The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  There was still the possibility lurking at the back of Caroline’s mind that Martin himself was responsible for trying to break into the safe, or for deliberately allowing a thief access to the house, but she could not believe he would be so dishonest. He was lazy, except for his care of the horses, but Mr Wishaw would not have kept him on for years if there had been any worse failings. It must be Grison, she thought, and since he and Martin cordially disliked each other, it seemed most likely that Martin was guilty of nothing worse than blabbing secrets and dropping the key.

  The pretty silver box was locked away in the bottom drawer of the desk, and the household went about its evening. Caroline made her usual round of the house securing all the doors and windows, but when it came to the garden door in the morning room, she locked it but left it unbolted. When the conspirators arrived, they would be able to enter using the spare key. Martin returned from the Wheatsheaf, slightly the worse for drink, to report that Grison had been there. Then everyone went upstairs, Martin, Molly and Susie up the kitchen stairs to the servants’ attics, and Caroline, Lin and Poppy to their more capacious rooms at the front of the house.

  As soon as she had seen Lin and Poppy into their rooms, Caroline turned round and slipped into the box room. An hour later, from its tiny window she saw three shadows move silently across the rose garden to the morning room door. She didn’t hear the lock turn or the door open and close, for Charles had carefully greased the locks and hinges, but she knew the conspirators were now in the house — Charles, Lester and John. Caroline slipped out of the box room again and took up her station at the top of the stairs to watch and wait and worry.

  ~~~~~

  Charles was bubbling with excitement. He had not enjoyed himself so much for an age — not since he had left the army. How he had missed this kind of endeavour! Not the sneaking around in the dark, although he knew several acquaintances who regularly indulged, and not to catch thieves, either. No, it was the feeling that he was doing something worthwhile again, in bringing a criminal to justice. And naturally keeping Caroline safe and free from worry was an object, too.

  The three disposed themselves around the study in dark corners. With the shutters closed, the room was black as pitch and Charles could see nothing until his eyes began to adjust to the faint moonlight penetrating the slats. They had agreed their strategy beforehand, or rather, Charles had told them what to do, and they had accepted his orders. Stratton was to station himself between two cupboards near the door, so that he could block the miscreant’s exit route. Charles, being the strongest and the most used to hand-to-hand combat, was to leap upon the fellow and pin him to the ground. John Christopher was to hide in the darkest corner, and strike a light when called upon to do so.

  Then they waited.

  The church clock had long since fallen silent before, finally, they heard a sound within the house. It was only the slightest noise, and might have been nothing but a mouse in the wainscoting. Then there was silence again.

  Gradually, a slight glow emanated from the bottom of the door. Someone was standing outside in the hall with a candle or lamp. The door creaked, the light grew, the door opened and a lantern appeared, followed by the black shape of a man. He moved straight into the room, set the lamp down on the edge of the desk and moved round towards the drawers.

  “Hold!” Charles yelled.

  The man ran, but Stratton was there before him, blocking the door. Desperately the man pushed at him, Stratton slipped and fell with a cry, and the man lunged for the door.

  Charles was upon him before he could reach it, hurling him to the ground. For a moment, surprise was on his side and he almost managed to pin the intruder down at once. But with a heave born of desperation, the man threw him off and then the fight was on earnest, with wild punches thrown, few of which met their target, and much pushing and shoving. The two rolled around on the floor, and first one chair crashed over, then another. Then there was an ominous smashing of glass and the light went out.

  Fortunately, Charles had hold of the intruder’s coat, otherwise he might have made a bid for freedom again. But the two were locked together, arms and legs flailing. Charles took a punch to the eye, but grimly held onto his mark.

  Somewhere in the background Stratton was yelling, “Light! Light!” and John was yelling back, “I’m trying, dammit!”

  Another solid punch caught Charles in the chest, and for a brief moment he had to stop to catch his breath, but he kept tight hold on the struggling thief. But then light flared up from the corner and he could see the terrified face of his opponent. Hauling him to his feet he prepared to land a final punch, but the man kicked him on the shins, disturbing his aim.

  Now they were at the other end of the room, and breaking glass all around them suggested that they had ventured too close to the tray of glasses and the decanter of Madeira. Again Charles prepared to punch, but the man screamed in real pain and sagged against him, shrieking. Charles let go, and his opponent fell to the floor, screaming over and over again.

  Stratton was there with a length of rope to tie him to the handle of the nearest cupboard. He was secured. The fight was over.

  Out of nowhere, a small figure shot into the room.

  “Charles? Charles!”

  “Caroline?”

  “Oh, thank God!” Crunching across broken glass, she hurled herself into his arms in a frenzy of noisy weeping.

  He wrapped her in a tight embrace, and there he stood, amidst the wreckage of her study, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. And when, after quite some time, her tears subsided and she lifted her head, rather shyly, to look at him, he discovered that the most urgent necessity — the only thing in the whole world that he had the slightest desire to do at that precise moment — was to kiss her, long and lovingly.

