Joan Smith (17 page)

Not the least odd thing about Sinclair was that he had such a handsome wardrobe, and a full-time valet apparently, when at Tanglewood. Not many secretaries were so well looked after.

“All set?” Welland asked when I descended the stairs.

“Yes, I have earned this outing, since I spent my afternoon in a stuffy office, rooting through old papers while you had the pleasure of a drive.”

“Why did you not open a window if it was stuffy?” was his unsympathetic question.

“Because it would have blown the papers all over.”

“Did you find anything?”

I outlined my scanty find, while he listened silently. “I had no idea Alice Sedgely was from Suffolk,” was his only comment. “I assumed she was a local girl.”

“There is no reason you should know.”

“St. Regis takes a keen interest in all the family, even the French branch.”

“Pity his interest did not include where the wives came from, and I might have been saved a boring afternoon’s work. I don’t see what it can possibly have to do with Auntie’s missing funds either.”

“There was talk of a mysterious lady at the first séance, remember?”

“How could it refer to Alice Sedgely? How do you do justice to a corpse?”

“I have no idea. Can you smuggle the carton of papers out to me?”

“I’ll have Pinny take it to the kitchen as though it were waste paper, and you can pick it up at the back door. Or better, have your valet do it, Welland
,
” I asked, smiling at the opportunity this would throw in Pinny’s path.

“Do you think we ought to encourage the servants to carry on so wantonly?” he asked, aware of the attachment.

“Pinny is not a wanton. If your man is not serious, pray do not encourage him to see her. She is such a sweet little thing.”

“Barring the squint.”

“Pity you beat her to the family’s green glasses.”

He turned and directed a stare at me, then reached up and removed the offending lenses. “I accidentally left mine at home. I was fortunate to find this replacement at the gatehouse.”

“A strange accident, to forget them when you were about to make a long journey in the daylight. I should think you would have remembered before you got ten feet. Who are you hiding from? No one here would recognize you if you are some desperate criminal in disguise,”

“St. Regis mentioned in his letter of introduction to your aunt that I wear green glasses. There is no mystery to it.”

“I find it mysterious you know the contents of that letter, sir. It was written by St. Regis, and delivered to my aunt.”

“It was written by
me, for
St. Regis. I am his secretary. A secretary writes letters, among other things. Did you ask Lady Sinclair about the heirlooms?”

“Yes, she confirmed your story. Did she convince you to put in a good word for her with your patron? That’s why she agreed to drive out with you, you know. Don’t think your shop-worn charms had anything to do with it.”

“Are you always such a delightful conversationalist, or has the stuffy room got you in a bad mood? Take deep breaths, and I shall tell you about the drive. She knew I was acting for St. Regis in buying back the jewelry. She asked me if he was very angry, and tried to convince
me
to convince
him
not to press charges.”

“She has a high opinion of
your
influence over St. Regis.”

“Not unduly high. He listens to me. Unfortunately, she gave me no reason for having sold the stuff, other than that she needed cash. It is not a good enough reason.”

“She wouldn’t tell me a thing either.
I
still think it’s the Franconis. They’d be sly enough not to flaunt the money if they had it. They’ll move away and set up in the next county with her cash. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not sure they are sly enough to be doing it.”

Dr. Hill was happy to accept the invitation to dinner the next evening. He served us wine in his rose garden, talking of his hobby, archaeology. Welland was a better partner in this subject than I. He had some little interest in it. They discussed the Rosetta Stone, some tablet from the banks of the Nile, which seemed to be of wonderful importance, if only someone could decipher its hieroglyphics.

“Lenoir’s work was pure rubbish,” Hill said. “Botched up scholarship, eked out with pure invention. I have got a copy of it translated from the French. Are you familiar with it, Mr. Sinclair?”

“St. Regis has the French version. He agrees with you that it is nonsense, and speaks often of a young French fellow, Champollion, who is expected to do better, though he is very young. Quite a genius, I believe.”

