by Joan Smith
“He doesn’t like Mr. Perkins half as much as he liked you,” Nell told her, “though he says he’s better than Mr. Umpton.”
At one o’clock, Delsie went to wash up for lunch, a tray with cold meat and bread in the study, and as she was finishing this, her knocker sounded. Expecting a creditor, she put on her most dignified expression, which rapidly changed to a smile of infinite relief when it was Lady Jane who stood at the door.
“I’m a ninnyhammer!” the dame declared. “Knocking at your door, when I know perfectly well the Bristcombes have left. I ought to have just walked in. I am all agog to hear about it, my dear,” she continued, stepping in. “DeVigne has been with me this hour and is in the boughs that you won’t leave. When did they shab off on you?”
“This morning.”
“Good riddance. I am happy to see the back of that slovenly pair. And where the deuce can they be hiding the brandy? Vanished, Max says. Bah—it cannot be invisible, and we must find it.”
“You are welcome to try your hand, milady. I have been over the orchard and vicinity with a fine-tooth comb, and cannot find a trace of it. I even looked up in the branches to see if they were possibly hiding it up there, but they aren’t.”
“We’ll be on the lookout when they come to take it away. Very proper of you to insist upon staying here, though you cannot stay alone, of course. I mean to come to bear you company, and bring a brace of good stout footmen with me.”
These words were music to the widow’s ears. Somehow, it seemed impossible that harm would come to her with Lady Jane standing imperiously at her side. She was also happy for moral support from such a worthy source. DeVigne could not think her the fool she was beginning to feel herself, when Lady Jane supported her.
The day she so dreaded in anticipation soon took on the merry glow of a party. Lady Jane hiked up her skirts and went over the orchard inch by inch, even sniffing the ground and declaring at intervals that she could smell the stuff, but demmed if she could see a trace of it. She refused to leave even to pack her bag for the night. She sent Nell over to the Dower House with instructions to have her woman pack her bag and come herself to add to the reinforcements. The footmen came, bearing ancient guns from Sir Harold’s gun cupboard, antiques actually, but in working order. The meals served were in the nature of a snack, but were enjoyed heartily. As darkness settled in, the two ladies took up a seat in the saloon and had a blazing fire lit to dissipate the cold and gloom from that room. With a decanter of sherry between them and a dozen candles burning brightly, it seemed impossible that danger lurked anywhere nearby, and they both remained in high spirits.
“I am surprised that no creditors have come to pester me,” Delsie mentioned. “Andrew cannot have drawn a single penny from the annual income, for it is still in the bank. I was sure he would have staggering bills throughout the village.”
“He must have paid cash from his smuggling money,” Jane opined. “So much the better for you. You’ll have need of the whole of it to spruce this house up. New draperies are wanted in here, and Max tells me the place has been stripped of linen. That is the sort of low cunning I despise. One expects the servants to drink up the wine and run out the back door with a leg of mutton occasionally, but when they take to stripping the beds, it has gone too far. We’ll count the silver tomorrow. Not that it will do any good. I have no idea what Louise had, and doubt if Max has either.”
“Still, I’ll take an inventory so that I can keep check from now on.”
“A very good idea. And the knickknacks too. Louise had a nice collection of vases and ornamental pottery— statuettes and things. Just the sort of thing that is easily lifted and carried off without being missed. I wonder how soon we might expect the smugglers to come.”
“They usually come late, about twelve-thirty or one.”
“I’ll never stay awake,” Jane said, stifling a yawn. “Might be best if I have a nap and let you awaken me when they get here.”
“I have had the room across the hall from mine made up for you.”
“I wonder what Max is up to tonight. Lurking about the orchard somewhere, I expect. My, he was angry you didn’t buckle under to him. The first time anyone has said no to him since he was old enough to shave.”
“He was very angry,” she agreed with some satisfaction.
