Bees in the Butterfly Garden (37 page)

“Mr. Vandermey,” he said, “my sister tells me you’ve just confessed to breaking into our safe. The other night, I presume, when the house was vacant for the picnic.”

“That’s right. And did she tell you why?”

“Something about a security business.” He sent a stare Ian’s way that Meg thought possessed nothing short of an accusation. “If that’s the case, you might consider returning the missing brick.”

Meg’s breath caught in her throat. Brick? Had he referred only to one? Had he discovered, as she’d feared would happen in the sunlight shining through those two windows of the office, that the bricks were not the ones that had been in his family for three generations?

She glanced at Ian, who suddenly lost the cocky, devil-may-care look on his face.

“A missing brick?”

“That’s right. We’re in the process of transferring the gold to a safer location, now that the storage space is rather public knowledge and the safe compromised. In so doing, we discovered that we’re one short.”

She saw Ian’s gaze dart from Nelson to the direction of the office. “Are you sure? Quite sure?”

“I ought to know my family’s inventory, Mr. Vandermey. I assure you we are missing one brick. An approximate value of eighty-four hundred dollars.”

Ian shifted on his feet, and the grip on his hat seemed to tighten. “I’m afraid there has been some sort of mix-up, Mr. Pemberton. I broke into your safe on Saturday night but removed only an unusual seal with the
P
on it. Worthless, but unique enough to prove what I’d done. It will, in fact, be on its way back to you in a secure and nondescript carton via the postman, along with my calling card.”

“That’s quite a daring feat, Mr. Vandermey,” Nelson said.

Ian didn’t look offended by the disdain in Nelson’s voice. “I assume you discovered the breach . . . yesterday or this morning?”

“Last night, actually.”

“And is it possible anyone else might have had access to the safe—besides myself, of course, and yourself—after you checked on it?”

“No. I spent the night in the office, and it’s been guarded throughout the day.”

“Although,” Claire said, “just before you left to transfer the gold, Nelson, the office was empty. Aren’t the two men who’d been guarding it upstairs, searching Meg’s room?”

“Yes, but we were all standing here. No one else could have had access to the room without our seeing it. We were standing right here before the front door.”

“I hate to ask this yet again, Mr. Pemberton,” Ian said, “but when you first noticed the safe had been compromised, did you count the bricks?”

“No, I did not. But just now when we went to move them I did, and we’re one short.”

“And it’s not possible that it’s still there, just out of place?”

“I searched. It isn’t to be found.”

Ian appeared more than a little uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not my finest moment as a security expert, I admit, but I’m afraid I have no explanation. I do not have the brick, Mr. Pemberton.”

Nelson looked immediately to Meg.

“Nor I!”

Just then the two men who had been sent to Meg’s room with the detective came down the stairs. The detective, in the lead, shook his head.

“You found nothing?” Nelson asked. “Nothing at all?”

“That’s right. No sign of the missing seal.”

“I’m afraid that’s not all that’s missing, Detective,” Nelson said. “One of the bricks was stolen as well.”

The detective frowned, then looked from Nelson to Meg and back again. “I suppose that means you’ll be pressing charges after all.”

“Yes, but not against Meg,” Claire said. “This man has admitted to breaking into the safe.”

The detective assessed Ian. “And you are?”

Ian introduced himself, although Meg’s head was spinning so fast she could barely hear anything until Ian said her name.

“Miss Davenport had nothing to do with this. I did, however, extract information from her, information she unknowingly provided. I finagled an invitation through her to this home and compromised the room on my own. My goal was merely to ignite a reputation for security services on this famous avenue, but somewhere along the way the plan went awry if one of the bricks isn’t there.”

“Until that brick shows up, Mr. Vandermey,” Nelson said, “you will be responsible for its absence.”

“So you’ll allow me to arrest this man?” the detective asked. “But not the girl? Even though a good thorough questioning of her, too, might bring in more information about all of this?”

“Oh no, Nelson!” Claire said, nearing Meg to put an arm about her shoulder. “I’m sure Meg is innocent.”

Nelson looked to be considering something before speaking. “This is a most unusual case. It’s more than a little odd that only one brick should be missing.”

“Exactly!” Ian said. “If I
were
a thief, I can tell you I wouldn’t have stopped at one. And I say this again: Miss Davenport had nothing more to do with my activity than to be naively used.”

