Bees in the Butterfly Garden (36 page)

34

The happiest young wife recognizes the value of deep and abiding friendship among her peers, even after her first concern becomes her husband and family. Loyalty to one’s friend is as necessary to happiness as loyalty to one’s spouse.

Madame Marisse’s Letters to Young Wives
, No. 9

Meg thought she might faint. The edges of her vision seemed to fade, as if preparing her for a complete blackout. But just then someone twisted the bell at the front door, sufficiently calling her attention back to consciousness.

Perhaps it was Ian! Perhaps he’d come to take her away—could they run? Was it possible they could elude the police detective standing not three feet from her?

But it wasn’t Ian at the door. The butler let in Jude Johnson, who went to Claire’s side after only the quickest greeting extended to Nelson.

“Oh, Jude, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Claire said. “It’s just awful! Our safe was broken into—drilled right through the metal. And they think my dearest friend had something to do with it. I cannot believe it!” Then, as if stronger with Jude at her side, she stood a bit taller and faced the detective. “In fact, sir, I do not believe Meg could have been involved. And what does it matter, anyway, if only that silly lead seal was stolen?”

“I concur with my sister on this, Detective,” Nelson said. “I cannot believe Meg would have anything to do with this, despite the evidence.”

“I . . . don’t understand,” Meg said, her voice as feeble as she felt. “Why do you think that I was involved?”

Neither Nelson nor the detective answered. Rather the detective called for someone and two officers responded, dressed in traditional police uniform. He said something to Mr. Deekes about showing them to Meg’s room; then the butler and the two officers went up the stairs.

“Your room will be thoroughly searched, miss,” Detective Cambridge said. “We’ve only waited this long on orders from the Pembertons. If there is any evidence, or if the missing item is in your room, we’ll find it.”

“But I don’t have anything that doesn’t belong to me.” She hadn’t thought herself so capable of meekness, yet here she stood, the very picture of it.

“There, you see?” Claire said, now coming to Meg’s side and taking her hand. “I told you she wasn’t responsible. It’s ridiculous. I’ve known her for years, and a graduate of Madame Marisse’s simply wouldn’t do such a thing.”

The detective, a man with a fair complexion made fairer by white hair and a matching white mustache, appeared only skeptical. “We’ll see about that, then.”

Nelson stepped to Meg’s other side. “Even if the missing seal does turn up in her room, Detective, there was no real harm done.” He eyed Meg. “We’d like an explanation, of course, but we have no intention of pressing charges.”

Meg wished she could find comfort in his words. What would happen when they learned the gold bricks were fake? That Ian had replaced them with look-alikes?

Part of her was tempted to confess to it all, except that it would endanger Ian—and that she wouldn’t do.

If only she hadn’t been foolish enough to be caught! But how had she been found out?

“What is your evidence that I was involved?” Perhaps this time she would receive an answer.

“Evie found your slipper,” Claire said. “It’s stained with the rust from our old safe. We can’t imagine how, except that you must have been in the cellar. But how, Meg? How could that be?”

Meg’s head was so light she feared all strength would abandon her. Why, oh why, had she thought herself capable of going through with this if she couldn’t pay the price of being caught?

The bell at the door sounded again, but this time it was Jude Johnson who answered the call, since Mr. Deekes was still with the officers upstairs. Two more police officers came in. Evidently both Nelson and the detective had expected them, since the detective introduced them to Nelson.

Nelson then led the two officers from the foyer to the office, while the detective excused himself from Claire to move toward the stairs. He sent Meg a somber glance before speaking as he ascended. “I trust you’ll still be here when I return in a moment, Miss Davenport.”

She nodded. Where could she go under so much scrutiny?

“Nelson is having the gold moved to a safer location,” Claire said, “until we decide what to do with it. I suppose we’ll have to send word to Father, to see what he thinks best. I wonder if they might cut short their trip?”

“I never knew your family kept so much of the gold here, Claire,” Jude said. Then he looked at Meg. “How did you?”

Meg swallowed hard, and the effort pierced her throat. “I . . . didn’t.”

“But the stained slipper, Meg,” Claire said. “It’s obviously from our cellar, from the unusual color. How did they become stained?”

“I . . . I . . .”

Claire leaned closer. “Meg, if you’re innocent, just say so. I want to believe you. But there is a footprint in the cellar that matches the quilt of your slippers. I don’t know how you could be innocent, but I want very much to believe that you are.”

Part of Meg longed to confess, thinking it might help. But fear wouldn’t let her.

“Unless . . .” Claire’s voice sounded curiously hopeful as she scanned the hall and what was visible of the parlor. “Unless this is one of Evie’s pranks! Where is she, anyway? She’s been skulking around all morning.” Claire turned to Jude. “Do you suppose she could have done this? She could have taken Meg’s slippers and worn them down there. We’ve never shown her how to open the safe—she’s still too young—but she’s been in the cellar on her own. She’s been wanting to cause trouble for Meg ever since our neighbor first laid eyes on her.”

For the barest moment Meg wanted to latch on to the slimmest thread of hope Claire was so eager to cast her way.

But she couldn’t. She would not lay blame where it didn’t belong.

She opened her mouth to confess, but nothing came out. Not a word.

How could she confess without implicating Ian? She couldn’t do that any more than she could get Evie into temporary trouble.

