Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  It took a moment for Goldie to remember. “Fustilarian?”

  “Yes! Fustilarian!”

  Lucille and Clara blanched simultaneously. “Saber, I cannot believe you are speaking in such an impolite fashion!” Clara said.

  Aunt Lucy shook her head. “Oh, Saber. For shame.”

  “Bloody fustilarian!” Saber gave an almost imperceptible wink to his aunts, who both restrained from scolding him for his rude language.

  “Do you really think some fella saw me from the window or when I was outside? Goldie looked at the three people staring at her. “Do you really think he might have...liked me?” she asked disbelievingly.

  “Liked you?” Saber snapped. “Goldie, it’s obvious he spent a veritable fortune on all these gifts! I believe it’s quite safe to say he’s enamored of you! And as Aunt Lucy said, it is painfully apparent that he has been examining you extremely closely! For him to know your size, he had to have—”

  “Saber, you are shouting,” Clara said. “Remember yourself.”

  Goldie saw Saber’s distress. It made her feel terrible to know he was so upset, and she tried to think of how to soothe him. But as the seconds passed, and she continued pondering his extreme irritation, she decided it wasn’t the most awful thing she’d ever seen before. In fact, it made her giddy with pleasure! Saber was acting jealous! Even if he wasn’t real jealous, it was obvious he was a little bit!

  It was the first time in her life a man had felt that way about her.

  She smiled, feeling a touch of smugness. Oh, it was wonderful, this small power she had over Saber! And to think someone out there in that great big world actually thought her worthy of such beautiful gifts... Well, it was just the most astonishing and wonderful thing that had ever happened to her! “Now, Saber, you just have to grit your teeth and bear this,” she told him crisply, gathering a multitude of gowns in her arms. “It’s not like I’m gonna marry the man, y’know. I don’t even know who he is!”

  “Well, that doesn’t change the fact that he sent you all these presents,” Saber complained, loving every second of pretending he was jealous. “The man is obviously trying to win you over before ever even meeting you!”

  “I didn’t set out to make him—To make him...”

  “Enamored,” Saber supplied.

  “Enamored. He just saw me, got enamored, and that was that,” she told him flippantly.

  “Really, Saber,” Clara admonished, trying not to smile, “control yourself.” She rang the bell that brought the servants back. “Take these packages upstairs to Miss Mae’s room,” she instructed them when they arrived. “And Goldie, you go, too. Lucille and I will be right behind you.”

  Saber chuckled quietly when Goldie swept past him, her nose tilted to the ceiling.

  “Do you think we fooled her?” Lucille asked when Goldie was gone.

  “Completely,” Saber said. “She’s quite gullible, which is an aspect of her character that I happen to like very much.”

  “However did you manage to visit the seamstresses, shoemakers, and jewelers without being seen all over town, Marion?” Lucille queried. “I realize Lord Chittingdon has already seen you, but it seems to me that you would want to avoid being seen again. After all, one of your acquaintances might be inclined to follow you here.”

  Saber remembered all the darting around he’d done. All the clandestine meetings he’d held with the men and women who’d made Goldie’s wardrobe. That, combined with the nagging impatience he felt over not having heard from Tyler Escott, had made the past few days extremely difficult ones. “It wasn’t easy, but I managed.”

  Clara beamed. “It has finally happened. You cannot know how long I have hoped and prayed that you would fall in love again, Marion. And Goldie is such a fine girl. Granted, she is a bit unpolished here and there, but Lucille and I will see to that.”

  Saber tapped his fingers upon the sofa arm. “Do not polish her so completely that there is nothing left of her,” he said, a note of warning in his voice. “I love her because of the way she is, not for what she could be. I’ll not have the two of you turning her into one of those pretentious women I abhor.”

  Clara sighed. “You would do well to leave her to us, Marion. We—”

  “I know what I love about Goldie, and I mean for her to stay the way she is,” he stated in a voice that dared his aunts to argue.

  “Very well,” Clara said. Taking Lucille’s arm, she led her sister out of the drawing room. “Marion is right, you know, Lucille,” she admitted as they swept into the entryway and headed for the staircase. “We can and should teach Goldie good manners, but her natural exuberance should not be tampered with. Let us be careful. However, as for the way those two look at each other... Don’t you think we should keep a closer eye on them? There is a strong attraction between them,” she hinted quietly, blushing.

