by Robyn DeHart
“I have three dear friends who might as well be my sisters,” she said abruptly. Now was as good a time as any to tell him that the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society had taken on his case. She leaned in. “Would you like to know a secret?”
“I suppose,” he said warily.
“My friends and I have a secret society.”
He looked up at her then, surprise etching his features. “A secret society,” he repeated dumbly.
“Oh yes. Now, you cannot tell anyone as it would most certainly create talk.”
He motioned to the empty room. “Who would I tell? Besides, it’s not as if my would-be friends and your friends are in the same circle.”
He had her there. She’d originally intended to tell him all this after they found their first lead, but he clearly had wanted to direct attention off his family. He did not want to discuss his life in any great detail. At least not yet.
But often people felt more inclined to share when others shared first. So for the time being, she’d do the talking and see if things eased with him.
“Yes, as I was saying. A secret society. We are called the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society.”
He eyed her suspiciously, then shook his head. “What do you do?”
“As it sounds, we sleuth.” She shrugged. “Or we attempt to do so. It is most difficult to solve crimes when we are not privy to all the details. As the authorities are.”
“You sleuth?” he asked.
She watched him carefully, looking for signs of what he thought. Only one of them had told someone outside their families. Amelia had told Colin before they had married, well before they were in love. Colin had found it vastly amusing, but then he was an inspector for hire, and the thought of four ladies scavenging around London looking for clues to mysteries sounded ludicrous to him. He was far more favorable toward the group now.
Gareth, on the other hand, did not appear amused. At least Meg didn’t think so; from his blank expression, it was difficult to determine precisely what he was feeling or thinking. More than likely he would think her a fool, but she’d started the conversation; she couldn’t very well back out of it now.
His eyebrows raised and she realized she had not answered his question.
“Yes, we sleuth. We are rather good at it, I might add.”
“What have you solved?”
She frowned. That was a bothersome question. “The case we are currently involved in is still active.” She released a breath. That was the honest truth.
“What case are you working on?”
This was her fault. She’d brought it up. She had wanted to impress him before telling him they would solve his crime, but she’d always had a difficult time waiting to tell people things. And now that she was in the midst of the conversation she couldn’t see a way that any of this would impart a lofty impression.
“Well, for one, your case. I met with the girls earlier today and they agreed. So the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society is officially working on finding the real culprit and proving your innocence.”
“I see,” he said tightly. “Did you also tell them that if word gets out about that, we will be compromised?”
She released a nervous laugh, then mentally chastised herself. “You know, they were worried about you telling people, bragging, if you will. But I told them you were intent on keeping it a secret. They’ll never tell.”
He eyed her a moment longer before silently nodding. “And for another?” he asked.
He didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to the news. She hoped he’d be excited. But she supposed that was expecting a bit much.
“Another?” she asked.
“You said, ‘For one.’ That implies there are others.”
Oh dear.
If nothing else she would make him laugh, and that was worth something indeed.
“Do you read the papers, Mr. Mandeville?”
He winced slightly. “If you must call me something, call me by my given name. And yes, I do read the papers when I find them lying about. I don’t generally spend.”
“Then you must have read about the Jack of Hearts.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. A tight smile played at his lips. “I have. You and your lady friends are thinking to catch the Jack of Hearts?”
Meg smiled broadly. “We are.”
“What do you know so far?” he asked.
“Well, we know that he only steals from the wealthy,” she said.
He shook his head. “That doesn’t count. The only people you can steal from are wealthy. Poor people have nothing to take.”
“Of course. I simply meant that he frequents events that are filled with the titled.”
He nodded.
“We think that this means he’s arrogant.”
“In what way?” he asked.
He wasn’t mocking her, she realized. He was listening, participating. Meg’s chest swelled and she felt a surge of confidence. She’d never before been able to discuss her fascination with mysteries with anyone save the other girls. It was exhilarating. Especially when she’d expected mockery, and thus far, he’d reserved his reaction and only put forth questions. “He’s bold. He walks into places and steals directly from people. He’s a highwayman dressed as a gentleman. It’s quite effective.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No. None of us have. One of us has come close a few times, but we’re still waiting.”
“Well, he could be anyone,” Gareth offered.
“True. But we feel fairly confident that he’s a servant who works for a good family.”
“Or he could be someone from a good family,” he argued.
She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. Could he be? They had not even considered the possibility. That would certainly be the scandal of all scandals. She shook her head. It couldn’t be. No one from a good family would dare. “No. Why would they need to steal?”
“Not all good families have money. You know that, Meg. In the same paper where you read your stories of the Jack of Hearts, there are reports of the Earl of Such-and-Such having to marry an unrefined heiress from America to save his family’s name.”
Meg simply started at him.
“Why do you look so surprised?” he asked.
