65 A Heart Is Stolen (6 page)

“I have thought of something else,” Anthony remarked.

“What is that?”

“He must have known the layout of the house. While one of his men cleared the snuffboxes out of the library, the other must have moved into the pantry almost as soon as the servants had left for their own supper. At least I imagine that is what they were having.”

The Marquis nodded.

“At Veryan they dine as soon as we have finished and I know that my chef there always lets the footmen have what he calls ‘the left-overs’, which they appreciate.”

“That proves my point, Justin. They knew that there would be nobody in the pantry and they cleared out the snuffboxes and timed to do so exactly as their chief walked in through the window, knowing that it would be open.”

“You certainly have a point there,” the Marquis concurred reflectively. “I will tell you something else.”

“What is that?”

“As their horses were leaving, they sounded fresh. I can always tell if a horse has been ridden a long way, because he sounds not exactly tired, but a little heavy. I would not mind betting those horses had not come far.”

“That narrows the field considerably.” Anthony yawned.

“Highwaymen or no highwaymen, unless they have taken my bed, I want to go to sleep.”

“Then that is what we shall do,” the Marquis agreed. “There is no point in rousing the household tonight. It will mean hours of talk and speculation, and I don’t suppose that Markham can tell us any more than we can tell him.”

“I could not stand it,” Anthony yawned. “For God’s sake let’s leave it until tomorrow.”

“We will do that,” the Marquis agreed, “and now I think of it I am as tired as you must be.”

At the same time, after he had told Hawkins what had happened as he helped him undress, it was a long time before he fell asleep.

*

The next morning, immediately after breakfast the Marquis sent for his agent.

Mr. Markham had already been informed as to what had happened the night before by other members of the household who had been regaled by Hawkins.

“I cannot believe it, my Lord!” the elderly man said unhappily, wringing his hands in anguish. “The gold ship by which his late Lordship set so much store and the snuffboxes!”

“A very heavy loss where I am concerned,” the Marquis said. “Had you any idea there were villains lurking in the neighbourhood?”

“No, my Lord, but, of course, we are very isolated here at Heathcliffe and sufficient, as you might say, unto ourselves.”

“Who are our nearest neighbours?”

“There are not many, my Lord. Colonel Lloyd – you may remember him – died last year and the house is now empty. Lord Moorland, who was a friend of his late Lordship’s is bedridden and has not left his home for a twelve-month.”

“There are no other large houses of a similar sort with pickings such as these criminals found here?”

“No, my Lord.”

The Marquis thought for a moment, then he asked,

“What about the Admiral?”

“Do you mean Admiral Wadebridge, my Lord?”

“Of course!”

“He has been dead for nigh on six years, my Lord.”

“I thought he must be,” the Marquis remarked. “What about his son?”

“Your Lordship did not know that he was killed at the Battle of the Nile?”

“I had no idea. Although I suppose he was an hereditary enemy, considering the animosity between my father and the Admiral, I am sorry he should have lost his life.”

“He was a fine man, my Lord, and with his death I believe the Navy lost a great Captain.”

The Marquis looked at his agent sharply.

“You knew him?”

For a moment there was a pause as if Mr. Markham regretted the warm manner in which he had spoken. Then he said a little hesitatingly,

“Yes, my Lord. I knew Captain Wadebridge. It would be difficult to live here without doing so.”

The Marquis smiled.

“I can understand, Markham, that you must find it very lonely here, but I suppose you have your own family?”

“Your Lordship must have forgotten that I am unmarried.”

“I am sorry, Markham, it had in fact slipped my memory,” the Marquis apologised.

He wondered what his connection with Flagstaff Manor might be and remembered how the Admiral had renamed his house as a gesture of defiance to annoy his father.

Again Mr. Markham seemed to hesitate before he said,

“Captain Wadebridge’s son, my Lord, is of course in the Navy, but he is, I believe, in the West Indies at the moment.”

“I seem to remember that there was a girl,” the Marquis said, frowning in an attempt at concentration.