  “Yes, I’ve noticed it also, Clara,” Lucille said, twisting her bracelet. “Not that there is anything wrong about a handsome man and a beautiful girl being attracted to each other, but—Well, you are quite right, sister. We mustn’t allow them to lose their heads. We are, after all, their chaperones. As such, it is our obligation to see that strict morals are upheld.”

  “I don’t imagine we will have much success with our Marion, though. He has been well out of our reach for years. Goldie, however, is in our hands. We will teach her about what is allowed and what isn’t, and then Marion will have no other choice but to respect her wishes.”

  Lucille nodded in absolute agreement, then began to dwell on the afternoon’s activities. “Goldie truly loves the gifts. It did my heart good to see the happiness in her eyes. She’s really such a lovely person, Clara.”

  “I must admit I was distressed when Marion would not allow us to help him choose the gifts. But he really did a splendid job by himself. Everything he picked out suits Goldie’s coloring and small stature. What a clever idea he had taking her frock and a pair of her shoes with him to the seamstresses and shoemakers. They used the dress and shoes to determine her sizes, you know.”

  “I know. And I confess it was terribly difficult keeping a straight face when she discovered the dress and shoes were missing,” Lucille said, smiling. “I even pretended to help her look for them!”

  Clara laughed. “But did you notice, Lucille, that there was one thing missing from the wide assortment of gifts he bought for her?”

  “What is that?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not our Marion’s fault,” Clara said as they reached the upper landing and turned down the hallway. “It’s not his place to—Well, what I mean to say, Lucille—Marion is a man. He cannot be expected to consider such a thing. But the dressmakers should have thought of it.”

  “Clara, whatever are you talking about?”

  “My dear Lucille, not a single one of the dozens of boxes Goldie opened contained a thread of underwear!”

  * * *

  Dusk had fallen before Tyler was able to get away from Asa Mae long enough to scurry behind the dense hedgerows on the outskirts of Hallensham. “Damn the man!” he cursed to Ingram, one of the detectives who’d accompanied him to Ravenhurst. “What the hell is his problem? He follows me around like some overgrown, adoring puppy! I could understand his attachment to me if he knew about my connection with his niece in London, but he knows nothing at all about that! And he’s not at all the drunken ogre Lord Tremayne described him to be. I almost wish the man would drink! Drink himself into oblivion so I could carry on my investigation without him acting like my second shadow!”

  Ingram smiled, hunkering down beside his employer. “From what I’ve noticed, sir, Asa Mae doesn’t have many friends here. Besides the dwarf, no one pays much attention to him. Since you were very polite to him when we arrived, I imagine he sees you as someone with whom he could possibly strike up a friendship.”

  Tyler muttered another curse and looked through the branches of the hedgerow. He had a perfect view of the Tremayne manor house. “There she is, going into
the house again. Dora Mashburn. During what free time Asa has allowed me, I’ve been watching her. It’s all a lie, Ingram. Hutchins is not sick in his bed. He’s not even here.”

  Ingram watched Dora disappear into the mansion. “How do you know?”

  “Dora’s been in and out of the house, but the only room she ever bothers to illuminate is that one she’s lighting up now. Judging by its location, I know full well it’s not a bedroom. If Hutchins were sick, he’d be in a bedroom. Dora is only visiting the mansion to keep the villagers from guessing Hutchins is gone.”

  “She did act rather queer when Dickinson and I told her we wanted to speak to the estate manager about employment.”

  “Well, she hasn’t seen me yet. I’m going up there to talk to her. You and Dickinson continue chatting with the villagers. I realize they’ve told us naught so far, but it’s important to keep trying. Maybe one of them will remember something. And for God’s sake, keep that Asa Mae character from looking for me. The last thing I need is for him to interrupt my time with Dora.”

  When Ingram was gone, Tyler took a moment to concentrate on his plan, then walked to the house. As he reached it, an old woman waved to him from the yard. He returned her greeting, and knocked on the door.