“My dear, you have no need to tell me! Pacing the room like a caged lion. It is a sure sign he is furious. Max cannot sit still when he’s mad. I gave him a good piece of my mind, gudgeon. ‘If you had any gumption you’d be standing beside Delsie with a pistol in your hand, instead of trying to frighten the wits out of her with foolish stories of atrocities committed by the smugglers,’ I told him. All nonsense, the lot of it. They are not at all vicious nowadays. They were used to be years ago. Miss Marjoram—you wouldn’t remember him, I daresay. Led quite a rapacious crew, not above killing anyone who got in their way, but it is no such a thing now. A tap on the head is the worst you may expect, and it is worth that to find out where the devil Andrew has been stashing the stuff. My cook’s husband is in on it—Darby Gibbs—but not one word could I pry out of her. They have to keep it mum, of course. Only natural. Max thinks the reason no rumors of this business have reached us is that half our own servants are in on it. I expect he is quite right. He usually is. And it would be so very convenient for Andrew, to have recruited his team so close to home. I have done everything but compose a song in honor of the gentlemen to try to get one of my servants to confess the whole to me. No luck, however. It is well enough for servants to dabble a little in the business, but it was too bad of Andrew to involve himself. Well, he never was quite the thing.”
“Do you really think deVigne will be on watch outside?” Delsie asked, finding this fact of more interest than the dame’s views on smuggling.
“He is not the spineless creature his behavior in this case might lead you to believe. Certainly he won’t miss out on the fun. He was only trying to bully you into leaving for your own safety. The men like to keep all the excitement to themselves, but we fooled them this time. Harold, now, he doesn’t care a hoot for excitement. He gets his fun from his books. You’ll never guess what he is doing tonight, while we have a visit from smugglers to look forward to. He is reading the letters of Pliny the Younger, whoever that may be. He sounds a goosecap like Harold. What must he do while Mount Vesuvius was erupting but sit in his garden reading a book. I daresay he didn’t even bother looking up to see the lava pouring down on all those people across the bay. There is no accounting for human nature.”
“Sir Harold is very bookish. Was he always so?”
“Forever. He was born with a book in his hands, as some are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. You must wonder I ever married him, or he me, for that matter. It was arranged, of course, as most marriages were in those days. It was arranged in the same way for my sister to marry Pierre. You recall I mentioned Max’s father, Pierre? A very dictator. Had he been alive, Louise would have married where she was told.”
“It might have saved a great deal of bother if her father had lived.”
“Aye, so it might. They had their eye on a marquess for her. My own papa was an earl. But Louise was always headstrong and stubborn. With Pierre dead, she got the bit in her teeth and Max could not rule her. I have a little of the same stubbornness myself. Harold didn’t fancy my coming here, but here I am, and here I mean to stay. I hope my staying works out as well as my marriage. These arranged affairs work out as well as the other in the long run. I have been happy with Harold. Well, content, which is what we usually mean when we say happy. He does not set his back up against most of the things I want to do, and when he does, I pay him no heed. A husband who can be ignored is a great blessing, Delsie. Let the youngsters prate of love as they please. Look at where it dumped Louise and Bobbie.”
Delsie cast a commiserating look on her unromantical friend. Jane was regarding her quizzically. The old lady’s eyes held a light, making her aware that this was more than a
mere philosophical discussion of marriages in general. “I could never be married to a dictator like that Pierre, and Max is similar, but not quite as bad. Still, if you were his wife instead of only his brother-in-law’s widow, you’d be locked in a room at the Hall this night, doing as he said.”
“Let us hope he finds a biddable wife for himself,” Delsie answered, but her mind was elsewhere. She is hinting me away from Max! Is it possible she thinks I want to marry him? She felt a sudden spurt of dislike for kindly Lady Jane.
