Gather Ye Rosebuds (6 page)

“What is the date?” I said, running my eye along the left-hand column. “May the fifteenth, 1811. About the time Lady Margaret’s necklace was stolen. Mama, Uncle Barry
bought
the necklace! And here we were in a great rush to give it back to the Weylins.”

She clapped her two hands on her cheeks. “Oh dear, and they will never believe us. I can hardly believe it myself. Five thousand pounds thrown away on that ugly old thing.”

“And to think I humbled myself to them, apologizing and listening to Lady Weylin accuse me of chasing after her son.”

“Why did Lady Margaret say it was stolen?” Mama asked. “The thing was not entailed. Her husband gave it to her as a wedding gift, so if she wanted to sell it, she could. Barry must have bought it in all innocence from whoever stole it.”

“Why would he do that? It is not as though he got it at a bargain price. The necklace would hardly be worth five thousand, and to buy it from some hedge bird on a street corner—it makes no sense. If he wanted a diamond necklace for some reason, he would have bought it from a reputable jeweler.”

After considerable discussion, we had gotten no further toward solving the mystery.

“Steptoe knows something about this,” I said, and rose to march downstairs and confront him.

He was still in the tower room, which struck me as highly suspicious. As there was nothing there worth stealing, however, I only told him his duties were belowstairs, before speaking of the more important matter. I chose my words carefully. It was not my intention to tell him anything, only pick his brains to discover what he knew.

I jumped in without preamble. “I want to know the meaning of your cryptic reference to Tunbridge Wells, Steptoe,” I said.

He looked at me with the face of perfect innocence, but with that sly light beaming in his eyes. “Tunbridge Wells, madam? A fine and healthy spot. I often go there to take the waters. I believe I mentioned it to you earlier.”

“You implied seeing my uncle there. What was he doing?”

“I did not say I had seen Mr. McShane, madam. You must have misheard me.”

“Then you did not see him?”

“Oh, I did not say that either, miss.” The subtle shift from “madam” to the demeaning “miss” did not pass unnoticed. “It might come back to me anon.”

There was obviously no point quizzing him further. He knew something, but he was holding on to it for future mischief.

“Why are you wasting your time up here? Go downstairs. That is what we are paying you for.”

“Certainly, miss.”

His bow was a perfect model of impertinence. I wanted to run after him and kick him, but uncertainty held me in check. The devil knew something that would redound to my uncle’s discredit, or he would not be so brass-faced. I went back to the attic and reported my failure to Mama.

My mood could hardly have been worse when Steptoe came tripping up to the attic ten minutes later. His bold eyes took a close look at what we were doing before he spoke. “Lord Weylin to see you, Miss Barron.”

“Lord Weylin!” Mama exclaimed. “What can he want?”

“He did not say, madam,” Steptoe said. “Shall I tell him you are indisposed, Miss Barron?”

It was what I wanted to say, but I would not give Steptoe the satisfaction. “Certainly not. I shall be down presently. Pray show his lordship into the saloon while I wash my hands.”

“I have already done so, madam.”

I gathered up my uncle’s papers to take to my room, safe from Steptoe. “Come down with me, Mama,” I said. “I cannot meet Weylin alone.”

“Why, Zoie,” she laughed, “it is not a courting call. It is only business. At your age there can be no impropriety in meeting a gentleman alone.”

“Of course it is not a courting call!”

“Well then—I shall just poke about up here and see what else I can find. Leave those papers with me.”

I left her to it and went to my room to freshen up.

Chapter Six

That killing phrase, “at your age,” has begun finding its way to Mama’s lips too often to suit me. It seems only yesterday the phrase that guided my actions was “when you are a little older.” When had I become old enough to be my own chaperon? The awful answer is that the point had not arisen in recent memory, because no gentleman had tried to get me alone.

Naturally I knew Lord Weylin had only come to discuss the curst necklace, but that did not mean I must greet him with dusty hands and cobwebs in my hair. With the memory of his sartorial elegance still fresh in my mind, I was tempted to change out of the three-year-old sprigged muslin I had put on for rooting in the attic.

