Bees in the Butterfly Garden (31 page)

“Oh!” Evie chimed. “What about making everyone imitate a pig or a cat?”

As tempted as he was to see young Mason on all fours and grunting like a sow, Ian reined in such a dishonorable thought. He had something else in mind.

“My demand requires only a spare number of forfeits. A moment of my cousin’s time, and permission from you, Mr. Pemberton, for her to take me on a tour of the famous Pemberton library Meg boasts about.”

“Why don’t we all go, then?” Evie asked. “The library is just across the hall. It’s not much of a prize if you ask me.”

If Ian didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw a twinkle in Nelson’s eyes as he refused his sister’s suggestion. Obviously he knew Ian’s request to see Meg alone was something of a social risk, but Ian could tell already he would get what he wanted.

“Meg can show you a number of rare and original volumes,” Nelson said. “Take your leisure in enjoying the collection.” He glanced at the clock ticking on the nearby mantel. “Five minutes?”

Ian didn’t contain his own smile. Five minutes was enough. He offered Meg his arm. The fact that Nelson had made this so easy should have made Ian proud of himself. Ian could say this job—one that would not only provide him more gold than he’d ever beheld but also freedom from Brewster—had thus far proven the easiest in terms of groundwork. Thanks to Meg.

He dared closing the library doors once they were inside. Meg’s nervous laughter drew him to her side.

“You’re so clever!” she told him. “I couldn’t imagine how I was to bring you to this spot without calling attention to such a wish.”

She held out her hands to him, which he immediately moved to accept; then she willingly complied when he pulled her close.

“I have so much to tell you, Ian.”

“Have you?” Only two words, but issued with the leisure of someone enjoying the moment he was in. And he was. He couldn’t help adding a smile that broadened every bit as slowly.

With his arms securely around her, he was in no hurry to hear her news. She had only to catch his gaze to return it with the same kind, one that said she didn’t want to look anywhere but at him, think of anyone but him. She nodded in response to his unnecessary question, though it was clear neither one of them cared about words just then. Then she let him kiss her, even as he wondered if she knew the kiss wasn’t merely a prize required for the social gamble he’d won.

Her lips beneath his were soft, inviting. Willing.

But five minutes . . .

Ian pulled himself away. “What have you to tell me?”

“Oh! Ian, wait until you hear!”

Meg broke free of his arms to lead him to one of the bookshelves, one nearest an inner door he noticed for the first time. Reaching up, she placed her hand beneath the heel of a brass bookend and pulled out a key. “This opens the door to Mr. Pemberton’s office, right here, where I’m sure they’re hiding their gold. I saw the safe myself.”

Ian couldn’t help but gape at her. The last thing Meg’s father would have wanted to believe was that she’d inherited all the talent necessary to follow in his footsteps: cleverness, bravery, and a way to ignore self-reproach that was necessary to carry out a plan against the Pembertons. But the smile on her face convinced him.

God help him, Meg made doing the right thing a near impossibility.

He smiled despite himself. “That’s my girl.”

Then he kissed her again.

29

There comes a time in every young lady’s life when right and wrong are not easily defined. It goes without saying that a lady’s behavior must be exemplary in all things. But when confronted with two choices, both of equal merit, how does she choose? The answer to this starts of course with prayer, but she may also consult those around her, those older, wiser mentors God has placed in her life.

Madame Marisse’s Letters to Young Wives
, No. 7

Meg’s head—and heart—spun. She wished they had more time. She wanted nothing more than to kiss Ian again, and again after that. There was no denying it now—she wanted far more than a simple business partnership with him, and she hoped his kisses meant he felt the same way.

There was, however, more important business to attend to. Meg could see on Ian’s face that she had his full attention. “The office is fairly square. Just inside of this door, to the left, a large painting hangs. Go to the far edge of the painting, reach about this high—” she raised her hand even with his shoulder—“and slip your fingers behind the frame. There is a small lever in the wall, which must connect down the wall and under the floor, just as you suggested. The door is in the opposite corner, the one toward the front of the house. When you shift the lever, a door in the corner will pop open. It leads to a stairway, and at the base is a safe. It’s a Madison, Ian. Almost as tall as I am, with a combination wheel and a horizontal handle.”

“Meg,” he whispered, drawing her close once again, “you’ve done it. Guaranteed success.”

She smiled, pleased with his praise. How she wanted to extend those five minutes that were too quickly passing.

“There is just one more thing we need to do,” Ian said, calling her attention from his mouth to his eyes. “Set up a date when the house will be as empty as possible. Do you know of any plans for the family to be away—overnight, even? Perhaps when the staff will be minimal?”

Her breath caught with renewed enthusiasm. “Oh, Ian! Not all that long ago, Nelson mentioned something about a Blue Moon Picnic in the park. I can easily encourage them to proceed with it.”