“Yes, my Lord, that would be Miss Ivana.”

“I never met the children at The Manor,” the Marquis said, “but she would have been younger than myself. I imagine that Ivana, if that is her name, must have grown up by now.”

“I am sure your Lordship is right,” Mr. Markham said. “Would your Lordship wish me to inform the Magistrates of what has occurred last night?”

The Marquis had the feeling that he was deliberately changing the subject and, because he felt Mr. Markham had no wish to answer any more questions, he asked,

“What does Miss Wadebridge do with herself all day? She can hardly be living alone at The Manor, unless her mother is alive.”

“Mrs. Wadebridge died many years ago, my Lord.”

“Then who else is at The Manor?”

“I really cannot say. Although I knew Captain Wadebridge, the two houses do not communicate.”

There was a note in Mr. Markham’s voice that told the Marquis that for no reason he could ascertain he was on the defensive.

There must be something strange about the Wadebridges, he thought, but then there always had been.

In the old days he had only to mention the name to have his father roaring with anger at the iniquities of something the Admiral had said or done. He was quite certain that the Admiral did the same thing when he thought of the Marquis.

Later generations were surely too sensible to carry on a feud that had kept the blood pulsating through two old hearts and had given them an interest in life they would not otherwise have had.

“I wonder,” the Marquis said reflectively, “whether the highwaymen who robbed Sir Anthony and me so successfully last night, also called on Miss Wadebridge? It would have been frightening for her if they did so. After all, if we could not compete with them, what could she do?”

“I feel, my Lord, it is extremely unlikely that there would be anything in Flagstaff Manor to interest the type of criminal who came here.”

“Why should you think that?” the Marquis asked.

“Surely it is obvious, my Lord. They knew what they wanted.”

“They must also have known,” the Marquis said, “that half the snuffboxes had been removed from the library into the safe.”

Mr. Markham did not speak and the Marquis was aware that he was holding himself rather stiffly.

“I was going to speak to you about them today,” he went on, “but I quite understand that you would have put them all in what you considered to be a safe place and only taken out a certain number before my arrival. Is that correct?”

“Yes, my Lord, completely correct,” Mr. Markham replied.

The note of relief in his voice was very obvious.

The Marquis thought that his agent must have been afraid that he would be blamed for not having such valuable possessions as the snuffboxes and the gold ornaments on the dining room table locked up while the servants were at supper.

‘He is a very conscientious man,’ the Marquis told himself.

He was rather touched that Markham should care so sincerely about the objects he had guarded for so many years.

“I will, of course, my Lord, make all possible enquiries as to whether anyone else has seen the highwaymen,” Mr. Markham was saying, “but I have the uncomfortable feeling that we shall never hear of them again.”

The Marquis did not contradict him. He had suddenly made up his mind on a course of action and rose from his chair to say,

“Tell the grooms to bring two horses to the front door. Sir Anthony and I will go riding. Then later in the day, when it is really warm, we might swim in the sea as I used to when I was a boy.”

“I am sure your Lordship will enjoy that,” Mr. Markham said. “I will send the order to the stables immediately.”

He walked as far as the door, then he looked back to say,

“I can only say how deeply sorry I am, my Lord, that this unfortunate robbery should have occurred the first night you honoured us with your presence.”

“Thank you, Markham.”

As the agent left the room the Marquis turned almost eagerly to Anthony,

“We are going on a journey of exploration.”

“To find what?” Anthony asked.

“The truth about several things that puzzle me.”

“Are you fancying yourself as a sleuth?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” the Marquis replied, “and I find it distinctly intriguing.”

The Marquis and Sir Anthony walked into the hall and, as the Marquis took his tall hat from one of the footmen, he saw that Mr. Markham was standing under the stairs.

“By the way, Markham,” he said, “what is the name of young Wadebridge, who I imagine has now inherited the property?”

There was a pause before Mr. Markham said in a rather strange tone,

“His name is Charles, my Lord. Have you any reason for asking?”