“Yes, I am familiar with his work. His
Egypt Under the Pharaohs
is remarkable, and done by a mere stripling. The French have the jump on us in Egyptian matters, due to Bonaparte’s campaign there.”

“I expect you have heard the deSancy archaeological library from Paris is up for sale?” Welland asked, while I picked a rose and began pulling off its petals to put in my pocket, for the scent.

“I did not hear it! When did this happen? How was it got out of Paris at this time?”

“Smuggled out by an escaped aristo, I believe. Peter mentioned it to me. I wrote St. Regis at once and told him.”

“Who has it? What price is being asked?”

“Millar, from Lombard Street in London, the fellow who deals in rare books and expensive collections has it. The asking price is two thousand pounds. A bit steep for an individual.”

“That is a great deal of money.”

“It will likely end up in a university library, where it belongs.”

“The proper place for it. Or the British Museum, where scholars can get a chance to look at it.”

“Exactly. Well, Doctor, we must be going now. Thank you very much for the wine. We shall expect to see you tomorrow evening at seven.”

“I look forward to it. Nice to have the young folks visit.”

After we had taken our leave and were in the curricle returning to Troy Fenners, I said, “I’m glad Aunt Loo has a good friend living close by. He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“He’s interesting. A very elegant little house, is it not?” We had been inside before moving out to the rose garden. “An extensive library, and some quite excellent paintings.”

“The bibelots are his wife’s dowry. He told me so on my first visit. About the books, he is a scholar. I hope you are not thinking
he
has anything to do with this blackmailing business. He dotes on Aunt Loo. I should not be at all surprised to see a match between them.”

“Marrying money is one way of getting one’s hands on it.”

“Very true, but I doubt
Dr. Hill
would be so low as to marry for money,” I said innocently.

My hit was rewarded by no more than a slight stiffening of the jaw muscles. “I wonder if he ever actually proposed to her,” he said a little later.

“Shall I ask her, and be accused of prying again?”

“Please do, discreetly. You might also assume your innocent look and hint whether the good doctor has ever had any dealings in Suffolk, if a likely opportunity should arise. Lest there be any misunderstanding, that means you create the opportunity.”

“I shall raise the subject of Mr. Franconi being from there, my own regret at never having seen the place, and throw in at the end, quite as a postscript, a question as to whether Hill has been.”

“Why not just announce we are trying to tie him to the blackmail? Don’t mention Franconi in the same discussion. Say some friend or relation is going there on a visit. It will sound more by chance.”

“Why would anyone go to Suffolk? Flat terrain and marshes
...
”

“It is a prime agricultural district. Your papa is a farmer. A spot of imagination might find him an excuse to visit. Must I do
all
the thinking for us?”

“Don’t whine, dear boy. It is so terribly unattractive. So far as I can tell, St. Regis does your thinking for you, so you can spare your brain to do mine for me.”

“I am more than a scribe and errand boy for St. Regis. He’s not really such a bad fellow as your aunt thinks. I think you might like him. He is neither a nipfarthing, nor does he take a consuming interest in matters that do not concern him. Troy Fenners
does
concern him, since it will be his one day, and there is no reason he should inherit a load of debt with it.”

“I know very well he is no nipcheese, Welland. Did he not send you a whole five pounds today? Is it your quarter allowance, or a bonus for buying back the heirlooms?”

“My annual salary,” he answered humbly. “But he also houses and feeds me, you know, and occasionally tossed me a few pennies when I am ripe for a spree—a night on the town.”

“How nice for you. I wish I had a rich patron.”

“I suppose you are hinting for that guinea I promised you when Aunt Loo failed to come across. I have not forgotten it. I have one of my precious five pounds earmarked just for you.”

“It was a guinea we spoke of.”

“I can swing the extra shilling too. Will you take payment in coin or paper currency?”

“In hair ribbons, Mr. Sinclair. That’s all it is good for.”

“Any preference as to shade?”

“You decide what will suit me.”

“Then it will be emeralds, not ribbons.”

“A nice one-guinea emerald, the paste sort that Auntie has in her vault it will be.”

