A Christmas Kiss (27 page)

Nancy's eyes wavered, and she twisted her fingers in indecision.

“There ain't any need to worry about her, my lord,” Joseph put in. “She can't have left the Bull, not in weather like this.”

“Is that where she went? To the Bull? What did she intend to do then?” Philip asked quickly.

Joseph looked at Nancy for guidance, but the girl was no longer so sure she should restrain Joseph from answering. She gave a helpless shrug. Joseph faced his employer squarely. “She was going to hire a hack for Launceston.”

“Launceston? Whatever for?”

“The Exeter stage leaves from there,” Joseph explained.

“Oh, I see. And the London stage from Exeter, I presume. I think that's all I need now. Unless, of course, there's anything else you can think of that will help me find her.”

“No, no, my lord. There's nothing else I know,” Joseph said.

Philip turned to Nancy. “Come here to me, girl,” he said, a little more kindly. “Look at me closely—not at the floor. There. Now, Nancy, I want you to believe that I mean no harm to your mistress. You have my word. Do you believe me?”

Nancy glanced up at him, looked down quickly and nodded.

“Good, then. Now, I want you to think carefully. Did Miss Pennington tell you anything about her ultimate destination? Did she tell you where, or to whom, she was going?”

“No, me lord, nothin'. She never said nothing about anyone she knew away from 'ere.”

“She never mentioned any relatives? Or anyone she might be acquainted with in London?”

“No, me lord.”

“Very well then, I'll be off.” He crossed to the door quickly, and then looked back at them. “I needn't remind you, I suppose, that this matter is not to be talked of among the staff.”

“You can trust us, my lord,” Joseph assured him. “We won't say a word.”

“Good. Then you may go back to your duties,” his lordship said abruptly.

“Our … duties …?” Joseph asked in surprise. But his lordship was gone.

Annette threw her arms about Joseph's neck. “He didn't give us … how you say?… the sack!”

“It's a bloomin' miracle,” Joseph said, staring at the door. “Twice, now, he's had cause to send us packing, and twice he's let the matter pass.” He looked at the door and shook his head. “But I feel in my bones we'd best not try him a third time.”

“I only 'ope,” sighed Nancy worriedly, “that we ain't served Miss Evalyn a back-'anded turn.”

Annette's brow puckered. “The diamonds you are thinking of,
non?
I too am not—how you say?—easy in my mind. There is something about the business I cannot like.”

“What are you talking about? What is all this about diamonds?” Joseph demanded.

“Oh,
chérie
, I have not related to you the events. Ma'm'selle's earrings, they have disappeared.”

“That's not all,” Nancy added. “They showed up again—”

“This I did not know,” said Annette, surprised. “Where?”

“In the box Miss Evalyn made for Lady Steele!”

Annette gaped. “How can this be?”

“The whole thing 'as me fair bamboozled. I was with Miss Evalyn when she wrapped the box, an' there was no diamonds in it. The box stayed with me 'til I give it to Lady Steele. Next thing I know, his lordship is asking me 'ow the diamonds got there!”

“It is of all things the most perplexing,” said Annette thoughtfully. “I remember thinking that Ma'm'selle was up to something when she told me to watch her put those earrings away. She was most strange. But I cannot think what she intended.”

Joseph looked at Annette intently. “Who discovered that the diamonds was copped?”

“Me, myself,” Annette said.

“Did Miss Trevelyan accuse you?” he asked.

“No, she did not. I was much surprised. But she said it would be stupid of me to do it.”

Joseph rubbed his chin speculatively. “When was it you discovered they were gone?”

“
Hier
… yesterday. When she came up to dress for dinner.”

“Yesterday, eh? Did she have 'em the night before?”

“I did not think to look. She said she did not want to wear any jewels. This in itself is most strange.”

“But why are ye asking these questions?” Nancy asked. “Do ye know something o' this?”

“I do recollect something that might—” He turned to Annette and said reproachfully, “I wish you'd told me about the diamonds before.”

“I did not think of it. As long as I was not—how you say
soupçonné?
—in suspicion, the matter went from my head.”