“Nonetheless, one brick was a hefty sum to run off with for a single night’s work.” The detective took Ian’s arm. “You’ll be coming with me, sir.”

Meg watched the detective march Ian outside to a waiting police wagon. Complete with bars, like a cage to house an animal in the Central Park menagerie.

Ian never even looked back at her.

Ian threw himself onto the bench that ran along the inside of the patrol wagon. Blast it all, where was that missing brick?

He thwacked his forehead.

Pubjug.

It
must
have been him. He’d been the only one with the opportunity when Ian left him to apply the putty to the safe. Ian himself had been so eager to flee temptation that he hadn’t thought what it must have done to Pubjug. The man had been a thief far longer than Ian had been!

He’d never felt like such an idiot. Despite the feeling of betrayal—for a single brick!—Ian couldn’t blame Pubjug. It was Ian’s own fault for subjecting the man to such irresistible bait.

Staring at the bars surrounding him—the first time he’d ever had to surrender his freedom—Ian tried shaking away his anger. An arrest wasn’t unexpected, was it, sooner or later? The only surprise was that Vandermey had come to this. Ian Vandermey was innocent as a lamb, but if they learned even half the things Ian Maguire had done, he might be forced to pay his debt to society.

Maybe that was what God had in mind.

35

Don’t let nobody tell you bein’ a thief ain’t hard work. It’s hard, all right, and not without plenty a risks, too. Still, it’s better’n workin’ for somebody else. I don’t like nobody tellin’ me what to do with my time, see?

Billy “Mooseface” Bushnell

Incarcerated for selling stolen goods

Code of Thieves

Meg wanted nothing more than to run to her room and let out the tears burning the rims of her eyes. Yet what would she find up there? She was sure each one of her personal articles had been manhandled by the New York police.

She looked at Claire, who still had her arm around Meg. Meg could barely withstand Claire’s sympathetic, guileless gaze.

“I’m so sorry you were fooled by him, Meg,” Claire whispered. “He’s a handsome rogue, but you’re well rid of him.”

“I—I’m so confused!” Meg admitted, though she could not explain why.

“I don’t doubt you are,” Nelson said. “No one likes to be used in such a devious way.”

That was enough to nearly break her. Meg stepped back and the tears began to fall. “But that’s what I’ve done to you!”

Then she ran up the stairs, the coward she was, knowing she should have been carted off in that awful cage along with Ian.

No longer caring what she would face in her room, Meg didn’t stop until she reached her door.

“Meg!”

Evie’s unexpected voice sounded from the other end of the hallway. She’d just emerged from the aviary and stared at Meg with wide, nervous eyes, looking surprised to see her.

“I’m not feeling very well, Evie,” Meg managed to say. “Please excuse me.”

She opened the door to her room, finding it surprisingly neat in spite of the search, and threw herself on the bed.

Meg refused to leave her room for the rest of the day, politely declining the invitation to lunch. She didn’t care if she ever ate again. She deserved far more punishment than simple deprivation.

All afternoon, thoughts of the Pembertons’ kindness replayed in her mind: Claire’s loyalty, Nelson’s disappointment. They didn’t deserve to be victims. She’d never once entirely realized that was what she’d doomed them to become all along.

How could she have done what she did? Plotted against such lovely, faith-filled people?

Somehow their faith only made Meg’s condition worse. She was sick at heart, sick to her very soul over what she’d helped accomplish. Even if the theft hadn’t gone entirely as planned, the Pembertons still had every right to hate her. She hated herself.

Yet the details made no sense, and neither did Ian’s attempt to cover it up. There was only one explanation, one that added weight to her already-laden soul. Ian truly had not stolen the gold. If that was true, surely God must be protecting the Pembertons if somehow Ian hadn’t gone through with their plan. Thoughts of God Himself working against the theft suddenly made Him far more personal, as though He were against
her
as well. And why shouldn’t He be?

There could be no other explanation. Nelson seemed so sure the bricks were all intact, except for the one that was missing. But if Ian had a change of heart, why take only one?

If God did have anything to do with the outcome, she wondered if He’d used that painting. Ian had referred to it at the picnic. What a fitting deterrent, showing the rightful punishment of two thieves. Who could deny it affected everyone who set eyes on it? Even Meg had felt God’s presence from it.

