A Lady in Disguise

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “My—my—”

  “Take a breath. Take your time.”

  “There is no time! My emeralds have been stolen!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Pardon me, sir,” Becksnaff said, appearing from nowhere, carrying a silver tray with a small bottle balanced upon it. Ever efficient, he placed the cut-glass vial beneath Lady Genevieve’s nose.

  Though she grunted and coughed, the water springing to her eyes, she rapidly recovered her indignation. ‘Take it away, you dreadful person, take it away!”

  “Very good, my lady.” Becksnaff bowed reverently and stood back, awaiting further instructions. Lillian saw the concern beneath his impassive exterior, betraying that the butler part of his personality did not command all of his human heart.

  “Now, Grandmother,” Thorpe said, “are you certain that your jewels have been stolen? Did you remember that we placed your jewel case in my room for safekeeping?”

  “Of course I remember. I’m not in my dotage yet, though the shock is enough to put me there. My maid and I went into your room to collect the case and to put my diamonds away. They do get heavy after a while.” The glittering stones no longer adorned her neck and wrists, and no rings but her wedding ring glinted on her fingers. “All the other pieces are still in their trays, but my emerald necklace is gone. Vanished! Stolen!” She frowned at Thorpe’s expression of kindly concern. “Cease staring at me as though I’ve lost my reason, if you please! Thorpe, you looked in the case before you slid it into your dresser drawer. The emeralds were there then.”

  “Yes, I remember seeing them.” Thorpe spoke slowly, as if he wished he could deny it.

  “Well, they are not there now.”

  “Where is the case?” he asked.

  “Still in your room. Since you so obviously are reluctant to believe me, perhaps you should look for yourself.” Lady Genevieve found the necessary strength to stand on her own, regarding her grandson with a displeasure nearly royal in its hauteur.

  “Very well. Grandmother, I’m sure I can set your mind at ease. I’ll leave Becksnaff with you, in case the thief is still on the premises.”

  ‘Take him along. You’ll have more need of him than I. Should the culprit dare to show his face to me, it is not I who’d require the assistance.” At that moment, Lillian felt nothing but respect for the older woman’s indomitable spirit.

  As soon as Thorpe had departed, though. Lady Genevieve tottered. Lillian hastened forward to support her. “Come and sit down, my lady,” she said, urging her toward a chair.

  “I’m perfectly well. It is only that I took those stairs like a mountain goat, and then Becksnaff waving that bottle at me. Ever since I was a girl, I have abominated sal volatile. Filthy stuff!” She wrinkled her nose and sneezed.

  “Bless you, my lady.”

  With a convulsive gesture. Lady Genevieve freed her arm from Lillian’s, as though only just aware that the girl touched her. She said, “Come, we’ll go up too. I want to hear Thorpe apologize for doubting my word.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to. The very idea of someone stealing from this house is fantastic ... but if you say it happened, I believe you.”

  “You are a sensible person. But then you are a woman and that makes for sense. But come. Let us go up.”

  The stairs tired Lady Genevieve. “Stairs are an invention of the devil. Why we cannot all remain on one floor.. . ?” In spite of her grumbles, she set off at a goodly pace down the long corridor the instant they reached the top.

  In his master’s bedchamber, Becksnaff stood discreetly out of the way. Thorpe stared at the opened satinwood case on top of his chest of drawers, his green eyes darkened by anger. He turned at the women’s entrance.

  “Forgive me for doubting you, Grandmother. I have never known you to be less than meticulous in putting away your jewelry. Yet these boxes are not in their proper order at all.”

  “How can you tell?” Lillian asked. Looking into the case, she saw that each set of jewelry had an open tray to itself. Together, the collection dazzled the eyes, but they did not seem to fit into the box in any certain way.

  Lady Genevieve said, “I am always careful that the sequence spells out my husband’s name. That way I am certain never to overlook anything.”

  “What was your husband’s name?”

  “Dermott.” Lady Genevieve marked off each word on her dry fingers. “Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, moonstones, opals, turquoise, topazes. Dermott always gave me extravagant presents; he deserves some commemoration.” She smiled as though in reminiscence. “How he loved to see me adorn myself! I remember how shocked Mr. Gainsborough was when Dermott suggested he paint me wearing my jewels alone—nothing else.”

