by Joan Smith
“That doesn't need anything. It's only a scratch,” Blount told the doctor.
I immediately revised my plan of removing the plaster the instant the doctor left. “She'll live,” the doctor agreed. “Anything else hurt?” he asked, running an eye over my body.
“My back is wrenched quite painfully. Will it be possible for us to continue on with our trip, Doctor, if my aunt stays off her ankle? Just hobble from the inn to a carriage is all that she will have to do."
“'T would be better to rest for a day first. Especially with a sore back."
“Your carriage certainly won't be fixed today,” Sir Edmund reminded me.
“You are not the only one who has urgent business, sir! It happens we are also in a hurry,” I answered sharply.
“There is no mad panic to get to Rusholme,” Maisie said. I glared at her. “Where are they, Lizzie? Are they safe?” she asked in a low voice, referring to the diamonds, which kept slipping from my mind with all the other matters weighing on it. I looked around for my reticule, to see it sitting on a chair precariously close to the door. There was hardly a soul at the inn who had not been at that door within the past half hour too. I snatched it up quickly and held on to it.
“You'd better let me watch it, as your wits are gone begging,” she said, taking the reticule from me.
“It happens I have some business to tend to myself,” Bingeman said, beginning to make his bows. We expressed our thanks and appreciation, he expressed his consolation and good wishes, and finally he left. The doctor was prevailed upon by Sir Edmund and myself to find Maisie and me fit to travel, and he too left, after some money changed hands at the door.
“As I mentioned, I am in a hurry,” Sir Edmund said, turning back to us. “I shall settle the bill here, and arrange a hired carriage and team for you at the stable where I am going to get one for myself. I don't know what your business may be, but I am on my way to a wedding, which takes place in an hour, more than fifteen miles away. I shall leave you my card with my name and address, in case any additional expense should arise as a result of this mishap.” He reached into his pocket for a card as he spoke. “I am sorry for the wretched bother I have caused you. I have one suggestion to make, ladies."
I looked with some interest to hear what he might have to say. “Hire a coachman who knows how to drive. That Johnnie Trot will land you in another accident. I never saw such a cow-handed fellow."
I stood with my mouth opening and closing silently. I was beyond speech for thirty seconds. “Well upon my word!” I said when speech returned. “If this doesn't beat all the rest! You run us into the ditch, sprain our team, destroy our carriage, nearly kill the pair of us and suggest we find a new coachman! I suggest you find a new road, build yourself a private one, if you insist on driving like a mad fiend."
“I happen to be an excellent sawyer, ma'am. I have been driving upwards of fifteen years and have never had an accident before. Your man veered towards me as I cut out to pass, as greenhorns will often do."
“Then you should have been ready for it, if it often happens!"
“I was, but my team, unfortunately, is new and city-bred, so such country driving as they encountered today found them unprepared."
I took a deep breath to give him a piece of my mind. The words were never uttered. It was Maisie who spoke. “Lizzie, they're gone!" she wailed, sounding much as one imagines an Irish banshee would sound.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, turning to look at her. She held the green leather jewel case in her fingers. She was turning it upside down, shaking it, as though a large diamond necklace had become lost in a perfectly flat sheet of silk.
“They must have fallen into my reticule,” I said, stepping forward to pull the bag from her shaking fingers.
I do not keep a neat reticule. It was stuffed to overflowing with money bag, handkerchief, comb, powder box, hartshorn, pins, needles, thread, pencil and paper—the usual necessities of a lady traveler. I rooted through the mess, becoming wild with panic as I felt my way deeper and deeper into the depths.
“What is missing?” Blount asked, smiling hatefully at my rummaging.
“My diamonds."
He pulled the reticule from my hands, walked to the table and dumped the whole contents into a heap, to rifle through them. Then, like Maisie with the green box, he shook the empty purse, to see if the diamonds fell out of nowhere. “Sure you put them in here?” he asked.
