by Joan Smith
He laid the pair on the table under a lamp, while the four of us gathered round to stare at them. Uncle's copy looked better than ours; despite the paste stones. The design was more pleasing, the size and shape of the “stones” better matched.
“Lizzie, you wretch, confess!” Uncle said, lifting his blue eyes to examine me critically.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I don't understand your remark, Mr. Braden,” Edmund said quickly, hotly, like any lover defending his fiancée.
Uncle shook his head sadly. “You have tampered with this, Liz. Had some of the stones pried out and sold, then replaced them with others that do not suit so well. It is no longer a genuine antique. Oh, I can see the stones are old, the style of the faceting is certainly correct, but the actual stones are not the originals. Unless you can tell me where I might find the ones that ought to be in it, I am not sure I want to buy it."
“Bartlett, in Winchester, took a look at this on our way through, Mr. Braden. He certainly said nothing about any of the stones not being genuine,” Edmund told him, still feigning offense on my behalf.
“They are genuine diamonds; they are genuinely old diamonds, but they are not the diamonds Queen Elizabeth gave to Sir Eldridge. Well, some of them undoubtedly are. Those at the back on either side look very much as they ought.” As he spoke, he pulled a jeweler's loupe from his trousers pocket and put it to his eye, lifting up the necklace to scrutinize it.
“They have not been put in any too carefully either,” he added, picking at some of the mountings. “Pity,” he said, shaking his head at our botched piece. His interest in the stones was strong enough that he did not take a close look at the metal, which would have told him, perhaps, exactly what he held.
“Why did you do it?” Weston asked me.
“Let us first confirm that she did do it,” Edmund objected.
The ball was in my hands. Was I to confess, or not? I looked to Edmund for a clue. “I daresay it happened after that spot of trouble about your infected cattle, when you were short of funds,” he prompted, giving me the clue I was to confess.
“Yes, that is when I did it."
“Now, Lizzie, that was very wrong of you, to try to sell me the thing in such a condition,” Weston said. “Unethical, I believe is not too strong a word. I am disappointed in you."
“She hadn't much choice, with Berrigan decimating the herd on her!” Edmund shot back angrily, with an accusing stare at Braden, the supplier of poor stewards, and a protective hand on my arm. “He is right, however. It was wrong of you to do it, Lizzie. You should have told me."
“Ladies don't understand these matters,” Braden said, taking his turn at exculpating and forgiving me. “I will oftimes come across a wonderful, rare old piece of furniture, where some well-meaning housewife has had good Elizabethan brocade ripped off a chair, to be replaced with new. Authenticity means nothing to them."
“Nine-tenths of them prefer gaudy junk, given a choice,” Blount agreed, giving my tin ring a little twirl on my finger.
“Where did you sell them?” Weston asked. His next speech would be to inquire whether they were retrievable. I was sinking, sinking into a morass from which I saw no extrication.
“Different times, at different places,” I replied vaguely.
“Local merchants, I daresay? There will be no tracing them,” Weston said sadly. I encouraged him to continue in this illusion, to muddy the waters as much as possible. The whole trip was futile. Uncle knew nothing about the theft.
After a few moments regretting and repining, the subject was dropped. “Are you interested in antiques at all, Sir Edmund?” Uncle asked hopefully.
Edmund was willing to divert the talk to harmless matters till we had got together to discuss our next step. He confessed, or pretended, to some interest in archaic things to pass the next hour. Maisie and I had already admired his walls, feet thick, his mottled glass window panes, his badly carved furnishings and misshapen dishes and flatware. It was Edmund's turn. He was led from room to room, inventing praise, while my aunt and I passed a more comfortable evening resting, drinking tea and making plans.
“We'll have to meet with Edmund tonight after Uncle retires,” I said. “We shall get away from here as soon as possible tomorrow."
“Right after our trunks arrive,” Maisie added. “My gown got up on its own and closed the window at the inn last night, it is so soiled."
