“A book I’d been reading seems to have grown legs and walked off, and you know about my grandfather’s fountain pen. Anna Kathleen told Emily today that her locket is missing, too. None of those things alone amounted to much of anything. In fact, most of them could have simply been misplaced. Emily and I decided to keep watch, but we said nothing since we’ve never had cause to mistrust the household staff.”
Emily whispered, “We were hoping things would turn up again.” She gave Duncan a look that melted his heart. “But now our Anna’s pretty little statue is gone.”
He jolted. “The shepherdess?”
Emily tearfully confirmed, “Anna cherished it so.”
John thumped his fist on his thigh. “Julie’s china doll is gone. The truth is clear enough: The stolen goods are ones a woman would want. Whoever’s taking them has to have free access to the house. That means—”
“The thief is on staff,” Duncan finished. He shook his head in disbelief. “Let’s try to put together the pieces of the puzzle.”
“Goodhew and Cook have been with me forever.” John stared at the door. “My grandmother hired them, and they’ve served faithfully for decades.”
Duncan agreed. “No suspicion could be cast in that direction.”
“That leaves the maids,” John said grimly. “Em and I were trying to apply some deductive reasoning before you came in. Trudy and Fiona can scarcely read, so it makes no sense that they’d take a book or a fountain pen.”
“But since you might have just misplaced those, we can’t rely on that.” Emily tugged on his hand. “You’ve been so busy that you’re a wee bit absentminded, you know.”
“Fiona is patient as can be with the girls, so she’d have ample opportunity to take a doll; but she’s awkward as a pelican,” Duncan thought aloud. “I can’t imagine her tiptoeing around—she’d crash into something first.”
“Trudy’s made a pest of herself mooning over Duncan,” Emily told John. “I’ve been keeping my eye on her or assigning her to tasks along with another maid so she’d be supervised. I’m doubting she could have managed to pilfer anything.”
“That leaves Lee and Brigit.” John’s face tightened. “They can both read.”
“We have to trust them.” Emily looked from John to Duncan and back again as she asserted, “I do, I’m telling you.”
Duncan shoved his hands in his pockets. It had to be Lee, then. His sweet little Brigit wouldn’t ever—
John forged ahead. “I’ve been trying to put the facts together. Lee was gone on her days off when the locket and cameo were taken. That leaves Brigit.”
Sick anger washed over Duncan. I trusted the lass. I was ready to make her my wife. How could I have been such an idiot? She’s been playing me for a fool all this time. She’d been clever and quick about helping him over a rough spot or two with Emily’s matchmaking—but now he realized she might well be a woman well accustomed to keeping secrets. ‘Twas also a way she turned him into an ally so he’d drop his guard and not be suspicious. Oh—and that habit she had of slipping her hand into her apron pocket that he’d thought was so endearing—was it a sinister thing? Had she been swiping things from under his very nose?
Recalling the bundle she’d carried into the tenement tonight only fanned the flames of Duncan’s mistrust. Hearing her boast that she had something sure to please her mother—well, that about cinched it.
Brigit—she’d duped him as easily as John’s brother, Edward, had gulled Anna. At least I discovered the truth before the marriage. Thank the Lord for that small miracle. This is already a debacle enough as is.
Duncan felt as if he’d swallowed a fistful of barnacles as he agreed, “It’s Brigit.”
“No, it can’t be,” Emily insisted. “I trust her. You must, too.”
“Trust? You expect me to trust her? Em, I saw her carry a bundle into a building tonight. Before she disappeared, she boasted about how she had something to please her mother. It’s plain as can be what’s happening.”
John stood. “I’ll dismiss her this minute.”
Emily tugged him back down. “You’re jumping to conclusions—that’s what’s happening. Why, Brigit is the one who pointed out the figurine and the doll are both missing.”
“It sure seems like more than a simple coincidence that Brigit ‘discovers’ the items are gone. It’s nothing more than a smokescreen. It’s her way of looking innocent while she’s probably pocketing the goods and pawning them.”
“It doesn’t make a lick of sense. We’ve countless things a thief could take that would bring a far better price than what’s come up missing.”