“Yes. Are you sure they have not found their way into your pockets?” I asked, in a voice every bit as rude as his own.
There was a stunned silence. Even I was shocked I had had the gall to utter my first suspicion. “I beg your pardon!” Sir Edmund asked in a high, incredulous tone.
“Do you, Sir Edmund? It is the first time today it has occurred to you to beg our pardon for all the bother you have caused us!” Once it was out, you know, I could not very well back down, so meant to brazen it through.
“I will not be accused of this!” he said, his eyes wide open, shooting sparks, while his full lips pulled into a thin line, white around the edges. “Do you know who you are talking to?"
“I don't care a groat who you are. You are accused, sir."
“No, really, Lizzie,” Maisie cautioned, twitching at the skirt of my gown, as she used to do twenty years ago when I misbehaved.
“What do we know about him?” I asked her, making no effort to hide my words. “We don't know a thing about this man but that he calls himself Sir Edmund something or other, and is a very bad driver. I can call myself Queen Charlotte, but it does not make me her. How do we know he means to pay for our carriage either, or hire us another at the stable? He can walk out of here with my diamonds in his pockets and we may never see him again."
Sir Edmund's mouth fell open in shock. He stared, literally beyond words. “Well, sir, may we see your pockets emptied?” I asked boldly.
“No, madame, you may not!"
“You see, he's got them!” I crowed triumphantly.
Sir Edmund glared for about sixty seconds in dead silence, breathing rapidly, while on his face I read the determination not to satisfy me argue with his desire to prove his innocence. At length, he began slowly, one pocket at a time, to pull the linings out for inspection. First the jacket, unbuttoned and the inner pockets turned out. They contained a spare handkerchief, a black leather money purse and a few personal cards. Then the trousers, which contained a ring of keys, a small black comb, a miniature pearl-handled pen knife, a fish hook, some loose change and a piece of paper with a girl's name and address scribbled on it. He said not a word throughout the ceremony, but only glared as if he would like to shoot me. When he had finished, he said, “Would you like me to remove my clothing and boots as well, Miss Braden?” On that sarcastic speech, he did actually remove his jacket, shook it, ran his hands over his shirt, which revealed no suspicious bulges. “Satisfied?” he asked, “or shall I take off the trousers?"
I waited a moment before speaking, as though I were considering this point. I picked up one of his cards in a careful way to assure myself he had been calling himself Sir Edmund Blount long enough to have cards made up in the name at least. He was from Woldwood, in Gloucester. The name and place had a vaguely familiar sound to me. I thought some of our tainted cattle had found its way that far north, where they were very ill received. When I glanced up, he was still glaring.
“I expect an apology. If you were a gentleman, I would call you out,” he said in cold, measured accents.
“If I was wrong, I am sorry,” I said, with no hesitation.
“You were wrong."
“I am not wrong that my diamonds are gone. They were in that green case when I left home this morning. If not you, then someone else...” Already my mind was flying back over the morning, with several unfortunate lapses during which I had been unconscious. “If you didn't take them, it is certainly your fault they are gone,” I pointed out, with some justification I think. “It happened some time after the
accident."
“Your reticule was open when I found it in the ditch. That must be when they fell out."
“The box was closed when we left the accident. At least—yes, I'm sure it was."
“It's worth a look, back down the road. How valuable is it?"
“Five thousand pounds."
“Why the devil were you carrying it around the countryside loose and unprotected?” he asked, beginning to stuff his contents back into his pockets.
“I had not planned on being dumped unconscious in a ditch, Sir Edmund, or put on public display in a second-rate inn, with an underbred squire mauling me."
“Lizzie! Was he indeed?” Maisie asked, horrified.
“He was trying to."
“I didn't like the cut of him above half. A very disobliging fellow. Wouldn't even go to the stable for me,” Blount added.
“He was suddenly in a great hurry to leave, too!” Maisie remembered.
“It could have been the doctor,” I said.