By the time I had washed up and brushed away the cobwebs, ten minutes had passed. I could not like to leave him waiting any longer, and went belowstairs in the old sprigged muslin.

Our saloon, which is not honored with a formal name like the Blue Saloon at Parham, suddenly seemed cramped and shabby. Lord Weylin’s boots shone more brightly than our mirrors; his jacket had more nap than our carpets. I wished I had changed my gown, but as I had not, I went forward to greet him.

He rose and bowed. “Miss Barron. You will be wondering what brings me pelting to see you so soon after your visit.” If he took any interest in either my hair or my gown, he concealed it well. His glowing eyes displayed a keen interest in something, but that something was not Miss Barron, nor her lack of a chaperon either.

“I am sure you are welcome any time, milord, but I expect I know why you are here. It is about the necklace, of course.”

His thoughtless “Of course” confirmed that no other reason for coming had so much as entered his well-barbered head. “The strangest thing!”

My heart plunged. He had heard something to Barry’s discredit! Steptoe had sent him a note, or— For a moment, Lord Weylin faded to a black cloud, which slowly dissipated to reveal my caller, staring at me in astonishment. I did not quite tumble over, but I was reeling.

He hastened forward to assist me into a chair. “What an idiot I am! I’ve frightened you to death. Let me get you a glass of wine. You’re white as paper.”

He bustled about, pouring the wine and handing it to me. I sipped and was glad for the warmth it brought to my shaken body. “A weak spell. I cannot think what came over me,” I said. “Pray help yourself to a glass of wine, milord.” I wished we had set out a better wine. There were still a few bottles of Papa’s good wine in the cellar, but the sherry on the table was first cousin to vinegar. He did not take any, however. His interest was all on the necklace.

He drew it out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. With the recent discovery of Uncle’s financial doings in my head, I jumped to the conclusion that he had discovered in some manner that Barry had bought it, and he was giving it back to us. “How did you find out my uncle bought it? You must have been looking through your aunt Margaret’s accounts, as I have been looking into my uncle’s.”

His brows rose in gentle arcs. “I beg your pardon? Are you saying your uncle
bought
the necklace?”

“I ... well, perhaps.” Then I said more firmly, “Yes.”

“Will you explain more fully? I do not quite understand.”

I explained about the five thousand pounds Uncle had come home with, and taken out of his account at around the time the necklace had disappeared.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “It looks as though my aunt is the thief, for this thing she sold him is glass.”

“You mean it is not real diamond?”

“Mama thought it did not sparkle as it should. I tried cutting a windowpane with it. The edge of the stone crumbled without making a dint in the windowpane. I rushed it straight into the jeweler in Aldershot. Stacey confirmed that the thing is glass. Worth five or ten pounds.”

I was stunned into temporary silence. When I looked at the necklace again, it seemed to have lost its luster. It looked common, cheap. I said, “So your aunt never had a diamond necklace at all?”

“She had one, all right. She took it to Stacey to be cleaned shortly before it was stolen. This is a copy. Mama did not know of its existence, nor did I, though it is not uncommon for ladies to have copies made of their jewels.”

“And the real diamonds—they are still missing?”

“Yes, along with a few other baubles. Just trifles really. A garnet brooch, and an opal ring. The more valuable Macintosh jewelry was entailed on Macintosh’s son.”

“Your aunt did not report the other items stolen?”

“No, which is odd, for she certainly made a fine ruckus when the necklace was taken. I confess it is all a complete mystery to me. And now you say five thousand pounds of your uncle’s money has vanished as well?” Lord Weylin displayed the keenest interest in all of this. I did not think he was really concerned, or worried about the jewelry, but just interested in a bizarre little mystery.

“Actually it vanished shortly after he came to us.”

“Remind me, when was that, exactly?”

“He withdrew the money the fifteenth of May, 1811.” I looked to see if the date suggested anything to him.

“About the time my aunt’s necklace disappeared—which is why you thought he’d bought it, of course. And no great bargain either. The thing was not insured, but it had been evaluated for insurance purposes at four thousand pounds. My aunt did not renew the policy as she so seldom wore it, and felt it was safe at Parham. When one takes into account that Mr. McShane would be called a thief if he ever produced the necklace, it begins to look as though his purchasing it is not the answer.”