“Let’s talk about what’s missing.” Duncan struggled to get Emily to face the facts. He felt as if he’d been gut-punched and understood her shock, but pain was best dealt with right away so they could get rid of the problem … get rid of Brigit. “Think about it: Nothing ever got taken until she came to work here.”
“Brigit has a pure heart. She’d not take a thing, I’m telling you.” Emily folded her arms across her bosom and glared at him. “I know my staff.”
“She has you bamboozled.”
“Do I come down to your vessels and pass judgment on the men you hire for your crews?”
“Em,” John said in an I’m-trying-to-be-patient tone, “that’s an entirely different matter.”
“Indeed it is.” She agreed all too quickly. “Here at home if I employ a bad staff member, the worst that can happen is some little trinket is taken; if you sign on a man who does something wrong out at sea, it can cost lives.”
Duncan refused to try to reason further with her. Until his sister came to her senses, he’d have to protect the family from Brigit’s pilfering. “I’m going to shadow her and see what she’s up to. What we need to do is keep this quiet. The best way to catch a thief is to let her think she’s safe. If she doesn’t suspect we’re wise to the problem because she’s taking only paltry items, she’ll keep at it.” I’ll catch her red-handed.
“Josiah is hale again.” John nodded. “You can stay home, and he’ll take the Contentment out since you just did his run with the Cormorant.”
“It won’t be necessary. I’ll do this next run with my crew. Mark my words—it won’t take long to get proof on”—he saw the look on Emily’s face and hastily changed the end of his sentence—“the thief.”
Emily heard his plan and let out a humorless laugh. “You’ve far better things to do with your time. I’ll make no bones about it: You’ve lost your mind. If you’re searching for anything at all, your wits ought to be at the top of the list.”
Duncan stood and left the room. As he shut the door, he thought, If only it was just my wits. I’ve lost my heart.
Chapter 14
Da walked her back to the Newcomb estate and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Brigit hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Da. Take care of Mum.”
“I worry about you.” He looked up at the mansion and shook his head.
Brigit’s heart beat heavily with the sadness she felt. Not so long ago, Da had been the owner of such a fine home. Aye, he had. Now he couldn’t even land a steady job. She gave his hand a squeeze and tried to lighten her tone. “Worry? Now there’s a fine waste of your time. You’re supposed to lay me at the Lord’s feet and not fret a bit.”
She went upstairs to her attic room and waved out the window until Da was out of sight. A hasty splash at her basin, a quick change into her warm flannel nightgown, and she had a bit of time to read her Bible. After she closed it, she blew out her lamp, walked to the window, and stared out at the ocean as she prayed.
The Lord’s world was vast. Aye, and He could reach out His mighty hand and do anything. Tonight, heavenly Father, I’m asking You for just a small thing. Insignificant really. Well, it is important to me. Please, will You help Da to come into his own here in America?
After she finished praying, Brigit continued to look outside. A sudden movement caught her eye. There he was again—the
man who sometimes crept to the very edge of the trees and shrubs before the clearing around the house. He stood there in the dark of night. Once she’d seen him there at the break of dawn.
Who is he? Is he the man Mr. John said would be patrolling the property? Can it be in connection with the private meetings Mr. John and Duncan held about the possible war? She’d seen the crate filled with fine wooden boxes down in the corner of the library. Titus had gotten snoopy and opened one while she was dusting. Because of that incident, Brigit knew the boxes each contained a fancy-looking firearm. It all probably linked together.
Brigit balanced on one foot and rubbed the back of that calf with the toes of her other foot. War. Politics. She wrinkled her nose. Such matters were for men. She needed to mind her own business.
In the few seconds she’d not paid attention, the stranger disappeared. Someone was walking straight toward the house. She pressed her face closer to the windowpane and squinted. Oh. It was Mr. John. Clearly whomever he’d met wasn’t of any danger to the household. Since Mr. John saw fit to slip out of the house and hold his meetings in the dark, Brigit decided ‘twas best she ignore them. Aye, that was what she’d do. She’d forget she ever saw a thing. Maids were supposed to ignore, disregard, and overlook any matter that wasn’t set squarely in front of them. She’d do just that—especially because she liked the Newcombs and wanted to be the best maid they’d ever employed.