“Or that smiling colonel who was in here, rolling his eyes at you,” Maisie pointed out.
“He was not rolling his eyes! He was very nice. It could have been any one of the servants,” I said, beginning to realize my task was impossible, with such a surfeit of suspects.
“Bingeman had more chance than any of them,” Blount pointed out. “He was here, and he was at the accident. I am going to pay him a call."
“You cannot accuse him outright of theft!” I said.
“You accused me! Ladies do not understand these matters. My honor is at stake. Well, I must accept some responsibility for the loss, though I still cannot comprehend why you were carrying them around loose in your reticule. If I hurry, I might catch him before he leaves the inn.” He was already hastening to the door as he spoke, his long legs flashing.
“He said he had some business...” Maisie said. Bingeman's voice, notwithstanding his business, was heard in the hallway at that moment. He was taking his leave of the proprietor. It occurred to me he would not have tarried so long if he had a stolen necklace in his pocket. He had been treated with respect at the inn, too—was obviously a gentleman of character. This did not occur to Blount, who bolted to the door and asked him to step into our parlor. It was an extremely embarrassing interlude. I knew as soon as Blount spoke that the man was innocent.
“Miss Braden finds a valuable diamond necklace is missing from her reticule,” he said, in a meaningful way.
Bingeman did not misunderstand him. Not a word of commiseration did the squire utter. “I hope you are not implying I had anything to do with the loss,” he answered hotly.
“I am very much afraid we will have to ask you to prove it,” Blount replied in an odiously toplofty way.
In lieu of proving it, Bingeman let fly his right fist, which caught Blount on the chin and lifted his toes from the floor. Less than a second elapsed before the blow was returned. Within another second, the proprietor was at the door, trying to bring peace, but as our combatants were at it hammer and tong by this time, the owner took the misguided notion of sending off for a constable instead. My dog, whom I had heard yelping in the hallway for some few minutes, finally found me. She came rocketing through the doorway to add her noisy presence to the scene.
When the Law arrived, Bingeman was flat on the floor having his pockets rifled by Blount. Mitzi was the only one trying to prevent him. She had attached her sharp little teeth to his boot. Being caught in such an illegal act, Blount was promptly hauled off to the roundhouse by the local constable.
Bingeman went along to press charges, intimating over his shoulder that if the story of diamonds was more than a story, he would be much surprised. Mitzi took a leap at his knees for good measure, but was swotted off by the squire. I gathered her up in my arms to keep her from further mischief, vowing to myself I would not be so foolhardy as to venture upon another trip with a dog.
“Congratulations! You've really done it this time, Lizzie,” Maisie said. She was trying to pretend she was angry, but in truth the excitement of our day had brought a glow to her eyes.
“It's not my fault. Who thought Blount would be so stupid as to accuse him with no proof? We've got to get him out, Maisie."
“Let him stay in jail. We're well rid of the troublesome fellow, which is not to say your behavior has been anything but outrageous!"
“We are not well rid of his money. Blount is to pay the bill here, repair our carriage, meanwhile hire us a new one. I haven't enough cash to do it. No, we have got to get him out."
“'Twas Bingeman that struck the first blow,” Maisie remembered.
“So it was. Blount ought to be laying charges himself. Assault."
“Except that he slandered Bingeman first. That could be a serious matter."
“It will all end up in my dish. I first slandered Blount, though you are the only one who heard me. It was not public at all."
“I wish they'd put that mutt of yours behind bars till we get back. What possessed you to drag that spitter along?"
“It's not Mitzi's fault,” I said, patting her head—the dog's, I mean. “Good Mitzi."
“What a disgusting display! You talking babytalk to a dog. You never showed half so much affection to your brother or your father, or mother for that matter, as you lavish on that mutt. You're turning senile, Lizzie.” She jiggled angrily around on the sofa for a few minutes before continuing with her rant. “I cannot go trailing down the street with this ankle. It hurts like the devil."
