A Tall Dark Stranger (17 page)

His knitted garment showed his broad chest and shoulders to great advantage. They most assuredly were not the shoulders of a boy. The pistol in his hand left no doubt as to the seriousness of the matter.

“Why is your face smeared like that?” Lollie asked him as they hastened toward the door to the cellar.

“We did it at night in the Peninsula. A white face makes too good a target,” Robert explained. “Guerrillas’ powder, we call it.”

Lollie turned to the stove, perhaps planning to add a few cinders to his face.

“No time for that!” Robert called to him. He turned toward the stove and saw me. “Oh, Amy!” he exclaimed. His lips parted in a distracted sort of smile. I smiled back in the same fondly foolish way.

They hurried on toward the cellar. Lollie grabbed a lamp, handed it to Robert, and followed him below. Robert cast a questioning look over his shoulder as he left, but he didn’t say anything else. I was left alone in the kitchen with the memory of that smile.

I lit another lamp, planning to join them, but before I could do so, they were back.

“It’s impossible!” Lollie said, his voice high with indignation.

“Since it’s happened, let’s assume it
is
possible and figure out how it was done,” Robert said reasonably.

The coffee was made. I poured us all a cup.

“The men would like some of this,” Robert mentioned. “May I, Amy?”

“Certainly. I made it for them. I’ll take it out.”

“Prepare a tray, I’ll call Forten to come and get it,” he said in a very military way. Then he remembered that I wasn’t one of his men and added, “If you would be so kind.”

Lollie said to me, “Forten’s watching this side of the house.”

Leo Forten was one of the militiamen. His usual occupation was head clerk at the drapery shop. He was a dapper little fellow with kinky red hair and an eye for the ladies.

I made up the tray and Robert called Forten in for it. It was not Forten who came, however, but a man called Edward Frith, a local solicitor.

“Where’s Forten?” Robert asked.

“Perhaps he’s relieving himself,” Frith said, then they all looked at me and blushed. I pretended to be busy with putting cream and sugar on the tray. A lady knows when to be deaf.

I was thanked copiously by both Robert and Frith, then Frith left with the tray. I half feared the “agents” would banish me to my room for safety’s sake, so I drank my own coffee standing behind them, near the stove, on the theory that out of sight was out of mind. I listened as they discussed the possibility that one or more of our own servants might be involved. Lollie objected violently to this. So did I, but I let Lollie defend them.

“Lentle’s too old; Cook’s too fat; Inez and Betty are too ignorant, and anyhow they’re girls. As to George! He’d pluck out both eyes and all his teeth before betraying us. Besides, they’ve all been with us forever. I’d as soon suspect Aunt Maude or Amy,” Lollie said.

“The grooms?”

“If you think Alfie Morrison or his son would steal, Renshaw, you’re mad. Alfie taught me to ride when I was in short coats.”

This was obviously unanswerable. Robert said, with an air of apology, “I didn’t really think this was the work of a servant, but we have to cover all possibilities. Very well, then, how did he get in without any of us seeing him? We’ll check all the doors and windows. I take it the kitchen door was locked, as I directed?”

“Yes, I came in that way. I had to use my key to get in just now,” Lollie said.

“Right, then we’ll check the other doors and the windows.”

I was assigned the delicate task of checking Cook’s room. She sleeps next door to her kitchen. Her window was closed and the blind drawn. To get in by that means the thief would have had to climb over her bed with her in it. We went abovestairs and checked all the doors and windows there. The front door was bolted on the inside; the French doors in the library were also locked. None of the windows was ajar.

I could see Robert’s frustration mounting as we went from room to room. “How the hell did he get in?” he exclaimed when the last means of entry had been found innocent. Then he remembered that there was a lady present and in lieu of apologizing he suggested that I retire.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed. “If you can’t behave like a gentleman, you may feel free to swear in front of me, Robert. I did have a papa, you know. I’ve heard worse than an occasional ‘hell’ or ‘damnation’ in my life.”

“Sorry,” he said at last. “But it’s enough to make a saint swear. Well, what next? Do we go upstairs and search the bedrooms? I cannot think it likely—” Then he stopped. “No, of course not. We’ll check the cellar. What other means of entry is there via the cellar?”

“The only door from the outside is the one we were watching, the one that was used last night,” Lollie told him.

