by Joan Smith
I felt my face stiffen, yet I was flattered that I could draw him away from Mrs. Murray.
“Miss Talbot,” he said, bowing. “May I?”
I was sitting on the sofa with Addie. The idea was that Lollie should occupy the empty seat on her other side. As Renshaw didn’t wait for permission, however, he got the place, and Lollie took the chair next to my end of the sofa.
Lollie leaned forward and said, “By the living jingo, did you ever see such a dinner as that, Addie? Amy ought to have done a painting of it.”
“Wasn’t it lovely!” Addie exclaimed. She also had to lean forward.
After a few more of these awkward exchanges, it was made clear to Renshaw that he had occupied the wrong seat and he switched with Lollie.
“And what did you think of the dinner, Miss Talbot?” he asked.
“The universal opinion is that it was marvelous,” I replied discreetly.
“Highly decorative,” he said, also discreetly. “I expect you’re surprised to see me here.”
I stared coolly. “Why should it surprise me that Mrs. Murray invites a friend to dinner, Mr. Renshaw? I am only surprised that Beau wasn’t invited as well.”
“He was. After he had accepted on both our behalfs, he was called to visit his aunt. She is in worse case than before. He will spend the night with her. Actually, it is Beau who is her friend. I only met her once.”
At that moment Mrs. Murray came smiling forward. “Renny, will you do me a teeny favor?” she asked, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.
He flashed one angry glance at me, then turned smiling to Mrs. Murray. He rose and said, “Certainly, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.”
“I want you to suggest to my husband that we ... you youngsters would like to dance. I invited Mrs. Davis on purpose to play for us. She’s quite tolerable on the pianoforte. It’s so boring, listening to this endless prattle of politics.”
Addie and I exchanged an indignant glance on Mrs. Davis’s behalf.
“Perhaps we should see first if the young ladies do wish to dance,” Renshaw said with a leery look at us “young ladies.”
I looked away.
“Oh, yes! I should like it of all things,” Addie said at once.
“Well, in that case, I shall accompany you, Mrs. Murray,” Renshaw said. I could see he disliked to put himself forward so far as to make the request on his own.
“Mrs. Murray?” she asked, and laughed. “We are very formal all of a sudden, Mr. Renshaw. You always used to call me Marie in London.”
Renshaw’s expression reminded me of an animal caught in a trap. He forced a weak smile and allowed himself to be led off.
“I didn’t know Mr. Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were friends,” Addie said.
“Yes, very good friends, I believe,” I said. That intimate “always” resounded in my ears.
“If she dances with him, you’ll have your chance with Maitland,” Addie said, smiling.
Maitland no longer pleased me, but I did, in fact, have my chance with him for the first dance. Mrs. Murray would allow no music but the waltz, despite Mrs. Davis’s not being very familiar with the tempo. As a few of the not-so-old couples came along to the ballroom, we could quite easily have made up three squares. When the Olsens and the Carruthers saw there was to be nothing but waltzes, they returned to the saloon. Lollie danced with Addie.
Maitland displayed quite as little interest in me as I then felt in him.
“I’m surprised to see Renshaw remaining so long in the neighborhood” was his first speech.
“Yes, he’s visiting his friend, Sommers.”
“He don’t spend much time with him,” he said. Then he gave me a smile that would have sent me into alt a week ago. “It seems you are the attraction, Miss Talbot. I must commend him on his taste.”
“I believe Mr. Renshaw has catholic tastes where ladies are concerned,” I replied.
His eyes strayed across the floor, where Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were swooping about like a pair of swallows.
“Like that, is it? Marie should watch herself. Chilton Abbas isn’t London. She’ll come a cropper.”
Maitland showed no sign of jealousy. I began to wonder if Renshaw had either invented that story about Marie Murray being in the hut with Maitland or if Isaiah had been mistaken.
“Have you heard any new reports on the mysterious Lord Harry or the money he was after?” was Maitland’s next speech.
“It seems McAdam suspects Jim Figgs, the poacher, of complicity.”