“I’m not familiar with Blue Moon Picnics. Are they something new connected to high society?”

“It’s something Nelson concocted with Claire, a sort of picnic that should never happen on Fifth Avenue. But it’s exactly what we need. A party given by the Pembertons for the household staff
and
the family to enjoy. Together.”

“Hmmm . . . an evening picnic, under the moon?”

“It hasn’t exactly been scheduled,” she admitted. “But all I need do is remind them of their idea and foster it.” She offered all the surety and willingness anyone could ask from a partner, and the look on his face told her he’d noticed.

“It sounds like the perfect opportunity. Do you think they’ll go through with it?”

“I’ll do my best to see that they do.” She believed her own words and added with confidence, “I’ll see that you receive an invitation as my special guest. Practically one of the family.”

“And you’ll succeed, just as you have already. Now, about your garden. I’d like for you to plan some kind of wall, something made of bricks. Can you do that? I’ll give you the name of the brick supplier to use, but when the bricks arrive, you’ll discover they’re not to your liking after all. A messenger will arrive at the specified time to pick them up.
After
I’ve visited the safe, of course. I’ll have hidden the gold bricks among those garden bricks, and no one will notice when they’re taken away.”

“Do you mean you won’t take the gold immediately with you? You’ll just take it up to the garden—and wait for someone from the brickyard to carry it away?”

“Not just someone. Pubjug! Even if I were to come here during the middle of the night, someone might see me toting heavy bricks to and from the house. It’s important to go in and out without attracting attention. Besides, I’ll replace the Pemberton bricks with ones that look just like the real ones we’ll take.”

“Replace—but why?”

“To give you enough time to get safely away,” he said. “They likely won’t know the safe has been compromised until they have need of checking it. With that kind of safe I can cover my tracks, at least a bit. Even if they do discover the tampering, if they think nothing has been stolen, they won’t have anything to charge you with if somehow you come under suspicion. Everything will appear to be intact.”

“But where will you get something that looks like gold bricks?”

“Lead bricks plated with inferior gold—but gold nonetheless, at least in a thin layer. It’s an old swindle. The best provided a true golden nugget that customers could take to any assayer of their choice to have verified, just to be certain the gold was authentic. They returned later to buy the entire brick—which, of course, was phony. It’s a scheme as old as gold itself.”

Even as he spoke, Meg already had an idea. “I can draw up a sketch for a settee in the garden—a fine brick settee. It’ll be easy.” Her voice was nearly breathless from seeing their plan so close to fruition. She grabbed both of Ian’s hands, crushing any doubts, leaving only anticipation. At last, she truly would be Ian’s partner! “We’re going to do this, aren’t we?”

He kissed one of her hands. “You are the only one who can stop it, Meg. Say so, and I’ll end it right now.”

“I won’t stop it.”

Still holding her hands, he kissed them again before letting her go.

“If we succeed—and really, with all of this information, it’s impossible to fail—then Brewster will mean nothing anymore. Our success is the surest way to be free of him. But,” he added and kept her gaze in his, “you’ll be held as responsible as the rest of us if we get caught. That means going to jail. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

Jail seemed as unlikely a possibility as stopping this whole plan now. She’d come too far to turn back. “I’ll risk it. My father would have.”

Ian knew the gold scheme he described to Meg had worked in the past because he’d done it himself. He’d hoarded every bit of the cash he’d earned back in those days, protecting it like it was some kind of lover. He’d counted it; he’d admired it. Eventually he’d purchased an entire house with it.

Meg’s groundwork promised even greater success. Gold the likes of which he’d never seen before, provided the Pembertons were foolish enough to keep the bulk of it in one location.

Soon it would be his.

Gold. The purest that could be found.

Like the streets of heaven . . .

He shut away that last thought; it had come unbidden. God had no part in his life, and that wasn’t about to change now.

30

The tone of the household is reflected from mistress to staff. A tyrant at the top will only create tyrants in the staff. Do not be fooled into thinking servants cannot ultimately manipulate from the kitchen. It is best all around for you to be kind and generous with your staff, if you wish to have a happy household.

Madame Marisse’s Letters to Young Wives
, No. 3

The first dinner party without their parents had proved so enjoyable to the Pemberton siblings that when Meg mentioned the Blue Moon Picnic, Claire’s enthusiasm bubbled up all on its own.

Between Claire’s eagerness and Nelson’s willingness, compounded by Evie’s hopefulness to be part of the planning, the event seemed bound to happen.