Later the gentlemen returned, had tea, and then it was time for bed, though the hour was not at all advanced. “Sleep in if you like in the morning,” Uncle offered. “I breakfast at seven, but I am old-fashioned. Goodnight to you all. I'll take you along to your rooms, to save disturbing Mrs. Welter."
No lights were left burning below. We went perforce with Uncle upstairs, with nothing settled as to when we might meet again for a private chat. Maisie was shown to her room first, myself next. “I've put you in the west wing, next to myself,” I heard Uncle tell Edmund as they retreated down the hall.
As their doors closed behind them, Maisie's opened. “What are we to do now?” she asked.
“I shall leave my door open a while. I expect to see Edmund peep his head out any moment."
“Excellent. I'll let you two decide what is to be done. You had better meet with him downstairs, Lizzie,” she added, with a nod of her head.
“Let us all meet in your room, if it is only the proprieties that trouble you."
“Oh, I think it would be better if the two of you met alone,” she said, with a little laugh.
“Setting up your shingle as a matchmaker, Maisie?"
“I just want to get you out of Westgate, so I can have a clear field with old Beattie,” she answered.
Of course she joked, but that old look had left her since our trip's beginning. The excitement was good for her. Even with her ankle bothering her, she was looking younger, happier. She closed the door softly. I stood alone, waiting.
Chapter 10
I had a long wait. For close to ten minutes I stood, wondering whether I ought to slip down the hallway and tap gently on Edmund's door. Just as I took the decision to do it, his door opened and he came out. He had left his boots behind to tread more softly. He had also sprinkled himself with scent. He carried no candle or lamp. I had an inkling he might suggest we two meet without Maisie's chaperonage, and waited with some amusement to see if I was correct.
“There is no point in disturbing Maisie. We'll slip downstairs,” were the first words that left his mouth. He took my hand, while I quickly lifted up my lamp in the other to slip quietly along to the stairs. Like a pair of thieves in the night, we descended, trying to avoid the more loudly protesting steps.
“In here,” he said, when we reached the landing. We went back into the saloon recently deserted. I put down my lamp, then we went to the sofa.
“You could have knocked me over with a feather when he brought out his copy,” Edmund said. I will not say I was disappointed exactly at the businesslike speech, but to tell the truth, I rather thought the scent and the hand-holding augured a different statement. “I was sure we had got that copy from Reuben. It is a copy. I took the cork-brained idea for a moment he was brass-faced enough to have brought the stolen original out to fool us, but they were paste stones, mounted in good metal. What do you make of this turn?"
“I tried to tell you and Maisie that Uncle had nothing to do with it."
“Oh, but he had! Who else but he and yourself could have done it? Had another copy made, I mean. For that you require either the original or a good copy. You don't suggest someone from around Westgate is behind it? Did Beattie know the reason for your visit?"
“No, he did not even know about the visit. He is no felon."
“I wouldn't trust him an inch beyond my nose, but stealing is not his customary crime."
“What is?” I asked at once, full of curiosity.
“Pestering women. Can't keep his hands off them. It is the curse of widowers. And
bachelors,” he added with a smile, to show he jested, though his hand did in fact reach for my fingers again. I moved beyond his reach, which returned him to the path of business. “So the copy we bought must have been made from Weston's copy. It looks highly suspicious to me that he would have a second copy made."
“Maybe someone else did it. We did not ask whether he has someone resembling our walleyed, green-jacketed friend in his employ. The whole could have been done by his servants."
“Or his grinning stepson. Maisie has no opinion of him. I have not heard your verdict on the fellow."
“I don't know him very well. I met him a few times here. He did not come to Westgate with Uncle. He spends most of his time in London since his mother's death. It is not likely he knew of my visit, or its reason."
“That should be easy to discover. We'll make inquiries tomorrow while we are digging for word on Greenie. Meanwhile, tonight, I plan to go over his study. He had the replica necklace out loose on his desk, but there is an old safe in the corner that might be coaxed into opening for us, if you have a hairpin to spare."