  “Grandmother!” Thorpe said. Lillian could not believe he actually blushed. At first she thought it was because Becksnaff remained in the room, but then Thorpe flicked his eyes in her direction. Lillian turned scarlet for another reason, imagining herself wearing nothing save gold, soon warm against her skin, while Thorpe’s eyes grew large with wonder and delight.

  Thorpe said austerely, “If we may return to the matter at hand... ? It appears to me that the person who stole your necklace did not know precisely what he wanted, and considered many different pieces before seizing upon the emeralds.”

  “He certainly could have taken nothing that would hurt me more. Those stones had special meaning for me.’

  “We shall recover them,” Thorpe said sternly.

  “Sir,” Mr. Becksnaff began, “I wish to assure you that none of the staff—”

  “No need,” Thorpe interrupted, holding up his hand. “I know their value. Nevertheless, perhaps you could question them, to discover if anyone saw something suspicious tonight.”

  “I shall ask, sir, but I feel certain they were all too busy with the arrangements for this evening to have seen anything.” The butler bowed and departed.

  Lillian, unneeded at the moment, looked about Thorpe’s chamber. She was pleased by what she saw. Here was no spindly lacquer work lavished with gold, no crocodiles, no undraped Roman maidens. All was neatness and simplicity, the only gleam to distract the eye from the furniture’s noble lines that of old wood lovingly polished. The windows faced east, and Lillian thought of long lazy mornings with the sunlight streaming across the big bed, after its heavy satin curtains had been pulled back.

  Her hand brushed over the thick coverlet, as she enjoyed the cool smoothness of the fabric. Feeling eyes upon her, Lillian stayed her hand. As a blush mantled her cheeks, she met Thorpe’s gaze and felt that his thoughts moved along the same path as her own. She found herself recalling in complete detail the kiss they’d shared earlier. Aware that if not for Lady Genevieve, they might have continued to stare at one another until they moved into an inevitable embrace, Lillian felt strangely savage when her ladyship spoke, reminding Thorpe of her presence.

  “If it is not one of the servants, Thorpe—and I really don’t see how it could be, they’ve been with us so long—if it isn’t one of them that is the thief, it must be someone else. I think it is time you began considering who.”

  Mr. Grenshaw appeared in the doorway, yawning and running his hand through nearly nonexistent hair. “I say, what is this filthy row? Can’t a man sleep after dancing half the night? My feet ache and my head aches and now this! It’s much too much.” Tightening the belt of his dressing gown, he came farther into the room, shuffling in too-large slippers. He craned his neck to see past Thorpe’s shoulder. “What’s that? The old lady’s—I beg your pardon—Lady Genevieve’s jewel case?”

  He poked at the delicate opals with his blunt forefinger. “Pretty trinkets, those.”

  “I’m so pleased you approve of the St. Joye opals... the finest in existence save for those that belonged to the late queen of France, now in the hands of a certain upstart empress.” Lady Genevieve seemed to have lowered the temperature in her grandson’s room by more than a few degrees. Lillian wondered how the inadequately dressed Mr. Grenshaw sto
od it.

  “Something’s amiss, what?” Mr. Grenshaw said, raising his eyebrows at Thorpe.

  As though it were an effort to return his attention to anything as commonplace as a jewel theft, Thorpe said, “I’m afraid my grandmothers emerald necklace has gone missing.”

  “What? Lady Genevieve, is this true? Not that one you wore to dinner our first night? What a shame. Here, Ursula, a dreadful thing.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw, her head covered by a none-too-clean cap, peered around the door jamb. She waddled over to her hostess. “You poor, poor dear. Wouldn’t you like to have a lie down in my room until you feel more the thing? How devastating. You must feel simply wrung.”

  ‘Thank you. Fortunately, I have Miss Cole to rely on. Your arm, Miss Cole. Is there an empty chair?”

  Lillian offered her shoulder and arm at once. Yet, she ventured to whisper, “If you sit down, you’ll be trapped.”

  Already Mrs. Grenshaw was saying, “Yes, yes, sit down. I shall fetch you a nice hassock from my room, and a sip of water, and a bottle of smelling salts in case of faintness ... and... and ... perhaps some eau de cologne to soothe your forehead?”