Plans for the Blue Moon Picnic took up nearly all of Claire’s time, and Nelson’s, too, when he was at home. Meg was relieved Claire had found something for Evie to be involved in as well; she’d worried, at least for a while, that Geoffrey’s display of affection for her at the dinner party would result in repercussions. Evidently the prize of five minutes alone with Ian had shown both Evie and Geoffrey where Meg’s attention rested. When Evie wasn’t searching for recipes with Claire or practicing her dancing skills under Mrs. Longford’s direction, she kept to herself.

All of which left Meg free to be busy in the garden, overseeing the removal of several plants and the addition of many more. She reserved a spot for the addition of a brick seat, a bench that would extend from the privacy wall at the garden’s edge. It seemed such a natural part of the plan that she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.

Meg was just measuring where it would be erected when a maid announced the arrival of Lady Weathersfield.

Meg turned, so startled she nearly dropped the spring-loaded measuring tape Mr. Deekes so prized. Clutching it to her, she forced a smile but refused the offer of tea from the maid, waiting for her to close the leaded door behind her and leave Meg alone with Kate.

Kate stood before Meg for what felt an interminable moment before closing the gap between them and taking Meg’s free hand into both of her own.

“You’re not really going to do this awful thing against the Pembertons? It’s the last thing God would have you do.”

Meg pulled her hand away, setting the measuring spool on the nearby table. “Ian and I are partners now, Kate. The same way you were with my father.” She turned, noting as she did that a bee had joined them and was even now alighting on a thistle in a search for nectar.

“But you can’t want to take from them, when they’ve been nothing except kind to you.”

Meg refused to consider Kate’s words. “I am what I am: my father’s daughter. I can’t help but do what comes naturally in taking care of myself.”

Kate laughed. “Everyone struggles against selfishness. That isn’t what you inherited from him; you have that just by being human. Why does your connection to your father have to include breaking the law? Why can’t it be the fulfillment of what he wanted for you—a better life than he had?”

Meg’s gaze went once again to the bee to keep track of its presence. It was a shame the same flowers attracted them as drew the butterflies.

“I think you’d better go . . .
Lady
Kate.” She turned only partially, giving Kate nothing more than her profile. “And please . . . don’t visit here again.”

Meg heard no movement for such a long time that she feared Kate wouldn’t go. But then, slowly, came the soft swish of the gown Kate wore. She moved to the door, which opened and closed. Then there was silence.

Broken only by the bee buzzing over a blossom.

Kate’s visit haunted Meg each and every morning that followed. Because she wanted to keep abreast of at least some of the plans for the picnic, she decided not only to attend the morning prayer gatherings that Nelson conducted, but to arrive early enough to listen in on any specific exchanges of information between the Pembertons and their staff. Although the picnic fare would be a gift of the Pembertons to their household—prepared by the kitchen at a nearby hotel—Meg did not want to miss any unexpected details that might arise.

Which meant suffering through prayer time. And suffer Meg did, through each kind word, each moment she witnessed of sweet surrender to a loving God, each whisper of concern they spread out before a God fully immersed in their lives. Every prayer pierced Meg’s soul, but she withstood the attack.

It was not difficult to remind herself why she must carry out her plans. This had turned into something far more than proving to everyone in her father’s world that she could have been valuable to him. This single event would tie Ian to her. They would be partners forever after this. Something she was only beginning to understand.

When Meg inquired if an invitation to the picnic for Ian might be permissible, she received immediate affirmation. Claire also suggested extending one to Lady Kate, but Meg told her she was unsure if her friend was still in the city. She hoped the discouragement was enough to forestall an invitation, but if it wasn’t, Meg planned to do what she could to prevent the invitation from being extended at all.

Nor were the Masons invited, though that had been a universal decision. Since this was not the kind of party Fifth Avenue was likely to condone, and even though Geoffrey might have defied his parents to attend, Evie was persuaded they shouldn’t put him in the position to choose.

Meanwhile, the bricks for the garden were delivered two days before the picnic. They stood stacked and bundled neatly together with sturdy rope, brought in on a dolly through the servants’ entry via the kitchen. Meg spent a good deal of her afternoon hours in the garden, pretending to consider how best to use the bricks without daring to even loosen one of the ropes that bound them.

In fact she watched over them, knowing in the center of the stack were fraudulent golden bricks that would soon be used to replace the famous Pemberton bricks hiding under the house. She’d been tempted to sneak a peek at the fake gold but forbade not only herself but Mr. Deekes from freeing them of their ropes under the false claim that she wasn’t yet sure she liked the shade. She would want them to remain undamaged and ready should she choose to send them back.

The day of the picnic quickly approached. While working-class folk throughout the city would return home on Saturday exhausted from another six-day workweek, the entire Pemberton household would set out to enjoy dinner
together
in the park.