  Dora opened it. “Who are ya, an’ wot do ya want? I’ve got a sick man ter care fer, an’ I can’t be bothered now.”

  Tyler removed his hat and bowed his head. “You must be Lady Hutchins,” he said, taking hold of her hand and pressing his lips to it. He saw no ring on the fingers he held to his mouth, nor did he see one on her other hand.

  Dora blushed with pleasure. “Yes,” she said, pulling back her shoulders, “I’m Lady Hutchins. Wot can I do fer ya?”

  Tyler smiled. “My name is Mr. Tyler. I’m aware that Lord Hutchins isn’t here. You see, I’ve been sent by him, milady. May I come in?”

  Dora hesitated. “Do ya have a message fer me?”

  Tyler prayed his plan would work. It was risky at best, but it was the only one he had. “I’m to see to the master bedroom, milady. Lord Hutchins said that for the past five years, you’ve been wanting to redecorate it.” Tyler’s palms began to perspire as he waited for her reaction.

  Dora’s entire face lit up. She pulled him into the house. “Oh! Yes! Did ya bring all the materials with ya? Can I see—”

  “Oh, no, milady. I must do much concentrating before we get to that point. For today I will see the room. Study it. Take measurements. Will you take me to it?”

  Once in the bedroom, Tyler pretended to examine its size. “It’s an impressive room. Perfect for a duke and his duchess.”

  Dora affected an imperious nod. “I want wallpaper. Lots o’ rugs. An’ all new furniture. I hate this wot’s in here.”

  Tyler took out his notepad, jotting down her instructions. He knew by the look on her face that she could read nothing at all of what he wrote. The knowledge gave him an idea. “You hate the furniture?” he asked, ambling to the superbly carved desk by the window. He opened a few of the drawers, smiling when he saw the many papers inside. “Ah, yes. I can see why you don’t care for it. It’s cheaply made. The drawers squeak terribly.”

  He scanned the papers on the tops of the piles, his eyes drawn to a soiled scrap. Hiding his actions from Dora, he picked it up and read the name written on it. Diggory Ferris. Where had he heard that name before? Something began to nag at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t understand what it was.

  “Wot are ya doin’ with milord’s things?” Dora blurted.

  Deftly, Tyler slipped the scrap into his pocket and picked up another paper. “What a beautiful name you have, Lady Hutchins.”

  “Wot makes ya say that?” Dora asked, joining him at the desk.

  Tyler showed her the paper. “This appears to be a love letter. Angelica. Yes, what a beautiful name. Forgive me for reading this, milady, but I confess to being a romantic at heart, and I don’t remember ever having read anything so romantic. Lord Hutchins must love you very much.”

  Dora stiffened, her face wrinkling into lines of rage. “Wot’s the letter say?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Oh, you mean he hasn’t given it to you yet? Perhaps I should return it to the drawer and— Good heavens!” he said, lifting another stack of papers from the drawer. “Look at all these love letters! Why, they date back to some five years ago!”

  “Read one,” Dora ordered.

  Tyler looked at a bill for farm equipment. “My darling Angelica,” he pretended to read. “Before knowing you, my life was dismal and empty. I searched long and hard for a woman like you. You fill my every thought, and you must know, my darling, that Dora will never take your place in my heart. She is but a willing wench from the village, unfit to be under the same roof as you. It is you I love, Angelica. You, always and for—”

  “That bleedin’ bastard,” Dora hissed. “Friggin’—”

  “Lady Hutchins!” Tyler exclaimed, feigning horror. “What a thing to say about your own husband! Look at all these beautiful letters he’s written to you! For five whole years he’s been pouring his heart out to you—”

  “Not to me. I’m Dora. Dora Mashburn,” she cried, losing all control and sobbing into her hands. “And he ain’t me husband! He’s done me wrong from the very beginnin’, he has! A couple o’ nights ago, he even called me by her name! I fergave him. I always fergave him, but the letter ya read—All those letters—They prove wot he really thinks o’ me, they do!”

  Tyler allowed her to cry for a moment longer, then put his hand on her shoulder. “But he must have changed his mind about you, Dora. He did, after all, send me to redecorate your bedroom, did he not?”