“What do you hope to find in it? The diamonds?"
“I don't hope, exactly. After the amount of trouble we have been put to, I don't plan to walk away without exploring all avenues. You stand guard for me. I'll have a go at the safe now."
As he finished his speech, there was the unmistakable squawk of the stairs being subjected to a heavy weight. “Maisie?” Edmund asked in a low voice. I shook my head in a negative.
“Uncle,” I prophesied, with a worried thought to the candle, which would alert him to our presence.
More practically, Edmund grabbed it and extinguished the flame between his thumb and finger, plunging us into darkness, while the steps came closer, hit the landing and advanced hesitantly toward the saloon. “He saw the light,” Edmund whispered. His fingers, in the darkness, groped for mine as we turned toward the doorway. A pale orange glow appeared, signaling Uncle's lamp. I never felt so cheap in my life. What would he think, to see us sitting there in the darkness?
I knew I would blurt out the whole truth if Weston asked me a single question.
“Who's there?” Uncle called, his voice strained with fear, or suspicion. “Is it you, Glandower?"
Ever inventive, Edmund put his arms around me and kissed me, with the greatest enthusiasm. I was nonplussed, till I realized why he did so extraordinary a thing. He meant to gammon Uncle we fiancés were indulging in a bout of lovemaking, to discourage him from other thoughts. I think he might have created the impression without quite so long an embrace. It was not the optimum time for me to gauge his expertise, but even in my distracted state I knew he was no amateur. The circle of light came closer, causing me the most acute attack of embarrassment. I pushed Edmund away from me and gasped. No acting was required for me to play the blushing damsel.
“Sorry,” Uncle muttered, feeling much as I did myself to judge by his tone. “Thought I saw a light burning. I made sure it was Glandower come home."
“It's only us,” I murmured.
“Sorry if we frightened you,” Edmund added.
“No, no. That's all right. I came down to get some papers from my desk. I can't sleep, so may as well answer a few letters—business letters.” He turned, in a hurry to leave us.
“Since we have been found out, we shall beg a light from you,” Edmund said, disentangling his arms from me and arising to relight our taper.
I felt we ought to make some mention of going back upstairs, as I had not the nerve to go breaking into Uncle's safe after this episode.
“Thank you, sir,” I heard Edmund say, as calmly as though it were broad daylight, and we had been doing no more than talking together. “We shall be retiring very soon. Lizzie and I have a few matters to discuss privately. Her aunt is always with us during the day, and we have sunk to a secret tryst to accomplish it."
“I understand. I was young myself once. Engaged after all, and Lizzie, I know, is to be relied upon to behave with discretion. I shan't disturb you again."
He left. Edmund returned to the sofa and put an arm around my shoulders, which I promptly removed. “He might come back,” he pointed out.
“He said he would not."
Edmund pulled away rather quickly. I took the absurd notion he was going to apologize. “Don't apologize. I know why you did it,” I said, wishing to terminate any further reference to the lovemaking.
"Apologize? I expected congratulations!"
“That was quick thinking on your part. There, I hope you are satisfied."
He leaned forward, smiling mischievously. “I am not satisfied that easily—when I am traveling."
I remembered very well his propensity to dissipation when away from his home, but was determined not to show it. “You will not break into the safe tonight, after this?” I asked.
“The perfect time. He has promised not to disturb us again. There—he is going back upstairs."
We sat listening to the squawks mount higher, reach the top, then go on beyond hearing. “Let's go,” Edmund said.
We went along to the study where a large, heavy, black vault sat unhidden in the corner. Like most objects in the house, it dated from the age of Elizabeth I. They were good locksmiths in those days. The door even seemed loose—it was possible to jiggle it and see it give slightly, but it was impossible to pry it open with a hairpin, letter opener, clasp knife or any other makeshift device. I was extremely nervous, and kept going to the door to listen for Uncle's return. At length, Edmund conceded defeat.
