by Joan Smith
On the outskirts of town, they tied their mounts beneath the spreading branches of a willow tree, out of sight, and proceeded on foot. When Rotham offered Miranda his arm, she put her hand gingerly on his elbow and smiled a shy, trusting smile. The town was virtually deserted by the time they reached it. Lights still gleamed in a few windows, but no one came to peek out and see their passing.
They moved swiftly, silent as shadows, along the High Street, turned off at Conduit Street, and went along to Madame Lafleur’s small cottage. It was all in darkness.
“We'll try the back,” Rotham whispered. They disappeared into the dark lane at the side of the house and found themselves in madame’s vegetable garden. A detour to the left took them to the back door of a shed, a sort of lean-to attached to the house.
Rotham took Miranda’s hand and led her aside. ‘“You stay here. You should be safe behind that trellis,” he whispered, scanning the yard for a place of concealment. He walked with her to the trellis at the side of the garden. Behind it, roses grew in profusion. Their colors were dulled to white in the darkness, but their perfume hung sweetly on the night air.
“If anyone comes, I shall hoot like an owl, three times,” she whispered. “Perhaps you should leave the back door open, so you can hear me.”
“Don’t leave this trellis, whatever you do.”
He gazed down at her pale face, washed in flickering shadows. Even in a round bonnet, she looked darling. On an impulse, he reached down and placed a light kiss on her cheek. She grasped his lapels and held on tightly.
“You will be careful, Rotham,” she said in a small, frightened voice.
His fingers brushed her cheek. “Is it me you are concerned for, or the tapestry?”
“You. Both you and the tapestry. And, of course, Pavel,” she added.
“I come first?” he asked.
She did not think this was just one of Rotham’s flirtations. There was no teasing air about him tonight. He looked serious, almost tense with waiting for her answer. Yet with her knowledge of his character, she was too proud to tell him she cared for him. Perhaps he had looked like this when he kissed Trudie behind the lime tree.
“Just be careful.” She scowled.
“I am seldom careful,” he said, and with a reckless grin, he pulled her into his arms for a kiss that did not know the meaning of the word careful. It was a wildly passionate embrace that seared her lips and molded her body to his, there in the shadows. Her heart first fluttered, then wafted up to her throat, then slowed to a dull thud as the kiss deepened. She felt its throbbing pulse as his lips bruised hers and his arms crushed her ruthlessly, until she could scarcely breath.
What kind of fool was she? She had promised herself she would not fall in love with Rotham. But if this was not love, what was it? If anything happened to him, she would not want to go on living. She could not remember putting her arms around him, but when he lifted his head, she was clinging to him like a limpet.
“Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “Why did you do that?”
“Why do you think?” he asked in a husky voice. “Because I might never have a chance to do it again, and I could not die without kissing you, Miranda.”
“You have kissed me before. Did you forget?”
“That did not count. It was before I loved you. I do love you, my darling. Whatever happens—I love you.”
Then he was gone, before she could tell him she loved him, too. She peered from behind the trellis as he worked at the back door for a ridiculously short time. Then he and Pavel disappeared, and she stood, watching, too overcome with joy and fear to think.
Chapter Fifteen
Once inside the shed, Rotham and Pavel stopped and listened a moment before proceeding further. All was silent. The back door into the kitchen proved harder to open. Pavel held his pistol at the ready while Rotham worked at it with a chisel. The lock gave with a light metallic click, and the door swung open. They knew that Madame Lafleur did not have any live-in servants. She had a couple who cooked and cleaned and tended the garden, but returned home at night. She might have some cohort guarding the house tonight if she did indeed have the tapestry, however, so they proceeded quietly into the kitchen.
It was tidy, except for a cup and saucer and teapot on the counter by the sink. Madame had obviously made herself a cup of tea before retiring. Rotham noticed there was only one cup, which was a good sign. He touched the pot; it was cold. Louise had mentioned madame would take the first morning coach, which left at nine. That being the case, she would likely have her trunk ready and waiting to be picked up. He would try the front hall.