“I thought it might seem unnatural if I am so ignorant about our nearest neighbours,” the Marquis replied.

As he spoke, he was walking down the steps to where the horses were waiting and Anthony asked,

“Are you saying that we are going to call on Naboth’s Vineyard? If so, I shall be interested to see it.”

“So will I. It has been forbidden ground ever since I can remember.”

They were busily engaged in mounting their horses, which were fresh and, once they were in the saddle and had set off, Anthony said,

“I think we had better give our mounts their heads before we do anything else. I will race you across the Park.”

“Right,” the Marquis replied.

Setting his hat more firmly on his head, they were off, turfs being thrown into the air behind them by the horses’ hoofs.

In about a mile they drew in their reins and Anthony exclaimed,

“Dammit, Justin, I cannot think why you always have so much better horses than I can acquire. Would you like to sell the one I am riding?”

“Certainly not!” the Marquis replied. “You know I never sell my horses.”

“I was not particularly hopeful when I asked,” Anthony said with a grin.

They trotted for a little while until they reached a wood. Then the Marquis turned in the opposite direction.

“Now we will go a-calling,” he said, “and I shall be interested to see what sort of reception we receive.”

“Feelings obviously run high in this part of the world.” Anthony remarked. “I saw your agent’s face when he realised where you were going. It was a macabre study in horror!”

The Marquis laughed.

“Poor old Markham! He remembers how ferociously and violently my father hated the Admiral and I think servants always identify themselves with their Masters’ likes and dislikes.”

They rode on and, a little while later, they saw in front of them a brick wall which, the Marquis remembered, encircled the Admiral’s house.

It was not hard to find the entrance for just inside the gates there was an enormous flagstaff flying the White Ensign.

Anthony laughed.

“I am not surprised that annoyed your father.”

“Even though he could not see it, he knew it was there,” the Marquis said.

As they turned in at the gate, the Marquis looked back the way they had come and saw in the distance a man riding between the trees on what struck him as a particularly well-bred horse.

He wondered vaguely if it was a neighbour whom Markham had not mentioned, then he and Anthony were riding up a short drive which ended in an elegantly laid out garden in front of an ancient Elizabethan manor with gabled roofs and casement windows.

It was an extremely attractive house, but what struck the Marquis immediately was the extraordinarily precise tidiness of the garden.

The small flowerbeds and the paths were all edged with stones which must have come from the beach and they had been painted white so as, he thought with amusement, to give them the neatness that one might find aboard a ship.

As they reached the front door, a man appeared to take their horses and one look at him told the Marquis that he was obviously a Naval type.

He dismounted saying as he did so,

“Good morning. Is Miss Wadebridge at home?”

“I thinks so, sir,” the man answered with an accent that the Marquis did not recognise, but was certain did not belong to Sussex.

He walked to the front door and knocked on it with the butt of his riding whip and, even as Anthony joined him, the door was opened by an elderly maid who dropped a respectful curtsey.

“I have called to see Miss Wadebridge,” the Marquis declared.

“
Mrs
. Wadebridge will be pleased to receive you, my Lord,” the maid replied firmly. “Will you please come this way?”

She walked ahead of him and the Marquis thought in her neat grey dress she looked more like a child’s nanny than a servant and she reminded him of one he had had himself up to the age of seven.

The hall was small but attractively panelled and the oak staircase shone as if it had been subjected to a great deal of polishing.

The old maid opened a door and announced,

“The Marquis of Veryan, ma’am, and companion.”

The Marquis’s first impression was of a very attractive room with two bow windows, bowls of flowers arranged beside a pretty fireplace and an atmosphere that he could only describe to himself as cosy and home-like.

A woman rose from a chair beside the fireplace and, as he walked towards her, he thought that the Admiral’s grandchild had certainly grown into a very attractive young woman.

She was dark, which surprised him, because he had always imagined that people who had a great deal to do with the sea were fair, but her eyes were blue with dark lashes and he guessed that she must have Irish blood in her.