“I'm going to get one of those things,” he said, glaring at the safe. “It would take a professional to get it open, and it could not be lifted out of your house with anything less than a hoist."
“Let us go,” I said, my nerves stretched wire thin.
“We'll have a look at his desk while we are here."
The desk's surface held about two years’ correspondence, all in a jumbled welter. My own letter was there, half a dozen from Glandower, some asking for money, some declining or accepting invitations to visit. There were bills and receipts and a brief note from Aunt Vera, my father's sister, giving a highly colored account of my financial difficulties at Westgate, ending with the assertion that if it was beyond poor Lizzie to make a decent match, she ought at least to hint Jeremy towards an heiress. While interesting, neither this letter nor any of the other paper was at all helpful to our quest.
“Let us go,” I suggested two or three times, while Edmund yanked open drawers and rifled quickly through more papers.
Something in the bottom of one had caught his attention. I went to read over his shoulder, but as it was up to my eyes, I had to jiggle him aside and get in front of him. What he held was a stack, not thin either, of IOUs bearing Glandower's name.
“The boy gambles heavily,” he commented, as I mentally tallied up the chits. They came to nearly five thousand pounds, over a period of two years.
“And loses! What an expensive fribble he is!"
“I wonder what he finds to grin about, with all this bad luck."
“He doesn't, really. Maisie is jealous because Glandower will get this estate, which she had earmarked for Jeremy, you see. Let us put them back and go."
With a last look all around, we left, to return to the saloon and our sofa. “There is nothing more to be done here,” I said. “We'll make discreet inquiries tomorrow about Greenie, and to learn whether Glandower was here when I wrote to Uncle about the necklace."
“And if he wasn't?” Edmund asked.
“If he was not, I must go to Bow Street."
“And if he was here, then we go after him. It strikes me a boy who bilks his stepfather of five thousand pounds would not be above stealing a necklace worth the same sum. Certainly he is not above suspicion in any case."
“But he is in London,” I pointed out.
“You can get to London from here, Lizzie,” he pointed out.
“But it's so far away, and expensive..."
&nb
sp; “It won't be that expensive. I have a house we can stay at. As to the astronomical distance of sixty or seventy miles, I expect to have my carriage tomorrow. Our trunks are in it."
"More money wasted. How much has this cost, all told?"
“A not so small fortune, but then you have made me economize in other expensive areas—my old traveling vice I refer to—so we can afford it."
“Oh, dear, and they'll be even more expensive in London—your vices, I mean."
“That's true. You pay through the nose for your pleasure in the city. You have something to look forward to. The colonel was London-bound, was he not?"
“Yes, but I didn't get his address. I had no idea we would end up there."
“I would like to go to London. I usually go every spring, but missed it this year."
“Ah, yes, spring is the time for your hobby of chasing lightskirts."
“Just so.
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men.
It is the season that belongs peculiarly to us bachelors. I find late summer a suitable alternative, however."
“Take care you don't end up a tenant-for-life, like poor Willie."
“I keep thinking about Willie."
"Poor Willie, you mean?"
“I am beginning to change my mind about his misfortune,” he said, laying an arm nonchalantly along the back of the sofa, which also put it across my shoulders. “I have enjoyed being an engaged man.” His other hand reached for the tin ring which proclaimed his status.
“I advise you to dart home to Woldwood as fast as your friend's grays can carry you, Edmund. This trip is going to your head."
“No, to my heart.” He sat looking at me, and the ring on my finger. Then he raised his eyes, hunched his shoulders and said, very offhandedly, “I'm willing to risk it.” The arm that rested on the sofa inched lower, till his hand fell on my shoulder. I leaped up, wary of what would come next. “I assume you are not?” he asked.
“Let us wait and see what we discover tomorrow about Glandower and Greenie."
