by Joan Smith
"It will be too cold for him,” I countered.
"Not to judge by the temperature of this sherry, it won't."
"Miss Little let me wade a week ago,” Lucien told me. This being the case, I allowed him to go, to be rid of him.
"Enough chitchat,” the major said, when we were alone.
"Did you find out anything of interest?"
"Just what Lucien said—Beaudel has gone to London."
"I knew that already. Unfortunate he didn't take his wife with him. Did you learn why he went?"
"Stella said it was to invest the money you gave him for the necklace, but we know that is not true. Did you learn anything about the man he gave the money to? Sangster."
"The man is a cent-percenter, a professional maker of loans. One trembles to wonder at what percent of interest, when the borrower is in dire need. I approached him, indicating I could use a few hundred pounds, and he mentioned twenty percent. His chief merit, it seems, is that he acts with the greatest discretion."
"So we know Beaudel borrowed money, and didn't want anyone to know it."
"More damning, we know he used Lucien's money to repay the debt. But we still don't know why he incurred the debt originally."
"Did you learn anything about Mrs. Beaudel from Tunbridge Wells?"
"My man should be back this evening. These enquiries take a little time. His staying a few days is good news, Miss Stacey. If his questions had not turned up something, he would have been back by now."
"I know she's at the bottom of whatever is going on."
"Is there something other than innate jealousy of another beautiful woman that makes you favor Mrs. for the culprit?” he asked, with a lazy smile.
"I'm not a bit jealous of her. She has a perfectly wretched time. I can almost understand her carrying on with Wiggins and any old scarecrow who comes along. She does it to keep from dying of boredom."
"The old scarecrow who came along thanks you for that flattering interpretation of the matter."
I ignored his attack of pique. “It could take forever to free my father, the way we are going about it."
"Hardly forever. Algernon returns from university very soon. If they mean to try for the real money, they'll be arranging it now."
"By real money, you mean the Jaipur?” He nodded. “I think I know where it is kept."
"Excellent! You are a busy little bee. Tell me all about it."
I told him what Lucien had told me. “If Lucien knows it, Stella knows it as well. Why doesn't she just grab it and run, I wonder?"
"Maybe it's hidden so well she can't find it."
"Hmm, and maybe she's waiting for the opportune moment. You think she covered up stealing a few small diamonds by involving your father. There would be a great hue and cry if she just grabbed it and ran, but if she could do it in some manner while there is another suspect around..."
"I see your point. There was no one but family at Christmas and Lucien's birthday, I believe. But he never will show it to anyone. It's not for sale, despite his wife's urging."
"Everything is for sale, if the price is right,” he countered, twirling the glass in his fingers, while he looked into the rolling amber liquid. “Yes, I know it sounds cynical,” he added, lifting his eyes to quiz me, “but it happens to be true."
"As long as you say everything and not everyone, I shan't argue."
"Only some people are for sale,” he agreed.
"Am I to assume you are going to make a ludicrously generous offer for the Jaipur, to get the pot boiling a little?"
"You have a poor appreciation of my mind. A ludicrous offer would be suspect. I shall make a reasonably generous offer, no more."
"I got to wondering last night, when I was thinking about things you know, whether he still has the Jaipur at all. It's rather odd he never shows it to anyone."
"How very unflattering! Here I thought you would be thinking of me. In the interest of efficiency and saving time, I shall take a look about the tower room tonight and see if I can find it."
"Mrs. Beaudel will be home. You can't very well distract her in your usual manner, when you have to be free to roam the attic at the same time."
"I regret losing such a prime excuse for further dalliance with the lovely Stella, but first things first."
"I'm sure you'll find some other excuse."
"If I don't, she will. She left me off a note at the inn yesterday mentioning a few sequestered rides in the vicinity, and just happening to give the hours when she rode herself. Some ladies are much more ingenious than others in these matters."
"Some ladies don't have to worry about their fathers being in jail."
"Not to worry. I spent a part of the morning investigating security measures at the jail. A clever child could walk out of there without much trouble. In the worst case, we can always take my trusty penknife to his lock, and spring him without benefit of the law."
"Major Morrison, you have the mind of a criminal!"
"Set a thief to catch a thief, as the old saw goes."
This bald admission sent me into a nervous spasm. Who was to say Morrison would not just grab the diamond and run, once he got Beaudel to show it to him? And if he did, my father would languish behind bars until he died.
"Don't be so foolish!” he said harshly, when I stared at him in horror. “Your father trusts me. Would he put you under my protection if he didn't?"
"He hasn't any option."
"I didn't put him in jail."
"No, Mr. Kirby did, and I wish I could find that wretched man. Did you have any luck?"
"There hasn't been time. You know my man is at Tunbridge Wells."
"He knew there was something fishy about this business from the start. He told Papa so."
"It is a pity your father hadn't taken some precautions then."
"What could he have done?"
"He could have left his daughter at home at least. I can't imagine his being foolish enough to drag a girl into this mess."
"He would be in a fine pickle if he had left me at home! I wouldn't know what had become of him. I'd be worried sick."
"Instead of enjoying the calm, peaceful vacation you are having here!” he snapped back angrily, then relented and offered me another glass of wine.