“But tell us quick,” Nancy urged Joseph impatiently. “What is it that you know?”

“I don't know if what I saw is important or not. But I was in Miss Trevelyan's dressing room. Day before yesterday, it was. She'd gone out riding—remember, Annette, when you told me to come up to her room?”

Annette clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, but yes! And she returned early and I had to go to her and left you in the dressing room.…”

Nancy looked from one to the other in disgust. “Don't tell me ye got yerselves in that same fix! What'd ye do? Climb out the window again?”

“Not me!” Joseph said with a snort. “You'll not catch me like that again! I crawled into the commode!”

“The commode?”

“It was the only place I could find to hide in! A tight squeeze it was, too. I couldn't even get the door closed. I was shaking so much I thought the bowl and pitcher on top would begin to rattle. Well, to get on with it, Miss Trevelyan comes in and goes to the dressing table, takes out the diamonds and looks at 'em in the light. Then she hides the key—I couldn't see proper where—and goes out. But I see before she goes out the door, that she drops the diamonds down her bosom. I thought it was a bit peculiar, but then she went out, and I was so happy to make me escape, I didn't think no more on it … 'til now, that is.”

“
Mon dieu
, I see it all! From the first Ma'm'selle takes a dislike to Miss Evalyn. She put the earrings in Miss Evalyn's box. She sent me away that day, telling me she was tired. Tired, pooh! She hides the diamonds in her bosom, steals into Miss Evalyn's room and hides them there.”

Nancy chewed an already well-bitten nail thoughtfully. “I would say you've gotten to the bottom of it except …”

“Except?”

“Except that something ain't right. If, as Joseph says, Miss Trevelyan took the diamonds in the afternoon, how is it that there was no diamonds in the box that night when Miss Evalyn and I wrapped it up?”

“You make too much the
logique
for me. I do not care for so much reasoning. I know Ma'm'selle has made this trouble, because I feel it here!” And she pointed to her heart with a passionate gesture.

“I ain't disagreeing with you,” Nancy assured her. “It's the only thing what makes any sense at all.”

Joseph sank into the nearest chair. “If you both feel that way, we're back in the soup again,” he groaned.

“In the soup?
Je ne comprends pas
. Why?”

“Because I'll have to tell his lordship what I saw. And when he hears how I came to see it, well—” Joseph shrugged hopelessly.

“We should say nothing perhaps?” Annette suggested in a tone that plainly indicated she hoped her suggestion would not be taken.

“I think we should tell 'em,” Nancy said. “If we could clear Miss Evalyn's name, it'd surely be a satisfaction to me.”

“And if Ma'm'selle had to pay for some of her mischief, it would be a satisfaction to me of the most enormous,” Annette agreed with a wicked grin.

“I hope that satisfaction will keep you both warm when we're out in the snow,” Joseph sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Well, then, let's try to catch his lordship before he leaves the house.”

Philip, dressed in his riding clothes, was almost out the door when they stopped him. “I'm sure that whatever it is you have to tell me can wait,” he said to them, impatient to be off.

“I think you'll find it important, my lord,” Joseph said. “I remembered something I think you'll want to know.”

Philip stopped. “About Miss Pennington?” he asked.

“Well, not exactly.” And Joseph hastily recounted what he had seen in Miss Trevelyan's dressing room. “And Nancy and Annette, here, are convinced that Miss Trevelyan, not being overly fond o' Miss Evalyn, did it herself, to get Miss Evalyn in a mess o' trouble.”

“There's only one thing that don't fit,” Nancy said in her unquenchably honest way. “I still don't see 'ow the diamonds got into the box when they wasn't there when Miss Evalyn and me wrapped it.”

Philip clenched his teeth and his eyes grew hard. “They were there, Nancy. You and Miss Pennington just didn't know it. They had been slipped into the lining.”

The three exchanged glances while Philip sought to control the furious anger welling inside him. His instincts urged him to burst in on Sally and give her the tongue lashing she richly deserved. But she wasn't worth the time—precious time that would keep him even longer from finding Evalyn. No, he'd leave the handling of Sally to his sister. He turned to Joseph. “I want you to tell the whole story to Lady Steele right away. She will know what to do.”