“Oh, let me guess: Emily’s gearing up for her holiday entertaining.” Duncan sauntered into the dining room and smiled at Goodhew and Brigit.
“She does this every year. It wasn’t much of a guess,” Goodhew said to Brigit.
“I heard that!” Duncan drew closer to where Brigit sat on the floor in front of a massive oak and marble buffet. He gave her a playful smile. “Maybe you can explain it to me. Why do women think they have to put the food and drinks in these fancy dishes? Men just want a plateful. In fact, if the plate is full, we can’t very well tell if it’s a fancy one or a plain one.”
“Ladies don’t fill their plates.” The twinkle in her eyes let him know he’d managed the right approach.
“But who cares about the plate as long as the food on it tastes decent?”
“The ladies do,” Goodhew said with a sigh. “Which is why I’m doing inventory. It’s just as well. I’ll need to replace a few things.”
“Is something missing?” Duncan forced himself to sound only passingly interested.
“Just a cup here or a plate there—the ones the children managed to chip or break. That lovely, rose-shaped silver tray is gone, but it’s because Mrs. Waverly declared it was hers after a church tea and carried it away. Miss Emily was too much of a lady to squabble over it.”
Duncan took the lid off a crystal candy dish and popped a gumdrop into his mouth. He offered the dish to Brigit and Goodhew; both declined, so he set it back down and helped himself to another before replacing the lid. “Do we have enough trays, then?”
“Eight,” Brigit reported. “Eight silver trays. Miss Emily has as many china ones—lovely, hand-painted ones. The two glass ones bring the total up to an even dozen and a half. We haven’t even looked at the large trays yet. I’m thinking she has trays aplenty.”
Duncan slowly chewed the gumdrop. “Enough that she won’t miss one or two?”
Brigit smiled at Goodhew. “She’d probably not miss them, but Goodhew certainly would!”
Goodhew nodded urbanely at that praise. “Thank you, Brigit. Now how about the chafing dishes?”
Brigit dipped her head and walked her fingers on the rims of some silver pieces. “There are four chafing dishes and four—no, five—pairs of candlesticks.”
Duncan watched as Goodhew scribbled the figures on a pad of paper and nodded.
Brigit leaned into the piece of furniture and took a closer look. “I’m thinking the candlesticks are wanting a good polishing. They’re showing tarnish about the bases.”
“You’re right. That simply won’t do. We’ll see to that later, after the inventory. The Newcombs always host a New Year’s Eve ball. All the families from the shipping company are invited. We’ll need the punch bowl. Do you see it?”
Brigit scooted a bit closer to the other edge of the cabinet. “Which one? There are two in here. One’s all silver; the other’s silver and crystal.”
“Emily prefers to serve the punch in crystal and wassail in the silver.” Duncan went back for more gumdrops.
“I’m thinking that would look quite festive.” Brigit reached into the center of the nested punch bowls. “There’s something in here.” She carefully unwound a length of red velvet.
Cook came in the room. “Ah, look! You found the dinner bell.” She bustled over and grabbed it. She rang it a few times and smiled at the clear, high tinkling tone. “Isn’t that the prettiest little thing you ever saw? Years ago, when ‘twas just old Master Newcomb and John living here, I’d use that to summon them for meals. I don’t remember why we stopped.”
Goodhew took the bell from her and handed it back to Brigit. He gestured for her to wrap up the bell and put it away. “The children make a fair bit of noise. Especially with the lasses playing the piano, the bell simply wasn’t practical.”
“They both play well.” Brigit put away the bell and shut the cabinet. “Miss Emily said the twins will begin lessons soon.”
“I need to speak to Miss Emily,” Cook said. “We’ve just finished counting the linens.”
Duncan watched Brigit tense. He’d done the same thing.
The butler looked at his wife. “Is there a problem?”
“Not exactly. They’re all there. It’s just that a few of the table linens are showing wear, and the one from supper is hopelessly stained. It’ll have to become a picnic blanket. Miss Emily will want to replace them.”