"No, thank you."
"I don't see any tadpoles,” Lucien called.
"You help him, Major. With your lively imagination, you will know where to look."
He sighed wearily and set down his glass. “If I have been rude to you, I apologize. I know you are worried about your father. Believe me, nothing is going to happen to him. You have my word on that."
"The word of a spurious officer and gentleman. How reassuring."
"Only the status of officer is spurious. I am a gentleman,” he said, with a reckless smile that belonged on a highwayman, or a cutthroat pirate. “And of course my lively intelligence, not imagination, tells me where tadpoles hide. Under rocks. You have to stir ‘em out with a stick. Come along, I'll show you."
Feeling no desire to see tadpoles stirred up with a stick, I had another glass of sherry instead, and watched from the rock while he did as he promised, allowing Lucien to use his wine glass to catch some. He poured out the rest of the wine and rinsed out the bottle, so that Lucien might take these trophies home to die in it.
"Eleven at our trysting spot?” he asked, before leaving. “I have nothing better to do. She didn't mention riding at night, in her note."
"All right.” I knew he would be looking for the Jaipur, and meant to tag along to see he didn't steal it.
I quizzed Lucien about Morrison on the way home. “How do you come to trust Morrison so much, Lucien?"
"I have a way, Miss Stacey,” he answered airily.
"I must know,” I insisted.
"He told me women are very curious. I see he is right,” the boy answered, with a patronizing look. I held the line of his pony, and got stuck to carry the tadpoles.
"He told me Sacheverel sent him, and you
said that was not true."
"If you must know, Algernon sent him. He has Algernon's ring. He showed it to me. Algernon gave it to him. It is a sort of signal. We arranged it at Christmas. Algernon is an excellent fellow, up to all the rigs. He told me if a man came and showed me his ring, I would know I could trust him. Just like the Oliphant brothers in the book Algernon started to read me during the Christmas holidays. ‘Blood Brothers’ is the name of it. They weren't real brothers, only half, but they nicked their fingers with a knife and blended their blood, to become full blood brothers. Would you like to be my blood brother, Miss Stacey?” he asked hopefully.
"I'm a girl, so I couldn't be a blood brother,” I demurred.
"Why did Algernon take that precaution, about the ring?"
"No special reason. We were reading the book, and since we were already brothers, Algernon said we didn't have to blend our bloods, so we used the ring signal instead."
It could have been the idle amusement of a romantic college boy, or it could have been a calculated plan, as Algernon was displeased with how the Beaudels were managing his estate. At least I could not imagine any manner in which Morrison could have got the ring without the connivance of Algernon Beaudel, and that reassured me as to his good faith.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs. Beaudel did not request my presence or Lucien's at her dinner table that evening. I brought the boy down to say good-night to her, and found the saloon empty. From behind the door of her private parlor issued soft, girlish giggles, and soon the deeper tone of Wiggins, flirting his head off. There were even scuffling sounds, indicating some playful chase. I assume he caught her, no difficult chore, as there ensued a longish silence.
"Mrs. Beaudel is busy. We shan't interrupt her,” I said primly to my charge.
He gave me a sage look. “We better not. She don't like to be disturbed when she is kissing Wiggins. She got very angry the last time I did it."
"That was naughty of you,” I said, dispensing with any explanations to whitewash the trollop.
"It is naughty of her too, isn't it, Miss Stacey? It is what comes of Uncle Charles marrying a young woman. It is a May-December match, Miss Little said."
"A good lesson for you to remember,” I said playfully.
"I shall get married young, and kiss my wife my own self, instead of having the butler do it. But it is very nice for Wiggins, is it not?"
"Quite an unusual perquisite to his position."
"What is a perquisite?” he asked, with an adult air.
"A little extra something besides money that goes along with a position."
"Like your being able to have meetings with Major Morrison?” he asked slyly.
"I do not consider that a perquisite by any means."
"He does, I think. He says you are very pretty, and wonders why you don't have a husband."
"Does he indeed!"
"He said I might just hint to discover whether you have a beau at home, if I like. Have you?"
"This is not a very subtle hint, Lucien,” I said, in lieu of answering.
"What's subtle mean?” he asked.
"The lessons are over for today. It's time for bed."
"But do you have a beau? I told Major I would find out."
"Then you shall have to tell him you failed in your mission."
"He doesn't have a girl."
"How decent of him, since he has got a wife."
"Has he? He did not say so."
"Put on your nightshirt,” I ordered, turning down his bed, to allow him some privacy.
"Would you like to read me a story?” he asked, when we were done.
"I was hoping you would ask. Get a book."
"If you like, you can read Blood Brothers, and learn how to become a blood sister. Algernon didn't read me the whole thing. He had to stop before he was finished, to go back to college. It has hard words, or I would have finished it myself."
This inclined me to think Algernon had used the book to pave the way for the major's coming. I wondered why he had not come sooner. Blood Brothers was so far from being a child's book that I had to paraphrase the whole thing, so wearing a pastime that I read him only three pages, before taking it to my room and starting at the beginning, after Lucien was tucked in. It was typical young man's fare, exciting and bloody doings, full of villains and deceit. I judged Algernon to have melodramatic tastes.