  Sniffling, Dora looked up from her hands. A shred of hope came to her. “Did he say wot colors ter do it in?”

  “Oh, he did indeed. His orders were that I was to do the entire room in your very favorite shades—green and gold.”

  Dora staggered backward, wailing loudly. “But I wanted crimson an’ white! Green an’ gold be her colors, not mine! Her! Always her!”

  “Angelica?” Tyler pressed.

  Dora shook violently. “He’s always pretendin’ she’s still alive! He shuts his eyes an’ makes believe I’m her!”

  “Are you saying this Angelica woman died?”

  “Fell down the stairs one night an’ broke her bleedin’ neck!”

  “Oh, how dreadful.”

  “It weren’t dreadful! It were a blessin’! I hated her on sight the day she got here! She lost her ring, an’ she said I took it! I never even saw the flamin’ thing! Well, dead’s wot she is now, an’ I’m glad!”

  “Oh, my! I certainly hope you didn’t have to witness her death!”

  Dora clenched her fists. “I weren’t here in the house when she fell. It was me mum’s birthday that night, an’ we gave her a party in the village. Angelica died whilst the party was goin’ on. But I can tell ya that if I’d been here, I’d have cheered when the bitch took her last breath!”

  The birthday party. Comprehension dawned on Tyler. It clearly sounded as if Dora was innocent. At any rate, it would be easy enough to see if many of the villagers remembered seeing her at her mother’s birthday party on the night of Angelica’s death. If so, she’d have an ironclad alibi. Still, he mused, she might be able to tell him something. “Oh, miss, please forgive me for distressing you so. I didn’t mean to do this at all. I’m well aware that discussing Lord Hutchin’s betrayal must be agonizing for you. But look at it this way. He got his just desserts when he found that Angelica woman with her neck broken. Surely the pain he must have felt at seeing her lying there—”

  “He didn’t find her,” a man said from the doorway. “I did.”

  Tyler recognized him immediately. “Doyle,” he said tonelessly, glancing at the gun the man held in his hand.

  “It’s been a long time, Escott,” William Doyle said, walking into the room. “The last time I saw you...it was at a dinner party, was it not?”

  Dora wiped her
tearstained face with the back of her hand. “Mr. Doyle, wot are ya doin’ here? An’ wot are ya doin’ with that gun?”

  “I only just arrived,” William explained to her. “And it would seem I got here just in time. Now step away from Mr. Escott, Dora.”

  “Mr. Escott?” Dora repeated, confused. “This is Mr. Tyler. Dane sent him to redecorate.”

  “Sent him?” Doyle demanded. “Dane’s not here? Where is he?”

  Dora’s eyes narrowed with anger. “I heard him tell the coachman ter take him ter London. But I don’t know wot kind o’ business the bastard has there,” she spat.

  At Dora’s announcement, Tyler scowled. Dane Hutchins was in London. So were Lord Tremayne and Goldie Mae. Tyler felt a deep wave of apprehension.

  Doyle gritted his teeth. He’d come to Ravenhurst to dispose of Dane, and the idiot wasn’t here! Dammit, what was the imbecile doing in London? He struggled with his fury, realizing he had to concentrate on the problem at hand—Tyler Escott. He’d deal with Dane as soon as Tyler was out of the way. And he’d have to kill Dora, too. She’d seen and heard entirely too much for his liking.

  “Dora, this man is Tyler Escott,” he explained. He walked to Tyler and quickly found the gun in Tyler’s belt. Tossing it across the room, he backed away again. “Escott is a detective, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’s here on Tremayne’s orders. You are about to die with him, my dear.”

  Dora’s mouth opened to emit a silent scream before she crumpled to the floor.

  Tyler realized she’d fainted. He looked back up at Doyle. As he did so, he saw a shadow move in the hallway, and knew one of his men had come. He must have seen Doyle arrive. Tyler almost smiled. “So you found Angelica’s body. That means Hutchins is the one who pushed her down the staircase.”

  Doyle sneered. “Why are you so certain she didn’t fall all by herself? She was wearing a long night rail, and it was dark. She might have tripped.”

  “She didn’t trip, and you know it.”