  “Miss Cole, you are very impertinent,” Lady Genevieve murmured even as she raised her voice to say, ‘Thank you, Mrs. Grenshaw. I am quite recovered. Thorpe, hadn’t you better summon the constable?”

  “Oh, I say,” Mr. Grenshaw said hastily. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Do we not?” Lady Genevieve snapped. “Why not?”

  “You don’t want to call out the Runners on your friends, do you? Think it over, my boy. Not that I mean to darken anybody’s reputation, you know, but any of ‘em could have taken it. Stick in your pocket and no one a whit the wiser. Stands to reason, all the family and servants would be downstairs seeing to the rest of the guests, not hanging about up here.”

  “My friends?” Thorpe asked. “Are you suggesting that one of the guests I invited here tonight stole them?”

  “That’s right. Sending the constable around to talk to that lot of choice spirits about a jewel theft and you’ll find yourself in the briars soon enough. On the outs, at least, if not called out. Social what do you call it.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t risk that,” Mrs. Grenshaw said. “If you are not received anymore in the county, what will happen to poor Addy? She’s a young girl with a lifetime of Seasons and presentations to look forward to. If her father is put beyond the pale by his behavior...” She threw an arch look at Lillian, still standing close beside Lady Genevieve. “Society can be so very hard on a young girl,” Mrs. Grenshaw finished, sighing as though she already could see Addy, a shriveled old maid, longing for the lovers and laughter than never came because of her father’s social solecism in accusing his friends of theft.

  “I can’t do nothing!” Thorpe said.

  “I don’t see what you can do, my boy,” Mr. Grenshaw replied, giving another tug to the belt of his dressing gown. “You must think of the future. Besides, once the emergency is over, no doubt the thief will return the jewels, or something just as good. I feel absolutely certain that is his intention.”

  “What emergency?”

  “Whatever it is that forced him into stealing in the first place,” Mr. Grenshaw said, smiling at his former son-in-law.

  Smoothly, Mrs. Grenshaw added, “I don’t see why you are creating all this fuss about the neighbors, Claude. It’s perfectly clear to me who stole Lady Genevieve’s emeralds. Isn’t there someone not a hundred miles from here who was taken for poaching? It was very unwise of you, Thorpe, to leave him alone in the hall for so long.”

  Lillian thought it strange that Mrs. Grenshaw should be casting aspersions on the so-called poacher. Surely she must be aware that he was in fact a lieutenant named Gilbert, beloved of her niece. If she was not aware of these facts, was it Lillian’s place to inform the Grenshaws of the truth? Remembering that she held Nora’s confidence and that Nora was afraid of her relations, Lillian decided to hold her tongue until she could talk to Thorpe without witnesses. Until then, she felt certain she could trust him not to follow blindly the path the Grenshaws had drawn.

  Thorpe answered Mrs. Grenshaws complaints by saying, “He never was alone. Jack Price was with him, except when he came in search of me, and then the boy was watched over by one of the footmen.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw gave a little laugh at such naiveté. “Come now, don’t tell me you pay your servants so much that they would never look at a bribe. Why, that poacher would only need five minutes to come up here, rifle the case, and go down again. Did you search him when you returned to the house?”

  “Of course not.” Thorpe crossed the room and yanked on the bellpull beside his bed. “There’s only one fault in your theory, ma’am. The jewels are never kept in this room, save for occasional safekeeping. How could a stranger know anything about that?”

  “The footman told him ... or that gamekeeper of yours. I never trust my servants with the location of my jewels. Not even my maid.”

  “A simple matter,” Lady Genevieve murmured, “when you have no jewels worth the trouble. Even her wedding ring is naught but purest pinchbeck.”

  As Lillian choked on a laugh disguised as a cough, Becksnaff appeared in the doorway. His smooth hair was ruffled, betraying his inner concern. “You rang, sir?”

  “Yes. Would you mind escorting up here that young man Price found on the grounds? We've some questions to put to him.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Shouldn’t Nora be here?” Lillian asked involuntarily.

