by Joan Smith
My insides were shaking like a blancmange for joy. A hero! Not a murderer, not a thief, but a hero. And he loved me.
“Well, what is the truth?” Auntie demanded eagerly.
Lollie looked all around for lurking spies, leaned forward, lowered his voice, and said, “This isn’t to go beyond these walls, you understand. When London didn’t get Lord Harry’s usual report, they sent Renshaw down to investigate. He knew Beau and used the visit as a pretext for being here without arousing curiosity. Beau’s been in on it from day one. It was Renshaw who notified London that Lord Harry had been killed. It was that sketch of yours that identified him, Amy.”
“I remember he looked very shocked when he saw it,” I said.
“He would, wouldn’t he? He made up some tale about looking for some other fellow, I remember, but that is of no account. Lord Harry was on the trail of the stolen money right enough. His last note to London said a Mr. Fanshawe knew its whereabouts. Lord Harry was authorized to give him the five-hundred-pound finder’s fee. Those finder’s fees bills were marked, by the by, which is why Renshaw was examining that tenner he changed for me in the village. Just as a precaution. He was afraid it might be in circulation already, but it wasn’t. At least he didn’t find any marked notes. The fifty thousand wasn’t marked. Anyhow, McAdam thinks Lord Harry suspected Fanshawe wasn’t the man’s real name, but he hadn’t discovered who he really was despite hanging about the tavern, hoping the man would come in and be revealed by the locals.”
“That’s why he claimed to be looking for someone called Fanshawe as an excuse to inquire about that name,” Auntie said, nodding.
“That’s right. He inscribed the name Fanshawe on that book himself to give an excuse to be inquiring for Fanshawes. Perhaps he thought his room at the inn would be examined by the servants when he wasn’t in it, or he may have taken the book to the tavern, where he hung about to quiz the locals. When we told him there had never been any Fanshawes here—you remember, Amy, at the graveyard—he was convinced his contact had been lying through his teeth, for he let on he was a local lad. Unfortunately, Lord Harry was killed before he could discover, or at least let London know, who Fanshawe really was.”
“It was Maitland he met in the shepherd’s hut,” Aunt Talbot said reluctantly.
“So it was,” Lollie agreed, “but McAdam says Maitland was right here at home when the money was originally stolen from the wagon taking it to the naval base. How would he discover it was on its way? I think Maitland’s meeting with Lord Harry was just as he said—an innocent encounter, as ours was, Amy.”
“What about Maitland’s buying Chalmers’s place?” I asked.
“Mortgaged. Lord Hadley has a finger in it. He is offering surety or some such thing.”
“Then who does McAdam think—”
“He don’t know. That’s what we hope to find out tonight.”
“Why did Renshaw go to London at this time?” I asked, revealing where my interest in all this lay.
“Perhaps he didn’t,” Lollie replied mysteriously.
“Then where is he?”
“I fancy he’ll be around when we need him. Well, ladies, I believe I shall skip my port this evening and just go below to have a word with George before we leave for the Murrays’ little do. Mind what I’ve told you is all secret.”
But before leaving he had his lemon tart and custard.
Auntie was never one to lose track of important items. “What about Renshaw’s hop farm?” she inquired.
“Belview,” Lollie said, and sat back to watch our eyes open wide in amazement.
“Belview!” my aunt exclaimed. I was beyond speech. “But that belongs to Lord Travers.”
“Did,” Lollie informed us. “The old boy’s stuck his fork in the wall. Renshaw is his heir, his nephew, not his son. I daresay he’s picked up the title as well. Twenty thousand acres,” Lollie said. “But only half of it in hops. He has cattle as well, and of course tenant farms and all that.”
Auntie’s chin tucked in, her lips pursed, and her eyebrows lifted. She glanced at me. “Do you think the jonquil does you justice, Amy? I always thought you looked best in your mint green.”
“I wore it last night.”
“So you did. Perhaps you could do something different with your hair—or change those pearls for diamonds.”