“The whole story …?” Joseph gasped.

“Yes, of course. Why not?” Philip asked impatiently.

“Well … you see, sir … she's bound to ask how I came to be hiding in the commode.…”

Philip's lips twitched. “Indeed she will. And when she learns of your behavior, she may well be much less lenient than I've been, is that it?”

Joseph nodded glumly.

“If she gave you the sack, it would be no more than you deserve. We cannot have our household staff carrying on in such a manner. And you had been warned before, after all.” He looked at the three of them, miserably staring at the floor, and a laugh broke out of him. “Come now, cheer up. After all. Lady Steele doesn't know that you've been in this fix before. Besides, I think I've a solution to this hank. Annette, you give notice to Miss Treveylan right away, and tell Lady Steele to see that you and Joseph are married as soon as possible. Maybe that will restore some respectability to this disreputable household.”

And with that he was out the door, leaving the three rascals dancing about the hallway in joyous abandon.

Nineteen

Philip found the trip to Ashwater more than he bargained for. The northerly wind blew in his face with biting force, the swirling snowflakes almost blinding him. His horse could only pick his way slowly through the more than three feet of snow that had accumulated during the storm. Sometimes the drifts were so high that Philip had to guide the beast completely around them. The only comfort he could derive from the dreadful action of the elements was the certainty that Evalyn could not have left the inn at Ashwater in such weather. As the few miles separating them slowly lessened, his spirits rose despite the irritation caused by freezing ears and shivering limbs.

It had grown dark by the time he arrived at Ashwater. The lights of the Bull showed through the swirling snow like a welcoming beacon. He was overwhelmed with a boyish eagerness to dash into the inn and seize her in his arms without a moment's delay. But there was no sign of an ostler to care for his horse, and no answer to his call. He led the horse to the stable himself and reined in his impatience while he tended to the animal's needs. It was an endless half-hour later that he at last entered the taproom of the Bull.

The room was deserted. The fire was dying in the fireplace and no candles burned on the tables or the bar. “Hello?” he called, somewhat dismayed. “Ho, innkeeper!”

A light appeared at the back of the room as a door opened and Mr. Fern emerged, blinking his eyes in surprise. “Who's there?” he asked, peering into the darkness.

“I'm here to see Miss Pennington,” said Philip impatiently. “Please go up to her room and ask her to step down here to see me.”

Mr. Fern had by this time come close enough to recognize who the unexpected traveler was. “Blimey, it's Lord Gyllford! Please, yer lordship, won't you sit down? It's been more'n six years since you last honored us like this! Please, sir, take this chair. I'll have the fire going in a trice. I never expected to see a soul tonight, I can tell you.”

“Thank you,” Philip said with forced politeness, “but I am most eager to see Miss Pennington. I'd be much obliged if you'd forego the amenities and take my message to her right away.”

“I'd be glad to oblige, me lord, but there ain't nobody here by that name. I ain't seen a living soul this day, except for Mrs. Fern, o'course.”

Philip couldn't believe his ears. “There must be some mistake. She arrived yesterday. Perhaps she kept to her room all day today.”

“No, me lord, I mislike to contradict you, but there ain't a single guest in the house.”

“Are you sure, man? I was told she was put down here last evening. Surely she can't have gone away from here in this storm.”

“If you're meaning the young lady what had dinner here last night, she's gone.”

“Gone! How can that be?”

A sudden flood of light turned both their heads to the source. Mrs. Fern entered with a large branch of lighted candles. “What're you doing, talking in the dark?” she asked, coming toward them. At the sight of Philip, she stopped and stared.

“Good evening, ma'am,” Philip said absently. Mrs. Fern made an eager curtsey, her face growing pink at the honor of welcoming the greatest nobleman of the district.

“A most happy Christmas to you, me lord,” she said in an awed whisper.

“His lordship's asking for the young lady what came here last night,” the innkeeper told her. “I was just explaining that she up and left without a word.”