In a way she couldn’t understand, Meg almost longed to see the painting again. To torture herself. Somehow, though, she knew that painting wasn’t meant to represent condemnation, or it wouldn’t be drawing her to it even now.

But she didn’t have the courage to leave her room, though she knew she must eventually. She must go downstairs, find Claire and Nelson, and confess her involvement. She mustn’t let the Pembertons believe her to be innocent, and she must take whatever punishment they—and society—meted out.

When she stood, dizziness assailed her again, but this time it was as much from hunger as worry. She stopped at the mirror and saw circles under her eyes and a gaze that even in her own company darted nervously about. She attempted to make herself look as presentable as possible, then left her room.

The parlor was empty, and so was the nearly finished garden. Awaiting only the new bricks. . . . She swallowed away the thought.

She went to the library and thought it, too, was unoccupied until she spied Evie in one of the corners, reading a book beneath a lamp lit to supplement the fading afternoon light.

Evie looked up but didn’t say anything, simply putting one finger over her lips. She pointed toward the office.

Low voices came through the open door.

Meg approached but stopped short of entering. She could decipher only some of the words, about love and truth and guidance and thankfulness and protection, but it did not take long to realize they were spoken in prayer. Peeking inside, she saw Claire, Jude, and Nelson all sitting together, heads bowed, the painting behind them.

Perhaps it was the prayer or the painting or the dregs of her guilt pushing her, but as soon as the voices quieted, Meg found the courage to step inside the room.

“I came to tell all of you the truth,” she said softly. “You certainly deserve that much. And I deserve . . . far worse than your prayers.”

All three of them stood, but it was Claire who approached. She took Meg’s hand and led her to the seat she had vacated. Would she still want to offer such kindness when she knew?

“I’m not as innocent as Ian led you to believe.”

Claire still held one of Meg’s hands even though Meg had taken her seat. “You couldn’t help that he used you.”

Meg shook her head, fighting tears she thought spent. “My father was a thief. Like Ian.” She heard Claire’s gasp as she let Meg go, but instead of looking at any of them, Meg turned to the painting. Unexpectedly, rather than a flood of shame, gratitude filled her. She no longer saw what the thieves had done. She saw only Christ’s sacrifice—for her father . . . and for her.

“My father could have been one of them, at Jesus’ side.” Regret was still there, along with her overpowering gratitude, but in the painting she found the strength to continue. “I didn’t know he was a thief. He sent me away when I was a child, too young to have learned the truth about him. I thought he didn’t want me with him. I didn’t know—” She pressed her fingers to her mouth in a feeble attempt to hold back another sob. “I didn’t know he loved me. I didn’t believe it the way I do now. He sent me to be raised at Madame Marisse’s, to be sheltered from a life of lies and dishonesty.” She sniffed again, and Claire produced a handkerchief.

Meg looked up at her friend. “I came here trying to prove to myself that I was my father’s daughter. I thought by breaking the rules, by doing as he did, I would prove that he shouldn’t have shut me away all those years. That he could have trusted me, could have . . . loved me. But now I know that he did. He wanted me to be free of the kind of life he had, only I didn’t believe it until now.”

“So you knew Mr. Vandermey planned to breach the safe?” Jude asked.

She nodded. “I told him where to find the key to this office. I told him about the secret cellar.”

“But how did you know about it?” Nelson asked.

“I guessed, from the way you appeared in this room when I first admired the painting. Then I snuck down here when all of you were sleeping, until I found the secret latch. That’s how my slippers became stained.”

“Oh, Meg,” Claire whispered.

Meg offered a dispirited smile. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where the missing brick is, Claire. I did give all of the information to Ian, and I knew he was going to break in.”

“But to take only one makes no sense,” Nelson said. “If he was willing to risk so much, why do it for a single brick when even taking only half the gold would have yielded so much more?”

Meg shook her head. “I don’t know. A reluctance to see me get into very much trouble, perhaps. He didn’t want me to follow in my father’s footsteps, not from the start. Ian was very loyal to my father.” She couldn’t say more, that he’d tried protecting her because of feelings he harbored for her. Meg didn’t know if he had any.

“But a theft is a theft. If he wanted to spare you from harm, why even take one?”

“Perhaps he couldn’t help himself. He’s a thief and a gambler. He came because I knew Claire from school and because I offered a way to your gold.” Then she added, although she knew it wasn’t enough, “I’m so very, very sorry.”

