The Case of the Puppet Constable (A Justice and Miss Quinn Mystery Book 2)

by Felicia Rogers

  “You are a smart woman, Miss Quinn. You knew from the moment we were introduced. Your father has been less than discreet in his pursuit of your future husband.”

  She groaned. So the rumors were true. Father was interviewing eligible males.

  Kenelm laughed but quickly covered it with a cough. However, the damage was done. Heat flushed her cheeks. Father would be appalled by her behavior. Would Kenelm tattle?

  “Your secret dislike for your father’s overbearance will not be revealed by me. I have my own issues.”

  “A parent?” He did seem to understand her plight.

  “Aye. My mother. She expects grandchildren posthaste. Now that I’ve been knighted she believes I’m an extraordinary catch and should have no problems securing a mother for said grandchildren. She has never been more wrong.” He studied the interior of his cup, his brows drawn downward. She caught the hint of worry in his tone. She understood. How could she not? Father was at her constantly to marry.

  The study door rattled. Lenoir peeped around the corner. “Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you have a note.”

  “Me?”

  Lenoir nodded.

  Magnolia rose and Kenelm jumped to his feet. “I’ll only be a moment. Feel free to replenish your cup.”

  “Very well.”

  At the front door a young man handed over a paper in exchange for a shiny new coin. The fresh paper was stiff as she broke the seal and unfolded it.

  A theft has occurred at the home of Basil Thornton. I request your presence immediately. JB

  Magnolia bristled. He’d run away as quickly as prudence would allow and now he’d gone and found another way to pull her out again.

  “My lady?”

  “Lenoir, grab my pelisse and my hat. Apparently my immediate presence is required.”

  “And what of Sir Kennaway?”

  “I’d love to join you.” She started to protest but he added, “Perhaps it will assist you to be seen in public with another. Your father and all.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic at least not with Lenoir about. “Very well.”

  They strode to the curb and she hailed a hackney. Justin could bring them home. She had no desire to have a stable hand ready a carriage and explain the matter as to why.

  The driver took to the streets like a wild man sending refuse into the air that descended on pedestrians in a noxious spray and caused a hailstorm of foul language.

  “I’m glad to be within.” Magnolia clasped the seat as they sped around a bend.

  “As am I.”

  Kenelm peered out the window. He was an attractive man. Dark brown hair curled at the nape of his neck and his hazel-colored eyes were filled with mirth and warmth. Her father could have done worse for her. She bit her lip to hold back her sigh. As pleasant as the knight was, he wasn’t Justin. Justin with his thick, wavy blond hair and his dark brown eyes.

  “Comparing us?”

  She’d been caught. “I beg your pardon?” Did her voice quiver?

  “Miss Quinn, this is not the first time I’ve been in the presence of a beautiful woman who pined for another.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Sir Kennaway.”

  His chagrined expression bothered her. “I’m afraid it is all too true.”

  Soon the hackney screeched to a halt. Kenelm climbed out and assisted her descent. His hands spread the width of her waist. Heat flushed her cheeks and she stepped back shakily as the hackney pulled away. She lost her balance and would have tumbled into the street had Kenelm not grabbed her pelisse and jerked her forward against his chest. Her heart beat with his. Did her reaction mean something? Could she have feelings for the handsome knight?

  He smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  She swallowed and nodded, her tongue too tied to speak.

  He looked over her shoulder, his well-shaped brows dipped into a frown. “I should report that driver.”

  “N-No, not yet.” Her legs wobbled and she feared kissing the earth if he released her.

  He looked at her. “As you wish. But if I may not report the driver then at least allow me to escort you inside.” Without waiting for an answer he wrapped their arms and they made a slow trek along the Thornton walkway.

  She shot sly glances toward the knight but he didn’t seem to notice. Her feelings toward the gent had changed in an instant. Was she so fickle that she could cast Justin aside after one simple rescue? Was that really what she was about?