He went cautiously to the doorway. It was a swing door with no catch. He pressed it lightly and saw in front of him a hallway. In such a small cottage, the kitchen was on the same floor as the drawing and dining rooms. He stepped quietly along the hallway, past the staircase leading abovestairs, and along toward the front of the house.
The door to the street was visible; there was no trunk waiting beside it. Through the doorway on the left, he saw the outlines of a sofa, chairs, odd tables, and a grate. He tiptoed in and peered around. The trunk was not there either. It seemed it was still abovestairs, likely in madame’s bedroom, where she could keep an eye on it.
He and Pavel would have to arrange some sort of mask, perhaps using their cravats to cover their noses and mouths, with their hats pulled low over their eyes when they went upstairs, in case madame awoke and saw them.
Pavel tiptoed into the dining room. After a moment he reappeared. “Psst! Found her!” he hissed quietly. “Hidden under the table. I thought it odd there was no chair on one side. Come along.”
Rotham looked to the staircase. Finding no sign or sound of company, he went into the dining room. There, under the table, with a long tablecloth partially concealing it, sat a trunk. It pulled out quietly on the carpet. It was locked. Rotham did not want the bother of removing the trunk if it did not contain the tapestry. He applied his chisel again and lifted the lid. He knew as soon as he touched it that it was the tapestry. The cloth had the softness of bleached linen and age. He could feel the embroidery. He drew the trunk from the shadows closer to the window, to verify that it was indeed what he thought.
“What do we do?” Pavel asked. “Take the trunk, or just the tapestry?”
“We cannot carry a trunk on horseback. We just take the tapestry.”
He scooped his hands under it and lifted it out. It was bulky, but by putting it on his shoulder he managed to carry it.
“Close the trunk; push it back under the table. If she comes down to check, she will suspect nothing until morning,” he whispered.
Pavel did as he suggested, and they quietly retraced their route out the shed door. Miranda, watching from the shadows, saw them as soon as they came out the door. It looked as if Rotham was carrying an inert body over his shoulder. She ran forward.
“What have you done?” she demanded, aghast. “Surely you have not killed her!”
“Got the tapestry.” Pavel grinned.
She looked to Rotham’s face and saw Pavel’s reckless, triumphant grin mirrored there. “I knew you could do it!” she said.
His heart swelled at her praise. “It will be a deuce of a job getting it home. We ought to have brought the gig.”
“Or at least brought the mounts closer,” she added. He must be feeling the weight of his burden. “Let us go and get the mounts, Pavel,” she suggested. “Rotham cannot carry that all the way to the edge of town. You must hide until we return, Rotham.”
“Not so close to madame’s house. I shall move to the back of the garden.”
“We shan’t be long.” She and Pavel left, running, to get the mounts.
“Went off like clockwork,” Pavel crowed. “Could not have gone more smoothly if we had sat down and planned it for a fortnight. I am the one who found it.”
He entertained her with a recital of the adventure as they hastened to retrieve the mounts. They were soon back on Conduit Street. As th
e town was asleep, Rotham had decided to risk carrying the tapestry to the corner, to avoid the sound of horses going into madame’s yard.
“We should have brought an extra mount at least,” Miranda said, when they tried to arrange the tapestry in such a manner that it was safe, while still leaving room for a rider.
“I’ll tie it to your saddle, Miranda,” Rotham said. “You can ride with me.”
“How can I? There is only room for one saddle.”
“Hop up behind me and hold on tight.”
That was the way they returned to Ashmead. Pavel rode ahead, holding the lead to Miranda’s mount. Rotham and Miranda rode behind. She wrapped her two arms around his waist, happy for the excuse to be near him, holding him tightly, with her cheek resting against his back. Rotham held the reins with one hand. The other he placed over her hand, softly squeezing her fingers from time to time.