“Oh, Meg,” Claire repeated, taking the seat beside Meg that Jude had left free when he stood. But it wasn’t judgment in her voice; she sounded sad and disappointed. Meg wasn’t sure which was harder to withstand.

“Then you ought to be in jail along with Mr. Vandermey!”

Those words came from behind Claire—from Evie, who must have been listening at the door.

“Now, Evie,” Nelson said calmly, “let’s not get carried away.”

“She didn’t do the actual stealing,” Claire said.

“But she made it possible for him to do it! And as Nelson and Claire have so often reminded
me
,” Evie said, “intentions are part of the crime. I for one don’t want to offer grace or mercy or even justice. I want revenge!”

Meg might have thought it amusing, or at least appropriate, that of all people Evie should demand such a thing. But she hadn’t the peace of mind to feel anything but deserving of every bit of wrath any Pemberton cared to issue.

Nelson was the first to shush his sister, followed by Claire.

“Revenge, as we’ve always said,” Nelson told her, “is the sinner’s response to being wronged.”

“And you know that, Evie,” Claire added.

“You can’t be the judge this time, Nelson,” Evie insisted. “I’m going to the police if you won’t.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Claire stood and grabbed Evie’s arm. “The fact remains Meg did not take the brick, and as you can see, she isn’t exactly dancing with happiness over what she’s done. We must consider all of the facts, and that includes everything about her father. I suspect she was trying not only to connect with his memory, but with Ian himself.” She looked at Meg.

Meg nodded again, every bit as miserable as she’d been a moment ago. She loved a thief, one who was in jail. There was no future for her, none at all. She might as well be in jail beside him.

“I certainly cannot tell someone to stop loving another,” Claire said, sending a quick smile Jude’s way, “but, Meg, he’s clearly not good for you. You see that, don’t you?”

“I know that I should see it that way. I hoped . . . oh, I don’t know what I hoped. I know after this I never want to be involved in anything remotely illegal, and unless he’s changed his ways, I don’t see how I could ever . . . love him.”

“Meg, listen to me,” Nelson said. “I’ll talk to him and find out his side of this story. There must be a reason he stole only the single brick. Perhaps he meant to be honest from now on and start that business he talked about. Someone with his history would have a unique perspective on how to prevent burglaries.”

“Nelson might be right,” Claire said. “Ian didn’t want you to get into any trouble. That must mean he cares.”

Meg sniffed again. “It’s inconceivable to me that you should be standing here trying to comfort me, after what I’ve done.”

Evie crossed her arms. “Don’t think I have any part in it.” She stomped from the room, back into the library.

“I’ll go to the jail and speak to him right away,” Nelson said. “I planned to do so at any rate, but I won’t put it off, not even until tomorrow.”

Then he, too, left the room, by way of the door that led to the foyer.

Claire smiled at Meg. “Heaven knows I’m far from perfect, but I’ve learned offering grace brings peace. And I do offer you that, Meg. Grace. Just so you know.”

When Meg burst into tears, Claire returned to her side, and she and Meg clung to one another. Never before had Meg believed God loved her, not until this moment when He’d sent someone so precious to show her that His grace went beyond mercy.

Ian leaned back on the cot, though he was convinced a comfortable spot was not to be found. He’d been in the cell less than an hour, the first two hours of his stay having been spent waiting for, then being interrogated by, the police detective and another officer Ian hadn’t met before. He told them everything he did at the Pemberton mansion, leaving out Pubjug’s name entirely. He might have betrayed Ian, but Ian was no snitch.

In the hours since he arrived, he’d been thankful for only one thing: in here, he was safe from Brewster’s revenge. Not that he’d be safe for long, not if he found the courage to admit who he was, how he’d evaded arrest despite his many crimes in the past.

The damp permeated the dark hallways and narrow cells, and straw on the floor did little to absorb either the dank or the stench.

No wonder they called this the Tombs.

“Vandermey!” The bulky guard, easily twice as wide as Ian himself, rattled his keys before fitting one into the lock on Ian’s bars. “Visitor. Come with me.”

Ian had trouble following the pace set by the guard, hampered by the shackles on his ankles. Perhaps humiliation was part of the punishment, since Ian felt like a toddling child behind him. And for what? Who could be visiting him, anyway? Common sense told him it couldn’t be Meg, and Ian didn’t care to see anyone else.