I watched as Robert struggled over this. After a moment he said, “I noticed a coal scuttle by the kitchen stove. How is the coal delivered?”

“By the coal chute,” Lollie said.

“That would be the metal cap I noticed under the kitchen window?” Lollie nodded. “It’s not big enough for a man to get in, surely?”

“I could get through it when I was a youngster,” Lollie said uncertainly.

The coal chute had only been installed four years ago. Lollie hadn’t grown that much. “You might still be able to. I mean a smallish man might,” I said.

Without a word Robert snatched up a lamp and headed for the cellar door, with his two acolytes hard on his heels. We clattered down the cellar steps into the older part of the cellar and the coal bin. We didn’t even have to go inside the bin. A fresh breeze was noticeable from where we stood. After a moment’s looking, a round circle lighter than the wall around it became visible above the tip of the coal mountain. Someone had removed the cap of the coal chute, slithered down the metal shaft to the coal pile, and stolen the money.

“I should have noticed that!” Lollie exclaimed, deeply chagrined. “I did feel a breeze, you know, but in the excitement of finding the money gone, I never gave it another thought.”

“That’s understandable,” Robert said, but his face was stiff with frustration at having to work with such amateurs. “I should have thought of it myself.”

“It would take some work to get the money out that way,” I said, remembering the size and heft of the bags.

“It couldn’t be done,” Lollie confirmed. “It’s easier to slide down than clamber out. I know, to my sorrow.”

“He’d need a good stout rope,” Robert said, “but I doubt he took it out that way. He would have put the cap back on the coal chute opening if he had. I fancy he climbed up the cellar stairs and left via the kitchen. I noticed there was no lock on the door leading from the kitchen to the cellar.”

“No, there isn’t,” Lollie said, looking sheepish.

There used to be one, but Lollie had climbed down the coal chute the week it was installed and couldn’t get back out. Mama had spent hours looking for him. He had been locked in the cellar. It was a washing day and Cook had been in the wash house, so she hadn’t heard him knocking and calling for hours. Mama had had the lock removed then and it had never been replaced.

“Let’s confirm our theory,” Robert said. “We’ll check the stairs and kitchen for signs of coal dust or dirt. But why didn’t Leo Forten see him when he left? Perhaps Forten is in on it. What sort of fellow is he?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think he’s that sort,” Lollie said uncertainly. “Though now that you mention it, he does spend a deal of time at the Boar’s Head. Lord Harry might have been keeping an eye on him.”

They ran ahead to question Forten. I dallied behind, checking for dirt and coal dust along the way. While they were gone, I spotted several black fingerprints on the wainscoting of the kitchen walls. Cook would not have let her girls leave the kitchen in that state.

Within two minutes the men were back, carrying an inert Leo Forten. Robert held him by the shoulders, Lollie carried his feet. They deposited him on the settle in the corner, where Cook takes her afternoon rest in the winter when she doesn’t want to leave her warm kitchen.

I feared the man was dead until Lollie glanced up and said in disgust, “He’s drunk as a Dane. We told him not to drink while on duty. It’s what comes of using amateurs.” His scowl suggested that he had been an agent all of his eighteen years.

With such comments, and taking into account that both he and Robert had their faces and hands smeared with dirt, it was hard to take them seriously. But when Robert spoke, his voice held such authority that I could take him seriously at least. Indeed, I was impressed with his taking charge so effectively. I could well imagine him leading his men into battle in Spain.

“Have a look around for the bottle, Talbot, and let me know if it’s from your cellar,” he said.

Lollie darted out. Robert turned to me. “Was it a good party, Amy?” he asked.

“No, it was very boring.”

He smiled in satisfaction. “It has been my experience that the company makes the party. Dare I hope you feel the same?”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you really are?”

“I really am Robert Renshaw.”

“I don’t mean your name!”

“The one who reports a murder is always considered a suspect,” he said, rather playfully. “Then the added coincidence of Lollie’s stumbling on to the money and its disappearance ...”

“You actually thought we were thieves and murderers!”

“Just as you thought I was,” he reminded me.

“That’s different. You’re ... were ... a stranger.”