“I'll go alone. I look a perfect witch, or a lady bruiser with this patch on my forehead. God knows what credence will be placed on my testimony. I'll be lucky if I don't end up in the roundhouse myself. I had better leave Mitzi with you. I don't want her biting the constable. If I don't come back..."
“If you don't come back, I'm not going after you. Not one step. I'll hire a nag and go home. Should we let Jeremy know?"
“For what purpose? It would make a very dull subject for a Grecian ode."
“Run along then. And Liz..."
I mistrusted the forlorn sound of the last speech. “What is it?"
“We still haven't found the diamonds,” she reminded me. It is really astonishing how many times that day I managed to forget the reason for undertaking the journey in the first place. They had slipped my mind again, completely.
Chapter 3
Officer Peoples was the person with whom I had to contend at the roundhouse. I am happy to say Squire Bingeman had departed after having given his testimony. I saw him leave in his gig as I entered the door. Officer Peoples was a nervous tic who more closely resembled a skeleton than a man: he was skin and bones. He appeared to hold the squire in high esteem, almost in fear. Sir Edmund was in the process of having a pair of manacles attached to his wrists when I barged in unceremoniously. I do not think the constable had much chance of accomplishing the chore he had in mind. Blount looked ready to strike him to the ground. He did not look one jot happier when I came in, either.
“Is this here the woman you was talking about? Her that had her alleged diamonds stoled?” Peoples asked, surveying me with lively interest. He had perfectly round, little blue eyes, as blue as the sky on a summer's day.
“There has been a wretched mistake here, Officer,” I said, assuming an air of injured nobility. Blount looked interested, no more.
“Aye, so there has, Miss. But we'll catch ‘un, never fear."
“This is not the man who stole the necklace,” I pointed out.
“The alleged necklace,” Peoples corrected, with a knowing blue eye trained sharply on me. “Maybe this is your thief and maybe it ain't. What I'm booking ‘un for is infamous slander and assault. The squire is a big man, hereabouts. A body don't go slandering the squire if he knows what's good for him. Why, he sits down to drink an ale with Lord Purdy twice a week, and has his own Member run up to Parliament. Now, sir, I'll have your alleged name,” he demanded, turning to Blount.
With a wary face, Blount answered, “Edmunds."
“Mr. Edmunds,” the constable said, nodding his head.
"Sir Edmund!” I corrected hastily, rather wishing I had made it Lord Edmund instead, as the constable appeared to dote on a title. “And you are not booking Sir Edmund for anything. A mistake occurred. I told Sir Edmund that the squire took my diamonds."
“Alleged diamonds,” he pointed out, but the “Sir” was getting to him. The manacles had found their way to his desk, and were being hastily shuffled under a stack of papers.
“If you mean to lock anyone up in those disgusting contraptions, it must be me. Sir Edmund was no more than an innocent bystander,” I said.
“Ha! Innocent is it, Miss? The squire tole me hisself this here fellow landed him a facer."
“Self-defense!” I said firmly. “I witnessed the whole. Bingeman landed the first blow. If you mean to charge Sir Edmund Blount with anything, I shall personally lay a charge against Squire Bingeman.” Just what charge I could possibly lay was not clear yet, but I would dredge up something. Molesting was a possibility.
I became aware, as I spoke, that Sir Edmund was displeased with my performance. A black scowl had settled on his countenance. He stood behind the constable, shaking his head negatively, and giving other mute indications that he wished me to desist. I could not make heads or tails of it. Was it possible he wanted to be locked up?
I believe the idea of charging Bingeman with something appealed to Peoples. It was not hard to credit the squire had made himself obnoxious. “What is you charging ‘un with, then, the squire?” he asked, smiling to reveal a few chipped remains of teeth.
“Assault with intent to cause bodily harm. He struck the first blow. I witnessed it. My aunt, Lady Braden, witnessed it. We are ready to testify,” I said grandly, having given Maisie a title to impress the constable.