The time until eleven passed quickly. I was engrossed in Chapter Ten, waiting to find out who was the ghost, who perpetrated such ghastly doings at Widow-well Hall, the locale where the blood brothers conspired. I knew perfectly well that a headless body did not float unaided by Jeremy's window at midnight, and read on to learn who dangled the stuffed clothing from a string above. It was childish stuff, but well done enough to raise a few goosebumps. Before the major came, I decided I ought to take a peek downstairs, to ensure that Mrs. Beaudel was still entertaining her butler.
Wiggins very nearly caught me out. He was just entering the little private parlor with a fresh bottle of wine as I looked around the stairwall corner, but he was preoccupied, and did not see me. His face wore an anticipatory smile. His cravat was loose, his jacket open, his complexion flushed from whatever he was doing behind that door. The new bottle of wine indicated they were far from finished with their night's play.
I turned and darted back upstairs, down the hall to the balcony door. I had to suppress a scream to see a white face floating in the glass top of the doorway, the very part of the anatomy missing from the ghost in Blood Brothers. Within an instant, I realized it was Morrison, and went to admit him.
"You nearly frightened me to death,” I scolded.
"Did you forget I was to come?"
"No, I just didn't expect to see you peeking in at the window. Mrs. Beaudel is belowstairs. We shan't have any interference from her."
"What is she doing with herself?"
"Nothing, she's doing it with Wiggins. Don't ask."
"That maidenly tone of disapproval makes it unnecessary to inquire. Which is Beaudel's door?” he queried, coming on tiptoes behind me down the hall.
I took him to it, tried the knob, and found it locked. “He's locked Stella out of his room. The man is mad,” Morrison declared.
"He's not here, remember? But it is peculiar he locked it all the same. They have adjoining rooms. Maybe we can reach his through hers. It's this one,” I said, showing him. He opened it, and we went into a pretty, scented chamber, bearing all the evidence of a vain woman. There was a dresser laden with glass pots, the coverlet turned down with a lace-trimmed nightgown ready for her. Morrison's lips turned up in a lascivious smile as he glanced at it.
"Does she have a dresser?” he asked.
"Are you blind? There it is, four feet long, and covered with cosmetics."
"I refer to a woman who tends her clothing. Is some dame likely to come erupting through that other door?"
"No, one of the house servants takes care of her things."
"We'll risk it then,” he said, stepping quickly and quietly across the carpeted floor, to try the adjoining door. It too was locked. “One of them has locked the other out. As his outer door is also locked, it looks as though he doesn't want her having too close a look around while he's away."
"Then he must have the Jaipur locked in his room."
"Hmm, I believe we'll go in by the hall door, just in case she and Wiggins decide to adjourn here to continue their revels."
"She wouldn't!"
"A floor can get mighty hard for what they're up to, and chairs are demmed awkward."
"There is a sofa in her parlor,” I said, displaying no shock at his words, as he examined me with lively glee to watch me squirm.
He went into the hallway, took out his knife and opened the door as easily as though it were a pea pod. One flick of the knife and we were in. We had only the dim light from the hall.
"Shall I get a candle?” I asked.
"Make it snappy,” he said, looking around the room, which wa
s spartan.
I got the candle from my own room. By the time I returned, Morrison had jimmied open the door leading to the tower.
"Close the hall door, just in case,” he ordered.
Swallowing my indignation at his abrupt manner, I did so. Together we mounted the narrow, paneled stairway to the tower room. It was octagonal in shape, the dark wooden walls swallowing up the light. It was outfitted as an office, but had no air of being much used. There was nothing on the desk but a dry ink bottle, a writing quill and dust. The room also held a small table, a cupboard and a few wooden, straight-backed chairs. All drawers in both desk and cupboard were unlocked. I need hardly say none of them contained the Jaipur. Neither did they hold anything of the least interest. Next Morrison took the taper around the room, tapping walls, then down on his hands and knees to feel for a loose floorboard.
"Do you think he has a safe or a strongbox hidden somewhere?” I asked, to have a better idea what we were searching for.
"I have no idea."
"That's helpful."
"Just look—for anything that seems out of place,” he advised.
A discarded gentleman's hat, somewhat ratty in appearance, struck me as being out of place, but so obviously innocent I did not mention it. “Why did he bother to lock all those doors, if there's nothing here but dust and lumber?” Morrison asked.
"Particularly when they can be opened in the twinkling of a penknife,” I added, wondering. “If you can do it, so can Mrs. Beaudel."
"He may be so naive he doesn't realize it. He did marry her, and that says something for his gullibility."
He set the candle down and looked slowly all around the room. His eyes lit on a dark canvas, a painting of some Friday-faced gentleman in a wig and court robes. “Surely not,” he said, smiling, as he stepped to the picture and lifted the frame from the wall.
Behind it was a small locked door, flush with the wall. It had a plain padlock on it, difficult enough that the penknife did not open it, but the hardware that held the padlock was screwed in. The screws could have been removed without too much effort. I waited for him to take his knife to them, but he only frowned a moment, before replacing the canvas painting.