“He won’t be at the Murrays’ party,” I said. I knew, of course, what these enhancements were in aid of. I think it especially pleased her that Renshaw had cattle as well as hops. She was no friend of ale.
“What, have you decided you like Renshaw, Indian skin and all, Aunt Maude?” Lollie teased.
“A good horse can’t be a bad color,” Auntie said bluntly. “You have to expect a few thistles with a good harvest. Tan skin is a small price to pay for a tiara. What is his title, exactly?”
“Travers was an earl, they say,” Lollie said.
Auntie stared at me in stupefaction. “A countess!” she breathed, referring, of course, to my exalted state if I nabbed Renshaw.
After Lollie left, I went upstairs, but I didn’t change my gown or my jewelry. I just sat on a chair by the window, looking out at the lilac bushes, remembering past doings with Robert, and wondering how I would look in a tiara. I noticed Isaiah lurking about. He was an inveterate snoop, but there was nothing to give the game away. McAdam’s men hadn’t arrived yet.
I understood now why Robert had been in London longer than the two weeks he had admitted to. Saying he had just returned from India justified the pretext of looking up old friends. Of course he would meet Marie at parties, and of course she would immediately ask such a handsome buck to call her Marie. He must have been disconcerted to meet her here. I wondered why he hadn’t taken her into his confidence and asked her to pretend she didn’t know him. Not that her discretion could be relied on.
When it was time to leave for the party, I gathered up my pelisse and went downstairs. The others were waiting for me.
“Is everything under control in the cellar?” I asked Lollie.
“McAdam will have half a dozen militiamen hiding in the bushes after dark. We’ll let George up from the cellar then. He must be growing mold from being underground so long. The dastards won’t get away this time. I’d give a monkey to be here, but sometimes our duty lies in quieter pastures. I must keep up an appearance of normalcy.”
Then he frowned. “Though why it should matter when whoever plans to come for the blunt won’t be at the curst party ... Really, I think McAdam is overdoing the security aspect. I might develop a megrim and leave early. I’ll send the rig back for you and Amy, Auntie.”
“Whatever you do, be careful,” Auntie said.
I had other things on my mind. I thought I might develop a megrim as well. I wanted to be here when the excitement occurred.
No excitement occurred, either at the Murrays’ or Oakbay. Everyone (except Robert) was at the party, and everyone (except Lollie, who left at ten) remained until it was over at twelve sharp. The Murrays were leaving for London early in the morning and didn’t want to stay up late. I danced with Maitland and Beau Sommers, who had decided to dangle after Addie that evening, perhaps because she was the only other young lady present.
She only encouraged him because she was annoyed with Lollie for leaving so early. Altogether it was a dull do. Murray’s chef didn’t have time to dress the food up for the party, so the supper served at eleven was no fancier than we might have served at home. The host and hostess seemed distracted. Their minds, I thought, had already preceded them to London.
“I never did get my palm reading this trip, Miss Talbot,” Mrs. Murray said as we were taking our leave. “And I wanted it in particular, too. You mentioned something about my fate line. You don’t think we might do it now ...” She seemed quite perturbed.
Her husband rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “You can have your palm read in London, Marie.”
“But no one does it as well as Miss Talbot! I could drop by early in the
morning if—”
“We leave at eight!” her husband said firmly. “You can’t expect Miss Talbot to be up so early.”
“The next time you’re home, Mrs. Murray,” Auntie said. She was flattered at the lady’s eagerness.
Lollie had sent the carriage back for us, as promised. As we drove home, Auntie said, “I’m glad Mr. Murray talked her out of that reading. I didn’t want to alarm poor Mrs. Murray, but I didn’t like the looks of her fate line the last time I did her reading. The fate line is tricky; it seldom runs in a straight line and then one has to work out the timing. Timing is all in the fate line. I fear Mrs. Murray’s fate line is warning her of something bad that will occur very soon. She is about thirty-nine, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would have thought thirty-five.”