Maitland emitted a snort of laughter. “I heard that one. They searched Figgs’s place and found nothing but a brace of partridges. They have no idea who the thief is, in other words, and are looking about for someone to arrest. Figgs has never stolen more than a rabbit or a partridge in his life.”
I noticed he was looking in a suspicious way in Renshaw’s direction. “I can think of a likelier person,” he said.
He didn’t go on to name names and I didn’t ask, but it occurred to me that Mrs. Murray might have learned of the shipment of money to the navy from her husband. And if Renshaw had known her in London, as she said, then he might have learned of it from her. Why else had he lied about knowing her before? What possible reason could he have, unless he was guilty?
“How long has Renshaw been back from India?” Maitland asked a little later.
“A little over two weeks.”
“That’s odd. At dinner Mrs. Murray mentioned waltzing with him at Lady Siberry’s ball. That was over three weeks ago.”
“Oh.” It was all I was capable of saying. My mind was busily scanning the events leading up to Lord Harry’s murder. The money, Murray said, had been stolen three weeks ago. Was that why Renshaw claimed to have been in England for only two weeks? He was beginning to look more guilty by the moment.
Yet it was Maitland who was said to be thinking of buying Chalmers’s place. I asked him about it.
“I looked it over. I think he’s asking a pretty stiff price, but if I can arrange a mortgage, I might buy it.”
Mrs. Murray hadn’t mentioned a mortgage.
Suddenly the music was over, and Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were coming toward Maitland and myself. I turned to Maitland and began some bantering flirtation.
“Change partners!” Mrs. Murray said gaily, and seized Maitland’s arm.
I looked around the room hoping for rescue. Not an eye was turned my way. Without a pause Mrs. Davis began another waltz. Renshaw took my hand and pulled me into his arms.
“Now this is more like it,” he said.
I glared. “More like what?” I asked.
“Don’t be like that. I’ve waited too long to get you alone. I couldn’t even see you all through dinner. You’re angry that I interrupted your flirtation with Maitland,” he said in a soft voice.
“We were not flirting. It happens we were having a very interesting conversation.”
“What is more interesting than flirtation? If that is not why you’re glaring like an angry giraffe, my pet, dare I hope you’re annoyed that I didn’t stand up with you first? I wanted to, but one’s hostess has certain priorities.”
“I quite understand that Mrs. Murray has a prior claim on you, Mr. Renshaw.”
His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “What nonsense has Maitland been telling you?”
“Oh, it wasn’t Mr. Maitland. It was our hostess herself who mentioned your familiarity with her—in London.”
“I can explain—
“I’m not asking for an explanation, Mr. Renshaw. But in the unlikely case that you and I should see each other again, please don’t feel it necessary to lie to me. I’m not really that interested in your doings.”
“I met her once, at Lady Siberry’s ball.”
“And once at several other balls, I assume, since you always called her Marie.”
“I don’t remember. One meets so many people in London. Perhaps she’s confusing me with someone else.”
“And what is confusing y
ou about the time of your arrival in England? Lady Siberry’s ball was over three weeks ago.”
“I said I returned about two weeks ago! It was a few days ago that I told you that. I may have been in England for more than two weeks.”
“So it would seem, unless you have a double calling himself by your name. An identical twin, perhaps,” I said ironically.
I hadn’t noticed he was waltzing me to the side of the room. Until he waltzed me right out the door, I didn’t realize what he had in mind.
Once we were in the hallway, he stopped dancing and released me. He leaned one arm against the wall, barring me from returning to the ballroom. His lips opened in a smile and he said, “You’re jealous, Amy. Don’t trouble to deny it. I’m delighted. Why else would you be in the boughs at my calling Mrs. Murray by her first name?”
“You flatter yourself’, sir. I’m not jealous. I’m disappointed that a man I mistook for a gentleman would lie.”