  ****

  Emmett stared at his blank paper. He should be describing the crime scene and taking notes, but he couldn’t. He’d seen the calling card of his benefactor as soon as he’d entered the premises.

  The branded symbol, that resembled an eight, had been emblazoned in the wall precisely at the upper right corner of where the painting should have been.

  When he arrived he’d walked the Thornton home alone. He’d found the mark and immediately smeared it with his thumb. He’d just finished his task when Justin Blackmoor arrived.

  Why had the gent been called anyway? Probably because word of his involvement with Tyrrel’s capture had spread. Hesper would be the culprit. The young lady would want her future husband to be in the limelight.

  “What have you found, Constable Roskin?”

  “I’ve found what I expected. A missing painting and no evidence.” At least none I’m sharing with you.

  “Hmm. Well we know it cannot be the work of Polidor Tyrrel. So either someone is taking his place or he was never the lead man on the job.”

  Emmett’s throat seized. He’d known Tyrrel wasn’t the one ultimately responsible. The fellow was a scapegoat for Emmett’s benefactor. But if his benefactor was arrested, then his employment as constable might cease to exist and he’d go back to what he was before. A nobody. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d hidden the mark. What more could he do to throw Mr. Blakemoor off the trail?

  The door to the library opened. Magnolia Quinn and a fancy young gentleman entered. He’d not expected to see Miss Quinn again. She’d agreed to keep her name out of the papers for fear of her father discovering her pastime as a detective. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

  “Constable Roskin, pleasure seeing you here. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Sir Kenelm Kennaway.”

  He held out his hand. He couldn’t be impolite in his position, but now a knight was becoming involved? The burning in his throat increased. “Nice to meet you, Sir Kennaway. What brings you to Basil Thornton’s home?”

  The knight twisted toward Miss Quinn. “I’m just escorting the young lady. I believe she received a telegram seeking her presence.”

  The knight sent a scathing look in the direction of Mr. Blakemoor. So a rivalry was set. Interesting development. This he could definitely use to his advantage.

  “Yes, I sent for Miss Quinn. Her expertise was invaluable in catching Tyrrel and I’d like her opinion on the Thornton matter.”

  “And what are you doing here, Mr. Blakemoor? Isn’t it the Constable’s job to investigate crimes?”

  Emmett would have cheered the knight if it wouldn’t have drawn attention.

  Mr. Blakemoor tensed. So the blood between the two was bad. He’d make a wager that Miss Quinn was the issue between them. She was an attractive woman although without title.

  “Why I’m here because I was asked by Mr. Thornton. So as I see it the only one uninvited is you.”

  The two men drew closer. It was as if steam came from their nostrils. He expected to see the gloves come off and the fists go up, but Miss Quinn stepped between them. A pity really. He’d have wagered heavily on the knight.

  “Gentlemen, I believe that Mr. Thornton has lost a valuable piece of art and we owe it to him to help procure it.” She faced Mr. Blakemoor. “What do you know?”

  Emmett stepped forward. “The piece was a portrait of his grandmother on the moors. He claims it only held personal sentiment and no real monetary value.”

&
nbsp; “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Thornton?” She glanced around the room.

  “I believe he is in the parlor attempting to console his wife. She is most distressed that the removal of the painting has exposed the age of the wall.”

  Miss Quinn studied the black space and cocked her brow. “I see.”

  Did she really see? Had he not smudged the evidence enough?

  ****

  Justin withheld his laughter at Magnolia’s quizzical facial expression. It was obvious she withheld her own mirth. He moved his gaze toward her companion and his lips drooped. Why had she brought him? Of course he had left her with the knight, but when the note arrived he’d been sure she would leave her companion at the townhome with her father. Investigating was their thing and not something he wished to share no matter how willing he’d been to share the puppet discovery.

  She held tight to Sir Kennaway’s arm as he escorted her behind the constable toward the parlor. He waited just a moment because he planned to search the area without Roskin’s watchful eye. The voices faded. He cracked the door and peeked at the empty hallway. He didn’t know whether to be happy or upset that Magnolia wasn’t returning for him.