  So he did, and, incredibly, she made no protest, returning his kiss with a great deal of warmth.

  From time to time, when they surfaced to take a breath, there was activity going on in the room — the intruder being carried away amidst thumps and groans, chairs righted, some talk between Stratton and Christopher. But nothing was so important as Caroline and the wonder of holding her in his arms and kissing her and being kissed in return.

  After minutes or hours, who could tell, the room was silent, and they were alone, with a single candle burning low on the desk. He gazed into those treacle eyes, and admired her creamy skin and that glorious mouth.

  “Do you think we should run away to Scotland to get married?” he said conversationally, rubbing one finger gently over her lips.

  “That’s very romantic, but I’ve always thought it sounds like a dreadfully uncomfortable business,” she said at once.

  “It need not be,” he said. “A post-chaise and four, and overnight stops at the very best inns, and we can take Mama for propriety.” That made her giggle. “But if you dislike the idea, I can go to London and obtain a special licence.”

  “That’s romantic too, but what’s wrong with the banns like everyone else?”

  “Because you are too special for such a mundane process,” he said. “You deserve the best, sweetling.”

  She blushed enchantingly, and discovered something very interesting in the middle button of his waistcoat. “But I shall be getting the best, if I marry you,” she said shyly.

  His throat was tight, so he squeezed her a little and sighed. “Darling Caro… I was afraid you would never think well of me. I was a contemptible specimen of humanity until you taught me to behave like a gentleman.”

  “You were just angry, I think… at giving up the army life you loved, and having to marry to provide an heir. And I was angry too. We neither of us knew where we fitted in.”

  “I am still not quite sure, but we shall work it out together,” he said. “You will teach me how to manage my land and tenants, and I… I shall sit at your feet and adore you.”

  That made her chuckle. “I wonder… agreeable as this is, do you think we ought to find out what happened to the man
you caught? Whether he’s all right, and who he is?”

  “I think he just got cut by all the broken glass. He quietened down before the others hauled him away. I expect he is being bandaged up in the kitchen even now. As for who he is — it is that peculiar Frenchie from Corranwater.”

  “What, the elder Lady Elland’s footman? Lucien, that was his name. Not Grison, then?”

  “Grison must have passed on Martin’s story to him, but it was the Frenchie all right.”

  “Well, I never!”

  29: A Village Wedding (October)

  Accompanied by Caroline and Stratton, Charles walked to Corranwater directly after breakfast. Stratton had sent a note by way of Martin to Lord Elland, so that he would be expecting them.

  They were shown into the library, but Lord Elland was not there.

  “I will inform his lordship of your arrival,” the butler said, “but the household is a little disrupted this morning. Her ladyship the Dowager is unwell.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Charles said. “We will not keep his lordship long, but if the household disruption is concerned with your French footman, we have information on that matter.”

  The butler’s eyes widened, and he disappeared in as much haste as his station would permit to fetch Lord Elland. The baron seemed unusually agitated when he appeared.

  “Miss Milburn, Mr Leatham, Mr Stratton. You have word of Lucien, my mother’s footman?”

  They had agreed beforehand that Charles would do the talking. He saw no point in wrapping the facts up in clean linen, so he said bluntly, “Lucien Claverie was caught breaking into Bursham Cottage last night with the intention of stealing certain items. You will find him in the care of the constables in Salisbury.”

  Lord Elland gaped at them, his mouth open in astonishment. “Lucien?” he said. “But why on earth—? Oh… did he think—? He supposed you had the documents which Mr Wishaw claimed to hold, I imagine. But you have not found them, have you, Miss Milburn? And perhaps there were never any documents to be found.”

  “Oh, but there were,” Charles said. “They were buried in the garden, along with the several payments of five hundred pounds that you gave Wishaw to hold his tongue.”

  “I gave Wishaw nothing!” Lord Elland said, his eyes glinting in haughty disdain. “He tried to blackmail me, but I told him to send the papers to the House of Lords if he wished. I would never submit to blackmail, Leatham, as I told Wishaw, and as I told Miss Milburn when we discussed the matter.”

  “But you sent the footman to steal them for you.”

  “I did no such thing! Never would I stoop to such a level, and you insult me to suggest it. I can only suppose that Lucien wished to spare my mother any pain, and so bought off Wishaw, and then tried to steal the evidence.”

  “Where would a footman find five hundred pounds?”

  Lord Elland went white, and sagged into a chair. “Dear God!” he whispered. “Then it must have been… good God, no!”

  “It must have been the Dowager Lady Elland?” suggested Charles.

  He nodded. “She must have valued her reputation more than her integrity, for which lapse may God forgive her. But wait… you said the documents were buried in the garden? Then you have found them?”

  Charles nodded at Caroline, and she opened her reticule and drew out the bundle of papers. Lord Elland took them and began to read them. At first, he seemed puzzled.

  “But these are only copies of the registry entries of marriage and birth, which I already have. There is nothing in these to…” His voice tailed off, he frowned, he reread one, and then he began to read more carefully, laying them out in some kind of order on the table beside him. Eventually, he looked up at them.

  “You are aware of the meaning of these, I take it?”