“I’m a fair hand at stitching.” Brigit stood, closed the buffet doors, and discreetly dusted off the back of her skirts. “If those pieces need only a bit of mending, I could see to them.”
“I can attest to that from the shirt Emily had you make for me.”
Brigit flickered a quick smile of thanks.
“No use wasting your time on old tablecloths, lass.” Duncan glanced down at the shirt covering his chest, then back up at her. “Your efforts would be much better spent by sewing more of those fine shirts for me, and I brought home material for just that purpose.”
Cook snorted. “You’re a scoundrel, Duncan O’Brien. This very morning I told Miss Emily the staff is needing new aprons. Don’t you be thinking to steal away Brigit and her needle.”
Sticking to the truth always worked best, especially when spinning a web. Duncan let out an exasperated sigh and looked at Brigit. He waggled his brows playfully. “She’s right. I am a scoundrel, and you’d best be warned.”
He left the room, pleased as could be. Brigit had just gotten an eyeful of things that any thief would happily snatch, and she seemed quite relaxed. It shouldn’t take long at all now.
Brigit dusted the downstairs and hummed under her breath. She looked at the gumdrops and scrunched her nose. Duncan was an odd fellow. He’d picked out the black ones. Aye, that was the only color he’d eaten. She should have accepted one—she could have put it in her pocket and given it to Mum. Too late now. She wasn’t about to invite herself into the Newcombs’ candy dish.
The library was the last place she’d need to dust. She saved it for last because the scent of the place always brought her such an intense longing for home. The mingling of smoke from the fireplace, the leather from the countless volumes on the shelves, lemon and beeswax furniture polish—’twas her idea of what heaven might smell like.
Top to bottom, one side to the other. Dusting didn’t take any concentration—’twas a grand chore for that very reason. Brigit enjoyed having a chance to be alone with her thoughts. In fact, she liked having a chance to be alone.
Especially after having been around Duncan awhile earlier, she needed to remind herself of a few choice facts. Dun
can had been pleasant and polite to her in the dining room, but he was that way with everyone on the staff. When Trudy ended up falling from the stairs into his arms, hadn’t he made sure she wasn’t hurt before he set her down? When Fiona asked him to read a letter from home to her, hadn’t he stopped what he was doing and read it twice so Fiona could relish all the news? Aye, Duncan O’Brien might have a devilish smile, but he had the heart of a choirboy.
Brigit rolled the ladder toward the left side of the far wall and climbed up. As she dusted, she tried to rub out any personal thoughts of Duncan. She needed her job, and the fastest way to lose it would be to be moon-eyed over him.
The door opened as she climbed down at the right end of the row. Duncan and Timothy entered. Timothy held a book and exclaimed, “I thought the punishment was cruel.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she bore it alone, and she couldn’t have gotten with child unless—”
“Why, Brigit!” Duncan interrupted his nephew. “So you’re dusting in here, too?”
“I have the downstairs today. Would you gentlemen prefer for me to come back later so you can have some privacy?”
Duncan gave her a keen look. “You’ve done a fair bit of reading. Have you read Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter?”
She could feel the heat rush to her cheeks. “It was given to me as a gift. I ceased reading it when I came to realize the nature of the subject.”
“Sidestepping the indelicacy, do you agree with Tim that the punishment was cruel?”
“From what I recall, it seemed unnecessary.” Brigit chose her words carefully. “The child’s existence made the issue clear.”
“Exactly,” agreed Timothy.
“What of other crimes and punishment?” Duncan leaned against the desk. “Say … theft. What would be reasonable?”
“I’ve read that in some places in the world,” Tim said with relish, “they cut off the thief’s hand.”
Brigit shuddered in horror. She turned back to continue dusting. The whole time she worked in the library, Duncan and Timothy carried on a lively conversation about various forms of punishing criminals. Duncan managed to use examples of discipline problems aboard a sailing vessel. He capitalized on the opportunity to mentor Timothy and give him advice on how to maintain control. His theory of discipline versus punishment held merit. Brigit found herself thinking Captain Duncan O’Brien undoubtedly earned his men’s allegiance fairly.
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