“Ah, well, there’s the mischief in it. Those dictators want a girl with a strong backbone, so they’ll have the pleasure of breaking her spirit. A milksop would not do for Max in the least. He’ll go on pulling crows with me and you if he marries someone with no spirit. I mean to see that doesn’t happen. I am too old to be forever at daggers drawn with him. Between the two of us, we’ll find him a proper lady with the fortitude to stand up to him.” The cunning eyes regarded Mrs. Grayshott closely, observing the little stiffening of her spine, the sparkle of anger that entered her eyes.
“I have a certain Miss Haversham in my eye,” she continued blandly. “I’ll make you acquainted with her one of these days, and you can tell me what you think.”
Delsie suddenly found herself taking an unaccountable disliking to the name Haversham, but her reply was, “I shall look forward to it, milady. I agree with you that we shall not be bothered with his overbearing ways. We must find him a full-time sparring partner.”
The dame nodded her head in satisfaction. “I’m done in,” was her next statement. “I’ll amble on up to bed, but be sure to rouse me when you hear the fellows in the orchard. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”
Delsie sat on alone, going over the conversation. She was not surprised to learn plans were afoot to find deVigne a wife. For several years this matter had been spoken of in the village as inevitable. She wondered that Lady Jane had undertaken to speak of it to her on this particular occasion. Had she taken the idea that she had set her cap at him? Going over her own behavior, she conceded it had been perhaps too free. She had slipped too easily into a sort of intimacy with deVigne. Naturally the family would dislike to see him make such an uneven match. Her lips curved in a soft smile as she considered the scene likely to ensue if anyone attempted to hint to the Dictator where he ought to look for a wife. She did not think Miss Haversham’s chance for success very great if she counted on Lady Jane’s persuasions to do the job for her.
As the hour grew later, and as she thought her rest might well be disturbed with company, she decided to retire. She went to have a last word with the footmen, who were stationed at the kitchen window, with all lights extinguished. There were taking turns about, one resting while the other watched. At any sign of action, they were to use the Chinese gong in the dining room to arouse the ladies. They deemed the hour early enough to risk having a lamp lit while Mrs. Grayshott made them coffee to help pass the time, before going up to her room.
Sleep was slow in coming, with the excitement of an invasion to look forward to. When the hands of the clock pointed to one, she had still not closed an eye. At that hour, she went to the window and stood looking into a motionless orchard for some fifteen minutes. This vigil tired her, and she went back to bed to sleep through an uninterrupted night.
“What a take-in,” Lady Jane declared the next morning, disgruntled. “A night spent on a lumpy mattress in a strange room, all to no avail. There is no point in my hanging about here all day long. I’ll go over to see how Harold does, and return to you for dinner this evening, but I shall leave the footmen, just in case. Those two are to be trusted completely. Dissenters, both of them. They will not take so much as a glass of small ale, let alone approve of brandy.”
“I must be home in case creditors come. Perhaps Miss Milne will bring Bobbie to visit me. There can be no danger in the middle of the day.”
“I’ll send Harold over to entertain you later on. Just ask him what he thinks of Pliny, and that will set him off.”
This sounded more tedious than being alone, but Delsie was too polite to request that Jane keep her boring husband at home, and said she would be happy to see him.
“Happier to see him go,” was the knowing answer. Lady Jane managed to be content with very little, in her friend’s view. Even a refractory husband would be better than a Harold.
Sir Harold did indeed call that same morning, confirming the opinion that he must have provided the lively Lady Jane an unsatisfactory companion all these years. As he found the lady of the house with an apron wrapped around her skirt, busily polishing her own windows, he did no more than sit for fifteen minutes watching her, and uttering a few comments on the invention of glass, the difference it had made to civilization, and how it had eventually been taxed, as might be expected.
Miss Milne did not bring Roberta, but at three deVigne dropped around, looking heavy-eyed, grouchy, and holding his head at an odd angle.
“You mean to continue with this nonsense?” he asked in a surly tone, taking up a post at the fireplace and declining a seat, to indicate that his call was a courtesy merely.
“Certainly I do,” he was told by a good-natured widow, much easier in her mind since her action had the approval of Lady Jane.
