A Venetian ball, with all the guests to dress in elaborate Italian outfits, with those marvelous masks.”
“You’ll beggar yourself with all these parties.”
“It won’t be expensive. It will just cost rather a lot. Oh dear, I have been spending too much time with you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Coffen snipped.
“No offense intended, dear boy. This will be no ordinary masquerade. No dominoes allowed, absolutely! I wonder, now, if it would be possible to contrive some miniature resemblance of the famous bronze horses of Saint Mark’s to grace the foyer.”
“Why not throw in the Grand Canal while you’re about it?”
“What a splendid idea! I begin to see this should be held out of doors, near water. A gondola or two to pole the guests up and down. How do I come up with these ideas?”
“Why do you come up with them?”
Their voices trailed off to silence as they mounted the stairs. In the saloon, Luten looked uncertainly at Corinne, then rose to join her on the sofa.
“I expect you’re wondering why I failed to offer before Prance’s ball,” he said uncertainly.
“Offer what?” she asked, with an air of disinterest.
“To marry you. You heard what Prance said.”
“I wasn’t listening.” She raised her hand and yawned daintily into her fingers. “My, how late it is. We should go upstairs, too.”
Luten took a deep breath and plunged into his explanation. “Susan and I have been corresponding on and off since my visit last February. She was pestering me about a dozen things that are really Otto’s concern, not mine. When the letters became a nuisance, I tapered off on my replies. I thought she had stopped writing, until I had a letter from her a few weeks ago.”
“Susan told me about writing to you. I know you have been feeling guilty for not coming.”
“I didn’t even answer her last letter. It came the day before Prance’s party. When I heard she had disappeared ... Well, you can imagine how I felt. In her second to last letter she mentioned that she wanted to get married. I wrote back at once approving the idea, as it would give her a new interest. Then she wrote telling me she was delighted that I agreed and asking when I could come to arrange the details—the date, the marriage settlement, and so on.”
He threw out his hands helplessly. “Not a mention of Rufus Stockwell. It sounded as if she thought I was to be the bridegroom. I deduced I had been overly enthusiastic in my reply. Actually, she was trying to flirt with me last February, when I stopped for a night. I didn’t want to throw our happiness in her face at that moment, when she was vulnerable—or so I thought, egotistical ass that I am. When I got Soames’s note at the party, I thought ... I hardly know what. Suicide occurred as one possibility, though I couldn’t see her flinging herself into a pond without leaving a note to make me aware of my treachery.”
“So that’s why you were so eager to search her room and to conceal the trousseau.”
“And most of all, to find her, so I wouldn’t have to go through life feeling like a murderer. My nerves have been overwrought. If I have behaved badly, and I know I have ...” A shadow of doubt clouded the eyes that gazed at her questioningly.
“No worse than usual,” she said, shaking her head ruefully. Dear, kind Luten, trying to look after them all and not hurt anyone. And half-ashamed of his kindness. “You hadn’t heard of her disappearance until halfway through the ball, however,” she reminded him. “You knew about the party for a week before receiving Susan’s last letter an
d didn’t offer for me. You weren’t sure you wanted to marry me.”
“Of course I was sure! My fear was that you’d let Prance bullock you into a betrothal because of his party. If you accepted me, I wanted it to be because you loved me. I offered for you once before, if you recall, and you laughed in my face. I thought you cared for me that time and was wrong.”
“What a long memory you have, elephant! And it wasn’t a laugh, exactly. More of a nervous giggle. You caught me quite off guard.”
“I put you on notice now, Countess.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her into his arms. “Prepare yourself to receive an offer before we leave Appleby Court.”
She was caught in the glitter of his dark diamond eyes as his head descended and their lips brushed. A tingle started somewhere in her chest and fanned out to her whole body as his arms crushed her against him and the hot silk of his lips firmed to a kiss of passion.
Prance tiptoed back downstairs to eavesdrop on the proposal. He was not a voyeur, he assured himself. If they were bickering, he would postpone the Venetian ball until some other grand occasion arose. Hearing only the sound of silence, he risked peering around the door-jamb into the saloon. He watched, fascinated, as Luten behaved in quite a naughty manner, and Corinne did not call him to account as she ought either.
These ladies! Corinne would make a satisfactory enough wife, but Susan! He pitied Rufus with all his heart. The shrew would ride roughshod over him. She had already informed him that he would remove to Appleby and hire Greenleigh out to some elderly couple with no pretty daughters but not sell it. She wanted it for their daughter. Their son, of course, would inherit Appleby Court. She had quite forgotten to mention Oakhurst, which was now hers as well.
He waited quite five minutes, and when still the proposal had not been made, though their behavior certainly warranted it, he turned and went upstairs to bed, planning their second engagement party. The venue was troublesome. He had a river on his country estate, but one could hardly invite half of polite London there. Berkeley Square, of course, had no water for the Grand Canal.