“You would prefer a gentleman who could supply you with real ones, I expect?”

“Not necessarily, but I would insist on a gentleman who supplied me with whatever he supplied me with himself, not through the courtesy of his patron. I am very demanding in. that respect. A little idiosyncrasy of mine, liking a man who stands on his own feet.”

Mr. Sinclair suddenly developed a keen interest in the back of his team’s heads. After a few moments sulking, he said, “Can I pick up the carton of papers now, while I am at the house, instead of waiting for you to set up a tryst with Pinny and my valet?”

“If the coast is clear, I shall throw them out the window.”

As it turned out, the coast was so clear I was able to carry the carton down the front stairs and hand it to him at the foot of the stairs. “A little light reading for you, when you become tired with ghosts.”

He grimaced at the weight. My own arms felt as though they would like to rise up in the air when I unloaded them, so heavy was the box. “This will keep me busy tonight,” was his highly unsatisfactory remark.

“I shall be busy fighting off Pierre’s advances.”

“A well-inlaid gent, Valerie. I am surprised you don’t let him win occasionally.”

“You
would be. Not everyone is on the catch for a fortune. Happy reading,” I said, and ran upstairs, feeling I had belabored my point as much as I could without becoming a bore on the subject.

I had to fight off not only the advances of a determined Pierre, but an even more determined Aunt Louise that evening. Her advances had to do with my putting Nancy over the tollbooth. “For I have reached chapter eighteen, and must get on with describing the jump,” she explained patiently.

“Nancy seems to be developing a sprain.”

“I’ll have the groom tend to it. It must be done tomorrow at the latest. You have been down and checked out the booth, I hope.”

“Several times.” It grew a foot every time I went down.

“Ah, good, then you will have figured out your approach, and all that. We’ll go down about ten-thirty tomorrow morning, while you and Nancy are fresh, and the crowds on the road are not dense. I have worked out that the traffic is lightest at that time. Those going to the village go earlier, for market and work and so on, and between ten-thirty and noon there is very little traffic. Just a few ladies making calls, and even they do not go out in volume before eleven. Ten-thirty is our time “

“Could you not just describe it from your imagination, Auntie? You have such a wonderfully vivid imagination.”

“Yes, I have, but I like to get my facts all straight too. That is what sets me a little apart from the other writers, you know, the accuracy. When I had Debora’s uncle dope her for the second last chapter of
Search for the Unknown,
I had Walter make up a black drop and took it myself. I was gibbering for ten days afterward, but it was worth every gibber. My account of Debora under the influence of opium was much praised, Valerie. Such horrors as went through my poor head. I thought Alice was accusing
...
All sorts of horrid things. Goblins and ghosts and green giraffes. I don’t know where the green giraffes came from, unless it was my having read an extract about them the day before, out in the garden with the green grass and trees all around me. The giraffes’ necks reached right up past the trees. And they were singing, which is so very strange, for they don’t, you know. Talk I mean, or make any noise at all. They are quite mute.”

“Alice was accusing whom, of what?” I asked, when she had run to a stop.

“The green giraffes of singing when they should have been silent,” she replied with a conning smile. She might as well have been a giraffe herself for any information I could ever wring out of her.

It was not anticipated that Welland Sinclair would visit us that evening, but at about nine-thirty he came up, complaining of tired eyes from all his reading. This conveyed to me something quite different from what it conveyed to my aunt. “You work too hard on your treatise, Welland,” she scolded, quite like a fond aunt, which was not her customary manner of dealing with him.

“I am eager to finish up and return home,” he answered.

“You must be, with your wedding getting closer all the time. July the tenth I think you mentioned as the date?”

“That’s right.”

“Will you and Mary live at Tanglewood, or does she have a place of her own?” my aunt asked.

Sinclair twitched in his chair, disliking this line of talk before my disapproving presence. “That has all been arranged long ago. We have the dower house at Tanglewood,” he replied stiffly.

“St. Regis is very generous to you. Do you find him usually a generous, understanding man?” was her next hopeful question.