  Stratton coughed delicately. “My Italian is not strong, but with my knowledge of Latin I read enough to understand the doubt it casts on your birth, my lord. I have not discussed this with the others, however. We are agreed that we cannot determine the authenticity of these papers, but clearly they relate to your family. Thus the only proper course of action is to lay them before you, and leave it to your judgement to determine what to do with them.”

  “I shall send them to the House of Lords, naturally. That is the proper place for their import to be decided. But let me explain to you what they show. Here is the record of the marriage of my father, Edgar Alsager, to Aimée Dubray and the record of my own birth, and my two sisters. And then — the part of which I knew nothing — the record of the death of Aimée, and the marriage of my father to Marie Vautrin. And when I look more closely at the birth records, I see that Marie Vautrin is shown as the mother of all three children, which was not so on the copies I have.”

  “Then Marie was his mistress?”

  “So it would seem. His wife’s maid, most probably. His marriage to Aimée was childless, it appears, but when she died, he married his mistress and she assumed the identity of the first wife. They returned to England as the complete family, with a son and two daughters, and yet… they are all illegitimate. I am illegitimate. And the lady upstairs, who is indeed my mother, was once a ladies maid called Marie Vautrin, and not a virtuous woman at all.”

  He got up and rang the bell for the butler, asking him to request the dowager to come to the library. “Pray tell her that I have news of Lucien,” he added.

  She came, wearing another of her brocade gowns, and it was sad to see how eager she was for news of her footman. How many years had he been her faithful servant, speaking to her in her native French language and doing her bidding in all things? Naturally she was concerned for him. She started when she saw Charles, Caroline and Stratton sitting there, but she turned hopefully to Lord Elland.

  “As-tu entendu ce qui est arrivé à Lucien?” she said, before she was properly in the room.

  “He has been arrested,” Lord Elland said, his voice harsh. “That cannot surprise you, Maman. You sent him to steal the papers that prove my illegitimacy and your lack of virtue. Fortunately, these gentlemen intercepted him.”

  She hissed in anger. “Ai, tu es—”

  “In English!” Lord Elland said brusquely. “I know you speak it well enough, and do not deny any of it, Maman, for Lucien was caught in the act of stealing, and I have the papers here before me that prove your shame, and my father’s guilt.”

  All the fight went out of her, like a pricked balloon. “It would not have mattered if Aimée had given him a son,” she said, in a heavy accent. “That was all he wanted, un fils. But she died, and so he married me, and I thought… truly I thought that our marriage made the children legitimate. We had friends in that situation. I did not understand that in England it was not so, only in Scotland would it happen. England is harsh on bastards, as France is also. It was not until Edgar’s father wished him to return to England that I learnt the truth. But there was a priest who suggested a way. No one in England knew the secret, and if Edgar had documents to show that the children were the legitimate issue of Aimée, and I were to take the name of Aimée… why, who would know? No one! And it worked, Edmund. You were accepted as Edgar’s legal heir and now you are le baron and we went on very well until that little upstart Wishaw poked his nose in. Ah bien! Alors maintenant le monde sait tout. Et Lucien?”

  “Lucien was slightly injured by broken glass,” Charles said. “He is in the care of the constables at Salisbury.”

  “He must be brought before the magistrates, Maman,” Lord Elland said more gently. “I shall speak for him, to explain his good character and his loyalty to you, but you must be prepared for him to receive a severe sentence for one who attempted to steal and offered violence when challenged. Mr Leatham has been injured, as you see.”

  “Nothing but a black eye and a few bruises,” Charles said. “I have suffered worse, I assure you. I shall make no complaint against Lucien on that score.”

  “You are generous, sir,” Lord Elland said. “And Miss Milburn also. You could have dealt with th
ese papers in another, less principled, manner, and it is to your credit that you did not. I honour you for it.” He bowed to her formally, which caused her to rise and curtsy in response. “Now it is for me to do my part,” he went on. “I give you my word of honour as a peer— No, for I may not be that, indeed. Then I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, for I am still and always that, I hope, that I shall take these papers myself to London and lay them before the Master of the Rolls and await his judgement.”

  “Pft. Honneur!” Lady Elland said.

  “Yes, honour,” her son said gravely. “You may not regard it highly, but to me it is everything.”

  ~~~~~

  OCTOBER

  It was a crisp autumn day, cool but sunny, when the eldest of the Milburn sisters entered the wedded state. The bride wore silk from her father’s linen drapery and lace of her own devising, and carried a posy of late roses. She was given away by her cousin, Tim Carter, the Valmont gamekeeper. The groom wore a new coat for the occasion, and had allowed his valet four attempts at a fashionable arrangement of neckcloth before tossing them aside in favour of his usual knot. The groom’s mother and both the bride’s sisters wept copiously, and the church was as full as it could hold, with more well-wishers waiting outside to salute the happy couple. Afterwards, the bridal pair and their particular friends repaired to Bursham Cottage for a breakfast of hot rolls, buttered toast, tongue, ham and eggs, with the addition of wine and cake, and everyone else went to the Wheatsheaf to celebrate with the barrels of ale so generously provided by the groom. The fields and craft shops of the neighbourhood were abandoned for the day.