  “Nora? What on earth for?” Mrs. Grenshaw said. ‘The punishment of a common ruffian hardly concerns a delicately bred girl like Nora.”

  “Goodness, Mr. Everard isn’t going to punish anyone. At least I hope he will not.”

  “No, Miss Cole, I am no magistrate. I simply want to ask the boy whether he can throw any light on this subject.”

  “He’ll lie,” Mrs. Grenshaw said huffily. “I know the lower classes. They’ll say anything—anything at all—to get out of trouble. Why, my two maids lie persistently. You should hear them. This common fellow will tell some fantastic story of his absolute innocence, when 'tis plain as day he’s as guilty as the devil. You wait and see.”

  “No need to get nervous, Ursula,” her husband said, coming to stand close beside her. She was silenced as completely as if he’d put his hand over her mouth. Mr. Grenshaw glanced around, a most dubious expression of concern on his round face. “She’s been troubled by the servants before now, you know. She will befriend them, and then they take advantage of her good nature.”

  Mr. Becksnaff, appearing in the doorway, gave a most affronted cough. “The young gentleman to see you, sir.”

  Lady Genevieve repeated, only loud enough for Lillian to hear, “Young gentleman? Becksnaff has chosen sides.”

  To say that the poacher marched into the bedchamber would be to do him less than justice. He was a parade of one, the entire panoply of military history rolled into a single example, despite his lack of uniform. His shoulders were squared and his back was literally ramrod straight. Lillian had no doubt she stood in the presence of a future general, and she could have kissed him for joy. No one, looking at this young man, could suspect for an instant that he could ever be less than honorable.

  “Humph,” Mr. Grenshaw said, sneering. “No doubt the stones are still on him. He can’t have gotten rid of ‘em yet. Come on, Thorpe, you hold him and I’ll search him.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a blur of white and gold shooting like a comet into the room. Nora threw herself across her lover’s chest, crying out, “No! You shan’t touch him!” She glared at her uncle and aunt, saying, “I’m not afraid of you!”

  Her aunt stepped forward, and Nora shrunk back, her beautiful mouth twisting with fear. Mrs. Grenshaw hissed, “Stop making a fool of yourself! What will cousin Thorpe think?”

  The young lieutenant spoke. “I don’t see why she should care what he thinks.
I’m the only one she’s going to have to answer to from now on.” He had a slow, deep voice rather at odds with his slight appearance but well suited to a future leader of men.

  Nora glanced up at him adoringly, shaking back her loosened hair. His arm tightened about her waist as he dropped his head to kiss her.

  “Nora!” Mr. Grenshaw entered the lists. “Are you dicked in the nob? A common poacher!”

  “He’s not a poacher,” Nora declared, freeing her lips the necessary quarter inch in order to speak. “He’s a lieutenant in the army.”

  “That’s worse!” Mrs. Grenshaw advanced wearing a spurious smile. “Come now, my dear, you’re a trifle confused, that’s, all. You cannot have thought what marrying this fellow means. A life of hardship and strife. Following the drum may sound romantic, but... remember, you’ve a family to consider. Think of your sisters, so young and defenseless. What will your mother do, if you are married?”

  Nora visibly weakened. “I—I—” Another ardent kiss from her hero lent her strength. “My mother knows my heart. She thought I should meet cousin Thorpe, just to test the depth of my feelings for Gilbert. I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Thorpe. “You’re very kind, but I can’t marry you.”

  “My sweet child,” he answered, “you’ll have to give me your pardon, but I don’t recall asking you to marry me. You’re quite lovely, but my tastes have changed since I fell in love with Emily.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw screamed, no thin screech, but a true shriek as though someone had snatched a bright toy from a spoiled brat. Mr. Grenshaw said, “Now then, Ursula,” and fell to patting his wife’s plump shoulder.

  Lillian saw that he did not seem in the least crestfallen, but on the whole appeared rather smug. She wondered if he happened to know that the lieutenant stood in line for some inheritance or other. Mr. Grenshaw had the appearance of a man with a contingency plan. Perhaps he knew of yet another way that Thorpe Everard might be coined into gold.

  Lady Genevieve said, “Well, this has been an entertaining interlude but we must return to our muttons. Namely, what has happened to my emerald necklace?”