“It would serve you well if they came in force,” he answered.
“I hope they may. We had a flat time of it yesterday, and Lady Jane assures me they are not at all a bad lot who bring in the brandy these days. She feels a tap on the head is the worst we have to look forward to.”
“I might have known there would be no counting on her to act with propriety when it was necessary.”
“I think it very bad of you to be picking on Lady Jane. She has Sir Harold to contend with, and that is enough for one woman.”
“There is half the trouble! Harold has never controlled her as he ought.”
“You forget she is of the same blood as yourself, quite set on having her own way.”
He glared belligerently at this speech, then began pacing the room. Delsie smiled to see him perform exactly as had been described. “How does my stepdaughter go on?” she asked, to divert him.
“Miss Milne has taken her over to the Dower House for luncheon. They worked upstairs in the nursery this morning.”
“Which she could have done with perfect safety here. What is the matter with your neck? Have you got a crick in it?” He held it to the left.
“Yes, I must have slept with it at an odd angle last night.”
She wondered on what log or rock he had rested it, and felt a qualm of compassion, for the weather was not kind in December. “You look tired. I don’t think you can have slept well.”
Pity was not desired. He stated in a flat voice that he had enjoyed an excellent night’s repose, while he walked briskly from grate to window and back.
“It would be a result of all the exercise you get, pouncing around the room,” she suggested lightly.
He sat on the edge of a chair. “I think you should go to the Dower House with Lady Jane tonight. It is hard on her, an older woman, being out of her bed. It is clear the smugglers don’t intend to come while you are here. You are causing everyone a vast deal of bother with this cork-brained scheme.”
“It is no such thing. Lady Jane enjoyed herself excessively. She agrees with me it would be very mean-spirited to let them go without finding where they have been hiding the brandy.”
“We’ll discover that all right!” He rose again from the chair and paced in the other direction across the room this time.
“It has already been arranged. Lady Jane comes to me again tonight. You waste your time, deVigne, trying to bring us round your thumb.”
They were interrupted by a knocking at the front door. “My first creditor!” Mrs. Grayshott exclaimed.
“I’ll get it,” deVigne said, heading to the door. When he came into the saloon, it was no creditor who accompanied him, but Andrew’s uncle, Clancy Grayshott, known slightly to the widow from his h
aving been presented to her at the time of Andrew’s funeral. He resembled Andrew, but was older, an altogether bigger man, and less refined.
After a few common civilities, Clancy said, “Where is Bristcombe today?”
“The Bristcombes are no longer with me,” Delsie answered. “Mrs. Bristcombe’s mother required them in Merton. They left yesterday.”
His nod held no surprise, and she took the idea that Clancy Grayshott already knew this. As he lived in Merton himself, it would be odd if he did not know it. Certainly in Questnow all items of gossip were known in an hour. “Ah, then you are left short-handed, ma’am. Perhaps you will be inclined on that account to accept the offer I am come here to make you.”
“What offer is that, Mr. Grayshott?” she asked, suspicious.
“I am eager to have my great-niece come to me for a few days. I had expected the pleasure of being her guardian, as you may have heard, but, being deprived of that, I would ask you to bring her to visit my wife and myself at Merton till the weekend.”
“I’m afraid it is impossible for us to go at the present time,” she answered promptly. A visit to this man’s home would be her last choice at any time. She was sure that on this point, at least, deVigne would agree with her. Her marriage had been arranged to keep Bobbie away from Clancy Grayshott, but she soon found herself to be in error. Really there was no accounting for the strange quirks deVigne took into his head.
“I see no harm in your taking Roberta to visit the Grayshotts for a few days, cousin,” he said.
“She is not here,” Delsie pointed out.
“She is only at the Hall,” she was reminded.
“The Hall!” Clancy was immediately on his feet. “Roberta was left in Mrs. Grayshott’s care! It was her father’s express wish that she not be under your guardianship, Lord deVigne.”