Miranda’s mind was free to roam. “Whatever happens—I love you,” he had said. And the very best had happened. They had recovered the troublesome tapestry without killing or hurting anyone else. Did he mean he wanted to marry her? Was it that kind of love, the kind she felt for him? She pictured a wedding, then raising their family. Her life would change, as Trudie’s had changed when she married Parnham. There would be Seasons in London, meeting new people, then returning to winter at Ashmead. It all seemed like a dream. Perhaps it was only a dream. She wished they could ride like this, silently through the moonlit night, till morning.
They passed no one during the whole trip. Later, when he was gone, she remembered that hour as a magical time set apart from reality—her holding onto Rotham, him fondling her fingers. It seemed as if fate had arranged it especially for them, as a small foretaste of what life might have been, if only ...
Too soon, they reached Ashmead. Pavel took the mounts around to the stable while she went with Rotham, who was carrying the tapestry, into the house. Boxer, wearing his coy smile, held the door for them. His eyes never strayed to the large object on Rotham’s shoulder as he greeted them, so well was he trained.
“I trust Miss Miranda enjoyed seeing the badgers?” he said.
“They were lovely, Boxer,” she replied, with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Will Lord Pavel be returning this evening, milord?” he asked Rotham.
“Presently. As you have waited up this long, you may as well stay another moment until he joins us.”
“A glass of wine while you wait, milord? Champagne, perhaps?” he suggested archly.
“What an excellent butler you are, Boxer. Champagne, by all means. We shall toast the badgers. But first I must go abovestairs a moment.”
He left, still carrying the tapestry over his shoulder. Miranda assumed he was reporting to his papa. He would check on Berthier as well, and hide the tapestry somewhere.
Pavel soon joined her, and behind him came Boxer carrying a tray with the champagne and glasses. Rotham remained abovestairs some ten minutes, discussing the matter with Hersham.
“So Madame Lafleur had it,” Hersham said. He was in bed, wearing his nightcap. “Not in it alone, though, do you think?”
“I shouldn’t think so. She was to join the Valdors in Brighton tomorrow. Either, or both, of them might have been involved.”
“It could have been the modiste woman—she is a Frenchie. We know nothing of her.”
“That is possible, but she is not going to Brighton, to the best of my knowledge. That is where the tapestry was headed, surely. It was Louise who suggested taking Madame Lafleur to Brighton to play propriety, yet I cannot see Louise wielding the knife that has put Berthier’s life at peril. That suggests a man. How is Berthier, by the bye?”
“The same. Slack is to notify me if there is any change. Louise Hartly never was any good. I disliked having her under my roof, but she is your mama’s cousin after all. She has a trivial turn of mind. I do not see her engineering the scheme, but she could play her part well enough.”
“If Berthier recovers, he could tell us a great deal.”
“Aye, and if he don’t, we may never know. I wonder what they will do when madame shows up in Brighton empty-handed. Perhaps she will not go. It might be best not to pursue the matter. You have got the tapestry back.”
“If it were only the tapestry, I would agree, but there is Berthier to consider. One of them tried to kill him—perhaps succeeded. I am not of a mind to let the perpetrator off scot-free, Papa.”
“Nor am I. There is nothing else to be done until morning, however. We shall have someone in Rye to see what madame does. Where will you put the tapestry tonight?”
“I plan to sleep with it.”
“There will be a new bed companion for you,” Hersham said with a scowling look.
When Rotham smiled, Hersham emitted a reluctant laugh. “Why could my first-born son not have taken after me, instead of Horatio?”
“I plan to improve, Papa.”
“Aye, my brother was used to say the same. There is no going against nature. But you are a good lad when all is said and done, Arthur.”
Papa had not called him Arthur since he had put on long trousers close to two decades ago. Rotham felt insensibly pleased. It seemed to acknowledge him as not only his papa’s heir, but his son.
“I shall let you get some sleep now,” he said, and left.
He stopped only to check on Berthier and have a word with Slack before returning belowstairs. He knew Slack would be waiting up to hear what happened.
“You got it back!” Slack exclaimed, when Rotham went to his room, still carrying the bulky bundle.