  He shook off the feeling and headed back to the wall.

  His toe struck a wooden stool. He bent to massage the throbbing appendage. Dust on the floor had been disturbed. So the stool had been moved recently. He placed the stool where the dust streaks ended and climbed atop to look around. The room appeared the same and he stepped down. The wall, where the painting had once hung, was indeed discolored. It must not have been moved since its original placement.

  He ran his hands over the wall planks. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a slight bowing but nothing more. He bit his lip. What was he missing?

  He returned the stool and made his way to the parlor. He wouldn’t want to be missed, or maybe he would. He leaned against the doorjamb. Magnolia had taken a seat on the longue opposite the bereaved couple. She hinged forward and patted the weeping lady’s hand. He couldn’t have been prouder.

  “Mr. Thornton, I’m an acquaintance of Mr. Blakemoor and he requested that I ask you a few questions about your missing painting.”

  An acquaintance? Is that what they were? Perhaps that was all she wanted to be. He’d waited too long to speak with her father. Was it too late to do so now? Was the knight already entrenched in her life? Would she prefer someone with title and prestige?

  Mr. Thornton nodded. “Then I thank you for coming.”

  “Tell me about the painting.”

  Magnolia palmed her chin. An unladylike pose that he found endearing. Wonder what the knight thought?

  “The painting depicted my grandmother standing on the moors. Nothing more to it. It is, or was, only valuable to my family.”

  “The frame, what was it made of?”

  He almost smacked his forehead. He should have thought to ask that.

  Mr. Thornton shrugged. “Naught but wood that was painted.”

  Magnolia tapped her finger to her parted lips, causing a slight increase in his heart rate. “Hmm, and what about the artist?”

  Again, he should have asked that. The knight was ruining his concentration.

  “I believe it was John Singleton Copley. He’d painted mostly in America, but he did visit London, I presume, on holiday and while here he opened a studio. It was not well known that he’d painted her portrait. In fact, my grandmother didn’t tell people because he was an American and she feared their disdain.”

  Magnolia pursed her lips. “John Copley is a famous artist and he is considerably older. Perhaps the painting was taken for this reason.”

  “Perhaps but only family and staff knew of the painting’s existence. We didn’t talk about it, as my husband said, because of the artist.” Mrs. Thornton sniffed.

  “Has anyone new been in the library recently?”

  Magnolia was on fire.

  The line of Mrs. Thornton’s shoulders tensed. Had Magnolia noticed? Should he step in and continue the line of questioning?

  “Mrs. Thornton? Do you have something you want to add?”

  “I-I—” She glanced at her husband then covered her mouth and wept louder.

  Mr. Thornton moved to crouch before her. “Don’t fear, my love. You can tell me.”

  She wiped her tears and shrugged. “After the parlor was redecorated I had a small tea party in the room.” She looked at them. “But it was just my closest of friends. We didn’t even look at the painting, just enjoyed tea and cakes.”

  “At any time did you leave the room?”

  Now Sir Kennaway was asking questions! The fellow would cause him to lose his reputation!

  “I-I think so, but I don’t remember. Oh it was ages ago. How could someone who attended have taken the painting this long afterward?” Mrs. Thornton blinked.

  Justin stepped forward and took the lady’s hand. “I don’t know, but we are going to find out.”

  Chapter Four: The Estate

  They left the constable with the Thorntons and returned to Magnolia’s home. He’d had misgivings about leaving the constable, especially since they were worried about his involvement with a secret patron, but he was more worried about leaving Sir Kennaway alone with Magnolia. Already the fellow was asserting authority by asking questions of Mrs. Thornton, how dare he.

  “I say you allow me to help.”

  The knight leaned back and crossed his legs, his arm stretched out along the sofa. He looked extremely comfortable. How had he gotten so comfortable in Magnolia’s home so quickly? Perhaps it was easier when you knew the woman’s father preferred you over others for his daughter.