“If nothing of value was taken,” she finally managed to say, her voice so raspy it hardly sounded like her own, “then can we not forget this whole thing?”

Jude was already shaking his head. “With the police involved, it’s not likely to be entirely excused.” He looked at Claire. “Didn’t you say the safe was broken open by a drill? How would Evie have drilled into that safe? I don’t think she’s strong enough to turn a drill crank through metal as substantial as a safe would require.”

“If Evie isn’t strong enough, then neither is Meg.”

Meg felt tears warm her eyes over Claire’s staunch defense. She looked again toward the hall that led to the office. If Nelson brought that gold up from the cellar, would the light of day reveal the bars to be the frauds they were?

Then Claire would know; they would all know.

And she would go to jail, even though she hadn’t the faintest idea where the real gold could be found.

Ian stepped up to the Pemberton door. If he was to be sure Meg’s reputation remained intact—allowing hope of a future her father would have wanted for her—this part of his plan needed to succeed every bit as much as everything else had thus far. If the break-in had been discovered, as surely it had based upon the activity surrounding the house, they would soon have an explanation. At least the explanation Ian wanted them to believe.

A man he didn’t recognize—clearly not a servant by his fashionable set of clothing—answered the door at Ian’s ring.

Ian removed his hat. “Ian Vandermey.”

“Ian!”

The man could not even step aside before Ian heard Meg’s call—her tone a mix of horror and relief.

He moved past the man who’d opened the door, directly to Meg’s side. Her color was high, her blue eyes dismayed—though still lovely and clearly glad to see him. He knew she would have come into his arms had he offered such comfort, but instead he held out his hand for her to clutch. That was all the contact he could afford and still have any hope of carrying through the rest of his plan.

“I came to call on you, Cousin,” Ian said, as jovially as possible, “but I see you already have company.”

It was then he noticed Claire Pemberton. She stepped closer, putting her palm on the arm of the man near her. She had a look of distress on her face, an expression not unexpected, but he saw that the man beside her was someone from whom she drew strength.

“I’m afraid we’re facing something of a crisis, Mr. Vandermey. Our safe was broken into.”

He put on a frown. “Was it? Did you catch the perpetrator?”

Both Claire and the man at her side looked at Meg. They suspected
her
? But how? Surely she hadn’t confessed, when she’d shown such fortitude so far!

Meg confirmed the horrific notion with a small nod. “They think it was me.”

Ian knew immediately he must hasten with the rest of his plan. He bowed as if an actor at a performance. And truly, he was. “It was I who broke into the safe.”

“You!”

Meg did not look pleased by his admission, though it should have eased the worry on her face. He would soon have all of this cleared up—at least as far as Meg went.

He handed Claire a card he pulled from his vest pocket.

“Vandermey Securities,” she read. She looked at him, her brow ruffled. “What is this?”

“That, Miss Pemberton, is the name of my business. I believe I proved my services are required by successfully breaking into your safe. I assure you I can prevent such a thing in the future with as much expertise as I used to carry out this violation.”

The man beside her took the card from Claire’s hand, looking at it, then at Ian. “So you broke into the safe to prove your necessity?”

The man was every bit as tall as Ian himself, only he was a bit sturdier than Ian’s slim build. The kind of man Ian had learned long ago to avoid inciting. “Yes, of course. Obviously my services
are
needed.”

“You realize you could be arrested for doing what you did?”

“Not if I can convince the Pembertons they need me. Soon I intend having all of Fifth Avenue looking at that same little information card.” He looked at Claire with hope in his eye.

He knew Meg must be confused; he didn’t have to see her face to know that. She still believed he’d switched the gold bars. But he refused to look at her, partly from the sure knowledge that he wasn’t the actor he needed to be when it involved her, and partly because it fit so exactly into his plan not to give her the comfort she obviously would find in his reassurance.

“I think all of us need an explanation,” Meg said.

“Wait,” Claire said, holding up a palm. “Let me get my brother, or we’ll be forced to repeat it all for him. You’ll wait, won’t you?”

Ian nodded, then eyed the glowering man at her side. “I imagine your friend here will make sure of that.”

Claire disappeared, and Ian could not ignore Meg when she leaned into him. He tried avoiding her eyes but found he couldn’t after all. He was never so weak as when it came to her.

Meg needed Ian to be anything except what he seemed at the moment—evasive and cool, even toward her. Did he think this security business would give them enough time to get successfully away before the Pembertons discovered their gold was gone? But how? She only knew she intended to keep close to his side.

She knew one other thing as well, and there was no sense denying it any longer. Ian had been right at the outset. She didn’t have the stomach for thievery. Perhaps if she’d been raised at her father’s side, as he had, things would be different. The truth was she’d been sick at heart since imagining the results of their crime against the Pembertons. People she’d come to love.

But why did he act just now as if he barely tolerated her touch? Did he know how close she was to breaking down, confessing all? If he knew, surely he should offer her comfort instead of this confident reserve. Perhaps this confrontation between thief and victim was part of the fun for him, but it had ceased being that for Meg. Longer ago than she wanted to admit.

There was no time to ask him anything, not with Jude standing right there and with Nelson’s return. Nelson appeared pale again, more so even than earlier. He studied Ian with what looked like a mix of distrust, curiosity, and a touch of anger.