“He would never have bought it under those terms. Your aunt would not have claimed it stolen if she had sold it.”

We sat frowning at the glass beads on the sofa table in silence. “Perhaps I shall have a glass of that wine,” he said, and helped himself. He was too gentlemanly to grimace at its sharp taste, but I noticed he set it aside after one sip and was in no hurry to take it up again.

After a frowning pause, he continued, “It almost seems the two incidents are related—certainly by time, if not by place. You were here, and privy to your uncle’s doings, Miss Barron. Had he anything to do with Lady Margaret?”

“To the best of my knowledge, they never exchanged more than a nod. She did not call at Hernefield, and we do not call at Parham. Uncle lifted his hat if they chanced to meet in town or at some social do.”

“And Mr. McShane never went to Tunbridge Wells?”

I hesitated a moment before answering. The situation had changed since the morning, when I had humiliated myself by giving back the necklace. It was now Lady Margaret whose actions were under a cloud. I decided to reveal Steptoe’s hint.

“I am not aware of his ever going there. Our butler, however, has dropped a dark hint that he saw my uncle at Tunbridge. I cannot get anything concrete out of him. He is the slyest dog in the parish.”

Lord Weylin nodded and said, “Steptoe,” in a grim voice. “Whatever possessed you to hire the man?”

“We would not have done so had you seen fit to warn us he is a thief,” I shot back. “Really, milord, I think you might have warned us.”

He looked surprised at my sharp tone. “I did caution the Pakenhams, when they inquired after his character. They were in urgent need of an experienced footman, and Steptoe knows his business. They took him on probation, with a warning. He behaved himself for two years, then small items began disappearing, and they let him go. Did they not caution you, when you spoke to them?”

“We did not speak to them. As he had worked at Parham, we felt he must be reliable. We offered him the post of butler; he was happy to be promoted from footman, and accepted. As you are our neighbor, I think you might have warned us.”

“Mama was concerned, but she did not feel he could do much harm here.” A look of chagrin seized his face the minute the words were out. “That is— not that I mean—”

I quenched down an angry reproof. “Hernefield is not so littered with chinoiserie as Parham, to be sure,” I snipped.

Lord Weylin wisely let the matter drop, and spoke on quickly to cover his gaffe. “How did you learn of his having taken my Tang vase? I never could prove it, and was reluctant to publicly shame the man without proof, though I am morally certain he was the culprit.”

“He blurted it out himself. He thought we already knew.”

“I take it, then, that you have given him his congé?”

I blushed to admit we had not. “It is this matter of his knowing something about Tunbridge Wells,” I explained. “I hope to discover what it is he knows.”

“What can he know? He obviously saw your uncle there, and is trying to make gain on it.”

“Yes, but...” Lord Weylin just looked patiently while I sorted out my muddled thoughts. “It is the
way
he says it, as though my uncle were doing something he should not.”

“You are letting him play on your susceptibilities, Miss Barron. I must own that surprises me,” he said with a small smile. “You were more forthcoming at Parham. Stop a moment, and consider the facts. Mr. McShane did not have the stolen necklace; he had a worthless copy. Did he leave a large sum of money in his will? Is that what concerns you?”

“Certainly not; he did not even leave enough to bury himself. Everyone else who goes to India comes home a nabob, but Uncle only brought back five thousand pounds, and he lost that, or gave or gambled it away.”

“Then it does not appear he was engaged in any criminal doings. Would you like me to have a word with Steptoe?”

“It will do no good. When I tried to quiz him, he as well as denied having said anything to me. The man is a weasel.”

“You should dismiss him at once.”

“I daresay you are right. Now that I know that necklace is glass, I shan’t hesitate to do it.”

Weylin glanced at his watch, and said, “I must be running along.” He picked up the necklace, looked a question at me, and when I did not object, he put it in his pocket.

I said, “I still think it odd my uncle had the copy.”

“It is one of life’s little mysteries.”

“He must have obtained it at Tunbridge Wells, don’t you think? If he and Lady Margaret ever had anything to do with each other, it did not happen here.”