  “And exactly what would you do for us?” The sherry sloshed into his glass. Could he get away with drinking multiple glasses? He needed it.

  “Why, I could offer my home. The thieves are obviously local people who investigate the homes they steal from. I’ll throw a vast party and invite everyone who is in town. I’ll have my art showcased and make sure to either ignore it or share it, whatever you think will get the most attention, and then we’ll wait for the thief or thieves to show themselves. Simple.”

  Magnolia bit her lip. She was actually considering the notion! How could she even think this would be a good plan? Justin swallowed the sherry in one gulp and poured another glass. Perhaps he was being overly worried for nothing. Magnolia was nothing if not practical.

  “It is a good plan.”

  His heart almost stopped.

  “It would allow us to have everyone under the same roof. But might I suggest that we invite the constable as well. We will need to keep a good eye on him. I have a feeling that evidence was tampered with before our arrival and that can only be because the constable has an inkling as to who is involved and is trying to protect him. We mustn’t forget the puppet. Someone is controlling our dear constable. And he may or may not know who it is.”

  “I agree.” He’d hated to say the words, but what choice did he have really? The plan was sound. Use Kennaway’s prestige and wealth to lure in the thieves. If they could but catch the perpetrator, then perhaps he could remove Sir Kennaway from his ladylove’s life forever.

  ****

  Green moss covered the drab grayish stones. Kudzu wrapped around the castle corners. Misty fog settled over the place. Mysterious. It was perfect for their plan.

  Justin drew back from the window. Sir Kenelm Kennaway sat across from him. Magnolia was at the gentleman’s side. He was miffed. Given the opportunity she’d chosen another over him. Would it always be that way?

  Kennaway had a penchant for affection. Often his hand would encroach upon her arm, or his eye would draw to the dip of her gown. The uncouth nature of the gent reminded him of one raised in a barn, not a castle.

  Ah, the castle. He would be forced to stay inside the dreary home and play the façade of happy visitor all while secretly wishing to whisk Magnolia away to a hidden villa and reveal his true feelings—feelings he’d held since they first met as ch
ildren.

  The landau hit a hole and Magnolia flew forward. With ease he shifted along the bench and she landed in his lap. Strands of her reddish brown hair fell forward, blocking her sparkling green eyes. Heat infused his thighs. His hands burned as he lifted her from his lap and set her beside him—where she should’ve been the entire time. He removed silken strands of hair from her face. “Are you injured?”

  “Nay.”

  Red flooded her cheeks and he resisted the urge to touch her further. “Where are you hurt?” If they’d been alone he would have rubbed his hands along her arms and searched for injuries or perhaps cupped her cheek. If consequences for touching her were marriage, then he’d gladly accept.

  Kennaway scooted forward. “Yes, are you hurt? If you can hold out until we reach my home then I shall have Hamen, my personal physician, look you over.”

  The knight just had to insert his superiority—personal physician indeed.

  “It is naught but my pride.” She straightened her gown. Her shoulder brushed against him and she didn’t cringe. He fought a satisfied smile. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

  “Sir Kennaway, I thank you for the use of your home, but I fail to see how this plan will reveal the culprit who assisted Tyrrel.”

  She was changing the subject from her personal embarrassment; he would accept it and help her.

  “Let me explain.” Justin wouldn’t allow the knight to steal all the glory. He had supplied the castle, after all. Justin faced her. “We’ve invited several important individuals from London, including the constable, to join us here for a fortnight. During that time Kennaway will display, rant, gloat, boast, however you wish to proclaim it, about his vast art collection and we will ferret out the thieves and thereby discover who controlled Tyrrel and continues to control the constable.”

  She bit her lip. An action that showed she was concentrating as well as drawing his ungentlemanly attention.

  “Do you think it’ll be enough?”

  Kennaway lay against the plush leather seat. A grin split his wide mouth. “Absolutely. If the art doesn’t draw their attention, then my second plan is sure to.”