“Disappointment doesn’t cause glares and fulminations, my little goose. Disappointment causes rueful looks and shakes of the head, and in extreme cases a wobbling of the lower lip that can be highly attractive. But not so flattering as jealousy. It is jealousy that lends that angry sparkle to a lady’s eyes. And why should you be jealous if you don’t ... care for me, at least a little. If we were alone, I could convince you ...”
He looked up and down the corridor. I knew what he had in mind, and my heart began palpitating in anticipation. He planned to distract me with another of his magic kisses.
I steeled myself against his insidious charm and said in a voice as cold as ice, “It might be wise for you to leave the neighborhood, Mr. Renshaw. Folks are beginning to wonder why you’re here, arriving so mysteriously at the time of Lord Harry’s death.”
“And Mr. Renshaw is wondering why you have turned into an iceberg only because he knew his hostess in London. There’s nothing mysterious about my coming here. And I arrived the day after Lord Harry’s death, if you recall.”
“An odd coincidence. Did you really drive hell-for-leather all night, only to visit a friend you hadn’t seen in years? Sure you weren’t closer than London? You arrived at seven o’clock in the morning.”
“Good Lord! How did you know when I arrived? Chilton Abbas has an extremely efficient spy network.”
I ignored it. “And you called at Oakbay before ten. I cannot think you dashed straight off to me after driving all night.”
He gave a “Bah!” of disgust, but he didn’t offer any explanation. Then he put two shapely fingers under my chin and tilted my head up, forcing me to look at him. “Can’t you trust me just a little, Amy?” he asked in a wheedling tone.
Renshaw certainly didn’t look like a thief or a murderer. In fact, he looked extremely attractive, with his dark eyes gazing at me and his elegant white cravat standing out in the shadows. His fingers began to move, intimately massaging my chin.
I felt a weakening stab of attraction and twitched my head away. “I’d as soon trust a fox in the chicken coop!” I replied, and flounced away.
Since his arm was barring the way back to the ballroom, I was forced to walk toward the saloon. Renshaw didn’t follow me. I didn’t look back, not even when he called, “Foxes have to eat, too, you know.”
Chapter Twelve
The older guests had begun a card game. I spent the better part of half an hour watching, all the while keeping one eye on the door, wondering if Renshaw would come after me, and devising the clever things I would say if he did.
It wasn’t Renshaw who eventually showed up but Lollie, and he was wearing his government agent’s face: eyes narrowed, lips pursed into an unnatural smirk. He sidled forward, tossing his head toward the door. I left the group and joined him.
“Something’s afoot,” he said out of the side of his mouth.
“What is it?”
“Murray summoned Renshaw into his study.”
“What do you mean, summoned?” I thought perhaps Murray had caught Renshaw and Marie in some compromising situation. I envisaged a duel or at least a degrading bout of fisticuffs.
“I was standing close enough to overhear them. Murray came up behind him and said, ‘A word in my study, Mr. Renshaw, if you please.’ “ Renshaw nodded and followed, meek as a lamb.”
“Did it have to do with Mrs. Murray?”
“Eh? Of course not. It was nothing to do with her. She’s been throwing herself at Maitland the last half hour. No, it has to do with the missing property, of course. I found out that much at least.”
“How?”
“I listened at the door, and it wasn’t easy, either, with footmen trotting by carrying trays of drinks. They were talking about the missing property. I heard Murray ripping up at Renshaw, something about coming here masquerading as something or other. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but anyhow Murray had a letter from Whitehall about Renshaw. They spoke of Lord Harry and the water meadow. The words ‘government property’ were repeated more than once. I think Murray was putting it to Renshaw that he’s under suspicion.”
“He’d hardly do that if he didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him.” My heart leaped to my throat. “Renshaw hasn’t been arrested!”
“No, just warned, I believe.”
My heart began to sink back to its normal place. “Why tip him the clue he’s suspected?”
“Perhaps he’s trying to rattle Renshaw, stir him up so he goes after the blunt. Planning to run, you know, then Murray will arrest him and recover the property. I’ll certainly keep a sharp eye on Renshaw when he leaves this party tonight.”
“Where are they now?”