“Not with those crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. If she’s only thirty-five, then she has a few years before it happens.”
My mind refused to concentrate on such foolishness. “I wonder if it’s over yet—at home, I mean, in the cellar.”
“We’ll soon know.”
We knew within twenty minutes that nothing had occurred. No one had come to rescue the banknotes. Lollie came in from his place of concealment in the lilac hedge when he heard the carriage and asked us who had left the party. When we told him no one but himself had left before midnight, he scowled and announced, “It might be any minute now. I had best get back to my post.”
Expecting gunshots at any minute, Auntie and I put out all the lamps and crouched in the dark saloon, peering out the window. When there had been no action by one-thirty, Auntie said she was for the feather tick and went up to bed. I remained below another two hours. When I jiggled awake from a doze at three-thirty with a crick in my neck and one foot asleep from sitting on it, I gave up and decided to go to bed as well,
As I was about to leave, Lollie came inside to make coffee for the men outdoors. After having lived at Oakbay all his life, he had no notion where to find anything in the kitchen. I was recruited to make the coffee while he stirred up the embers to hasten the boiling of the water.
While waiting for the water to reach the boil, he said, “I believe I’ll just take a nip belowstairs to see that the money is all right.”
“It isn’t going to get up and walk away by itself,” I said, yawning.
He lit a lamp and rattled down the stairs. I heard him poking about in the coal pile. Within seconds a shout pierced the still night air. “It’s gone!” he wailed.
I darted down after him. “Impossible! It must have slipped down behind the coal.”
“No, dash it, I checked it when I came back from the party and it was right on top of the pile.”
I was thankful he had changed into older clothes for standing guard outside because he immediately leaped into the coal bin and began looking for the canvas bags. After a thorough search the upshot of it all was that there wasn’t a sign of the money. No one had entered the house, but the money was gone, vanished into thin air.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’d best let the chief know,” Lollie said, and darted upstairs with the lamp, leaving me alone in the dark. I lifted my skirts and scampered up behind him.
I assumed “the chief” was McAdam. Imagine my surprise and delight to see Robert come flying into the kitchen, followed by Lollie. And imagine my astonishment to see Robert had his face covered with dirt to match Lollie’s coal dust, lending them both the comical air of boys at play. In the excitement of the moment Robert didn’t notice me standing at the stove. I said nothing but just watched him, eager to see my hero in action.
His knitted garment showed his broad chest and shoulders to great advantage. They most assuredly were not the shoulders of a boy. The pistol in his hand left no doubt as to the seriousness of the matter.
“Why is your face smeared like that?” Lollie asked him as they hastened toward the door to the cellar.
“We did it at night in the Peninsula. A white face makes too good a target,” Robert explained. “Guerrillas’ powder, we call it.”
Lollie turned to the stove, perhaps planning to add a few cinders to his face.
“No time for that!” Robert called to him. He turned toward the stove and saw me. “Oh, Amy!” he exclaimed. His lips parted in a distracted sort of smile. I smiled back in the same fondly foolish way.
They hurried on toward the cellar. Lollie grabbed a lamp, handed it to Robert, and followed him below. Robert cast a questioning look over his shoulder as he left, but he didn’t say anything else. I was left alone in the kitchen with the memory of that smile.
I lit another lamp, planning to join them, but before I could do so, they were back.
“It’s impossible!” Lollie said, his voice high with indignation.
“Since it’s happened, let’s assume it is possible and figure out how it was done,” Robert said reasonably.
The coffee was made. I poured us all a cup.
“The men would like some of this,” Robert mentioned. “May I, Amy?”
“Certainly. I made it for them. I’ll take it out.”
“Prepare a tray, I’ll call Forten to come and get it,” he said in a very military way. Then he remembered that I wasn’t one of his men and added, “If you would be so kind.”
Lollie said to me, “Forten’s watching this side of the house.”
Leo Forten was one of the militiamen. His usual occupation was head clerk at the drapery shop. He was a dapper little fellow with kinky red hair and an eye for the ladies.