“So were you a stranger to me, at first. Later, I was curious to see if you loved me enough to believe in me even when you had some reason to suspect I was dishonest. Call me an egoist or a romantic. Or just call me yours.” Then he happened to glance in the little mirror over the sink that Inez had installed when she took up with George and saw his black face.

He smiled at the mirror and turned to me, with his white teeth flashing in his black face, “You really must care to keep a straight face while I prattle of love, looking like this.” He looked just fine to me.

Before I could say so, Lollie was back with an empty wine bottle. “This was in the lilac bushes outside the kitchen door. It ain’t one of mine,” he announced. “The label’s been soaked off, but I haven’t seen one just like this before. It’s paler than most wine bottles.”

Robert took the bottle, tilted it into his palm, and tasted the dregs. “Drugged,” he said, and examined the bottle carefully. It looked like an ordinary wine bottle to me, perhaps a bit lighter than our own.

“Ask Forten where he got it,” I said.

“We shall, as soon as he comes to,” Robert replied. He went to the sink, got a glass of water, and poured it over Forten’s face. Forten spluttered a moment before settling back into a peaceful snooze.

“We shan’t learn anything from him for a few hours,” Robert said. “We can’t wait that long to get on with the mission. Now let me see. Our thief gave Forten the drugged wine. Forten was guarding this side of the house, which is also the side where the access to the coal chute is. The thief let himself into the cellar via the coal chute, brought up the bags, and left by the back door, setting it to lock behind him.”

“He must know Forten can identify him,” I said. “It seems he doesn’t care if we know who he is.”

“That suggests he plans to take off and not return,” Robert said. “He could get halfway around the world on fifty thousand pounds. Still, having to leave the area pretty well eliminates any landowners,” he added, not entirely happily.

“That lets Beau off the hook,” Lollie said to me.

“And Maitland,” I added.

Robert smirked. There is no other word for the smug expression that seized his lips. He was happy I had my old favorite, Maitland, in mind for the suspect.

“Whoever he is, he must have made a few trips,” Lollie said.

They finally examined the floor, where traces of fresh earth and coal dust were visible, though they didn’t stand out on the deep maroon oilcloth floor covering, another of Mama’s innovations. I pointed out the finger marks on the wainscoting as well.

Robert reached out to them. I noticed his fingers were a good eight inches higher than the fingerprints on the wall.

“The fellow was bent under the weight of the bags and touched the wall for support,” Lollie explained to me.

“Perhaps,” Robert said, massaging his jaw with his fingers. When the fingers came away soiled, he remembered his darkened face and drew out a handkerchief to wipe away the dirt. Lollie left his on.

I examined the fingerprints on the wainscoting. They were even lower than where my fingers touched the wall, about an inch lower. They were small, more or less the size of my own. Robert took my hand and placed it over the fingerprints. I felt a rush of warm feeling shoot up my arm at his touch. It was perfectly obvious, however, that Robert’s mind was all on business.

“These might almost be a lady’s fingerprints,” he said.

“The servant girls don’t bring up the coal for the stove,” Lollie said. “That’s George’s job, and he’s nearly as tall as you. His hands are large.”

“Curious,” Robert murmured. A frown creased his brow. “There aren’t any criminal midgets in the community, I suppose?”

“Only Isaiah,” I replied. “Good Lord!”

“What is it?” he exclaimed.

“I saw Isaiah lurking in the yard when I was dressing for the party. You don’t suppose that scamp had a hand in this?”

“Where does he live?” Robert asked.

“With his father, in that flint cottage across from the church. The house goes with the job of gravedigger and graveyard maintenance man.”

“How would Isaiah know the money was there?”

“He might have seen it being put in the cellar. He’s a regular busybody.”

“You can’t sneeze without Isaiah knowing it—and stealing your handkerchief,” Lollie said.

“Isaiah, eh?” Robert said. His eyes narrowed in a way Lollie would approve of. “It’s a possibility. We’ll look into it, but first we’ll try to pick up a trail outside. Does Isaiah have a donkey or a dog cart?”

“He travels on shank’s mare,” I told him.

‘Then he’s only a tool at most,” Robert said. “Perhaps not even that. I have another idea who might have left those finger marks on the wall.” He looked at the fingerprints, then at me, as if measuring the absent villain against my five feet and five inches. “No, don’t ask. I shan’t malign any of your friends until I have at least an iota of proof.”