“Still at it in Murray’s study. Once Renshaw started doing most of the talking, I couldn’t hear a word. He pitched his voice low. Murray can be heard in the next county, from speaking on the hustings and in the House.”
I knew Renshaw had lied about how long he’d been in England and about knowing Marie Murray. He had displayed a keen interest in Lord Harry and the water meadow. And now this. What else could it mean but that he was guilty?
Being less naive than Lollie, I even found a reason why Murray didn’t just arrest Renshaw on the spot. It must have been from Mrs. Murray that Renshaw discovered the money was being transported. She was never discreet at the best of times, and with a handsome scoundrel flattering her, she’d tell anything except her age. Naturally Murray didn’t want to involve his own wife. I thought perhaps he had arranged a deal with Renshaw: Return the money and no charges would be laid, no questions asked.
Of course it was only supposition, but if true, then Renshaw would indeed go after the money that same night. The question was: Would he return it to Murray or try to sneak away with it, perhaps dart back to India? Surely Murray wouldn’t let Renshaw out of his sight until he had the money safe.
Lollie and I returned to the ballroom, lingering a moment outside the study door en route. I didn’t expect to hear laughter, but Murray was indeed laughing. It was not only the ladies that Renshaw could bring around his thumb. The laughter was drawing closer to the door. Lollie and I walked briskly on to the ballroom and got inside before the study door opened. Lollie strolled on to stand in the corner, spying on the assembly.
When Renshaw returned to the ballroom, he didn’t look like a man who had just been chastised. He was smiling when he came toward me.
“Would it compromise us if we had a second dance?” he asked, taking my hand and inclining his head close to mine. “And do we really care? I should adore to be compromised by you. With so few partners the ladies must either dance with the same man more than once or sit out most of the evening.” He squeezed my fingers. I wrenched my hand away.
“I don’t feel like dancing, thank you,” I said coolly.
“I can think of more interesting things we might do, but as we’re at a polite party it’s the only way I get to hold you in my arms.” He watched closely. I glared. “No, you’re right. We wouldn’t want to freeze all those happy waltzers. We’ll sit out
instead. Perhaps Murray will build us up a fire before you turn into an ice block. We’ll grab a glass of wine and find some nice, secluded corner away from the hurly-burly. We have to talk, Amy—about foxes, and chickens, and April and May.”
“And government property,” I added, staring to see if he betrayed himself. He looked conscious, but his ears didn’t turn pink. His eyes slid to Lollie, who stood in the corner, examining him suspiciously.
“Government property, eh?” he said. “What big ears you have for a small chick. Do you know, I’ve just lost my appetite for talking. It’s only a temporary loss. Hardly a loss at all, really. More an aversion to your chosen topic. Adieu, ma petite poule.”
He grabbed my hand and kissed it before I could stop him. Then he bowed, gave one last charming smile, and walked away.
When he asked Mrs. Murray to waltz, he turned and gave me a saucy grin as if to say, “You’re not the only chicken in the coop, miss.”
I went and joined Lollie. He was on nettles to go home and change into spy clothes. I decided to go with him. We went back to the card parlor and had no trouble convincing Aunt Talbot she was tired. On the short trip home she was full of gossip and regaled us with what all the ladies had said about the party, especially the dinner.
“Mrs. Carruthers was saying Pierre has a better idea how to dress a fowl than to cook it,” she said. “Dress it in men’s clothing, she meant. Fancy putting a jacket on it. I’m surprised he didn’t add a cravat. All its fine raiments didn’t prevent it from being as dry as a lime kiln and tough as white leather. And the way Mrs. Murray hauled the men out of the dining room before they had time to light their cheroots! Ah, it’s a sad house where the hen crows louder than the cock, and it’s Mrs. Murray who rules that roost.”
I thought of Renshaw, who had called me his little hen. Ma petite poule. One would have to crow loudly, indeed, to outcrow him. He was a regular chatterbox.
Lollie confessed that he meant to spy that evening.
“I think it unwise, but counsel is no command,” Auntie said, which was her indirect way of giving permission.