All they needed now was fair weather. A storm would change the venue from the park to the Pemberton house itself and, in so doing, end the plans Ian and Meg had for the Pemberton gold, at least for the time being. Although Meg did not pray for clear skies—she wasn’t foolish enough to depend on God’s help for such a thing—she let herself hope for it with every unused thought during the long wait until Saturday.

Ian sat on the veranda of his home on the Hudson, overlooking the river with Roscoe at his side. Instead of growing in confidence that he and Meg were doing the right thing, or at least the best thing to be free of Brewster, he was no less plagued by doubts and fears than he’d been since the moment Meg had shown up at his door. The consternation had made him flee the city entirely, at least temporarily. Out here on the Hudson he’d hoped to find peace.

Peace wasn’t to be found, though—not the peace he used to have. He’d once settled for a lack of imminent danger and satisfaction of knowing he had plenty of money. Now he wasn’t sure what peace really was, only that he didn’t have it.

Particularly when he knew he’d been followed from the city. He had half a mind to go to the hotel in town, the one that overlooked the train station where Brewster’s thug would spot his departure. Perhaps he should just invite the man to the house. Ian might persuade him to switch loyalties.

But soon enough Ian’s plans would begin; he needed only to get some information across to Brewster—something he knew would be easy between himself and Pubjug. Before escaping the city, he’d laid needed groundwork. He’d first arranged employment for Pubjug in the brickyard, explaining to a trusting Pubjug that his investment in the fake golden bricks hidden among the Pemberton delivery would be worth every penny. Real gold covered that lead, and each one had cost a bit of money to produce. Far less, of course, than the real thing, but an investment nonetheless.

Ian had also visited the Madison safe manufactory in New Jersey to assure himself he had the correct safe in mind from Meg’s description. A trip that turned out to be most beneficial, since a new model had indeed been designed. Luckily he hadn’t needed to purchase one to be familiar with its idiosyncrasies, to decide the drill requirements or putty color; it was similar enough to another model Ian knew so well.

He’d done everything without Kate’s knowledge. She was, in fact, part of the reason he’d bolted from the city. Her frequent visits and references to the commandment about not stealing weren’t very effective, but when she gave up harping and simply reminded him that a loving God wanted Ian to do the right thing—especially in regard to his innocent partner—he’d once again had to fight the feeling of being hunted.

Ian turned away from the river, catching as he did the view of John’s gravesite. “I have no choice but to take advantage of the opportunity,” he said quietly. But even as he spoke, he told himself John couldn’t hear him anyway.

When Saturday dawned fair, Meg let her eagerness for the final part of the plan rise—until another thought struck her as she ate breakfast with Claire and Nelson.

This was likely one of the last times she would share their table.

Enjoying peaches, fresh strawberries, and dropped eggs on toast, she couldn’t help letting her gaze fall first on Nelson, then on Claire with more than a touch of sadness. She could no more deny affection for them than she could deny that she wanted everything to be over. An end to this game that she needed to win if she was to prove herself capable of being her father’s daughter. Of helping Ian.

Thoughts of both her father and Ian were all she had to keep her life going on this course.

Tonight, if all went well, Ian would arrive just a bit late to the party in the park. She would assure everyone he would be there shortly, that something unforeseen must have detained him.

Knowing the front door to the Pemberton mansion was unlocked—Meg would see to that—he would let himself into the empty house. He would take whatever gold he could manage and swap it for the fakes waiting in the center of the stack of clay bricks that had already been delivered. Bricks that later this very day she would deem unworthy of the project she had in mind, arranging for their return just as soon as possible.

Pubjug would arrive before dawn to take those bricks away, gold and all. Before breakfast tomorrow, before anyone was awake, before anyone would have a chance to notice the safe had been tampered with, the Pemberton bricks would be gone. Replaced with the phony ones that waited in the garden.

At any time after tonight, Meg would be free to leave the Pemberton home.

“Is everything all set for tonight?”

Nelson’s question made Meg’s heart skip a beat. She clamped her lips shut.

“Yes, it’ll be such fun,” Claire said serenely. She glanced toward the window. “It’s a lovely day and promises to be a lovely evening, too.”

“Have Evie’s spy servants mentioned anything from the neighbors?” Meg asked. Better to participate in the conversation than entertain more thoughts and worries. “About the nature of the party, that is?”

Claire sipped her tea. “Yes, actually. The Masons have decided to take a short trip out to Saratoga, for fear of any uncharitable glances they might have to endure from their own staff tonight.”

Meg’s heart soared with relief at the news. The Masons had been her only worry. If Ian were spotted replacing the phony bricks with the real ones—and only from the Mason house would that view be possible—the entire plan might have been unveiled. It was part of the reason they’d needed to wait for cover of darkness.

Now, it appeared, they had nothing whatsoever to worry about.

If Meg didn’t know better, she’d have thought the entire plan had been supernaturally ordained.