“I guess I didn’t realize you read those parts of the papers. Keeping up with Society news, are you?” Was that customary for most factory workers? Or only ones who seemed more educated than most, who had alluring hazel eyes, and whose kisses could steal a thought right out of your head?
Gareth shrugged, but did not look at her. “It’s comforting to know that even the blessed have their trials.” His tone was biting. “I only meant that the Jack of Hearts could be anyone. It could be a servant as you and your friends suggest. It could be the second son of an earl angry at his lousy inheritance. It could be a duke who’s lost his fortune and is hell bent on getting it back. Or it could be any of the above, stealing not out of necessity, but out of sport.” He shrugged, then leaned back over his box to finish his work. “It could be me,” he added.
Her heart nearly stopped. “What do you mean, it could be you?”
“Precisely what it sounded like. I could be the Jack of Hearts.”
Her hand flew to her cheek. “Are you?” He couldn’t be serious.
He said nothing, did not answer her at all, merely looked up briefly, smiled, then went back to work.
Oh dear. Could he be the Jack of Hearts? Certainly not. How would he get into the social functions? Had he not said that he hadn’t been in London that long? The Jack of Hearts had been making his grand appearances for more than six months now.
Meg looked down at the box she was working on. He was teasing her; he had to be. If he were the Jack of Hearts, surely he wouldn’t just come right out with it. Would he? She looked back up at him.
He chuckled. “Get back to work, Meg,” he said.
She smiled, but was still uncertain what that comment had meant. It see
med that he was always trying to throw her off kilter in some form or fashion. Be it his words or his kiss.
Despite his refined speech and mysterious previous life in London, Gareth was no more than exactly what he appeared to be, she assured herself. A hardworking, struggling factory worker. Completely unsuitable. Despite his tempting kisses.
Reluctantly she went back to her box. It was coming along nicely. They’d put together several through the course of the evening.
“Have you and your fellow sleuths discovered anything that would lead you to the thief of the original chocolate boxes?” he asked.
So he was interested. “No, we haven’t. But we’ve only just begun. Why? Did you want to join us? Do a bit of sleuthing of your own?” she asked.
“No. As tempting as that might be,” he said with a smile, “it is not my responsibility, but rather Munden’s. He should have to prove my guilt, but we both know he’s not working to do that. Nor do I believe he’s intelligent enough to do so.”
“I still have a difficult time understanding that you have no desire to prove your innocence.”
“There’s no reason why you could understand it. In your world wrongs get righted and the innocent are deemed such. But life isn’t always like that. People don’t always get their happily ever after. I learned a long time ago that trying to force someone to believe one thing about you when they believe another is a futile effort. People will believe what they want of you. Nothing you can do can alter that.”
“I don’t believe that,” she admitted. And she knew firsthand that people didn’t always get their happily ever after.
“I’ve been accused of far worse, Meg. Try not to turn over in your sleep too much on my account.”
Accused of what? She wanted to ask, but dared not. Perhaps there was more to him than it appeared. It appeared that the missing boxes weren’t the only mystery to solve. She was going to have her hands full.
He could resist the temptation. Gareth sighed heavily as he closed his door. He’d been alone with her all evening and not laid a single hand on her. It didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to. She’d brought her maid to protect her reputation, but the woman had slept the entire time. So he had ample opportunity to take as much advantage of Meg’s virtue as he would have liked.
He undressed quickly and folded his clothes. The Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society. The very thought of it brought a smile to his lips. He didn’t believe they would be able to uncover the identity of the real thief, but he had to admire her resourcefulness and dedication.
The boarding rooms sat on the Piddington property, right between the factory and Meg’s house. The hill blocked the view to Piddington Hall, but he remembered what it had looked like that night he’d walked her home. Stately, large, well manicured, and inviting somehow. There was something about it that reminded him of his own childhood home. But that was a lifetime ago.
He’d given her far too much information about his family tonight. It was unlikely that she would discover the truth; even so, there was no reason to divulge that much information. The more he told her, the more he’d trust her, and that was a dangerous game to play.
Women like Meg deserved to be wooed and cherished; he couldn’t do either. If he wanted to dally with a woman, he could find someone else. But Meg was the marrying sort, and since he wasn’t intending on marrying, he needed to stay away from her. His mind understood that perfectly, blast it; he didn’t even want to marry her, regardless of ability to do so. But his body didn’t understand. He wanted her despite who she was.
Chapter 6
Gareth had no sooner placed his coat in his locker than Munden appeared behind him.
“What do you have hiding in that locker?” he sneered.
Gareth turned slowly to face him. He leveled his eyes at the portly man, but said nothing.
“I need to search your belongings. Your locker and your rooms,” Munden said.
Gareth didn’t move, but he felt his hackles rise. “I don’t believe I’ll allow you to do that.”
Munden’s eyebrows rose and he fidgeted the cigar with his tongue until it was on the other side of his mouth. “You won’t be allowing?” He gave Gareth a nasty grin. “I don’t think you have the option. This here is Mr. Piddington’s property.” He motioned to the lockers behind Gareth.