I made up the tray and Robert called Forten in for it. It was not Forten who came, however, but a man called Edward Frith, a local solicitor.
“Where’s Forten?” Robert asked.
“Perhaps he’s relieving himself,” Frith said, then they all looked at me and blushed. I pretended to be busy with putting cream and sugar on the tray. A lady knows when to be deaf.
I was thanked copiously by both Robert and Frith, then Frith left with the tray. I half feared the “agents” would banish me to my room for safety’s sake, so I drank my own coffee standing behind them, near the stove, on the theory that out of sight was out of mind. I listened as they discussed the possibility that one or more of our own servants might be involved. Lollie objected violently to this. So did I, but I let Lollie defend them.
“Lentle’s too old; Cook’s too fat; Inez and Betty are too ignorant, and anyhow they’re girls. As to George! He’d pluck out both eyes and all his teeth before betraying us. Besides, they’ve all been with us forever. I’d as soon suspect Aunt Maude or Amy,” Lollie said.
“The grooms?”
“If you think Alfie Morrison or his son would steal, Renshaw, you’re mad. Alfie taught me to ride when I was in short coats.”
This was obviously unanswerable. Robert said, with an air of apology, “I didn’t really think this was the work of a servant, but we have to cover all possibilities. Very well, then, how did he get in without any of us seeing him? We’ll check all the doors and windows. I take it the kitchen door was locked, as I directed?”
“Yes, I came in that way. I had to use my key to get in just now,” Lollie said.
“Right, then we’ll check the other doors and the windows.”
I was assigned the delicate task of checking Cook’s room. She sleeps next door to her kitchen. Her window was closed and the blind drawn. To get in by that means the thief would have had to climb over her bed with her in it. We went abovestairs and checked all the doors and windows there. The front door was bolted on the inside; the French doors in the library were also locked. None of the windows was ajar.
I could see Robert’s frustration mounting as we went from room to room. “How the hell did he get in?” he exclaimed when the last means of entry had been found innocent. Then he remembered that there was a lady present and in lieu of apologizing he suggested that I retire.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed. “If you can’t behave like a gentleman, you may feel free to swear in fr
ont of me, Robert. I did have a papa, you know. I’ve heard worse than an occasional ‘hell’ or ‘damnation’ in my life.”
“Sorry,” he said at last. “But it’s enough to make a saint swear. Well, what next? Do we go upstairs and search the bedrooms? I cannot think it likely—” Then he stopped. “No, of course not. We’ll check the cellar. What other means of entry is there via the cellar?”
“The only door from the outside is the one we were watching, the one that was used last night,” Lollie told him.
I watched as Robert struggled over this. After a moment he said, “I noticed a coal scuttle by the kitchen stove. How is the coal delivered?”
“By the coal chute,” Lollie said.
“That would be the metal cap I noticed under the kitchen window?” Lollie nodded. “It’s not big enough for a man to get in, surely?”
“I could get through it when I was a youngster,” Lollie said uncertainly.
The coal chute had only been installed four years ago. Lollie hadn’t grown that much. “You might still be able to. I mean a smallish man might,” I said.
Without a word Robert snatched up a lamp and headed for the cellar door, with his two acolytes hard on his heels. We clattered down the cellar steps into the older part of the cellar and the coal bin. We didn’t even have to go inside the bin. A fresh breeze was noticeable from where we stood. After a moment’s looking, a round circle lighter than the wall around it became visible above the tip of the coal mountain. Someone had removed the cap of the coal chute, slithered down the metal shaft to the coal pile, and stolen the money.
“I should have noticed that!” Lollie exclaimed, deeply chagrined. “I did feel a breeze, you know, but in the excitement of finding the money gone, I never gave it another thought.”
“That’s understandable,” Robert said, but his face was stiff with frustration at having to work with such amateurs. “I should have thought of it myself.”
“It would take some work to get the money out that way,” I said, remembering the size and heft of the bags.