“As you see. I have to do a few things belowstairs. I shall leave it with you until I come up. How’s Berthier? Has he spoken?”
“Not a word, but his breathing is a mite stronger, I think.”
Rotham examined the pale face on the pillow. It was nearly as white as the linen. No, he could not let the matter rest just because he had recovered the tapestry. Berthier was a colleague, fast becoming a friend. It was not over yet. Justice demanded that someone pay for this. But there was one victory to celebrate, and he was eager to go to Miranda.
He found her sitting with Pavel, patiently waiting until he came to drink the champagne.
“You should not have waited for me,” he said, but he was pleased that they had.
“We want you to propose a toast,” she said, smiling a secret smile that acknowledged their new relationship. Yet the smile was tinged with uncertainty.
Pavel poured three glasses of wine and passed them around. “Shall we drink to recovering the tapestry?” he suggested.
“To the tapestry—and to us,” Rotham added, gazing at Miranda.
“To us,” Pavel echoed, and they all drank.
The ensuing conversation covered the same subjects Rotham had discussed with his papa and ended the same way. They would wait until tomorrow.
“You looked in on Berthier?” Pavel asked. Rotham nodded. “How is he?”
“Breathing a little easier.”
“Then I shan’t disturb Slack when I go up. I am for the feather tick. We will have an early morning. The first stage leaves at nine, but madame may shab off on us earlier when she learns her trunk is empty. I shall be in Rye at seven. Will you come with me, Sissie?”
She yawned into her fist.
“Miranda needs her beauty sleep. Either Slack or I will go with you,” Rotham replied.
Pavel had another glass of champagne and left.
“I wish it were all over,” Rotham said.
Miranda shook her head, “You will only fall into some other scrape when it is, Rotham. A tiger does not change his spots.”
“Stripes. Are you setting up in competition with Louise?” He set his glass and her own aside and took her hand. “This tiger has changed his stripes.”
“Oh, but I like you the way you are—just a little dangerous.”
“I will still be a tiger—just a tiger without quite such garish stripes. A more domestic breed of cat.”
He drew her to her feet. “How strange you should say so, when I feel a compelling need for domesticity.”
Then he lowered his head and kissed her in a perfectly tigerish manner. When he held her in his arms, he knew his wilder days were over. He had been tamed by love. He had foolishly mocked his friends who underwent this transformation, never realizing why, or how, they could do it. He knew now they had no choice in the matter. It just happened. Papa would say it was growing up. If this was growing up, he had no objection, or regrets.
Chapter Sixteen
Miranda slept in until nine after her late night. The sky was overcast, which made her think, when she first awoke at her regular hours, that it was earlier. She was surprised to see Pavel and Rotham in the breakfast room when she went downstairs.
“Did you decide to send Slack to Rye to watch Madame Lafleur?” she asked Rotham, after they had exchanged greetings.
“We have been and are back, sleepyhead,” Pavel told her.
She filled her plate at the sideboard and joined them. “What happened? Did she take the stage to Brighton?”
“Devil a bit of it,” Pavel said.
Rotham was frowning. He said, “She reported the break-in to the constable. The story in town is that someone broke in and robbed madame of her clothes last night. I had a word with her myself. She came running up to me with eyes as big as saucers to lament her loss.”
“Not a word about—anything else?” Miranda asked in perplexity.
“Not a word,” Rotham said. “She is either innocent, which suggests one of the Valdors put the tapestry in her trunk, or—”
“Or a cunning rogue and a dashed fine actress,” Pavel finished. “I would swear she had no notion what had really been in that trunk. Why would she make such a to-do of it if she was guilty? She would want to hush it up, would she not?”
“But it could not be the Valdors who put the tapestry in her trunk,” Miranda said. “Laurent and Louise had already left. You recall madame’s reason for going a day late was that she wanted Mademoiselle Chêne to finish her new gown so she could take it with her, presumably in her trunk. She would have seen the tapestry when she put the gown in.”