Gareth stepped to the side. “Be my guest then, but you will not get into my rooms.”
“You gonna stop me?”
“This order comes from your filthy head and no one else’s. Until I hear an order from an official or Mr. Piddington himself, my rooms are off limits.” He took a step forward and reveled in the fact that he stood a good head over Munden. “I’ll be at my machine if you need me.”
Munden didn’t cower, but he also didn’t question him further. Gareth made his way out of the storeroom and over to his grinding machine. He knew eyes were watching him, so he kept his own glance straight ahead.
He had nothing to hide. There was nothing in his rooms that would indicate he’d taken those boxes. Regardless of that, Munden for some reason had something against Gareth, and it was unlikely he would let the accusations go.
Gareth was already working on the boxes when Meg arrived. Mr. Munden had caught her as she’d entered the factory, and she was nearly ready to plead with her father to rid the factory of the foul man. There was something about him that unsettled her nerves, but she had no legitimate reasons to want to dismiss him.
She found Gareth sitting at the table positioning beveled mirrors on a velvet-lined box.
“Good evening,” she said as she walked into the room.
He did not look up. “Hello,” he said.
She removed her cloak and took a seat across from him. The discussion she’d had with Munden had been about Gareth. She wanted to mention it, but thought better of it. If they discussed something else for a while, he’d be more inclined to confide in her.
“I brought in some chocolates,” he said, pointing to the small metal tray at the center of the table. “These didn’t mold right, so they won’t go to the store.”
“Thank you. I actually am rather hungry.” She reached forward and picked up one of the misshapen pieces. It was thoughtful of him to think of her in such a manner. “Aren’t you going to have some?” She bit into the dark, rich chocolate.
“I prefer drinking chocolate,” he said.
“You know, I do as well. With a bit of warm milk, it’s absolutely divine.” She took another bite. “But I must admit, this is rather tasty.”
She gathered her supplies and set about selecting the box she’d work on first. “May I ask you a question?” she said.
He shrugged.
“That night we got locked in the storeroom. What were you doing here? At first I thought it might be customary for employees to work after hours, and that perhaps I was just unaware of that. But as it turns out, it’s quite rare and generally only happens under special circumstances.”
Earlier today when she’d questioned the workers in the packing block, she’d inquired about just such a scenario. Granted, Gareth worked in a different area of the factory, but most of the same rules applied. “I’m only curious,” she added in case he thought she was being accusatory.
“I was helping a friend,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. Until now, she’d assumed he didn’t have any friends here. She’d never seen him speaking to anyone other than her and Munden.
“Jamie,” he said. “He works at the station next to mine, and that day he’d come in and told me that his wife was birthing their child. I told him to leave, that I would do his lot that day. Doing both took me longer and so I was here after hours,” he said. He never looked up while he spoke, just kept his focus on the box in his hands.
She didn’t know what to say, but she suspected if she said much it would make them incredibly uncomfortable. It wouldn’t matter to him that she was proud and touched by his kindness. And it should matter to her. She went back to her work, and the
y sat in silence for several minutes.
“I do believe we might finish tonight,” she said as she set a completed box to her right.
He looked around the table. “You’re probably right. And it won’t be soon enough for me. I much prefer the cocoa powder on my hands than the glue,” he said.
She grabbed a new box. It was one of the larger boxes that resembled a chest of drawers. “You never told me why you chose to work at a confectionery,” she said. She knew she was asking a lot of questions, but she couldn’t help it. That was who she was. He had just as much right to decline answering as she did in asking. So she’d continue to toss questions out there and see which ones he’d answer.
He glanced up at her and hesitated, and she wondered if she’d struck a nerve. But then he responded. “I’ve done many different types of work. Some factory, some not. But when I arrived in London, I heard good things about Piddington’s. About the location of the factory and the living quarters and recreational areas.” He set his completed box aside and grabbed for another. “I’d never done chocolates, so I thought it might be interesting.”
“And is it?”
“I suppose. It smells good. Which is different from most factories. And the living accommodations are nice.”
“You still have to pay rent,” she added.
“Yes, but I can walk to work and the grounds are lovely. I’ve never worked anywhere before that had a recreation area for the employees.” Then he laughed. “Mrs. Silsby cooks good meals too.”
Her father had worked hard and bucked convention to provide a working environment that was safe and healthy for his employees. “It’s nice to know that my father provides well for his employees. It is as it should be.”
“Well, it is not standard by any means,” he said.
“The other places you’ve worked, they’ve had poor conditions?”
“Most of them. Every once in a while you’ll run into a fair foreman, but they’re rare.” He looked about the room. “But Piddington’s is vastly different. I don’t mind this. The work is good and the pay is good. The reading room is my favorite. I’ve never had access to so many books before.”
